Despite being less than a week old, Fiducia Supplicans is already one of the most controversial documents in Church history. I’d wager that no Vatican missive has divided the Church so quickly or so deeply since Paul VI published Humanae Vitae. Conservatives and liberals can agree one thing, at least: Fiducia undermines the Catholic Church’s teaching on homosexuality. The difference is, liberals think that’s a good thing; conservatives, of course, do not.
Having said that, I’ve noticed a small number of Catholic intellectuals arguing that Fiducia actually strengthens the Church’s traditional line on sexuality. They insist that the blessings described by Feducia are supposed to help homosexuals to embrace chastity. As Bishop Robert Barron put it, Rome is trying to help these folks “live more fully in accord with God’s will and to enhance whatever is good, true, and beautiful in their lives.”
In fairness to Bishop Barron, Fiducia does says that such blessings must not in any way resemble the rite of Holy Matrimony. Yet nowhere in this 5,000-word document does the Vatican reaffirm the Church’s teaching on homosexual activity—i.e., that it’s morally impermissible in any and all circumstances. In fact, Rome goes out of its way neither to affirm nor deny that teaching.
Bear in mind that heretical priests across the West, most notably in Germany and Austria, have long been “marrying” same-sex couples in blasphemous ceremonies. Rome has failed to discipline these priests. Nor does it rein in their bishops, many of whom encourage this sacrilege. The Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith doesn’t even address these abuses directly in Fiducia. But if you really want to argue that the DDF is trying to discourage homosexuality—hey, it’s a free country.
Anyway, I can understand why Bishop Barron would make this argument. It’s all part of the “hermeneutic of continuity.”
Most of you have heard this phrase before. You know that it refers to a particular way of reading the Second Vatican Council, emphasizing the similarities between the Council’s documents and Sacred Tradition. This is opposed to the “hermeneutic of rupture,” which is favored by traditionalists and progressives alike, and which emphasizes the differences between the preconciliar and postconciliar Church. Of course, many of those who adopt the hermeneutic of continuity with regards to Vatican II are doing the same with Fiducia (Bishop Barron, for example).
But while the term itself might be new, the concept has been around for centuries.
If we’re going to be honest, no one’s quite sure how Rome’s magisterial authority works. On paper, the decrees of Vatican I are clear:
We teach and define as a divinely revealed dogma that when the Roman pontiff speaks ex cathedra—that is, when, in the exercise of his office as shepherd and teacher of all Christians, in virtue of his supreme apostolic authority, he defines a doctrine concerning faith or morals to be held by the whole church—he possesses, by the divine assistance promised to him in blessed Peter, that infallibility which the divine Redeemer willed his church to enjoy in defining doctrine concerning faith or morals. Therefore, such definitions of the Roman pontiff are of themselves, and not by the consent of the church, irreformable.
But now ask yourself: what constitutes an ex-cathedra definition? When is the Pope ever not exercising his office as sheperd and teacher of all Christians? Sure, the in-flight press conferences probably aren’t magisterial. But what about encyclicals like Amoris Laetitia? Or declarations like Fiducia Supplicans? If they don’t count... well, why not?
Here’s the thing: while the dogma of infallibility has been declared, it hasn’t been defined. Practically all Catholics agree that popes have infallibly declared at least two dogmas: the Immaculate Conception (Pius IX, 1854) and the Assumption (Pius XII, 1950). Most would say that canonizations and excommunications are also an exercise of the pope’s infallible, ex-cathedra authority, though a sizeable minority would not. Beyond that, it’s basically the Wild West.
In fact, several papal missives seem to fit the criteria for an infallible declaration but aren’t usually included in the list. Why? Usually it’s because, by the time Vatican I was ratified, those teachings had grown unpopular and/or were contradicted by later papal missives.
