Friday, February 20, 2009


The February 22 Feast of the Chair of Saint Peter is a celebration of the Church’s “unity”, and the “authority” that helps sustain it. Despite the so-called “Reformation” of the 16th century, which was essentially a rebellion against that authority (and precisely wounding that unity, resulting in the separation of many), the Church remains One, and the office of Peter is a sign (and instrument) of this unity.

The Church is human society elevated to the supernatural dimension; a reality that belongs to the order of grace and to the natural order, which are somehow parallel. Because it is human as well as God’s—in the world as well as transcending time and the material universe—whatever “goods” may be essential to the human community—“civil” society (from the Latin, civitas, “city”) or the State, the “political” community (from the Greek, polis)—would also be proper (even if, at times, only by analogy) to the Church.

Human society is, essentially, the “union of wills” (formal cause) of “individuals through their families” (material cause). It is directly brought into existence and sustained by the human drive towards association with one’s fellowmen—love—or, more properly, “solidarity” (efficient cause); and for the ultimate purpose of achieving the “common good” (final cause or “end” of society).

The “union of wills” which is the form of society can only find expression as a single will; hence, the need for a “political authority”. Parenthetically, the primary objective of the political authority—of government—is to ensure the reign of justice; and that is because “justice”, the minimum of love or solidarity, is what brings and maintains society in existence; hence, of primordial importance to the community. Justice (giving everyone his due) is the “manageable” aspect of the “efficient cause” of society; and as St. Augustine puts it, “a State which is not governed according to justice would be just a bunch of thieves” (De Civitate Dei, IV, 4; quoted in Pope Benedict XVI, Encyclical Letter Deus Caritas Est, 28). Love cannot be a matter of compulsion; but its minimum, justice, can be imposed coercively, through none other than “law” (rule-making, execution and dispute-resolution), which is, in fact, how the political authority operates.

Just as human society naturally requires “authority” and “law”, so does the Church, the people of God; hence, the “hierarchy” (Greek, hieros, “sacred”, and archos, “ruler”). Indeed, “grace builds on nature and brings it to fulfillment” (Pope John Paul II, Fides et Ratio, 43; paraphrasing St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, I, 1, 8 ad 2: “cum enim gratia non tollat naturam sed perficiat”), not the least because God assumed human nature— “the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us” (Jn 1:14).

The institution of a “structure of government” (hierarchy) in the Church is evident from the call of the Twelve Apostles (despite their human defects), with the power and duty to appoint their successors (“succession” for “continuity”), our Bishops, as in the election of Matthias to replace Judas the Betrayer (Acts 1:15ff); and their appointment of Deacons (Acts 6:1-7). Among the Twelve, Peter (and his successor, the Pope) is clearly “first”.

Our Lord was clear about Peter’s primacy: “You are Peter and upon this rock I will build my church” (Mt 16:18). Anti-catholic propaganda would insist that the Greek words used for Peter (Petrus, stone) and the Rock (Petra, rock) refer to different things. But the theory that “rock” does not refer to Peter would render the passage meaningless, especially in light of the succeeding verse: “I will give you the keys to the kingdom of heaven. Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.” Our Lord would have spoken not Greek but Aramaic which had only one word for rock: Kephas.

Before the Last Supper, our Lord also singled out Peter: “Simon, Simon, behold Satan has demanded to sift all of you like wheat, but I have prayed that your own faith may not fail; and once you have turned back, you must strengthen your brothers” (Lk 22:31). After the Resurrection, our Lord again singled out Peter with the thrice-repeated commission, “Feed my sheep” (Jn 21:15-23).

Peter was aware of his primacy: he spoke for the Twelve whenever their collective stand was needed. When our Lord asked, “Who do you say I am,” Peter replied, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Mt 16:13-16; Mk 8:27-29; Lk 9:18-20). After Jesus’ Bread of Life Discourse (Jn 6:22ff), when many left because they could not accept that “unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man, and drink his blood, you shall not have life in you” [Jn 6:54], and our Lord asked, “Do you also wish to go away,” Peter answered: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (Jn 6:68ff).

Peter played a leading role in the primitive Church. He directed the election of Judas’ replacement (Acts 1:15ff); he spoke to the crowd on Pentecost (2:14ff), giving his audience the requirements for their salvation (2:38, “Repent and be baptized”); he performed the first miracles of the Apostles (3:1ff). Peter’s primacy is, of course, not so much as “master” but as servant—“servant of the servants of God,” servus servorum Dei.

From the beginning, the Church was also aware of Peter’s primacy. While Peter was in prison (at Herod’s orders) in Jerusalem, “prayer was being made to God for him by the Church without ceasing” (Acts 12:1-5). St. Paul himself acknowledged Peter’s primacy by going to Jerusalem “to see Peter”, videre Petrum (Gal 1:18). Every listing of the Apostles has Peter as first (Mt 10:2-4; Mk 3:14-19: Lk 6:13-16; Acts 1:13).

