Join the millions who listen to the lively messages of Chuck Swindoll, a down-to-earth pastor who communicates God’s truth in understandable and practical terms—with a good dose of humor thrown in. Chuck’s messages help you apply the Bible to your own life.
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An Overlooked Doctor of the Church
Manage episode 461197734 series 3546964
Contenido proporcionado por The Catholic Thing. Todo el contenido del podcast, incluidos episodios, gráficos y descripciones de podcast, lo carga y proporciona directamente The Catholic Thing o su socio de plataforma de podcast. Si cree que alguien está utilizando su trabajo protegido por derechos de autor sin su permiso, puede seguir el proceso descrito aquí https://es.player.fm/legal.
By Casey Chalk.
When we think of the doctors of the Church - those great saints especially recognized for their contributions to Catholic theology or doctrine - we think of figures such as St. Augustine and his prolific theological output; St. Thomas and his foundational Summa Theologiae; or the sophisticated mysticism of St. Teresa of Avila. Most Catholics have at least some passing knowledge of them, and perhaps even one of their texts on the bookshelf. Far fewer, I'd speculate, possess something written by St. Anthony of Padua.
To my shame, I didn't even realize St. Anthony was a doctor of the Church until reading Valentin Strappazzon's biography, Anthony of Padua: Franciscan, Preacher, Teacher, Saint. He's known as an intercessor for those who have lost something important, an unexpected preaching prodigy whose gifts were revealed at a meeting of Franciscans and Dominicans, and - of course - a favorite namesake for generations of Italian-Americans. But why Doctor Evangelicus, as Pope Pius XII declared almost eighty years ago?
In his 1946 Apostolic Letter Exulta, Lusitania felix, Pius XII praised not only the "sanctity of his [St. Anthony's] life and the glorious fame of his miracles but also for the splendor that his heavenly doctrine spreads everywhere, he illuminated, and still continues to illuminate, the entire world with a most brilliant light." Yet unlike many other doctors of the Church, St. Anthony left us no spiritual autobiography or extended theological treatises. All we have are about 77 relatively short texts (almost 60 are sermons).
As even Strappazon acknowledges, these sermons can seem "somewhat opaque" due to their structure, as well as "using a vocabulary abounding in etymologies and symbols that are no longer evocative for readers today." Thus, for example, St. Anthony would preach his sermons by systematically working through the clauses and sentences of a Biblical text, explaining each in turn. This, admittedly, is not a method that conforms to modern Biblical exegesis or homiletics.
Nevertheless, St. Anthony drew from both the Western Fathers - such as St. Augustine, St. Gregory the Great, St. Isidore, and St. Bernard of Clairvaux - as well as the Cappadocian Fathers and other great spirits. "Whoever reads the sermons carefully," writes Pius XII, "will find Anthony an expert exegete of the Holy Scriptures and an outstanding theologian in his analysis of dogmatic truths, a distinguished doctor and teacher in the treatment of ascetic and mystical doctrines."
Indeed, as the medieval text Assidua notes, St. Anthony's contemporary Pope Gregory IX was stupefied by the Franciscan's "ability to draw from the Scriptures original and profound meanings," labeling him "an ark, a treasure-house, of the Testament."
The sermons, says Strappazon, cover "not only theology, ethics, and spirituality, but also the natural sciences, philosophy, psychology, physiology, medicine, the arts, and the animal world." For example, in one sermon St. Anthony affirms the goodness of the natural order in language that resembles that of St. Thomas in the Summa: "God, sovereign from whom comes all that is good, extends his goodness to all things that exist."
In a reflection on Ecclesiastes 12:5, describing the grasshopper growing fat, St. Anthony compares the grasshopper to the poor, because both "burrow in the hedges when it is cold."
A reflection on Luke 6:36 ("Be merciful as your Father is merciful") explains how the merciful is one who "suffers with," and empathizes with the other in compassion, making the "heart sad (cor miserum) when it suffers because of the misery of another."
Yet my favorite example is St. Anthony's analysis of Ecclesiastes 12:1-2 and 6-7, particularly his reflection on the phrase "before the bad times come and the years about which you will say: 'I do not like them.'" The great Franciscan preacher explains: "But days will come which will not please you. You have pleased yourself but you have displeased God...
…
continue reading
When we think of the doctors of the Church - those great saints especially recognized for their contributions to Catholic theology or doctrine - we think of figures such as St. Augustine and his prolific theological output; St. Thomas and his foundational Summa Theologiae; or the sophisticated mysticism of St. Teresa of Avila. Most Catholics have at least some passing knowledge of them, and perhaps even one of their texts on the bookshelf. Far fewer, I'd speculate, possess something written by St. Anthony of Padua.
To my shame, I didn't even realize St. Anthony was a doctor of the Church until reading Valentin Strappazzon's biography, Anthony of Padua: Franciscan, Preacher, Teacher, Saint. He's known as an intercessor for those who have lost something important, an unexpected preaching prodigy whose gifts were revealed at a meeting of Franciscans and Dominicans, and - of course - a favorite namesake for generations of Italian-Americans. But why Doctor Evangelicus, as Pope Pius XII declared almost eighty years ago?
In his 1946 Apostolic Letter Exulta, Lusitania felix, Pius XII praised not only the "sanctity of his [St. Anthony's] life and the glorious fame of his miracles but also for the splendor that his heavenly doctrine spreads everywhere, he illuminated, and still continues to illuminate, the entire world with a most brilliant light." Yet unlike many other doctors of the Church, St. Anthony left us no spiritual autobiography or extended theological treatises. All we have are about 77 relatively short texts (almost 60 are sermons).
As even Strappazon acknowledges, these sermons can seem "somewhat opaque" due to their structure, as well as "using a vocabulary abounding in etymologies and symbols that are no longer evocative for readers today." Thus, for example, St. Anthony would preach his sermons by systematically working through the clauses and sentences of a Biblical text, explaining each in turn. This, admittedly, is not a method that conforms to modern Biblical exegesis or homiletics.
Nevertheless, St. Anthony drew from both the Western Fathers - such as St. Augustine, St. Gregory the Great, St. Isidore, and St. Bernard of Clairvaux - as well as the Cappadocian Fathers and other great spirits. "Whoever reads the sermons carefully," writes Pius XII, "will find Anthony an expert exegete of the Holy Scriptures and an outstanding theologian in his analysis of dogmatic truths, a distinguished doctor and teacher in the treatment of ascetic and mystical doctrines."
Indeed, as the medieval text Assidua notes, St. Anthony's contemporary Pope Gregory IX was stupefied by the Franciscan's "ability to draw from the Scriptures original and profound meanings," labeling him "an ark, a treasure-house, of the Testament."
The sermons, says Strappazon, cover "not only theology, ethics, and spirituality, but also the natural sciences, philosophy, psychology, physiology, medicine, the arts, and the animal world." For example, in one sermon St. Anthony affirms the goodness of the natural order in language that resembles that of St. Thomas in the Summa: "God, sovereign from whom comes all that is good, extends his goodness to all things that exist."
In a reflection on Ecclesiastes 12:5, describing the grasshopper growing fat, St. Anthony compares the grasshopper to the poor, because both "burrow in the hedges when it is cold."
A reflection on Luke 6:36 ("Be merciful as your Father is merciful") explains how the merciful is one who "suffers with," and empathizes with the other in compassion, making the "heart sad (cor miserum) when it suffers because of the misery of another."
Yet my favorite example is St. Anthony's analysis of Ecclesiastes 12:1-2 and 6-7, particularly his reflection on the phrase "before the bad times come and the years about which you will say: 'I do not like them.'" The great Franciscan preacher explains: "But days will come which will not please you. You have pleased yourself but you have displeased God...
