CONTINUING THE CONVERSATION.

A response to Christopher Ruddy Christopher Ruddy ["Young Theologians," April 21] has written an intriguing and challenging essay on the state of academic theology and its relation to the church [see also, Correspondence, this issue, page 4]. He thinks the mandatum--formal episcopal approval to teach theology--will not "scare away" potential students of theology, even though it appears to be more an "instrument of control" than a means of cultivating a genuine ecclesial theology. Despite that, Ruddy seems to have doubts about the value of academic freedom and the "shrillness" of its defenders on Catholic college and university campuses.

Ruddy writes that theology should be more "effectual," that is, "make a difference in the life of the church." It's hard to disagree with this goal. And Ruddy thinks that academic theology can do so only if young theologians are given spiritual formation and encouraged to focus their efforts more on writing for popular journals than for "myopic and arcane publications" that are produced "for the sake of gaining tenure and promotion." He proposes that theologians write and speak in a more popular vein, and that tenure committees give these activities more weight in their deliberations.

Ruddy overlooks the fact that theologians spend a great deal of time teaching college students, and that this is where their impact is felt most broadly. The classroom is the context in which students are most likely to ask, or be asked, critical questions about social justice, moral integrity, political responsibility, sexual morality, and ecological concerns. This is where theology is "most relevant" to the church, for the classroom provides a sustained, disciplined opportunity for students to deepen their understanding of the faith, and it offers them an unparalleled chance to ask questions, air grievances, and debate matters of theological import within a constructive context. The vast majority of American Catholics never read America or Commonweal, but many are brought into the world of theological inquiry through Catholic higher education. This is where the theologian who publishes in even the most "arcane" and "myopic" journals makes an important difference in the lives of ordinary Catholics; it would be unjust, and inaccurate, to ignore this.

Ruddy makes valuable points, but his essay suffers from a lack of clarity and balance. He complains that too few theologians write about issues of concern for the contemporary church, but this is clearly not the case. I know many theologians who engage in public theological discussions, both in print and at conferences, that appeal to a broad audience. Theologians are not professional journalists, but most are willing to contribute to popular journals when they think they have something to say that will shed light on an important issue. And no wonder some theologians have reservations about taking a public stance on a contentious issue. Had Charles Curran stayed in a scholarly "cocoon," he would not have been dismissed from The Catholic University of America. But more to Ruddy's point, contributing to popular journals is neither more nor less "ecclesial" than publishing in scholarly journals. Writing an essay for Theological Studies or the Heythrop Journal contributes to the life of the church, even if it is not something folks will mention over the dinner table or at the neighborhood block party. John Courtney Murray's famous Theological Studies articles on religious liberty may not have been immediately discussed in rectories or from pulpits, but they had a major, long-term impact on the life of the church. Theologians, after all, are called to contribute to theological knowledge for its own sake. As in the other liberal arts, theology is not merely a means, as Cardinal Newman observed in the The Idea of a University, but "an end sufficient to rest in and to pursue for its own sake." Newman's view seems to contrast sharply with Ruddy's, who, in demanding that theology be "relevant," adopts an American pragmatic approach to the value of the discipline. True, we value theology for its positive effects on the life of the church, but we also recognize, with Newman, that it ought to be valued for its own sake.

An additional consideration: The serious study of theology takes a great deal of time, training, and focused energy. To produce a sound, informed, and scholarly article, say, on Saint Thomas Aquinas's theory of the soul, is not the same exercise as cranking out an op-ed piece on the rescue of Elian Gonzalez. The scholarly training that is essential to theological studies--in languages, history, doctrine, philosophy, etc.--takes many years to master. In fact, it continues throughout a theologian's career. Graduate students and junior professors are wisely advised to devote their time and energy to developing scholarly skills so that some day they will become competent, productive theologians. How else, given theology's richness and complexity, will young theologians be able, as Ruddy desires, "to pass on the church's liturgical and social riches to our own and future generations"? Perhaps Ruddy is correct in saying that the mandatum will not drive away young theologians from Catholic settings (though I have my doubts, and even some anecdotal evidence, to the contrary). But changing the criteria for tenure and promotion to give priority to popular writing and speaking would, over the long haul, have the effect of "dumbing down" faculties of theology, and it would seriously compromise the academic credibility of theology as a discipline that belongs on university campuses.

Ruddy makes an unsupported generalization that scholarly publication is "all for the sake of gaining tenure and promotion." Career advancement is, of course, no less a motive for academicians than for other professionals (including journalists). But Ruddy ignores the counterevidentiary fact that many of the most prolific writers are academics who already have tenure. Some write, to be sure, out of a need for ego gratification and public acclaim. But many others publish precisely because they care about the discipline of theology, the public good, and, yes, the church.

