Servant of God Marcel Văn (1928–1959) grew up in a Confucian culture and was familiar with attempts to establish an “order of operations” in love and moral duty (ordo amoris). The Vietnam of his day was the most Christianized Confucian culture that had ever existed, and he was able to take the elements of this practical religio-philosophical system and both accept them and subvert them in the service of the Gospel.
Accordingly, Văn is a good example to look to on how to deal with attempts at rigidifying an ordo amoris. In light of Pope Francis’ recent intervention into this debate, I’d like to look at what this little Vietnamese Redemptorist brother has to teach us.
Background: some basic Confucian ideas
One way[1] to go about presenting Confucian ideas succinctly is to start with a quote from the Great Learning (Dàxué, 大学), one of the central classics of Confucian literature:
Only after things are investigated does knowledge become complete; knowledge being complete, intentions become true; intentions being true, the mind becomes set in the right; the mind being so set, the person becomes cultivated; the person being cultivated, harmony is established in the household; household harmony established, the state becomes well governed; the state being well governed, the empire becomes tranquil. From the Son of Heaven down to the commoners, all without exception should regard self-cultivation as the root. (Great Learning 5–6)[2]
This is clearly a version of ordo amoris. It is not the only time such a view is expressed in Confucian thought. But it is an important one. It’s clear. The terms are precise. We see concentric circles. Indeed, they start pretty close inside. We have progressively wider degrees of intimacy: thoughts, heart, person, family, state, then the empire—or “heaven and earth”—themselves. They follow sequentially. We are meant to see things as flowing outwards, not to whatever structure is present at whatever time, but with great emphasis on the order.
To give some texture to this worldview, one might then go on to observe[3] that, in Confucian thought such as that of the early and arguably most influential interpreter Mencius (Mèngzǐ, 孟子), the number of core relationships is limited. There are five of them (very patriarchally expressed one might note): ruler–minister, father–son, older–younger brother, husband–wife, friend–friend. Some later authorities add a sixth, master–student.
Now, this five- or sixfold categorization of relationships might seem tangential to the idea of ordo amoris. But it is important for understanding what our Christian brother Marcel Văn does to deconstruct and then reconstruct these pre-Christian ideas of love and moral duty. He takes aim at the whole structure, but some of his words are most directly concerned with the Confucian understanding of the “five relationships.”
The systematic deconstruction begins: charity as all-the-relationships-in-one
Văn’s personal transcripts of his “conversations” or prayer-thoughts that took place during his novitiate include a key for taking the pre-Christian ordo amoris and subverting it from back to front. In May 1946, he writes:
If in relations with Jesus one does not have the feelings of a spouse in relation to his spouse, neither does one have the feelings of a child in relation to his father. If one does not have the feelings of a child in relation to his father, one no longer has those of a pupil in relation to his master. Without these feelings of a pupil towards his master, one is no longer even a man. If one is no longer a man, one isn’t, either, a thing and, finally, one is no longer anything at all, so that one cannot love Jesus. That is, in a certain way, to renounce the Trinity without knowing it.
In love, one must always find the feelings of a child towards his father, of the subject towards the king, of the friend towards his friend. If anything is lacking there, one can no longer call that love [at least in the sense of the love which is God’s]. (Conv. 635–636; emphasis mine)[4]
Then, a few notebook pages later, he adds:
On the subject of the feelings of parents towards their children [i.e., love of God for us], they encapsulate also all the other kinds of feelings, even those of friend toward friend, of spouse for spouse, of [elder] brother for his little brother, of king for his subjects, of master for his pupils… For example when parents follow the will of their children in appropriate things, they show them the feelings of a friend. (Conv. 639; emphasis mine)
In the first passage, five of the six Confucian “ordo amoris” relationships are mentioned. In the second, it’s as if Marcel realizes he forgot one. He makes sure he gets all six. There is no doubt whatsoever that he is being deliberate and systematic. The question is: What is he saying?
God’s love is all-the-relationships-in-one. Charity is all-the-relationships-in-one. Christian love is all-the-relationships-in-one.
Marcel believes that this holds true in every single direction. If God’s love for us does not contain within itself all these relationships, then it is not love. If our participative love for God does contain all the relationships, it is not love. If our love for a fellow human lacks one of the dimensions, it is not love.
Charity, Marcel contends, completely and utterly transcends the pre-Christian ordo amoris. It does so, not by rejecting the traces of goodness in the Confucian understanding, but by fulfilling it and stepping beyond. It is better that we be not just God’s subjects, children, and students, but also God’s brothers, friends, and spouses. This truly is a betterment but also a fulfilment. And if we are brothers—i.e., of the same nature—and friends—i.e., equals—of God, then we are certainly brothers and friends of one another, regardless of where we stand in the concentric circles of person–family–state–empire. Or, as Pope Francis says:
Christian love is not a concentric expansion of interests that little by little extend to other persons and groups… The true ordo amoris that must be promoted is that which we discover by meditating constantly on the parable of the “Good Samaritan” (cf. Lk 10:25-37), that is, by meditating on the love that builds a fraternity open to all, without exception.[5]
Indeed, “worrying about personal, community or national identity, apart from these considerations” takes an ideological sledgehammer to the Christian revelation and “distorts social life.”[6] This is exactly what Văn is saying when he takes aim at one of the most historically influential of the pre-Christian attempts at constructing an ordo amoris.
