In the Middle Ages, the disputed question was one of the major forms of academic investigation. A master of theology would pose a question on which great authorities seemed to disagree, then entertain objections from fellow masters and students. After others attempted to reconcile the various authorities, the master would give a determination that resolved the question.
In our form of the disputed question, two student brothers approach a difficult issue from different angles in order to reveal its complexity. These essays are meant to be complementary, not contradictory. Each of the brothers is then given the opportunity to reflect upon the contribution of the other. The section closes with a final summary provided by the editors, who do not pretend to play the role of master.
THE QUESTION
The Church speaks with resounding clarity, telling her children through the ages, time and time again, that men and women of every time and place are called to be holy. Married or single, priests or religious, consecrated persons, rockstars, physicists, and the like: God calls the characters of creation, the actors of his universal drama of salvation to respond to his invitation to communion. Moreover, it seems that God, caring for the world, guiding and sustaining all things by His providence, intends for each person a certain kind of life in which they can actually themselves become holy. This then brings us to our question: Must we have monks and nuns? Is religious life necessary?
TO FREQUENT HEAVEN’S COURTS
Louis Bertrand Lemoine, O.P.
John Paul II. Elizabeth of Hungary. The Curé d’Ars. Athanasius. Grignion de Montfort. Louis IX. Monica. Charles Borromeo. All these men and women are saints and, therefore, in heaven. None of these men and women were members of a religious order. Therefore, religious life is not necessary for salvation.
My treatment of this question must make me seem like quite the Scrooge at the beginning of the Church’s Year of Consecrated Life. However, the issue seems rather clear-cut. Bah humbug!
This being said, a Dominican can hardly decide what shoes to wear without making a few distinctions, and I do not intend to settle the important matter of the necessity of religious life in just fifty words. If my initial answer to the question at hand seems true though petty and minimalist, that is because it is.
God became man that men might become gods. This theme of the Eastern and Western Fathers is extraordinary and striking. As arresting as such a way of speaking may sound, the Fathers saw divinization as another permutation of the Scriptures’ vision for man’s sanctification—or man’s salvation, we might say in a more scriptural idiom. Whether one looks at Psalm 82:6, 2 Peter 1:4, or other selections from God’s word, it is clear that God has startlingly big plans for mankind. “I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly” (John 10:10).
It is our salvation to contemplate our God who is one yet trinal. God’s Word proceeds as perfect Image, the perfect and consubstantial Representation of God. From the Father and the Son, the Spirit is breathed forth as Love Proceeding. Augustine left a priceless treasure to humanity in his insight that man retains a certain vestige—or better, image—of this life-filled Trinity in his ability to know and will, his ability to generate images internally and move his will toward a beloved.
An illustration can help one understand this profound analogy. Imagine a young wife waiting in an airport for her husband’s flight. He is returning today from his eighteen-month deployment to Iraq. Picture the moment when she sees him in the terminal. As she looks upon him, the sight of him becomes vivid interiorly for her. This is another way of saying that she realizes her husband is present before her. Think of the unspeakable joy that she experiences once she realizes this, a joy that is also a longing within her that can only be satisfied by being very close to her husband once more.
Religious life is kind of like that. Really. Let me explain.
When a man or woman becomes a child of God, he receives the ability to know and love God. This is why we call faith, hope, and charity the theological virtues, since they have God (theos) as their object. According to the Thomistic school, this can be called the theologal life. In the theologal life, a man or woman knows God (by faith) and loves God (by charity) and thus images our Trinitarian God to the highest degree possible for a human this side of heaven, for by his inner acts of knowledge and love of God, he resembles the God who Knows and Loves himself perfectly.
Much more could be said, but I will bring this point to its conclusion. With this picture of the Christian life as the theologal life, all true Christian life is a contemplative life. The Christian in the state of grace lovingly contemplates or views God, even if in a weak or embryonic way. Indeed, this theologal life can exist in a person to a greater or lesser degree, as a man or woman knows and loves God more or less clearly and fervently. This theologal life is a gift from God. It can be possessed by all the baptized, whether they have gone on to the further consecration of religious vows or not.
However, are there ways in which we can more or less dispose ourselves to the full flourishing of this life? Is there a way of life that can be helpful for growing in salvation and sanctification along the lines of the portrait painted above?
