More on Tattoos

A reader writes:

What about the issue of vanity as well? When you get a tattoo, aren’t you making a statement concerning what the purpose of my body is for or that my body needs to be more beautiful? It would seem to me that we run the risk of speaking an wrongful language about the purpose of the human purpose. Granted it isn’t up there with contraception, but I think that there is a connection.

The same argument would apply to women’s make-up, and while Scripture counsels against excessive preoccupation with beauty, the Church does not hold that there is anything wrong with using make-up or other means to enhance one’s beauty.

Further, not all tattoos are for purposes of making oneself more beautiful or handsome. (Indeed, I wonder how many of them have this as a goal.) Frequently people get them because they want to make a statement about something on which they feel strongly. E.g., if a man has the Virgin of Guadalupe tattooed on his arm, that isn’t to make him more handsome, it’s to make a statement about his devotion to the Blessed Virgin. Other times people get tattoos because they want to create a certain aura about themselves, but the enhancement of beauty is not the goal.

In any event, the practice of tattooing is not ruled out by canon law or by the Catechism. Tattooing may have a somewhat "disreputable" connotation in American culture, but the Church does not prohibit it.

Tattoos

A correspondent writes:

I was wondering what the church has to say about getting tattoos? The
only reference I’ve heard of in the bible is from Leviticus:

"Do not cut your bodies for the dead or put tattoo marks on yourselves.
I am the Lord." – Leviticus 19:28

what does the church have to say about this practice, is it lawful or
not?

The Leviticus passage is part of the Mosaic Law, which is not binding on Christians (or anybody else these days). Originally the Mosaic Law was binding on the Jewish people only; now it is binding on nobody except insofar as it repeats things that are part of the moral law, having been superceded by Christ.

Many of the precepts of the Mosaic Law are ceremonial and do not belong to the moral law. Their purpose, in many cases, is simply to make the Israelites culturally distinct from the Canaanites who surrounded them. This is one such command. The Canaanites cut their bodies for the dead and made tattoos as part of their religious practice, and this command forbids that in order to make the Israelites unable to participate in Canaanite religious practices.

A prohibition on tattooing is not part of the moral law, however. From a moral perspective, there is no reason why one cannot color one’s skin, which is what tattooing amounts to. One can apply color to one’s skin by make-up (as is common among women), magic markers (as is common among children), press-on tattoos (as are common in Crackerjack boxes), or with real tattoos. The mere fact that the ink goes into the skin in the latter case does not create a fundamental moral difference.

Of course, in doing this there are moral considerations to be factored in: (1) One should not use the tattoo to transmit an immoral message, (2) one should not use an unsafe process to get the tattoo (e.g., dirty tattoo needles that might be carrying who knows what diseases), (3) and one should be generally prudent about getting a tattoo (e.g., what effects will getting this tattoo have on your relationships with others? if you break up with your girlfriend, do you really want her name still on your arm? do you really want a permanent tattoo when they have temporary ones now?). However, the Church doesn’t have a problem with tattooing in principle.

Cousin, Kinswoman . . . Aargh!

A reader writes:

I’m trying to piece together an apologetics answer involving some Greek and Aramaic and this is getting dangerous.  Could you help?  It centers on the objection to Catholics claiming that the "brothers of Jesus" actually refers to "cousins or kinfolk" following the indefinite term aha (I think) in Aramaic.  Aramaic apparently has no strict term for cousin and the Greek author transliterated adelphos from the Aramaic "brother".  So far so good.   But someone recently retorted that if there is no term for cousin in Aramaic, why is Elizabeth called Mary’s "cousin" (sungenes) in Luke 1, 36?  OK, I’ve learned that "cousin" is only one word used here by English translators- along with kinswoman and relative.  So, Elizabeth’s not strictly meant to be seen as Mary’s literal cousin.  But now I’m trying to learn if there is a corresponding Aramaic term for the Elizabeth-Mary relationship as there is for the Jesus-Brothers relationship.  It seems that, to be consistent, Luke must have transliterated some sort of Aramaic term to arrive at sungenes for the Elizabeth-Mary relation.  Any ideas?

First, let me take a moment to comment on the translation in Luke 1:36 in the New American Bible of sungenis (the feminine form of sungenēs) as "cousin." This is a terrible rendering that has caused confusion for countless faithful Catholics. It is just another one of the seemingly countless flaws with this translation. The meaning of the Greek word sungenēs (pronounced sun-gen-ace) is too general to be translated "cousin." "Relative," "kinsman," or (in the feminine) "kinswoman" would be acceptable translations. "Cousin" is simply wrong, and so clearly wrong that in Luke 1:36 in the current version of the NAB, they’ve stopped rendering it that way and translated it as "relative" instead. If only the translators hadn’t been so irresponsible as to do the misrendering in the first place, countless Catholics would have been spared confusion.

