Quaeritur: Are "Will" and "Free Will" Synonymous in St. Thomas?

Quaeritur: Are "Will" and "Free Will" Synonymous in St. Thomas?

Quaeritur:  What is the difference between "will" and "free will"?   Looking at the Latin text in the Summa I notice that where Thomas is translated as “free will” the original Latin uses the term liberum arbitrium in various cases and declensions. In contrast, when Thomas speaks of the faculty of the will, he uses the word voluntas in various cases and declensions. So it seems that there is some distinction in what is meant by “will” in the two translations. Stelten's Dictionary of Ecclesiastical Latin translates arbitrium as "free choice, free will, decision and opinion," whereas voluntas is translated as "will, wish, inclination, desire, will and testament." So it does seem that the former is related to decision-making or choices, where the latter is related to the spiritual faculty of the will.  Would you please help clarify and illustrate?

Respondeo: Great question!  Voluntas is not the same as liberum arbitrium. They are two different acts of the same power. Liberum arbitrium can correctly be translated as "free choice," volulntas is simply willing things in general, even if when do not specifically choose them.  Whenever we deliberate or choose between two different options, we are implicitly willing something more basic that we are not choosing.  For instance, when I deliberate whether I want to eat a burger or a pizza for lunch, I'm trying to make a choice between them, but implicit in that choice I am willing (without choosing) to nourish myself and satiate my hunger.  Similarly, when I come up to a fork in the road, I have to decide which path will take me to my destination, or which one will be a better route; yet in this process I am implicitly willing (without choosing) my destination.  Every choice involves a deeper act of willing that is not a choice, at least not at the moment.  In St. Thomas' own terms, choice is always about the means, and never about the end.  More generally, no one can choose happiness as their ultimate end.  We automatically will it.  All our choices are about the means to get there.  Once a soul enters heaven, there will be no more choices; but they will eternally love (will) God, His happiness, and the soul's own happiness.

Cf. Summa theologiae, Ia, qq. 83, a. 4:

I answer that, The appetitive powers must be proportionate to the apprehensive powers, as we have said above. Now, as on the part of the intellectual apprehension we have intellect and reason, so on the part of the intellectual appetite we have will, and free-will which is nothing else but the power of choice. And this is clear from their relations to their respective objects and acts. For the act of "understanding" implies the simple acceptation of something; whence we say that we understand first principles, which are known of themselves without any comparison. But to "reason," properly speaking, is to come from one thing to the knowledge of another: wherefore, properly speaking, we reason about conclusions, which are known from the principles. In like manner on the part of the appetite to "will" implies the simple appetite for something: wherefore the will is said to regard the end, which is desired for itself. But to "choose" is to desire something for the sake of obtaining something else: wherefore, properly speaking, it regards the means to the end. Now, in matters of knowledge, the principles are related to the conclusion to which we assent on account of the principles: just as, in appetitive matters, the end is related to the means, which is desired on account of the end. Wherefore it is evident that as the intellect is to reason, so is the will to the power of choice, which is free-will. But it has been shown above, that it belongs to the same power both to understand and to reason, even as it belongs to the same power to be at rest and to be in movement. Wherefore it belongs also to the same power to will and to choose: and on this account the will and the free-will are not two powers, but one.

New Book: John of St. Thomas, The Gifts of the Holy Spirit (Cluny Media, 2016)

New Book: John of St. Thomas, The Gifts of the Holy Spirit (Cluny Media, 2016)

John of St. Thomas, O.P., The Gifts of the Holy Spirit, with an introduction by Cajetan Cuddy, O.P. (Tacoma, WA: Cluny Media, 2016), xiv + 403pp.

To my joy and amazement, Cluny Media just recently reprinted a translation of a section of John of St. Thomas' Cursus Theologicus, dedicated to the Gifts of the Holy Ghost. The translation by Dominic Hughes, O.P., was originally published in 1951 by Sheed & Ward under the title, The Gifts of the Holy Ghost.  But it had been long out of print and hard to find.  It is now available from the Cluny Media website for the affordable price of $24.95.  I have been working on a review of this book to submit it for publication in a scholarly journal.  Before I do so I would like to share with you some of my thoughts in draft form.