The proof is in the pudding: letters to family and friends
These thoughts or private revelations that Marcel had in his times of prayer during his novitiate were not a one-off event. On at least one other occasion, he summarized in a letter his view on charity as all-the-relationships-in-one. To a confrère, he wrote: “to love one another in the Lord, is the summary of all manners of loving” (To Brother Henry, 11 Jun 1950).[7]
Yet we have to admit that correspondence is not the usual venue for such high-flying ideas. Typically, when we write to our relations, we speak more to immediate matters. Văn is no different. With this singular exception of a throwaway line in his letter to Brother Henry, he never really comes back to the formulation of a systematic deconstruction like that of May 1946. But—and this is important—that doesn’t mean he neglects his idea. He knows it’s important. So, he instantiates it. He lives it out. He speaks of it, now a bit directly, now somewhat obscurely, in his correspondence with friends and family.
I would like to quote a few examples of this to indicate how the Servant of God set about infusing his ordo amoris and six-relationships culture with the Gospel love that transcends these pre-Christian elements.
The first example that I have in mind is from Văn’s correspondence with a (slightly) senior student from his schooldays, Tân. Văn is explaining that, just because he will become a religious brother, this does not mean that his love for his friend or “older brother” (anh) will diminish.
My brother, do not think that my friendship for you has cooled; quite the contrary, the closer I am to Jesus, the tighter will be the bond of this friendship.
I understand that Jesus’ will is that we may be united like brothers, not with the intention to find mutual material advantage, but with the sole end of communicating the one to the other, our pious thoughts concerning the spiritual life, so as to reciprocally help each other to always love Jesus more. Do you understand, my dear Tân? I am asking Jesus to make you understand what I have just said to you.
Although people could, outwardly, consider me as being superior to you, because I have made the vows of religion, however, in what concerns us personally, we always remain brothers, the one to the other. I continue, therefore, to call you my “big brother” (anh) and I wish you to continue to call me “little brother” (em). Let us maintain as formerly this brotherly affection, let us try together to reach the end we pursue: to love Jesus. (To Tân, 15 Sept 1946)
The element of subversion runs deep. In a conventional Southeast Asian framing, Văn should now become Tân’s superior. But Văn knows that that isn’t right. In the Gospel life, we are all brothers and friends. So, to keep things turned upside down, the new Redemptorist religious says that he will still call his friend anh and his friend will still call him em—despite the change in social status that would render this meaningless and absurd in a conventional understanding of relationships. Văn doesn’t mean to keep himself absolutely lower. He knows that charity is all-the-relationships-in-one. Indeed, this is a recent discovery for him. He surely hasn’t forgotten it yet. But what Marcel does do is subvert all expectations and thereby try to keep as much of the Gospel truth alive as he can.
At other times, Marcel is crystal clear on the fact that love of neighbour and love of God are the same love. Therefore, he concludes in his letters, the kind of love is the same; it’s only “the manner of loving [that] is different,” when we think of humans and God. This is what he says to a fellow Redemptorist brother:
In speaking in this way, it is not my intention to elevate man as the equal of God. Jesus himself, when speaking of the love of a neighbour has elevated man as the equal of God, “the second commandment is similar to the first…” The word “similar” indicates clearly that we must ourselves love one another with the same love that we love God himself, and love them as he has, himself, loved them. Love is equal but the manner of loving is different. (To Brother Andrew, 22 Mar 1950)
Or, to hearken back to the novitiate notebooks, charity is all-the-relationships-in-one. It manifests differently. There are textures. But to attempt to set up any order that is not the infinite love of God is folly.
When Marcel writes to his parents, whom he certainly has a natural affection for, he comes back to this point again:
Dear parents, my attachment for you at this time is not that natural attachment common to everybody of the world, but an attachment beyond nature since this love is but one with Jesus’ love. Yes, it is really so, daddy. It is something which has been given to me to understand. In fact the more I love Jesus, the closer I get to him, the more, also, my love for you grows in my heart. That is something I have experienced in my soul: this love I have for you, for you and mammy, does not make me want to be near to you, but desires, simply, that you become like me so as to unite you to Jesus, as it is given to me to be united to him… (To his father, 6 Oct 1946)
Natural affection for our family is not the closest in a series of concentric circles, nor a starting point for social engagement. Rather, our relationships with our family deepen as our love for God grows—yet, as Văn’s other correspondence has made clear, that also means that our love for our family would only grow as our love for other members of society, especially the disadvantaged, would grow.