Now, on the subject of Aramaic, yes, Aramaic has no word for "cousin." If one wanted to refer to the cousin relationship, one has to use a circumlocution such as “the son of his uncle” (brona d-`ammeh). This often is too much trouble, so broader kinship terms are used that don’t mean “cousin” in particular; e.g., ahyana ("kinsman"), qariwa ("close relation"), or nasha ("relative"). One such term is aha, which literally means “brother” but is also frequently used in the sense of “relative, kinsman.”

Luke could have been translating any one of these more general terms (or, rather, their feminine equivalents) as sungenēs, or he could have been translating a different, general term, or he could have been paraphrasing what the angel said rather than translating from the Aramaic. There’s really no way to know which is the case, but there certainly are alternatives.

Local Time

The reader who asked about the liturgical day writes:

Very good, Thanks Jimmy. What happens with daylight savings time, is it ever addressed? Just curious. Thanx for being an ultra cool guy.

The Code of Canon Law does not address daylight savings time, but the answer is not in doubt. The legislator (that is to say, the pope) has not created a legally-binding "ecclesiastical clock" different from local, civil timekeeping. As a result, "ecclesiastical midnight" (to coin a term) is the same as "civil midnight" (to coin another term), the latter being whatever midnight is considered to be according to local civil law. The legislator is not concerned about daylight savings time or occasional twenty-three or twenty-five hour days as we shift into or out of daylight savings time.

Hypothetically, I can imagine legal situations where such considerations would become relevant under canon law (e.g., if there was a dispute about whether a particular person had the exercise of a right or office until a certain day and that day happened to be longer or shorter due to the shift into or out of daylight savings time). However, thus far the legislator has not been concerned to address these situations. As far as things like fast and abstinence, which is where the day division affects most people, he is content to allow local civil midnight to be the local church’s midnight, too.

As far as being cool, that’s not me. That’s just the air conditioning.

Muhammad Was No Astronomer

After yesterday’s discussion of the pope’s role in modifying the leap year rule to keep the calendar astronomically accurate, it may be worth noting an enormous problem that exists in the calendar of another world religion: Islam.

You probably know that in the Muslim calendar the holy month is Ramadan, during which Muslims fast during daylight hours (approximately). But do you know when Ramadan falls during the year?

After recent events in the War on Terror, you might guess that it occurs in the winter on our calendar (remember that there was a question of whether we should use military force in Afghanistan during Ramadan, shortly after 9/11?). That, however, is true only right now. The truth is that Ramadan–like every month in the Islamic calendar–wanders throughout the full range of the year.

The reason is that Muhammad set up a calendar of 354-355 days, almost eleven days shorter than the solar year (which is 365.2422 days). This means that Ramadan is free-floating. Every thirty two and a half years it wanders through the full circuit of the solar year. If a child is born in a year when Ramadan is in the winter then when he is eight years old it will occur in the fall. When he is sixteen it will occur in the summer. When he is twenty-four it will occur in the spring. And when he is thirty-two it will be in winter again.

The same is true not just for Ramadan but for every month and every day of the Muslim calendar. Birthdays, wedding anniversaries, and every other day of the calendar wanders through the course of the solar year. By contrast, geophysical days–equinoxes, solstices, and dates to plant your crops–wander around the calendar.

This virtually destroys the purpose of having a yearly calendar.

The concept of the year is inescapably tied to the motion of the earth around the sun, and to have a calendar that gets the solar year so wrong (by more than three percent!) is useless for periods of more than a handful of years. After that, geophysical considerations make it obsolete, and people have to fall back on something other than the calendar to figure out when to plant their crops and so forth.

(Another problem–which I won’t really go into–is that Muslim countries are not even all agreed on when precisely different months begin. Ramadan, or any other month, may begin on one day in one nation but on nearby day in a different nation. It depends on what the clerics say.)

As a result, the Muslim timekeeping system is not suited to the modern age or to a global economy. It is destined to become a liturgical calendar that is detached from the realities of global life. Since the business world today uses the Gregorian calendar set up by Pope Gregory XIII, Muslims will increasingly use that calendar to the extent that their nations develop. This will only inflame the passions of Muslim radicals who want everyone in the world to use the calendar their faith employs. Seeing the West further exalted as Muslim countries increasingly use the Western calendar–seeing that being successful today means being Western–will not be good for future relations.