John of St. Thomas (1589-1644) is not only an exceptionally faithful commentator of St. Thomas' Summa; his Cursus Theologicus is also historically monumental insofar as it is in itself an original Thomistic synthesis, a theological masterpiece in its own right that goes beyond merely commenting on the text of St. Thomas.  For example, whereas St. Thomas treats of the Gifts in many different questions spread throughout the Secunda Pars (Ia-IIae, qq. 68-70; IIa-IIae, qq. 8-9, 19, 45, 52, 121, and 139), John of St. Thomas gathers together the entire discussion of the Gifts into a single Disputatio.  In a sense, the Cursus is the first of the theological manuals, that is, the predecessor to the many Thomistic treatises ad mentem Sancti Thomae of later centuries.  It is historically a turning point between the earlier commentatorial tradition and the later manualist tradition. 

Hughes’ English translation does tone down a bit the scholastic format of the Latin original.  'Articles' are translated into 'chapters', and the questions that John asks in each are rendered as statements or headings. Thus the original scholastic sense of a quest for an answer to a question is lost a bit in translation.  Also lost in translation is John’s constant and explicit reference to the logical structure of the arguments to which he is replying: expressions such as ad primam, major probatur, minor constat, contra est, are either missing, or glossed over in such a way that their logical precision is lost; for instance, ad minorem is paraphrased as "in response to the latter part of this argument."  But these tendencies seem to be almost inescapable among mid-20th century English translations of scholastic works; compare, for example, Garrigou-Lagrange's Beatitude, translated by Patrick Cummins, O.S.B., with Garrigou's original De beatitudine.  For a purist such as myself, this toning-down of the scholastic method is obviously a drawback.  But the relatively free-flowing English text of these translations is designed to appeal to a non-expert audience, and thus opens up a masterpiece from the heart of the Thomistic tradition to a wider readership.  This is surely something positive in its own way (perhaps a mixed blessing of sorts) and, realistically, it is necessitated by the financial imperative of selling more books.  If you want to be a strict 'purist', read the Latin text itself.  For, as the Italians say: "traduttore, traditore."  That said, Hughes' translation includes, over and above the original, very helpful outlines at the beginning of each of his chapters (articles), which are a great aid to the careful student of John’s text.  

            One minor aspect in the reprint that I do find entirely unnecessary and in a way regrettable is the change in title, and together with it the "minor editorial revisions to the original text, including the changing of ‘Holy Ghost’ to ‘Holy Spirit’ throughout."  Not that it is theologically erroneous to say 'Holy Spirit' instead of 'Holy Ghost'. Rather, I just think that the deliberate suppression of traditional Catholic expressions such as this one tends to promote a disconnect with tradition in subsequent generations of Catholics.  This suppression furthers yet a little more the linguistic distance between us and our ancestors in the faith.  It is not so much an issue of preserving a tiny feature of our Catholic language; rather what is at stake is promoting continuity between generations of Catholics.  English-speaking Catholics need to become more familiar with the faith, writings, and modes of expression of their forefathers, not less.  That said, the consistent replacement of the expression ‘Holy Ghost’ throughout the book was to me personally at most only a bit distracting, and did not detract from the sheer joy of holding and reading John of St. Thomas’s commentary on St. Thomas in translation.

         The reprint also includes a brand new introduction by Fr. Cajetan Cuddy, O.P., which aims to show to the average reader the relevance of John of St. Thomas’ work on the Holy Ghost.  Fr. Cuddy here offers a brief apologia of the Thomistic Commentatorial Tradition.  He argues that "truth did not die with Saint Thomas Aquinas in 1274" (p. v), and that this tradition is "a living tradition" because the men who represent it received the "essential first principles of doctrinal purity and cultural engagement from Saint Thomas" and then went on "expeditions through the cultural and intellectual jungles of their own periods" (pp. v-vi).  And John of St. Thomas, whom his contemporaries called ‘another Thomas’, excels among Thomists in that he had a "unique ability to adjudicate difficult questions amidst great confusion without deviating from the truth.  Speculative complexity did not deter or suffocate this Iberian priest" (p. vii).  The translator's introduction to the 1951 edition, also contained in the reprint, includes a rather valuable "historical introduction" to John of St. Thomas, which will prove very helpful to readers seeking to deepen their understanding of the life, work, and times of this great Thomist.

        All in all, Fr. Cajetan Cuddy and Cluny Media have done a great service to English-speaking readers of Thomism and Theology in general by making available again this gem of the Thomistic tradition in translation.  The volume is a great joy to have and to study. I sure hope to see more volumes of this kind in years to come. 

