Nietzsche on Martin Luther

I've been having to research Nietzsche a bit lately, and I came across the following quote about Luther, which I thought I'd share and get your thoughts on it (if you have any). In the context of his impugning Christianity and showing utter disdain for the apostles and the New Testament they produced, Nietzsche quickly jumps ahead in history all the way to Luther, and says

Luther's resistance to the mediating saints of the Church (in particular, to 'the Devil's sow, the Pope') was, there is no doubt, at bottom the resistance of a lout frustrated by the good etiquette of the Church, the reverential etiquette of hieratic taste which admits only the more initiated and more silent into the holy of holies and bars it to the louts. Here of all places these louts were to be refused a say once and for all—but Luther, the peasant, wanted things to be completely different, they did not seem sufficiently German to him in this form: he wanted above all to talk directly to his God, to talk to Him for himself, to talk to Him 'without airs and graces'. . . Well, this he did.—The ascetic ideal, as one may surmise, has never been a school of good taste, even less of good manners—it was at best a school of hieratic manners—: this is because its composition includes something which is a mortal enemy of all good manners—lack of moderation, aversion to moderation, it is itself a 'non plus ultra'. {source: Genealogy of Morals, III:22, trans. by Douglas Smith, Oxford, 1997}

What do you think? Insightful? Idiotic? More ramblings of an authentic atheist, albeit a rather clever one?

Christ and the first six General Councils of the Church

The 7th General (or "Ecumenical") Council of the Church, as most people reading my posts already know, dealt strongly with the issue of iconoclasm. The 7th Council is most known for these dealings and subsequent condemnation of the iconoclasts.

But, prior to this Council, the Church had 6 General Councils in all. And it could be truly said that these first few Councils dealt more with Christology (and the Trinity, almost by implication in the Christology) than with any other subject. Given this, a certain Christological view flows forth from the first six Holy and General Councils of the Church. This is a Christology which, it seems, all mainstream Protestant denominations hold-to. In fact, most of them would agree with these first Six Councils and condemn as a heretic anyone who denied the following view of Christ, which springs forth from these Councils.

Christ could be truly said to be the Second Person of the Triune Godhead. He is of the same substance as the Father and Holy Spirit. That is, Christ is one in essence with the Father and the Holy Spirit. There is one Person (hypostasis) of Christ, even though in the Incarnation, the one Person takes on two natures: one divine, one human. He is fully divine in the Incarnation, yet he is fully human in the Incarnation as well. Each of the two natures possessed by the one hypostasis of the Son has a will of its own. That is, Christ has two wills to correspond to the two natures: one divine, one human.

Now, contemporary Evangelical Protestants writings systematic theologies will invariably point, not to the first six Councils which really gave them their "orthodox" view, but to the Bible as support for all of these dogmas concerning Christ. (The last one which condemned Monotholitism, it must be admitted, is the most difficult one for which to find explicit biblical support. That Christ has two wills does not exactly jump off the pages of Scripture, and most honest Protestants will admit this.) But what is interesting to me is that one needs only to consider any historic heretic who was condemned in one of these early Councils (the list in an earlier post will do well: "Novatian expounds in one way, Sabellius in another, Donatus in another, Arius, Eunomius and Macedonius in another, Photinus, Apollinaris, and Priscillian in another, Jovinian, Pelagius and Caelestius in another, and latterly Nestorius in another"). Every single one of them mustered scriptural support for their various rejections of the bare-bones Christology given above. (Modern day "cults" do the same. See JW's or Mormons)

What is more is that when one reads a contemporary Evangelical systematics textbook covering Christology, the writer will appeal to scriptural passages as if that settles the matter in question. What seems to be the problem with this procedure is twofold. First, often the verses cited in support of the Christology coming out of the first 6 Councils do not overwhelm you with their obviousness, in terms of actually being solid and undeniable support for the Christological position staked out by the Protestant. The texts are often cited, however, in such a way as to lead the reader to think that the author believes there to be no reasonable view of the verse in question, outside of the view held by the author. This stretches credulity to say the least. Second, if the Scriptures themselves are the very things giving rise to the "orthodox" views concerning Christ, then why is it that the Scriptures themselves were used as primary supports by all the heretics condemned by these first few Councils. If the Scriptures are so overwhelmingly obvious in these regards, then it seems we are left with an odd view: they give rise to both orthodoxy and heterodoxy. Or it seems we must conclude that the early heretics were either insane or quite stupid, given that they missed the obviousness of the scriptural passages supporting the Conciliar view of Christ. Either option, again, stretches credulity.

