Last year, when I was studying up on the Catholic Church, I reflected that Theology and Moral Philosophy should be more like Physics. That is to say, knowledge should accumulate. A beginning student of hysics isn’t told to go back to first principles, conduct his own experiments, re-derive all of the necessary math, and in general rebuild modern physics from scratch. If this were necessary, nobody would ever learn modern physics. Instead, our student is guided rapidly through the basics of physics, doing proofs and experiments for enrichment, and then on in like manner until the subject is grasped and the student can make use of his new knowledge. If God is objectively true, there should be a similar system of knowledge for theology and moral philosophy that has been built up over the years. Scripture is foundational and essential, but its implications (and the implications of human nature in general) are not always obvious, and yet everyone seemed to start from scripture and build their own superstructure on top it. Not surprisingly, different authorities often disagree.

I found the body of knowledge I was looking for in the Catholic Church and in the Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC). The moral principles in the CCC are rooted in scripture and in human nature, and represent a treasury of knowledge built up over thousands years that extends back to Aristotle and the ancient Greeks as well as to the ancient Hebrews. It’s massive, all encompassing, and consistent, and I was delighted to discover it.

Great! Theology and Moral Philosophy are like Physics!

In one sense, that is, but not in every sense, as Pope Benedict explains in section 24 of Spe Salvi:

First of all, we must acknowledge that incremental progress is possible only in the material sphere…in the field of ethical awareness and moral decision-making, there is no similar possibility of accumulation for the simple reason that man’s freedom is always new and he must always make his decisions anew. These decisions cannot simply be made for us in advance by others—if that were the case, we would no longer be free.

In other words, physical matter has no free will, and so always follows the rules. We can build machines, in line with the laws of physics and chemistry, and they do what we expect them to do. And we can hand them over to others who don’t understanding a thing about physics and chemistry, and they still work! I live at the apex of a pyramid of technology with my laptop and my cell phone and my video games and air conditioning and refrigeration and central heating and all manner of things, some of which I have a good understanding, some of which I have a marginal understanding, and some to which I’m completely oblivious. But even if I had no understanding, all of these gadgets would still work for me! I can stand on top of this pyramid of knowledge without possessing even the capstone.

Moral knowledge is different. There’s no such thing as a gadget of virtue. I can’t go to Target and buy some Fortitude for my kids, and maybe a little Wisdom on the side. I can’t say to my oldest son, “Hey Dave! Come over here, I need to upgrade your Prudence!” People aren’t machines; you can’t program them to be good. If you want to stand at the apex of the pyramid of moral knowledge, you need to acquire the whole pyramid. And you need to do it yourself; no one can do it for you. And you need to acquire it not with your head, your intellect, but with your heart, your will. Understanding moral teaching intellectually is useful, but if it doesn’t enter your will, you don’t possess it. And if it has entered your will, understanding it intellectually isn’t strictly necessary. Reading about another country isn’t the same as living there; and if you live there, you know what it’s like without reading about it.

Acquiring that pyramid of virtue is difficult, and very few ever stand at the apex (we call them “saints”). And we need help to ascend it, which, fortunately, God is delighted to give us.

All of this has implications for society, to wit: utopia is impossible. We cannot build the Kingdom of Heaven here on Earth. We cannot design the perfect society, with perfect rules, in which everyone will always automatically have everything they need and there will be no want, and everyone will be happy, precisely because people are not machines. Society is not a machine. No matter what rules and institutions you devise, people are free to subvert them, and (without that moral grounding) they will. Or, if your system is designed specifically so that people are not free to subvert it, cannot prevent it from working, then you have taken away their freedom, and your system is not the Kingdom of Heaven, is not truly utopia.

So what are our responsibilities with regard to Society? We must strive, with God’s help, to acquire all virtue. A society is only as good as its members. We must strive to provide just rules and institutions. We can’t build utopia, but there’s no reason to settle for less than the best we can do. And we must strive—as individuals—to serve those in need, because they are in need right now. Ignoring the needs of those around us in favor of trying to build the Perfect Society in which they will no longer be in need is a cop-out. It merely inflates us with pride while failing to accomplish the goal…and meanwhile, those around us are still in need.

Actually, it’s been almost three-and-a-half months; I started praying the Liturgy of the Hours in mid-January, and it’s now nearly the end of April. For the beginning of this project, see the series of posts that begins here.

I don’t really have a lot to say, except that I’m still praying Morning and Evening Prayer, Night Prayer, and most days the Office of Readings as well. Many such projects start out well, with the enthusiasm born of novelty, and then lapse as the novelty fades. This has not been the case, so far. The Divine Office just plain works for me; it helps me to pray when I feel dry, and it’s even more rewarding when I don’t. God is faithful, and the Divine Office helps me to be faithful in response. This is very cool!

The one resource I’d like to add to those I mentioned in the series of posts linked above is John Brook’s The School of Prayer, which does a better of job of explaining why it is that praying the Liturgy of the Hours is a worthwhile thing to do. In a nutshell, it’s because it teaches us to pray, using the prayers—the psalms—which the Lord himself gave us. But Brook goes into more detail than that; he also has a detailed commentary on every psalm in Morning and Evening Prayer. Highly recommended.

I’d seriously like to do this. Wonder if I can find anyone else who’s interested?

