Above: the Roman theatre at Athens.
In describing his conversion to Catholicism via the usus antiquior, actor Shia LaBeouf remarked “it feels like they’re not selling me a car … It feels like it’s not being done to sell me on anything.” I believe the traditional Mass is compelling because it is decidedly – one might say blessedly – not the product of what I call “religion on the model of rhetoric.” Let us dig more deeply into this idea.
In classical rhetoric, there are of course three major elements: 1) ethos – the presentation of the character of the speaker, 2) logos – the rational coherence of the message itself, and 3) pathos – the feeling elicited in the listeners. Now, what is interesting to us is the definite distinction between the message itself (the logos) on the one hand, and its presentation (the ethos and pathos) on the other. In many ways, this distinction parallels Aristotle’s ideas of substance and accident. A blue car and a red car are both equally cars, while the color is “accidental.” Likewise, the message is the message, while its presentation may vary. Plato, in his criticism of oratory and persuasion, rejects the legitimacy of attempting to make a message more pleasing through the application of what he considered a mere rhetorical “knack.” Since we are not here concerned with persuasive speech per se, we have no need to enter this debate. Rather, the question I would like to examine is what happens when the rhetorical approach is carried over into the realm of religion?
To provide context, let us consider a criticism levelled at traditional Catholics by certain “right-liberal” churchmen and apologists, namely that they are “utopian.” According to the argument, Catholics can be divided into three “poles.” The first pole consists of left liberals who want to change the content of the Faith to suit the modern world, especially the Church’s teaching on moral questions. These people are said to be “utopian” in their ideals of inclusivity, etc. Secondly, there are the utopian “traditionalists,” who allegedly want to separate themselves from the modern world to live in some retro ideal age of Christendom. The third – and of course correct – pole, consists of the supposed realists who would keep the substance of the Faith while adapting it to the modern world, such that it will be attractive to modern people.
Now, the changes in the Church’s self-presentation made pursuant and subsequent to Vatical II (including changes to the Mass) are, according to advocates of this third pole, “strategic.” A quotation from Cardinal Francis George expresses the core logic of this approach, which entails a “limited accommodation to modernity in non-essentials for the purpose of evangelization.” Indeed, one could not ask for a more clearly stated summary of religion on the model of rhetoric. On the one hand, there are the “essentials” of the Faith which cannot be changed (the logos) and, on the other, the “non-essentials” (ethos and pathos) which do not bear directly on the essentials and should be adapted to achieve a maximum desired effect in terms of the reception of the content. In what follows, I will set forth what I see as the biggest problems inherent in this conception of religion, before closing with some thoughts about the deepest meaning behind its adoption.
As mentioned, the thing about rhetoric is the separation of the message from its presentation. Substance and accident. Essential and non-essential. Yet, what precisely does such a vision entail? First and foremost, it involves stepping outside of the rhetorical context: one looks at one’s own self (how am I coming across?) and at the audience (how is my self-presentation likely to make these particular people feel?). Adjustments are made to the presentation, the efficacy of which will naturally depend on the acuteness of the perception of the orator and his skill of invention. In terms of ethos in particular, success will depend on the personal characteristics of the rhetorician, as distinct from the message itself. Now, this may (or may not, says Plato) be appropriate in terms of oratory, where an audience is being addressed in the context of persuasive speech. But what happens when the “orator” is a religion?
Consider that any religion is a concrete and historical thing, whose “context” is the wide world itself. Is it possible to “step outside” of something that has developed “whole cloth” over centuries among countless named and unnamed individuals? But here’s the thing: even if it were possible to do so, who would think themselves both competent and “chosen” to undertake such a task? Certainly, it is a terrible responsibility to hand down a tradition intact, received organically in the warp and woof of time. In the nature of things, such a responsibility must be assumed. It seems to be something else altogether, however – even something godlike – to decide based on a reading of the times, to create a committee tasked with “updating” the Faith in such a manner as to achieve a more attractive presentation. We recall in this regard that Hegel thought he had discovered the logic of history. Our consciousnesses were the unwitting inner dimension of the Absolute Spirit unfolding itself in history. “The philosopher” Hegel’s consciousness, by contrast, was uniquely gifted in being able to step outside of the unfolding of history to explain it to us. As it turns out, history would culminate in the ascendancy of the German state. How convenient.