It seems to me that a Protestant must be honest and admit that he gets his Christological orthodoxy from the Bible and the Councils. To not admit this seems as disingenuous as if he were to say that his 27 books of the New Testament in his Bible have nothing to do with the canonical pronouncements of the local councils of Hippo and Carthage. Yes, the Bible does support orthodox Christology, but it doesn't do so in such a way as to make one an idiot if he believes, for example, that Christ has only one will to correspond to his singular Personhood (or if he believes in monophysitism or modalism). And if you admit that though the Scriptures are fairly clear, yet not altogether sufficient to give one a full-blown Christology (and we not being altogether infallible interpreters of the fairly clear Scriptures), then you are on your way to a proper view of how orthodoxy comes about: i.e., from the Sacred Scriptures, Sacred Tradition, and the Magisterium (especially in the Ecumenical Councils).

And, of course, it seems to me that a Protestant getting his "orthodox" view of the Trinity and Christ from these Councils raises instantly the issue of the infallibility of the Church. If orthodox means necessarily true in the mind of a Protestant, then what were the decrees of those first six Councils other than infallible? If the Christology you hold is orthodox, and it corresponds exactly with the Christology of the 6 Councils, then it was either luck that the Councils got it right and agreed with you (!). Or, rather that the view you hold is orthodox specifically because the Councils from which you mediately inherit the view were infallible. In which case, the Church must have some charism of general infallibility, irrespective of what one believes of the specific infallibility as regards the pope. But, a post on general infallibility must wait for another day.

The Primacy of Sts. Augustine and Thomas Aquinas

I recall a former professor of mine, who was very fond of both St. Augustine of Hippo and St. Thomas Aquinas, recollecting with some disdain his interactions with Catholicism when conducting his doctoral studies at a Jesuit university. He agreed with J. Pelikan (former Lutheran scholar who later converted to Eastern Orthodoxy) that Roman Catholicism is an "enigma" or "riddle." In the context of my professor's particular comments this had to do with what he experienced prior to, during, and after the Second Vatican Council, with respect to attitudes toward his intellectual hero--St. Thomas Aquinas. He noted that the academic climate prior to the Council was very amenable to St. Thomas Aquinas. In fact, studies centered on St. Thomas seemed to be all the rage in the 1940's, 50's and early 60's. However, with the closing of Vatican II in 1965, it seemed to my professor that St. Thomas was the proverbial 'baby' thrown out with the pre-conciliar 'bathwater.' All of a sudden in 1965, so it seemed to him at the time, St. Thomas was 'out' and phenomenology was 'in.' This contributed, needless to say, to my professor's belief in the enigma or "riddle" of Roman Catholicism.

No doubt, something to this effect did occur. It cannot be denied that interest in St. Thomas Aquinas, to say nothing of St. Augustine, has waned in the post-conciliar years. However, the following stats are truly remarkable to consider, given the widespread misconception that Sts. Augustine and (especially) Thomas Aquinas are 'out' for the contemporary Catholic Church. What follows below is taken from an appendix to a book called The Doctors of the Church by Bernard McGinn. It is particularly instructive to note the sheer numbers of references of the two (to my mind) greatest of the 33 overall doctors of the Church. I will list how often both of them are cited in the two most recent collections of official teachings of the Catholic Church: Vatican II and the official Catechism. Then I will cite the next two most often cited doctors of the Church, and you will see the wide gulf that separates Sts. Augustine and Thomas from all other scholars of the Catholic Church's rich heritage. And I mean, from all others.

Number of citations in Vatican II (1962-65) and the recent (1994, 2000) Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC):

__________________Vatican II__CCC
St. Augustine_____________522___87
St. Thomas Aquinas________ 734 ___61

Pope Gregory the Great______128____6
St. Ambrose______________111____21

After Gregory the Great and Ambrose the numbers only fall dramatically lower in terms of others who are referenced. Look at the enormous disparity that exists between Augustine and Thomas Aquinas on the one hand and (basically) everyone else on the other, both in Vatican II itself and in the Catechism that came as a result of the Council. So, it seems to me that irrespective of whatever certain theologians in Jesuit institutions did subsequent to the Council, the idea that 'the days of Sts. Augustine and Thomas Aquinas are over' is a terrible myth whose time has long passed from relevance. It needs to be moved to its proper place of obscurity within the history of Catholicism--somewhere near other misguided ideas like that Mary is the third person of the Trinity or that the Catholic Church encourages its members to not read the Bible, etc. Wherever it is that these ideas go (maybe limbo, since apparently babies are no longer thought to go there?), this idea surely needs to go there too.

