Library Book Club - Meeting on 27 July

Even though we had a few apologies for last Friday night's meeting, a good number of us engaged in a great discussion of Julien Green, Each Man in His Darkness, and unanimously agreed it was an impressive and a profound Catholic novel. Green's acute sensibility to the struggles of adhering to faith over human desire was evident in the portrayal of his characters where he was swinging the pendulum back and forth as it were between sensual desire and religious devotion, which gave the narrative a gripping intensity that was sustained till the end. What was so powerfully memorable was how a tormented soul grappling with the duality of faith and lust but one where faith ultimately overrides recurring human failings, and through its strength is able to recapture a childhood innocence only to be found in loving God and yielding to His Will is ultimately one that reminds us of God's patience and unending desire for our salvation.

We next meet on Friday, 31 August to read Walker Percy (1981) The Second Coming, Martin Secker & Warburg, reprinted 1985 Panther Books

“The Second Coming spends much of its content in unspoken but printed dialog of Will Barrett (the principal character) with himself and/or people he has dealt with in his past. He talks his way through his memories and throughout the book confronts his personal struggle with spiritual belief. Barrett decides he will put God to the test. He will enter a cave near his home in North Carolina, telling no one what he is doing but leaving notes in case he does not return, and takes barbiturates until God proves His existence and love by saving him, or he dies, thus demonstrating God does not exist. After a literal dark night of the soul at the end of which he is brought out of his drugged stupor by shooting pain from an abscessed tooth, he is figuratively reborn, falling out of the cavern and into the care of a woman who is a refugee from an insane asylum. This work contains Percy's musings on "ravening particles," a reference to the alienation and anomie the individual feels from both within and without in the absence of faith.”

Anyone who is interested is welcome to attend the next meeting of the Library Book Club at the Caroline Chisholm Library on Friday 31 August at 6pm.

Book Review - Aquinas in the Courtroom: Lawyers Judges and Judicial Conduct (by Charles P Nemeth)

The first thing that strikes one about this book is the title, which is the first thing that should strike one I suppose. It is a snappy title promising perhaps insights that are snappier and more accessible than the book can actually deliver to the casual reader. If I were not familiar with Aquinas myself I would have found this book a difficult place to start. It certainly delivers though in its promise to prompt 'new discussion of ethical questions'. It also prompts one to re read Aquinas a laudable achievement in itself.

There is as well an unusual quality to the book, a quality that begins in the title, of a kind of personal vigour and enthusiasm. We sense that the author is convinced of the relevance of St Thomas to the work of lawyers today which is an attitude that relieves and refreshes.

As I sat down to the Summa again after twenty years to see if my own reading elicited such conviction what struck me about it was its beauty. In the first place, it is easier to read than all the scholarly commentaries, including Nemeth's. Thomas is so logical, he just takes a question and puts it through its paces and out pops the answer, albeit with a sub-stratum of arguments, objections, allusions and references. I was reminded again of how satisfying and easy to follow that structure was, the writing beautifully clear and the careful consistent structure and definitions a relief from the complex and confusing shower of information that we call knowledge these days.

Look for example at this passage from the First Part of the Summa Theologica where Aquinas speaks of the need for divine revelation to augment the powers of natural reason. "Even as regards those truths which human reason could have discovered, it was necessary that man should be taught by a divine revelation; because the truth about God such as reason could discover, would only be known by a few, and that after a long time, and with the admixture of many errors." (First Part, Q 1. article 1)

This circumstance (the light of reason and the need for revelation) is central to a dilemma many people face each day as Christians operating in a secular world. We accept what God has revealed to us in Christ, we try to live our lives, personal and professional in that spirit but much of the time we are operating in a forum where our colleagues, our clients, our friends, current designers of the legal system in which we work, have only what God has placed in their natures and not it seems, or at least not in the front of their minds, all the benefits of what he has revealed.

So what is it that is written in our nature as human beings that makes that situation for us as lawyers easier? What, according to Nemeth, does Thomistic jurisprudence offer us in dealing with the issues of professional ethics and policy we come across in our lives as lawyers, policy advisers, decision-makers, voters?

Influences on Aquinas

The book begins with some consideration of the influences that shaped Aquinas' jurisprudence. The author refers to Aristotle as a major influence in Aquinas making the close connection between law and reason. For Aquinas, reason is the rule and measure of human activity. This is somewhat in contrast to Augustine, whose writing gives greater primacy to the will. Augustine also provided valuable foundation writing about the lex aeterna "the ineradicable and sublime administration of all things which proceeds from the Divine Providence" and lex naturalis - Aquinas is quoting Augustine when he says "law is written in the hearts of mean, which iniquity itself effects not" 1-11Q94a.b

Isidore of Seville (7th century) is identified as another influence who Aquinas refers to in Q.95. In Isodore we find the idea that all authority comes from God, that king and citizen are both bound by the law and the identified need for laws to be enacted for common purpose not for private gain.

Anselm, Abelard, Grattan, Alexander of Hales, St Bonaventure, St Albert the Great - well it is a scholarly sort of book. However it's a quick enough survey to enable one to read it without falling asleep but sufficiently substantial to give some sense of the subtleties of thought which Aquinas was dealing with when he came to write.

Ch 2 of gives an overview of Aquinas' thinking about the law; that God's eternal law is his own intellect, the divine exemplar, and that by the use of reason man can participate in the eternal law of the divine intellect. Reason, then, is law - it ordains the actor to the ends the intellect perceives.

Aquinas's view of law is contrasted with the positivist view that a law is a law because it is promulgated. For Aquinas law pertains to reason and measures action. A law derives its legitimacy from its relationship to the common interest. Laws for each individual would be futile. Law is an instrument or mechanism to the end of perfection. Much of what Aquinas writes about law applies to the whole hierarchy he describes. Eternal law > Divine Law > Natural Law > Human Law. Each lower form of law derives its legitimacy from the higher one.

Nemeth points out the importance of this hierarchy for us. Human Law derives legitimacy from the rest of the structure, so enacting a statute or applying a law without regard for the moral law or revealed law is not really possible for us and those not in the same position of having some idea of the natural and eternal law will err when they make laws inconsistent with those. Their laws will not be laws.

The natural law is derived from external and divine law and from it is derived the legitimacy of human law. Aquinas recognises the need for human law. Those already disposed to virtue have less need of regulation, but those whose disposition is evil are not led to virtue unless they are compelled (1-11 Q.95 art lad.1). So human law is needed to remove evils and to lead people to virtue.

Good laws stand the test of time and are rooted in tradition and their power is derived from a higher power, say Nemeth and Aquinas. Why is human law thus derivative? The argument goes like this - law is an exercise of human reason, reason is the rule and measure of law, human reason participates in divine reason so human law is derived from eternal and natural law

"Now in all human affairs a thing is said to be just from being right, according to the rule of reason. But the first rule of reason is the law of nature, as is clear from what has been stated. Consequently, every human law has just so much of the nature of law as it is derived from the law of nature".

It follows that for Aquinas human laws which are inconsistent with eternal law are not really laws.

"In so far as it deviates from reason it is called an unjust law and has the nature not of law but of violence" or "any enactment contrary to the divine law has not the nature of law" - both in Q93a.3.

Human law cannot aim to do all things Aquinas tell us - it cannot eradicate every act of vice or sin. Men are bound to err. Overzealous laws produce only social resistance and tumult. For these reasons, Aquinas says:

"It does not lay upon the magnitude of imperfect men the burdens of those who are already virtuous, viz, that they should abstain from all evil. Otherwise these imperfect ones, being unable to bear such percept, would break at into yet greater evils".

Human law is intended however to prod us to a life of virtue, to lead us there gradually. Where all this gets us is the idea that there are right answers to moral questions about the law and that lawmakers can discover and be guided by them. Nemeth is concerned to set this understanding against positivist philosophy of law - it's a law because it is promulgated.

Chapter 3 on Virtue and Law is central to Nemeth's book and the insights here are helpful in merging our personal and our professional endeavours. Reason Aquinas tells us, defines and distinguishes the human actor from other species. Reason, correctly applied deliberates and guides activities consistent with our preservation.

"There is in every man a natural inclination to act according to reason and this is to act according to virtue" Q94a3C.