67 episodios
CompartirManage episode 461197734 series 3546964
Contenido proporcionado por The Catholic Thing. Todo el contenido del podcast, incluidos episodios, gráficos y descripciones de podcast, lo carga y proporciona directamente The Catholic Thing o su socio de plataforma de podcast. Si cree que alguien está utilizando su trabajo protegido por derechos de autor sin su permiso, puede seguir el proceso descrito aquí https://es.player.fm/legal.
By Casey Chalk.
When we think of the doctors of the Church - those great saints especially recognized for their contributions to Catholic theology or doctrine - we think of figures such as St. Augustine and his prolific theological output; St. Thomas and his foundational Summa Theologiae; or the sophisticated mysticism of St. Teresa of Avila. Most Catholics have at least some passing knowledge of them, and perhaps even one of their texts on the bookshelf. Far fewer, I'd speculate, possess something written by St. Anthony of Padua.
To my shame, I didn't even realize St. Anthony was a doctor of the Church until reading Valentin Strappazzon's biography, Anthony of Padua: Franciscan, Preacher, Teacher, Saint. He's known as an intercessor for those who have lost something important, an unexpected preaching prodigy whose gifts were revealed at a meeting of Franciscans and Dominicans, and - of course - a favorite namesake for generations of Italian-Americans. But why Doctor Evangelicus, as Pope Pius XII declared almost eighty years ago?
In his 1946 Apostolic Letter Exulta, Lusitania felix, Pius XII praised not only the "sanctity of his [St. Anthony's] life and the glorious fame of his miracles but also for the splendor that his heavenly doctrine spreads everywhere, he illuminated, and still continues to illuminate, the entire world with a most brilliant light." Yet unlike many other doctors of the Church, St. Anthony left us no spiritual autobiography or extended theological treatises. All we have are about 77 relatively short texts (almost 60 are sermons).
As even Strappazon acknowledges, these sermons can seem "somewhat opaque" due to their structure, as well as "using a vocabulary abounding in etymologies and symbols that are no longer evocative for readers today." Thus, for example, St. Anthony would preach his sermons by systematically working through the clauses and sentences of a Biblical text, explaining each in turn. This, admittedly, is not a method that conforms to modern Biblical exegesis or homiletics.
Nevertheless, St. Anthony drew from both the Western Fathers - such as St. Augustine, St. Gregory the Great, St. Isidore, and St. Bernard of Clairvaux - as well as the Cappadocian Fathers and other great spirits. "Whoever reads the sermons carefully," writes Pius XII, "will find Anthony an expert exegete of the Holy Scriptures and an outstanding theologian in his analysis of dogmatic truths, a distinguished doctor and teacher in the treatment of ascetic and mystical doctrines."
Indeed, as the medieval text Assidua notes, St. Anthony's contemporary Pope Gregory IX was stupefied by the Franciscan's "ability to draw from the Scriptures original and profound meanings," labeling him "an ark, a treasure-house, of the Testament."
The sermons, says Strappazon, cover "not only theology, ethics, and spirituality, but also the natural sciences, philosophy, psychology, physiology, medicine, the arts, and the animal world." For example, in one sermon St. Anthony affirms the goodness of the natural order in language that resembles that of St. Thomas in the Summa: "God, sovereign from whom comes all that is good, extends his goodness to all things that exist."
In a reflection on Ecclesiastes 12:5, describing the grasshopper growing fat, St. Anthony compares the grasshopper to the poor, because both "burrow in the hedges when it is cold."
A reflection on Luke 6:36 ("Be merciful as your Father is merciful") explains how the merciful is one who "suffers with," and empathizes with the other in compassion, making the "heart sad (cor miserum) when it suffers because of the misery of another."
Yet my favorite example is St. Anthony's analysis of Ecclesiastes 12:1-2 and 6-7, particularly his reflection on the phrase "before the bad times come and the years about which you will say: 'I do not like them.'" The great Franciscan preacher explains: "But days will come which will not please you. You have pleased yourself but you have displeased God...
…
continue reading
When we think of the doctors of the Church - those great saints especially recognized for their contributions to Catholic theology or doctrine - we think of figures such as St. Augustine and his prolific theological output; St. Thomas and his foundational Summa Theologiae; or the sophisticated mysticism of St. Teresa of Avila. Most Catholics have at least some passing knowledge of them, and perhaps even one of their texts on the bookshelf. Far fewer, I'd speculate, possess something written by St. Anthony of Padua.
To my shame, I didn't even realize St. Anthony was a doctor of the Church until reading Valentin Strappazzon's biography, Anthony of Padua: Franciscan, Preacher, Teacher, Saint. He's known as an intercessor for those who have lost something important, an unexpected preaching prodigy whose gifts were revealed at a meeting of Franciscans and Dominicans, and - of course - a favorite namesake for generations of Italian-Americans. But why Doctor Evangelicus, as Pope Pius XII declared almost eighty years ago?
In his 1946 Apostolic Letter Exulta, Lusitania felix, Pius XII praised not only the "sanctity of his [St. Anthony's] life and the glorious fame of his miracles but also for the splendor that his heavenly doctrine spreads everywhere, he illuminated, and still continues to illuminate, the entire world with a most brilliant light." Yet unlike many other doctors of the Church, St. Anthony left us no spiritual autobiography or extended theological treatises. All we have are about 77 relatively short texts (almost 60 are sermons).
As even Strappazon acknowledges, these sermons can seem "somewhat opaque" due to their structure, as well as "using a vocabulary abounding in etymologies and symbols that are no longer evocative for readers today." Thus, for example, St. Anthony would preach his sermons by systematically working through the clauses and sentences of a Biblical text, explaining each in turn. This, admittedly, is not a method that conforms to modern Biblical exegesis or homiletics.
Nevertheless, St. Anthony drew from both the Western Fathers - such as St. Augustine, St. Gregory the Great, St. Isidore, and St. Bernard of Clairvaux - as well as the Cappadocian Fathers and other great spirits. "Whoever reads the sermons carefully," writes Pius XII, "will find Anthony an expert exegete of the Holy Scriptures and an outstanding theologian in his analysis of dogmatic truths, a distinguished doctor and teacher in the treatment of ascetic and mystical doctrines."
Indeed, as the medieval text Assidua notes, St. Anthony's contemporary Pope Gregory IX was stupefied by the Franciscan's "ability to draw from the Scriptures original and profound meanings," labeling him "an ark, a treasure-house, of the Testament."
The sermons, says Strappazon, cover "not only theology, ethics, and spirituality, but also the natural sciences, philosophy, psychology, physiology, medicine, the arts, and the animal world." For example, in one sermon St. Anthony affirms the goodness of the natural order in language that resembles that of St. Thomas in the Summa: "God, sovereign from whom comes all that is good, extends his goodness to all things that exist."
In a reflection on Ecclesiastes 12:5, describing the grasshopper growing fat, St. Anthony compares the grasshopper to the poor, because both "burrow in the hedges when it is cold."
A reflection on Luke 6:36 ("Be merciful as your Father is merciful") explains how the merciful is one who "suffers with," and empathizes with the other in compassion, making the "heart sad (cor miserum) when it suffers because of the misery of another."
Yet my favorite example is St. Anthony's analysis of Ecclesiastes 12:1-2 and 6-7, particularly his reflection on the phrase "before the bad times come and the years about which you will say: 'I do not like them.'" The great Franciscan preacher explains: "But days will come which will not please you. You have pleased yourself but you have displeased God...