Vatican Council I on the Nature of God

Again, I think all my fellow Thomists out there will be greatly appreciative of the following quote from Vatican Council I, Chapter 1: “On God the creator of all things.” I find it particularly interesting that this understanding of God overlaps will all sorts of individuals who are otherwise theologically at odds with each other on various important issues (e.g., Charnock, Garrigou-Lagrange, and N. Geisler), yet nevertheless remain unified in the common belief on the nature of God. Is this a triumph of Thomism?

The holy, catholic, apostolic and Roman church believes and acknowledges that there is one true and living God, creator and lord of heaven and earth, almighty, eternal, immeasurable [lat. immensum], incomprehensible, infinite in will, understanding and every perfection. Since he is one, singular, completely simple and unchangeable spiritual substance, he must be declared to be in reality and in essence, distinct from the world, supremely happy in himself and from himself, and inexpressibly loftier than anything besides himself which either exists or can be imagined. (source: Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, v. II, Fr. Norman P. Tanner, S.J., ed.)

Vatican Council I on the Existence of God

I thought all my fellow Thomistically-minded Christians would appreciate this dogmatic decree from the First Vatican Council concerning the existence of God. I think there is an enormous amount of overlap between what the Council pronounces and how many Thomists themselves would reason, whether or not they are Catholics. The following is from the opening line of chapter 2 of the Council's decrees:

The same holy mother church holds and teaches that God, the source and end of all things, can be known with certainty from the consideration of created things, by the natural power of human reason [lat. naturali humanae rationis lumine]: ‘ever since the creation of the world, his invisible nature has been clearly perceived in the things that have been made,’ (Rom. 1:20). {source: Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, v. II, Fr. Norman P. Tanner, S.J., ed.}

As Boston College philosophy professor Peter Kreeft (himself a convert to Catholicism) once said, "It is a dogma of faith that the existence of God is not just a dogma of faith."

What will you have, Reformation or Revolution?

A very close friend of mine from my high school days and beyond is in the RCIA process of converting to the Catholic Church. He is to be received into the Church this coming Easter. He has never formally studied philosophy or theology. But, he rhetorically asks an interesting question: If the Reformation happened, why is anyone still protesting? That is, if the Church was indeed reformed, why would anyone remain out of communion with it? This is a fascinating question, it seems to me, which presupposes that the Church indeed underwent a period of reformation in response to the writings and wranglings of Luther, Zwingli, and Calvin.

Many Catholic scholars do attest that at least one good thing that came as a result of the Protestant Reformation and this was the Catholic Reformation. St. Catherine of Sienna and others had called for a massive reformation in the Church much prior to the rise of Martin Luther. But by the time the Church got a pope who was serious about enacting widespread reform in the Catholic Church (which was Pope Paul III, 1534-49), Protestantism was already itself widespread throughout Europe. (Incidentally, there were many religious orders founded during this time, and the most successful was to come from St. Ignatius Loyola-the Jesuits; the order was founded the same year as the election of Pope Paul III.) Paul III appointed a large commission of cardinals and other important individuals to study his proposed agenda for a massive council of the Church and to present a report on abuses in the Church. Pope Paul III apparently anticipated much of what the commission had to report on abuses and recommendations for reform and brought changes to the papal court and Curia prior to the Council, which he would initiate. This would be the monumental Council of Trent (1545-1563). (The Council stretched over many years, but only during short stretches of time did it do most of its work.) Paul III was followed by even more aggressive popes for bringing about reform and continuing the Council until it was brought to completion. Again, this time was additionally brought blessings by such great men as Sts. Peter Canisius and Charles Borromeo. Also famous from this time period and evidence of the reinvigoration of the Church were: Sts. Teresa of Avila, Vincent de Paul, John of the Cross, and Francis de Sales.

But it was St. Pius V (1566-1572) who would bring about some of the most lasting and impressive of the implementations of the Council. He revised the Roman Breviary (1568) and the Roman Missal (1570). And published the last universal catechism of the Catholic Church before the current one: it was known as the Roman Catechism (1566).

As has often been the case in the long history of the Church, reforms had been called for and they have been met. So, it seems that my friend's question is a reasonable one. Why be a non-Catholic Christian in a post-Reformation age? It seems to me that the only way for a non-Catholic Christian to answer this question is to give an anti-Catholic answer. That is, by providing an answer that no Christian would have given prior to the 16th century. For example, the answer given by a Protestant today as to why he persists outside of the Church will be in direct contradistinction to the views expressed by St. Vincent of Lerins in the 2 prior posts. An enormous amount of that which has been dogmatically declared in the 18 Ecumenical Councils and widely believed by all Catholics prior to Martin Luther has fallen from belief and practice among the vast majority of all Protestants. And in this way, the spirit of Protestantism exists in an attitude of anti-(pre-16th century)-Christianity. One who does little other than hearken back to the Bible (or to the Bible and the first six General Councils of the Church) cannot do otherwise than to be anti-Christian in this way. That is to say, much of the teaching of Luther (and especially Zwingli) merely contradicted widely believed and received teachings of the Church, even teaching (e.g., on the Eucharist) which had been settled long before (e.g., in the 4th Lateran Council).

