Milbank and the papal cosh

The latest issue of Modern Theology features a handful of articles from key figures associated with the operation of the journal–whether formally or informally–throughout its twenty-five year history. The founder and former editor of the journal, Kenneth Surin, has a short “Retrospect/Prospect” article in the issue that reflects on the early establishment and formation of the journal in the context of the theological and political climate in Britain in the 1980s. Surin’s speculations on the “prospects” for academic theology praises recent developments in political theology, but bemoans the state of Roman Catholic theology. In comparison to 1945-1980, the time of the early liberation theology, Rahner, von Balthasar, de Lubac, Congar, Küng, Metz, Schillebeeckx, and Kasper, ”the last couple of decades have shown themselves to be a period of relative intellectual quiescence” (8). If the Roman Catholic church had opened its proverbial windows during the time of the Second Vatican Council, under the last two popes, in Surin’s view, “the shutters have been drawn again.” But, perhaps, it is no longer possible to be the “creative protagonist of a manifest ‘church poetics’ (in the manner of de Lubac and Congar, say)” in the Roman Catholic church. This “intellectual quiescence,” according to Surin, is largely the consequence of a “large papal cosh” which has for the past thirty years continually “descended on the heads of those suspected of deviancy in doctrinal matters” (9). However, as Nicholas Lash rightly points out, there were plenty of “large papal coshes” during the “golden age” of Catholic theology, including silencing and banishing, but in the end many of these thinkers were made cardinals. In other words, as Lash puts it, “there is little evidence that ‘papal coshes’stifle theological creativity” (51). Evidently, in Surin’s view, the theological situation is quite a bit better in Anglicanism–at least one could scarcely imagine, for instance, Rowan Williams leading some sort of an inquisition against John Milbank or Graham Ward in the way the “dreadful Cardinal Ratzinger” attacked Leonardo Boff and liberation theology. Again, Lash responds, I think rightly, by questioning the wisdom of such high praise for Anglicanism considering the current disaster in which the Anglican communion finds itself.

It is instructive to compare Ken Surin’s article with John Milbank’s article later in the issue. According to Milbank, the debate within Catholic theology is the only truly “vital” one. In fact, in typical Milbank fashion he offers us a ridiculous provocation: “a definitively Protestant theology is now extinct” (26). The divide in the theological world is no longer between “neo-orthodoxy” and “liberal theology,” but between what Milbank calls the “classical” and “romantic” “modes of orthodoxy.” For Milbank, the Barthians ended up utterly irrelevant–locked within their “fideist ghetto”–equally, liberal theology’s irrelevance was due to its constant embrace of cultural norms. So, apparently for the past twenty-five years theologians have been trying to seek out new modes of critical mediation–but, of course, Milbank is sure to remind us that a recovery of the analogia entis is the only solution, the only way to remain critical of secularism while remaining relevant. Now what is perhaps especially interesting about Milbank’s article is that he locates the new “vital” theological debate and indeed the new divide as a distinctly Roman Catholic one. Milbank sums up his understanding of the two positions: the former [the "romantic"] sees Wordsworth’s “feeling intellect” as lying at the heart of theology, while the latter [the "classical"] sees the role of an entirely “objective reason” as vital for theological practice” (28). Representatives of the “romantic” mode of orthodoxy are perhaps more readily obvious–essentially, Milbank is referring to the intellectual descendants of ressourcement and the nouveau theologie movement of which Communio, despite its problems, remains an important voice. Insofar as the “romantics” follow this line of tradition they are to be considered “radically orthodox” and so in common cause with the “fundamental outlook” of Radical Orthodoxy. Now, representatives of the “classical” mode of orthodoxy are quite a bit more obscure–here Milbank is thinking of the Thomism of Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange, which is apparently making a comeback. This “classical” mode of orthodoxy is rationalistic and, in Milbank’s view, really could learn something from de Lubac’s rethinking of the natural-supernatural distinction. Now, we all know where Milbank stands, but what is interesting is that on more than one occasion Milbank seems to suggest that Ratzinger  is the most faithful representative of this “romantic” mode of orthodoxy. In stark contrast to Surin’s account then, not only are the really vital debates in theology happening within Roman Catholicism, but that which in Milbank’s mind is most radically orthodox is nothing but Surin’s dreadful “papal cosh.” In fact, Milbank is quite explicit about his support of Ratzinger’s ecclesiology and the need for the type of authority in the church that Surin condemns.

Of course the real irony is the fact that Milbank remains protestant. One wonders whether Milbank is really willing to commit–to obediently submit himself to the “papal cosh” of the “dreadful” Pope Benedict XVI.

