Grande Balbúrdia na Igreja - por Nuno Serras Pereira

27. 02. 2014

Para quem não saiba, desde já adianto que tempos houve na história da Igreja em que a grande maioria dos Bispos e, por pouco tempo o Papa Libério, eram hereges, mais concretamente arianos, não reconhecendo a Divindade de Cristo e advogando que não era da mesma substâncias do Pai. Para defender e salvar a Fé suscitou Deus a Santo Atanásio, Bispo (e um relativamente pequeno grupo de outros Pastores), que, para usar uma expressão do Papa Francisco, tinha “uma teologia vociferante”, a ponto de ter sido exilado por 5 vezes da sua Diocese.

O Papa Libério não foi o único, na história do Papado, a vacilar ou escorregar na Doutrina da Fé, mas Graças a Deus todos acabaram por se retractar. Esta crendice moderna de opinar que o Santo Padre sempre que fala é um oráculo, vozeando o Espírito Santo, nunca foi Doutrina da Igreja.

Aliás, que um Papa possa cair em heresia é uma teoria teológica comum, que se encontra inclusive em S. Tomás de Aquino. No caso de isso acontecer deixaria de ser aquilo que era, perdendo toda a autoridade. Mas não é disso que este artigo trata.

Posto isto (sendo manifesto e indubitável a todos os que me conhecem que não sou Santo, esclareço a quem não o saiba que na minha certidão de nascimento não consta de modo nenhum o nome de Atanásio), passo ao tema deste texto. 

O Santo Padre Francisco, Bispo de Roma, Pastor Universal e Vicário de Cristo, tem entre outras características a de ser um excelente comunicador e também a de ser um péssimo comunicólogo. As homilias quotidianas em Santa Marta, as Audiências Gerais, os “twitter”, os textos Magisteriais dizem respeito à qualidade, enquanto as entrevistas e não poucos dos improvisos se podem classificar como imperfeitos. De facto, desde a entrevista no avião aquando do regresso das JMJ, no Brasil, passando pela concedida a Antonio Spadaro, S.J. e aos elogios descomedidos ao Cardeal Kasper, depois de um convite aparentemente surrealista para que preleccionasse no consistório sobre uma dita misericórdia absurdamente contraposta à Verdade, tudo tem concorrido para uma enorme confusão e perplexidade. Umas vezes é patentemente anti-relativista, defensor e guardião da verdade, outras suscita a impressão exactamente contrária. Mas será, interrogo-me, assim tão difícil falar com a clareza meridiana do Cardeal Muller, que não deixa espaço a qualquer dúvida ou ambiguidade?

Quando os Cardeais Maradiaga e Marx, depois de terem sido escolhidos a dedo pelo Papa Francisco para o chamado C8, dão como adquirido a admissão aos Sacramentos dos impropriamente chamados “divorciados recasados”, que não renunciam à relação adúltera, sem que o Santo Padre os chame à pedra, que devemos pensar? Quando o Cardeal Kasper, depois de ter sido convidado a pregar no consistório, se pronuncia publicamente no mesmo sentido, que devemos concluir? Quando após o sermão, por ele pronunciado, com o mesmo objectivo, aos confrades Cardeais, o Papa lhe faz um panegírico afirmando entre outras coisas que aquela é verdadeiramente uma teologia feita de joelhos, isto é verdadeiramente orante e, por isso, fica subentendido, inspirada por Deus; poder-se-á ainda duvidar que apesar de todas as declarações de rejeição da mundanidade e de fidelidade à doutrina da Igreja, Francisco esteja manifestando o propósito de pressionar, influenciar ou encaminhar os católicos e em particular o Episcopado no sentido de aderirem e acolherem as teses dos mencionados Cardeais? (as quais, suspeito que sejam heréticas porque contrárias à Revelação manifestada na Sagrada Escritura e na Tradição interpretadas solenemente no Concílio de Trento e proclamadas colegialmente no Concílio Vaticano II e no Catecismo da Igreja Católica). Eu não afirmo que assim seja - e acresce que há quem diga que a questão é meramente disciplinar, o que na minha miserável opinião é um completo desatino -, mas que o efeito, embora não desejado, tem sido de total desorientação e confusão afigura-se-me tão claro como a água límpida.

Seja como for, os motivos invocadas pelo Cardeal Kasper e outros, tal como foram publicitadas pela comunicação social, denotam uma irracionalidade, uma ausência de Fé e de confiança na Graça de Deus pasmosas. Contrapor o Juízo ao Amor e a Verdade à Misericórdia, não é somente uma volição presunçosa de separar aquilo que Deus uniu, mas ainda uma tentativa de introduzir uma desunião e discordância, ou pelo menos uma dialéctica de pendor hegeliano, no Deus Uno e Trino. À honra de Cristo. Ámen.

A Defense of Thomistic Natural Law - by Howard P. Kainz, Ph.D.

In HPR

Natural law theory has a long and distinguished pedigree in the Western world, beginning in ancient Greece, where major philosophers refer to a certain law or laws superseding human laws. Anaximander, Pythagoras, Heraclitus, and Anaxagoras propounded theories of cosmic harmony and the way that humans should, or do, participate in it; and Hippias (ca. 460-390 B.C.) spoke about a divine law that can never and nowhere be superseded. Plato in his Republic and Laws speaks of an ideal “divine” law existing prior to all human affairs; and Aristotle, in offering advice to defense lawyers in his Rhetoric gives examples of civil and criminal cases where the lawyer could cite generally recognized but unwritten “universal” laws which have priority over the state-sanctioned laws which their clients are accused of breaking.

Natural law attained a certain preeminence in Christianity due to St. Paul’s invocation (Romans 2:14-16, 21-24) of a “law engraved on the hearts” of pagans who had never heard of Jewish laws, and Paul’s favorable contrast of such unbelievers with Jews who disobey the laws laid down in the Ten Commandments – Jews who “preach against stealing, yet steal; forbid adultery, yet commit adultery,” etc.

