Tag: Catholic Studies

A fragmentary reading on emergent notions: seraphic love and affectio iustitiae

Recently I submitted an article to a journal on eco-phenomenology and how eco-phenomenology satisfies the intentions of ecological concern. For this blog post, I thought it would be good to establish a reference point for developing my thoughts on a slightly different subject: eco-theology. On that note, it seems appropriate to discuss two notions—seraphic love and affectio iustitiae—emerging from my eco-phenomenology.

Not to give too much background, but my eco-phenomenology presents Francis of Assisi as the prime mediator (or intermediator) in service of new imagination vis cogitativa, whose actions afford us with satisfaction of ecological concern—i.e., satisfaction of the estimative power. (In this context, the estimative power is that which, by the limitation of its very nature, oppresses creatures). The visionary-love of the seraphic[1] that Francis underwent was, and is, that from which one acts-in-care for the integral good of creation. Indeed, an application of the principle of seraphic love is demonstration of care [fürsorge][2]–a hospitalization—of the souls of all creatures. And applying this principle to the appropriate degree results in satisfaction of the needs of the estimative power.

Pope Francis describes (romantically though not naively so), what an application of the principle of seraphic love looks like:

Just as happens when we fall in love with someone, whenever he would gaze at the sun, the moon or the smallest of animals, [S. Francis] burst into song, drawing all other creatures into his praise. He communed with all creation, even preaching to the flowers, inviting them ‘to praise the Lord, just as if they were endowed with reason.’ His response to the world around him was so much more than intellectual appreciation or economic calculus, for to him each and every creature was a sister united to him by bonds of affection. That is why he felt called to care for all that exists. His disciple Saint Bonaventure tells us that, “from a reflection on the primary source of all things, filled with even more abundant piety, he would call creatures, no matter how small, by the name of ‘brother’ or ‘sister.’” Such a conviction cannot be written off as naive romanticism, for it affects the choices which determine our behaviour.[3]

In this passage, Pope Francis issues forth a specific sense of what seraphic love is as an important principle of eco-phenomenology: i.e., “[A]n integral ecology…for openness to categories which transcend the language of mathematics and biology, and take us to the heart of what it is to be human.”[4] Somewhat paradoxically, “categories which transcend the language of mathematics and biology” are not categories of transcendental phenomenology, “the unknowable,” or something else. They are, rather, categories of openness in an intermediary form of life. By virtue of its openness, the actions of the intermediary send-forth an image of right-relationship that governs other forms of life, and it does this through application of particular matters toward universal notions—for example, the particular matter of gratitude toward the universal notion of social love. Enlivened by the splendor shining-forth from particular acts of gratitude unique to its own essence, the light of the intermediary illumines thus small and great things like; intelligent and dumb things, alike.

How do we attain to such light?

Seraphic love manifests via complete reception of stigmata. “Stigmata” refers, theologically, to the five crucifixion points, or wounds, of Christ’s passion: hands, feet, and side pierced by the lancea (cf. John 19:34). More specifically, it refers to a recipient taking-onthe crucifixion wounds of Christ through a process of stigmatization. Sander Vloebergs’ exploration of stigmatization presents an “inclusive” Dominican definition of stigmata as “evidence of suffering undergone in the attempt to follow Christ.”[5] According to Vloebergs, some consider S. Francis’s stigmatization as “the most famous and influential case” of serving as “the exemplar model [of] the Stigmatized, the alter Christus,” but not everyone thinks so.[6] According to Vloebergs, skepticism concerning the stigmata of Francis deals with whether the physical wounds of the stigmata were present well before his death, or not. Vloebergs presents his findings within the context of the “ambiguity between outer miracle and inner mysticism.” What is relevant here is the reception of stigmata as importantly involving the invisible nature of seraphic love, and this I term a seraphic spirit of mind.