If there was reformation, and there was widespread correction of abuses in the Church, then why persist in disunity with the Church? This question leads me to believe that what was wanted by the original Protestants was not so much Reformation as Revolution. Protestantism is not so much the reforming of that which is ancient as it is the overturning of so much believed by and practiced in the Church prior to the 16th century. When beliefs and practices, which have such ancient and well-established precedent in the Church, are done away with by the Reformers, what could this be but Revolution?

St. Vincent of Lerins and Progress in the One Church

The progress of dogma is a way in which the ancient Catholic Church remains ever new. This other aspect of the faith, described so well by St. Vincent of Lerins ought to be quoted here too and at length. It reveals the Catholic Faith's dual nature as being ever ancient, yet ever new. By having a venue by which further unfolding of truths would come to the faithful over time, the Church can be progressive and yet not simultaneously sacrifice its ancient nature. It is fascinating to note that so prominent a saint as Vincent of Lerins ostensibly saw no contradiction in what seems to be quite a difficulty for Protestants and some Orthodox, as regards the Catholic Church in this respect. That is to say, many outside the Catholic Church have a difficulty understanding how one can hold so strongly to the ancient nature of the Church (as St. Vincent detailed in the previous post) and also believe in a genuine progress of doctrine.

In chapter 23 of the same writing we quoted in the previous post (i.e., the Commonitorium written in 434) St. Vincent gives the following reflections on progress in the Faith.

But some will say perhaps, Shall there, then, be no progress in Christ's Church? Certainly; all possible progress. For what being is there, so envious of men, so full of hatred to God who would seek to forbid it? Yet on condition that it be real progress, not alteration of the faith. For progress requires that the subject be enlarged in itself; alteration, that it be transformed into something else. The intelligence, then, the knowledge, the wisdom, as well of individuals as of all, as well of one man as of the whole Church, ought, in the course of ages and centuries, to increase and make much and vigorous progress; but yet only in its own kind; that is to say, in the same doctrine, in the same sense, and in the same meaning.

The growth of religion in the soul must be analogous to the growth of the body, which, though in process of years it is developed and attains its full size, yet remains still the same.... For example: Our forefathers in the old time sowed wheat in the Church's field. It would be most unmeet and iniquitous of we, their descendants, instead of the genuine truth of corn, should reap the counterfeit error of tares. This should rather be the result, - there should be no discrepancy between the first and the last. From doctrine which was sown as wheat, we should reap, in the increase, doctrine of the same kind - wheat also; so that when in process of time any of the original seed is developed, and now flourishes under cultivation, no change may ensue in the character of the plant. There may supervene shape, form, variation in outward appearance, but the nature of each kind must remain the same. {source: John R. Willis, S.J. The Teachings of the Church Fathers, p. 100}

St. Vincent of Lerins and Staying in the One True Faith

Hans Urs von Balthasar noted in several of his writings the interesting and paradoxical nature of the Church as being ever old, yet ever new. In this way, the Catholic Church occupies a middle ground between those who are far too progressive and those far too traditional. In this spirit, I offer the following comments of St. Vincent of Lerins, who, perhaps ironically, was a chief proponent of two essential aspects of the Church seemingly at odds with each other. These two aspects are excellent examples of how the one Church is simultaneously ever old and ever new. In his Commonitorium, chapter 2, St. Vincent argues first for the aspect of the Church which is ever old.

I have therefore continually given the greatest pains and diligence to enquiring, from the greatest possible number of men outstanding in holiness and in doctrine, how I can secure a kind of fixed and, as it were, general and guiding principle for distinguishing the true Catholic Faith from the degraded falsehoods of heresy. And the answer that I receive is always to this effect; that if I wish, or indeed if any one wishes, to detect the deceits of heretics that arise and to avoid their snares and to keep healthy and sound in a healthy faith, we ought, with the Lord's help, to fortify our faith in a twofold manner, firstly, that is, by the authority of God's Law, then by the tradition of the Catholic Church.