St. Paul may have been influenced by Stoic philosophers who held sway in his time, and extolled a supreme law of nature for all peoples. Among the Stoics, Cicero offered the first and strongest explicit defense of a law which:

cannot be contradicted by any other law, and is not liable either to derogation or abrogation. Neither the senate nor the people can give us any dispensation for not obeying this universal law of justice. It needs no other expositor and interpreter than our own conscience. It is not one thing at Rome, and another at Athens; one thing today and another tomorrow, but in all times and nations this universal law must for ever reign, eternal and imperishable. It is the sovereign master and emperor of all beings. God himself is its author, its promulgator, its enforcer.

Cicero’s concept of natural law was connected, of course, with his ideal of human participation in a harmonious and finely-tuned universe, presenting individuals and societies with an exemplar for ideal moral decision-making and conduct. In our own era of the “Big Bang” theory of cosmic explosion, and Darwinian theories about the evolution of the earth and living species, notions about human coordination with the “rhythms of nature” may seem overly idealistic or even poetic – although for some nature-lovers this idea still has appeal.

During the Middle Ages, Roman jurists like Ulpian and Gaius distinguished natural law from civil law and the “law of nations.”  Canonists of the Church, like Gratian and Rufinus, developed the theory of natural law even further, including incipient concepts of natural rights, as Brian Tierney shows in his excellent book, The Idea of Natural Rights.

St. Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274), and other Scholastics, brought these efforts to final fruition. Aquinas, in his Summa theologiae 1^a2^ae, Q. 94, discusses the general self-evident principle of ethics, “good is to be done, and evil avoided. In article 94:2, he shows how this general principle takes on flesh, so to speak, in three concrete precepts of the natural law:

The order of precepts of the natural law exists according to the order of natural inclinations … (1) Every substance seeks the preservation of its own being, according to its nature: and by reason of this inclination, whatever is a means of preserving human life, and of warding off its obstacles, belongs to the natural law … (2) Those things are said to belong to the natural law, which nature has taught to all animals, such as sexual intercourse, education of offspring and so forth … (3) Man has a natural inclination to know the truth about God, and to live in society: and in this respect, whatever pertains to this inclination belongs to the natural law; for instance, to shun ignorance, to avoid offending those among whom one has to live, and other such things regarding the above inclination.

These three precepts are not original with Aquinas, but were also held by predecessors, such as William of Auxerre and Roland of Cremona, and cited by subsequent scholastics, such as Francisco Suarez, S.J. (1548-1617), who writes, along the same lines, but with a slightly different emphasis:

Man is (as it were) an individual entity, and as such has an inclination to preserve his own being, and to safeguard his own welfare; he is also a being corruptible – that is to say, mortal – and as such is inclined towards the preservation of the species, and towards the actions necessary to that end; and finally, he is a rational being, and as such is suited for immortality, for spiritual perfection, and for communication with God, and social intercourse with rational creatures. Hence, the natural law brings man to perfection, with regard to every one of his tendencies and, in this capacity, it contains various precepts – for example, precepts of temperance and of fortitude, relating to the first tendency mentioned above; those of chastity and prudence, relating to the second tendency; and those of religion, justice and so forth, relating to the third tendency.

During the French Enlightenment, Montesquieu (1689-1775), in The Spirit of the Laws, describes the basic inclinations of the “law of nature” along the same lines as Aquinas:  “the preservation of one’s being” and “seeking for nourishment”; “the attraction arising from the difference of sexes”; and the “advantage of acquired knowledge” and the “desire of living in society.”

Without doubt, the third precept, which has to do with the special exigencies of rational beings, is the most important natural law mandate. It is this third precept that was reiterated by Protestant natural-law theorists, such as Grotius (1583-1645), Cumberland (1631-1718), and Pufendorf (1632-1694), who emphasized the natural altruism of humans and, like Aquinas, the necessity of developing rational and harmonious social structures.

It is often asserted that David Hume (1711-1776) “upset the apple cart” for natural law with the following pithy statement, widely taken out of context, in his Treatise of Human Nature, about not deriving an “ought” from an “is”:

{Morality} consists not in any matter of fact which can be discovered by the understanding … Can there be any difficulty in proving that vice and virtue are not matters of fact, whose existence we can infer by reason? … {However,} in every system of morality which I have hitherto met with … the author proceeds for some time in the ordinary way of reasoning, and establishes the being of a God, or makes observations concerning human affairs; when of a sudden I am surpriz’d to find that, instead of … Is, and Is not, I meet with … ought, or an ought not… This ought, or ought not … should be observ’d and explain’d… A reason should be given … how this new relation can be a deduction from others, which are entirely different from it.

This prohibition (popularly called “Hume’s Guillotine”) is interpreted by many contemporary philosophers as interdicting any further attempts to make moral judgements based on essential aspects of human nature. As an example of this interpretation, Immanuel Kant (1724-1804) would stand out as one of the first practitioners of Hume’s caveat. Kant, in his moral philosophy, proposed his “Categorical Imperative” (CI) as the general format for proper ethical reasoning: Employing the CI, the ethical decision-maker must dismiss all human inclinations, and, purely on the basis of the cerebral deliberations of practical reason, formulate only those “maxims” which one would be willing to stand as a universal norm for all humans. This formula has been widely criticized by modern philosophers. For example, R.M. Hare shows that, with a little tweaking, a hypothetical Nazi could devise a CI which would justify him in exterminating Jews.

Nevertheless, Darwin’s theory of natural selection of the species, coupled with various theories of the evolution of homo sapiens from the hunter-gatherer stage, have led to a conception of human nature as almost infinitely variable. This assumed variability seems to stand in the way of any attempts by moralists to derive some reasonably stable moral norms based on human nature.

Thus many contemporary ethicists try, like Kant, to adhere religiously to Hume’s “Guillotine,” focusing only on moral conclusions that can be derived from pure practical reason alone, without any distracting attention to the “facts” of human nature or the welter of human inclinations.