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By Francis X. Maier. But first a note: Be sure to tune in tomorrow night - Thursday, March 13th at 8 PM Eastern - to EWTN for a new episode of the Papal Posse on 'The World Over.' TCT Editor-in-Chief Robert Royal and contributor Fr. Gerald E. Murray will join host Raymond Arroyo to discuss Pope Francis' ongoing health crisis and its implications, the status of the case against disgraced former Jesuit Marko Rupnik, Washington D.C. protests against Cardinal Robert McElory - as well as other issues in the global Church. Check your local listings for the channel in your area. Shows are usually available shortly after first airing on the EWTN YouTube channel... Now for today's column... The late great Henry Ford famously argued that "history is bunk." The past, so the reasoning goes, is a millstone around humanity's neck, a depressing, Old World obstacle to progress. And that's clearly one of the conceits buried deep in the American psyche. We Americans are different. We're a "city upon a hill," the kind mentioned in the Sermon on the Mount. We're an entirely "new order of the ages" - words, in their original Latin, that are stamped right on our nation's Great Seal. We haven't had a war on our home soil in 160 years. We're the wealthiest, most successful republic turned de facto empire in, well, history. We're also the greatest toolmakers. The result is predictable: Optimism is baked into our national assumptions. It drives our faith in technology, a faith with astonishing achievements, a faith with now global adherents. Later this year the Australian biotech company Cortical Labs will introduce the CL1 - the world's first "body in a box" biological computer - for a mere $35,000 per unit: The CL1 consists of a silicon chip with lab-grown human neurons cultivated on its surface. These neurons are capable of responding to electrical signals, forming networks that process information similarly to a biological brain. . . .A notable aspect of the CL1 is its ability to learn and adapt to tasks. Previous research has demonstrated that neuron-based systems can be trained to perform basic functions, such as playing simple video games. Cortical Labs' work suggests that integrating biological elements into computing could improve efficiency in tasks that traditional AI struggles with, such as pattern recognition and decision-making in unpredictable environments. CL1 is the tip of a new-wave technological iceberg. Brain-computer interface (BCI) research is now a robust and expanding field. And isn't that good news? What could possibly be wrong with tools that might one day cure paralysis or mental illness? Maybe just this: Optimism confirmed by optimal results has a habit of eliding into hubris with very different and unpleasant consequences. We use our tools, but our tools also use us by rewiring not just our abilities, but also our appetites and imaginations. Here's the point: Technology can deliver us from dozens of forms of inconvenience and suffering. But it can never deliver us from the nature of our creatureliness: our awareness of being somehow incomplete; our instinctive longing for something more than this world; the yearning that makes us human; our mortality and the questions it raises. Real deliverance, the real redemption of our restless hearts, can never come from human hands. It's the work of a loving God and his ongoing love through history - a fact that pervades and provides the framework for Gerald McDermott's excellent 2024 book, A New History of Redemption. McDermott writes as an Anglican theologian, but Catholics will find little to disagree with and much to draw value from in a text that's both engaging and comprehensive in its review of God's work from Creation to our own time and beyond. McDermott's focus throughout is "on the meaning of Israel and Christ (Messiah) for the nations," with a special emphasis on "the Jewish roots of Christianity." The result is a marvelous read. McDermott ties the inspiration for his ...…
by Father Jerry J. Pokorsky. God said to Moses, "I am who I am." And he said, "Say this to the people of Israel, 'I am has sent me to you.'" (Exodus 3:14) I am nine years old. I live with my mother and father. My father deposited his semen in a medical repository in an In Vitro Fertilization (IVF) clinic and, eventually, fertilized five of my mother's ova. Medical technicians implanted me alone in my mother's womb. My brothers and sisters remain frozen for possible implantation at a future date, either in my mother's womb or, with her consent, the womb of another woman. I am an IVF baby. I am fourteen years old. I live with my mother. I know little of my father. All I know is his genetic makeup. He deposited his semen in a medical repository cup in an IVF clinic. He received $50 for his deposit. His seed fertilized the ova of my mother. I do not know whether my brothers and sisters are still alive, frozen in suspended animation, or discarded because of DNA attributes that fall short of medical perfection. But I know that I survived because my genetic traits were up to predetermined standards established by the medical technicians in consultation with my mother. My mother is an active member of the LGBTQ+ community. I am an IVF baby. I am eighteen years old. My mother is the daughter of my grandfather. He came home one evening in a drunken stupor and raped his daughter, my mother. I learned of the incident when I started dating an attractive boy and discovered he was my first cousin. My mother tearfully confessed the incident to prevent further complications. I am an incest baby. I am twenty-eight years old. My mother was a victim of rape. Relatives and doctors encouraged her to abort me to avoid the shame. She refused, brought me to term, and put me up for adoption. My adoptive parents claimed me as their own. I discovered my roots when I conducted DNA research and followed up with questions. I am a rape baby. I am thirty-five years old. My mother was a prostitute and died of a drug overdose when I was young. I do not know my father. I grew up in foster homes, and now I am homeless, living on the streets, making a living doing tricks in the seedy inner city. I am a prostitute baby. I am a baby in the womb. I feel and hear my mother's heart and warmth. I do not know her. I do not know my father. I hope my mother wants me. I hope my father wants me. But a sharp object pursues me in this terrible clinic. I am an unwanted baby. I am a pro-choice politician. Every baby in the womb is subhuman and expendable. I am a Democrat. Occasionally, I am a Republican. I am an anti-abortion politician. I know my constituents and my constituents know me. I consider In Vitro Fertilization "pro-life." I allow for rape and incest exceptions to anti-abortion laws. Logic dictates that I believe IVF babies, incest babies, and rape babies are subhuman and disposable. I am the President. I am the Vice President. I am the typical Republican U.S. Senator. I am the Blessed Virgin Mary. There are no IVF babies. There are no incest babies. There are no rape babies. There are no unwanted babies. Every baby is created by God in His image and likeness. God loves them and desires their happiness now and in Heaven. I love them as my children. I love the mothers and fathers who abort their children. I love criminals who abuse their sexuality. I love politicians and clergymen who deny the right to life for my children. I intercede on their behalf to my Son for their conversion and happiness. I am their mother. I am the Immaculate Conception. I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. I became man at My conception in the womb of My mother when she said, "Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word." (Lk. 1:38) I am born of the Blessed Virgin Mary by the power of the Holy Spirit. I suffered and died on the Cross for the sins of the world. I overcame sin, suffering, and death in the Resurrection. I love saints and sinners. I desire th...…
by Robert Royal. In just the past few days, hundreds of Christians have been murdered, raped, and tortured in Syria. When news outlets even notice what's happening - yesterday's New York Times only carried an "update" of a previous article and the Washington Post's latest story on the massacres appeared Friday - they usually only mention the attacks on "civilians" or Alawites, the Islamic sect followed by the al-Assad family, the former rulers of Syria. It's true that Syrian Christians are caught up in the larger political turmoil in their homeland. But like Christians around the world, it's also true that they are being killed and persecuted specifically because of their faith. I'm more than a little sensitive to injustices like these because my book The Martyrs of the New Millennium: The Global Persecution of Christians in the Twenty-First Century will be published in a few weeks. Anyone who looks systematically at what's been happening to Christians in the first quarter of our century - and not only in the Middle East, Africa, China, and the Far East, but even in our once Christian "West" - cannot help but be shocked. By quite sober estimates, something like 300 million Christians worldwide are under threat. This book is something of a sequel to my Catholic Martyrs of the Twentieth Century, which responded to Pope John Paul II's request that, as part of the celebrations of the 2000 Jubilee Year, the Church remember the martyrs of the previous century. He organized an inspiring event at the Colosseum on May 7, 2000, where representatives of the Catholic Church, the Orthodox, and Protestants told their martyrs' stories. I gave the pope a copy of my book that morning. Aid to the Church in Need USA asked me to write the new book because of the essential work they do in many countries where Christians are not only dying but need outside support. ACN International will translate it into several languages and