The ultimate reason for this is not that when the Muslim calendar was set up that people knew less about the solar year. At that time in the west the Julian calendar, which is far more accurate, was already in use. When in the 1500s the Julian calendar got ten days out of synch with the solar year (less than the Muslim calendar slips out of synch with it each year), Westerners considered it intolerable and fixed the calendar so that it would stay accurate for millennia. People have known the length of the solar year to within a day for thousands of years. The reason the Islamic calendar is so problematic, simply put, is that Muhammad was no astronomer.

The Liturgical Day

People seem to be having a lot of questions right now about time and the calendar. A reader writes:

I’ve had frog legs before. Those are pretty good. Tastes like chicken. Days of abstinence last from 12am-12am, right. I’ve always assumed that, but i guess i’m still not completely sure, cuz Sundays start at sundown the previous day, right.

According to the Code of Canon Law:

In law, a day is understood as a period consisting of 24 continuous hours and begins at midnight unless other provision is expressly made; a week is a period of 7 days; a month is a period of 30 days, and a year is a period of 365 days unless a month and a year are said to be taken as they are in the calendar (Can. 202 §1).

So you’re right that days are reckoned from midnight to midnight (I’ll set aside the technical issue of whether the day begins at 12:00:00 or 12:00:01 or 12:01:00 or 12:01:01). However, it isn’t quite correct to say that Sunday begins at sundown on Saturday. According to the General Norms for the Liturgical Year and the Calendar:

The liturgical day runs from midnight to midnight, but the observance of Sunday and solemnities begins with the evening of the preceding day (Ia:3).

Sunday, considered as a legal day (per the Code) or as a liturgical day (per the General Norms) is still midnight to midnight, but its "observance" begins late in the day on Saturday. What precisely counts as "observance" seems to be unclear, though it has special prayers in the Liturgy of the Hours and it is possible to fulfill the obligation to attend Mass during the period of "observance."

That period, which begins "with the evening," also is not precisely defined in the current law. Evening isn’t sundown (which varies depending on the time of year and what latitude you are at–in Alaska Saturday may not even have a sundown!), but the law doesn’t say just when it begins. In the absence of that, the matter is somewhat debatable. The commentary on the Code of Canon Law put out by the Canon Law Society of Great Britain and Ireland takes the position that without further specification, evening begins at noon (and, indeed, people often do speak of the afternoon as evening, at least in some places). The new commentary by the Canon Law Society of America takes a different position. It would be nice if Rome gave us further guidance on this, and they may well do so as part of the liturgical renewal begun in the last few years.

Incidentally, what applies to Sunday in this regard also applies to all solemnities (which include the other holy days of obligation, plus a few more).

"Some Person In Authority . . . Very Likely The Astronomer Royal"

Actually, the Pirate King is wrong in his guess about who made the leap year decision. The basic decision to have leap year was part of the Julian calendar, which we don’t use any more (though the Eastern Orthodox do use it as their liturgical calendar).

The Julian calendar was instituted by Julius Caesar, but it isn’t accurate enough astronomically. Over the centuries, this inaccuracy compounded until it became intolerable as the Julian calendar got ten days out of synch with the astronomically observable markers.

The result was that Pope Gregory XIII decreed that in 1582 the calendar would be resynchronized to compensate for the Julian date’s inaccuracy and a new rule would be instituted regarding leap years. Now, instead of having a leap year every four years come rain or shine, leap year would be celebrated every four years except in century years (1700, 1800, 1900) unless the century year is divisible by 400 (1600, 2000, 2400). This makes it more complicated, but it also makes the calendar more accurate. The result is the calendar we use today, known as the Gregorian calendar after Pope Gregory XIII.

Catholic countries put the new calendar into use with some grumbling (ordinary folks didn’t like it because landlords might potentially try to scam folks out of more than a week’s rent due to the resynchronization). Many Protestant countries resisted it because of its connection with the pope. England didn’t adopt it until 1752, about a century before Gilbert and Sullivan’s time.

So who was the "person in authority" the Pirate King should have singled out? The British Astronomer Royal was a good guess, but in reality it was a combination of Julius Caesar and Pope Gregory XIII that hammered out the leap year rule.

Now what was all that about the Catholic Church opposing science and astronomy?

Leap Year: A Most Ingenious Paradox!

