Rain and the Rhinoceros

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the use of “natural law” in modern Catholic social thought. Although something like the notion of “natural law” can arguably be found even in the Old Testament, the Christian manifestation of the theory is usually associated with the thought of Thomas Aquinas. Despite the popularity of natural law language in modern Catholic thought, Thomas’ use of natural law actually played a relatively small role in his theological and ethical reflections. I’m not going to get into Thomas’ use of natural law right now, but I think it is interesting to look at how natural law theory functions to justify the translation of theological language into more “neutral” secular language. In order for the church to speak to secular power an appeal to “the natural” is made, that is, what “all people of good will” can comprehend. But does this translation result in a tempering or minimizing of the profundity inherent in Christian theological thought. In other words, is it really possible to translate theological language? Of course, theological thought cannot be separated from the community we call church and so the attempt is usually made to weed out the “relevant” politics imbedded in theology so our voice can be effectively heard. So the question arises can Christian social thought be separated from the embodied life and speech of the church without losing its distinctiveness? Does the church have a social ethic that it can bring to the pluralistic table or is the church a social ethic in and of itself?

In his brilliant work The Two Churches: Catholicism and Capitalism in the World System Michael Budde argues that Catholic anticommunism in the twentieth century was instrumental in bringing about U.S. Catholic nationalism. Despite their differences both liberal and conservative Catholics in America shared core values and beliefs that were passionately in opposition to communism. Catholic anticommunism was reinforced by American anticommunism. In a very real sense, “the bulwark of both true Americanism and authentic Catholicism” was anticommunism. As Budde states, “Communism, to the Catholic leadership of the 1950s, represented both the oppression visited on Catholics behind the Iron Curtain and a threat to the prosperity and freedom the Church had come to enjoy in the United States” (79). As many scholars have pointed out, the election of John F. Kennedy in 1960 represented “the fully Americanized status of Catholics” (80).

In the 1980s two major pastoral letters issued by the National Conference of Catholic Bishops, The Challenge of Peace: God’s Promise and Our Response and Economic Justice For All: Catholic Social Teaching and the U.S. Economy , do offer a critique of the policies of the U.S. government and American society. As Budde points out, however, these letters should be read from the perspective of U.S. Catholic Nationalism which limited the impact of the letters and “guided the ‘prophetic’ movements of the Catholic hierarchy” (87). Interestingly, as Budde points out, although both letters include a theological evaluation of the issues at hand drawing heavily from scripture and the Christian theological tradition, when it comes to application and consideration of public policy there is a distinct epistemological shift that employs natural law language. In other words, the theological language of the first sections are “translated” into more “neutral” language so that the letters can appeal more to “all people of good will” as opposed to only Christians. Many conservatives criticized the two pastoral letters for being unpatriotic and naive on issues of economics, but Budde argues that in fact the pastorals “gave the bishops yet another opportunity to demonstrate their patriotism, their political acumen, and their belief in a capitalist world economy. U.S. Catholic Nationalism, rather than being undermined, stands affirmed and as definitive of the U.S. Catholic mainstream” (89).

Budde provides four reasons why this is the case: 1) the bishops assume from the outset that the U.S. is a force for good in the world. There is no effort to question U.S. economic or political imperialism. 2) there is no structural analysis of U.S. power and prosperity. “Rather than examine capitalism, the bishops seek to hide behind an economic agnosticism that is ‘pragmatic’ in nature” (89). 3) the bishops give a “nonconflictive, functionalist picture of U.S. society, focusing on questions of the “common good” without addressing questions of class-divisions and contradictory interests. 4) in the epistemological shift or translation of biblical/theological reflection into natural law discourse potential conflict with secular power is minimized. The sections are so poorly integrated that the biblical/theological reflections of the first section “look like religious gloss on an essentially nonreligious document” (92).

Budde concludes that the documents heavy reliance on natural law is the bishops’ attempt to speak to the problems of secular society. It is thought that theological discourse is too “sectarian” and cannot be used to appeal to a pluralistic society. Budde writes, “In weighing the tasks – dialogue with the faithful or dialogue with secular power – the bishops have chosen the latter as more important. Dialogue with the faithful on matters of economic justice, were it done seriously and without regard to secular opinion, would open the Church to renewed charges of ’separateness’ or ‘un-American-ness.’ Dialogue with secular power, particularly on terms amenable to that power, enhances the respectability and American-ness of U.S. Catholic spokesmen – another step ahead in the history of U.S. Catholic Nationalism” (93).

John Courtney Murray was one of most dominant U.S. Catholic theologians of the twentieth century. His paradigm for Catholic social ethics still maintains a deep influence on Catholic social thought. Murray’s (mis)use of the natural law tradition in Catholic thought allowed him to see the “self-evident” truths of America as self-evident truths for Catholics too.