publish it in various countries as part of the 2025 Jubilee celebrations. And we're hoping, as in 2000, to present the pope with a copy in May. The shift that has occurred in the years between these two volumes is telling. In 2000, to write of Christian martyrs was to look back at the totalitarianism that produced high body counts in the Soviet Union, the Warsaw Pact nations, Nazi Germany, China, the Mexican and Spanish civil wars, and so forth. The clashes and deaths occurred almost entirely as a result of modern atheism seeking to stamp out Christianity. Communism was the world champion. That's still the case in North Korea (by common agreement the current champ), China (with little pushback from Rome), and Nicaragua, Venezuela, and Cuba (ditto). But by far the largest body counts now are from militant Islam. The Indian/British novelist Salman Rushdie, who was the subject of a fatwa by Iran's Ayatollah Khomeini and was severely injured and blinded in one eye by a militant Muslim in New York, has said: "after having overcome fascism, Nazism, and Stalinism, the world now faces a new totalitarian global threat: Islamism." The threat exists not only in the Middle East, though it waxes and wanes there owing to circumstances. Western forces were able to suppress ISIS in the Middle East and North Africa for a while, though ISIS affiliates and similar organizations linger on. But the ideology migrated to central Africa, where many of the most violent persecutions of Christians now take place. In Nigeria alone, almost 5,000 Christians are murdered every year. (The Biden administration dropped Nigeria from the list of Countries of Particular Concern; the Trump administration could do Christians a great service by putting Nigeria back). Even worse, movements in several African nations as well as in the Far East are explicitly in the business of trying to create a worldwide Islamic Caliphate. International institutions and Western governments do little to stop these developments, don't even say very much, for two reasons, in my esti...…
By Fr. Thomas G. Weinandy. As I get older, I find myself thinking more about death. I no longer have my youthful spunk and stamina. I recognize that I am mortal. I will die. "Seventy is the sum of our years, or eighty for those who are strong." (Psalm 90). "As for man, his ways are like the grass; he flourishes like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more." (Psalm 103) "Lord, let me know my end, and what is the measure of my days; let me know how fleeting my life is!" (Psalm 39) Because of the brevity of our lives, we must learn to "number our days aright, that we may gain wisdom of heart." (Psalm 90) Our lives may not be long, but each of us is to live it in accord with our particular vocation. "My son, hold fast to your duty, busy yourself with it, grow old while doing your task." (Sirach 11:20) As the Father's children, the glory of our lives is to grow old performing all of the various tasks that the Lord has given us to do. We are to beseech God: "Prosper the work of our hands! Prosper the work of our hands!" (Psalm 90) Moreover, we must also remember that death is not the end. We live eschatological lives. Created in God's eternal image and likeness, we are to share in his immortality. We are to live forever. Sin brought with it, however, the curse of death. Nonetheless, God could not allow death to have the last word. Death is an affront to God. The eternal God is the God of life. He is the living God. He cannot tolerate death. Thus, God sent His Son into the world. As the Word incarnate, Jesus proclaims the final word, and that word is: Arise! Through His sacrificial death on the cross, Jesus conquered sin and vanquished the curse of death through his glorious resurrection. Jesus' resurrection is the inbreaking of the eschaton - the making present here on earth of everlasting life. All who abide in him on earth, through faith and baptism, will abide in Him forever in Heaven. "Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in the newness of life." (Romans 6:3-4) There are two eschatological moments. The first is what has been traditionally called the particular judgment, which takes place when the soul of the deceased appears before God immediately upon death. At this moment the person is confronted with three possibilities: reaping the full benefits of a holy life, that is, eternal life with the blessed Saints in heaven; everlasting damnation by dying in a state of mortal sin; or proceeding to purgatory in order to be purified of the remnants of sin that still inhere within the soul. The second eschatological moment is the final or universal judgment when the risen Jesus returns in glory and splendor at the end of time. At this moment, the dead will rise bodily from their graves and assume fully Jesus' bodily resurrection. Then, also, the whole of creation will find its eschatological end, for there will be a new heaven and a new earth. "We know that the whole of creation is groaning in travail together until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves who have the first fruits of the Spirit grown inwardly as we wait for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope, we have been saved." (Romans 8:22-23) We live "now," possessing of the first fruit of the Spirit, and "not yet," waiting for the full redemption our bodies. We live in hope. We do not know how long we are to wait in hope, both as to our own individual death and as to when Christ will return in glory. It may appear, by our human reckoning, that it has already been a long time; and Jesus has yet to return. Therefore, "eagerly awaiting in expectation" may seem to be a waste of time. But it is precisely during this time of waiting in hope that we must always be prepared. As to ...…
By Brad Miner. I say, "Yes!" The better question may be, however: Can a bad person make it to Heaven? The Lord alone knows that answer. One suspects, however, that this is why Purgatory exists. There is the matter of repentance, of course: the notion, as expressed by Lord Illingworth in Oscar Wilde's A Woman of No Importance: "The only difference between the saint and the sinner is that every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future." I want to explore this in what we know about the lives of two great Catholic painters: Duccio and Caravaggio. I would jump for joy were it possible to know that Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (1571-1610) rests in the bosom of Abraham. Despite his many sins, which included murder, Caravaggio left a legacy of sacred art that puts him in the company of the more famous Michelangelo, Rubens, and a few other Catholic artists, none of whom has been canonized, declared venerable, or become blessed - except for Fra Angelico. In Rome, on the Via di Pallacorda, there once was a sort of tennis court - pallacorda was a precursor of the modern game. In May of 1606, Caravaggio was playing a match there against Ranuccio Tommasoni. A dispute over a wager led to conflict between the two. Caravaggio, known to be a sword-wielding brawler, killed Tommasoni on the spot. That's what some have suggested anyway. But art historian Andrew Graham-Dixon, who has studied police records in Rome and the Vatican, concludes that the fatal encounter wasn't over money or a rules violation but the affections of Fillide Melandroni. Melandroni was a successful courtesan who was also a model Caravaggio used in several of his paintings: as "Saint Catherine"; as Mary in "Martha and Mary Magdalene"; as Judith in "Judith Beheading Holofernes"; and, most appositely, "Portrait of a Courtesan." Caravaggio also used another prostitute model, Anna Bianchini. Here they both are in "Martha and Mary Magdalene" (c. 1598): Ranuccio Tommasoni came from a noble family but may not have been noble in the moral sense. He liked living the low life. He may even have been Fillide Melandroni's pimp. But lest we think of Fillide as a poor girl exploited by a rich ne'er-do-well, she was a Church-hating, sword-carrying brawler in her own right. Exactly what Caravaggio's interest in her was, beyond being a favored model, is uncertain, but Mr. Graham-Dixon believes Caravaggio was one of Fillide's clients. But whether the fight was for her love, a debt, or some other reason, the coroner's report suggests Tommasoni bled out after Caravaggio attempted to castrate him. And that suggests rage and is hardly saintly behavior. Speculation about Caravaggio's death in 1610 includes the possibility that - on the run at the end of his life (for the murder and other malfeasances) - Caravaggio fell into the hands of the pursuing Tommasonis. He was a bad boy, for sure. But Caravaggio understood the Catholic faith and may even have loved it. He gave us memorable and remarkably vivid paintings such as The Supper at Emmaus and The Calling of St. Matthew. More than a third of his paintings deal with religious themes. Like much Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque art and architecture, Caravaggio's works were catechetical tools, which is why, episcopal blessings of the paintings aside, they are sacred art. Whether or not that means his contributions to the faith won him a place in the heavenly kingdom, I cannot say. But I hope so. Duccio di Buoninsegna (c. 1255-1260 - c. 1318-1319) is generally acknowledged to be a pivotal figure in Trecento (14th century) Italian sacred art. and an artistic link between the Gothic and Renaissance eras - and Byzantine art, too. Unlike Caravaggio, though, he was not a felon per se. He did, however, have an uneasy relationship with the law and money. But like Caravaggio, Duccio was a revolutionary - the leader of an artistic period in Siena, Italy that caused a leap forward in painting. Caravaggio continued to influence artists over the centu...…
