​                                                                                                           Br. Joseph Vincent Ferrer


​Technological and social developments have driven the global order into continual
distraction—from God, from silence, and from authentic human community. These changes also
foster the illusion that humanity can build a new Tower of Babel through technology and
spectacle: a simulated utopian order established without reference to God. This essay argues that
Augustine and Vincent Ferrer remain useful because their analyses of disordered love, civic
liturgy, and false signs still apply to a world in which images supplant presence and power
assumes a liturgical form. Chris Hedges’s concept of the Empire of Spectacle names a
contemporary form of Augustine’s earthly city: self-love institutionalized as public worship,
intensified by machines that generate faces, voices, and wonders on demand.

Augustine’s City of God articulates a theory of love rather than a theory of technology.
Until the final judgment, the two cities remain intermingled, making every public order
spiritually consequential. Citizens of the City of God love God even to the point of self-
contempt, whereas citizens of the earthly city love themselves even to the point of contempt for
God. In ancient Rome, games and theaters served as civic liturgy. The gods demanded
performances that depicted vice as admirable and instructed the populace through visual
spectacle. In this way, such spectacles bound individuals in vice while labeling that vice as piety.

This analogy is especially relevant now. The digital feed functions as a liturgy of
attention: it assembles a public, incites outrage and desire, and defines reality through reward.
Generative artificial intelligence fulfills the trajectory Jean Baudrillard identified, in which the
image no longer replicates reality but instead produces it. 1 Whereas a photograph once indicated,
"this was there,” a generated face conveys nothing yet is consumed in the same way. 2 Augustine
would likely have been concerned not with intelligent machines themselves but with a
counterfeit liturgy that forms affections under the guise of connection, knowledge, and progress.
He would also have resisted equating the earthly city with specific institutions such as
government or the internet. Citizens of the City of God may use earthly peace without
legitimizing every digital empire; the point is that spectacle, not technology alone, is the issue.

Ferrer advanced this pattern toward judgment. In his 1412 letter to Benedict XIII, he
identified three afflictions: the Antichrist, the world’s destruction by fire, and universal
judgment. 3 The Antichrist would be “a man but a diabolical one,” deceiving Christians with
wonders that mimic miracles yet lack genuine intent. 4 Accordingly, these signs served as calls to
repentance: to restore stolen goods, forgive injuries, confess, and live according to the faith. “On
that day it will be better to be a sheep of Jesus Christ than to have been a pope, or king, or
emperor.” 5

The central issue is discernment, not chronology. In a society capable of manufacturing
faces, voices, healings, and simulated presence, the line between authentic and artificial signs
blurs, and the risk of misdirection rises. Thus, Ferrer’s criterion remains relevant: does the
wonder move individuals to fear God, or draw them further into spectacle? Ferrer’s misjudgment
of timing does not invalidate the warning; delay does not equate to cancellation. Augustine
defined peace as the tranquility of order, which begins with rendering to God what is due. 6
Liturgies that promote lust, domination, and contempt for reality are not neutral, but should be
abandoned when they instruct in the values of the earthly city. Repentance and restitution are
necessary because signs should be evaluated by whether they lead to repentance or further
enslavement.

Like Babel, the simulated order is inherently fragile. A major global conflict, increasingly
plausible, could trigger cyberattacks, satellite strikes, and sabotage of critical infrastructure. If
such a conflict were to escalate, the resulting attacks might ripple across the globe. In that case,
the false belief that technology can secure a manufactured utopia would collapse, and humanity
would descend into confusion, much like the disorder that followed the division of languages at
Babel. From there, panic and disorder would ensue in affluent nations as essential systems failed.
At the same time, disruptions to shipping and international travel would likely cause
unprecedented famine in import-dependent countries.