Here, it may be, some one will ask, Since the canon of Scripture is complete, and is in itself abundantly sufficient, what need is there to join to it the interpretation of the Church? The answer is that because of the very depth of Scripture all men do not place one identical interpretation upon it. The statements of the same writer are explained by different men in different ways, so much so that it seems almost possible to extract from it as many opinions as there are men. Novatian expounds in one way, Sabellius in another, Donatus in another, Arius, Eunomius and Macedonius in another, Photinus, Apollinaris, and Priscillian in another, Jovinian, Pelagius and Caelestius in another, and latterly Nestorius in another. Therefore, because of the intricacies of error, which is so multiform, there is great need for the laying down of a rule for the exposition of Prophets and Apostles in accordance with the standard of the interpretation of the Church Catholic.

Now in the Catholic Church itself we take the greatest care to hold THAT WHICH HAS BEEN BELIEVED EVERYWHERE, ALWAYS, AND BY ALL.
That is truly and properly 'Catholic,' as is shown by the very force and meaning of the word, which comprehends everything almost universally. We shall hold to this rule if we follow universality, antiquity, and consent. We shall follow universality if we acknowledge that one Faith to be true which the whole Church throughout the world confesses; antiquity, if we in no wise depart from those interpretations which it is clear that our ancestors and fathers proclaimed; consent, if in antiquity itself we keep following the definitions and opinions of all, or certainly nearly all, bishops and doctors alike.

What then will the Catholic Christian do, if a small part of the Church has cut itself off from the communion of the universal Faith? The answer is sure. He will prefer the healthiness of the whole body to the morbid and corrupt limb.

But what if some novel contagion try to infect the whole Church, and not merely a tiny part of it? Then he will take care to cleave to antiquity, which cannot now be led astray by any deceit of novelty.

What if in antiquity itself two or three men, or it may be a city, or even a whole province be detected in error? Then he will take the greatest care to prefer the decrees of the ancient General Councils, if there are such, to the irresponsible ignorance of a few men. {source: Henry Bettenson, ed. Documents of the Christian Church, 2d ed., pp. 83-4}

A Victorian Christmas

Since Advent is drawing to a close and the joyous time of Christmas is at last upon us, I thought I'd share with you a little tradition, which my wife and I have decided to incorporate into our family this year. I and my spouse are nostalgic, if not envious of all things Victorian and Georgian (or "Romantic" if you prefer). These periods span from roughly late 18th century to (very) early 20th century. Most of our knowledge of these time-periods are of English and American expressions, though we haven't altogether neglected the sometimes willing French expressions of the same movements. My wife and I are ever endeavoring to incorporate into our homes, as much as it is feasible and advisable to do, various traditions and ways of living borne out of these times.

One such tradition, which it seemed good to begin this year, was the inclusion of a Victorian maxim into our Christmas celebration with our three young boys. Linda Lichter, in her excellent book The Benevolence of Manners, recounts the story of a wealthy American businessman who annually abode by a certain maxim by which he gave gifts to his many children. (Victorian families were often large.) He was not constrained by the necessity of finances, mind you, for he was wealthy. He chose to abide by this maxim for much higher reasons than mere financial necessity. The maxim runs like this:

"Something to eat; something to read; something to play with; something they need"

It has long been a struggle for my wife and I to keep a good focus in the Christmas season, especially with our families on both sides all wrapped up, as it were, in the capitalism run-amuck spirit of contemporary American Christmastime. This year, we have an added difficulty of having begun last year, what turned out to be, a rather bad tradition (not that the tradition itself was bad; rather our incorporation of it) of the 12 Days of Christmas, which begin on Christmas Day and end on Epiphany. What we did last year was to have gift-giving spread out over all 12 days, having the children open only one gift each during every day following Christmas Day. We could barely sustain such an endeavor, and it only seemed to lead to an even worse sense of Christmas (especially for our oldest son) - one which amounted to this: "what Christmas really means is that I get gifts for 12 full days instead of just on the big day of December 25th when not only do my parents give me gifts, but so do all my grandparents, aunts and uncles, etc."

So, hopefully this year, in order to more perfectly celebrate the birth of the Christ-child, we are abandoning the gift-giving over the 12 Days idea, and supplanting it with the Victorian maxim. What this maxim has amounted to is that for each of our children, their gifts from us are: one thing in each of the 4 categories. So, our oldest is getting one thing to play with; one book to read; Jelly Belly's (mmm, yum) to eat; and a pair of pajamas as his thing he needs. (His current "water-wading" version of pajama bottoms just isn't cutting it.)

Grandparents imbibed in the tradition of giving all sorts of gifts for Christmas are not going to change in that regard. We understand that perfectly well. But, at the very least in our little family's home on Christmas morning, we are going to abide by the Victorian principle (in a manner of speaking). And we hope it will make for a more peaceful time when we can reflect on the entrance of Christ into the world.