Virtue empowers man to seek happiness, since it disposes us to perfection. It also enhances the common good. Virtue is a form of habit. Aquinas describes habits as "formative" - the activity creates the habit. Perpetration of virtuous or vicious acts creates virtue or vice. Reflecting on this we can see that the human agent is not separate from his personal activities. Prudence, so essential to good decision-making is a habit. Prudence is about making right choices based on experience, impacts and individual and communal effects . The big idea is simply that virtues are habits of the human agent. How can I have them in my professional life and not in my personal life, or in big things and not in small?

The chapter on prudence is extremely pertinent to legal practice because decision making is the fruit of prudence. It indicates knowledge of the moral law and application of it. For Aquinas it is the principal of all the virtues because discernment belongs essentially to reason. Human law by encouraging virtue orders individuals to the common good, even though not every act of virtue is required by law. Human Law, says Aquinas should concentrate on those activities which provide security and tranquillity. Human laws are not a remedy for all human error and an attempt to make them so is unrealistic and likely to be tyrannical.

"Now human law is framed for the multitude of human beings, the majority of whom are not perfect in virtue. Therefore Human laws do not forbid all vices from which the virtuous abstain, but only the more grievous vices, from which it is possible for the majority to abstain; and chiefly those that are injurious to others, without the prohibition of which human society could not be maintained. Thus human law prohibits murder, theft and the like". Q.96 A.2c

Nemeth turns quickly from these general principles to discuss the common good in judicial process. He draws a compelling picture of the effect of the doctrine of precedent on the actions of judges who lose sight of the common good. Judicial rulings leap quickly into the world at large. " When abortion is legalised for the individual Roe it is not long before the roes multiply, and even shorter still before a negative culture of death becomes an easier pill to swallow. Euthanasia evolves into a mainstream practice so too partial-birth abortion practice, suicide and other activities historically shown to undermine the collective enterprise". It is sobering to think we might find ourselves in such a position of influence.

Law, Justice and Judgement

 In a chapter on "law justice and judgement" Nemeth draws out a basic insight of Aquinas - that right judgement is an act of reason, not of will - in making a decision I do not what I want to do, but what reason dictates. He puts it colourfully "Law and its corresponding judgements live in the land of the intellect, not the land of desire".

On judges and the judicial process, Nemeth identifies a number of useful propositions in Aquinas' work. Building on what has already been said about virtue, justice and prudence, Nemeth sums up Aquinas' position as - "the just man or woman will be the just judge". Aquinas refers to the "craft" of judgement, but that is not sufficient. He says "those who stand guilty of grievous sins should not judge those who are guilty of the same or lesser sins".

A judge according to St Thomas, must be a public official , not a private person. It follows from the understanding that the law is not able to eradicate all wrongs (since this is a matter for salvation) that moral judgement be left to ecclesiastical powers.(Q.60 a.b p.132 note 28) and need not be made by the human judge at all.. This of course is true for matters of individual conscience, but we are also required to make moral judgements about what is externally acceptable or not each day in our lives, personal and professional.
Judgement says Aquinas, "should be according to the written law" which makes him a strict constructionist in terms of statutory interpretation., Nemeth concludes. He contrasts this to the development flowing from what he calls "judicial activists" in the USA who he sees as "inventing" rights. While I'm sure there are legitimate arguments against judicial activism, I don't think the case here is complete enough for Aquinas to be enlisted entirely for the conservative side.

As Nemeth notes, Aquinas also allows that no written law can contravene natural rights. Since a law which does so is a "corruption of laws and judgement should not be entered according to it". So for Aquinas law is to be interpreted strictly as it is written, providing that it is not unjust. In other words, we would expect a judge to be some sort of Judicial activist if the law he or she were called upon to apply were an unjust one, ie if it contravened natural law or the divine law, or was outside power.

Judgement says Aquinas is to be "based on information acquired by the judge, not from his knowledge as a private individual, but from what he knows as a public person" Q.67 A2. This is an ideal consistent with the rules of evidence we apply today. The difference is that when Aquinas addresses this question he is considering the conscience of the judge - the whole person, not just the function, dealing with how a person could pass judgement contrary to what he considers privately to be true.

Advocacy

Moving from judges and judicial process, Nemeth considers what Aquinas has to offer lawyers and advocates. I found some of Nemeth's thinking in this chapter hard to take. Though much in it is refreshing and thought provoking one is pulled up short on finding oneself to be in such general agreement with someone who things "postpartum blues" as he calls it is in the same category of unfortunate developments in criminal defense as "astrological imbalances". However, on the whole, he does offer a good exposition and summary of the principles, such as the following -

• vigour of representation is not a licence to act without moral parameters, quoting Aquinas Q.71 a.3. "It is unlawful to co-operate in an evil deed, by counselling, helping or in any way consenting, because to counsel, to assist an action, is, in a way, to do it."
• an advocate who is misled is not at fault "if however, he defends an unjust cause unknowingly, thinking it just, he is to be excused according to the measure in which ignorance is excusable Q.71 art3.
• but continued advocacy in a fraudulent cause is inexcusable, although "he ought not to throw up his brief in such a way as to help the other side or so as to reveal the secrets of his client to the other party. But he can and must give up the case, or induce his client to give away, or make some compromise".
• "it is unlawful to offer a falsehood" but lack of co-operation in a confession, lawful non-delivery of incriminating evidence, caution in defence testimony are prudent and praiseworthy.
• a lawyer need not always be defending the sub of the poor, as no man is sufficient to bestow a work of mercy on all those who need it, but a contribution is required balanced with occupational capacity, economic reality, familial demands.

This chapter ends with a warning against lawyers expecting to be able to solve all individual injustices by legal action or by change to the law - no judge but God judges by virtue of his own power - all truth is known to God Q.67 art2.

A "last clear chance"?

One of the tasks Nemeth takes on in the book is to contrast what he calls Aquinas's "legal ideology" with the Code of Judicial Conduct and ethical concerns of the American Bar Association. He calls St Thomas jurisprudence "our last clear chance for a crumbling and malfunctioning legal machine."

I was less interested in this faintly warlike view of the committed Christian versus the decaying system than in the possibilities for how Aquinas's work might help us operate at the individual level. Still the issues are there even if we don't see them in quite the "us and them" stand Nemeth takes. He does at another point put it better:

"Thomistic jurisprudence ...encourages us to discern our natures, reflect on our inclinations and dispositions, identify appropriate goods and valuate how civilisations flourish or fail in light of both individual and communal activity."

The Victorian Bar Practice Rules "General Principles of Professional Conduct" outline expectations for judicial conduct - a barrister must act honestly, fairly, with competence and diligence and should accept instructions only when able to do that promptly and should avoid conduct which is dishonest or otherwise discreditable, prejudicial to the administration of justice or likely to diminish public confidence in administration of justice or in the profession. I looked at these because Nemeth's commentary seemed so despairing of the US equivalents.

My view would be that we are expected to add to these bare bones personal qualities which contribute positively to the common good - although it is true the documents don't say that. Effectively however, our system relies on it. People coming before the courts swear that their evidence is true - this in itself affirms daily the order which comes from God. Each day when the witness swears to tell the whole truth - whether on the Bible or not - he or she is instructed by reason, nature and the imprint of the eternal law in the natural law, to paraphrase Nemeth.

While in terms of policy we need to advocate for the principles of Natural Law to be recognised in the positive laws of our society there are other demands inherent in Natural Law philosophy. First that we are professionals yes but also complete human beings - we will be better lawyers or decision-makers if we have habits of virtue. Second, and related to this, we have the opportunity every day of looking for truth, of working towards just outcomes.

Expecting too much of positive laws

In his analysis of positivist attitudes to law, Nemeth touches on a topic which has bothered me quite a bit. He points at that the public demands "action" from legislative bodies and measures their effectivness by the depth and breadth of their lawmaking. That may be an overstatement - governments are also measured by where they spend the taxpayers money and how well they manage it, but that is the executive arm of governement. Many political and ideological and even petty issues are fought out in the legislature, as no doubt they should be but primarily legislatures make laws. Whatever goes on in the USA we in Australia are not overly romantic about the role of our legislatures.

However, we do probably see an exaggerated expectation of the effectiveness of legislation. There is no doubt that we legislate much more now than we did, say, 20 years ago. The following diversion into statistics show that the rate of legislation in Victoria is steadily increasing. I believe it is even greater at the Commonwealth level. Apparently now each year the Commonwealth Parliament passes 8 to 9 times the number of pages of legislation which it did in the 1950's.