Philosophers are an ornery bunch, however, and many of them have tried to beat Hume at his game, by showing ways in which “oughts” can be, and are indeed, derived from “is.” But probably the best refutation of the supposed is-ought Guillotine comes from Hume himself, who, if one reads a little further in the Treatise, shows how he thinks the task of deriving “oughts” should take place:

See if you can find that matter of fact, or real existence, which you call vice. In which-ever way you take it, you find only certain passions, motives, volitions, and thoughts. There is no other matter of fact in the case. The vice entirely escapes you, as long as you consider the object. You never can find it, till you turn your reflection into your own breast, and find a sentiment of disapprobation, which arises in you, towards this action. Here is a matter of fact; but `tis the object of feeling, not of reason. It lies in yourself, not in the object. The fact that we feel a strong repugnance against murder leads us to conclude that murder is wrong.

In other words, there are facts … and there are facts. Hume was against deriving moral principles from certain “external” facts. Alasdair MacIntyre points to a tract read by Hume as a young man in a Presbyterian household, The Whole Duty of Man, which tried to deduce moral duties from Christian “facts” about creation of the world and man. I have suggested in my 2004 book, Natural Law: an Introduction and Reexamination, that Hume’s reaction was triggered by Ralph Cudworth (1617-1688) and Samuel Clarke (1675-1729), proponents of “rational morality” deducing moral truths from metaphysical and religious “facts.”

But Hume was not against derivation from “internal” facts. Quite the contrary, his moral theory is based on internal facts; and, because of that, he is frequently categorized as a “moral-sense” theorist. Moral-sense theory, insofar as it is concerned with basic human tendencies, has some affinity with natural law theory. As Frederick Copleston, S.J., concludes in Volume 5 of his History of Philosophy:

{Hume’s} insistence on the original constitution or fabric of human nature suggests that this nature is in some sense the foundation of morality or, in other words, that there is a natural law which is promulgated by reason apprehending human nature in its teleological and dynamic aspect.

In the 20^th century, some unsettling developments led to a re-consideration of the existence of a natural law. In 1945-46, the Nuremberg trials, in which the victors in WWII condemned and executed Nazi officials who arguably were following the laws of their country, raised the question, “on the basis of what law are we judging them?” Is there some superior law, or are there superior laws, to which even the properly legislated laws of the nations have to be subject? For infractions of these higher laws can “law-abiding” citizens of those nations be condemned?

Proponents of such an overarching law began to speak out. Lon Fuller, Jerome Frank, and others voiced renewed support of natural law, and skepticism about the prevailing hegemony of “legal realism.” The Universal Declaration of Human Rights adopted by the U.N. in 1948 may be seen as an additional movement for clarifying laws and rights that stand above all national and civil enactments.

In the Catholic Church during the 60s, new cultural strains added to the quest for information about eternal and universal laws which might trump the positive laws enacted by regimes, and even democratic polities. The emergence and popularity of the contraceptive pill, combined with the invocation of natural law against contraception by Pope Paul VI, led to renewed debates by theologians and philosophers concerning the validity of natural law. The widespread opposition of theologians, priests and prelates, as well as lay Catholics, to Pope Paul VI’s 1968 encyclical against contraception, Humanae vitae, is still fresh in the memory of many older Catholics. Dissident theologians published a full page ad in the New York Times advising Catholics to just follow their conscience, and not be concerned about the overly negative restrictions in the encyclical.

But then, in an attempt to dispel the confusion and defend Catholic tradition, a “New Natural Law” theory arrived on the scene, championed by Catholic “analytic” philosophers – John Finnis, Germain Grisez, and others. Depending on reason and logical analysis alone, and purporting to avoid any dependence on the facts connected with human nature, they devised a set of seven basic, self-evident values from which moral norms could be safely derived: (1) knowledge; (2) life; (3) play; (4) aesthetic experience; (5) sociability (friendship); (6) practical reasonableness (applying one’s intelligence to problems and situations); and (7) religion and pursuit of ultimate questions about the cosmos and life.

They came to the defense of the Pope with a robust brief for defending reproductive sexuality, against the inroads of the contraceptive mentality. Finnis, in a 1970 article, Natural Law and Unnatural Acts,” in the Heythrop Journal, argued:

What, in the last analysis, makes sense of the conditions of the marital enterprise, its stability and exclusiveness, is not the worthy and delightful sentiments of love and affection which invite one to marry, but the desire for and demands of a procreative community, a family. Some sexual acts are (as types of choice) always wrong because of an inadequate response, or direct closure, to the basic procreative value that they put in question.

This “new” natural law style of thinking is arguably connected with the second “self-evident” value – namely, life – proposed by Finnis; but Finnis, in his discussion of the value of “practical reasonableness,” presents it as a demonstration of the way that this “6^th value” must be coordinated with respect for other “basic values.” He takes as one example, the position of the Catholic Church regarding contraception:

The principal bearer of an explicit theory about natural law happens, in our civilization, to have been the Roman Catholic Church … That Church has stringently elaborated the implications of the seventh requirement {of the sixth value – namely, that practical reasonableness should embody respect for every basic value in every act}, as those implications concern the basic values of life (including the procreative transmission of life), truth (including truth in communication), and religion. And it has formulated those implications in strict negative principle, such as those declaring wrongful any killing of the innocent, any anti-procreative sexual acts, and lying and blasphemy.

The New Natural Law theory offers to many an approach to moral decision-making, based on important values; but, because of its lack of interest in facts about human nature, constitutes a break with the tradition and history of natural law discussed above. Most importantly, the claim to self-evidence of the seven pivotal values (and their subdivisions) is less than persuasive. I became somewhat skeptical about this in reading the chapters concerning each of the self-evident values, in Finnis’ book, Natural Law and Natural Rights. When, for instance, one reads the relatively long chapter (20 pages), full of arguments, about the value of knowledge, one begins to wonder about the purported “self-evidence” of this value: What are we to conclude ethically from knowledge-valuation? That education is important? That knowledge is to be sought for its own sake? That we should not do anything until we have sufficient knowledge of consequences?

Similar excogitations could result regarding the interrelationships between the seven “basic values”: One could, for example, argue in favor of contraception from a reflection on Finnis’ sixth value, practical reasonableness – the desire of spacing offspring in view of economic contingencies, social frameworks, etc.

Like other critics, I have come to view New Natural Law as an interesting moral theory, which may give some guidance for people of good will in making moral decisions, but is not strictly a natural law theory.