Seraphic love as seraphic spirit of mind originates from Bonaventure’s account of S. Francis’s seraphic vision atop a Mt. Alvernia. A fragment of it reads:

This [seraphic] vision had been presented to his eyes by Divine Providence, that the friend of Christ might know that he was to be transformed into Christ crucified, not by the martyrdom of the flesh, but by the fire of the spirit.[7]

Francis is said to have received a complete reception of stigmata, visible and invisible. And in accounting for the invisible nature of it, we look to the spiritual degrees of Francis’s seraphic vision, represented by the apparition of living angelic beings, having “six wings, all on fire.” In the Judeo-Christian tradition, the role of “the seraphim” is parallel to the role of the cherubim, who are depicted as sword-bearers of God’s fiery-justice (cf. Genesis 3:24). As to what the identity of the seraphim most closely resembles,Jewish scholarship suggests “the flying fiery serpent” in the Book of Isaiah (14:29-30), which reads as follows:

Do not rejoice…that the rod that struck you is broken, for from the root of the snake will come forth an adder, and its fruit will be a flying fiery serpent. The firstborn of the poor will graze, and the needy lie down in safety; but I will make your root die of famine, and your remnant I will kill.[8]

The mythos of this passage is peculiar, particularly the seraphic spiritas “the fruit of the adder.” What could this mean? Perhaps seraphic spiritis a biting-spirit of love through which one’s passions are melded to conform to Christ-crucified, “not by the martyrdom of the flesh, but by the fire of the spirit.” The seraphic adjoining a host (in this case, S. Francis) inflames its user with a “complete conflagration of mind.”[9] The process of conflagration (i.e., the process of the fire of the spirit) is likened unto a wildfire burning and destroying the impurities of a person (cf. 1 Peter 1:6-7; Psalm 66:10). The wildfire stokes an affection for justice as it indwells the will to act righteously, in purity. The signs of wildfire in the mind of a person, or as Vloebergs might say the signs of “eternal desire” in the mind of a person, fashions an individual in virtue. In other words, the perfection of virtue results from an indwelling process of seraphic spirit. Moreover, the intention of Christ’s passion is an arming of the mind and body to “no longer [be] bound by human desires but by the will of God” (cf. 1 Peter 4:1-2). Arriving at the intentions of this passion begins with the burning away of human desire, marked by impressions of mind. When the invisible nature of stigmata is fully present in the mind, the visible nature of it may begin to manifest; for, as “God is spirit,” the spirit incarnates (cf. John 4:24). So, the invisible nature of stigmata is the presence of mental signs of God’s intention toward us in our passion, and this culminates in a complete reception, a complete incarnation, of the love of God. But we must exercise cooperation with the seraphic spirit of mind to get there.

The will’s exercise of the signs of wildfire are an exercise of what Duns Scotus calls affectio iustitiae (i.e., “affection for justice”). The affectio iustitiae is a moderatrix “restraining or moderating” the lesser passions of the intellective (or sensitive) appetites in a free will.[10] The will without this moderatrix is a will engrossed in lower passions (i.e., the “affection for advantage” or the affectio commodi); or, perhaps engrossed too much in higher passions (e.g., intellectualism). Such a will is not totally free according. According to Duns Scotus:

If, along the lines of Anselm’s thought experiment in On the Fall of the Devil, one imagines an angel that had the affectio commodi and not the affectio iustitiae—i.e., one that had intellective appetite merely as that sort of appetite and not as free—such an angel could not refrain from willing advantageous things or from willing them in the highest [detrimental] degree…that affectio iustitiae…is the innate liberty of the will.[11]

The affection for justice serves the objective of justice. “Justice,” as Duns Scotus and others have it, is “rectitude of will for its own sake [and] has to do with another.”[12] As justice is desired, an “affection for justice” (affectio iustitiae) is required to develop rectitude of will necessary for the carrying-out of justice. Undergoing the complete conflagration of mind is likened unto practicing or exercising the affectio iustitiae. One possible way to practice moderating the passions, then, is to exercise the vis cogitativa with respect to moderation. According to theologian James Keating, exercising it to moderation involves a union of intellect and heart in holiness that abnegates popular imagination for new imagination.[13] One thing seems clear about the usefulness of the abnegation of popular imagination, and that is that an act of holy union might well be contrary to political activism. This would be beneficial for eco-theology because, unlike forms of political activism, exercise of affectio iustitiae restrains the will in order to act in-rectitude for its own sake and, at the same time, for another’s ultimate, immediate good.[14] The suggestion here is that acting-for the intentions of ecological concern should not be relegated to the political sphere but to some divine sphere. By “divine sphere” we mean that which one is habituated to practice, recognize, and discern the charisms of one’s life to deeper revelation and mystery. The charisms of one’s life may include evangelical poverty, penance, charity, grace, peace, humility, and others. Such a divine sphere would emanate from one’s detachment of earthly things to “things above” (Colossians 3:2). The practitioner, by being disposed the mind set on things above, would become a seraphic practitioner, through which social love is enacted, in justice, for the integral good of creation.