Be sure to look also at Cluny Media's other Thomistic titles, such as Brennan's Thomistic Psychology, as well as several other volumes published in their Thomistic Institute Series.

St. Thomas: We Catholics Do Adore Images

St. Thomas: We Catholics Do Adore Images

Adapted from Francisco J. Romero Carrasquillo, "Aquinas’ Reception of John of Damascus’ Philosophy of Religious Worship," (forthcoming).  

You can download the original paper (draft) from my Academia.edu page.

Protestants have always accused Catholics of "worshipping images."  The standard response of Catholic apologists is simply to deny the charge, and instead respond that we really just 'venerate' the images.  This type of response is not only grossly insufficient, but actually runs afoul of the language of our tradition, as expressed in the writings of the saints.  For example, a Protestant can easily search through St. Thomas and find him saying that we do adore images.  When a Protestant brings this up to an untrained Catholic apologist, the apologist usually has nothing intelligent to say in reply.

In order to solve this puzzle, let's do what we do best: "Go to Thomas" (Ite ad Thomam).

According to St. Thomas, the first and most important of the exterior acts of religion (religio), i.e., of the virtue of worship (ST IIa-IIae, q. 81-100) is that of ‘adoration’ (adoratio).  The terminology here can be misleading.  We might be inclined to think of 'adoration' as simply being synonymous with ‘worship’, the kind of reverence that is reserved to God alone.  But Aquinas, who in this regard simply follows the received tradition, together with its complex and sophisticated theological language, already has a particular Latin term for divine worship, namely, látria (from the Greek, λατρεία, latréia).  Adoratio for Aquinas means concretely any kind of a physical humbling of the body, such as genuflections, prostrations, bowing down, etc., before something sacred or something that is worthy of respect or veneration.  As such, adoratio signifies primarily a physical act comprising a set of bodily postures.  Within the context of divine worship, these acts of adoratio are of course done as signs of an interior attitude of latria, but in themselves they are physical acts.  This is how it can be explained why we find St. Thomas saying that Catholics can and should 'adore' images.  

But the problem is deeper than that.  We actually find him saying that we should offer latria to images.  Yes, the worship due to God alone, should be given to images.  Why?

One of the most important practical points that St. Thomas makes in Christology is that Christ’s humanity, though in itself created, is deserving of the ‘adoration of latria’ in virtue of its Hypostatic or Personal Union with the Second Person of the Trinity: “the adoration of latria is not given to Christ’s humanity by reason of itself, but by reason of divinity to which it is united.”[i]  This is in contrast to the ‘adoration of dulia’, which is the kind of veneration given to the Saints and their relics, and that of hyperdulia, which is given to the Mother of God.

Yet, perhaps surprisingly, the humanity of Christ is not the only creature which is in some way deserving of latria.  There are other created things that are formally associated with Christ's humanity and thus are themselves deserving of latria (without this entailing the sin of idolatry): these are the true Cross of Christ—the actual historical instrument of Christ’s passion—as well as any image or icon of Christ.  By ‘icons’ or images we mean any pictorial representation of Christ, or of the Cross of Christ, whether in fresco form, or mosaics, “made of colors, pebbles, any other material that is fit, set in the holy churches of God, on holy utensils and vestments, on walls and boards, in houses and in streets,” in the words of the Second Council of Nicaea (AD 787), which addressed the issue of Iconoclasm, the anti-icon heresy that crept into the Church due to nascent Islam's hatred of religious imagery.[iv]

And interestingly, in another text, Aquinas relies again on St. John Damascene for a quote by St. Basil on this point. “Damascene quotes Basil as saying: ‘The honor given to an image reaches to the prototype,’ that is, the exemplar. But the exemplar itself, namely, Christ, is to be adored with the adoration of latria; therefore also His image.”[v]  What follows this quote is a remarkable text, where Aquinas uses Aristotelian semiotics as a basic premise to address to the issue on his own terms:

As the Philosopher says in the book De Memoria et Reminiscentia, there is a twofold movement of the mind towards an image: one indeed towards the image itself as a certain thing; another, towards the image insofar as it is the image of something else. And between these movements there is this difference; that the former, by which one is moved towards an image as a certain thing, is different from the movement towards the thing: whereas the latter movement, which is towards the image as an image, is one and the same as that which is towards the thing. Thus therefore we must say that no reverence is shown to Christ’s image, as a thing, for instance, carved or painted wood: because reverence is not due save to a rational creature. It follows therefore that reverence should be shown to it only insofar as it is an image. Consequently the same reverence should be shown to Christ’s image as to Christ Himself. Since, therefore, Christ is adored with the adoration of latria, it follows that His image should be adored with the adoration of latria.[vi]