Take the bull Unam Sanctam (Boniface VIII, 1302). “Furthermore,” it says, “we declare, we proclaim, we define that it is absolutely necessary for salvation that every human creature be subject to the Roman Pontiff.” Notice that it uses virtually the same language as the Vatican I decree. This was clearly meant to be a weighty and binding pronouncement.
Yet equally weighty pronouncements have made it clear that non-Catholics do not automatically go to Hell. Quanto Conficiamur Moerore (Pius IX, 1863), for instance, made an exception for those with “invincible ignorance” of the Church. Lumen Gentium, the dogmatic constitution issued by the Second Vatican Council, also makes clear: “Whosoever, therefore, knowing that the Catholic Church was made necessary by Christ, would refuse to enter or to remain in it, could not be saved.” Yet depending on your definition of knowing (again, the dogma is declared but not defined) this excludes the majority of the human race.
Now, it’s possible to read Unam Sanctam in a way that harmonizes with Lumen Gentium. For instance, you might say:
The Church has always affirmed the dogma of extra Ecclesium nulla salus: “outside the Church there is no salvation.” But the Catechism of the Catholic Church points out that, “Reformulated positively, it means that all salvation comes from Christ the Head through the Church which is his Body.” Or, as Georges Florovksy put it, “Outside the Church there is no salvation, because salvation is the Church.” Everyone who is saved is (in some mystical sense) in the Church. And the Pope is the head of the Church. Therefore, everyone who is saved is (in some mystical sense) in communion with the Roman pontiff.
I have no problem with this reading. I think it’s the best we Catholics can do. But we have to admit, this is essentially the opposite of what Boniface meant when he wrote Unam Sanctam. What’s more, none of his contemporaries would have thought he was talking about non-Catholics enjoying a “mystical communion” with the Church, much less with Boniface himself.
If we’re not willing to accept this reading, then we must simply admit that there’s no way to determine what constitutes an infallible/ex-cathedra statement.
If we are willing to accept this reading, we have to admit that it’s possible not only for popes to affirm error, but for them to badly mislead their contemporaries. In fact, it seems “papal infallibility” has nothing to do with ensuring right belief. It only means that, when a pope formally teaches error, future popes will be able to interpret his writings in the light of orthodoxy—that it will always be possible to twist an erroneous Pope’s own words against him.
For what it’s worth, this latter interpretation of papal infallibility is consistent with Catholics’ usual treatment of heretical popes like Vigilius and Honorius I. We say that these men only failed to pervert Church teaching despite their best efforts. The Church rejects their erroneous doctrines, not because these popes forgot to use the proper “ex-cathedrea” formula, but because the doctrines themselves so clearly contradict Sacred Tradition. And I think that’s telling.
One hundred and fifty years after the First Vatican Council, we’re still wary of this idea of the “papal magisterium.” Of course, this has long been true of liberal Catholics, most of whom didn’t even try to receive Vatican I. Yet ever since Vatican II—and particularly over the last nine or ten years—conservative Catholics have also begun to take a minimalist view of the papacy.
Yet, while a large and diverse crowd of Catholics reject the “spirit of Vatican I,” there’s still a hitch: they need some other standard to help them parse these papal pronouncements. For their part, liberal Catholics generally look to secular authorities. For instance, they assume a very Western, 21st-century, gender-studies definition of women’s equality; then they go out in search of arguments for women’s ordination.
Conservatives, on the other hand, reflexively check every papal pronouncement against Sacred Tradition. Lately I’ve noticed several prominent traditionalists—including Bishop Athanasius Schneider and Fr. John Zuhlsdorf—quoting a certain passage from St. Vincent of Lérins:
What then will the Catholic Christian do, if a small part of the Church has cut itself off from the communion of the universal Faith? The answer is sure. He will prefer the healthiness of the whole body to the morbid and corrupt limb. But what if some novel contagion tries to infect the whole Church, and not merely a tiny part of it? Then he will take care to cleave to antiquity, which cannot now be led astray by any deceit of novelty. What if in antiquity itself two or three men, or it may be a city, or even a whole province be detected in error? Then he will take the greatest care to prefer the decrees of the ancient General Councils, if there are such, to the irresponsible ignorance of a few men. But what if some error arises regarding which nothing of this sort is to be found? Then he must do his best to compare the opinions of the Fathers and inquire their meaning, provided always that, though they belonged to diverse times and places, they yet continued in the faith and communion of the one Catholic Church; and let them be teachers approved and outstanding. And whatever he shall find to have been held, approved and taught, not by one or two only but by all equally and with one consent, openly, frequently, and persistently, let him take this as to be held by him without the slightest hesitation.