The reason that an ordo amoris doesn’t make sense, Marcel figures out, is quite simply that Jesus’ love is infinite. We participate in that love. Therefore, it is love without limitations, and to try to ideologically circumscribe or delimit it would be nonsensical. Here he writes to a friend whose mother had once tried to get them engaged:
In giving my heart to Jesus, Jesus gives me the freedom to embrace in my heart all the people, all the souls that I love. I do not wish to live alone in the love of Jesus; my only wish is that many other souls lead the same life as I, so that Jesus’ infinite love may be satisfied. (To Sáu, 18–25 Jan 1948)
He repeats that, rather than becoming distanced from one another because he cannot have an exclusive relationship with her, “our hearts would both be linked by the infinite love of Jesus” (To Sáu, 18–25 Jan 1948). There would be more love, because he will act more out of love, because he will love with Jesus’ infinite love. This is a persistent theme of the correspondence:
If I entered religion far from you, I have not therefore completely forgotten you; on the contrary, the more I see myself close to God, the more I remain tightly attached to those I love. And this attachment is not founded on purely natural feelings but firmly on the love of God. My dear friend I am unable, then, to forget you. (To Thơm, Nov 1948)
Marcel reiterates that love based on feeling, social proximity, and natural degrees of relationship is doomed to grow colder, while that based on the infinity of God is bound to grow warmer:
It is clear that if we do not love our neighbour for the love of God, our love for God can only get colder, since the love of God is without limits, whilst our own is very limited. Consequently, when we love by relying only on our feeling, our love is very shallow, it only takes a simple glance to satisfy our need of love.
If, on the contrary, we know how to match our love with the love of God, the two make but one whole, to then spread elsewhere; in such a manner we enter into possession with a source of infinite love as it is God himself. (To Brother Andrew, 22 Mar 1950)
All words, gestures, and natural inclinations must be put into Jesus, and that will expand our hearts to reach more and more people in need—to love Jesus more, not just in those we are naturally close to, but in everyone and everything:
God has created us with sensitive and loving hearts inclined to attach ourselves firmly to those we love and to suffer at being separated.
However, little sister, if we know how to make use of this natural love to unite it to the love of Jesus, how strong our love will become! All our gestures of love will be placed in Jesus, with Jesus and for Jesus in such a way that what we love is also contained in Jesus. (To Tế, 21 Jan 1951)
In short, Marcel regularly tells his correspondents that God’s love is infinite. Natural inclinations and social proximity, meanwhile, are finite. Do not rely on the latter. Work from the former. It will pull in the right direction. It will subvert many things in this world. But the pre-Christian ordo amoris and strictly-delimited “six relationships” are not what we are made for. We are not made for less. We are made for more. We will not lose anything if we go about things from the Gospel perspective. On the contrary, we will gain much, much more. Have faith. Love.
Conclusion
There’s a good chance that you know what current events have sparked this post. Pope Francis’ new letter to the Bishops of the United States is no small matter, and it must be taken seriously by “all the faithful of the Catholic Church, and all men and women of good will.”[8] Marcel Văn knew well in his Confucian culture that, for the Christian, there is no “concentric expansion of interests that little by little extend to other persons and groups.”[9] He understood that the only Christian “ordo amoris that must be promoted is that which we discover by meditating… on the love that builds a fraternity open to all, without exception,”[10] by declaring that the infinity of charity is all-the-relationships-in-one.
To be sure, Văn was not fighting the theory that the “human person is […] a mere individual, relatively expansive, with some philanthropic feelings.”[11] His target was this ideology’s polar opposite, a form of intense and systematic collectivism. But the fact that raw individualism and bare collectivism lead to the same deficiencies is hardly a surprise. It is the Gospel truth that transcends them both, and if we don’t want one ideological extreme to morph into the other, the only power strong enough to withstand the transformation is Christian teaching, which is to say, the infinity of all-the-relationships-in-one, the unboundedness of God’s love.
[1] E.g., Sin Yee Chan, “From Sincerity of Thought to Peace ‘All Under Heaven’ (Tianxia 天下): The Confucian Stance of Peace and Violence,” in Irfan A. Omar and Michael K. Duffey (eds.), Peacemaking and the Challenge of Violence in World Religions (Chichester: Wiley Blackwell, 2015), 112–134 (here, 113).
[2] Trans. Daniel K. Gardner, The Four Books: The Basic Teachings of the Later Confucian Tradition (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett, 2007).
[3] E.g., Chan, “From Sincerity of Thought to Peace,” 115.
[4] Conv. = Marcel Van, Conversations, trans. Jack Keogan (Complete Works 2; Versailles: Amis de Van Éditions, 2017).
[5] Pope Francis, Letter to the Bishops of the United States of America (10 February 2025), 6.
[7] To = Marcel Van, Correspondence, trans. Jack Keogan (Complete Works 3; Versailles: Amis de Van Éditions, 2018).
[8] Pope Francis, Letter to the Bishops of the United States of America (10 February 2025), 9.
Contemplative in the Mud 