Now, rhetoric is concerned with communication, primarily verbal. For this reason, Catholicism reconceived on the model of rhetoric will have a need to forbid Latin (as we are often reminded the Vatical II documents do not). For if the logic of the “updating” is informed by the ideal of effectively persuasive speech, it is a forgone conclusion that it simply will not do to address people in a language they do not understand. Stress on the “message” will also entail an especially high premium to be placed on preaching and rationalizing about current events. Being an inspirational guide to navigating the ups and downs of life will be found to be of the essence of the priesthood, though a priest may still perform other functions. An ideal priest is above all a “great guy” (ethos) who helps make sense of the world. The very best priests are amazing storytellers who bring tears of hope.
More profoundly, the shift to religion on the model of rhetoric means that, in terms of the Church’s engagement with the world, the clergy in their personal capacity become “representative” of the Faith in a way that was never previously the case. Formerly, the Faith as encountered in concrete life was in some fundamental sense “anonymous,” providing a certain amount of “breathing room” in which an individual could make it his own. The role of the clergy in shaping the tradition was comparable to a fellow traveler with special authority in deciding which way to go at an intersection or a fork in the road. With religion on the model of rhetoric, however, they undertake to pave the road for us according to the latest materials, etc., as they think best. The fact that in doing so, they refer to an abstract map to keep us on the “essentially” correct path, does not prevent the “updated” road from being a creature of their own making. In this way, the Faith as it is concretely lived loses its salutary “anonymity” and becomes intimately linked with individuals (or committees) of a particular time and place. The Novus Ordo becomes “the Baby Boomer Mass,” whereas the TLM belongs to all and yet no one.
Now, the Protestant character of this representative and personalistic conception will be evident. What is “religion”? Well, we have our assembly, and we have our preachers. Are they effective? What is their message? Are they relating to us? Can we relate to them? Let’s talk about it. It is in keeping with this ideal of communication that religion on the model of rhetoric sees even the non-verbal elements of the Mass as elements of presentation, akin to lighting or decorations that provide ambiance. Hence they regard the issue of the traditional Mass as primarily one of aesthetics or “reverence.” You like the TLM? No worries! We can have the Novus Ordo in Latin (it is beautiful and sounds “traditional”) with incense and solemn music. We won’t even allow girl altar servers. Problem solved.
A mere message has no ontological structure. It is therefore no mistake that religion on the model of rhetoric fails to comprehend the fundamental alteration of the space enacted by the Novus Ordo. For the traditional Mass takes place somewhere: at the foot of the cross. “Send forth Thy light and Thy truth: they have conducted me and brought me unto Thy holy hill…” Et introibo ad altare dei. “And I will go in to the altar of God.” Yet further, there is an interior “space” evoked in a dialogue with one’s soul: “why art though sad, O my soul, and why dost thou disquiet me?” The Novus Ordo, by contrast, takes place in a social space. We are gathered around the table. The priest turns toward you. You turn toward your neighbor (e.g., in the exchange of the peace), and we collectively set forth our concerns in the petition. You, me, us. Lots of people, but where is God? At the traditional Mass it is evident that the priest is not primarily there to address those present in a familiar or personal capacity. He almost never does. He is not primarily there to “join us” in prayer. At the TLM, the priest is there to do priestly work, which involves above all something between him and God. Is it a shame that we do not have more opportunity to savor his charisma?
Paradoxically, if unsurprisingly, conceiving religion as a rhetorician ends up undermining the very purpose of the “strategic” changes made on its behalf. To understand the underlying dynamic at work, consider the following characteristic statement: “If we pick up the writings of the Second Vatican Council … we might see there the first pages of a playbook for how we can fight a battle in the modern world.” On this note, let us return to Shia LaBeouf’s statement about selling a car. Now, qua rhetorician, a car salesman “sizes up” the customer who pulls onto the lot, adjusting his “pitch” accordingly. Now, there can be no mistake that the salesman’s interests are not precisely those of the customer: for every additional cent that he can get out of the customer, an extra cent goes in his own bank account. The point here, however, is not the moral question of seeking profit, but rather that the encounter is tainted in a certain sense from the beginning, on the human level. There is a certain game being played that involves, well, not being exactly honest and straightforward.
