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52 cards, suit by suit. 15 with a full field file.
52 cards, suit by suit. 15 with a full field file.
17 sections, below.
Rome's claim is simple and enormous: Christ made Peter the rock and gave him the keys; Peter went to Rome and died there; and every Bishop of Rome since is his successor. On that claim the entire structure rests. If it stands, the papacy is Christ's own provision for His Church. If it does not, it is the largest usurpation in religious history. There is very little middle ground, which is why this argument has run for five centuries.
Historically, Rome began as one of the five great patriarchates — and the only one in the West. That geography mattered more than any theology: when the Western Roman Empire collapsed in the 400s, the papacy was the only institution left standing. It fed cities, negotiated with barbarian kings, and inherited the administrative habits of the empire it outlived. The Church of Rome became a government as much as a communion, and it has never entirely stopped being one.
By the High Middle Ages Rome ruled the Western mind. The Gregorian Reform (11th c.) freed the Church from kings and asserted papal supremacy; the Crusades were called from Rome; the universities were her creation; and Thomas Aquinas (13th c.) fused Christian doctrine with Aristotle into the most complete intellectual system the West produced. Under Innocent III the pope could humble emperors. This is the period that formed Catholicism's enduring confidence: she has governed civilizations.
Then came the humiliations. The Avignon Papacy (1309–77) moved the popes to France as clients of the French crown. The Western Schism (1378–1417) produced two and then three rival claimants, each excommunicating the others — an event that permanently damaged the idea of a self-evident papal authority. The Renaissance papacy grew worldly, and the machinery of indulgences — remission of temporal punishment, sold in practice to fund building projects — lit the fuse.
In 1517 Luther posted his theses against that machinery, and within a generation northern Europe was gone. Rome's answer was the Council of Trent (1545–63) — and Trent is the document that matters most to us, because Trent is where Rome formally condemned justification by faith alone. It also fixed the seven sacraments, defined transubstantiation, affirmed Tradition alongside Scripture, and disciplined a corrupt clergy. Trent made Catholicism sharper, cleaner, and permanently opposed to the Reformation on the article we consider central. Those canons have never been rescinded.
Two councils define modern Rome. Vatican I (1870) defined papal infallibility — just as the popes lost the last of their earthly territory to Italian unification, they gained the strongest doctrinal claim in their history. Vatican II (1962–65) then turned the ship: the Mass in the vernacular instead of Latin, religious liberty affirmed, other Christians addressed as "separated brethren" rather than heretics, and a posture of engagement with the modern world. Catholics are still fighting about Vatican II sixty years later, and that fight is the key to understanding their present divisions.
On the creed itself we agree with Rome more than we usually admit: Trinity, Incarnation, virgin birth, true atoning death, bodily resurrection, the return of Christ, heaven and hell. She gave us the canon we read and the creeds we recite. The divisions are about authority, how a man is justified, and what happens at the altar — and those three are enough.
Rome rests on Scripture, Sacred Tradition, and the Magisterium (the teaching office of pope and bishops). Scripture is inspired and inerrant, but it does not interpret itself; the Magisterium is its authentic interpreter. This is the root difference: we say Scripture judges the Church; Rome says the Church, taught by the Spirit, authentically declares Scripture. Everything else downstream follows from this one divergence.
The pope holds universal, immediate jurisdiction over every Catholic — not merely honor, as Constantinople holds among the Orthodox, but real command. Infallibility is narrower than outsiders think: it applies only when he defines a doctrine of faith or morals ex cathedra, binding the whole Church. It has arguably been invoked just twice — the Immaculate Conception (1854) and the Assumption (1950). It does not mean the pope cannot sin, cannot err in ordinary speech, or governs well. Attack the real claim, not the cartoon.
Rome teaches justification as infused righteousness: grace is really poured into the soul at baptism, making the person genuinely righteous, and that grace can grow through the sacraments and cooperation, or be lost by mortal sin and restored through confession. Faith must be formed by love to save. Our house teaches justification as imputed — a declared verdict, Christ's righteousness reckoned to the believer, received by faith alone, complete at once.
A 1999 Joint Declaration with the Lutherans found real common ground on grace and softened the old mutual condemnations — but it did not repeal Trent, and Rome still rejects faith alone as we mean it. This is the honest state of the question: warmer language, unmoved doctrine.