So much then for thoughts on eco-theology.

REFERENCES

Bonaventure (1868). The Life of St. Francis of Assisi. Edward, Henry (ed.). London. [Online]. Available: http://www.saintsbooks.net/books/St.%20Bonaventure%20-%20The%20Life%20of%20St.%20Francis%20of%20Assisi.pdf. (June 2020).

Duns Scotus, John (1997). “God’s Justice,” in Duns Scotus on the Will and Morality. Part IV, 183-194. Frank, William (ed.). D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press. Print.

Heidegger, Martin (2008). Being and Time. Macquarrie & Robinson (trans.). US: Harper & Row Publishers. Translated from the German Sein und Zeit (7th ed.) Neomarius Verlag, Tūbingen. Print.

Hirsch & Benzinger (2011). “Seraphim” in Jewish Encyclopedia,Available: jewishencyclopedia.com/articles/13437-seraphim. (Spring 2020).

Keating, James (2015). The Heart of the Diaconate: Communion with the Servant Mysteries of Christ. NY: Paulist Press. Print.

Mcginn, Bernard (2006). The Essential Writings of Christian Mysticism. NY: Modern Library. Print.

Pope Francis (2015). “Ecological Education and Spirituality” in Laudato Si’: On Care for Our Common Home. Vatican City. [Online]. Available: w2.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/encyclicals/documents/papa-francesco_20150524_enciclica-laudato-si.pdf#page=58. (Spring 2020).

Williams, Thomas (2003). “From Metaethics to Action Theory” in The Cambridge Companion to Duns Scotus. Williams (ed.). UK: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 332-351, print.

Vloebergs, Sander (2016). “Wounding love: a mystical-theological exploration of stigmatization,” in the International Journal of Philosophy and Theology,vol. 2: 1-2. Doi: 10.1080/21692327.2016.1199968.


[1] cf. Bonaventure, The Biography of St. Francis, 163-165. The “visionary-love of the seraphic” is another way of considering the integrated product, the singular act, of S. Francis’s “seraphic vision” atop Mt. La Verna.

[2] Heidegger, Being and Time, I.2, ¶12:57. “Being towards the world [Sein zur Welt] is essentially concern” (84).

[3] Francis, Laudato si’, no. 11

[4] Ibid.

[5] Vloebergs, “Wounding love,” 3-5

[6] Ibid.

[7] Bonaventure, The Life of St. Francis of Assisi, 162-164.

[8] cf. Hirsch and Benzinger, “Seraphim.”

[9] Mcginn, Christian Mysticism, 249

[10] Cambridge Companion to Duns Scotus, 343-346

[11] Ibid., 346

[12] Duns Scotus on the Will and Morality, 183-184

[13] Keating, Heart of the Diaconate, 40-42

[14] cf. Duns Scotus on the Will and Morality, 183-184

Reflections of Season & Saint: Christmas and the Feast of St. Stephen

When I was young, I didn’t enjoy Christmas time much. Like many kids, receiving gifts, soaking in whatever feelings of nostalgia and comfort, and (and this could probably go without saying) having time off from school, were all things quite welcomed by me. But other things that I assume a lot of people cherish about the Christmas season (e.g., family time, merry-making, etc.), just didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. I did have a vague or obscure sense of the uniqueness of the Christmas season when I was young, but having a deep realization of the true spirit of Christmas required a lot more interior formation.

The Advent season is a time for disclosure and new spiritual birth. It’s a time during which God reveals Himself in flesh, in substance — to a degree so real and concrete that to escape it would be to escape a holy fate. Advent is a time of prophecy and revelation; new imagination replacing old; and a relative assurance of things to come, whether solemn or happy. There’s joy, fire, love, peace; there’s a looking-back, a looking-in, and a looking-forward. Following the festivities of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with my wife and daughter (and our little child who’s on the way!), I awoke this morning, the 26th, to a certain realization about Christmas. On this, the Feast Day of St. Stephen, there is a powerful reminder of the Advent season that serves to evince the true spirit of Christmas.