In Victoria the story is like this.
The Victorian statutes were consolidated into one set in 1928 and again in 1958. A consolidation gathers together all the statute laws on the books at that time. After a consolidation, the statutes passed by Parliament are published in annual volumes (as well as individually of course). In 1958, the sum total of laws on the Victorian statute books occupied 55 cm on the library shelf, in 8 volumes. So from 1959 on, the body of statues including all the 1958 volumes plus the subsequent annual volumes which can amend or replace statutes from previous years.

In the 10 years to 1968, total shelf space for the statutes space is 64 centimetres; for the ten years to 1978 it is 64cm, for the ten years to 1988 it is 84cm and since then, to end 1998, Victoria has passed 192 cm worth of statutes.

There has been no consolidation of statutes since 1958. This means that the statutes of say the last 20 years (assuming a consolidation is appropriate every 30 years) probably include a factor which is the repealing and replacing, gathering together and clarifying of statutes which have been on the books for a long time. The 1958 consolidation occupied 55 cm on the shelf. If we allow say 70cm for a nominal consolidation in the 1990s we still have a sum total of 120cm worth of statutes in the 10 years to 1998.

Amount of space on the library shelf is a crude measure of course. Also, measuring the volumes according to changes of government would offer some obvious explanations for flurries of legislation. Some of the statutes will be new areas of regulation (eg Introduction Agents Act 1997) and some will be replacement of existing laws (eg the Fair Trading Act 1999). Whichever category applies, the effect is to change the laws, which means there is more work for the community to do in adjusting to new law, planning around it in some areas and paying lawyers to advise them about it.

The proliferation also indicates a disproportionate reliance on legislation, perhaps at the expense of "judge made" law, perhaps because governments try too hard to make us virtuous in the current mould, they attempt to advocate the community and to enshrine particular policies.

Nemeth sees this proliferation and changeableness of statute law as a result of positivist attitudes. If enactment makes all that is needed for a law then we can cast it aside and start again when the law no longer fits. He speaks of a "windswept positivism".

The place of Law

While positivism and Thomism are poles apart as they deal with law, the one relying entirely on human agency and the other looking to ultimate ends, that does not mean Aquinas has no use for promulgated law. He sees positive, human law as "indispensable for mankind", but says it must be based on immutables, not on what is currently acceptable.

Murder is not wrong because it is against the law, it is against the law because it is wrong. However, travelling over 50kph in a suburban Melbourne street is wrong because it is against the law. It is a Just law though, Positive law depends for its legitimacy on compatibility with the natural law, which reflects the eternal law.

While as I have said I can't quite agree with Nemeth that Thomistic jurisprudence is the "last clear chance "for a corrupt and crumbling legal system, he does put well the case for the goods which can be found there:

• It respects human life
• It recognises communal and familial structure
• It puts God at the apex of our understanding of law
• It helps us see the relation of the personal spiritual life and the professional life for lawyers

 - Bernadette Steele LLB. BA (Hons)

Interested in Reading this book? - A copy of this book is available for loan from the Caroline Chisholm Library.

Liturgical Music and song: An examination of conscience

A lunchtime talk given at the Library on Wednesday October 8, 2003 by David Schütz

Most readers will be familiar with the following comment made by the Holy Father [John Paul II] on February 26th this year [2003] , when, at his general audience, he reflected on Psalm 150:

It is necessary to constantly discover and live the beauty of prayer and of the liturgy. One must pray to God not only with theologically precise formulas, but also in a beautiful and dignified way. In this connection, the Christian community must make an examination of conscience so that the beauty of music and song will return increasingly to the liturgy. It is necessary to purify worship of deformations, of careless forms of expression, of ill-prepared music and texts, which are not very suited to the grandeur of the act being celebrated. (Zenit, 26th February, 2003)

John Paul II makes a very timely appeal. The observation that much of today’s church music and hymnody is “not very suited” to the nature and reality of our liturgical celebrations is perhaps commonplace. But what is striking is the Pope’s appeal for an “examination of conscience” in this regard.

“Examination of conscience” is a term that we usually associate with the recollection of our sins prior to confession and repentance. Is the Holy Father really saying that our use of music that is “not very suited” to the liturgy is sinful? If he is, then it is a serious matter. It means that liturgical music is not merely a matter of taste, but may just possibly be a matter of morality or ethics.

How can that be? Maybe we underestimate the magnitude and purpose of the liturgical act, as we come in the company of the angels and the saints into the very presence of God, in order to offer him our sacrifice of praise. Maybe we underestimate the important role that sacred music and song plays in the pastoral care of souls, as it lifts their hearts to God, enriches their prayer, expresses their deepest emotions, and puts true words of praise on their lips. In his meditation on Psalm 150, John Paul II highlights these two dimensions in the liturgy: prayer, greatly aided by music, is like Jacobs ladder, on which the angels of God ascend and descend between the liturgy on earth and the heavenly liturgy. If we properly appreciated both the human (pastoral) and divine (doxological) importance of liturgical music, we would not be so quick to underestimate the moral obligation the pastor has to feed his parishioners on a healthy diet of sacred music and song.

The American Lutheran lay-theologian and musician, Marva Dawn (author of Reaching out without dumbing down and A Royal Waste of Time), regularly compares the musical repertoire of a parish to kinds of food diets that parents give their children. Sometimes a little fast food is okay-it tastes good, but it’s not good for you. A regular diet of fast food will leave you sick and starving. Sometimes too a five course French dinner is the go for special celebrations-but again they are special, and take a lot of effort by real experts to prepare them. Most of the time we just need a solid, healthy diet-and although that might mean meat and three veg on a regular basis, we will grow strong on it. Liturgical music and song is analogous. Sometimes the emotive, entertaining style of music might be a treat. Sometimes a full polyphonic choral setting of the Eucharist might be appropriate and even attainable for a high festival. But we need to give most of our attention to the “meat and three veg” hymnody and music: our day to day basic repertoire that we can be sure will nourish faith in the faithful.

The Holy Father highlights three areas that require “purification” in worship: “deformations”, “careless forms of expression” and “ill-prepared music and texts”. I am not quite sure what is meant by “deformations”. Perhaps he hints at this when later in his commentary on Psalm 150 when he refers to the warning of St Paul to the Ephesians to “avoid intemperance and vulgarity”. On the other hand, “careless forms of expression” and “ill-prepared music and text” are all too identifiable. It might sound as if these phrases refer only to the performance or execution of the music. On the contrary, I believe the Pope is also referring to the actual composition of the music and the text, which often today shows signs of “carelessness”. A brief examination of the latest offerings from the publishers of church music will be enough to give the distinct impression that much of it is a “rushed job”, prepared by professional composers who have to keep us singing a “new song” every week in order to make their living. The result is music that is neither “theologically precise” nor “beautiful and dignified”.

So what about this “examination of conscience”? We are all familiar with the devotional lists of questions that are used by those preparing for confession. I propose that we need just such a list to help us identify the faults of our liturgical music and song. Such a list would be more beneficial than George Weigel’s recent tongue-in-cheek suggestion of a “Index Canticorum Prohibitorum” ( http://www.the-tidings.com/2003/0808/weigel_text.htm). The latter would, I think, rob us of the responsibility of deeply reflecting on the pastoral principles of liturgical music.

A good place to begin in any “examination” of one’s pastoral practice would be in relation to what the Church requires of us. Unfortunately, we have had very little magisterial guidance in relation to Catholic church music in recent decades. The last document of any significance on church music to be released for the universal church was Musicam Sacram in 1967, and reading it today shows that it hardly addresses the more pressing issues of the contemporary crisis. Perhaps, in view of the lamentable era in sacred music that followed its release, it even failed to address the issues of its own day. That does not mean to say that familiarity with the relevant magisterial documents (which include Tra le Sollecitudine 1903, Musicae Sacrae 1955, Sacrosanctum Concilium 1963 as well as Musicam Sacram) would not be beneficial.

However, over the last forty years the proverbial goal posts have been shifted so far away from their original position, that we have to learn to kick in new directions if we want to continue to score the goals these documents originally had in mind.
So the musical “examination of conscience” that follows cannot claim anything close to magisterial authority. You will almost certainly disagree with some of the faults identified below. However, among those for whom this is a daily pastoral concern, there is a fair degree of consensus about what is and is not helpful in liturgical music and hymnody, and I hope the following “examination” reflects this consensus to some degree.