In other words, we can think of an image in two ways: as a thing in itself, or as a sign.  When we think of it as a thing in itself, we do not necessarily treat it as we treat the object of which it is a sign, but when we do think of it as a sign, we treat it in the same way as we treat the object of which it is a sign.  For example, if I look at a picture of my wife, it is entirely reasonable for me to point to the picture and say “I love her.”  No one would think that what I mean is that I love the picture itself, qua inanimate object.  All of my affection in this case is directed at the person of my wife, almost as though the picture were not involved.  I do not give the picture itself a different kind of love from the love I give my wife.  To paraphrase Basil and Damascene, my attitude towards the image is directed at the exemplar.  Hence, it matters not whether I point to the picture and say “I love her” or actually point to my wife and say “I love her”: it is the same love that is expressed in both cases.  Aquinas is saying that similarly, in the case of religious worship, it matters not whether the latria given to Christ is given to Him directly or by means of an image or icon: it is latria all the same.  The worship given is not directed at the image in itself as a thing, but to Christ through the image, the latter being only a sign that leads the mind to Christ. 

Given this doctrine on the adoration of images, Aquinas has now the trouble of explaining why, even though in the Hebrew Scriptures the use of images was forbidden in worship, the prohibition nonetheless no longer applies since the coming of Christ.  He cannot simply claim that the prohibition is only of adoring images, and that Christians only venerate them, as many contemporary Christians would argue.  Rather, he is committed to the doctrine that images of Christ are deserving of latria.  His response focuses instead on the doctrine of the twofold movement of the mind towards an image, affirming that whereas in the case of Old Testament idolatry, the adoration of images was adoration of the gods of the gentiles, where since the coming of Christ the adoration of images is of God Himself made man.

[B]ecause, as was said above, the movement towards the image is the same as the movement towards the thing, adoration of images is forbidden in the same way as adoration of the thing whose image it is.  Therefore here we are to understand the prohibition to adore those images which the Gentiles made for the purpose of venerating their own gods.... But no corporeal image could be made of the true God Himself, since He is incorporeal; because, as Damascene says, “It is the highest absurdity and impiety to make a figure of what is Divine.” But because in the New Testament, God was made man, He can be adored in His corporeal image.[vii]

In other words, according to Aquinas, the great difference between the Judaism and Christianity in regards to the adoration of images is that in Judaism, God cannot be represented in imagery because God is strictly incorporeal, but in Christianity God is believed to have taken human flesh and it is therefore possible not only to represent Him, but also to worship him, through imagery.

A few points on the reception of this doctrine in later Catholic theology are in order here.  This analysis of the use of images in worship, which Aquinas shares not only with Damascene, but also with other prominent 13^th Century sources such as Albert, Bonaventure, and the Summa Fratris Alexandri, is not standard within modern Catholic theology.  Later Catholic theologians such as Bellarmine, Bossuet, and Petavius taught that the proper attitude due to religious images is not that of latria, but a veneration along the lines of dulia.[viii]  And this latter opinion has become a commonplace in contemporary Catholic theology, catechesis, and especially apologetics.  And yet, rather inconsistently, John Damascene and Aquinas are still frequently used as reference points on the issue.  For example, the Catechism of the Catholic Church (AD 1992) teaches that “[t]he honor paid to sacred images is a ‘respectful veneration’ (reverens veneratio), not the adoration (adoratio) due to God alone.”[ix] Rather astonishingly, right after making this statement, the Catechism immediately quotes Aquinas' words for support:

The cultus of religio is not rendered to images as considered in themselves, as things, but insofar as they are images leading to God incarnate. Now the movement directed to an image insofar as it is an image does not stop at the image itself, but tends towards that of which it is an image.[x]

Although the quote in the Catechism ends here, the text of St. Thomas continues: “Hence neither latria nor the virtue of religion is differentiated by the fact that religious worship is paid to the images of Christ.”[xi]  Clearly, this text points to an account of the use of images in worship that is at odds with what the Catechism teaches in the preceding line, since the basic idea in this text of Aquinas is that the same latria is given to the image of Christ as to Christ Himself.