Traditional natural law theories, beginning with an analysis of major human inclinations, lead to a philosophical examination of what it means to be a human being, a member of the animal species, and, most importantly, a rational animal. An interesting characteristic of the three precepts of natural law defined by Aquinas, and others, is that they are also, at one and the same time, natural rights. As Brian Tierney points out in The Idea of Natural Rights, self-preservation is one of the chief intuitively obvious duties discussed, over and over again, by medieval and late medieval thinkers; but it is also considered an inalienable right. The dual nature of self-preservation as a duty and a right is frequently brought up in commentaries on the ideas of William of Ockham and Jean Gerson. Thus, the medievalists defended, for example, giving a starving person the moral right to steal from the rich; and the moral right of a person whose life is threatened to kill the aggressor, if necessary.

This dual duty/right aspect is common to all three precepts of natural law: The duty of self-preservation is likewise the right of self-preservation; the duty of conscientious reproduction is also the right of reproducing (now restricted or prohibited for millions by totalitarian governments); and the duty of seeking the truth and building up rational societies is also the right of knowing the truth and contributing to the development of a rightly organized society. Other inclinations do not have this characteristic. The tendency to have power over others is not the right to do so; the tendency to be promiscuous is not the right to be so; the tendencies to lie or steal are not rights to do so.

Jeremy Bentham, the 18^th century champion of utilitarian moral theory, criticized natural law as a theory which was so vague and indeterminate that almost anything could be justified by an appeal to “nature.” Stephen Buckle, in his article on “Natural Law” in the Cambridge Companion to Ethics, complains that natural law cannot go beyond a few generalities concerned with being “rational.” However, in Aquinas’ theory, each of the three precepts intuitively generates very specific duties.

No extensive ratiocination is necessary to realize that self-preservation obligates individuals to take care of their health, not overeat, avoid drunkenness, refrain from unnecessary risks, work to earn subsistence, not overwork, and avoid greed – just to mention a few of the obvious implications. The precept about procreation and nurturance of offspring should lead the thoughtful person, without too much hair-splitting, to take sex seriously, avoiding casual liaisons, avoiding a contraceptive mentality, caring for physical and spiritual well being of offspring, even into adulthood, cooperating with even difficult spouses in raising offspring, except where violence, etc. infringes on one’s rights or the rights of one’s children, and possibly even working to overcome anti-reproductive policies of oppressive governments. Finally, as mentioned above, the precept to pursue the truth, both in the theoretic and practical realms, is the most important for humans, and indicates that everyone, according to their capacities, should educate themselves on all important issues, especially regarding God and religion, examining both sides to avoid bias; that voters should inform themselves on issues and candidates in democratic societies; that all should contribute according to their talents and opportunities to their neighborhood or community; and so forth.

Some contemporary values seem to contradict each of the three natural law precepts, and need to be considered:(1) Suicidal tendencies can be understood as desires to escape what appear to be intolerable suffering, either physical or mental or emotional; and seem to contradict the self-preservation instinct, and sometimes require heroic resistance. But with these tendencies the desire for self-preservation is still there, but thought to be no longer possible because of the loss of a sense of health or well-being. And there is, of course, no mandate to use extraordinary measures to stay alive when natural death is imminent. (2) The problem of “overpopulation” is a mythical problem, as I have argued elsewhere, along with many others (see e.g. www.pop.org), and a very strange myth in a world where numerous countries are now facing a demographic winter. In any case, one does nothing for the world by contraception, although personal increases in wealth and lifestyle may result from childless marriages. (3) Most importantly, contradictory theories and relativism in morals may discourage many from even trying to pursue the truth. How can we ever know the truth when there are so many contradictory theories about the cosmos and the world? How can we be sure about right and wrong when there are such rampant disagreements about basic life choices? But this is the wrong question. The important thing is to seek the truth, both in theoretical and practical matters; this is a lifelong pursuit, and ordinarily will result in some successes.

Christianity, with the Decalogue and the Golden Rule, receives welcome support from natural law theory, but of course, goes seriously beyond it with its commandment of love even of enemies, of going the “extra mile,” of forgiveness, of lending without asking for repayment, etc. So natural law has built-in limitations. If there is any other moral theory besides natural law that provides even better guidance for major and common life decisions, then this theory should be proposed, and natural law should take the proverbial back seat.

The chief alternate choices of moral theories at present seem to be reduced to two: Kantian moral theory, depending on moral “universalizability” is taught in most courses on ethics now in our colleges and universities. But I am not the only one who has found it almost impossible, after ignoring (according to Kant’s requirement), my inclinations, to come to good, solid ethical decisions in the crossroads of life by deliberating whether I could, without self-contradiction, will everyone in the world to make the decision I am contemplating.

Probably the most popular ethical theory today, for public officials as well as for private citizens who have never heard of the theory, is utilitarianism, which instructs us to always do what will procure the greatest amount of happiness for the greatest number of people. If we were clear on what the greatest “happiness” consists of, and what sort of happiness the greatest number of people are looking for, it would be easier to apply the theory. But, as it stands, noted utilitarian theorists like Peter Singer, and ordinary practicing utilitarians like Barak Obama, strangely find even things like infanticide to be moral. We may react to such things like the observers of the Nuremberg Trials, wondering whether there might be some basic, maybe unwritten, universal laws that trump some of the strange avatars of moral laws that come on the scene and seem to be considered authoritative by masses of “experts.”

Algumas dicas sobre a Fé - por Nuno Serras Pereira

A Fé que acontece na Igreja e através da Igreja é sempre um encontro vital entre Jesus Cristo, Deus Filho feito homem, e cada pessoa concreta. Este dom ou Graça de Deus antecipa-se à nossa liberdade, suscita-a, acompanha-a, purifica-a e eleva-a tornando-a capaz de um assentimento e de uma adesão incondicionais e absolutos à Palavra de Deus, o Verbo feito carne, em virtude da Sua autoridade Divina, a qual por sê-La, não Se pode enganar nem nos pode enganar. Evidentemente que a Fé no Logos, no Verbo, na Palavra, na Razão eterna, incriada e Criadora, é dirigida somente a seres que Dela participam – pessoas humanas racionais criadas à Sua imagem e semelhança que verificam uma compatibilidade entre os dados da razão e a Fé que a vem purificar, aperfeiçoar e completar.