Most of what follows relates to the choice of liturgical songs. Purely instrumental music also has a place in the liturgy (as Musican Sacram acknowledged), but it plays second fiddle (so to speak) to sung texts. In this connection, we should also be aware that good liturgical music in any parish is the result of hundreds of individual choices that need to be made every time we chose what will be sung at mass. And because these are always pastoral decisions, good liturgical music will only ever be developed through the exercise of faithfulness-constant, steadfast, unwavering insistence upon what is right and good even in the face of opposition.

I.                  Do I value sacred music?

This question addresses first principles. As long as pastors are not convinced of the pastoral value of developing good sacred music in the parish, they will not put any effort into it. After all, there are so many other demands on the parish priest’s time. Sacred music must first be recognised as a priority if it is to get any attention at all. The Pope believes it is a priority. And as the evidence stands, the Church has historically agreed that it is a priority. And the Second Vatican Council, in Sacrosanctum Concilium gives it a very high priority indeed:

The musical tradition of the universal Church is a treasure of inestimable value, greater even than that of any other art. The main reason for this pre-eminence is that, as sacred song united to the words, it forms a necessary or integral part of the solemn Liturgy. (SC §112)

This statement assumes that the words of the liturgy are ordinarily united to music and therefore that “sacred song” is as “necessary or integral” to the liturgy as the words themselves. (The recent Editio Tertia Typica of the Missal makes this clear by once again printing the music of the liturgy together with the words.) Obviously the Council Fathers knew of the “said mass”, but they assumed the norm would be the “sung mass”. Most Australian Catholics would be surprised to learn this. Most lay persons, and probably many parish priests, would regard music in the liturgy as “icing on the cake” for special occasions or an annoyance to be endured. Rather, music has an essential pastoral role in the liturgy. Its use makes a qualitative difference to the liturgy, both in terms of deepening the effect of the words upon the participant and in terms of heightening the prayer, praise and adoration which is directed to God in the liturgy. Therefore we need to value it.

II. Have I observed the proper “degrees of participation” with regard to the parts of the liturgy that are to be sung?

A re-reading of Musicam Sacram has a few surprises. Once we have agreed on the value of sacred music and song, our next question will be “what should we sing?” Musicam Sacram suggests three “degrees of participation … for reasons of pastoral usefulness”. It suggests that “these degrees are so arranged that the first may be used even by itself, but the second and third, wholly or partially, may never be used without the first.” What therefore, belongs to the “first degree”?

· (a) In the entrance rites: the greeting of the priest together with the reply of the people; the prayer.

· (b) In the Liturgy of the Word: the acclamations at the Gospel.

· (c) In the Eucharistic Liturgy: the prayer over the offerings; the preface with its dialogue and the Sanctus; the final doxology of the Canon, the Lord's Prayer with its introduction and embolism; the Pax Domini; the prayer after the Communion; the formulas of dismissal.

The “second degree” consists of the Kyrie, Gloria, Creed, prayer of the faithful, and Agnus Dei. It is not until we reach the “third degree” that we encounter

· (a) the songs at the Entrance and Communion processions;

· (b) the songs after the Lesson or Epistle;

· (c) the Alleluia before the Gospel;

· (d) the song at the Offertory;

· (e) the readings of Sacred Scripture, unless it seems more suitable to proclaim them without singing.

The irony of this is that, at least in Australia today, it is almost universally the practice to reverse these three “degrees”, such that those parts of the liturgy listed under the “first degree” are the least likely to be sung, and those parts under the “third degree” (with the exception of chanting the readings) the most likely. The result is that many of our liturgies tend to resemble the protestant “four hymn sandwich”, where between the spoken parts of the mass, sung hymns are inserted at the entrance, offertory, communion and recession. The principle, as far as MS is concerned, is that “in selecting the parts which are to be sung, one should start with those that are by their nature of greater importance, and especially those which are to be sung by the priest or by the ministers, with the people replying, or those which are to be sung by the priest and people together.”

III. Have I allowed Gregorian chant to sink even further into disuse?

One thing all the magisterial documents are clear on, is that Gregorian chant is “specially suited to the Roman liturgy; therefore, other things being equal, it should be given pride of place in liturgical services” (SC 116). Pius XII called the chant a “precious treasure” concerning which “it is the duty of all those to whom Christ the Lord has entrusted the task of guarding and dispensing the Church's riches to preserve” (MS1955). Any examination of our musical conscience fifty years later must acknowledge that the way in which we have squandered this treasure is nothing short of scandalous.

It is clear that the Council expected the Church to make the effort to preserve the chant together with the translation of the liturgy into the vernacular. Although there is some evidence of some effort being made in this direction, it seems that that effort was half-hearted. No-one seems to have believed in it enough to persevere and make it work. In this country, two slightly different approved settings of the chant for the mass created (and continues to create) extra confusion. In the Church today there ought to be at least one Gregorian setting of the mass that is well known enough to be sung all the way from Perth to Cairns (and from Rome to back of Bourke, for that matter). Even the hymnals have abandoned the chant. I know of only one currently available Catholic hymnal that has an plainchant setting of the mass in English (Adoremus).

There even seems to be a mistaken idea that the chant will only work for Latin and cannot be adapted to English. This can be disproved by a quick glance at the Lutheran churches. They have a standard chant setting of their mass which was preserved at the time of the Reformation in German and has since been translated into a host of other languages the world over, including English, and (in central Australia) the Aboriginal language of Arrunta.

Still, there is reason to believe that 1500 years of tradition cannot be kept buried away for ever. It is fashionable to point to the fact that Gregorian chant has made a resurgence in the popular music charts. This shows that people are keen to hear and sing the chant if someone will teach them. Our opportunity is upon us with the immanent re-translation of the liturgy. Let us put in the required effort now, so that the new translation can be published ready-made with a simple, standard Gregorian setting. Then we need to recommit ourselves to the work of teaching it. We can start with the Lord’s Prayer (which many will know already) and add the Sanctus and a simple Gloria (not responsive). Experience earlier last century shows that the chant can be revived if there is the will to do it.

IV. Have I taken care that our liturgical music and song focuses on God?

A massive shift in liturgical focus has occurred in the last thirty years or so, creating enormous challenges for liturgical music. Whereas traditionally sacred art, architecture and music have focused (like the liturgy itself) on God, much contemporary liturgical renewal seems to have been aimed at re-focusing our attention on the worshipping community, ie. ourselves. At the same time there has been a “flattening out” of liturgical vision-everything has become “horizontal” at the expense of the “vertical” dimension. This can be clearly demonstrated in two types of texts abounding in contemporary hymnody.

The first type sings about us and about what we are doing or should be doing. Some modern hymn texts verge on the narcissistic, gazing not up to God, but into the navel of the worshipping community.

Traditionally there have been two types of hymn. On the one hand a hymn could be explicitly addressed to God (or Christ as the case may be). Such hymns are sung prayers, voicing adoration, petition, thanksgiving or confession of faith. Alternatively, a hymn could be a hymn of praise, that is, a song about God (or Christ etc.), extolling his attributes and actions to the world. But what we have in this new batch of hymns are songs that sing about ourselves, in which we tell ourselves (or perhaps God in case he doesn’t know) about our attributes and actions. Maybe this has come about through the demand for sacred song that matches the ritual actions in the mass. Since one dimensional liturgical thinking sees all ritual action as our action, such songs end up singing about ourselves. So at the entrance procession we sing about coming into eachother’s presence (rather than into the presence of Christ-comapare CCC §1348) and we sing about the gifts we bring at the offertory procession. Examples of this type of song include: Gather us in (Marty Haugen), Song of the Body of Christ (David Haas), We are companions on the journey (Peter Kearney), Bring forth the Kingdom (Marty Haugen), Ashes (Conroy/Joncas), We are the Church (Christopher Walker), As Grains of Wheat (Laurence Rosania).