On December 26th, just one day after Christmas, the Church celebrates the Feast of St. Stephen, protomartyr and deacon. Traditionally, it’s said that St. Stephen was the first martyr (hence: protomartyr) in the Church and one of the first seven ordained by the Apostles to diaconate (cf. Acts vi-vii). Due to injustices committed against Hellenists in the Christian community in Jerusalem, the Apostles (who were too busy to manage the disputes of the community themselves), selected among them seven men, who were “full of Spirit and of wisdom”, to be ordained as deacons (vi, 1-3). Through the “laying-on of hands” bestowed upon these seven men by the Apostles, the ecclesial order of the diaconate was established (vi, 6). Stephen, a holy and highly influential one among these seven men, was known in Jerusalem for his teachings, which aroused and incited the anger and vitriol of the local Jews. They had him arrested. At the time of his arrest, it’s written that the Sanhedrin saw that St. Stephen’s face was “like the face of angel” (cf. vi, 15). And in a rousing testimony of faith before the Sanhedrin and local Jewish community, St. Stephen presented his apologia (a reasoned defense of the Christian faith per the oracles and cultural history of the Jewish crowd before him) with a cutting persuasive power — so much so that Stephen was to be stoned to death (cf. vii). Just before being put to death, St. Stephen gazed into heaven and, in seeing the glory of God, declared “I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!” (vi, 56). Surely: December 26th is a marvelous feast day for a marvelous saint, martyr and deacon. But our question here is: What on earth does all this have to do with the true spirit of Christmas?

I’ve been in a serious state of growth and development over the past few years. (“Growing pains” is a popular phrase, but it hasn’t lost its bearing for me!). My inner-transformations, my perpetual conversions and my return to the heart of Jesus, has all been a concentrated focus with two words at its center: charity and the poor. These two words have been my focus partly because of the considerable amount of time I’ve spent reading Deacon James Keating’s The Heart of the Diaconate (a great little book) and The Deacon Reader (a book containing numerous different articles by different authors). Both books deal with the subject of the diaconate, which is, to put it deeper into an ecclesial context, a term suggesting what the ministry of the deacon is — that is, diakonia, “service.” A deacon is an ordained clergyman in the ecclesial hierarchy of the Church. At the top of the hierarchy: bishops; in the middle: priests; at the bottom: deacons. As an ordained clergyman, the deacon has the Sacrament of Holy Orders; therefore, they’re impressed with an indelible mark of ordination. For deacons in particular, this mark is an indelible mark of Christ the Servant, who “came not to be served, but to serve” (Mk x, 45). The diaconate then is an order or assembly of those called to the service or ministry of the deacon, which is three-fold: Word, Charity and Liturgy. Deacons minister the Word, for they proclaim the Gospel and, with the faculty of preaching, serve as homilists for the edification and growth of their fellow Christians. Deacons also administer Charity, for they’re responsible for carrying out charitable services on behalf of the Church, which includes visiting the lonely and the widowed, feeding the poor, reaching out to those imprisoned, managing the Church’s finances responsibly, and so forth. Lastly, deacons assist the priest liturgically, for they distribute Holy Communion, administer baptism, perform last rites, proclaim the Gospel, and so forth. Deacons are the ordinary ministers of ecclesial functions that Catholic Christians might do in exceptional circumstances. But the difference between the two is in who the deacon is; with their special and indelible mark of ordination, the deacon is a living icon to the Church and the World. The purpose of the deacon — as St. Lawrence, the deacon par excellence, suggests to us — is “obedience unto death” for the sake of the true treasures of the Church: the poor (Philip ii, 8).