Combined with this, we have placed an emphasis on Christmas being the welcoming into our home of the Christ-child. And as we do not throw him a party and give him gifts from Wal Mart, we instead talk to our oldest son of the types of gifts this unique Son does want to receive, right along the lines of Matthew 25. Our acts of charity and mercy are the things we can give to Him. These are the gifts fit for the King of the Universe.

Merry Christmas to you all!

Part III in a three-part conversion story

I was able to graduate from the Master's program in good conscience knowing that I would not be working over the entire summer after graduation, and this would give me time enough to finish the investigation, at least in the sense of knowing what the outcome would probably be. The first issue, in order of time and importance, with which I dealt strongly was that of authority. It is of course the most primal question that a believer has. Namely, "Where do I go to find out more about this God in whom I have just come to believe?" Unfortunately, in the hullabaloo of most conversions to the Evangelical faith this question, which is so primal and natural, is fairly well glossed over. New Evangelical converts usually just take any authority's word for it (like the authority of the one who leads us to Christ). Or they just figure out on their own rather quickly from the sermons and Bible studies they attend that Christianity is, at its essence, a “Religion of the Book,” as Yves Congar aptly dubbed Protestantism. I came to understand that this was not what any Christian ever believed prior to the Protestant Reformation. And, what is worse, it is an implausible position for a Christian believer to maintain.

Since the time of the apostles, the people of God have always rested in the comfort of "holy mother Church" being an ever present guide and safety, preserving the faithful from errors which naturally arose in the course of history, and keeping the flock in the one Faith "delivered to the saints." For my part I came to agree with St. Thomas Aquinas when he argued that without one Sovereign Pontiff as a visible head of the church on Earth who could have a final say in important matters of dispute (especially when they arise from the Bible itself), there would be no way of maintaining unity, or even of knowing with any level of assurance what the one Faith is to which a Christian is to give assent.

Secondarily, a Religion of the Book has always been a little unattractive to me. Its gross lack of fulfillment in the normal Christian life of a believer has always been a moderate repulsion. And as anyone who has studied the matter would know, the Catholic Church abounds with aids in fulfillment of a religious life lived out well and seriously. I came to believe that the Catholic Church possesses, protects, and promulgates the fullness of theology, philosophy, apologetics, morality, and religious practice. In fact, the only other churches that even approximate the grandeur of the Catholic Church do so by way of just how much they are like the One Church (e.g., Eastern Orthodox, some Anglican, some Lutheran, etc.).

It is important to point out that this amounts to an addition to my religious beliefs as a Christian, not a subtraction. Being a Catholic amounts to disagreeing with the “Reformers” when they denied the authority of the Church and effectively made themselves the final seats of authority. So, going from Evangelicalism to the Catholic Church is not a repudiation of Evangelicalism, except insofar as Evangelical Christianity denies fundamental tenets of the Faith which were well received before they came along. It is the non-Catholic who denies some amount of received truth, not the other way around. This isn't offensive to Evangelical ears, I hope. I only mean to communicate that the various "solas" (sola fide, sola scriptura, etc.) were denials of things already taught and universally believed by the one historic Church. "Faith alone is the truth concerning justification," says Martin Luther et al., "rather than the already received teaching of faith formed by charity." "The Bible alone is our authority," says Luther et al., "rather than the ancient belief of Sacred Tradition and the Bible."

So, becoming Catholic, I can only imagine, felt a little bit like a Jew becoming an Evangelical Christian. Many more important things are added to the core beliefs and practices you already have as a Jew. You don’t repudiate where you were; you fulfill it. So too with me, I haven’t repudiated all the many good things about Evangelicalism. I’ve fulfilled them. I’ve brought them into a world much larger and much greater than themselves.

This was my story as of two years ago. Much of the content of these three installments has been drawn from a letter I sent to former pastors of mine during Advent of 2003. Since that time, of course, my reflections on Catholicism vs. Protestantism have only grown deeper and my insights (I hope) have grown more various. I intend to make much of the content of this website a series of some of the reflections I have had in the interim 2 years between today and originally making the decision to become Catholic.

Part II of a three-part conversion story

As you may or may not know, Southern Evangelical Seminary, located in metro Charlotte, NC, is very unique among graduate schools of theology. In fact, I know of no other like it. Those which even approximate it (e.g., Trinity Divinity School, Talbot School of Theology, etc.) are a far cry from the teaching of SES in many respects. Two ways in which it is unique are the following. SES has a specific and delineated apologetic method (i.e., the classical method), and it has, further, a specific philosophy (i.e., the philosophy of Thomism, after St. Thomas Aquinas).