The second type has been identified by Richard Connolly as a true innovation, the like of which could not have been found in the Church “from St Ambrose to about 1970”). This is the liturgical song “whose ‘voice’ or speaking persona is that of God speaking to us, not us to him” (The Summit, May 2003). In these songs, the focus is truly confused. The people sing as if they were God singing to them. Almost without doubt this type of text arose after Vatican II when composers sought to produce songs based on passages of Scripture. The Council in fact encouraged this (SC §121). Those passages of scripture in which God speaks his promises to his people were naturally most attractive to the composers of new songs, but they failed (and continue to fail) to do the necessary theological internalisation required to turn these passages from a form in which God addresses us into songs in which we respond to God in praise or adoration for his promises. Hence we get songs in which we sing God’s words to ourselves. Connolly wonders if such songs may not be a usurping of the role of the liturgy of the word. Perhaps they do. They certainly do not function as sacrifices of praise to God. Examples of this type of song are over abundant. They include Come as you are (Deidre Browne), Hosea (Gregory Norbet), I am the bread of life (Suzanne Toolan), Strong and Constant (Frank Andersen), Isaiah 49 (Carey Landry), Be not afraid (Bob Dufford), I have loved you (Michael Joncas), Remain in my love (Christopher Willcock), and Our Supper Invitation (Kevin Bates). There are many others.

V. Have I allowed songs to be sung in the liturgy that contain teaching contrary to the Faith?

Sacrosanctum Concilium (§121) insisted that “the texts intended to be sung must always be in conformity with Catholic doctrine.” In other words, what we sing in the liturgy must be true. This really ought to be the first commandment of liturgical song. Whether we sing about God, ourselves or the world around us, what we sing must be true. This is demanded by the inverse of the principle lex orandi lex credendi, but it is also a part of the primary duty of care that pastors have toward their flocks.
Words that are sung “sink in”, and find a lodging place in the heart far deeper than words that are merely spoken. Everyone from 16th century reformers to 21st century advertising executives have understood this. Everyone, that is, except the pastors of Catholic parishes who have not paid sufficient attention to what their people are singing week in and week out at Sunday mass. The American liturgical theologian Don Saliers, at a lecture given at Ormond College

in 2002, told the story of an Afro-American woman who once told him that when she heard the spoken gospel, she could acknowledge that it was true, “but when I sings it I believes it!”
Singing, by its nature, involves more of the individual than mere speaking-both physically and spiritually. Singing, as an aid to memory and a thus a prime means of teaching the faith, has been used to good effect in the past. Today however, “careless forms of expression” have led to a falsification of the faith. Lucy E. Carroll, in an article entitled “Singing for the supper or the sacrifice?” (Adoremus, Vol. VIII, No. 8, November 2002) has clearly demonstrated the unsatisfactory standard of contemporary song texts for the Eucharist. If people keep on singing about “sharing bread and wine” in the Eucharist rather than about communing on the body and blood of Christ, it won’t take long for them to cease believing in the real presence. Carroll’s list of Eucharistic hymns that fall short of “conformity with Catholic doctrine” include: We Remember (Marty Haugen), Bread, Blessed and Broken (Michael Lynch), Gather Us In (Marty Haugen), Bread of Life (Bernadette Farrell). Now We Remain (David Haas), Bread for the World (Bernadette Farrell), Song of the Body of Christ (David Haas) and To be Your Bread (David Haas). One could also include Bernadette Farrell’s paraphrase version of the Agnus Dei in her setting of the mass, where the people are asked to sing “Hear our prayer, hear our prayer, through this bread and wine we share…” Whatever kind of teaching this might be, it is not “in conformity with Catholic doctrine”.

Other hymns intentionally fail to conform to the Church’s doctrine. These “avant guard” hymn writers are usually saying something about the gender or nature of God. Some attempt to feminize God, such as John Bell’s “Enemy of Apathy” which insistently calls the Holy Spirit “She”. Bernadette Farrell’s “God beyond all names” suggests that all names for God, even revealed names like “Father” and “Jesus”, are ultimately just human attempts at naming God rather than God’s gracious self-revelation of his essential nature. Other hymns just seem to be beyond the bounds of Christian doctrine entirely. Marty Haugen’s “One Ohana” and “Song at the Centre” both seem to be exploring a sort of pantheistic nature spirituality rather than a Christian doctrine of creation.

Sometimes the theological errors are simply cases of what the Pope has called “careless forms of expression”. In this category, one could put Dan Schutte’s glaring theological error in “Glory and Praise to our God” when he asks the congregation to sing “Though the power of sin prevails”! It certainly does not. What he meant was “Though the power of sin is strong…” which would have been a rather more felicitous phrase and more theologically correct.

With the exception of John Bell, all these writers are Catholics. It may be worth noting in passing that some of the very best available “catholic” hymnody has in fact been written by Protestants. Among these “Holy God we praise thy name”, “Alleluia, sing to Jesus”, “Sing of Mary, pure and lowly”, and “You holy angels bright” could be named. It just goes to show that each text needs to be judged on what it actually says, not on its pedigree.

VI. Have I discouraged congregational participation in liturgical song?

The popular adage is that “Catholics can’t sing”. Given that Catholics do not differ biologically from other human beings, this would be surprising if it were true. More correctly, various cultural and habitual factors are to blame for the poor quality of Catholic congregational singing. Not all parish priests are convinced of the necessity of congregational participation in liturgical music. Even fewer parishioners share this conviction. An anecdote may be excusable here. I occasionally attend a large Catholic parish in a rural sea-side holiday spot. The usual fare here on Sunday mornings is spoken mass with “Come as you are” or “Here I am Lord” at the beginning and end.

One morning they had a visiting vocal and guitar group from the city, who led the people in singing the parts of the mass as well as four songs. One elderly worshiper was heard to comment afterwards: “A bit of a sing-song this morning, eh?”
Sacrosanctum Concilium declared that

Religious singing by the people is to be intelligently fostered so that in devotions and sacred exercises, as also during liturgical services, the voices of the faithful may ring out according to the norms and requirements of the rubrics (118).

How does one “intelligently foster” singing by the people? For a start, we could identify those things that discourage congregational singing. Among these are:

Cantors and choirs who “perform” rather than serve. The Council made it quite clear that the people must be enabled to sing those parts of the mass that are rightly theirs. Sacrosanctum Concilium (114) declared:

The treasure of sacred music is to be preserved and fostered with great care. Choirs must be diligently promoted, especially in cathedral churches; but bishops and other pastors of souls must be at pains to ensure that, whenever the sacred action is to be celebrated with song, the whole body of the faithful may be able to contribute that active participation which is rightly theirs, as laid down in Art. 28 and 30.

Despite the opinions of some liturgical experts, a close reading of this passage does not support the idea that the Council intended to abolish the occasional use of choirs to sing the more elaborate settings of the mass which belong to the “treasure of sacred music” which the church has inherited. What it did intend is that the people not be robbed of those parts which belong to them, namely “acclamations, responses, psalmody, antiphons, and songs” (SC 30). The main offenders here, then, are not those choirs which professionally do the tasks assigned to them, but those cantors and parish choirs which see their role more in terms of performance than in terms of service. Some cantors sing in an entirely individualistic style which encourages the congregation to listen rather than join in the singing. Some choirs actually see their role as presenting performance items during the liturgy, when their real task is to support the congregation’s singing.

Over amplification of the cantor. Microphones are for performers. Put a microphone in front of most people and their first impulse is to perform. On top of this, when the cantor’s voice drowns out the meagre attempts of the people, the people will stop singing. Some amplification is usually necessary (given the poor acoustics of most modern churches), but it must be very moderate.

Lack of clear instrumental leadership. On the other hand, while voices are usually over amplified, the instrumental accompaniment is usually too weak to give proper leadership. Guitars suffer terribly in this regard, firstly in that most guitar players cannot play the melody of a song, secondly in that guitars do not carry well in a large building without amplification. This is one of the reasons why the organ has been held up as most suitable for leading congregational song. It can give clear, sustained notes at a volume that will carry throughout the church. However, many parish organists have not learnt to play in such a way that gives clear indications to the people about when and how they are to sing. They could learn a great deal from protestant organists in this regard. The role of cantor is practically unknown in Protestant churches-the organist gives most of the guidance.

The choice of song. Many factors are relevant here. Some songs in current circulation are impossible for a congregation to sing, and are more suitable for soloists. Among these are Carey Landry’s “Hail Mary Gentle Woman” and John Foley’s “One Bread, One Body”. The difficult timing of both these songs will discourage congregational participation (despite the fact that they are “favourites” and they like to listen to them). Other songs may display the composer’s musical cleverness but result in tunes that are un-natural. A good tune for congregational singing may sound “boring” to a composer, but needs to be predictable enough for the average untrained ear of the average parishioner. Another factor is how much opportunity the people have had to learn the songs they are asked to sing. Changing the songs every week will not encourage singing, whereas repeated use of the same song for three or four weeks will build up confidence.