By David Warren. According to the Pew Research Center, and several other samplers of public opinion, the extended decline of Christian belief, and especially of the "traditionalist" kind, has come to a stop. These are polls, and they display what people think on a question, at the moment when asked. There is not, and cannot be, any predictive value in this; and I don't think even the present can be predicted by polling, or the past. Only shallow impressions may be had. But the impressions are themselves significant for public attitudes. People, I have noticed, act quite differently when they think they are in a small minority, or in an overwhelming majority. This may inspire humility, in some transactions, and arrogance in others; or, depending upon unique psychologies, the opposite may occur. But response "in the main" is usually predictable. The statistics, so far as I follow them, are not dramatic, except in one respect: that the collapse of the Christian religion in the West (where polls are conducted) has stopped, or slowed, for the last several years. In the absence of an obvious explanatory event, my own guess is that people, or at least a small proportion, have got bored with living meaningless lives. The same thing happens with war, which at first seems exciting and full of possibilities. But after a while, perhaps some years, the people grow pacifist again. An increasing likelihood of death or discomfort also tends to reduce the popularity of military campaigns. But as in the analogy, the change tends to be gradual. Societies don't "turn on a dime," and even socialist planners must use torture and coercion to make the people change more promptly. And if force isn't used continuously, the most ardent revolutions and revolutionaries fade. The Church makes all the difference, on the religious side. That is where the priestly equivalent of revolutionaries perform. That is where their efforts continue to be impressive, or they impressively tail off. This, I insist, is a universal property, exhibited throughout Church history and in many elsewheres. Sleepy leaders put congregations to sleep: but as minor recent indications confirm, the people cannot sleep forever. They may wake, under some terrible, un-Christian bang, and then will need time to go back to sleep again. Or they may, improbably, begin to remember how human life is meant to be dealt with, in the Christian dispensation - and perhaps that is happening, now. America has taken the lead in improbability, for two-and-a-half centuries now. The proof of this is that there are still Christians here, publicly admitting their beliefs, whereas that sort of thing seems to have died in Europe. (I fear that I am not exaggerating.) Although fluoride is going out, revival seems to be still in the water here, as one noticed during Mr. Trump's speech to Congress this week. There was genuine enthusiasm, for something, and that something seems to be friendly to Christian, even to Catholic, belief. But can this belief outlast the political enthusiasm, on which it seems to be riding? This is rather like saying, will the war remain popular? For Christian belief necessarily resembles war, although not the conventional kind waged with spears and missiles. To double back on my metaphors, one needs good officers to keep a frontline moving, and good discipline that fine officers have instilled. They are the masters of morale, who can sometimes do the impossible, and rouse a nearly-defeated army into making a stand. History is replete with examples. But without such officers, the rank and file will not merely lack direction, but fall into chaos and disorder. They will quickly lose their reason to fight, when faced with the threat of an actual enemy, and will, individually, cut and run. Lent, which remains an annual affair, I like to compare to NATO exercises. They are not warfare, and fewer soldiers get killed than would happen if live ammunition were flying both ways. But they are a n...…
by Stephen P. White I distinctly recall the first time I heard someone suggest in earnest that Donald Trump might make a good president. It was the late summer of 2015 and I was having my hair cut. The woman cutting my hair said she hoped Trump would win the following year's election because she liked his stance on immigration. I thought this was amusing for two reasons. First, like almost everyone else inside the Capital Beltway back then, I thought Trump's nascent candidacy wasn't really serious. Second, the woman standing behind me with the scissors extolling the virtues of Trump's hard line on immigration spoke with a thick foreign accent. Like every other woman cutting hair in that strip mall barber shop, she was an immigrant. Still conscious of the scissors, I gently suggested there was some irony in this. Not at all, she said! She had immigrated legally some decades ago. She was proud of her adopted country and grateful for the opportunities it afforded her and her family. And she made it abundantly clear that massive illegal immigration was simply unfair to Americans, particularly to people (like her) who had "followed the rules." Donald Trump promised to put a stop to that, and that's why she thought he'd make a good president. Simple. I confess that I did not leave that barber shop thinking Donald Trump would make a good president, or even that he would ever be president. But I did leave with a lasting reminder that those who oppose mass immigration, or lament its consequences, are not all motivated by selfishness, any more than those who favor mass immigration are always driven by altruism. And it was the first of many hints of just how broad Trump's coalition of the dissatisfied might be. The wave of populism that has been reshaping American politics (indeed the politics of many Western democracies) over the last decade has many causes and mass immigration is near the top of the list. More generally, there is profound dissatisfaction with the way political and economic "elites" - or, if you prefer, the "establishment" the "uniparty," the "professional-managerial class," etc. - have handled the reigns these last few decades. Exacerbating the dissatisfaction, and thereby fueling populist sentiment, is the condescension with which the expression of that dissatisfaction has been met by the same "ruling class" on whose watch everyone has become so dissatisfied. Express objections to the status quo and one's cultural "betters" will deign to inform you that such objections stem from economic ignorance, racism, xenophobia, and unchristian attitudes in general. Unfortunately, it has sometimes been representatives of the Church doing the scolding. Now, blaming "elites" or "the establishment" or the "ruling class" is almost always an oversimplification (and one with not a small whiff of Marx about it). But my goal here is neither to justify populism nor to bury it. Rather, the point is to highlight that, whatever one thinks of Populism as a cure to what ails us, the underlying maladies that have given rise to it are real, pressing, and not going anywhere. In this regard, the challenges of our brave, new, globalized, world, are not entirely dissimilar to the crises of the 19th century, which moved Leo XIII to write Rerum novarum. In some ways the challenges of today - particularly the consequences and implications of our technology - are very different from those of 1891. But like today's, the crisis to which Leo XIII was responding was not merely an economic crisis, but a rapid reshaping of economic, political, and social life all at once. Leo's unsparing criticism of the economic liberalism of his day was paired with a pointed critique of socialist alternatives, then being promoted as a just response to the "worker question," but which had not yet taken form as a political state. Socialism was a false response to a true crisis. It was, as Pope John Paul II would later write, "The [socialist] remedy would prove worse than...…
by Robert Royal. The Cloud of Unknowing is probably the most popular mystical treatise in English, a sort of bestseller when it was written in the thirteen hundreds (when England was still Catholic), often republished over centuries, and a favorite of recent, highly discerning figures like C.S. Lewis. It's also unique (in my estimation) in that its author (an unknown monk) discourages people from taking up his book: "nor allow another to do so, unless you really believe that he is a person deeply committed to following Christ perfectly." So as Lent begins today, if you're finding your prayers and spiritual practices in need of a fresh injection of life, here's a great place to start - with the author's own caution. I often hear these days that Lent is not about "giving something up." I'm no one's idea of a spiritual guide, but absent other considerations it's clear that this is a half-truth. The Christian life is about giving up many things - not as an end in itself, as if created goods are bad - but in order to make room, as it were, for greater goods and a different order in body, mind, and spirit. There are many resources in the tradition to guide us through both concrete penances and deeper practices. I myself have been benefitting from working through the Cloud because it's simple and profound. And teaches a kind of spiritual fasting, which is something we don't often remember in our material fasts. In contemplation, says the author, you place yourself between two "clouds." A cloud of forgetting: you lay aside everything that ordinarily occupies your mind, all the daily tasks, worries, responsibilities, interests. Everything. You can return to them at the proper time. But when you're moving closer to God, you just leave all that behind during prayer. This is easier said than done. If you try, even for a few seconds, you'll find that your mind is buzzing with all sorts of thoughts, many perhaps perfectly innocent, even necessary the rest of the time - "only human." But to detach yourself from them or let them pass by without focusing on them takes considerable practice. One