St. Vincent, of course, is best known for his one-sentence catechism: “In the Catholic Church itself, every care should be taken to hold fast to what has been believed everywhere, always, and by all.”
Likewise, over at Crisis, my friend Eric Sammons points to a line in Fiducia which says that Francis “invites us to broaden and enrich the meaning of blessings.” According to Mr. Sammons, “This line, in a nutshell, represents the problematic nature of Francis’s entire pontificate. What is the role of a pope? Is it to ‘broaden and enrich’ our theology? Or is it to profess and guard what has been handed down to us since the time of the apostles? If you are Catholic, there is only one correct answer to this question.”
Well, yes... and no.
Personally, I agree with Eric. We should believe only what has been handed down to the Church by Christ via the Apostles. But if pressed, most intelligent Catholics will make an exception for the “development of doctrine.”
Take one example. After Bishop Strickland was deposed by the Vatican, I wrote an article for Crisis castigating His Excellency for not appealing the Pope’s decision. Bishop Strickand makes such a fuss about being a Successor to the Apostles in his own right (I said) and yet, when Rome violates his pastoral rights, the Bishop simply rolled over. Mr. Sammons rejected the article, pointing out that, according to Roman canon law, the canonical decisions of a Pope are final—that, in fact, it’s a canonical crime to challenge a papal ruling in a canonical court.
Now, tell me: was this believed everywhere, always, and by all? Did every pope—from Peter and Linus and Cletus and Clement and Evaristus all the way down to Francis—possess the ability to appoint and depose every other bishop on earth on a whim, with no possibility of appeal? Were these popes aware thay they possessed that authority, and it simply never came up until the 1900s, when the modern code of canon law was published?
If so, then why did Leo IX excommunicate Michael I of Constantinople in 1054 instead of simply deposing him and appointing a new Patriarch? Why didn’t he do the same for Peter III of Antioch, Ioannikios of Jerusalem, and Leontios of Alexandria while he was at it? Why is it that, prior to the 20th century, popes were so respectful of the authority and dignity of “heretical” bishops when they could have ejected them with the stroke of a pen—and when this power was affirmed everywhere, always, and by all?
Obviously, I’m not saying that we can defy Church authorities willy-nilly. I’m only saying what all conservative Catholics already believe: that we have to check Rome’s pronouncements against the authority of Scripture and Tradition. Or, to put it Vaticanese: canon law is not an exercise of papal infallibility. We have to “prove all things”—even papal encyclicals—and “hold fast to that which is good.”
Now, some folks might be thinking, “This just sounds like Eastern Orthodoxy.” That’s true! And it’s a good thing.
If you listen to Roman Catholic apologists debate Eastern Orthodox apologists, you’ll notice something: the Catholics are always trying to convince the Orthodox that they (the RCs) actually agree with them (the EOs) about everything.
For instance, the Orthodox will criticize Rome’s definition of the filioque. The Catholic will point out that one may be in communion with Rome without believing the quasi-Augustinian version of the filoque that was in vogue in Charlemagne’s court, and which Rome insisted the whole Church embrace, thereby setting off Great Schism—and besides, the Orthodox believe that the Spirit proceeds from the Son in time anyway!
The Orthodox will also criticize Rome’s understanding of purgatory as a “third place” distinct from Heaven and Hell where we suffer punishment for our earthly sins before being admitted to Paradise. The Catholic will point out that this is a Medieval conception of purgatory which is not binding on the faithful—and besides, the Orthodox believe in some sort of postmorten purification ayway!