Melody line for the song. Many hymnals today (such as the excellent “Together in Song”) include melody lines for the people to follow. Priests who cannot read music may dismiss the importance of this for a congregation, but many of those who are most likely to sing in our parishes are those who can read music (or at least follow the dots) and a melody line always helps to encourage them. Unfortunately this is often unavailable in this age of the overhead projector and the power point presentation.

VII. Have I failed to build up a durable foundation of liturgical song in my parish?

Liturgical musicians sometimes refer to the range of songs known by a parish as the “parish repertoire”. It is worth each of us sitting down and listing out those songs that are in our own parish repertoire. Include all the songs that the people could reasonably be expected to know. Then ask yourself some questions about this list. Do these songs have lasting merit? Does it reflect the breadth of the catholic tradition or is it a little “narrow”? Does it reflect a single “style” or “taste”? Do the texts focus to narrowly on a single theological idea? Do we have sufficient material to cover all seasons and liturgical occasions?

The last is a very serious issue. For instance, while most parishes would have a sufficient repertoire for Christmas, the same could not be said for Pentecost. Even Easter-a season that lasts for a full seven weeks-has a rather thin repertoire in most Catholic parishes. The few Easter songs that are known lack the robust resurrection theology (and melodies) of most Protestant Easter hymns. Since the festivals of the church year repeat themselves every year, it is worth working out a basic minimum of desirable songs for each of the festivals and, over a number of years, using them again and again until they are known. Among these one could see to it that the sequences for Easter and Pentecost are known to easily singable tunes.

One aim of developing the repertoire is that some songs, like the liturgy, should become known by rote. This aim also requires that the songs that we chose as part of our repertoire are worthy of such memorisation, and that they will truly serve the pastoral well-being of he people. Unfortunately, too often today our repertoires are determined by the “market-forces” of the musical publishing houses which are forever pouring out the fast food equivalent of a musical diet.

VIII. Have I only taught the children of the parish “children’s” songs?

One final concern is the current trend in our parish schools to teach children’s songs and only children’s songs to children. Children, of course, need special songs aimed at their level, and there are a number of good composers of children’s songs in Australia
(Michael Mangen, for instance). But these songs are not sufficient on their own. Children also need to be taught “adult” songs, the songs they can expect to encounter in the liturgy on Sunday. In this way, their transition from childhood to maturity in the faith is facilitated.
Furthermore, children memorise songs with a great deal of ease, which means that what they sing as children will stick fast for the rest of their life. There is both opportunity and risk in this. There is great opportunity for fruitful catechisation through song. Unfortunately, the catechetical effect of singing was better understood in the past than it is today. And hence the risk: most modern children’s songs being sung in our parish schools are not suitable for catechisation, that is, they are not clear and unambiguous expressions of the Church’s faith. Of course, teachers feel under pressure to let the children sing “what they like” rather than what is good for them.

We know that parents who let their children eat “what they like” rather than what is good for them end up with unhealthy children. Feeding our children an unhealthy diet of liturgical music is pastorally irresponsible.

And while on this subject, surely it is in teaching children to produce liturgical music and song that we will reap the greatest reward for our investment of energy. Most parishes today are experiencing difficulty in finding suitable practitioners of liturgical music. This problem will only be overcome by teaching the children of our parish to sing and to play musical instruments, and by incorporating them (“mentoring” and “initiating” them) into the liturgical music program of the parish from an early age. The boys choirs of the past did this admirably. Today, we must expect to have to spend some money as well as effort in this area-perhaps offering parish music scholarships to promising children. It won’t happen without investment.

Many other questions could be added to this musical “examination of conscience” (in fact, I would be interested in receiving your suggestions for fleshing it out further); but ending with the question of training children in liturgical music and song perhaps demonstrates a strong connection with our starting point. We need to be convinced that developing liturgical music and song in our parishes is important-not for purely aesthetical reasons, but primarily for the moral reasons that it belongs to the glorification of God and to healthy pastoral care. It is perhaps when we consider what we are teaching our children that this becomes most clear. We will reap what we sow.

If we teach the new generation wisely, we will build the foundations of a sound tradition of liturgical music for tomorrow. If we don’t, we have no-one to blame but ourselves when the result is unsatisfactory. The Holy Father’s call to examine our liturgical music is a call to authentic worship and pastoral care. It is a call to repentance for past failures, but like all calls to repentance, it is also a chance for a new start and an offer of hope for the future.

READING ST. JOHN OF THE CROSS WITH JOHN PAUL II

Notes of a lunchtime talk given at the City Branch on October 3, 2001 by Dr Tracey Rowland
Dean, John Paul II Institute, Archdiocese of Melbourne

Prior to his joining the seminary, John Paul II was a member of a lay Carmelite spirituality group led by a tailor called Jan Tyranowski. It was in this group that he first studied the works of St. John of the Cross. Later, as a doctorate student at the Angelicum, he chose to investigate the topic of: "Faith according to St. John of the Cross". This dissertation was supervised by the legendary Dominican Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange. The work has been published in English translation by Ignatius Press, but is now out of print and not readily available outside of Carmelite libraries.

In his works St. John of the Cross assigns 3 theological virtues - faith, hope and charity - to three faculties of the soul: intellect, memory and will. For example, he says:

"The livery which the soul wears is of three principal colours - white, green and purple - signifying the three theological virtues of faith, hope and charity ... Faith is an inner tunic of a whiteness so pure that 1 blinds the vision of the intellect. And thus, when the soul journeys in its vestment of faith, the devil can neither see it nor succeed in harming it, since it is well protected by faith - more so than by all the other virtues - against the devil, who is the most powerful and cunning of enemies."

St. John seems to have adopted this idea from an English Carmelite called John Baconthorpe. The classification of the three faculties comes from St. Augustine. In De Trinitate Augustine spoke of the three powers of the soul as: memoria, intellectus and voluntas. St. Bonaventure tied these faculties to the processions of the Trinity: "the generating mind, the word and Love are in the soul as memory , understanding and will, which are consubstantial,coequal and interpenetrate each other. (The Journey of the Mind to God). Faith is assigned to the intellect, memory to the will and charity to the intellect. According to St. John of the Cross, the effect of hope on the memory is to "fill it with presentiments of eternal glory". The Transfiguration provides an excellent example of this notion of a "presentiment of eternal glory".

In his doctoral thesis John Paul II focused on the relationship between faith and the intellect. He begins with the distinction drawn by St. John of the Cross between the two ways in which the intellect can receive knowledge: one natural, one supernatural.

• "Natural Knowledge" is that which depends directly or indirectly on the senses
• "Supernatural knowledge" is that which exceeds the natural powers of the intellect.

There is a further sub-division of the supernatural:

• CORPOREAL SUPERNATURAL KNOWLEDGE - that which is received through the external or internal senses.
• SPIRITUAL SUPERNATURAL KNOWLEDGE - that which is received directly into the intellect without the intervention of the senses.

There is a further sub-division of spiritual supernatural knowledge:

• (i) Distinct, Particular knowledge
• (ii) Confused, general and dark knowledge

Re: (i) 4 kinds - visions, revelations, locutions, spiritual feelings.
Re: (ii) contemplation - that which is given in faith.

NB: The intellect of its own cannot reach the heights of supernatural knowledge - this is a gift of grace.
By the illumination of the virtue of faith the soul becomes transformed and is more and more capable of participating in the life of the Trinity. John Paul II observes that this relationship between God and the soul is at once felial and spousal. John of the Cross emphasises that the function of faith depends ultimately on the will - the intellect and other faculties cannot admit or reject anything unless the will intervenes." The process of ascent to the level of contemplation is called by John of the Cross the Ascent of Mt. Carmel, and requires, as most people know, a process of spiritual purification known as the "Dark Night of the Soul." St. John of the Cross describes the process thus:

"The Holy Spirit illumines the recollected intellect and enlightens it according to its manner of recollection, and... the intellect cannot find any other and greater recollection than in faith; and therefore the Holy Spirit will not illumine it in anything else more than in faith. For the purer and more refined the soul is in faith, the more it has of the charity infused by God; and the more charity it has, the more is it illumined and the more Gifts of the Holy Spirit are communicated to it, for charity is the cause and the means by which they are communicated to it. And although it is true that, in the other illumination of truths, the Holy Spirit communicates a certain light to the soul, the light given in faith, where there is no clear understanding, is as different as is the most precious gold from the basest metal, and quantitatively, as the sea exceeds a drop of water. For in the first way wisdom concerning one or two or three truths is communicated, but in the other all God's wisdom in general is communicated, which is the Son of God, who is communicated to the soul in faith."