Meanwhile, the Empire of Spectacle immerses its subjects in images, whereas the City of
God calls them before the Judge who became incarnate. These summonses remain fundamentally
opposed, even when the image is aesthetically pleasing, or the machine mimics a human voice.
The angel’s proclamation remains unchanged: Fear the Lord and give Him honor, for the hour of
His judgment has come. (Rv 14:6–7)

​
​
FOOTNOTES:
1 Jean Baudrillard, Simulacra and Simulation, trans. Sheila Faria Glaser (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1994).
2 Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography, trans. Richard Howard (New York: Hill and Wang, 1981).
3 Vincent Ferrer, Letter to Benedict XIII on the Last Judgment, Alcañiz, 27 July 1412, in St. Vincent Ferrer Sermons,
https://www.svfsermons.org/Letter%20to%20Benedict%20XIII.htm.
4 Ferrer, Letter to Benedict XIII.
5 Ferrer, Vincent. “Sermon on the Last Judgment.” In Sermons of St. Vincent Ferrer.
https://www.svfsermons.org/A398_On%20the%20Last%20Judgment,%20Sheep%20and%20Goats.pdf
6 Augustine, De civitate Dei, trans. Marcus Dods, in Nicene and PostNicene Fathers, First Series, vol. 2, ed. Philip Schaff (Buffalo, NY: Christian
Literature Publishing, 1887), https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/120119.htm.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:
 Augustine. De civitate Dei. Translated by Marcus Dods. In Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, First Series, vol. 2, edited by Philip Schaff. Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing, 1887. https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/120119.htm.

 Barthes, Roland. Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography. Translated by Richard Howard. New York: Hill and Wang, 1981.

 Baudrillard, Jean. Simulacra and Simulation. Translated by Sheila Faria Glaser. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1994.

 Ferrer, Vincent. Letter to Benedict XIII on the Last Judgment. Alcañiz, 27 July 1412. St. Vincent Ferrer Sermons. https://www.svfsermons.org/Letter%20to%20Benedict%20XIII.htm.

 Ferrer, Vincent. “Sermon on the Last Judgment.” In Sermons of St. Vincent Ferrer. https://where-you-
are.net/ebooks/sermons-st_-vincent-ferrer.pdf.

 Hedges, Chris. Empire of Illusion: The End of Literacy and the Triumph of Spectacle. New York: Nation Books,
2009.

​Who am I to judge?

​                                                                                   by Br. Dominicus


In 2013, Pope Francis was asked about gay priests while speaking to journalists on a plane. He responded: “If a person is gay and seeks out the Lord and is willing, who am I to judge that person?” He was right, but not in the way it is often presented. 

The remark is often interpreted as a rejection of moral judgment altogether. Yet that interpretation misunderstands both Christian tradition and ordinary human life. As the ideas of the Enlightenment have seeped into more and more corners of modern culture, many of us have come to think that Thomas Hobbes was right: good and evil are not inherent qualities of things themselves but labels applied by individuals according to their appetites, aversions, and social contexts. Pleasure appears as good; displeasure appears as evil. 

The classical Christian view is different. Much of the Christian tradition has held that there is a moral order woven into creation itself—an invisible measure by which human actions can be judged. Our task is to discover, as best we can, the purpose of the world we have been given and to live in accordance with it. Since Augustine, Christian thinkers have argued that reason points us toward the classical virtues, reinterpreted and democratized through the lens of charity, as the highest form of moral excellence. They have also recognized that these virtues are habits that must be cultivated if a society is to survive. The aim of a modern political community is not to make saints of its citizens, but it does require a measure of virtue, self-discipline, and consensus about right and wrong if it is to preserve peace and order.

Many of our contemporaries believe that we should not judge anything or anyone. This is often how Francis's remark is understood. After all, if standards of good and evil are subjective, who are you to impose your views on others? 

Well.

Human beings judge constantly, and they should. If we cannot judge what constitutes reckless driving, traffic becomes a war of all against all. If we cannot judge whether a violin is in tune, a concert becomes a disaster. If we cannot judge that violent criminals must be removed from society, life becomes a jungle. If we cannot judge which friends are leading us toward destructive habits, we risk becoming addicts ourselves. 

Judgment is not optional. It is part of being human. What is optional is knowing the kind and limits of the judgments we can make. We are not God. We are not required to judge the eternal fate of another person's soul. We do not know what lives in the hearts of others. Often, we do not even know what truly lives in our own. We can, however, judge actions, ideas, and habits. Indeed, we must in order to live in peace. 

When we judge, however, we should ask whether we are living according to the standards we proclaim. An honest assessment of what we profess to believe and how we actually behave should make most of us a bit more humble.