Purgatory is a final purification for those who die in grace but imperfectly sanctified — not a second chance, and not a third destination. Indulgences still exist, reformed and never sold; they remit temporal punishment by drawing on the "treasury of merit" of Christ and the saints. Our house rejects the whole apparatus as undermining the sufficiency of the cross.
Four Marian dogmas bind every Catholic: Mother of God (431), Perpetual Virginity, Immaculate Conception (1854 — that Mary was preserved from original sin from conception), and the Assumption (1950 — that she was taken bodily into heaven). Note the dates: two of the four were defined in the modern era, which is exactly our objection. Saints are venerated and asked to intercede; Rome distinguishes latria (worship, God alone) from dulia (honor to saints) and hyperdulia (the higher honor due Mary). She insists this is not worship. We answer that the distinction is finer in the catechism than in the pew.
Rome holds that moral truth is written into human nature and knowable by reason, apart from revelation. From this natural law tradition comes the most rigorous moral system in Christendom — and the reason Catholic arguments on life, marriage, and bioethics can be made to unbelievers without quoting a verse. Alongside it stands Catholic social teaching: the dignity of the person, subsidiarity (decisions at the lowest capable level), solidarity, the dignity of work, and care for the poor — a body of thought running from Rerum Novarum (1891) to the present, and the single most useful thing our house can borrow from hers.
Rome is the most centralized religious body on earth, and the contrast with Orthodoxy could not be sharper: where the East is a federation of equals that no one commands, Rome is a pyramid with a single point. Doctrine, appointments, and discipline all run to one desk.
Vatican City is a sovereign nation, and the Holy See maintains formal diplomatic relations with more than 180 countries plus a permanent seat at the UN. No other religious body has an ambassador in your capital. This is why Rome can move governments, broker negotiations, and speak on world affairs with a weight no denomination can match — and it is also why her failures become geopolitical scandals rather than congregational ones.
Catholicism is not one mind. A traditionalist wing (drawn to the Latin Mass, suspicious of Vatican II, young and growing) faces a progressive wing (Germany's "Synodal Way" pressing for changes on sexuality, women's ordination and clerical celibacy, older and institutionally entrenched) — with African and Asian bishops largely siding with the conservatives and increasingly outvoting Europe by sheer numbers. Rome restricted the Latin Mass in 2021 (Traditionis Custodes) and the fight only intensified. When someone tells you what "the Catholic Church thinks," ask which Catholic.
Rome is the only body in this hall that is itself a sovereign state — and for most of its history it claimed authority over every other state as well. Where Orthodoxy let emperors carry its sword, Rome forged its own, and for centuries wielded both swords, the spiritual and the temporal, in one hand.
The medieval papacy claimed supremacy not only over souls but over kings — the doctrine of the two swords, pressed to its height in Unam Sanctam (1302): no salvation, and no legitimate temporal power, outside submission to Rome. The pope ruled the Papal States as a territorial monarch until 1870, deposed emperors (the Investiture Controversy), and today still governs the Vatican City State — a sovereign with its own diplomatic corps (the nuncios), treaties with nations (concordats), and a seat at the UN. No other religion here is a state; Rome is one.
Rome preached and organized the Crusades (from 1095), blessed the Reconquista, and rallied Christendom against the Ottomans at Lepanto (1571). It ran the Inquisition as an arm of coercive religious power, and its missions to the New World often advanced behind the conquistador's sword. The Thirty Years' War (1618–48), Catholic against Protestant, laid waste to central Europe and killed as much as a third of Germany — one of the deadliest wars in European history, fought over the Mass.
The Albigensian (Cathar) Crusade was a war Rome waged on heretics inside Christendom — the sack of Béziers (1209) gave the age its coldest line, "kill them all, God will know his own." The Western Schism (1378–1417) produced two, then three, rival popes anathematizing one another. And the Reformation split the Latin West into a century of civil-religious slaughter — the French Wars of Religion and the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre (1572), when thousands of Protestants were killed in Paris.