In his Summa Theologiae, St. Thomas Aquinas addresses the question of whether those who are not well-practiced in a life of virtue should enter religious life. Against the depiction of religious life as an honor-roll society or country club of the Christian life, Thomas writes, “the religious state is a spiritual schooling for the attainment of the perfection of charity. This is accomplished through the removal of the obstacles to perfect charity by religious observances” (ST II-II, q. 189, a. 1). For St. Thomas, religious life is a school (exercitium) in pursuit of charity. Contemplation is the highest and the most profound activity of a religious. Perhaps this is the reason for the strong statement of the Code of Canon Law on religious life: “The first and foremost duty of all religious is to be the contemplation of divine things and assiduous union with God in prayer” (c. 663, §1).
For a particular person, the religious life may be necessary for him to fully flourish in the theologal life. Would John of the Cross have been John of the Cross or would Bernard have been Bernard without the supports of their religious life? I think that such impossible hypotheticals are annoying at best and harmful in the pursuit of truth at worst. God chose for such men and women to fully flourish in the salvation described earlier with the help of the religious life—and these are many helps indeed, helps such as a rule, interior and exterior spaces created for prayer, a defined manner of responding to the Lord’s call to lay down our lives in love, and membership in the living organism of grace and merits that is a religious institute.
The ‘school’ that is religious life can be helpful. However, the end result of religious life—the salvation that is the contemplation of God—can be attained through other “schooling,” such as the life of marriage and family. Indeed, union with God is available to all the baptized. As such, we can find, simply put, that men and women who are not religious frequent heaven’s courts. Therefore, the religious life is not necessary for salvation.
The Way Up and The Way Out
Philip Neri Reese, O.P.
It is the end of Metaphysics II. Aristotle has been waxing un-poetically for a while about why an infinite regress of causes-causing-causes gets on his nerves. He comes up for air. Then, with a breathtaking non sequitur, he observes that some people stubbornly demand certain kinds of arguments. Pedants want precision while accuracy annoys others. (Aristotle’s students?)
So, stories or syllogisms? Dramas or distinctions? I shall answer our debate question from two different perspectives.
The Way Up (The Way In)
The LORD: “Come, follow me.” (Mark 1:17)
The creature: “Who am I, Lord God, and what is my house, that you should have brought me so far?” (2 Samuel 7:18)
The LORD: “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you; before you were born, I dedicated you.” (Jeremiah 1:5)
The creature: “But I am not a prophet, nor the son of a prophet . . .” (Amos 7:14)
The LORD: “I will be with you when you speak. I will give you the words you are to say. See! I make my words a fire in your mouth!” (Exodus 4:12; Jeremiah 5:14)
The creature: “I am doomed! For I am a man of unclean lips, living among a people of unclean lips!” (Isaiah 6:5)
The LORD: “I will take you away from among the nations; I will sprinkle clean water over you to make you clean, and from all your impurities I will cleanse you.” (Ezekiel 36:24–25)
The creature: “How can this happen?” (John 3:9)
The LORD: “I will set my tabernacle in your midst, and I will not loathe you. Ever in your midst, I will be your God.” (Leviticus 26:11–12)
The creature: “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof.” (Matthew 8:8)
The LORD: “As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Joshua 1:5)
The creature: “O Lord, who can abide in your tent? Who shall dwell on your holy hill?—he who walks blamelessly, and does what is right, and speaks the truth from his heart; . . . depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” (Psalm 15:1–2; Luke 5:8)
The LORD: “I have not come to call the righteous to repentance, but sinners.” (Luke 5:32)
The creature: . . .
The creature: “Behold, I am nothing; what shall I answer you? I lay my hand on my mouth.” (Job 40:4)
The LORD: “What do you want me to do for you?” (Mark 10:51)
The creature: “Show me, Lord, your way, so that I may walk in your truth.” (Psalm 86:11)
The LORD: “I will instruct you and teach you the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.” (Psalm 32:8)
The creature: “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.” (1 Samuel 3:10)
The LORD: “Come, follow me.” (Mark 1:17)
The Way Down (The Way Out)
There are two ways that something can be necessary: intrinsically and extrinsically. If something is intrinsically necessary, then it absolutely must be so (Why? Because it would be contrary to its nature to be otherwise). This sort of necessity arises from two sources: either from the constituents out of which the thing is made (its matter) or from its character as the sort of thing it is (its form). So adult blue whales are necessarily heavy because they are made of more than 100 metric tons of stuff (intrinsic material necessity), while bachelors are necessarily unmarried because that is part of what it means to be a bachelor (intrinsic formal necessity).