Bl. Isaac of Stella defined charity as “the reason why anything should be done or left undone, changed or left unchanged; it is the initial principle and the end to which all things should be directed” (cf. fn.). If this isn’t a sufficient definition of charity, take the Apostle’s words to heart: “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ” (Gal vi, 2). The meaning of “the poor” is appreciated in a similar vein of thought — not as something having a spiritual meaning separate from an economic reality, but rather as something having a spiritual and economic reality, that, while distinct, are in no way separate from each other. This truth indicates that charity, while distinct from the poor, is absolutely inextricable from the poor and thus inextricable from the security of eternal salvation; for, as we read in the Gospel of Matthew concerning the Final Judgment, to greatly lack love for the poor — the “least of these”, the “poorest of the poor” — is to be met-with the fierce and righteous judgment of God (cf. Matt xxv). And so it is charity for the poor, even unto this great holy magnitude, that makes Christmas real; because love for the poor guides what we say, think or do with respect to our vindication before a Holy and Almighty God, it must be that this positive and benevolent guidance, this heart of charity for the poor, of God, reveals to us the true spirit of the Heart of God, which is, namely, Christmas.

What I’ve come to realize is that without a heart beating with charity for the poor, Christmas is less than what it can be, and less than what it should be, too. Imagine Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol: notice the merry tidings, the gaiety, the ghost-like scenes and images of holly and wine, cheer and second-chances, family and renewal — all of this is nothing without charity for the poor. Without charity for the poor, the true spirit of Christmas amounts to an exercise of the vain, superficial, consumeristic and gross. Without a charitable spirit full of love for the poor, the doings of Christmas resound like the “clanging cymbal” of a clock tower or a Church steeple (1 Cor xiii, 1). Charity for the poor empowers one with the sacramental grace necessary to enjoy the hallmarks of the Christmas season — merry-making, family time, and much more. May we all be empowered to perform spiritual and corporal works of mercy for the poor. May we all allow individual almsgiving for the poor to be a mighty weapon of the real, holy and true spirit of Christmas. Charity for the poor evangelizes the evangelized. It is an evangelical counsel, after all. And, in fact, charity for the poor might be one of the last things capable of effecting serious change. Let’s hope so.

Pray for us, St. Lawrence!

For further reading:

cf. http://www.liturgies.net/Liturgies/Catholic/loh/week5saturdayor.htm for quote by Bl. Isaac of Stella in the Liturgy of Hours Office of Readings.

Keating, James (2015). The Heart of the Diaconate: Communion with the Servant Mysteries of Christ. NY: Paulist Press. Print.

(2006). The Deacon Reader. Keating, James (ed.). NY: Paulist Press. Print.

The Judgments of Conscience

I’ve enjoyed reading about the life of St. Thomas More, in, Saint Thomas More: Selected Writings (New York: Vintage Spiritual Classics, 2003). What I enjoy about this book, besides the excellent editing work of John Thornton and Susan Varenne, is the preface to the book, written by the Jesuit, Joseph W. Koterski. In the preface, Koterski gives us a concise and to-the-point outlook and overview of the significance of St. Thomas More’s life. His analysis of the “judgments of conscience” is most striking.

Some background about the life of St. Thomas More is in order. St. Thomas More (1478-1535) was a scholar, lawyer, statesman & humanist. More lived in England during a time of “new learning” in Europe. As a friend of the remarkable Dutch humanist, Desiderius Erasmus, More contributed greatly to the scholasticism of his day. His literary works (e.g., Utopia and The Sadness of Christ) showcase an understanding of a wide range of theological and philosophical subjects. As a lawyer and commoner, More ascended to the highest levels of diplomacy in England during the reign of King Henry VIII. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), More was executed by Henry VIII in 1535 because of his silence on the issue of Henry VIII’s desire to obtain a divorce from Catherine of Aragon, so to marry his mistress, Anne Boleyn, which, according to Koterski, involved “a question of a truth based on revelation and the determination of authority [by the Roman Pontiff]” (xii, xvii). More’s trial was tense, to say the least. It is supposed that More was eventually charged with treason only because Sir Richard Rich (1496-1567), a prominent lawyer himself, committed perjury. Notwithstanding, once More was charged with treason, he chose to no longer keep silent about the issues surrounding his sentencing, and so he discharged his views about Henry VIII’s actions and the sentencing thereof. More’s “stance” at trial still serves as a remarkable testimony to truth and law. He said:

And forasmuch as this Idictment is grounded upon an Act of Parliament directly repugnant to the laws of God and his Holy Church, the supreme Government of which, or of any part whereof, may no temporal Prince presume by any law to take upon him, as rightfully belonging to the See of Rome, a spiritual pre-eminence by the mouth of our Saviour himself, personally present upon earth, only to St. Peter and his successors, Bishops of the same See, by special prerogative granted; it is therefore in law, amongst Christians, insufficient to charge any Christian man.” (xiii)

On a spring day in 1535, More was executed. At his execution, it is written he said, “I die the king’s good servant but God’s first”. He knelt down, prayed the Miserere (Psalm 51), kissed his executioner in “an act of forgiveness”, and then succumbed to the swift blow of the executioner’s ax (lxiv). More was canonized in 1935 by Pope Pius Xi in Saint Peter’s Basilica. Pope Pius XI praised More as an example of “Christian fortitude” and described him as a “star of sanctity that traced a luminous path across that dark period of history” (lxvi). St. Thomas More’s patronage in the Catholic Church includes lawyers, statesman and politicians. He stands as an witness to law, truth, wisdom and knowledge amidst the fiery trials of martyrdom, and he stood for it all in the face of tremendous political adversity.

But how did he “stand” for it all?

It is said that the Protestant reformer, Martin Luther, dictated two sources by which he would relegate himself to a trial of authority: (1) by testimony of Holy Scripture; and (2) by his own conscience. Thomas More is said to have done so by two related sources: (1) by the authority of Christ’s Holy Church; and (2) by the “inner seat of reasoning and judgment about moral matters” (xv). On account of both of these sources, More stood before the world-court with a formed conscience, a conscience that exercised “proper authority and reason’s discovery of the natural law” (xv). Indeed, he stood before the world-court with a strong conscience.

Thomas More appears as someone who demonstrated an unusual sense of wisdom in relation to law and the governance thereof. His unusual sense of wisdom in relation to such is most likely due to a few reasons. One reason is that More was associated with the Carthusian Order in his youth, and so he most likely participated in the monks’ spiritual exercises of meditation and prayer (xxxvii). He also most likely read St. Thomas Aquinas on the judgments of conscience: i.e., a three-fold exercise that More could use in conjunction with the Carthusian spiritual exercises. The three-fold division of the judgments of conscience includes:

“(1) The recognition that we have done or have not done something (in this regard, conscience is said to be a witness);
(2) the judgment that something should be done or should not be done (here conscience binds and incites us to some action); and
(3) the judgment that something is well done or ill done (thus conscience is said to excuse, accuse, or torment us).” (xv)

The first of these judgments of conscience may be known to many, to Christians in particular, as an “examination of conscience”. It is important to note that the first step of the judgments of conscience, (“the recognition that we have done or have not done something”), is not the same as steps two and three of the same. In steps two and three of the judgments of conscience, there is a judgment done to the conscience. As such, steps two and three of the judgments of conscience are not strictly identical to the recognition or examination of the judgment of conscience, also known here as step one of the judgments of conscience. Examining or recognizing one’s conscience is not a direct judgment upon one’s conscience, but rather merely only an examination or recognition of the conscience that may lead to formal judgment of the conscience. In other words, examination or recognition of the judgments of conscience is not in-itself a judgment of the conscience. It is, rather, a step in bearing out actual judgment upon the conscience. The judgments of conscience themselves are, on the other hand, a step-beyond only examination or recognition of the conscience or of the judgments of conscience, for the judgments of conscience bear down on the conscience, convicting it, accusing it, tormenting it, binding it, inciting it, and so on. So it is steps two and three of the judgments of conscience I am most concerned with here, for these are crucial in identifying the life of a Martyr and Saint; they are crucial in identifying the life of St. Thomas More.

In conclusion, we might all do well to transition from merely examining or recognizing the judgments of conscience to actually judging the conscience. This sort of exercise of the conscience is what Martyrs and Saints are made of. And if you “delight in the law of God in your inmost self”, perhaps you should make it your exercise too (Romans 7:22).

Lance H. Gracy serves as contributor and editor-in-chief of TheEruditePress. If you want to know more about him, check out the “About the Editor” page.

REFERENCES

All in-text citations found in:

Thornton, Varenne (Eds.) (2003). Saint Thomas More: Selected Writings. New York: Vintage Spiritual Classics. Print.

Citations from Holy Scripture according to the New Revised Standard Version (NRSV).