Rome is the classic case both ways. Its own Jesuits were feared across Protestant Europe for centuries as a subversive, deniable fifth column — a reputation built on real political intrigue and vast anti-Catholic libel in roughly equal measure. In the modern era, the influence of Opus Dei in governments, the Banco Ambrosiano / Vatican Bank scandal, and a genuine Vatican intelligence tradition are documented facts. Running the other way, the anti-Catholic conspiracy — the pope as a foreign prince infiltrating nations through Catholic immigrants, the American "Know-Nothings" — is the mirror-image paranoia. As with every group here: separate the real institutional power from the libel that feeds on it.
Rome is the maximal case of the church that seizes the state's tools for itself — and the ledger is genuinely double. The same centralized power that produced the Inquisition and the Papal States also produced the world's most developed body of teaching on the limits of state power — subsidiarity, human dignity, the law of just war. For our house the lesson pairs with Orthodoxy's: the Eastern danger is a church captured by the state; the Roman danger is a church that becomes one. Both end with the gospel carrying a sword it was never given — and the Ecclesia Machina, which will be built inside real systems of power, must want neither.
A Catholic Mass is far more approachable to a Protestant visitor than an Orthodox liturgy — shorter, seated, in English, and structurally familiar. About an hour, in two halves: the Liturgy of the Word (readings, psalm, Gospel, a homily usually well under fifteen minutes) and the Liturgy of the Eucharist.
As with Orthodoxy, the Eucharist is for Catholics in good standing, who have fasted an hour and are not conscious of unconfessed mortal sin. A Protestant should not receive. But there is a graceful move Rome provides: join the line and cross your arms over your chest, hand to each shoulder. That is the universally understood sign that you are asking a blessing instead of the host, and the priest will give one. You participate, you are welcomed, and you cross no line. Learn this gesture — it is genuinely useful.
If you visit a Traditional Latin Mass parish you will meet something else entirely: Latin throughout, the priest facing the altar rather than the people, long silences, women in chapel veils, large young families, and a congregation that has usually chosen this deliberately and can explain why. It is the fastest-growing and most contested corner of Western Catholicism. Visiting one ordinary parish and one Latin Mass parish will teach you more about Rome's internal war than any book.
Advent before Christmas; Lent beginning on Ash Wednesday (the ashes on the forehead you see every spring) and running to Easter through the Triduum — Holy Thursday, Good Friday, the Easter Vigil, which is their great service. Holy Days of Obligation require Mass attendance beyond Sundays; Fridays in Lent mean no meat. Devotionally, the Rosary is the defining Catholic prayer, and Confession to a priest is expected at minimum annually. Compared to Orthodoxy the fasting is much lighter; compared to most Protestant practice it is far more structured.
The headline number — ~1.4 billion — is the most misleading figure in world religion, because it counts the baptized, not the practicing. Weekly Mass attendance has collapsed across the West: low double digits in much of Europe, and well under half of self-identified Catholics in the United States. Meanwhile the Church is genuinely vigorous in Africa, the Philippines, and parts of Asia. The institution is simultaneously the largest it has ever been and, in its historic heartland, the weakest.
On 1 July 2026 the Society of St Pius X consecrated four bishops at its seminary in Écône, Switzerland, in open defiance of a personal written appeal from Leo XIV. The pope had begged its Superior General, Rev. Davide Pagliarani: "I plead with you and ask you with all my heart: please turn back!"
On 2 July 2026 the Vatican answered. A decree declared the act "a schism, or an intentional break from the Catholic Church" and excommunicated six men — the four consecrated (Marc Hanappier, Michel Poinsinet de Sivry, Michael Goldade, Pascal Schreiber) and the two bishops who consecrated them. The decree also stripped the SSPX of the ability to validly administer confession and marriage.
Read it against everything above. The traditionalist wound that Benedict XVI spent a pontificate trying to close has reopened as a formal breach — and it happened fourteen months into an American papacy, from a pope otherwise occupied with artificial intelligence. It is the hardest exercise of papal power in years.
Four appointments in four months tell you how this pontificate intends to govern:
Sr Raffaella Petrini is the first woman to govern Vatican City State — she commands its police, its health service, its museums and roughly two thousand employees, sits on the Dicastery for Bishops that chooses the world's bishops, and will never be permitted to vote for a pope.