The dangers of reactionary ecclesiologies

Is it theologically problematic that the core convictions of many contemporary accounts of the church seem fundamentally reactionary in character? Does this reflect a loss of confidence in the gospel or at least some feelings of insecurity? It seems to me that Radical Orthodoxy is probably the most obvious “movement” in theology that seems almost exclusively oriented toward positing the church as an “alternative” to modernity, liberalism, individualism, capitalism, nihilism, the nation-state, fill in the blank. Now while I think there are certain helpful insights to be gained from John Milbank and RO, I am uncomfortable with the highly reactionary character of their work. I wonder if this tendency extends beyond RO.

In his insightful essay “Ecclesiology and Communion,” Nicholas Healy suggests that much of post-Vatican II “communion ecclesiology” tends to idealize the church and therefore lends itself to ideological distortion. He argues that, when coupled with a realized eschatology, communion ecclesiology conceives the church “primarily in terms of an attained or always-already grace-given perfection–communion–its need for continual reform and repentance can too easily be forgotten.” The question for Healy then is whether the concept of communion can do the critical work necessary in order to avoid a sort of valorization of “community.” Healy sees this approach problematically at work in John Zizioulas, Jean-Marie Tillard, Joseph Ratzinger, and also in the approaches of the so-called “new ecclesiology,” which consists of thinkers like Stanley Hauerwas, George Lindbeck, Reinhard Hütter, and others.

Now certainly this phenomenon is not a particularly modern or postmodern one. The church has always defined itself against internal and external forces. One thinks, for example, of the role of Augustine’s dispute with the Donatists in formulating his own constructive ecclesiology. But Healy thinks that there is an evident shift in recent times. Healy, for example, criticizes Zizioulas and Tillard for identifying church membership with salvation, thereby collapsing ecclesiology and soteriology, and defining the characteristics of ecclesial existence against what is lacking in the world outside the church. To Zizioulas and Tillard, “to become a member of the church,” in Healy’s words, “is to be saved from a world that is corrupt and sinful so as to live as God lives, in communion.”

Healy’s central fear is that the strong emphasis on the church’s practices coupled with the polemics against the world’s practices tends to neglect the place of divine action. Such accounts “foster a confusion of sanctification with salvation and ecclesiology with soteriology.” The point here is not to deny the centrality of the church, but to highlight that membership in the church does not bring about salvation–it is rather Christ who saves. Healy also notes that the independence of the Holy Spirit is downplayed. The Spirit must always “move us if we are to perform any right action, even when we have the virtues for it.” And, indeed, the Spirit is free to act, even within the modern liberal world. Further, Healy observes the lack of an account of the Word as judgment on the church as well as the world. Healy’s central concern is that an idealized view of the church and its practices tends to neglect the real independence and freedom of the Son and the Spirit.

Healy suggests that what binds the communion ecclesiologies and the so-called “new ecclesiology” together is, in part, their reactionary character, namely, their common opposition to modernity. Just as the Roman Catholic church in the face of modern atheism tended to abandon the narrative of the gospel for apologetic philosophical and scientific proofs to ground belief in God, perhaps contemporary ecclesiology makes a parallel move when it shifts attention away from Christ’s saving acts to the church and its saving acts. As Healy puts it, “Perhaps the outrageousness of the gospel claims may seem less outrageous when they are placed within a critical account of the woes of modernity and how we may be saved from them.” In this way, ecclesiology takes on a distinctly apologetic function, “that of ameliorating the starkness of the gospel claims by situating them within a communal solution to contemporary social problems that appeals to well-meaning moderns and postmoderns.”

The benefits of good advisors

I have had the good fortune of having the brilliant Gerald Schlabach as my thesis advisor. Among the many benefits of having Gerald supervise my thesis on Bonhoeffer and Yoder, have been the various personal anecdotes Gerald has shared with me about the man John Howard Yoder and the broader Mennonite context in which Yoder lived and breathed. It is difficult to convey how mind-boggling it is to talk with your advisor about your thesis and have him respond with, “Oh, so and so, was my neighbor, my father is actually writing a biography on him right now…” Another excellent benefit is the access Gerald has given me to a vast array of unpublished Yoder material.

I’ve now spent two years working on an MA at an ultra-conservative Catholic seminary with a whole host of issues. I have to say Gerald has been all too patient with me through the height of my rather serious misgivings about Catholic theology–assuring me that one can be both Catholic and politically radical!–and he’s been supportive of my decision to become a member of the Mennonite church of which his wife, Joetta, is a pastor. If all goes as planned, I’ll be completing my thesis within the next month or two, teaching as an adjunct instructor at St. Thomas in the Fall, and preparing doctoral applications.