Catholic participation in the American consensus has been full and free, unreserved and unembarrassed, because the contents of this consensus – the ethical and political principles drawn from the tradition of natural law – approve themselves to the Catholic intelligence and conscience. Where this kind of language is talked, the Catholic joins in the conversation with complete ease. It is his language. The ideas expressed are native to his own universe of discourse. Even the accent, being American, suits his tongue.

John Courtney Murray. We Hold These Truths: Catholic Reflections on the American Proposition (Kansas City: Sheed and Ward, 1960) 41.

The preaching of the gospel (although of course it takes place at a particular juncture in history) has its perspective not on an immediate and particular objective but on the eschaton, on the ultimate destiny of human beings and humankind. That is why, unlike socialism as such, the gospel is not a programme for political action: not because it is too vague and general or too private, but because it is also a critique of action itself, a reminder that we must think on the end.

Central to the gospel is the revelation that our salvation, in the end, comes not by our achievements but by the failure which is the cross, a failure accepted out of Christ’s loving obedience to his mission from the Father and for love of his fellow men and women. So if I think (as I do) that all my fellow Catholics should support a socialist immediate programme, it is not because I am a Catholic but because I am a socialist.The Christian socialist, as I see her, is more complex, more ironic, than her non-Christian colleagues, because her eye is also on the ultimate future, on the future that is attained by weakness, through and beyond the struggle to win this immediate fight. But even short of the eschaton, the Christian is also more vividly aware not only of the need to avoid injustice in the fight for justice (as any rational non-Christian socialist would, of course, be) but also of the need always to crown victory not with triumphalism but with forgiveness and mercy, for only in this way can the victory won in this fight remain related to the kingdom of God.Without that opening on to a future (and, as yet, mysterious) destiny, what begins as a local victory for justice becomes, in its turn, yet another form of domination, another occasion for challenge and struggle – as we have seen time and time again in the history of the Church and the history of all liberation movements. Remember that even the capitalist revolution could once be regarded rightly as a liberation struggle.

Herbert McCabe, God Still Matters (New York: Continuum, 2002) 90-91.

Soon after the collapse of the Berlin wall in 1989, John Paul II published his encyclical Centesimus Annus in which he poses the following question:”Can it perhaps be said that, after the failure of communism, should capitalism be the goal of the countries now making efforts to rebuild their economy and society?” JPII explains that the “answer is complex.” 

If by “capitalism” is meant an economic system which recognizes the fundamental and positive role of business, the market, private property and the resulting responsibility for the means of production, as well as free human creativity in the economic sector, then the answer is certainly in the affirmative, even though it would perhaps be more appropriate to speak of a “business economy,” ”market economy” or simply “free economy”. But if by “capitalism” is meant a system in which freedom in the economic sector is not circumscribed within a strong juridical framework which places it at the service of human freedom in its totality, and which sees it as a particular aspect of that freedom, the core of which is ethical and religious, then the reply is certainly negative. 

The rest of the encyclical affirms the priority of the person over profit and the spiritual and physical pitfalls of consumerism. JPII also expresses the Church’s solidarity in the liberation of the poor in this encyclical. I think there is much to be praised in the document and it certainly has to be read in its historical context. However, I can’t help but feel troubled by JPII’s affirmation of capitalism, even though it is a guarded one. In my opinion, JPII doesn’t really provide a theological basis for his account of capitalism other than an appeal to history.  The Catholic social tradition has always affirmed the right to private property, but I have always found the theological basis for such a position tenuous at best. Of course, the Catholic social tradition emphasizes that this is not an “absolute right” and that the use of material goods is always subordinated to the fact that they are common goods that must be shared.I want to hear your thoughts on the matter. Is capitalism the model economic system? If so, on what theological basis?   

Therefore, dear brothers and sisters, especially those of you who hate me, you who have hands stained with murder, with torture, with atrocity, with injustice – be converted. I love you deeply. I am sorry for you because you go on the way to ruin.

I address those who have caused so many injustices and acts of violence, those who have brought tears to so many homes, those who have stained themselves with the blood of so many murders, those who have hands soiled with tortures, those who have calloused their consciences, who are unmoved to see under their boots a person abased, suffering, perhaps ready to die. To all them I say: no matter your crimes. They are ugly and horrible, and you have abased the highest dignity of a human person, but God calls you and forgives you. And here perhaps arises the aversion of those who feel they are laborers from the first hour. How can I be in heaven with those criminals? Brothers and sisters, in heaven there are no criminals. The greatest criminal, once he has repented of his sins, is now a child of God.

- Archbishop Oscar Romero

The attempt to relate the message of liberation theology to the middle-class church of the United States is replete with difficulties. The primary reason for this is that liberation theology is most fundamentally the cry of the poor and the oppressed, and the United States is the richest and most powerful country in the world. Indeed, the United States has been the target of much criticism from the mouths of liberation theologians, not least for its unwavering support of oppressive regimes in Latin America, the birthplace of modern day liberation theology. For this reason, the church in the United States has not been free from the criticisms launched by liberation theology either. From the perspective of liberation theologians, the middle and upper classes of the United States have been complicit in the policies of oppression that have plagued Latin America and much of the developing world. In the eyes of liberationists, the church in the United States does not have a good record of resisting such policies. This paper will explore the challenge that liberation theology poses to the church in the United States and First World Christians in general.