PIRATE KING:
For some ridiculous reason, to which, however, I’ve no desire to be disloyal,
Some person in authority, I don’t know who, very likely the Astronomer Royal,
Has decided that, although for such a beastly month as February, twenty-eight days as a rule are plenty,
One year in every four his days shall be reckoned as nine and-twenty.
Through some singular coincidence — I shouldn’t be surprised if it were owing to the agency of an ill-natured fairy–
You [Fredric] are the victim of this clumsy arrangement, having been born in leap-year, on the twenty-ninth of February;
And so, by a simple arithmetical process, you’ll easily discover,
That though you’ve lived twenty-one years, yet, if we go by birthdays, you’re only five and a little bit over! RUTH and KING:

Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
Ho! ho! ho! ho!

FREDERIC:

Dear me!
Let’s see! (counting on fingers)
Yes, yes; with yours my figures do agree! ALL:

Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!

FREDERIC:

(more amused than any) How quaint the ways of Paradox!
At common sense she gaily mocks!
Though counting in the usual way,
Years twenty-one I’ve been alive,
Yet, reck’ning by my natal day,
Yet, reck’ning by my natal day,
I am a little boy of five!

RUTH and KING:

He is a little boy of five!
Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!

ALL:

A paradox, a paradox,
A most ingenious paradox!
Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
A paradox,
Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
A curious paradox,
Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
A most ingenious paradox!
 

The Pirates of Penzance from The Gilbert and Sullivan Archive

 

Why Don't Some Critics "Get It"? (The Passion)

A reader writes concerning Wednesday’s blog:

I was wondering why the reviews are either extremely positive or extremely negative. I hardly read of any reviews in between.   Do you think that reason why most people either love or hate The Passion of the Christ is because it is a high-context movie? Gibson’s desired effect seems to presuppose the viewer’s preexisting devotion towards Christ.

I think that you’ve got it right. When you run across a "love it or hate it" movie, it’s because there is some kind of context to the movie that is needed to appreciate it, meaning that critics who lack that context just don’t "get it."

This movie is "high context" in the sense that it requires some knowledge of what the issues surrounding Jesus were. If someone who knows nothing at all about Jesus were to see it, he’d likely wonder why Jesus is being treated the way he is. Although in theory you could piece this together from what gets said in the film, the overall experience would be confusing.

The movie also requires, if not a preexisting devotion toward Christ, at least openness to the Christian message and to the movie itself. Here is where some critics don’t "get it." They may have a basic knowledge of the issues (at least enough to comprehend the movie intellectually), but they aren’t open to looking at the movie through Christian eyes.

My compadre Steve Greydanus tells me that there are even accounts of critics in some places snoring through the movie. This is simply incomprehensible to me. Even if a person didn’t know anything about Jesus and found himself confused by the movie, it’s so intense that it’s hard for me to imagine anyone dozing off from boredom. Only a person who was completely unengaged with the movie on an intellectual and a human level could do that. Yet some critics, because of their lack of appreciation for the gospel story or because of their anti-Christian (or anti-this-movie) agenda, are unwilling to engage it.

Why Don’t Some Critics "Get It"? (The Passion)

A reader writes concerning Wednesday’s blog:

I was wondering why the reviews are either extremely positive or extremely negative. I hardly read of any reviews in between.   Do you think that reason why most people either love or hate The Passion of the Christ is because it is a high-context movie? Gibson’s desired effect seems to presuppose the viewer’s preexisting devotion towards Christ.

I think that you’ve got it right. When you run across a "love it or hate it" movie, it’s because there is some kind of context to the movie that is needed to appreciate it, meaning that critics who lack that context just don’t "get it."

This movie is "high context" in the sense that it requires some knowledge of what the issues surrounding Jesus were. If someone who knows nothing at all about Jesus were to see it, he’d likely wonder why Jesus is being treated the way he is. Although in theory you could piece this together from what gets said in the film, the overall experience would be confusing.

The movie also requires, if not a preexisting devotion toward Christ, at least openness to the Christian message and to the movie itself. Here is where some critics don’t "get it." They may have a basic knowledge of the issues (at least enough to comprehend the movie intellectually), but they aren’t open to looking at the movie through Christian eyes.

My compadre Steve Greydanus tells me that there are even accounts of critics in some places snoring through the movie. This is simply incomprehensible to me. Even if a person didn’t know anything about Jesus and found himself confused by the movie, it’s so intense that it’s hard for me to imagine anyone dozing off from boredom. Only a person who was completely unengaged with the movie on an intellectual and a human level could do that. Yet some critics, because of their lack of appreciation for the gospel story or because of their anti-Christian (or anti-this-movie) agenda, are unwilling to engage it.