It was Peter’s boat (also an image of the Church) that our Lord chose, from which he taught the crowds (Lk 5:3). Like Noah’s Ark, Peter’s boat, the Church, is the vessel in which we are saved and shall reach our final destination.

St. Josemaria writes: “Catholic, apostolic, Roman! I want you to be very Roman, ever anxious to make your ‘pilgrimage’ to Romevidere Petrum’—‘to see Peter’” (The Way, No. 520).


Thursday, February 5, 2009


“Detachment” is one of the more important virtues in our struggle for sanctification—not, perhaps, by itself, but because its opposite, “attachment”, lies at the very essence of sin. “Sin”, following a definition given by St. Augustine, is a “turning away from God”, aversio a Deo, and “turning towards creatures”, conversio ad creaturas (Belmonte, ed., Faith Seeking Understanding, Vol. 2, p. 67). Sin is our inordinate attachment towards creatures.

In terms of its ultimate causes, the “form” or “formal cause” of “sin” (what gives “sin” its “act of being” as such) is one’s “turning away from God”; while the “matter” or “material cause” (what gives it the potency or capacity to become what it is) is his “turning towards creatures”. Thus, the “essence” or “mode of being” of sin (always, the combination of “form” and “matter”) is our “turning away from God” and “turning towards creatures”. This also explains why “the end never justifies the means”: an act that is “intrinsically evil”, i.e., “incapable of being ordered to God” (cf. Pope John Paul II, Encyclical Letter Veritatis Splendor, No. 80), would already, in itself, involve a turning away from God, the ultimate and highest good; hence, could not be justified by any intermediate intended good. On the other hand, every turning away from God involves placing a creature—the self, the world, or the devil—above the Creator. Every running away from God involves running into something infinitely less, a loss, an unworthy enslavement for man.

Even from a human perspective, detachment is a virtue that makes a person attractive. The manly traits listed in Rudyard Kipling’s poem, “If”, can almost all be reduced to detachment: “…If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;/ If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;/ If you can meet with triumph and disaster/ And treat those two impostors just the same;/…If you can make one heap of all your winnings/ And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,/ And lose and start again at your beginnings,/ And never breathe a word about your loss;/…If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue/ Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch;/ If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;/ If all men count with you, but none too much…”

All this is not to say that creatures are not to be loved. All creation—all existence, all being—is good; and therefore, lovable. God created everything, and “God saw that all that he had made was very good” (Gen 1:31); and it is an internal contradiction—a logical absurdity—to think of God, Goodness Himself, as causing “evil” to come into existence. Indeed, evil must be non-being. Metaphysically, “evil” is simply the absence of a good that should be there. Thus, strictly speaking, there is no “evil” in the physical order: animals, plants and things follow the natural course which inexorably bring them to their proper end. Evil entered the universe through the choices of creatures endowed with “freedom”, the angels and man. Because we are free, we could turn away from our proper end, and trigger a chain of causation (more disorder). Of course, God created us free not so we could turn away from our end, but so that we could “direct ourselves” (freely) towards Him.

Because “sin” is materially-caused by our inordinate attachment towards creatures, we need to be detached from these (including ourselves)—loving them (in the proper order: some more than others), but also ready and willing to discard or let go of them when these become obstacles to reaching our union with God. We need to love the “world”—the term embraces all authentic natural, human and material reality—yes, even “passionately”, as St. Josemaria would put it, but with a supernatural outlook. Detachment means, for the ordinary Christian, being very much “in” the world but not “of” the world (Jn 17:14-18).

The very first beatitude—“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Mt 5:2)—demands detachment from material possessions. This does not necessarily mean having to do without things, but to treat them properly, as intermediate goods that are of relative value; secondary or, better, contributory, to attaining our ultimate good.

The same principle applies to other “goods”: power, fame, our job, and also our fellowmen. That is why “charity” should be understood as “loving God above all (his creatures) for his own sake, and loving our neighbor as ourself for the love of God”. We cannot “idolize” people, or even put too much importance to what they want, think or say. That is the defect of “human respect”, doing things to please men rather than God (cf. Acts 5:29).

The human heart was meant to love, but the proper end of that love is God alone. If we do not commit ourselves to loving God above all things, we will wind up enslaved by false, disordered attachments to all sorts of lesser things.

Beyond mere stoicism or a “self-emptying” mindlessnes, Christian detachment means placing our natural attraction to creatures at the service of a supernatural desire for God. Commonsensically, this means avoiding whatever may lead us away from God; and, conversely, drawing closer to the Blessed Virgin Mary, to persons and things that lead us to God.