Viver a Fé será então consentir que o eu de cada um, por virtude do Espírito Santo, seja enxertado no Eu de Jesus Cristo entrando em Comunhão, com a Santíssima Trindade e com todos os eus que o Senhor chamou e acolheu em Si, de tal modo que possamos, com S. Paulo, dizer “já não sou eu que vivo mas é Cristo que vive em mim”. Este Eu de Jesus Cristo alargado a todos aqueles que em Si incorporou plenamente chama-se Corpo Místico de Cristo, isto é a Igreja.

Esta amizade com o único Deus Pai, Filho e Espírito Santo uma vez que é um dom tem de ser incessantemente implorada e alimentada. Esta nutrição e trato de amor incremental vêm até nós através dos Sacramentos - que são acções, por sinais, de Cristo Ressuscitado na Sua Igreja e através dela que contêm e efectuam aquilo que significam -, em especial o da penitência (confissão ou reconciliação) e o da Eucaristia; e também pela oração que sendo um colóquio ou conversa com Deus nos ensina a estar na Sua presença, a escutá-Lo e a pedir-lhe tudo aquilo que é para nosso bem, em particular o mesmo Bem que é o próprio Deus, que nos é dado no Espírito Santo. Mendicantes de Deus suplicamos-Lhe como o pai do Evangelho que queria a cura de seu filho “Senhor, eu tenho Fé mas aumenta a minha Fé”.

Como nos ensina S. Tiago, em plena concordância com S. Paulo, a “Fé sem obras é morta”, de facto, como ele adianta, fé sem obras também os demónios a têm e de nada lhes adianta. Como nós, embora furiosos, sabem de cor e salteado o Credo. Por isso S. Paulo advertia que a Fé opera (isto é, obra) pela Caridade, pelo Amor. Daqui que para fortalecer, solidificar e revigorar a Fé importe muito a dedicação, a entrega de si mesmo, a doação, daquilo que temos e daquilo que somos, aos outros. Esta dádiva, cujo nome é amor, deve, nas palavras da Bem-aventurada Teresa de Calcutá, outorgar-se até doer e assim continuar até deixar de magoar – é no abraço à Cruz de Cristo, ou se quisermos, a Cristo Crucificado que encontramos nos mais vulneráveis, pobres e desfavorecidos, que encontramos a Ressurreição. O voluntariado da Caridade não consiste, no entanto, num mero bem-fazer filantrópico mas sim num tornar “capilarmente” o próprio Cristo manso e humilde de Coração, o Coração Sagrado do Amor que Se deixou trespassar pela cruel lançada para jorrar sobre nós a Sua Misericórdia infinita.

Creio que nos dias de hoje importará recordar que, não obstante, a enorme importância das obras de misericórdia corporais há uma justa hierarquia que dá precedência ontológica às Espirituais (com E maiúsculo), enquanto sobrenaturais, as quais aliás, bem vistas as coisas são a fonte das primeiras. Não há duvidar que o menor dos dons sobrenaturais supera imensamente o maior dos dons temporais ou naturais, como lembra S. Tomás.

Embora, como ensina S. Boaventura, Jesus Cristo seja o Livro pelo qual devemos estudar, no qual tudo se aprende, pois Ele é a própria Sabedoria, isso não exclui, antes, pede uma boa formação intelectual ou, se quisermos, catecumenato doutrinal. Não é possível que uma catequese indicada para crianças ou adolescentes seja suficiente para dar resposta às questões e interrogações de gente madura, com novas responsabilidades familiares e profissionais, com formação superior, dotadas de uma alta cultura. Por isso, é necessário recorrer a bons livros, a retiros, a sessões de formação, a um experimentado assistente espiritual para que possamos conhecer “as razões da nossa Esperança”.

Que a Imaculada Virgem Maria Mãe de Deus feito homem no seu seio, Sede e Mãe da Sabedoria, Ela, a Esposa do Espírito Santo o qual é a Imaculada Conceição Incriada, que Se quis espelhar na Imaculada Conceição Criada, feita, por Deus Medianeira de todas as Graças, nos alcance uma Fé viva e firme, uma Esperança certa, uma Caridade perfeita e a Graça da perseverança final.

14. 08. 2012

Human Nature and Aquinas’ Taxonomy of Sexual Sins - by

In CRISIS

St. Thomas Aquinas, in the Second Part of the Second Volume of his Summa theologiae, considers in a little over 1000 pages in Latin a massive number of sins and vices – injustice, gluttony, anger, greed, lying, etc., etc. Sexual sins are considered under the technical scholastic rubric of “luxury” (i.e., lust), and like the other sins are divided up into different species, with numerous concrete examples and applications.

Liberals in our enlightened era generally consider any sexual practice short of rape or child abuse to be “pelvic issues,” not worthy of condemnation, and certainly not able to keep perpetrators from eternal salvation. Aquinas obviously disagrees, but in his taxonomy, while all the sins he considers are “mortal sins,” he ranks them from more to less serious, with reasons for the rankings.  The distinctions he makes are not only important for the insights gained philosophically about the variety of human evils, but also from the standpoint of moral theology.  They were, and remain so today, important for confessors in knowing what types of penances to apportion and for spiritual directors in being able to offer appropriate advice to those who consult them.

It is also important for us to know what such distinctions are.  A lack of distinctions prevails in regard to many sins: Some consider it monstrous for police to beat protesters, but have no problem with radical Islamists massacring women and children indiscriminately. Some are incensed about somebody cheating on food stamps, but not about a politico using insider information to buy stocks. Many are incensed that their favorite movie star’s boyfriend has cheated on her, but have no problem with pornography. Others are against gay sex, but find contraceptive heterosexual intercourse unproblematic. And so on.

The following listing from Aquinas proceeds from the most serious to the least serious. I will discuss some potentially surprising rankings at the end.