Some Thomists and commentators have used the language of ‘relative latria’, to describe the worship due to an image of Christ.  This terminology should not lead us to think that the latria offered to the image is of a different sort from the latria given to Christ.  The image is indeed being given latria in relation to Christ, Who is the terminus of the one movement of latria; but as Aquinas says, it is one movement of the mind that tends to both the image of Christ and to Christ Himself, one and the same latria being offered to both.

The take-home message is that we do adore images (i.e., we bow down to them, kneel before them, etc.).  But 'adoring' in this sense refers to just an exterior religious act.  The inner religious act that is expressed outwardly in adoration depends on what the image is of.  If the image is of Christ, then, yes, we give latria to the image; or more precisely, to Christ in the image.  We do not give latria to the image simply because it is an image, but because it is an image of Christ, the God-man.  And if the image is of a saint, then we give dulia to the image, or rather to the saint in the image.  And in the case of images of Our Lady, it is hyperdulia.  There is nothing wrong with doing this: it is the same movement of the mind that is directed to the image and to the person in the image.  Christ is thus deserving of the same latria, or worship, whether in person or in an image. To do otherwise would amount to a misuse of images.

So let us be traditional Catholics.  Let us not feel pressured by un-Catholic (ultimately Protestant) cultural sensibilities to miss the importance and value of Catholic iconography, religious sculpture, and sacred art in general.  Let us confidently adore Christ in our icons and statues.  And venerate our Saints in our images.  That is why these sacramentals fill our churches (or should fill them).   They are there as a powerful religious resource, and not as a 'mere symbol' or decoration.  The Church has so much confidence in them as powerful sacramentals, as "windows to heaven," that she dedicated a whole Ecumenical Council to defending them. 

The Eastern Churches have the beautiful tradition of celebrating this council, "The Triumph of Orthodoxy" as they call it, in their liturgies every year on the first Sunday of Great Lent by processing around their churches holding icons up high. It is quite a spectacle to behold.  Let us imitate them in defending the faith through these wonderful trophies of the Incarnation.

---

Notes:

[i] ST III.25.2 ad 1: “Adoratio latriae non exhibetur humanitati Christi ratione sui ipsius, sed ratione divinitatis cui unitur.”

[ii] Ibid. s.c.: “Adoratio latriae non exhibetur humanitati Christi ratione sui ipsius, sed ratione divinitatis cui unitur.”

[iii] Ibid., c.: “Sed quia, ut dicit Damascenus, si dividas subtilibus intelligentiis quod videtur ab eo quod intelligitur, inadorabilis est ut creatura, scilicet adoratione latriae. Et tunc sic intellectae ut separatae a Dei verbo, debetur sibi adoratio duliae, non cuiuscumque, puta quae communiter exhibetur aliis creaturis; sed quadam excellentiori, quam hyperduliam vocant.” 

[iv] Second Council of Nicaea (Denzinger 302 [600]; Mansi 12, 377D): “tam quae de coloribus et tessellis, quam quae ex alia materia congruenter in sanctis Dei ecclesiis, et sacris vasis et vestibus, et in parietibus ac tabulis, domibus et viis....”

[v] ST III.25.3 s.c.: “Damascenus inducit Basilium dicentem, imaginis honor ad prototypum pervenit, idest exemplar. Sed ipsum exemplar, scilicet Christus, est adorandus adoratione latriae. Ergo et eius imago.” 

[vi] ST III.25.3c: “Respondeo dicendum quod, sicut philosophus dicit, in libro de Mem. et Remin., duplex est motus animae in imaginem, unus quidem in imaginem ipsam secundum quod est res quaedam; alio modo, in imaginem inquantum est imago alterius. Et inter hos motus est haec differentia, quia primus motus, quo quis movetur in imaginem prout est res quaedam, est alius a motu qui est in rem, secundus autem motus, qui est in imaginem inquantum est imago, est unus et idem cum illo qui est in rem. Sic igitur dicendum est quod imagini Christi inquantum est res quaedam, puta lignum sculptum vel pictum, nulla reverentia exhibetur, quia reverentia debetur non nisi rationali naturae. Relinquitur ergo quod exhibeatur ei reverentia solum inquantum est imago. Et sic sequitur quod eadem reverentia exhibeatur imagini Christi et ipsi Christo. Cum igitur Christus adoretur adoratione latriae, consequens est quod eius imago sit adoratione latriae adoranda.” 