Michael Novak at St. Thomas

Michael Novak, the Catholic neoconservative theologian comes to town on Wednesday, October 29 to deliver a lecture at 7:30 p.m. entitled, “Career or Calling? Business as a Vocation” at the Thornton Auditorium of Terrence Murphy Hall on St. Thomas’ downtown Minneapolis campus. It is free and open to the public.

Novak is one of the most painful theologians to read, and I’m sure it will be worse listening to him spout off on how capitalism and America are God’s gifts to the world. In his perspecitve, America is not quite the kingdom of God, but it is damn close. Novak has been a staunch supporter of U.S. involvement in Iraq, Afghanistan, and indeed all over the world, militarily and economically.

If you want to join me let me know! It will be great fun!

Balthasar on the First Vatican Council and Natural Theology

In his famous work The Theology of Karl Barth Hans Urs von Balthasar defends Catholicism against Karl Barth’s accusations that “natural theology” is firmly embedded in the Catholic tradition. In order to do this von Balthasar has to acknowledge the decrees of the First Vatican Council that seem to explicitly and rather crudely assert precisely the sort of natural theology that Barth criticizes; namely that knowledge of God is attainable by natural reason independent of God’s revelation in Christ. The council decreed:

Holy Mother Church holds and teaches that God, the origin and end of all things, can be known with certainty by the natural light of human reason from the things that he has made. . . Furthermore, the perpetual universal belief of the Catholic Church has held and now holds that there are two orders of knowledge distinct not only in origin but also in object. They are distinct in origin because in one, we know by means of natural reason; in the other, by faith. And they are distinct in object, because beyond what natural reason can attain we have proposed to us as objects to be believed mysteries that are hidden in God and that, unless divinely revealed, can never be known. (Denzinger 1785 and 1795).

In order to defend Catholicism against Barth’s allegation that this decree supports natural theology, von Balthasar develops a complex argument that analyzes the development of Catholic theology from Aquinas to the First Vatican Council and beyond. Now, I don’t want to lay out his whole argument, but I would like to highlight one element of his argument that specifically addresses this oft-cited decree of Vatican I.

Von Balthasar quotes Michael Schmaus’ Katholische Dogmatik to support his argument:

The Vatican Council asserts the possibility but not the factual actuality of a natural knowledge of God. Human reason possesses, without the additional infusion of grace by God to take it beyond its own powers, the ability of finding ways that lead to God. Human nature is thus capable . . . within salvation history – and thus even after the Fall – of finding valid reasons for the existence of God from contemplating creation in itself . . . (Theology of Karl Barth, 307).

For von Balthasar, Schmaus points out an important distinction in the decree between the possibility and actuality of natural knowledge of God. In this perspective, one can maintain, with the Council, that natural knowledge of God is possible outside of God’s self-revelation in Christ, but that it has never been actualized. Of course, von Balthasar’s argument does not stand or fall on whether or not this is a valid interpretation of Vatican I; his analysis of Aquinas and developing Catholic theology is much more complex than what I have only briefly noted here. But, I thought this was an interesting point to raise; I had never even considered that the wording of this decree only affirms the possibility of natural theology.

“The Invention of the Anti-Christ”: Notes on its Persistence in Catholic Moral Theology

In 1932 Karl Barth offered a scathing critique of theological modernism. Although much of his attacks were directed at liberal Protestantism, Barth equally condemned the Roman Catholic church for its doctrine of the analogia entis (analogy of being). For Barth this doctrine was the invention of the anti-Christ. Barth thought that Catholic theology followed a formal analogy wherein an analysis of nature or being was taken up first only to later be read into faith. In Barth’s view, this led to a wrongful legitimation of the secular order, which bracketed political and economic life out of the realm of Christ. In Barth’s perspective, the analogia entis in Catholic thought was symptomatic of a deeply rooted Christological problem found especially in Thomas Aquinas and affecting all of Catholicism. According to Barth, beginning from nature rather than grace implicitly suggests a sort of dualism in Christ’s two natures, which pits Christ’s humanity against his divinity and unacceptably bifurcates the person of Christ so that one nature can exist self-sufficiently without the other. Although Barth correctly locates this position in much of post-Tridentine Catholic thought, he wrongly accuses Thomas Aquinas of

holding such a bastardized notion of the analogia entis. As Henri de Lubac rightly argued, Aquinas never conceived of “pure nature” independent of God’s supernatural grace and therefore did not pit nature against Christology.