It’s the same with the Immaculate Conception (“you Orthodox call her immaculate as well!”), the Assumption (“Catholics are allowed to believe that Mary died!”), indulgences (“we haven’t sold them for years!”), etc.
In other words, while Catholics may defend the “development of doctrine” in theory, very few are willing to defend any specific doctrine which have been developed beyond the bounds of Orthodoxy. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the Catholic will simply agree with the Orthodox.
In fact, there appears to be a growing effort to measure Catholic theology according to a Patristic standard (cf. the Nouvelle théologie). Naturally, this has brought the Catholic Church closer to the Orthodox. In some instances, it has even invited Catholics to “check” our beliefs against Orthodoxy’s living witness to the patristic faith (cf. the Alexandria Document).
I say this is a good thing—a very good thing—and I suspect that most conservative Catholics would agree with me.
No, that doesn’t mean we all have to speak Greek and worship in catacombs (though that would be sweet). Let’s just assume that, if the Church Fathers did something, they had a reason for doing it—and, if they didn’t do something, they had a good reason for not doing it. That’s the Orthodox way.
It’s also how John Paul II approached the problem of women priests. Normally, popes would confront errors within the Catholic Church by commissioning theologians to write subtle Scholastic arguments refuting that error. That’s the usual Roman M.O. But in his 1994 encyclical Ordinatio Sacerdotalis, John Paul took a page out of the Eastern playbook. He refused to justify the heresy of women’s ordination by issuing a formal refutation. He simply pointed out that neither Christ nor the Apostles ordained any women; therefore “the Church has no authority whatsoever to confer priestly ordination on women.” This is not a doctrine that can be “developed” or “broadened” or “enriched.” It’s just the way things are.
‘Twas not in the beginning, is not, and never shall be; world without end, amen.
The same logic could easily be applied to Fiducia. On the one hand, there’s nothing heretical about the declaration. On the other hand, we all know that liberal Catholics—both in the Roman Curia and the College of Bishops—will use it to advance the LGBT ideology within the Church. We can say that, in blessing the couple, we must not appear to bless the relationship, etc.—but all we know that’s exactly what’s going to happen. That’s probably why the Church never practiced such blessings in the first place. And, hey, isn’t that a mic-drop argument in itself?
I anticipate three objections to this line of thinking from conservative Catholics.
First, The Orthodox overemphasize Tradition to the point of stagnation. To which I say: No, they don’t. That’s just something we Catholics tell ourselves. Somehow we got this idea into our heads that a healthy Church must constantly be cranking out new encyclicals, dogmas, feast days, devotionals, etc. But that vision looks nothing like the Early Church. It’s not even Medieval! It’s pure nineteenth century.
Second, This forces us to throw away the dogma of papal infallibility. But that’s not true, either! It simply forces us to… er… develop the doctrine a bit more. We can refine the definition of ex cathedra to mean “in conformity with Holy Scripture and Sacred Tradition, as defined by the Apostles and the Fathers of the Church.”
“But Michael,” you cry, “everyone is infallible when they speak in conformity with Holy Scripture and Sacred Tradition!” To which I say: Yes, exactly.
Third, Why don’t you write about how the Orthodox need Catholicism? Because we’re talking about the Catholic Church. Believe me, I’ve got plenty of ideas for them, too. But that’s a matter for another post.
Parting thought: Everything I’ve say here entirely within the bounds of Catholic tradition. Moreover, I believe it’s the only way to make sense of that tradition, restore confidence in the Church’s teaching authority, and heal the wounds which have separated us from our Orthodox brethren for the last thousand years.
After all, what greater offering could we give to Our Lord than unity—a unity grounded in filial love for our holy and life-giving Fathers? Who can imagine a stronger foundation for the Church in the third millennium than this: the Church of the first?