[vii] ST III.25.3 ad 1: “Et quia, sicut dictum est, idem est motus in imaginem et in rem, eo modo prohibetur adoratio quo prohibetur adoratio rei cuius est imago. Unde ibi intelligitur prohiberi adoratio imaginum quas gentiles faciebant in venerationem deorum suorum.... Ipsi autem Deo vero, cum sit incorporeus, nulla imago corporalis poterat poni, quia, ut Damascenus dicit, insipientiae summae est et impietatis figurare quod est divinum. Sed quia in novo testamento Deus factus est homo, potest in sua imagine corporali adorari.”

[viii] Cf. F. Cabrol, “The True Cross,” in The Catholic Encyclopedia, New York: Robert Appleton Company, 1908.    

[ix] Catechism of the Catholic Church, no. 2132: “Honor sanctis imaginibus tributus est reverens veneratio, non adoratio quae soli Deo convenit.”

[x] ST II-II.81.3 ad 3: “Imaginibus non exhibetur religionis cultus secundum quod in seipsis considerantur, quasi res quaedam: sed secundum quod sunt imagines ducentes in Deum incarnatum. Motus autem qui est in imaginem prout est imago, non sistit in ipsa, sed tendit in id cuius est imago.”

[xi] Ibid.: “Et ideo ex hoc quod imaginibus Christi exhibetur religionis cultus, non diversificatur ratio latriae, nec virtus religionis.”

Our Lady's Breasts, Pope Francis' Comment, and the Iceberg of Catholic Culture

Our Lady's Breasts, Pope Francis' Comment, and the Iceberg of Catholic Culture

First of all, I'd like to apologize for this post, which is really just a rant.  It's not on a speculative theological matter, so I cannot just rely on the scholastic method to deduce a solution to the problem.  It's a faith-based reflection on a real life problem that I have encountered in my journey as a traditional Catholic.  Most of my conversations with traditional Catholics, or with people who are just beginning their love affair with the traditional Mass, naturally tend to focus on doctrinal and liturgical matters.  Sadly, many 'trads' understand the concept of being a traditional Catholic in doctrinal and liturgical terms, and never see that, in the end, becoming a traditional Catholic is so much more than that, and has to do with culture.  As a philosopher, theologian, and scholar, I am used to deductive, demonstrative reasoning and I therefore often struggle to communicate this non-scholarly, existential idea in a convincing way to people.  

But a recent papal comment and the ensuing discussion in social media became an occasion for me to address this problem among traditional Catholics.  I must say that from time to time Pope Francis says or 'tweets' something that does resonate with me.  If this ever happens, it is usually on some very practical matter, not a doctrinal issue.  One example is his recent remark during a baptism on breastfeeding in church: "[S]ince the ceremony is a bit long, [and] someone cries because they are hungry... if so, you moms go ahead and breast-feed them without fear and as usual, just like Our Lady breast-fed Jesus."  

Granted, this is not a serious moral issue, like that having to do with the reception of Holy Communion by those in adulterous unions.  But to me, it is symptomatic of a much deeper problem.

Moreover, I must also admit that it is a prudential and culturally-contingent issue, so it is not easily settled through the science of ethics or moral theology. Although I stand firmly as a defender of traditional morality, the natural law, and moral objectivity---both in my teaching and in everyday conversation---I do think, with Aristotle and Aquinas, that not all concrete moral situations are settled by the first principles of practical reasoning.  There are some cultural and prudential matters that can only be decided on by letting the various circumstances, even cultural circumstances, seriously inform your choice.

So, this issue will inevitably be seen differently by people in different countries, and in different circles within the same country.  And because in practial matters there may be many correct ways of acting, even opposing views on the issue may be found to be reasonable.  

In this case, in Latin America for example there is a very strong sense among the general Catholic population---even many traditional Catholics---that breastfeeding is completely out of place in Church, that it is disrespectful, even indecent; whereas for example among traditional Catholics in the US, especially large families attending a TLM, no one would bat an eye over a mom nursing her baby, especially if done with a nursing cover.  Non-traditional Catholics in the US and Europe tend to lie somewhere in the middle.

Social media is abuzz over this issue, with lots of people, notably from Latin America, disapproving the practice as well as the Pope's remark.  Why would some Catholics, especially in some cultures, be so strongly opposed to this statement of the Pope, and generally opposed to the practice of nursing a baby in church? I think ultimately it is because they have let an anti-Catholic culture dominate their minds, perhaps without realizing it.  Culturally they have become unaccustomed to life, to the natural family, to the growing family.  