Despite Barth’s critiques of the analogia entis and de Lubac’s reinterpretation of Thomas Aquinas’ construal of the relationship between nature and grace, much of contemporary Catholic theology continues to treat nature as an ontological and epistemological category independent of grace. This understanding of nature can be found in Catholic moral theologians as diverse as Jean Porter, Gerard Hughes, and Timothy O’Connell. Each of these theologians maintain an understanding of the relationship between nature and grace that requires one to choose between either nature or Christology. The common assumption is that if one begins with Christology, then one’s work is not sufficiently universal. The effect of this, according to these Catholic moralists, is that such an approach lacks the ability to transcend confessional particularities, rendering moral theologians useless in finding common moral ground with other traditions.

It seems evident that the persistence of such an approach to moral theology is not just the result of a mere misinterpretation of Aquinas, for since Henri de Lubac and the Second Vatican Council this view has been under attack. Rather, such an approach arises out of a deep concern for common moral ground in the context of a radically diverse and pluralistic world. It is, indeed, a world that Aquinas could not have imagined. It is typically assumed that if we cannot appeal to some form of natural knowledge of the good, then we cannot speak to others outside of our tradition, at least not on any rational ground. The argument for a self-contained natural knowledge, however, presumes the ability to transcend all particularity. The attempt to transcend particularity, in part, is a fear rooted in the belief that too much particularity causes conflict and violence. Thus, there is the underlying assumption that such approaches are more “inclusive” and “world-affirming” and avoid “sectarianism” or “exclusivism.” Of course, the “common” approach of which I speak is not monolithic, nor is it peculiar to Catholicism. Obviously, Karl Rahner’s “anonymous” Christianity is different from the pluralism of a John Hick or Paul Knitter. Still, all seem to share a common mode of discourse, which presumes that one must choose between either being more or less “exclusive” or more or less “inclusive.”

Of course, the assertion that Christology is the proper starting point of theological and moral reflection has profound ecclesiological implications and it does, indeed, effect how we speak to people of other traditions. Despite the assumptions of some neo-Thomism, however, basing morality on Christological convictions does not condemn Christian convictions to sectarianism. Indeed, such a position is surely suspicious of claims to transcend particularity and confessional traditions, especially when such claims are proposed to stand alone or seen as more fundamental than faith convictions. For, as John Howard Yoder noted, claims to natural moral knowledge tend to not consider that “dominant moral views of any known world are oppressive, provincial, or (to say it theologically) ‘fallen’” (The Priestly Kingdom 40). In his view, “There is no “public” that is not just another particular province” (The Priestly Kingdom 40). In other words, claims to universality are always rooted, in some degree or another, in a particular tradition. Such a view does not entail a position of moral relativism, but instead it attempts to take seriously the universally salvific character of God’s unique self-revelation in Christ.

Novak on the (Christian?) hope for the universal spread of capitalism

Even though the best hope of the poor on earth lies in the universal spread and deeper development of democratic capitalist systems, much fresh thinking is needed to deepen the present intellectual and moral foundations of democratic capitalist societies. . . .Within a Jewish and Christian horizon, the road toward an earthly approximation of the kingdom of God streches very far into the future. There is no danger of confusing sin, imperfection, and suffering that characterize democratic capitalist societies with the kingdom of God. For humans, given their liberty, do often what they should not do, and do not do what they should. What can at least be said, though, is that no existing alternative seems more adequately suited both to eliciting human creativity and to deflecting human weakness into watchfulness. It does the former by adding to the tinder of talent “the fire of interest,” and the latter by assigning private interest to be a sentinel to public good.

Michael Novak, The Catholic Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (New York: The Free Press, 1993) 60-61.

Michael Novak on globalization

If a Catholic cannot feel confident in a time of globalization, what is the point in bearing the name ‘Catholic,’ which is another name for global? (The imperative for globalization began with the commission ‘Go preach the gospels to all nations,’ which turned Christianity away from being the religion of one tribe or one people only, and commanded it to see the whole human race as one people of God.) Globalization is the natural ecology of the Catholic faith.

Michael Novak, “Catholic Social Teaching, Markets, and the Poor,” in Doug Bandow and David Schindler, Wealth, Poverty, and Human Destiny (Wilmington: ISI Books, 2003) 56.

Natural Law and Speaking in the Secular Voice

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?

Anticommunism and U.S. Catholic Nationalism

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).