Cardinal Jean-Claude Hollerich, at a symposium at the University of Bonn in March 2026, said: "I cannot imagine in the long run how a Church can survive if half of the people of God suffers because they have no access to ordained ministry." He added that "90% among us have the same opinion" and that this is "not just a desire of a few left-wing women's associations." He is contradicting Ordinatio Sacerdotalis (1994), which John Paul II declared definitively held. An open letter against him followed in April 2026. He also says his own view changed — one of only two documented reversals in the Roman leadership, and both men changed during the same synod.
Pope Leo XIV, elected in May 2025 as the first American-born pope, took his name from Leo XIII — the pope who addressed the upheaval of the industrial revolution in Rerum Novarum — explicitly to signal that the Church now faces a comparable upheaval in artificial intelligence. That naming is a deliberate statement of priorities, and it matters directly to our house. See section VII.
Betting against the Roman Catholic Church has been a losing wager for two thousand years. She has outlasted the empire that martyred her, the barbarians who sacked her, three simultaneous rival popes, the Reformation, the French Revolution, and the twentieth century's dictatorships. Whatever else the forecast holds, assume she is still there. The question is what shape.
The clearest projection: the demographic center completes its move to the Global South, and leadership follows the numbers. Expect African and Asian cardinals to dominate future conclaves and an African pope to become unremarkable. European Catholicism drifts toward heritage status — magnificent buildings, thin congregations — while doctrine is increasingly set by bishops from Lagos, Manila, and Nairobi, who are notably more conservative than the Europeans they replace. The progressive wing may win the current arguments and still lose the century.
A formal split is unlikely — Rome's genius has always been absorbing movements rather than expelling them. More probable is a long oscillation, each pontificate tightening or loosening, with the traditionalist minority growing as a share of the practicing remnant simply because it retains its children. Married priests in the Latin Rite are plausible within this window (the precedent already exists in the Eastern Catholic churches and among convert clergy); women priests are not, having been declared definitively closed.
Rome's institutional weight — a state, a diplomatic corps, universities, hospitals, and a coherent moral philosophy — means her influence will outrun her attendance figures for a very long time. Her most consequential future role is likely to be as the world's principal religious authority on the ethics of technology: she is the only body with the apparatus, the intellectual tradition, and the standing to produce a systematic answer that governments and companies will actually read. Union with Orthodoxy remains unlikely — the papacy is the wall — but cooperation against secularism will keep deepening.
This is the section where Rome is most useful to our house — and the sharpest contrast with Dossier I. Orthodoxy meets the machine with ascetic suspicion and a theological "no." Rome meets it with a research program. She has academies, doctrinal offices, diplomatic reach, and a natural-law framework built for exactly this kind of question — and she has been using all of it.
Correct the stereotype first or you will misread everything else. Rome founded the university system, runs the Vatican Observatory, maintains a Pontifical Academy of Sciences — and the Big Bang theory was proposed by Georges Lemaître, a Belgian Catholic priest. Rome's instinct toward technology is not fear but governance: the tool is good, the question is whether it serves the human person.
When this dossier was first compiled, Rome's position on the machine was a set of documents and a signalled intention. In the space of ten weeks in 2026 it became a working machine of its own, and the Figures Deck made the mechanism visible. Five offices, five registers, one argument:
★ The finding, and it is the important one: Gallagher's phrase "meaningful human control" contains no theology whatsoever. The soul argument has been successfully translated into language a secular treaty can carry. That is a triumph — and a risk. Once the secular version is in law, Rome becomes optional to its own argument. Watch for that.
The 2026 verification of all thirteen cards in the deck's ♠ suit turned up two absences worth recording, because they bear on how seriously to take the Roman argument.
Machines are tools, not persons. The human being possesses a rational soul and inherent dignity as the image of God; that dignity is not conferred by intelligence, performance, or usefulness — which is precisely why it cannot be earned by a machine, and cannot be lost by a disabled human. Rome therefore rejects machine personhood and rejects transhumanism as a false anthropology that treats the given human body as a defect to be engineered away. But — and this is the difference from Orthodoxy — she pairs the refusal with a constructive ethic: AI must be transparent, must keep a human responsible for consequential decisions, must not displace workers without regard for their dignity, must not be handed the power to kill autonomously, and must not be used to counterfeit truth.