We often do that: we allow a new way of thinking creep into our minds, and unconsciously let it dictate how we think; not necessarily at the level of dogma, or at the level of first moral principles, but we let it influence our unexamined attitudes and sensibilities.  I have noticed this happen in other areas of life.  For example, in the last twenty years it is easily noticeable there has been a profound shift in the way people think about homosexuality.  I'm not talking about people who now are pro-homosexual marriage.  I'm talking about faithful Catholics who are against it, but who have nonetheless allowed the surrounding culture (or lack thereof) transform their attitude towards homosexuals.  They reject homosexual marriage, but their attitude towards homosexuals is now entirely different from the way it was twenty years ago: before, they thought of homosexuals as mentally-ill, perverted, and even dangerous people---nearly everybody did.  But now that homosexuals have fully revealed their social revolutionary agenda, and the media has campaigned in their favor, these people now have passively agreed to think of homosexuals in entirely different, primarily positive terms.  They drank the Kool Aid without realizing it.  

Yet homosexuality is just another issue among many that are symptomatic of a crisis in the Western view of marriage and the family.  It is an important issue, a grave problem to be sure, but it is by no means the only one.

The deeper crisis is that the culture (or lack thereof) that we have been imbibing in the West since at least the mid-20th century is against every natural aspect of the family as God intended it to be, especially as it concerns the nature of womanhood. Feminism has pressured the West to think that women flourish only by emancipating themselves from the chains of motherhood and engaging in professional work.  Feminism has forced us to believe that women are to have at most two children, and thus having a child is an exceptional event in an adult woman's life.  Feminism has made us think that once a woman has given birth, it is her duty to detach her baby from herself as soon as possible, so that she may return to 'normal' life, i.e., professional work.  This often means either weaning the baby as soon as possible or not breastfeeding at all; it means switching to formula and bottle-feeding so that others can care for the baby and she can leave to work.  

And this brings with it other problems.  Because fertility returns soon after the baby is weaned, this creates a false urgency for contraception.  Recall that nursing on demand usually is a natural way of spacing births.  Not all women are like this, but it does work in most cases. It is the way God intended for mothers to be able to focus on their babies and bond with them without having to deal with the discomfort of another pregnancy while their baby is still very young.  In the case of many women, they become infertile for a year or two while the baby is exclusively fed mother's milk, directly from the breast, and strictly on demand.  But this natural order is disturbed when the baby is not nursed on demand, but nursed on a schedule, or bottle-fed, or given formula, etc.  So weaning, formula and bottle-feeding, women in the workplace, contraception: it all goes hand-in-hand. 

Because this way of seeing things is so ingrained in the minds of some Catholics, especially in some cultures like Europe and Latin America, a child being nursed has become a rare event.  In Europe especially, even just seeing children is rare; let alone a child being nursed in public.  Most children are fed formula from a very young age, so people in general have grown completely unaccustomed to seeing children being nursed in public.  Not just in church, but anywhere.  

Because they don't use them, these people have strangely forgotten what breasts are for. And as a result they have by default attached an exclusively sexual meaning to them. Hence the perceived indecency of nursing in public.

If, on the other hand, a woman decides to be so counter-cultural that she chooses to rear her child in a thoroughly natural way, the way God designed things, she has no option but to do things that people around her will consider odd.  She cannot choose when the child will want to eat.  The baby cries and whines when he wants milk, and it is at that moment that she must feed him---both for the baby's sake and her own, and those who are around her.  It is greatly inconvenient for her to leave the church to do this, especially if there is no cry-room (a very American phenomenon, by the way, which is relatively rare in other countries).  In some cases, not being able to nurse at church means she cannot attend Mass.

This sort of cultural clash can be violent.  It is not at the level of dogma, so there is no clear-cut way for the traditionally-minded woman to be vindicated by Church teaching.  And even though the issue touches on Catholic morality, the immediate issue of where a woman may nurse her baby is a prudential matter that is not dictated by Catholic moral principles.  Despite feminist pressures she is heroically embracing her femininity and following her maternal instinct in feeding her baby when he needs it, even if this means subjecting herself to the criticism of others.  It is sad to see these valiant mothers have to suffer through this.