In his commentary John Paul II highlights the dependence of the Gifts of the Holy Spirit upon the existence of charity. In his Lenten homilies published under the title "The Sign of Contradiction" John Paul II reflects upon what he calls "the way of purification". He begins his reflection with the observation that there is a qualitative difference between the sin of Satan and the sins of mankind. This is because Satan had a greater degree of knowledge of God. Satan had knowledge but he did not love so he would not serve. For this reason St. Thomas Aquinas observed that "sin of this gravity presupposes another level of perfection in that same being, a level of intellect and will different from that of man”. John Paul II then makes the following observations:

• Human sin - in contrast - consists of turning away from God principally because of disorder in man's attitude to created things.
• God's justice embraces not only the inevitability of punishment for crime but also the law of purification of sinful man. This law has roots deep in human existence. The conscience has a purifying function.
• Part of the law of suffering is that it entails loneliness. It is here on the road leading to man's fulfilment that we find the mystery of purgatory.
• The Dogmatic Constitution on the Church - Lumen Gentium 49 - affirms the doctrine on purgatory. "While some of the disciples of Christ are pilgrims on earth, others who have passed from this life are being purified". This doctrine on purgatory gives formal expression to the law of purification.
• There is a "temporal punishment" which must be endured either in this life or the world to come in order for the soul to be purified.
• The mystery of purgatory is explained not only by the order of justice and the need for expiation through temporal punishment but also perhaps primarily by the order of charity and union with God.

John Paul II then quotes St. John of the Cross:

“With such punishment God greatly humbles the soul in order greatly to uplift it later; if God did not arrange for these feelings, once experienced, to subside quickly, the soul would die within a few days ... These feelings are sometimes so intense that the soul seem to perceive hell and its own perdition wide open to its gaze, for they endure in this life the purgatory due to be endured in the next. And so the soul may pass through this state, or it may not, or it may remain in it only a short time; for one hour of it in this life is of more avail than many in the next."

NB: Objectivity cannot be dealt with in exclusively cognitional terms - that is, in terms of the intellect alone. The human person is a very complex animal.

John Paul II: "There is a superimposing and mutual compenetration of the ontological dimension (the flesh and the spirit), the ethical dimension (moral good and evil) and the pneumatological dimension (the action of the Holy Spirit in the order of grace, including the work of the theological virtues)."

One may add there is also a further order of the person's relations with other persons, some of whom may be instruments of grace or instruments of the devil.

Catholic Liturgy and the Language of Worship

Paper given by Paul Mankowski, S.J. , at the Caroline Chisholm Library

I remember being taken, as a child of three years, to the local parish church during the Holy Week Triduum, and being deeply moved in seeing that the crucifix above the altar and the other images of the saints were covered in dark cloth. I recall the feeling of loss and of a peculiarly sombre emptiness which the veiling provoked: something important, and benevolent, was gone.

I remember too that, at the same age, I was fascinated by my father’s 1949 Nash-Rambler, interested in what made it go. At one point I opened a large red can in our garage and sniffed the fluid inside. The fumes stung my nostrils, and I deduced from the burning sensation in my nose that the motive power in gasoline was nothing other than this capacity to sting. The engine under the hood mysteriously extracted the vital essence, the sting factor, from the fuel, and that made the car move.

As I grew older I learned how an internal combustion engine really works, and my earlier imaginings were recognised for what they were - wrong guesses - and discarded. Once my error was exposed, the infantile picture simply disappeared without remainder. It had no further effect on my thinking or on my attitude toward piston engines.

I also came to learn my catechism in time, and found out the reason for the veiling of the crucifix and statues during the triduum. And yet it isn’t true to say that later understanding obliterated the work of my childish imagination here. Although my early apprehension of the veiling was ‘pre-discursive’, catechetical knowledge only confirmed and deepened what I had already grasped before I had words to express it.

There was nothing I need to let go, nothing I believed that I had to cease believing. When I heard the account of Jesus’ crucifixion, death, deposition, and burial, I didn’t need to be ‘coached’ into the proper emotional responses, for these were already in place long before I understood what I was responding to.

Much later, when I encountered the work of Hans Urs von Balthasar, who erected a comprehensive Theology of Holt Saturday with the empty tabernacle as its keystone. I recognised in his insights a consummation or union of discursive reason, intelligibility, with much deeper promptings that were as old as my oldest memories. The fact of the matter is that the Church taught me about God before I was teachable.
What I wish to propose this afternoon is that the difference between these two naive and juvenile experiences points to something more than a lucky guess in one instance and a bad guess in another.

The Catholic faithful are rightly urged to deepen their capacity for sentire cum ecclesia - an expression which means both ‘to think with the Church’, to believe what she teaches, to take her side in dispute, but also to respond as the Church responds, to love and mourn what the Church loves and mourns, to have as our own the heart of the Church as well as her mind. Our worship of God is, or should be, the pre-eminent occasion of sentire cum ecclesia, when our human faculties are engaged in such a way that intellect, will and emotion are not at war with each other but make a single, simple gesture of adoration.

The Church’s liturgical worship is the school of ortho-pathy. I use this pedantry by way of contrast to ortho-doxy, i.e., having the right opinions. By ‘ortho-pathy’ I mean the right responses, even the right receptivity. The liturgy teaches us about God not (primarily) as a catechist does, by drilling us in true propositions, but rather by inviting us to react as the Church reacts to Calvary, to respond as the Church responds to Easter, to be receptive to Isaiah, or to St. Luke, the way the Church is receptive to them.

I am not arguing, nor do I believe, that right feelings must precede right doctrine or that liturgy is a kind of kindergarten for dinning in the former. It doesn’t always work like that. Most of us had a sound doctrinal grasp of the sixth commandment, ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery,’ long before we possessed the emotional equipment in virtue of which it becomes important. By the same token, perhaps a simple phrase in the Eucharistic Prayer, which we have heard and understood perfectly well for twenty or thirty years, may go off inside us like a forgotten landmine, at a time we least expect it, filling us with a radiance of profound spiritual satisfaction. Not all worshippers are taught the same lessons in the same order. A second grader might be given an orthopathic grasp of the lavabo, the priest’s ceremonial washing of hands, which eludes the systematic theologian for much of his life.

Moreover, what St. Gregory the Great said about the monastic Rule of St. Benedict is even truer of the Liturgy, that ‘lambs can wade in it and elephants can swin in it’ : that is, beginners in the Christian life are never drowned, but can participate in the Church’s worship with total confidence that the authentic teaching of Christ is the flooring beneath the entire enterprise; while the very greatest theologians and mystics can sport in the liturgy, throwing themselves into it entirely, and never touch bottom, never plumb the full depths of the mysteries it contains.

The linchpin of orthopathy is the nature of Christian worship itself. Our worship is God’s initiative. He prepares us to receive him, much like the gardener tends the soil. When we worship with the Church we are prepared to make us receptive, so that we can accept what God wants to give us, and yield the right fruit in due season. And here it is worth remembering that the ‘audience’ of the liturgy, the one to whom it is addressed, is pre-eminently God the Father and only secondarily the members of the assembly. This is plain from the structure of the liturgy itself and from the vocative reference of individual prayers that make it up.

Hence the prime purpose of liturgical language is not ‘communication of information’ to the assembly; rather, liturgical offering should be ‘a pleasing offering’ to God ritually lifted up from the midst of the worshippers.