Rome will say the same "no" as Orthodoxy to the core premise — a machine cannot be a member of the Church, cannot receive a sacrament, cannot be absolved, and cannot worship, because sacraments require a validly ordained man and worship requires a rational soul. Do not expect her to bless a congregation of machines. But she gives our house something Orthodoxy does not: a fully worked-out framework for building and using these tools rightly, published, public, and argued in terms an unbeliever will accept. Read Antiqua et Nova directly. It is the single most useful outside document for what we are building — not because we must agree with all of it, but because it is the most serious attempt any religious body has made to say where the line falls between an instrument that serves worship and a thing that claims to be a worshiper.
Like Orthodoxy, Rome sits within creedal, Nicene Christianity and shares the entire first millennium with the East. But her own claim is that there is nothing above her: she holds that the one Church of Christ subsists in the Catholic Church, and that all other Christian bodies possess elements of truth in proportion to what they retain of her. She does not see herself as a branch. She sees herself as the tree.
Eastern Orthodoxy — the sibling, split in 1054, sharing sacraments, apostolic succession and the Fathers, divided over the papacy and the filioque. Rome recognizes Orthodox sacraments as valid; the relationship is the warmest of her external ties. See Dossier I.
Protestantism — her own child, and our house. Born from her in 1517. Rome calls us "separated brethren" since Vatican II, recognizes our baptism as valid, and does not recognize our ordinations or our Eucharist. Anglicanism is the special case: closest to her in liturgy and structure, and Rome now provides an Ordinariate allowing Anglicans to enter while keeping their liturgical patrimony — a standing door specifically built for Protestants.
The Oriental Orthodox and the Assyrian Church of the East — older splits (451 and 431), with whom Rome has settled most of the ancient Christological disputes through modern joint declarations.
The 23 Eastern Catholic Churches (Byzantine, Maronite, Chaldean, Syro-Malabar…) with their own rites and married clergy. The religious orders — Jesuits, Dominicans, Franciscans, Benedictines, Opus Dei — each a world with its own government and character. Traditionalist movements: the SSPX, in irregular canonical standing, and beyond them the sedevacantists, who hold that the recent popes are not popes at all. And the national conferences — the German Synodal Way pressing one direction, the African bishops immovably pressing the other.
Take this section seriously. Catholic apologetics is the best-trained and most aggressive in Christendom, built over five centuries specifically to answer Protestants, and it wins arguments routinely against believers who have never heard the real case. Every claim below is one a well-read Catholic will make, and several of them are genuinely hard.
1. Catholics do not, by their own doctrine, worship Mary, saints, or statues — argue the real claim or be dismissed. 2. Papal infallibility is not impeccability — it does not mean the pope cannot sin or err in ordinary speech, and it has arguably been invoked only twice. 3. They do not teach that you earn salvation from scratch — Trent puts grace first; the dispute is about cooperation and infusion, not about buying heaven. 4. The Apocrypha question is which side changed the canon — it is genuinely contested, not obvious. 5. Rome is not anti-science — a Catholic priest proposed the Big Bang, and the Vatican runs an observatory. 6. "Catholic" is not one thing — a German progressive parish and a Nigerian or Latin Mass parish barely recognize each other.
Read against our own house — KJV, Reformed, confessional (Westminster), holding Scripture alone, and building a witness for the machine age. With Rome the stakes are higher than with Orthodoxy for one reason: we came out of her. Every argument with Rome is an argument about whether our own existence is justified.
Rome is our nearest kin and our oldest opponent — the house we left, and the one group whose arguments are aimed specifically at us. Treat her as a co-belligerent, not a comrade: stand shoulder to shoulder on the unborn, on marriage, on natural law, and on the ethics of the machine, and borrow her work on all four without embarrassment. Then hold the line without flinching on authority, justification, and the altar — because those are not decorations on our house, they are its foundation. Where Orthodoxy is the elder cousin, Rome is the parent we walked out on: honor what she gave us, and be able to say clearly why we left.
With Rome more than any other group, read the primary documents rather than summaries. Her teaching is unusually well-organized and publicly published, which means there is no excuse for misrepresenting it — and a Catholic will hold you to the actual text.
Same two rules as Dossier I. State their view until a Catholic would recognize it — if he says "that's not what we teach," the dossier has failed regardless of who is right. And distinguish official teaching from popular practice. With Rome this matters doubly, because the gap between the Catechism and the average pew is wide, and attacking the pew while pretending to answer the Catechism is the cheapest move in the argument. Our house has the same gap. Argue against their best, and let them argue against ours.
