Pope Benedict XVI constantly deplores what
he sees as the triumph of secularism over Christianity in western
cultures. On my part, I find that
secular readings of biblical themes often offer more profound moral insights than
those inscribed in his pronouncements and those issued by the Roman Curia. The reason for this tragic state of affairs
seems obvious. The western literary
tradition is an on-going dialogue among three strands, literature, philosophy
and theology. Over the course of
centuries, the philosophical and theological strands implicitly vied for
authority over this dialogue. In the
Middle Ages, Aquinas sought to resolve the issue in a Summa Theologica designed to present philosophy as the handmaid of
theology. But the very idea of a Summa promised a comprehensive and
complete belief-system consisting of clearly formulated doctrines. In effect, it promised a belief-system which
satisfied the dictates of reason. And
the rule of reason in theological analyses and inquiries promoted the ultimate
triumph of philosophy over theology in the Modern Era.
The rule of reason over philosophical and
theological inquiries generated fruitful abstractions, but literature remained
the arena in which their pretensions were subjected to the test of everyday experience. To a great extent, however, Catholic and
Protestant theologians in the Modern Era engaged in a misplaced debate which
trapped them into a polemical defense of either Scripture alone or of Scripture
interpreted by Tradition as the word of God to sinful humans. By default, honest searchers concerned with a
quest for a more fully human and uniquely personal existence were forced to
explore everyday experience in a Nihilistic context.
In this context, Pope Benedict seems quite
unable to see the fruitful ways that secularism develops the inner logic of the
biblical tradition. Three examples stand
out. (1)
The American secular religion encodes a conception of religious freedom
that members of the Catholic hierarchy still resist. (2)
Since inequalities are repositories of violence, the secular tradition
exposes the will to power espoused by ecclesiastical authorities who refuse to
recognize the import of Paul's assertion that, in Christ Jesus, there is
neither male nor female. (3) Recent popes have tried to impose Aquinas'
ethical theory on all. To support their
moral judgments, they argue that there are only two alternatives, an objective
morality or a rank subjectivism (which is, of course, a rank relativity
also). They fail to understand that
Israel's great prophets forged a moral discourse which revealed that a host of
moral issues lie, inextricably, at the core of any human action and
assertion. They continue to wed
themselves to narrow judgments on tangled moral issues. (Sadly, the postmodernist movement recovered
this insight, but used it to support a hermeneutics of suspicion.)
An incarnational theology supplemented by
the metaphors of intimacy projected by Israel's great prophets offers a moral
discourse which recognizes moral issues inherent in the personal, social,
political and religious dimensions of life.
Since its moral authority depends on its ability to evoke a longing for
a fully human and uniquely personal existence, it is a moral discourse without
foundations. Because it locates moral
discourse in a nihilistic rather than a naturalistic context, it evokes a
suspicion of judgments grounded in Aquinas' baptism of Aristotelian
metaphysics.
The metaphors of intimacy projected by
Israel's prophets play a crucial role in this moral discourse. On a positive note, they evoke a longing for
a more fully human and uniquely personal existence through deepening
person-to-person involvements. And they
use this longing to validate protests which target the metaphor of power and
judgment invoked by those concerned to maintain a status quo.
Consequently, those who embrace an
incarnational theology can be forgiven if they suspect that Pope Benedict's
damnation of secularism is interwoven with his determination to solidify the
imperial papacy of Pope John Paul II.
Such suspicion is a minimal moral response to the inexcusable failure of
Pope John Paul II, Cardinals, Archbishops and Bishops to see the horror of the
abuse of boys by clergy. On a broader
scale, it suggests that the worship of an imperial papacy shares the fatal flaw
of any totalitarian form of government.
That flaw: to prevent adherents from discovering that the emperor has no
clothes, the rule of the Papacy must foster secrecy and deception, including
self-deception. (Members of the American
hierarchy excused their actions on the grounds that they had to protect the
faithful from crises in faith that the scandal might provoke.)
In a more focused critique, an incarnation
theology suggests that the powers-that-be in the institutional Church are more
concerned with presenting Jesus as fully God than with his incarnational
presence as fully human. To support this
focus, they silence theologians who reject the language of redemption which
depicts Jesus as a mediator between God and sinners. And since this narrow definition of the
purpose of the Incarnation perpetuates the devaluation of Jesus' fully human
existence, a secular humanism can explore what it means to be fully human more
honestly than a theology of transcendence.
In the end, I embrace an incarnational
theology which calls me to intimate interactions with Jesus, fully human as
well as fully God. And whenever I live
my commitment to that quest in my everyday interactions with others, I discover
that there is no formula for love.
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