The most serious sexual sins (leaving out circumstances such as violence, which compound the sinfulness) are sins contra naturam, sins contrary to human nature, and thus contrary to God the author of human nature.

The most obviously unnatural sin is “bestiality,” i.e., sexual intercourse with animals – a sin which offers an affront to the human species. Next in seriousness is sodomy, which is an affront to the natural relationship between male and female.

In third place are unnatural coital relationships between men and women – for example, anal intercourse, coitus interruptus, or other contraceptive measures – all of which are sinful because they do not observe “the right manner of copulation.”  In his Summa contra gentiles, Aquinas compares such relationships to homicide: “After the sin of homicide whereby a human nature already in existence is destroyed, this type of sin appears to take next place, for by it the generation of human nature is precluded.” By taking measures to prevent a human life from emerging naturally, such non-procreative sex constitutes an action against the potential human soul that might result.

The least serious “unnatural” sexual sin is masturbation, in which pleasure is intentionally sought in isolation from natural social relationships.  Aquinas is careful to distinguish this from “nocturnal pollution” or other unintentional emission of semen, which is not sinful. In our era, we would include pornography, as a means to excite prurient sexuality, as connected with this sin.

Incest, which is borderline “natural,” if it involves male-female intercourse, is nevertheless a grievous sin since it flouts the natural relationships proper to people connected by consanguinity or affinity.

As regards normal male-female relationships, the most serious sin is of course rape, in which sexual sinfulness is compounded with a serious sin of injustice, forced intercourse with someone who is unwilling.

Next in seriousness is sacrilege, for example, intercourse with a nun or priest who has taken a vow of chastity.  Because of the vow, this sin involves a direct offense to God; and if it is accompanied by rape, the seriousness is compounded.

Less serious is adultery, which is consensual, but is combined with the sin of injustice, since at least one of the parties is joined lawfully to another in marriage.

Finally, Aquinas makes a distinction between two of the least serious sexual sins – “seduction” and “fornication.” In making this distinction he is in part taking into account the customs in his era, in which (as also in our own time) a father at a wedding will “give away” the bride.  The legal code then favored marriage, on condition of parental consent and consent of the bride; in the absence of such consent, civil penalties for seduction were prescribed.

Fornication, i.e. what we call “consensual sex” is defined by Aquinas as intercourse with a woman who is not a virgin, and in which no external aggravating circumstances are relevant – e.g., the use of force, or the use of contraceptives.  This act is sinful because it militates against the social welfare of possible progeny who might result – leading to the possibility of children without a father to aid them with moral and intellectual guidance into adulthood.

We might consider some of these rankings to be counter-intuitive:

Masturbation worse than fornication? The psychiatrist Karl Menninger, in his 1973 book, Whatever became of Sin? in his comments on modern culture, points to the change in attitude regarding masturbation as a pivotal development paving the way to a permissive attitude not only towards sexual sins, but toward sin in general. Without too much imagination we can perceive contraception, sodomy, and pornography as sophisticated cultural results from that change.

Incest more serious than rape? Aquinas’ reasoning is that incest, if it is not accompanied by rape, is still a greater affront to the natural relationship of the sexes, especially when we consider familial relationships between parents and children, or sisters and brothers.

Consensual sodomy worse than incest or rape? Incest disrespects individuals in various degrees of relationship, while sodomy is an infraction against the proper relation of the sexes as well as against the perpetuation of the human species. Intersexual rape in a certain sense is less “unnatural,” but brings in the extraneous factors of violence and injustice which can magnify the overall sinfulness of the action.

Aquinas, of course, was operating in the context of the philosophical supposition that human nature is unchanging, and thus contains certain “constants.” Our sophisticated progressive contemporaries—in particular those in positions of academic and cultural influence—believe quite the opposite. Human nature —if there is such a thing— is infinitely malleable, and sexuality blossoms out in evolutionary fashion into polymorphous re-creations–families without a biological mother and father, liaisons for mutual pleasure without procreation, serial polygamy through successive marriage and divorce, etc.

We can pretend that human nature is not what it is only for so long. An indefinite suppression of reality is not possible. We’d do well to reflect on the Angelic Doctor’s instruction.

De budista a tomista: la conversión al catolicismo del filósofo Paul Williams

Catedrático de filosofía budista en la Universidad de Bristol y budista practicante, ha sido durante más de 30 años una de las principales autoridades académicas sobre budismo en el Reino Unido. Pero en 1999 se convirtió al catolicismo, al reflexionar sobre el karma y la vida tras la muerte.

In Religión en Libertad

Paul Williams, catedrático de filosofía budista y profesor de religiones de la India en la Universidad de Bristol, ha sido durante más de 30 años una de las principales autoridades académicas sobre budismo en el Reino Unido. También era un budista convencido, intelectual y practicante. Pero en 1999 sorprendió a sus alumnos, compañeros y familiares cuando anunció que se convertía al cristianismo, más aún al catolicismo más ortodoxo. En 2002 publicaba un libro con su testimonio de conversión y sus reflexiones.

En la revista budista inglesa Dharmalife no escondían su perplejidad: "Williams es uno de los principales estudiosos británicos del budismo y un budista practicante de muchos años. De hecho, su libro El Budismo Mahayana es una joya de claridad y visión. ¡Qué sorprendente fue escuchar hace dos años que había decidido ser católico. [...] ¡Catolicismo! He tendido a asumir que mientras el budismo es una opción vital y espiritual para la gente moderna, el catolicismo pertenece a un pasado problemático. Mi visión del catolicismo está influida por los testimonios de amigos ex-católicos, sobre los efectos debilitadores de la culpa, su búsqueda de bases emocionales saludables para sus vidas... ¿Cómo podría una persona inteligente y bien informada tomar tal opción?", se pregunta el crítico de la revista.

Williams lo ha explicado en su libro "Unexpected Way", de 2002, y en algunas entrevistas y testimonios escritos.