Clearly, the great Thomistic Evangelical Dr. Norman Geisler was a huge draw for me to consider SES in the first place. But, when I met the other faculty there, I knew it was the place for me. I didn't even apply to become a student at any of its competitors, as I was so impressed with the caliber of SES upon meeting its faculty and seeing the students it was producing. So, off I and my family went to Charlotte, NC in August, 2000, hoping to end with a Master of Divinity, Apologetics degree.

When I went, I was already convinced of the classical apologetic method, which the seminary (and most notably Geisler) employed. I was also, with a few important exceptions here and there, already convinced of the particular Evangelical theology of the Seminary. What took a little time and a few courses for me to swallow it, was the philosophy advocated by the Seminary. Originally, I thought it odd that a seminary would have a specific philosophy that it espoused. I had always thought the nature of philosophy to be too undetermined for it to be wise for a school to have an "official" philosophical position. Also, I had never read, amazingly enough, any of St. Thomas Aquinas' writings while in undergrad, even being a philosophy major at the University of Georgia! So, I was hesitant without any doubt, not wanting to just accept this philosophy on the authority of the SES professors, all of whom were either Thomists or very sympathetic to Thomism. I wanted to be shown it, and to participate in the discovery of this fact on my own-at least to an extent.

Well, despite my hesitance I did become convinced of the philosophy. That is, I became convinced that the philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas is the highest expression of philosophy ever espoused and that the level of theological work that his philosophy can do for you, is just amazing and unparalleled. It was interesting though that despite my acceptance of classical apologetics, along with the embracing of the philosophy of Thomism, these things together never naturally brought up the question of the overall theologies of many individuals I read in graduate school, an enormous amount of whom were Catholic. And as regards the historical theologians we looked at, the theologies of Sts. Augustine, Anselm or Thomas Aquinas were always just selectively looked at, and appealed to, when it served the Evangelical purpose of SES.

Then I met an individual who would later become very important in my religious life. One of the things he did as we were becoming friends was to introduce to me the importance of the debate between Catholicism and Protestantism. Every student of SES does naturally at least wonder at the thought of the Catholic Church, as in the plausibility of it being "Christ's Church," as it claims itself to be. Even if such thoughts are fleeting and go as quickly as they come, there are still entertained. Any student of history knows just how very ‘Catholic’ the Western Church was prior to the Protestant Reformation. Additionally, the individuals whose texts we SES students would read in our philosophy courses were nearly all, with very rare exceptions, Catholic authors. So, the situation in the Seminary was this: the apologetic method and the philosophy came from Catholics, not Protestants. These few facts are enough to raise a pertinent question for a student, and it usually runs thus: "Why is it that Catholics could be so right in their apologetics and philosophy, and at the same time get it so wrong in their theology?" Could there really be such a disconnect between philosophy and Christian apologetics on the one hand, and the theology they serve on the other? To say the least, this was an interesting question, (which, incidentally, was actually asked in classes) to which I never really heard a good answer. This plaguing question, along with the friend I had met who was already very interested in the Catholic vs. Protestant issue led naturally to an investigation on my part into the historic debate between the two camps.

Of course, I thought that the training I had received in seminary at the time of inquiry was robust enough (and the Catholics necessarily were wrong enough) to make this a short, though interesting investigation. For better or worse, things did not turn out as I had anticipated. I found that the Catholics I had already read and with whom I had been impressed in general apologetics and philosophy were no less impressive when it came to theology and/or apologetics.

The following is Part I of a three-part conversion story

This story is my own. It is offered because a few individuals have requested it. I hope you find aspects of it interesting.


As a fairly young man, I came to believe in God. Being raised in the South in a family whose roots were quite religious, this would not have been surprising to anyone. It was not until high school, however, that I came to take Christianity seriously and treat it as something worth my time and interest. I first encountered God, the Bible, and prayer in the context of conservative Pentecostalism. I began to read the Bible intensely my senior year of high school and maintained a regular and devout prayer life. Subsequent to graduation, I even attended a large Pentecostal university in Tennessee for my freshman year of college. I further entrenched myself in Evangelicalism’s good characteristics during this time. My prayer life grew deeper. My learning of the Bible grew more thorough.

However, it was certainly a lonesome religious tradition I had entered into – as in, “every man for himself.” We were all doing our best to figure things out, whether these things were God himself or what spiritual gifts amounted to or whether it was OK to drink alcohol and/or listen to “secular” music. Ultimately, of course, as it was every man for himself in the search, so it was for the end of the journey. That is to say, how those questions above (and many others besides) were resolved was dependent on little more than how the individual believer cared to resolve them, with the possible exception of who and what God is.