These painful experiences are a sign that a good number of Catholics drank the cultural Kool Aid of the West and see the human body, especially the female body, in a hyper-sexualized way, so that they think of women exclusively as sexual symbols and can no longer admire and respect the beauty of motherhood.  Breasts inevitably mean sex.  They are not for children, because children drink formula.  They are just sexual play things.  As a result, we have lost sight of the beauty of a nursing mother, and have no other way of looking at nursing but as something indecent, disrespectful, or demeaning, which is definitely not a Catholic attitude.

In order to illustrate this last statement in a powerful way, I have included in this post several pictures of the Blessed Mother nursing the divine Child.  If any of the images I have shared here disturb you, then very likely you have been the victim of non-Catholic (or anti-Catholic) cultural sensibilities creeping into the way you see reality.  You may be thinking that because it is the Blessed Mother, it is very different from the case of an ordinary mother nursing her child in church.  But I think that if Our Lady can be so portrayed without damaging her purity, then a fortiori an ordinary mother nursing her child should not shock us.  They did not portray her nursing the Child because of some supernatural privilege that she had over all other women to show her breasts.  On the contrary, she is the supreme model of feminine modesty and purity.  That is, if the Blessed Virgin Mary, whose purity sacred art has taken such great pains to defend, is portrayed in this way, it is only because traditionally Catholic artists in past ages have seen nursing as just a natural, motherly act, and the Blessed Mother doing it will not be seen as anything immodest, indecent, or demeaning.

In fact, not only are Catholic artists traditionally comfortable with pictorially portraying the Blessed Virgin's breasts. Catholics throughout the ages have constantly celebrated the "blessed... paps that gave Thee suck" (Luke 11:27) in liturgical texts and song.  

For example, in the pre-1960 Roman Divine Office, every day, every priest and cleric had to praise the breasts of the Blessed Virgin Mary at the end of every one of the liturgical hours:

V. Beata viscera Mariae Virginis, quae portaverunt aeterni Patris Filium. 

R. Et beata ubera, quæ lactaverunt Christum Dominum. 

Translation: 

V. Blessed is the womb of the Virgin Mary, that bore the son of the everlasting Father.

R. And blessed are the breasts which gave suck to Christ the Lord.

This text and its variants have become part of the corpus of our sacred music. 

You may be wondering by now where I am going with all this.  The moral of the story is this: Being a traditional Catholic is not just about the Latin Mass, or just about upholding traditional dogma.  It is about Catholic culture as well.  It's about not drinking the cultural Kool Aid, and instead finding a way of immersing oneself as much as possible in the Catholic culture that we did not naturally receive through our upbringing.  It is not enough to know the old Mass by heart, to be able to quote Denzinger from memory, and to recite the fifteen mysteries of the Rosary faithfully throughout the week.  Being a traditional Catholic means letting Catholic culture thoroughly influence us.

And culture influences us deeply indeed. It permeates every aspect of our minds, from our religious beliefs, to the way we talk, dress, and interact with others, including our assessment of aesthetic values and our affective responses to the world.  It especially has a way of affecting our unexamined beliefs, attitudes, and sensibilities.  That is to say, our beliefs as Catholics are not just in the Trinity and the Incarnation.  Or in pastoral practices concerning the relationship between marriage and the reception of Holy Communion.  All of that is just the tip of the iceberg.  Our Catholic culture permeates our psyches somewhat like this: 

Our Catholic formation goes much deeper than doctrine and morals, and reaches down to our human formation, to our unquestioned, unexamined attitudes, sensibilities, dispositions, behaviors.  

If you are deeply immersed in a non-Catholic (or anti-Catholic) culture, chances are that even if you persevere and keep the faith, some of your unexamined sensibilities will suffer alterations in ways that run afoul of Catholic tradition.  You may make it to heaven, and you may even become a great saint, but you will not be able to understand or appreciate other, often more Catholic perspectives on certain things.  Even if you have a superior theological, moral, and liturgical formation, you will perhaps not be as Catholic (or Catholic-minded) as people in other traditionally Catholic countries or in other more thoroughly Catholic ages when the social Kingship of Christ was in place.  Concretely, if you live in one of many English-speaking countries, which are historically or demographically Protestant, such as the United States, England, Australia, etc., this will inevitably happen, even if you are unaware of it.  You become aware of it only when you suddenly encounter a Catholic practice, custom, or perspective which---though hallowed by time and by the endorsement of centuries of Catholics, of saints, and popes---is deeply contrary to your unexamined sensibilities. 

You are a traditional Catholic to the extent that you strive to immerse yourself in traditional Catholic culture in all its aspects.