Partially as the result of my experiment with the Liturgy of the Hours (which I’m become rather attached to) I’ve grown interested in the topic of monasticism, and more particularly in the monastic “third orders”. The third orders go by different names depending on the orders to which they are attached—there are the Secular Franciscans, the Dominican Laity, the Benedictine Oblates, the Augustinian Seculars, the Secular Carmelites and Carmelite Third Orders, and so forth—but in every case, the members of a third-order are laypeople who are attached in a formal way to the particular order and live their lives (or try to) according to the spirituality of that order, as suitably modified for their positions as laypeople.

Many years ago, Jane and I had a friend (now deceased) who was a third order of the Order of the Holy Cross, an order of Episcopalian monks, probably Benedictine in flavor; he didn’t talk about it much, and rather forgot about the whole notion until I was nosing about the links at a Catholic blog called Disputations. I was briefly acquainted with the author of Disputations around fifteen years ago, when he worked at JPL; we had a shared interest in P.G. Wodehouse. I had no idea at the time that he was Catholic, and maybe he wasn’t. But at some point in the intervening years, according to one of his links, he’d joined something called the Dominican Laity, the current name for what used to be called the Dominican Third Order. I thought that was rather cool, as St. Thomas Aquinas was a Dominican, and as I’ve noted in the past I’m rather fond of St. Thomas.

More recently, I happened on a blog called Perfect Joy, which is written by an anonymous member of the Secular Franciscan Order. In one of the posts I read, he recommended a book entitled Paths to Renewal: The Spirituality of Six Religious Founders, by a Franciscan priest named Fr. Zachary Grant. Grant’s thesis is that anyone who seriously advances in the life of Christ is going to find themselves, whether they realize it or not, following in the footsteps of one of the Six Great Founders: Saint Augustine, St. Benedict, St. Dominic, St. Francis of Assisi, St. Ignatius of Loyola, and St. Teresa of Avila. Each of these saints founded a religious order; each came at a time when the Church was in disarray; each brought renewal, reform, and revitalization to the Church; and each had a characteristic spirituality associated with them and their followers. Grant allows that there is considerable overlap (there had better be) between the six paths, and that there has been almost infinite variation within these six broad categories; and also that they have been rediscovered multiple times. Grant believes that renewal in our day requires serious prayer and devotion, and is most likely to come from those who, whether clergy, monastic, or lay, seriously follow one of these paths. Finally, he thinks it can only be helpful, especially for secular clergy and laity, to figure out which of the six paths they are on.

I was intrigued by the blog post, and so I ordered a copy of Grant’s book. I found it interesting reading, but ultimately unhelpful as any kind of guide. Grant goes to great efforts to mark the differences between the six paths, their characteristic traits and devotions and whatnot, but I’m afraid the distinctions were too subtle to be helpful (for me, at any rate). Someone more familiar with the different orders and their founders might have understood them better, and someone farther advanced in the spiritual life than I am might have recognized his own path clearly among the six, but I didn’t. The two that seemed to resonate a little more than the others were St. Dominic and St. Benedict; but then, those were the two I had the most interest in when I started. And the spirituality of St. Francis, as described, didn’t appeal; but then I didn’t expect it to. There are a lot of Franciscans in California; there’s a Franciscan high school not far from where I work, and the the California missions were founded by Franciscans. And in fact, I had the honor of attending Blessed Junipero Serra’s Beatification mass at the Carmel Mission many years ago; I was on vacation, and simply happened to be at the mission at the right time. Nevertheless, I’m afraid I’ve never been particularly attracted by St. Francis.

Some while ago, Jane had picked up a book, rather on a whim, called Monk Habits for Ordinary People, by a Presbyterian minister named Dennis Okholm. Okholm has, rather surprisingly, for twenty years been an oblate of Blue Cloud Abbey, a Benedictine monastery in South Dakota, and his purpose in writing the book was to make Benedictine spirituality accessible to other Protestants. I’d glanced at it at the time, but no more than that; a couple of days ago Jane reminded me of it, and I more or less devoured it. Portions are tedious, as when Okholm spends not a little time explaining why Benedict has something to say to Protestants; and given a few of his remarks I’m afraid that Okholm’s Eucharistic theology might be a little “higher” than is safe for a Presbyterian minister. But the bulk of the book is an overview of Benedictine spirituality, and I found it fascinating.

Okholm highlights the Benedictine virtues of Poverty (a very different thing than Franciscan Poverty), Obedience, Humility, Hospitality, Stability, and Balance; the Benedictine motto, “Peace”; and the role in the Benedictine life of Prayer, Work, and Study. And in pretty much every section I found something that resonated with my life over the last few years. Some of them were recent developments, and others were of long standing; and a number of them came as surprises.

Clearly, I’m not about to run off and join a Benedictine monastery, but I don’t need to—the monastic life and Christian family life have a suprising amount in common. In each case you have a collection of people who are committed to living peacefully together, all of whom are imperfect and so take some living with, and all of whom are at different places in their journey toward Christ. The required virtues are the same, and a similar balance is required between Work, Study, and Prayer.

In a nutshell, I think I’m going to need to explore Benedictine spirituality further.

Today, my two older kids made their First Confession, and Jane made her first confession as a Roman Catholic. Woo-hoo! (Me, I just made a plain old ordinary confession.) And then we went out for ice cream.