of the useful techniques is just to give up and ask God to do it for you. That works. Sometimes. The other "cloud" is the cloud of unknowing with regard to God Himself. We cannot fully know God with our limited human intelligence. He is more than we can grasp. But one way we can approach Him is not through knowledge, which can even be a hindrance in a sense (more on this below), but through love. This, too, is easier said than done. Try it and you'll see that you always want to be talking to yourself or to Him when what you more often need is to draw closer by the only way we ultimately can: by remaining silent, letting Him come to you, which means waiting for grace. Cardinal Sarah's The Power of Silence presents this process with great spiritual depth and beauty. Dante talks about this at the beginning of Paradiso: To soar beyond the human cannot be described in words. Let the example be enough to one for whom grace holds this experience in store. Paradiso, I, 70-72) Lots of people seeking deeper spiritual lives in the desiccated culture of the West (a shallowness and dryness that have entered the Church as well) turn to Eastern religions, pre-Christian paganisms, ayahuasca retreats, Pachamamas of various traditions, and worse. But there's a whole Catholic mystical tradition, from the Church Fathers, through Augustine and Dionysius, Aquinas and Bonaventure, and more modern figures. Jason Baxter's An Introduction to Christian Mysticism is a good history. But the point of it all is practice. The Cloud explains the importance of three ways of preparing yourself: reading, thinking, and prayer. A spiritual guide may help with these, because they need to be fitted to specific persons. Some people may be moved to contemplation, for example, through Bible reading - with proper helps. Others may be motivated reading the lives of saints. Still others may nee...…
By Randall Smith. On Ash Wednesday, a cross is drawn on our foreheads with ashes and we hear the words God said to Adam and Eve after the Fall: "From dust you have come and to dust you shall return." With their sin, they brought death into the world. And that "death" was not merely the end of this human life. Adam and Eve were always meant for a more profound union and communion with God after their earthly life. What they brought was the darkness of death as the negation of life. Sin brings with it alienation from God, from others, and from ourselves. When we sin, we fail to become the just, loving, generous persons we set out to be. And in death, it seems as though this dissolution of the self and our alienation from God and others has reached its natural culmination. With its destruction now complete, sin's grasp on us seems to have won its final victory. Man's days are like those of grass; like a flower of the field he blooms; The wind sweeps over him and he is gone, and his place knows him no more. (Psalm 105) And Psalm 90 teaches us "to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." I am not pious or saintly enough to take comfort in any of this, but I suppose it is unrealistic to expect reality to be comforting. Aeschylus undoubtedly spoke truly when he wrote: "Wisdom comes through suffering" - and often only through suffering. This dark lesson of Lent came early for me this year upon hearing of the death of my beloved mentor, David Solomon, decades-long professor of philosophy at the University of Notre Dame and founder of the de Nicola Center for Ethics and Culture. For years, the joke was that a Baptist from Baylor was the staunchest defender of the Catholic character of the university, and when administrators wanted to show prospective donors that Notre Dame was still "Catholic," they would send them over to Solomon's Center, the place where philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre had found a home in the later years of his academic career. There have been several encomia to David. Good descriptions of his life and legacy can be found here, and here, but the best tribute was undoubtedly the one written by his long-time friend and colleague, Fr. Bill Miscamble. There will no doubt be others forthcoming in the days and years ahead. David Solomon, though a Baptist for most of his life, was finally received into the Catholic Church last year, several months before his death. Though a Baptist, he was known far and wide in Catholic circles. The annual Center for Ethics and Culture Conference at Notre Dame has for years been one of the most important and most enjoyable Catholic conferences in the country. For decades, David sponsored a conference on Catholic biomedical ethics. And in the summers, he would direct a week-long educational retreat, the Vita Institute, to train future pro-life leaders. David Solomon was, in short, one of the most important driving forces in Catholic intellectual and moral life during the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. His passing is a great sorrow and a great loss to his family, friends, and the Church. Like the death of his great friend Ralph McInerny, David's passing leaves a hole that simply cannot be filled. One can only devotedly carry on the work they began - the work they so dutifully inherited from their forebears and so nobly carried on themselves. There is no way of summing up the significance of a life, especially one as significant as David Solomon's. But perhaps three brief lessons are in order. The first is simply how much of a difference one man can make. This is something worth remembering in a world that seems so often to be spinning totally beyond our control. A second lesson comes from a story David would tell after he became Catholic. He directed and taught in Notre Dame's London Program for a time, and he would pass a lovely, little Catholic church on his way home each day. He would often stop in and pray and thus seeds were planted that would bear...…
By John M. Grondelski. A recent issue of The Atlantic carried Kristen Brown's report, "The Coming Democratic Baby Bust," which argues that the first Trump Administration was marked by a sharp fall in births in Democratic locales. Brad Wilcox from the Institute of Family Studies (IFS) and the University of Virginia has also just brought out a study speaking of a "Trump bump," offering statistics that during Trump One, Republican counties had higher than expected fertility, Democratic ones lower: "In the past 12 years, the geographic relationship between voting Republican and having more babies has grown by 85 percent." That news, however, comes with this warning: those kids aren't necessarily always being born into stable families. Put plainly, the nexus between wedlock and birthing is also weak in GOP circles. If a picture is worth a thousand words, perhaps the most compelling one these days is a 40-year-old vice president toting around his three little children. That is in marked contrast to the previous administration, whose head was pushing 80 and whose party is largely made up of people of the same age and post-menopausal women. And note I spoke of Vance's three kids: the last time we remember kids - plural - that young on the White House lawn were Caroline and John-John. The Atlantic article and IFS data tally with anecdotal reports we've heard in recent years. There's been no dearth of people, including celebrities like Miley Cyrus, announcing they were foregoing reproduction "for the planet." Donald Trump's reelection brought Korea's 4B movement (no dating, no marrying, no having sex, no babies with men) to America's shores, no lack of TikTokers promising four years of celibacy and chastity (probably with as little follow-through as threats to "leave the country," to say nothing of what they mean by such terms). Of course, it's not just about Trump but also the works and pomps of the Republican agenda. Its most consequential result was the Dobbs decision, undoing the abortion-on-demand-through-birth license of Roe v. Wade. Democrats made "abortion rights" the centerpiece of their 2024 campaign. It was the one thing Kamala Harris managed to be somewhat clear about. As a campaign issue, abortion-on-demand didn't yield the votes it was supposed to. But that doesn't mean it was devoid of consequences. Arguably, it left behind an even more corrosive effect: no small number of women of childbearing age are convinced that having a baby in the 21st century is an inherently risky, even life-threatening undertaking absent the guarantee of abortion-on-demand throughout pregnancy. Michigan State Representative Laurie Pohutsky (D-Wayne) took to social media to announce her response to the prospect of having a baby under Trump II: sterilization. This narrative, stoked by Democratic politicians looking to undermine Dobbs, is an egregious example of disinformation. Not misinformation. Disinformation: no reasonable person can believe that having a baby today in America is akin to having one in fifth-century Asia. But what should be of most concern about all this is an even bigger phenomenon, one that I would call the "politicization of procreation." The Left constantly invokes Pierre Eliot Trudeau's call back in the 1960s to "get the government out of the nation's bedrooms." But the Left's tendency to see everything through the lens of politics has, in practice, kept the government in bedrooms. It's a latter-day addition to Thomas Mann's adage that "everything is politics." Sure, the progressives speak of the "ethic of choice" - "regardless of one's views, we should agree that politicians should not decide." That, of course, has always been a red herring: every time politicians or anyone else make choices, they make moral judgments. The problem is not that moral judgments occur; it's that its critics don't like certain judgments. The politicization of procreation brings the government into the bedroom in a different way: by turning ...…