Nor is it apparent why Ruddy dismisses scholarly journals as "myopic," when in fact specialization is a necessary prerequisite for the advancement of scholarship, Christian scholarship included. It was, in fact, the massive scholarship of Congar, de Lubac, Chenu, Rahner, and others that prepared the way for Vatican II.

It's hard to tell to what extent Ruddy speaks for "younger theologians." I suspect he expresses the point of view of one segment of this group that would like a richer sense of Catholic identity and that feels the intellectual activity of theology needs to be complemented with a deep personal piety and communal identity. This desire is laudable. But it is a need that ought to be met not by theology departments per se but by active engagement in campus prayer groups, retreats, service programs, and the ordinary life of a local parish. It can be addressed more radically by becoming involved in intentional communities like those of Sant'Egidio or the Catholic Worker. Spiritual formation, like moral growth, therapeutic healing, or political and social responsibility, is a good thing; indeed, spiritual formation is essential to discipleship. But the academic study of theology is not to be confused with monasticism. Though its prerequisite, effect, and complement, spiritual formation is not the proper focus of theological education.

Lay theologians, as Ruddy notes, do not have the institutional supports that were given to their clerical forebears like John A. Ryan or Bernard Lonergan. On the positive side, this absence forces lay theologians to take active responsibility for their lifestyle, spiritual formation, and participation in the life of the church. Lay people most often become devoted to theology as a result of having begun to appropriate their own faith. They do not take up the study of theology because a bishop needs them to fill a slot on the seminary faculty. Most Catholic students I know who decide to commit to a lifetime of teaching, studying, and writing theology do so because they have discovered, to use von Balthasar's term (die Sendung), their own sense of personal "mission." Often this calling is pursued in spite of misunderstanding by peers, discouragement from family, and short- and long-term financial sacrifices.

It seems, then, that the last thing we need to do is minimize the contribution of theologians to the church or to lament their academic professionalization. Rather than create an unnecessary and false dichotomy that separates thinking ex corde ecclesiae from thinking ex corde academiae, we need to understand more deeply that the latter is, in its own distinctive and rigorous way, a special kind of participation in the former. In this way we are more likely to become, to quote the Vatican's Instruction on the Ecclesial Vocation of the Theologian, "servants of the word and of the people of God."

Stephen J. Pope is associate professor and director of undergraduate studies in the theology department at Boston College.

A second opinion Only by using the word in its most Pickwickian sense would I ever call myself a "young" theologian. Indeed, I belong, at least chronologically, to that post-fifty generation--so effectively dissected by Christopher Ruddy in his article "Young Theologians"--whose mental clocks, in his amusing image, seem to have stopped dead in 1968 with the encyclical Humanae vitae.

Yet despite my age, I found myself agreeing with most of what he wrote. Certainly much of his experience matches my own. I recall the time early in my postdoctoral career when I published an article in America on Cardinal Newman. In my naivete I had assumed that publication in a magazine with such a large circulation (relatively speaking) would be greeted with a congratulatory nod by my colleagues. Although at the time I was only a visiting professor in a nontenure track at a secular university, I can still remember the shock when my chairman--a man genuinely committed to promoting my best interests--told me such work actually counts against promotion.

An even greater shock came when I was later told the same thing about translations. Once again, I had always assumed that a theologian's first obligation is to hand on the Great Tradition of the church and only secondarily to try to speak in propria persona. Since I was working at the time on an introductory book on Hans Urs von Balthasar, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to translate two of his books. No, I was told: although certainly not a blot on my copybook, translations would only count in my favor provided they did not cut into the appropriate number of books and refereed articles.

I recently had to review a book by a theologian whose stances on various issues evinced a genuine pastoral sensitivity; unfortunately, his book was couched in such plodding, sawdust prose and larded with, on average, more than two hundred endnotes per chapter that I wonder if the book will ever be read by more than a hundred people. Because of Ruddy's courageous manifesto, we now know the reason why.

But at the risk of having Ruddy relegate me once more to the old folks' bench in Theology Park, I would also like to register a demurral or two. First, is it really necessary to the well-being and healthy functioning of a theologian to be affirmed by the local ordinary in the quasi-therapeutic way that the author recommends? If the state of theology--its capitulation to the norms of secular academia, its footnote-mongering, its professional isolation--is as bad as Ruddy claims, then why would a bishop want to plead for scraps of wisdom from the theologian's table?

Second, I wonder whether the author of this generally well-observed essay has noticed that his own dissertation topic smacks of the old saw about rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. Of course, Ruddy has a right to follow his interests, and I certainly wish him well in his new career. But do we really need another in-house hassle over papal primacy versus episcopal collegiality?

Yes, in the wider scheme of things, the issue is a real one. But even granting the legitimacy of the topic (however low it may rank in the hierarchy of truths), was Ruddy really allowed full scope to argue the issue at Notre Dame's theology department? He makes it clear that his own position roughly resembles that of Archbishop John Quinn. What if some more contrary student had wished to argue that the example of the current pope would indicate the plausible need for a strong papal primacy?