In contrast, extrinsic necessity is not absolute. This sort of necessity gets imposed on one thing by something else—and so it is not contrary to the one’s nature to be otherwise. Like intrinsic necessity, however, extrinsic necessity also arises from two sources. This time the sources are compulsion (an efficient cause) or purpose (a final cause). So water levels necessarily fluctuate because of the gravitational effect of the moon (extrinsic efficient necessity), while time and labor are necessary in order to meet a writer’s deadline (extrinsic final necessity).
This last sort of necessity also divides in two. On the one hand, we find cases in which something is a sine qua non for reaching the goal—in the example just given, without time and labor it will be impossible to meet the deadline. On the other hand, we also find cases in which something is not, strictly speaking, a sine qua non, and yet we would still say that it is necessary for the reasonable or expedient accomplishment of the goal. This is why we say that students need teachers and warriors need weapons.
We need one last distinction in order to answer the question at hand: that between an antecedent necessity and a consequent necessity. This distinction is more of a logical one than a natural or metaphysical one, but if we wanted to combine it with the divisions given above we could say that it comes first—i.e., “necessity” is either antecedent or consequent, and all of the above distinctions fall under the category of “antecedent” necessity. An example can help make this point clearer. Is it necessary that I am sitting right now? Neither my body nor my soul necessitates it; I am not being forced to sit by someone else; and I could just as easily get my writing done at a standing desk. So, based on all the forms of necessity discussed so far, our answer is “no.” But granted that I am, in fact, sitting right now, then necessarily, I am sitting. Put more formally, “granted that X is Y, it is necessary that the proposition ‘X is Y’ is true.” This kind of necessity is called “consequent” because it follows upon the actual state of affairs, rather than causing it.
So is religious life necessary for salvation?
The very question excludes the first three types of necessity: (1) antecedent, intrinsic, material necessity, (2) antecedent, intrinsic, formal necessity, and (3) antecedent, extrinsic, efficient necessity. Why? Because it asks about whether one thing is necessary in order to achieve another thing (final causality).
So is religious life necessary for salvation in this way? As a sine qua non, definitely not. There are plenty of saints who did not live the religious life. But what about as something reasonably needed? Here it seems that our answer should be yes, at least for some people. Most religious, keenly aware of our own sinfulness, would admit that we need this way of life to get to heaven. The observances of religious life are a help for the spiritually weak, not a trophy for the spiritually strong. We enter because, on some level, we feel the need to do so.
A corollary to this concrete experience of neediness is the fact that religious life is a vocation, a calling. God does not force anyone to become a religious, he does invite many to do so. This is because, in his mysterious, wise, and beautiful plan for salvation, he wanted this way of life to play a role. Given that divine choice, it must be so—and every religious gives thanks to God for it.
A Reply to Philip Neri Reese
I am very thankful for Br. Philip Neri’s generous authoring of this essay on religious life. The first part of Br. Philip Neri’s essay—“The Way Up (The Way In)”—shows a remarkable degree of familiarity with the Scriptures and also betrays a tender piety on his part. What a gift. A conversation composed entirely of Scripture verses is a prayer that has a more universal applicability and usefulness. This conversation is also a beautiful meditation on the interior dialogue of a religious—“the creature”—responding humbly to the Lord’s call to such a vocation.
The second part of Br. Philip Neri’s essay—“The Way Down (The Way Out)”—is a helpful tool for purifying our minds of mistaken notions of the necessity of religious life. His distinctions slowly chip away, if you will, at any notions of the necessity of religious life that would put into conflict this important motif with some other part of sacred truth. His helpful and creative distinctions provide a work that is practically helpful and also unique—I have not encountered anything like it. Furthermore, this second part of his essay brings clarity and helpful distinctions to elements in my presentation that needed further development. For example, I wonder if my point near the end of my essay concerning whether or not John of the Cross would have been John of the Cross without religious life can be illumined by Br. Philip Neri’s explanation of consequent necessity.
I think it is important to wonder why Br. Philip Neri made the creative decision to divide his essay into two parts. I wonder if he alludes to an answer in his introduction when he speaks about the possibilities of either pedantic precision or the opposite of annoying accuracy.