It might even give us some sympathy for the sentiment expressed by the previous pope.

"At present we see indistinctly, as in a mirror, but then face to face. At present I know partially; then I shall know fully, as I am fully known."

One of the biggest temptations of our time is to think we are God. We determine what is good and true. We invent—create—who we want to be. We are the measure of all things. But we are not God.

If I were God, I would have created a different world. There would be less suffering and many, many fewer people. I would create only people I like. But I am not God.

If God is almighty and goodness itself, He could have created a different world. Is this really the best of all worlds? Good things seem randomly distributed among the just and the unjust. Innocent children get cancer; dictators kill millions of people yet remain healthy. We seem to be thrown into a world where the powerful do what they will, and the weak suffer what they must. 

We cannot help but wonder whether we are playthings in the hands of an arbitrary God—a God who seems to favor some and create others to neglect or torment. Even the most religious people cannot help but notice that God is hard to understand. Think of Teresa of Ávila, who famously said, “If this is how You treat Your friends, no wonder You have so few of them!” 

Yet the God we believe in does offer hope. When He appeared among us in Christ, He endured injustice, suffering, and death. He died and rose again. He gave us hope that light emerges from darkness. He told us that the final word is not death but life, not evil but good. 

But why did He create this valley of tears? Thinkers have speculated that suffering may be a pedagogical tool, teaching us what is truly important in life and helping us detach from what does not matter. Others have suggested that, because we are not God, we can see creation only in two dimensions. God sees all dimensions. We do not know all that is in play. 

We are not God. Our task is to cling to hope (without God there is none for the unfortunates of the world), nurture faith, and strive to practice charity the best we can. Perhaps one day we will understand. It will not be on this earth, because we are not God.

​Continuing with our Joy of the Just members’ choices of Patron Saints:

Catherine Mary Michael:

Catherine of Siena had both humility and courage. In her Dialogue, the Eternal Father tells her
that when she receives the Eucharist, she is like a fish in the peaceful Sea with the Sea sustaining
the life of the fish. The Eternal Father further tells St. Catherine that when we receive the
Eucharist, it is like receiving light which retains its fullness even when it is portioned out. We are
given fully the grace that He won for each of us and which abides in Him as the risen Christ who
offers us himself in the Eucharist. Catherine knew that we must be rooted in humility with the
self-knowledge that we have no life without God. In constant prayer, she maintained a shared
life with God, and trusting in his will, she courageously brought Christ’s love to those who were
overcome by the clamor of this world.

As I picture St. Catherine receiving the head of the executed prisoner, Niccolo di Toldo, whom
she prepared for death, I know that she was not timid in loving others and was certain that
through forgiveness of sin, eternal life was possible. She was sure that God would give her the
words to encourage even the popes to lead their flock away from worldliness that places idols
above the Creator. Catherine wanted each person to be won over by Christ who in humility took
on human nature, and so lovingly gave up his life to conquer sin and death, giving us, in the
Eucharist, the fullness of grace which abides in Him.
Catherine helped me to understand the humility and courage of Mary, who in perfect humility
bore the Light of the World, and Michael the Archangel, who protects those who seek to follow
Christ.
(See Dialogue of St. Catherine of Siena, Nos. 27-49, 93, 112; Letters 54, 64, 88, T306/G18)

Diana Maria:

I have long been fascinated by the lives of those Saints who have managed to form deep, yet
chaste, Christ-centered friendships with members of the opposite sex.
Bl. Diana d’Andalo and Bl. Jordan of Saxony shared such a friendship. They were both dear
friends of St. Dominic and may have grown closer to each other in their shared grief over his
passing in 1221. In 1223, with the assistance of Jordan, Diana co-founded the Dominican
Monastery of St Agnes, in Bologna, Italy. Jordan became Diana’s spiritual advisor; she, in turn,
was credited by him to be a powerhouse of prayer, responsible for many of the Dominican
successes in the material world.
As their friendship progressed, they both proved to be prolific letter writers, with Diana saving
all of Jordan’s letters, through which we learned much of what we know about Jordan to this
day. Diana died of natural causes on 10 June 1236. Jordan was at sea at the time; a shipwreck
took his life Feb 13, 1237. Neither knew, at the time of their passing, that their lifelong friend
had also been called home.