Juventud anglicana tibia
Paul Williams nació en 1950. La familia de su madre no era religiosa, aunque después de su conversión descubrió que tenía una bisabuela católica. La familia de su padre era tibiamente anglicana. Siendo muy joven, Paul se sumó al coro de la parroquia anglicana porque le gustaba cantar. Fue confirmado en su adolescencia por el obispo anglicano de Dover y aún con 18 años recuerda haber ido a comulgar alguna vez. Pero ni tenía una relación cercana con Cristo ni recibió formación.

Su hermano trajo de la biblioteca un libro sobre yoga, y con él Williams se aficionó a la cultura oriental en los muy alternativos años 60. "Estuve implicado en el estilo de vida y las cosas que los adolescentes hacen. Al acercarse los exámenes públicos dejé el coro, dejé de servir en la iglesia, perdí el contacto con ella, me dejé el pelo largo y me vestía raro".

Meditación y budismo
Estudiando en la Universidad de Sussex se especializó en filosofía india y después en budismo. Aunque había leído algo de Santo Tomás de Aquino y le parecía admirable, pronto se olvidó de él. "Por un tiempo acudí a la Meditación Trascendental de Maharishi Mahesh Yogui, pero lo dejé porque me disgustaba su superficialidad y me parecía que distorsionaba la tradición india", escribe en su libro.

Hacia 1973 ya lo tenía claro: había estudiado tanto el budismo que veía el mundo con categorías budistas, le parecían coherentes, Dios era innecesario y se consideró ya budista. Se "refugió" formalmente como budista en la tradición tibetana Dgelugspa, la del Dalai Lama. Siendo profesor en la Universidad de Bristol creó su propio círculo de budistas.

Practicaba la meditación, daba charlas en encuentros budistas, aparecía en debates televisivos como budista tibetano y participó en debates públicos con el católico disidente Hans Küng y el catalán orientalista Raimon Panikkar.

Lo que atraía del budismo
"Me interesaba la filosofía, pero también la meditación y el exótico Oriente. Muchos de nosotros encontrábamos el budismo interesante, al principio, porque parecía mucho más racional que las alternativas, y a la vez mucho más exótico. Los budistas no creen en Dios. O mejor, no parecía haber razones para creer en Dios y la existencia del mal era para nosotros un argumento positivo en su contra. Los que habíamos crecido como cristianos estábamos hartos de defender a Dios en un mundo hostil, lleno de detractores. En el budismo uno tiene un sistema de moralidad, espiritualidad y filosofía inemnsamente sofisticado (y exótico), que no necesita a Dios para nada", explica Williams.

Años después, al convertirse al catolicismo, el filósofo siguió reflexionando y escribió: "Si miramos cómo son los budistas de Occidente, el llamado Budismo Occidental, lo que encontramos con regularidad es una forma de cristianismo en la que han quitado las partes que los cristianos post-cristianos encuentran más difíciles de aceptar".

Williams incluso conoció un líder llamado Sthaira Sangharakshita que proponía a los budistas de pasado cristiano practicar la "blasfemia terapéutica", para lograr desapegarse de su trasfondo cristiano, insultando cosas consideradas santas en su cultura. A Williams esta idea le parecía una barbaridad.

El problema de la reencarnación
El budismo en Occidente se presenta sobre todo como técnicas para vivir experiencias positivas: paz, armonía, relajación... Pero a medida que Williams veía el paso de los años, como filósofo no podía evitar hacerse preguntas, y entre ellas: ¿qué pasa después de la muerte? Hay budistas que prefieren no pensar en el tema, y consideran que es "Mara", una "ilusión", una distracción, un tema en el que no vale la pena pensar, pero ¿puede un filósofo dejar de preguntarse?

"Los budistas creen en el renacimiento, es decir, la reencarnación, como suele llamarse. No hay un inicio en la serie de vidas renacidas: todos hemos renacido infinitas veces, no hay principio ni se necesita un Dios que lo inicie", explica.

Williams recuerda que en la época de los primeros cristianos las creencias a favor del renacimiento estaban muy difundidas en Grecia y Roma, pero el cristianismo nunca las aceptó. "Y por buenas razones: si el renacimiento es cierto, nosotros no tenemos ninguna esperanza".

¿Qué hay de mí en una cucaracha?
Imaginemos que vamos a ser ejecutados sin dolor mañana por la mañana, pero sabemos con toda seguridad que después renaceremos como una cucaracha. "Te acostumbrarás, no es tan malo, ser cucaracha no es como la nada o el gran vacío, es una vida, seguirás vivo... Pero ¿por qué nada de eso nos consuela?", plantea Williams.

Más específico aún: "No pido que imaginéis que despertáis dentro del cuerpo de una cucaracha, como en La Metamorfosis de Kafka. Serías una cucaracha, ¿y quién sabe cuales son los sueños o imaginaciones de una cucaracha?"

"Lo terrorífico de ser ejecutado al alba y renacer como cucaracha es que, simplemente, eso sería mi fin. No puedo imaginar cómo es renacer como cucaracha porque ¡no hay nada que imaginar! Simplemente, no habría nada de mí ahí. Si el renacimiento es cierto, ni yo ni mis seres queridos sobrevivimos a la muerte. El yo, la persona real que soy, mi historia, se acaba. Quizá haya otro ser vivo con algún tipo de conexión causal con la vida que yo fui, alguien influido por mi karma, pero yo ya no estoy".

"A nivel cotidiano, los budistas tienden a oscurecer este hecho -que yo desaparezco del todo con la muerte- cuando hablan de ´mi renacer´ o de ´preocuparse por tus vidas futuras´, pero en realidad cualquier renacer -como una cucaracha sudamericana- no sería ´yo mismo´, y por lo tanto cabe preguntarse por qué he de preocuparme por mis renaceres futuros".

Iluminación, sí... pero ¿quién la consigue?
Para escapar del ciclo de las reencarnaciones, el budismo enseña que es posible alcanzar la iluminación, el nirvana, una absoluta perfección y desapego en esta vida. Cuando uno tiene 20 años puede pensar que con mucho esfuerzo lo conseguirá. Pero Williams, con más de 20 años de intensa práctica budista y meditativa lo tenía claro: "Es evidente que no voy a conseguir la iluminación en esta vida. Todos los budistas tenderán a decir eso mismo de todo el mundo. La iluminación es un logro extremadamente raro y supremo, para héroes espirituales, no para nosotros, no para gente como yo. Así que yo, y mis amigos y familiares, no tenemos esperanza".