To be fair, there is a significant, albeit small, portion of the middle-class church in the United States that supports efforts of liberation in Latin America and other impoverished parts of the world. Although there is still much work yet to be done by way of communicating the message of liberation theology to the First World, a concerted effort has been made to relay the present plight of much of the world’s population. For instance, on a number of occasions John Paul II addressed the need for Christians living in the First World to stand in solidarity with poor. As a result of the growing recognition of the phenomenon of globalization, recent Catholic social thought has also emphasized the need for solidarity and continues to advocate “the preferential option for the poor.” Indeed, the Catholic social tradition is filled with incisive social critiques. In many ways, Rerum novarum prefigured and set the stage for liberation theology. Eighty years later with the liberationists in mind Pope Paul VI addressed the “flagrant inequalities that exist in the economic, cultural, and political development of nations” and called for all Christians to be actively involved in social reform (Brady 2).

The official teaching of the Catholic church has also been quite critical of certain elements of liberation theology, particularly its dependence on Marxism. Drawing from Marx’s critique of capitalism, many liberationists have advocated the abolition of private property, which runs against much of the tradition of Catholic social thought. The Vatican has also been critical of support for violent modes of resistance, which has not always been absent from liberation theology. As Brady points out, “A key point for critics of Liberation Theology was its ambiguity on the question of violence and revolution” (Brady 15). In my estimation, there is no doubt that the magisterium’s sharp criticism of some elements of liberation theology has had the unfortunate effect of stifling communication of the core challenge that liberation theology poses to First World Christians. Although the magisterium’s criticisms are often theologically justified, they nonetheless tend to provide First World Christians with a convenient way out of any feeling of moral culpability.

In response to the accusation that liberation theology supports violence, Dom Helder Camara argues that people living in poverty suffer from systemic violence. He writes, “It is common knowledge that poverty kills just as surely as the most bloody war. . . Look closely at the injustices in the underdeveloped countries, in the relations between the developed world and the underdeveloped world. You will find that everywhere the injustices are a form of violence. One can and must say that they are everywhere the basic violence No. 1″(Brady 16). Camara’s argument has the effect of turning the question of violence onto the First World Christians. He laments, “The young are losing confidence in the churches, which affirm beautiful principles, great texts, remarkable conclusions, but without ever deciding, at least so far, to translate them into real life” (Brady 16). Camara refers to the resistance of “violence No. 1″ as “violence No. 2.” He writes, “Let us repeat fearlessly and ceaselessly: injustices bring revolt” (Brady 16). The common response of governments, in the name of public order and national security, is to respond with violent repression, “violence No. 3.” Camara concludes, “If violence is met by violence, the world will fall into a spiral of violence; the only true answer to violence is to have the courage to face the injustices that constitute violence No. 1″ (Brady 17).

Camara’s conclusion poses a challenge to First World Christians and especially middle-class Christians living in the United States. In response to liberation theology and the teachings of the Catholic social tradition, many First World Christians seek to live in solidarity with the poor in Latin America and around the world. Indeed, when First World Christians read stories from the liberationists about the plight of the Third World, we are moved and feel a sense of compassion. When we read the accounts of Archbishop Oscar Romero taking a stand against injustice, we admire his courage and there is a real sense in which we would like to stand with him. All of this is good, however, what we sometimes forget is that we are the oppressors! We, by virtue of being First World Christians play a part in the spiral of violence. The challenge of Camara’s argument to First World Christians is that we are violence No. 1.

For Christians in the United States it is crucial to remember that the neo-liberal economic models imposed on Latin America, the torture techniques of the counterinsurgency, and many of the weapons used to commit atrocities in the region, come from the United States. It would be disingenuous for us therefore to simply state that we are in solidarity with Latin Americans, without recognizing the part we play in the grave injustices. In his letter Paul condemns the Corinthians for worshipping idols (10:14-21) and eating while others go hungry (11:21-22), for “there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread” (10:17). William Cavanaugh reflects on what this might mean for First World Christians. He writes, “Discerning the body must mean being able to identify truthfully where the body is not whole, where divisions exist.” When the church discerns the body the divisions that exist are made clear. Fortunately, as Cavanaugh points out, “our eucharistic communion gives us hope that this is not the final word. Besides shining a light on the divisions that exist, discerning the body includes an exercise in dissolving those divisions, blurring the lines between ‘them’ and ‘us.’” The plight of the Latin Americans of which the liberationists speak also truly becomes the plight of the First World Christians. As Cavanaugh states, “Christ invites us to experience that suffering as our suffering, suffering that takes place in our very body. What a difference that would make in the tolerance we have for the outrages done in our name.”