Bl. Maria “Marietta” Bagnesi Bartolomeo 1514-1577

I identified with and or aspire towards several things about Marietta: A disability had prevented
her from entering religious life; subsequently, she became a Lay Dominican. She had a calming
effect upon animals (especially cats!) and that calming effect extended to people, who sought her
out although she lay housebound. Mass and confessions took place in her room and she became
a mystic. Towards the end of her life, she spent much time in ecstasy.
She proves that obstacles and disabilities need not prevent us from letting God make use of us.
Her life did not turn out the way she planned, but perhaps it turned out better…. She had her
special role to fill in the service of our Lord; she found it, and she excelled at it.
There is no disability that can stand in the way of God’s plan for us.
There were so many things about Marietta with which I identified, but it is the disability, and her
perseverance in service to the Lord in the face of that disability, that draws me to her example
the most.

DON’T BE AFRAID TO BE A SAINT

​










Here are the next two entries in our continuation of sharing why our members
chose certain saints as their patrons.
​
Adelaide Langmann: Sister Adelaide Langmann was one of the best-known
Mystics of the14th century in Germany. She was born in Engelthal in 1310, and as
a little girl was described as extraordinarily pious and good; and she always
showed a preference for sermons on the Passion. At the age of 13, she was
betrothed to a young man who died suddenly. While in church praying for his
soul, Adelaide heard a voice saying, “All your fiancés will die, because our Lord
has reserved you for Himself.” She was told she would enter the cloister and
perform certain acts of penance. Adelaide felt she should do as she was told but
she was attached to her friends and could not bear the thought of going to the
cloister. She took the discipline seven times a day as she was told to do and her
nights were a struggle with the devil. But she could not bring herself to enter the
convent. One day, as she was receiving Holy Communion, she became distressed
because she could not swallow the Host, and asked, “What have I done, Lord?”
Adelaide was told bluntly, “you have gone back on your word.” Adelaide
exclaimed, “But I am not strong enough to endure cloistered life.” The Lord asked
her, “Who gives you strength?” Adelaide said to the Lord that she would go to the
priest and she was told that no priest could help her, and that she must do what she
was told to do. Adelaide said very well to the Lord, while telling herself quietly
she could back on her word later, but the Lord made her promise that she would
join the convent and she promised she would and immediately she felt peace and
happiness in place of the fright and indecision.

I selected Adelaide Langmann as my name for two reasons. The first was in
memory of my grandmother Adelaide, who loved and trusted God, and placed Him
at the center of her life. The second reason is because Adelaide reminded me of a
time in my life when I was not sure if I wanted to open the doors of my heart to
Christ because of my struggles and hardships, but most of all because I could not
be perfect in serving Him. I grow up in Holiness, with a lot of restrictions and
rules about what it meant to serve and honor God. I left the church a couple times
because I could not reconcile how I could serve God, knowing that I was going to
fall short. What brought me back to Christ was the sermon on “Behold, I stand at
the Door and Knock” (Revelation 3:20) and “As the Holy Ghost saith, ‘today if ye
will hear his voice harden not your hearts’” (Hebrews 3:7-8).

Thomas Aquinas: Saint Thomas Aquinas was a thirteenth-century Italian friar of
the Dominican order. Known as the Angelic Doctor, his extensive writings on
philosophy and theology have played a significant part in the development of
Catholic intellectual tradition. Recognizing that truth cannot contradict truth,
Thomas would often refer to and synthesize concepts and arguments from the
writings of Jewish, Muslim, and pagan scholars when they accorded with the
teachings of the Church. In so doing, he offers an illustration of the natural human
desire for God, even within those who do not recognize that it is God they desire.
​
Beyond his intellectual reputation, however, Thomas is also known for his purity
and piety. While he was a seeker of truth, he was first a seeker of Christ the Truth,
and this priority shaped every aspect of Thomas’s life. Although I was initially
interested in his intellectual side, I have found in Thomas a more comprehensive
spiritual role model than I first realized. May his intercession guide all of us in the
pursuit of God as our ultimate end.