What remains ultimately worrisome is the way theological liberalism has congealed into an ideology, an ideology that will brook no opposition to the party line. A good example is the recent silencing by the Holy Cross Fathers of Father James Tunstead Burtchaell, who has been told by his order that he may no longer speak out in support of his latest book, The Dying of the Light, a devastating account of how Christian universities across the board have capitulated to secularism. When the nation's most articulate defender of Ex corde ecclesiae is silenced, Catholics can at least be amused at this extra fillip of irony: that liberal academics in Catholic universities and their sponsoring religious orders are resorting to the very tactics that have made Henri de Lubac, Yves Congar, and Pierre Teilhard de Chardin the heroes of theological liberalism!

I have also been struck by how willing liberal theologians have become to engage in personal attack. Attacks on the good name of Cardinal Joseph Bernardin in the pages of some organs of right-wing Catholicism during the days of his tribulation facing down false accusations of sexual abuse rightly met with near-universal condemnation; but innuendos by liberals against conservatives go unnoticed. This might be due partly to the fact that most personal attacks from liberals take place in tribal settings or otherwise away from the public eye, such as in phone conversations and confidential letters of recommendation. But I can still remember the published letter from a member of the Catholic Theological Society of America (CTSA) accusing a critic of the CTSA of committing a mortal sin (!) for the effrontery of criticizing most members of the CTSA for their left-wing bias, neglect of the Great Tradition, and ignorance of ancient languages.

It is a sign of how shrill and personal such attacks have become when one realizes that both the critic of the CTSA and the letter writer attacking him are members of the same theology department. I wish Ruddy well, but I fear he has a long row to hoe.

Edward T. Oakes, S.J., teaches in the religious studies department of Regis University, Denver, Colorado.

The author replies: I can address only a few of Stephen Pope's welcome questions. First, I agree that undergraduate teaching is a prime opportunity for theology to contribute to the life of the church and society. But has that opportunity really been taken advantage of? I am not as confident as Pope is that it has. What do we make of the irony, as Nicholas Lash notes in The Tablet (April 15), that the best-educated laity in the history of the church is largely theologically illiterate--Catholic higher-education graduates included?

Second, I do not have "doubts about the value of academic freedom"; I value it deeply and, in particular, fear what may happen (and has happened) in the United States to sexual ethicists and ecclesiologists (see Paul Saunders, Commonweal, April 21). I do doubt that there is a single model of academic freedom, one that sees all episcopal involvement as an inherent violation of institutional autonomy.

Third, Pope makes no mention of either the bishops or my comments about them, and so overlooks that I hold the bishops--as heads of their local churches--accountable for fostering the conditions necessary for vital Christian communities and theology. I say nowhere that theology departments are responsible for spiritual formation, and I take Pope's mention of "monasticism" to be a red herring, which absolves the academy of spiritual integration by raising the specter of the monastic choir.

Fourth, and most important, I do not hold that academic standards should be "dumbed down" in order to encourage ecclesial and societal engagement. Rather, I would raise the bar for both tasks, thereby demanding of theologians more rigor and relevance. It is no coincidence that the theologians I mentioned in my article are also among the academy's most distinguished members. John Courtney Murray, whom Pope cites as a publicly significant scholar, is further confirmation. Murray wrote regularly not only for Theological Studies but for America on issues like religious freedom, liberalism, and the papal encyclicals. Perhaps we should acknowledge that first-rate theologians--those who render extraordinary service to academy, church, and society--like the late Raymond Brown and Richard McCormick, are rare indeed, a providential combination of innate ability, rigorous training, and timing. Such acknowledgment does not, however, excuse us from responsibility for such formation. On this score, I am unrepentant in my belief that both the bishops and the academy are falling short.

As for Edward Oakes's response, I thank him for his kind words. However, I have no desire to have my hand held by any bishop. My goal is not therapeutic affirmation by the bishops, but honest dialogue between bishops and theologians; egos will be bruised on both sides. Second, only one part of one chapter of my dissertation touches on primacy and collegiality. I am writing on Jean-Marie Tillard's theology of the local church. A French Dominican, Tillard was a peritus at Vatican II, and is contemporary Catholicism's foremost ecclesiologist and ecumenist. His thought, biblically and patristically grounded, exposes the vacuity of labels like liberal and conservative and makes a substantial contribution to the life of the church.

Finally, I freely grant that my project has found a sympathetic ear in Notre Dame's theology department. Nonetheless, my dissertation board includes contributors to Commonweal, Communio, Crisis, and Theological Studies--surely no party line there! That said, ideology and peer pressure exist everywhere, in every department, and in every job--inside and outside of academia. Ultimately, my Commonweal article will have merit only insofar as it helps to continue a frank and respectful conversation, such as this one.