Karma: pagar por tus otras vidas... que no eras tú
Williams explica rápidamente la teoría del karma: algunos males y algunos bienes que experimentas, son consecuencia de lo que hiciste en una vida pasada. Pero ¿en qué sentido se puede decir que el dictador cruel y maligno que fuiste en otra vida eras tú? "La idea de que un bebé sufre una dolorosa enfermedad por algo que hizo otra persona, incluso si el bebé es de alguna manera un renacimiento de esa persona, no puede verse como satisfactorio. No puede decirse, como alguno ha hecho, que sea la respuesta más aceptable al problema del mal. El bebé no es quien hizo los hechos malvados, igual que yo no soy una cucaracha tras mi ejecución".

El cristianismo ofrece esperanza
"El budismo no tenía esperanza para mí. Los cristianos sí tienen esperanza. Así que quise ser capaz de llegar a ser cristiano. Volví a examinar las cosas que había rechazado en mi juventud. Me di cuenta que es racional creer en Dios, tan racional -hoy pienso que más racional- que creer, con los budistas, que no hay Dios".

Examinó la clave de la propuesta cristiana: que Jesús había resucitado. "Me asombró descubrir que la resurrección literal de Cristo de entre los muertos tras su crucifixión es la explicación más racional de lo sucedido. Eso hacía del cristianismo la opción más racional de las religiones teístas, y como cristiano consideré que debía dar prioridad a la Iglesia Católica. En mi libro analizo varios argumentos que me dieron para no hacerme católico y explico cómo no consiguieron disuadirme".

"El cristianismo es la religión del valor infinito de cada persona. Cada persona es una creación individual de Dios, y como tal Dios la ama y valora infinitamente. En esto se basa toda la moral cristiana, desde el valor de la familia al altruismo y el sacrificio de los santos. Por ser infinitamente valiosos es por lo que Jesús murió por nosotros, para salvarnos a cada uno. Y somos las personas que somos, con nuestras historias, amigos y parientes.Nuestra fe es que en Dios nuestras muertes tendrán significado para cada uno de nosotros, de formas que exceden nuestra imaginación pero que incluso ahora ya excitan nuestra esperanza y alimentan nuestras vidas".

Hoy Paul Williams es laico dominico y un gran admirador de Santo Tomás de Aquino. Lamenta que a veces, en encuentros ecuménicos o análisis de religión comparada, se haga el contraste entre los místicos cristianos de lenguaje sencillo (como San Juan de la Cruz) con teóricos budistas muy elaborados, con un discurso muy intelectualizado que hacen parecer al místico cristiano una versión simple de una filosofía compleja. Williams considera que esos autores budistas deben contrastarse más bien con autores sistemáticos como Santo Tomás. Sigue siendo, en todos los sentidos, profesor y especialista en budismo.

Fallece a los 97 años sacerdote jesuita padre del lenguaje informático

ROMA, 11 Ago. 11 / 08:45 pm (ACI/EWTN Noticias)

El 9 de agosto falleció en Italia el sacerdote jesuita y padre del lenguaje informático, P. Roberto Busa, que es además el compilador del Index Thomisticus, la gran obra que reúne todos los trabajos de Santo Tomás de Aquino.

El periodista Stefano Lorenzetto escribe en el diario vaticano L’Osservatore Romano (LOR) que "si existe una santidad tecnológica, creo haber tenido el privilegio de encontrarla: tenía el rostro del Padre Busa".

Este sacerdote, señala, fue un gran lingüista, filósofo e informático. "Si navegas en Internet, se lo debes a él, si pasas de un sitio a otro haciendo clic con los enlaces marcados en azul, se lo debes a él. Si usas el PC para escribir mails y documentos de texto, se los debes a él", afirma.

Lorenzetto recuerda luego que en 1949, habiendo compilado las nueve millones de palabras de las obras de Santo Tomás, el P. Busa fue a buscar al fundador de IBM, Thomas Watson, quien le dijo que las grandes máquinas de ese entonces no podían relacionar estos contenidos.

El sacerdote insistió usando para ello el lema de IBM "lo difícil lo hacemos rápido y lo imposible nos toma un poco más de tiempo", a lo que Watson respondió: "está bien Padre, Lo probaremos. Pero con una condición: Prométame que usted no cambiará IBM, siglas de International Business Machines a International Busa Machines".

De este desafío nació el hipertexto, nombre acuñado por Ted Nelson en 1965, cuyo precursor fue el P. Busa poco más de 15 años antes.

Al Padre Busa, recuerda LOR, le tomó un millón ochocientos mil horas de trabajo compilar los 118 libros de Santo Tomás y otros 61 autores al respecto, viajando además entre Pisa, Boulder (Colorado, Estados Unidos) y Venecia.

Profesor de filosofía de Santo Tomás de Aquino, el sacerdote jesuita que conocía el latín, griego, hebreo, francés, inglés, alemán y español, "no pronunciaba una palabra que fuese superflua o que fuera pronunciada en vano", señala Lorenzetto.

Finalmente el autor de la nota de LOR señala que el P. Busa era consciente que el lenguaje informático tenía su origen en la inteligencia humana, que era un reflejo del poder creador de Dios, "autor y productor del cosmos", sobre quien "los Evangelios nos aseguran que hace dos mil años descendió del cielo".

Roberto Busa nació el 28 de noviembre de 1913 en Vicenza, Italia. Ingresó al seminario en 1928. Entró a la Compañía de Jesús en 1933 y fue ordenado sacerdote el 30 de mayo de 1940.

Estudió filosofía en la Pontificia Universidad Gregoriana en donde hizo la tesis sobre "La terminología tomística de la interioridad" publicada en Milán en 1949.

Su obra más importante es el Index Thomisticus. Sancti Thomae Aquinatis operum omnium indices et concordantiae compuesto por 56 volúmenes de casi mil páginas cada uno. En 1990 su obra se convirtió en un CD-ROM y luego en un DVD.