At this time of the journey along the very ‘flexible’ path of Evangelicalism, there were probably only two instances worth mentioning. And they both involved my marriage to a very spiritually-minded girl of all of 19 years of age. As all good Evangelicals did, we read the Bible with great fervor and intensity. We began reading through the Old Testament and the New simultaneously, trying our hand at a ‘through the Bible in a year’ program, and we did complete it.

One thing that leapt off the pages of Scripture, which, though not surprising theologically, yet still startling in its incessantness, was this overall love of new life and the attributing to God of all new life that comes. Whether the life in question was vegetable, animal, or rational animal (i.e., human) all was seen to equally come from God. And in the case of humans and the conception of babies, there was such constancy of joy among the Hebrew women in God giving them children. After combining this growing understanding with our own theological reflections on the legitimacy of spouses to decide for themselves whether human life was coming or not (i.e., whether birth prevention or “control” was morally licit), my wife and I, in our first year of marriage, gave up the birth control pill she was taking. This was an interesting way of becoming a little Catholic without even knowing it. We adopted a moral and theological position against the usage of birth control. It was simplistic, but it was not irrational.

The second major understanding that jumped off the pages of the Bible lead to a great veneration of Holy Communion. Through reading the Gospel passages of the Lord’s Supper and more especially the writings of St. Paul on this issue (cf. 1 Cor. 11), we came to have enormous amounts of veneration for this…, we hardly knew what. We wouldn’t have called it a sacrament, perhaps just a holy experience. One of the most solemn experiences a Christian could have. I still recall with what singular devotion my wife would go to take the bread or the cup. She would actually kneel down before it in prayer and prostrate herself. This was done in a downtown community fellowship in Athens, GA (a college town), so it was a very laid back worship environment. Still, her devotion to the (not quite) Eucharistic Lord was amazing, even at such a stage of Christian infancy for both of us. I also recall at one time rebuking (!) a fellow member of this congregation for his beginning to merely eat the bread (from which we had had Communion) after the service had ended. I dually informed him that this was forbidden, according to the words of the Apostle Paul himself. We are not to simply sit around snacking on the hosts of the Lord. Again, this was all fascinating stuff: for a young Evangelical couple to come to appreciate these very “Catholic” aspects of Christianity without even knowing it or trying to do so.

But, now it’s time to turn to aspects of frustration we had with Evangelicalism. After we left the fellowship in college, for about the next three to four years (before we regularly began attending mass as observers) we did what many young Evangelicals do – we jumped in and out of churches and in and out of denominations. We would always find ourselves unfulfilled, no matter where we were. It was difficult to put a finger on just what was missing. It might be easier to do so now, but then it was some vague idea (brought to the forefronts of our minds by not-so-vague denominational peculiarities) that things just weren’t as they were meant to be. In the end, before we simply began attending mass at the Cathedral of St. Patrick in Charlotte, NC, we were a part of just about the most opposite extreme of Catholic liturgy. It was a church in Charlotte called Warehouse 242. It met (and worshipped!) over Starbucks coffee, young adults dressed like they were out on a date, and loud rock music coming from the “stage” in what was, literally, an old basketball gymnasium. But, prior to that we had given every mainstream Protestant denomination a serious try or at least had attended a few services at each. Episcopalian was nice, Orthodox was better, and Catholic was home – finally home. Not a home that made you perfectly comfortable necessarily. The mass is hardly comforting to an adult who has no family or background in Catholicism and is a first-time attendee. But, there was definitely a sense that this had a correspondence with what my wife and I had always been after.

But, that’s the end of the story. Before we get there, my time at graduate school must be explored as it was also key to my family’s conversion.

The End and Purpose of this Space

This blogspot is intended to be a place primarily for reflection in the broad areas of theology, apologetics, and philosophy, especially as all three are related to the Catholic Faith. It may also double as a space for catechists of St. Michael Catholic Church in Gainesville, GA to interact with the material here presented. In any case, we will explore aspects and facets of the grand religion that is Catholicism. As a convert from Evangelicalism myself, it is likely that a good bit of time will be spent interacting with material relevant to issues pertaining to the distinctions between Catholicism and non-Catholic Christianity. These will be my primary focuses, at least at the outset.

At the very least, I hope to do two things very well. First, I hope to present material that is interesting and worth others reading. Though I will by no means endeavor to say that my posts will be scholarly, I do hope they will, in the main, be responsible. Second, I will endeavor to conduct all aspects of this blogspot with the highest regard for civility. Civility has come to be extremely important to me in recent years, as morality was to me when I was younger. Civility can be seen as a type of social morality anyway, and I will ever strive to have all conduct on this modest space be within the bounds of civility.

Given this groundwork, let us begin.

Beginnings

Coming soon will be a general introduction to this site explaining its purpose. After this time, a conversion story will follow.