In principle, there is no aspect of our experience of worship that does not, or cannot, have some meaning pertinent to life in Christ. The architecture of our place of worship, the music that accompanies the liturgy, the shape and colour of priestly vesture, the progress of the eucharistic action, and of course the words spoken by the celebrant and the people can all contribute to the act of worship. Most elements of worship are the way they are for a reason; most ‘do their work’ even when, as in the case of children, the reason is not explicitly known. And they should be left to do their work. The overwhelming majority of celebrants must strive for this and not adapt, not depart from the text or the rubrics. C.S. Lewis once wrote of Christian liturgy that even if the celebrant’s vestments are not heavy, they should look heavy. That is, they should make it clear to the worshipers that his part in the service is not an extension of his own personality but is a munus, a responsibility laid on his shoulders the way a chain-of-office was laid around the shoulders of a mayor. The priest as celebrant should appear obedient to the Lord’s eucharistic command, ‘Do this’ in vitue of which he is the presider. To disturb the form of the ritual is to disturb the worshipers who cannot perform two tasks at once: either they are worshipping or they are being distracted by adaptations, by pointless innovations in the rubrics, chatty intros of the readings, the tendentious alteration of collects or eucharistic prayers, and, unless one is especially blessed, the music. Some find this exhausting.

A friend who attends a fairly middle-of-the-road church told me recently: ‘It would be great if parish liturgy were done as it should be, but the fact is that it’s not. And for my own spiritual health I just can’t keep going to mass every time with my dukes up’. Point taken. How can we speak of cultivating right receptivity when one is forced to choose between ‘going with the flow’, which means complicity in silliness, or fighting against the current, which excludes receptivity to court? It would seem that the model of the Church’s worship as a school of orthopathy is a pipe-dream, or at best a favour reserved to the happy few.

Though tempting, this view neglects one vital theological consideration: every mass which has ever been said, with the barest minimum validity, is an entirely perfect mass. It is perfect for two reasons: because the victim that is offered is perfect, and because the priest who performs the sacrifice is perfect. It is Jesus Christ who is both victim and priest: and this means that every mass is an offering no less effective, no less pleasing to the Father, no less redemptive of us sinners, than the sacrifice made on Calvary, because every mass is the sacrifice of Calvary. This is true when the celebrant is in mortal sin or has lost his faith. This is true when the rubrics are slovenly, the readings inaudible, the homily purest heresy. This is true when mass is said on the hood of a jeep, in a Quonset hut or in the kind of hyper-illuminated warehouse in which architecture and liturgist have conspired to ensure that no stray thought fly heavenward.

Still, God is there, nurturing and tending. At each mass we pray to the Lord. ‘Look not on our sins but on the faith of your Church.' Surely, it is not too much to believe that God grants this petition; that in our worship he sees not the putting and stubbornness of men, but his Bride, the Church, at prayer; that contemplative nuns, and theologians, and steelworkers and even three-year olds face-to-face with an empty tabernacle are formed by this consummate priesthood into a single, acceptable Body: without spot, without wrinkle, without apricot Dacron polyester.

Talk on Carthusian Spirituality

A lunchtime talk given at the Library back in 2001 by Dr. Peter Birrell

"Stat crux, dum volvitur orbis"
One of the most precious fruits of the extraordinary cultural, monastic and spiritual renascence of the period from the late 11th century to the beginnings of the 13th century (circa 1050-1220) was the foundation of the Order of Chartreuse, the Carthusians, by St Bruno (circa 1032-1101). The notional date is usually given as 1084.
In its immediate impact on the life of the Church of the 12th century, the other major foundation, that of the Order of Citeaux, the Cistercians, in 1098 overshadowed the Carthusians. By the death of St Bernard of Clairvaux in 1153 there were already 345 foundations, whereas 100 years after St Bruno's death, there were still only 33 Carthusian foundations (circa 12200).
However, during the past nine centuries, the Carthusian Order of monks and nuns has continuously represented a unique integration of the hermit life and the monasticism of the cenobium - the monastic life in common. It is the hermit life of the desert combined with the safeguards of a fundamentally Benedictine cenobitic balance. [Houses of Carthusians are called Charterhouses (a medieval English modification of Chartreuse Houses).
Much of the life of a Carthusian choir monk is spent in the solitude of his "cell" - really a hermitage with a walled garden. He leaves his cell principally for the long night-office of Vigils, which the Carthusians take several hours to chant slowly, and for the sung conventual Mass and for Vespers. The rest of the Divine Office is usually celebrated "in cell". Carthusian Priests, (and all choir monks normally are called to the priesthood), have no external visible ministry whatsoever, under any circumstances.
Historically, the Carthusians have not shown the compromises and mitigations of their exclusively contemplative orientation that have been characteristic of other monastic orders. Thus, after the golden age of the Bernardine 12th century, the history of the Cistercian monks has been one of subtle or obvious corruption of their simplicity, partially corrected by a constant series of providential reforms, such as the De Rance reform of La Trappe in the late 17th century which gave rise to the Trappist Cistercians (OCSO).
The phrase "Numquam reformatam, numquam deformatam" often applied to the Carthusians is an oversimplification - nonetheless, they have serenely stayed true to their vocation of "being alone with God". They have always been relatively few in numbers - the vocation is a rare one. But the study of Western Catholic Spirituality over the last 8 to 9 centuries reveals the leavening effect of the Carthusians. This spiritual elite has had an effect out of all proportion to their numbers.
A few examples:

• The strange relationship between the Carthusians and the Imitation of Christ. The Augustinian Thomas a Kempis (1379-1471) was undoubtedly the final redactor of the Imitatio Christi (he signed the MS of 1441). But Gerard Groote, (1340-1384), the founder of the community to which Thomas belonged, the "Brethren of the Common Life", wrote the prototype as a spiritual diary mainly during his sojourn with the Carthusians (circa 1375-1378). After his death, the Carthusians circulated the work widely, as they later did the redaction of Thomas a Kempis.
• The transmission of the treasures of 14th century English mysticism. The writings of: (a) the anonymous priest author of the Cloud of Unknowing; (b) the Scale of Perfection of Walter Hilton; (c) The Revelations of Divine Love of Julian of Norwich; and the less important Furnace of Love etc. of Richard Rolle of Hampole were all copied and transmitted by Carthusian monks in England. Indeed a good case can be made that the Cloud's author was a Carthusian Monk.
• The interaction between St Ignatius of Loyola (1491-1556) and the Carthusians. The Carthusian Order exercised a lifelong influence on the founder of the great apostolic Order of the Society of Jesus. Ignatius was converted in 1521 while recovering from his Pamplona battle wounds. He read the Carthusian Ludolph of Saxony's (circa 13001378) Life of Christ. The Jesuits enjoyed intimate relations with the Carthusians - permitting their members to transfer to the Carthusian order and even return to the Society without loss of position (altogether extraordinary permissions).

Bibliography on the Carthusians

• Compact Disc: In the Silence of the Word, a Carthusian Meditation, by the monks of Parkminster, D.L.T., 1998
• Books about Carthusians: P. Van der Meer de Walcheren, The White Paradise, David McKay, N.Y., 1952. Andre Ravier S.J., Saint Bruno, the Carthusian. Pub. Ignatius Press, 1996. John Skinner, Hear Our Silence, Pub. Fount Collins, 1995.
• Carthusian books: A Carthuslan, The Spirit of Place, with photos of Parkininster, D.L.T., 1998. A Carthuslan, The Way of Silent Love, noviciate conferences (1), D.L.T., 1993 A Carthuslan. The Call of Silent Love. noviciate conferences (II), D.L.T., 1995. A Carthuslan. Interior Prayer. Carthuslan Novice Conferences (1111), D.L.T.' 1996. A Carthuslan. The Freedom of Obedience, Carthuslan Novice Conferences (IV), D.L.T., 1998. Carthuslan priors and novice masters, The Wound of Love, D.L.T., 1994. A Carthusian, Where Silence is Praise, D.L.T., new edition, 1997. A Carthuslan, The Prayer of Love and Silence, D.L.T., new edition, 1998. Dom Augustin Guillerand. They Speak by Silences, D.L.T.. new edition, 1996. Dom Augustin Guillerand, The Prayer of The Presence of God, Dimension Books, 1966. Guigo I, The Meditations, tr. A. G. Mursell, Kalamazoo, 1995. Guigo II. The Ladder of Monks and Twelve Meditations, tr. J. Walsh S.J., Mowbray, 1978. William, of St. Thierry, The Golden Epistle. tr. W. Shewring, Sheed and Ward, new edition 1980

Book Club Meeting

The Caroline Chisholm Library's book club meets again this Friday, 27 July in the Caroline Chisholm Library at 7 p.m to discuss Julien Green, Each Man in His Darkness. 

 

All are welcome. 

Welcome

Welcome to the new blog for the Caroline Chisholm Library Melbourne. We will be regularly posting news about Library events, plus reviews of books in the Library's collection.