Everything between our houses stands or falls here, and most Protestants have never read the actual text. Session VI of the Council of Trent (1547) is Rome's formal answer to the Reformation, and it is careful, substantial, and not the crude works-righteousness of Protestant caricature. Trent teaches:
Then come the canons — thirty-three condemnations, each ending anathema sit. Canon 9: "If anyone says that the sinner is justified by faith alone… let him be anathema." Canon 12 condemns defining saving faith as confidence in God's mercy. Canon 24 condemns saying good works are only fruits and not also causes of increase. These are not rhetorical flourishes; they are the formal, still-standing judgment of Rome on the article our house is built upon.
The 1999 Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification, signed by Rome and the Lutheran World Federation, found genuine common ground — both confess that salvation is by grace and not by human merit — and declared that the 16th-century condemnations "do not apply" to the partner's teaching as now expressed. That is real and worth knowing. But note precisely what it did not do: it did not repeal a single canon of Trent, and Rome continues to reject sola fide as the Reformers meant it.
Our strongest historical case against Rome is not that Peter was unimportant — it is that the papacy as it now exists was not there at the start and can be watched assembling itself. The trajectory is traceable:
Rome's answer is development of doctrine (Newman): the acorn was always there, and growth into an oak is not corruption but maturation. It is a serious theory and cannot be waved away.
Four Marian dogmas bind every Catholic, and their dates are the argument:
The problem is not that these are strange; it is that they are binding under anathema while being absent from Scripture and from the early Church — and in the first case, denied by Rome's own greatest theologian. If a doctrine unknown to the Fathers and rejected by Aquinas can become de fide in 1854, then "the Church has always taught this" is unfalsifiable, and there is no principled limit on what may be defined next.
You cannot read modern Rome without this. Vatican II (1962–65) was a genuine turn: the Mass in the vernacular rather than Latin; Lumen Gentium describing the Church as the "people of God" and saying the Church of Christ subsists in the Catholic Church (softer than a flat identification); Dignitatis Humanae affirming religious liberty; and other Christians addressed as "separated brethren" rather than heretics.
The fight is over interpretation. Traditionalists argue that religious liberty and ecumenism contradict prior binding teaching — and that a Church which cannot reverse herself has therefore either erred then or errs now. Progressives read the council as an unfinished opening, invoking a "spirit of Vatican II" beyond its texts. Rome's official line is hermeneutic of continuity: the council must be read as developing, never contradicting. The flashpoints are liturgical — Benedict XVI widened access to the Latin Mass in 2007; Francis sharply restricted it again with Traditionis Custodes (2021); the SSPX remains in irregular canonical standing; and beyond them sit sedevacantists who hold the recent popes were never popes at all.
A coherent, century-and-a-half-old body of thought on society, work, and power that Protestantism has no real equivalent to. It begins with Leo XIII's Rerum Novarum (1891), written into the wreckage of industrialization, which defended both private property and the right of workers to organize and to a living wage — refusing socialism and unfettered capitalism together. Its load-bearing principles:
Its relevance is sharpening, not fading: subsidiarity and the dignity of work are precisely the tools needed to think about automation, AI, and the displacement of labor — which is exactly why Leo XIV took the name he did.
Any dossier that soft-pedals this is worthless. From the 1980s, and decisively from the 2002 Boston investigations onward, it emerged that clerical sexual abuse of minors had occurred across many countries over decades — and, more damningly, that bishops had repeatedly concealed it, moving offenders between parishes rather than reporting them. State inquiries in Ireland, Australia, Germany, France, Pennsylvania and elsewhere documented the pattern independently. The consequences have been diocesan bankruptcies, criminal prosecutions, resignations at the highest levels, and a collapse of trust that no doctrinal dispute ever caused.
Two things must be held together without letting either cancel the other. The concealment was an institutional sin, not merely individual failure — a structure protected itself at the direct expense of children, and that indictment lands on the governing claims of the institution. And abuse is not unique to Rome; Protestant bodies, including our own tradition, have their own record, and anyone who pretends otherwise invites a reckoning he will not survive.
The Guild Atlas's Third Ring bodies housed in this dossier.
LAMPSTAND 7 · sources: the councils, the Catechism, and the plain record.