A little word about indulgences

No - here I'm not doing public penance for having had a slice of cake on my birthday. :) As it happened, last Sunday I heard an Anglican acquaintance refer to how "Roman Catholics can still buy Masses to get people out of purgatory." I'm not faulting her - I fear that there indeed are RCs who think that is precisely the case, rather than seeing, for example, how the Eucharist makes present Jesus' Incarnation to the benefit of the Church (in this life or the next) and so forth. Yet no one who has delved into matters medieval to the extent tow which I have can ignore the distortion of the concept of indulgences which led to various blessings and shortcomings in the Middle Ages. (Indeed, the abuses of the ideas of indulgences which Martin Luther rightly criticised were not remedied until the reforms of the Council of Trent - though, throughout the Middle Ages and probably till this day in some circles, valid pious practises too often were and are used as if they were magic.

I just may get around to writing an essay for the site on the history of concepts of purgatory during the Middle Ages. Though the doctrine itself merely admits to possible purification after we die (and implicitly allows for that we await the general resurrection / parousia - our death alone is not fulfilment), by the medieval period there were massive controversies about Church authority and its extent. This speculation included whether the Church Militant (on earth) had authority over the Church Suffering (those in purgatory) - I daresay some of the medieval and renaissance popes would have enjoyed authority over the Church Triumphant (in heaven), but there was no profit to be made from seeking that. Consequently, over the centuries a very elaborate judicial system, involving pardons, remittance of punishment and the like arose - unique in that it was exercised in a jurisdiction which, theologically, is not a 'place' at all, and involved authority over those already dead.

Initially (in the early centuries of the church), indulgences were allowances for lesser penances for those (very much alive) who had been guilty of grave public sins. Sacramental confession as we know it today, or as it would have been known by the 13th century (when it was obligatory for all by decree of the Lateran Council in 1215), did not exist in this form in the earliest centuries. (There also were huge debates over whether those before the ecclesiastical courts could be considered members of a holy Church - not being holy. That's another topic for another day, though it's fun to think of such a standard being applied to the early modern papacy...) Those serving public penance were guilty of crimes such as apostasy - bishops who sacrificed to pagan gods, for example. The early penances were very severe, and could span years or the remainder of one's life. (Human nature has not changed. This was lessened later, because, rather than leading to a crop of holy saints, it led to people not returning to the Church at all, or putting off repentance to their death beds.)

It was only centuries later that the Franciscan Pope Sixtus extended indulgences to the dead. However, the general thinking (in an era when, regrettably, discussions of grace made it seem rather like a substance, and the truth of how the entire Church benefits or grieves for its members good and evil was often ignored for a concept of merit that made it seem like a giant cash machine) was the the dead who were in purgatory could no longer earn merit on their own behalf, for all that their salvation was assured. They needed to rely on the prayers (alms, good works, and so forth) of the living. I do not at all think that love ceases with death, or that those who went before us do not pray on our behalf, but I shudder to think of how those who may have been the only members of a large family to survive the Plague dealt with believing they had to atone for relatives' sins to alleviate the latter's suffering in purgatory.

Liturgical scholars undoubtedly would view the common worship of the Middle Ages as something of a nightmare. (It is no accident that sacramental theology, preaching, the training of the clergy, and ritual also had to be major concerns at Trent.) Private Masses for the intentions of those in purgatory became a norm, and the Eucharist was viewed as performed by the clergy on behalf of others, rather than as a truly common ritual. (Most people adored the Blessed Sacrament - but were fortunate to receive it once a year.) Some monasteries grew fat on trading on people's fear of purgatory, and monks who had no theological training were ordained purely to offer the many private Masses requested. At the time, relics could still be sold, donations be solicited not for the support of the church in itself but to 'buy' ways out of future suffering, and more.

I know my regulars must be weary of my speaking of how the main flaw in the western Church is an emphasis on atonement, but it does apply here. Prayer, alms, fasting and the like are very valuable spiritual practises - but ascetic practises intended to remove distractions and thereby foster intimacy with God can deteriorate when it seems we are appeasing an angry god. Charity for those living and dead certainly fits into theology and ecclesiology, but the image of a god who inflicts torments until those still on earth can manage atonement is tragic. The incredible, indeed unfathomable, richness of the Eucharist can be forgotten when the anamnesis is set aside to focus entirely on sin, crucifixion, forgiveness and reparation.

Even in my own younger days, there was excessive emphasis on purgatory and indulgences. As a simple example, and one which naturally first occurs to a Franciscan, the Stations of the Cross can be a wonderful meditation - yet this aspect could be lost if one focussed on that it had attached indulgences. Superstition - the 'chain prayer' approach - can slip in when the focus is on multiplying indulgences rather than praise and thanksgiving. When I was young, people still spoke of doing things to 'save souls' - in my feisty moments, I'd comment "give me seven days, and I'll create the cosmos, then." I'm not ready to define redemption, because all of our definitions are inadequate - but redemption is already accomplished in Christ, and we can and should offer thanksgiving for this.

There is much I can say about distortions of Thomas and Bonaventure's ideas later (though most friars were so caught up with caring for the Plague victims that there were few chances for successors to those great ones... and, on a less positive note, where Thomas stressed discernment more than heresy, the Inquisition was keeping friars a bit occupied as well.) I can even trace the confusing influences of William of Ockham - but I've gone on quite enough for today. I just want to say a tiny bit about the private Masses.

I'm well aware that many ordained in the Middle Ages could barely say Mass. (I'm saving another essay for the best part of medieval liturgy - it was a time when music flourished.) There were indeed monasteries and individuals who used the fear of purgatory to grow fat with wealth - and I often wonder if this played a part in Francis of Assisi's stress on poverty. But let us not ignore positive elements - and these came to my mind (I'll admit them even though, as a post-Dom Gregory Dix Christian, I blush to do so. Whether it's the 13th century or the time of Abraham I'm considering, I find it helpful to try to step out of my 21st century mould and try to view things from the perspective of those alive then. Those of us who lived long before or long afterwards could miss this easily.)

There may have been great charity and true service of the Church in the actions of many of those involved. Monks, whose primary vocation was prayer, had, in the private Masses, a form of devotion with boundless benefits for the entire Church (including the poorest - those in purgatory, totally helpless and dependent.) It is logical that, in using his time to offer Masses, thereby applying the benefits of Christ's sacrifice in persona Christi, generosity of spirit and awareness of an obligation, in charity, to pray for others is implicit. What action could have been more perfect, or of greater benefit, than the Eucharist?

Today, most would be inclined to see acts of reparation on behalf of others as faulty theology - contrast this with the notion of presenting petitions on behalf of others which was integral in a feudal society. Devotion to the Passion, which flowered in the Middle Ages, a period when devotion to Christ in his humanity was at a peak, would have stressed Jesus' aloneness at the time of his crucifixion - a rather solitary act, because he was betrayed, virtually abandoned, and, even to those present, the true meaning was certainly hidden. With the Mass seen mainly as a representation of Calvary (then and long afterwards), a private Mass would hardly seem incompatible with devotion. As an ascetic practise, offering Mass for one's own salvation, as was possible, shows some grasp of repentance, humility, amendment, and dependence on the merits of Christ. I can even see where the multitude of Masses could lead to an awareness of Christ's Incarnation and sacrifice as omnipresent.

It is unfortunate that much which could have had great richness too often could descend into fear, based on placating a god who demanded this (I didn't use the capital letter because I do not see that the true God ever had such intentions), or into magical, repetitive practises with no grasp of the underlying beauty.