It may be objected that the analogy is not apt, insofar as religion really is the greatest good possible (for the potential convert) and that the priest acts with a selflessness unlike the case of the used car salesman. Yet, we are concerned here with neither the “essential” goodness of the message nor the meritoriousness of the intention, but rather with the introduction of a fabrication constructed “for the good of the other.” It is one thing for a priest to prudently consider the specific characteristics of a certain congregation to whom he is about to present a sermon. By contrast, adapting a religion to make it more attractive seems altogether dubious, and likely to result in an off-putting fakeness and manipulativeness in its representatives and would-be guardians. Consider further that when it comes to eternal life and where one is going to spend it, it is reasonable to think people will be exercising their most stringent powers of discernment. Ask yourself: what are your feelings toward the car salesman awaiting you with his “playbook” as you pull onto the lot? Does it matter if he sincerely believes he has your best interests at heart? Perhaps the whole idea of strategy and playbooks and changing the Church in a “limited accommodation” to modernity is misguided.
The orientation of the essay thus far has been toward understanding why many people find the traditional Mass compelling, as opposed to the Novus Ordo. By way of conclusion, however, let me offer a few thoughts on what I believe is the deeper, underlying dynamic at work with this issue. We evoked the distinctly Protestant character of religion conceived on the model of rhetoric. Yet, just as Protestantism itself came about largely as an accommodation to the rise of modern sovereign state, the shift to religion on the rhetorical model can be explained in no small part as an accommodation of Catholicism to modern liberal democracy.
Consider: the concrete historical trajectory of the religion in which one encounters God is part of the relationship with Him. It is the specific context of the relationship with God and an inseparable part of one’s “religion.” It could be said that religious reality is inextricably bound up with a concrete historical trajectory, in an existential continuity with the past. Now, the thing about modern liberalism is that it is a political system in which order is authoritatively constructed according to the contemporaneous concurrence of free wills. A modern liberal might wish that the political and social orders would be “informed by the content of” tradition but would never for a minute suggest that the contemporary order must submit to that tradition. The Past has no authority for the liberal, except as filtered through contemporaneous human wills. Indeed, for the modern liberal, there is a clear and emphatic moral justification for this approach, namely that it leads to peace and prosperity. Living in history leads to world war and genocide. It is no mistake that the victory of modern liberal democracy over communism was hailed as the “end of history.”
The deepest problem with the traditional Roman rite, then, is not just that it is too Roman (though it is that, too) but that it is exquisitely embedded in a specific historical trajectory. It is the still-beating heart of Western Civilization, and therefore directly at odds with the modern liberal project. Right-liberals are tricky, because they are willing to fight energetically to protect the “treasures of Western Civilization.” Nonetheless, convinced to a moral certainty that it is the path to peace and prosperity, they agree to allow other liberals to live only in the great Liberal Present, scolding traditionalists for being antisocial and “divisive.” It is for this reason that the easy solution of allowing the TLM to exist as one of the several traditional rites receives no hearing: it does not speak to the root issue aimed at so ardently by modern liberalism, namely, the urgent political need to have everyone join in the contemporaneous union of free wills.
Religion conceived on the model of rhetoric solves the problem of traditional religion by separating out the “essential” – that is, the global – elements of the Mass from the merely “non-essential.” On the surface, it is about “strategic accommodations” to modernity for purposes of evangelization. More deeply, however, in separating alleged essentials from non-essentials, religion on the model of rhetoric facilitates the restructuring of religion to remove it from the concrete flow of history and make it compatible with the ahistorical consciousness demanded by modern liberalism.
The debate, then, is not between “utopians” and “realists.” This is incredibly superficial and a red herring. Rather, it concerns the nature of religion itself and its political meaning. The reader will decide for himself whether religion conceived on the model of rhetoric can be taken as a legitimate “development” of the Faith. Meanwhile, traditional Catholics will continue to attempt, as best they can, to preserve religion in existential continuity with the past. For their part, right-liberals will continue to see them as recalcitrant and, insofar as they do not partake of the Great Liberal Present, as leading an ossified existence (it simply must be the case!). Right-liberals will, no doubt, continue to insist on their high regard for tradition, so long as they can apply it as they see fit.
Photo by Enric Domas on Unsplash