by Dominic V. Cassella. As a Byzantine Catholic, I can always tell if someone has little exposure to the Eastern Christian tradition because of two things. One, when they visit a Byzantine Church, they will genuflect when entering the pew - while many Eastern Catholics will make a bow with the sign of the cross. And two, they will kneel during the consecration and after receiving the Eucharist. Now, while I never thought twice about kneeling in a Roman Church or genuflecting before sliding into the pew, watching Roman Catholics kneel at a Byzantine Church used to irk me: "I kneel at your Church, why don't you stand at mine?" And while I recognize kneeling as an act of piety, I think it is worth explaining precisely why Byzantine Catholics do not kneel on Sunday, in case anyone reading this may find themselves there. (I'll leave Cardinal Cupich's controversial order that Chicago Catholics should not kneel at altar rails to receive Communion - based on notions of traffic flow - which is quite a different subject for another day.) To do this, we have to go back 1700 years to the Council of Nicaea - the anniversary of which we celebrate this year. At the Council, the Fathers of the Church mainly deliberated and debated Christology, resulting in the condemnation of Arianism. However, they also laid out various canons concerning liturgical practice and calendrical systems. Many people today might not know that at the Council of Nicaea, the Church declared in Canon 20 that there should be no kneeling on the Lord's Day or during the Pentecost season. Several questions arise when we consider this Canon: Why on earth would the First Holy Ecumenical Council of the Church think it important to forbid kneeling on Sundays and during the season of Pentecost? Did not Benedict XVI in The Spirit of the Liturgy remind us of the story of an old Abbot who saw the Devil, black and ugly as he was, with no knees? Isn't the inability to kneel the very essence of the diabolical? (Philippians 2:10) In On the Holy Spirit (27.66), Basil the Great explains this practice and gives the reason, which explains why, to this day, Eastern Catholics do not kneel on Sunday. Writing just a few decades after the Council of Nicaea, Basil tells us that: We all stand for prayer on Sunday, but not everyone knows why. We stand for prayer on the day of the Resurrection to remind ourselves of the graces we have been given: not only because we have been raised with Christ and are obliged to seek the things that are above, but also because Sunday seems to be an image of the age to come. . . .It is, therefore, necessary for the Church to teach her newborn children to stand for prayer on this day [Sunday], so that they will always be reminded of eternal life, and not neglect preparations for their journey. Basil tells us that the early Church (and still the Eastern Christians today) stood on Sundays when they prayed so that they were not neglectful of the journey. In saying this, we learn that standing on Sunday echoes God's command to the Israelites in Egypt, who were told to eat the Passover with "your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and you shall eat it in haste. It is the LORD's Passover." (Exodus 12:11) The passion, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ is the new Passover. He is the Lamb of God. (John 1:29) When they partook of the Eucharistic celebration of this new Passover on Sunday, like the Israelites in Egypt, the early Christians remained standing because they understood themselves as the pilgrim Church. The word pilgrim comes from the Latin per, which means "beyond," and agri, which means "country or land;" literally, a pilgrim is someone who is "beyond or outside of their country." When we are baptized into Christ and put on Christ, our Kingdom and homeland is not of this world. (John 18:36) Instead, by becoming Christians, we are made citizens of a new nation, the City of God. As citizens of God's Kingdom, we are essent...…
By Auguste Meyrat. In any discussion about the foundational cities of Western civilization, most scholars would name Jerusalem, Athens, and Rome. Jerusalem was the birthplace of the great monotheistic religions that defined the West's spirituality, morality, and civic culture. Athens was the origin of the West's intellectual and artistic traditions. And besides being the exemplar of law, governance, and secular virtue, Rome was also the home of the Catholic Church, which repurposed many of these human pursuits to foster God's Kingdom on earth. There are some scholars, however, who would like to add Alexandria, Egypt to this list. Not only is it a city that has endured for millennia, but it has arguably played a large role in forming and inspiring Western Civilization throughout the ages. One writer trying to make this case is the British-Alexandrian historian Islam Issa. His latest book Alexandria: the City that Changed the World ardently tries to prove that Alexandria "is neglected in comparison to other centres of antiquity" despite being "a megalopolis without which Judaism, Christianity, and Islam would be unrecognisable." In support of this thesis, he gives a comprehensive history of the city, starting from its founding by Alexander the Great in 331 BC up to the current day. As Issa (somewhat tediously) lists each and every famous monument (like the Great Library or Lighthouse of Pharos), scholar (like Euclid and Origen), and political leader (the Ptolemies, Cleopatras, Julius Caesar, Napoleon Bonaparte, and Muhammad Ali), it's fair to declare that Alexandria is undoubtedly a great city with a rich history. Located next to the Nile and the Mediterranean near the intersection of Europe, Asia, and Africa, nearly everything and everyone at one point or another made its way through Alexandria. For all this, however, Issa's history ironically reveals why Alexandria was only a great city and not an iconic and foundational one. At no point in its history does the city ever become more than the sum of its parts. Unlike Jerusalem, Athens, and Rome, Alexandria has always been a house divided. Since its founding, the city has seen one protracted struggle after another: Greeks against Egyptians, Western Christianity against Eastern Christianity, Christians against Muslims, Abbasids against Mamluks, Europeans against Ottomans, and Westernized Liberalism against Socialist Nationalism. Of course, this is no accident since the city was founded on cosmopolitanism, always catering to different cultures and demographics. This meant it remained ideologically and philosophically diverse, never committing to any particular worldview or tradition. In effect, this left the city without a soul or much of an identity beyond being an overgrown melting pot. Contrary to Issa's subtitle, "The City that Changed the World," Alexandria was continually changed by the world, not vice versa. Every political and cultural movement, along with every plague, war, or personal vice, would cycle through Alexandria, leaving its mark on the city. Far more than its dazzling monuments and famous individuals, Issa inadvertently illustrates how Alexandria was characterized by its mob violence, tyrannical (and sometimes incestuous) rulers, civil wars, and booming sex trafficking. Reflecting today's common belief that multiculturalism is an unalloyed good, Issa relentlessly spins these darker consequences into positive developments. In his view, these are not the obvious signs of division, degeneracy, and corruption, but of tolerance and progress. For Issa, the real villains are the non-Muslim outsiders who cast judgment and try to change Alexandria. He'll spend several pages on Christians persecuting the Alexandrian female philosopher Hypatia, yet remain utterly mum about the periodic massacres of Christians during the centuries of Muslim occupation. And for good measure, he includes extensive details about the British writer E.M. Forster having a homosexual affair w...…
by Francis X. Maier This is a column about Betty and Les Ruppersberger. To the eye, they look like any other ordinary married couple. And in a way, they are like other ordinary couples. Keep them in your memory because I'll come back to them in a moment. But first, consider the following. One of the most vivid chapters in Scripture is Genesis 18. In the course of its thirty-three verses, God hears of the wickedness in Sodom and Gomorrah - the biblical "cities of the plain." He comes down to investigate for himself in the guise of three travelers. On the way, he appears to Abraham at the Oaks of Mamre, resting at Abraham's tent and promising his wife Sarah a son despite her advanced age. Then, as Genesis notes: [The] men turned from there and went toward Sodom; but Abraham still stood before the Lord. Then Abraham drew near and said, "Will you indeed destroy the righteous with the wicked? Suppose there are fifty righteous in the city; will you then destroy the place and not spare it for the fifty righteous who are in it? Far be it from you to do such a thing, to slay the righteous with the wicked. . . . Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?" And the Lord said, "If I find at Sodom fifty righteous in the city, I will spare the whole place for their sake." Abraham, though a creature (in his own words) of mere "dust and ashes," is nonetheless an accomplished wheedler. He presses his appeal to God's justice. He begs God to spare Sodom if only forty, or even thirty, or even only ten righteous persons can be found in the city. And moved by this, God gives His word. Alas, the rest of the story is a matter of unhappy record. God's forbearance has a limit to the abuse it will take. Sodom lacks even ten righteous souls. Lot and his family, Abraham's kin, are warned to flee the city. As Sodom is destroyed, Lot's wife looks back. She instantly becomes a pillar of salt. So how does any of this relate to ordinary Betty and Les? At the start of his career, Les - Doctor Les (he specialized in obstetrics and gynecology) - was asked if he'd be willing to do abortions. He said no. Les was a Catholic, of the nominal sort, but he'd been adopted as an infant himself, so abortion was the one ugly procedure he wouldn't do. On the other hand, he was happy to offer contraceptives and sterilizations. He did that for many years. He rose rapidly in his profession. He earned an enviable reputation as a leader. He made a very comfortable living. And he carried a commensurate level of stress, along with the chronic anger it produced. The results were predictable. In 1991, he survived a stroke. He tracks the beginning of the change in his life from that point. Les returned to the Church and the sacraments. He also continued to provide sterilizations and contraceptives as part of his medical practice. It wasn't until 1999, after a retreat, a direct challenge from a priest acquaintance, and the encouragement and support of Betty, that Les told his medical partners - partners in the practice Les himself had cofounded - that he would no longer prescribe contraceptives or do sterilizations. They immediately cut his income by a third. Betty and Les sold their house and moved to a smaller place. And they did more - much more in life - with less. They've been married fifty-four years. Betty (as Les would be the first to say) has been key to everything they've done. Together they've taught natural family planning, marriage prep, RCIA, given scores of chastity talks, produced a radio program, and been vigorous in prolife causes. Les is a past president of the Catholic Medical Association (CMA), and served on the CMA board for thirteen years. He currently serves as the medical director for three crisis pregnancy centers that saved 426 babies from abortion last year and some 4,000 others over a 15-year history. In 2019, Pope Francis named Betty and Les as a pontifical dame and knight in the Order of St. Gregory the Great, an exceptional honor by the Holy See, ...…
by Michael Pakaluk It happens almost without fail that when I try to insert an old-style USB plug into a socket for it, I get it the wrong way. Moreover, when I say to myself, "I am probably inserting it the wrong way once again. Therefore, this time I will reverse what I intended to do," and then flip it, I invariably discover that I did have it the right way, and that in trying to correct myself I made it wrong again. But how can this be? Can the universe really be so designed, that I am meant to encounter a contradiction every time I try to plug in an old-style USB? Is the contradiction so strongly woven into reality that - like the angel of death in the old tale - when you've thought you've avoided it, it has captured you, nonetheless? I've often been tempted to write a column on this contradiction. In the past, I dismissed the idea, because it seemed silly. But then yesterday a friend wrote to complain, out of the blue and unprompted: "Every time I'm tempted to play Lotto I recall how often, when I plug a USB cord into one of those adapters, I plug it in wrong." Maybe it's not just me. In any case, I want to say that there is a broad class of similar phenomena, where the world seems designed to annoy us with contradictions. The word "annoyance" is itself telling. It comes from the word for hateful, "odious." Something an-oying, presents something hateful to us, an-odious. If the world is designed to be annoying, then it is designed to be hated - which seems profoundly correct from a Christian point of view. Surely a good God would design a world that pricks us with small hateful things. Hence the answer to the puzzle of why there are spiders, mosquitoes, cockroaches, gnats, and flies. We try to minimize annoyances, yet we cannot remove them. Entire institutions are dedicated to removing them. We call them "resorts." Resorts can succeed in producing an annoyance-free life for a few days, perhaps (even if the USB problem perdures). But we know resorts are unreal. A wise traveler expects a resort to fail. He will take it in stride if he sees a dust bunny in a corner, or if the lobby coffee isn't hot, or the leaf blower in the morning is too loud. In war, ordinary annoyances grow in size to become almost overwhelming, as if the world rises up in protest against the war - the mud, the rats, the maggots, the stench. Mosquitoes are naturally occurring annoyances. But we bring them upon ourselves, if we leave around lots of standing water, so that they become part natural, part artificial. Then there are annoyances which specifically bedevil our devices and machines. That these are a distinct class is shown by our invention of a distinct word for them, "gremlins" - a word which did not exist before the 1920s. Its popularity today is traceable back to its use by U.S. servicemen in World War II. We cannot escape the effects of original sin with our machines. Gremlins will inevitably get into the best-designed and manufactured jeeps, tanks, and airplanes. Likewise, it is an unalterable rule that microphones will malfunction in public events. Perfectly good projectors fail more than they work. Phone buttons fail when they are most necessary. . . all because of gremlins. Perhaps we should distinguish a "spoiling" from an annoyance. The rule that any material object that you love inordinately will be damaged the very first day that you own it is a rule of spoiling. The rule that you will need to fight feelings of regret and recrimination everyday thereafter is a rule of annoyance. Annoyances seem gender-specific. Men are annoyed by such things as that it is impossible to pick up a collar stay. We lose at least one sock in every wash. The charcoal runs out only when we are confident that we have plenty. Plastic wrap inevitably splits and starts building up exponentially on a small portion of the roll. Hairs grow from the side of our ears at the rate of 2 inches per night. These are annoying things, and they are transient. The annoyan...…
by Daniel B. Gallagher. I'm a Luddite, but I can't turn a blind eye to how deeply technology has affected my teaching. On the one hand, it's hard to imagine a greater gift to the humanities than the Internet. Not only can you pull up classical texts in readable transcriptions, you can instantly access high-resolution images of those texts in manuscript form. Pop into the Latin Library for a text-only version of the Aeneid, or go the Vatican Library for stupendous images of the Vergilius Vaticanus, a 1,600-year-old illuminated codex. Few of my students, of course, are trained to work with the Vergilius Vaticanus, but with a little Latin, they can delve into Virgil, Ovid, Horace, Cicero, Livy, and a host of other Latin authors at the Latin Library. You would think that such ready access to the great works of the past would make it possible to bring students with little to no background up to speed rather quickly. Take Dante's Divine Comedy, for instance. You don't even need to have a physical copy anymore (though don't be caught dead in my class without one). You have the entire Italian text, multiple English translations, and copious commentary all at Digital Dante. Considering how little students know about mythology, Christianity, philosophy, theology, history, and all the other things you need to know to follow the Commedia, the Internet is a godsend. Never heard of Pasiphaë? Go to Wikipedia. Then click "images" and immerse yourself in a range of artworks depicting the Cretan queen mating with the Minotaur. Don't know Guido Guinizelli? His biography is yours with the click of a button. So are his poems, his portrait, and an article that analyzes a recently discovered manuscript of his poem Omo ch'è saggio non corre leggero ("A wise man does not run lightly"). In short, you can make up for a lifetime of lost learning or write a decent term paper without ever entering a library. But herein lies the mystery. Why don't students do it? Why don't they take the simple steps necessary to become familiar with the Middle Ages or fill in other knowledge gaps that have widened during their youth, often through no fault of their own? Plenty of studies have already shown the detrimental effects of desultory Internet browsing. Many tech enthusiasts have conversely argued for the astounding learning progress possible through apps such as Duolingo. Being the Luddite that I am, I want to offer two other answers, one more distressing than the other. The first is that the humanities must be taught with passion - a passion that inspires students to read, say, the entire Iliad, not the CliffsNotes. Even with a world full of books at his disposal, the average student, no matter how bright, won't turn the cover page of the Iliad unless someone has at least suggested to him that it will change his life. But this is not merely a matter of cheerleading. Plenty of parents in the homeschooling movement do that day after day, but - again, through no fault of their own - have red only the CliffsNotes. They know the importance of the great books but have only a vague idea of what makes them great. You can only figure that out by reading the entire Iliad. The Iliad will change your life, the CliffsNotes will not. My wife and I homeschool four, so I know it's easier said than done. But I can offer no other answer. I am afraid the second answer is much more serious. Namely, maybe there are no gaps. What appear to be gaps are actually corners of the brain stuffed with garbage, false narratives, and outright woke propaganda. Where a love of Homer and Dante and many others should reign, a wrathful cynicism towards everything they represent seethes and rots. This became glaringly evident to me during the infamous February 16th interview with Marco Rubio on Face the Nation. The host, Margaret Brennan, asked the Secretary of State to respond to criticisms directed at J.D. Vance for meeting with the leader of the far-right Alternative for Germany party, Alice We...…
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