It seems to me that one way to understand the second part of his essay is indeed as “The Way Out”—a way to move from the ineffable mystery to a body of thought that can be communicated and taught. In light of his introduction, does Br. Philip Neri think that this section of his essay is complete yet also, somehow, incomplete? It is useful for instruction. Would he point to the first part of his essay, however, as a phenomenological account of the experience of vocation?
St. Thérèse famously traveled to Rome on pilgrimage to personally ask the pope to permit her to enter religious life in spite of her young age. One wonders what so moved this young girl from the French countryside to trek across nineteenth-century Europe in order to make such a bold request. What was it that so captivated that young heart?
Her soul was simple, and brightly illuminated by love—by Love. She stood before the Lord as one profoundly aware of her weakness and also profoundly aware of the Jesus who so loved her—it is as though the very knowledge of her weakness fanned the furnace of Divine Love within her. The syllogisms and distinctions of the schools somehow seem out of place in the little hamlet of Lisieux. Her song was of mercy and love.
Good theology saves souls. It is a gift of inestimable worth in the Church. However, I think something will always seem provisional or tentative about theological discourse. Its straw-like quality points to the primacy of love. Something is timeless and angelic about the first part of Br. Philip Neri’s presentation. I wonder if it is inevitable for love to eventually discard argument and to sail by a stronger wind. Love will always be restless until it becomes poetry.
-Louis Bertrand Lemoine, O.P.
A Reply to Louis Bertrand Lemoine
Br. Louis Bertrand’s guileless essay, “Religious life is not necessary for salvation,” deserves double-commendation.
First, because it does an admirable job responding to the question posed from a sapiential perspective. One of the distinguishing characteristics of sacra doctrina, or sacred theology, is that it is—at one and the same time—both eminently theoretical and eminently practical. Revealed theology sets before our minds the most exalted things that can be known and before our feet the most useful paths that can be walked. I see both aspects at play in Br. Louis Bertrand’s essay: on the one hand, his discussion of the theological virtues as principles for living the theologal (not “theological”) life clearly moves in the practical mode; on the other hand, his emphasis on the universal call to Trinitarian contemplation keeps the piece firmly fixed on the final primacy of speculative vision (seeing God face to face). If I understand him correctly, both of these dimensions of sanctification are united and expressed in the theme of divinization, or saint-making.
But the essay is not merely commendable for climbing the ladder of wisdom in both the theoretical and the practical orders. It also comes back down again, providing clear examples in accessible language. Appeals to individual Saints book-end the argument, forcing us to get up from our armchairs and actually consider the facts. Moreover, at the center of the piece stands the arresting example of the young wife in the airport. What could better express the beatifying and exalting power of vision than that? On points like these, I think my own essay (which verges on obscurant) could take some pointers.
One point on which I must confess a bit of confusion has to do with discerning the identity of the distinctions that Br. Louis Bertrand says he will make in the essay’s third paragraph. When, at the essay’s end, we find the conclusion that “religious life is not necessary for salvation,” I could not help but wonder for whom? But perhaps on this point I am too much like Aristotle’s men from Metaphysics II, and Br. Louis Bertrand would guilelessly reply: for John Paul II, for Elizabeth of Hungary, for the Curé d’Ars.
-Philip Neri Reese, O.P.
Recapitulation
Religious life, the fathers of the Second Vatican Council teach us, does not belong to the hierarchical structure of the Church. Priests need not be consecrated religious to offer sacraments to the people of God. Yet, religious life, the fathers say, belongs to the Church’s life and holiness. While as our dear brothers have pointed out, religious life may indeed be necessary for an individual soul, as only the mystery of providence could ordain, it seems the Church has no intrinsic need for religious life. The Church is holy because Christ, her head, is holy, not because any of her ministers or consecrated servants are holy. The Church does not, strictly speaking, depend upon consecrated religious for her holiness. In
this sense then, religious life is not necessary.
And yet, like our forebears, we are a people hard of heart. Br. Louis Bertrand rightly suggests that the observances of religious life empower or otherwise enable a man to breach the heights of the spiritual life. Br. Philip Neri’s penetrating exposition allows us to think seriously, deeply about precisely what we might mean when we speak the word “necessity.” Ultimately, like a telescope that aids the eye to see far-off stars and planets, or a room that amplifies the still, quiet voice, religious life seems to make things that much more present to those with overwhelmed, overtaxed ears and strained, weary eyes.
-The Editors
To download a printable PDF of this Article from
Dominicana Journal, Winter 2014, Vol LVII, No. 2, CLICK HERE.
