We Live By Faith - But Faith in What?

At the cost of sounding like Paul, we live by faith. But I don’t mean this in the exact same way as blessed Paul. I mean it in a much more mundane, less soteriological, way.

My life is one surrounded and inundated with religion. The words spoken around me, the symbols that adorn my walls, the texts that I read for both my own edification and my professional life – they all scream religion, religion, and more religion.

Religious beliefs, and all beliefs for that matter, are grounded in some authority, some tradition that has been handed over to us. Even non-believers have faith, in something, and that something has also been handed over. Every concept, every ideology, every interpretation about the meaning of things has been formed from the preexisting artifacts that inform and form our cultures. These artifacts are our various authorities giving definition to the meanings of our worlds.

Many religious people are under the impression that their explicit beliefs derive from a divine origin. Religious institutions are there to assure such divine foundations. They have been commissioned to protect and propagate these divine verities.

But when it comes to faith – not beliefs; faith and belief are not always equivalent – one wonders what a religious person is placing his/her faith in. Is it in the original charism that inspired the institution, or is it the institution itself that assures the believer of the veracity of his or her beliefs?

All institutions arise from something beyond themselves; they are not sui generis. The raison d'etre of an institution is to maintain and propagate the original inspiration, the original charism. This is usually a person, or the ideas of a person. The purpose of the institution is to point to, to be a visible sign of, the original idea or charism. But in many, if not most cases, the institution takes on a life of its own, and sometimes even deviates from the original idea or charism, and comes to believe in its own intrinsic value, turning its attention towards its own perpetuation, defending against threats to its own vitality and existence – propagating its own message and charism. When this happens, faith is no longer grounded in the original idea or charism, but in the perpetuation of and the vitality of the institution itself as an entity.

The heart of the Christian idea and charism is a human encounter with the risen Christ. That is, with a person. It is not an encounter with abstractions, with concepts, with an ideology. No doubt all relationships foster ideas, concepts, even ideologies. But it is the person-to-person encounter that is the foundation upon which the Christian grounds his/her faith – his/her trust, love, loyalty, commitment. It is in the person, which means the whole person, that this faith finds meaning. In his commissioning his apostles to carry on and propagate his teachings he entrusted fallible and limited human beings with the task of preaching the kingdom of God among other fallible and limited human beings. This means that the seeds of the teachings of the God-man were planted in very mixed soil. Soil filled with the good, the bad, the ugly, and the indifferent. These fallible and sinful human beings passed this message onto to other fallible creatures. And in the complexity of human cultural and social history, this message has been mixed with a plethora of ideologies that were, and are, contrary to the original message of the one who was without sin. Granted, the task of uncovering the original intentions and meanings of the teachings of Jesus can be, and continues to be a difficult and trying endeavor, it is utterly necessary for every generation of Christians to pursue this vital undertaking.

All institutions are formed in the matrixes of human culture. Accretions to the original message of Jesus have inevitably been incorporated into the structures of the ecclesial institution. While this is absolutely natural, the problem lies with the belief that the institution pristinely embodies the unvarnished and unchanged message given by Christ two thousand years ago. Faith in the utter and complete veracity of such an institution is not only naïve but is also delusional. There are too many in the Roman Catholic church whose faith has been grounded in the institution, even when the institution has not always been faithful to the original charism. This misplaced faith is nothing less than ecclesiolatry.

To question aspects of the institutions ‘traditions’ is paramount to heresy for many who cannot distinguish the original charism with the institution, the person of Jesus and the ecclesial structures that have developed over the centuries, an institution whose very existence is to maintain and propagate the original charism in language that is both true to its intent and spoken in a way understandable in very different cultural and social milieux.

Ecclesiolatry manifests itself every time someone damns another to hell when the other does not slavishly accept every minute teaching of the institution, an institution that, while being an instrument of the Spirit, is still very human, with all the limitations that that implies. An ecclesial institution that is not semper reformanda is one that has lost its reason for being. Faith is not in an institution; it is in the one who inspired the institution. Faith, for Christians, is in a person. It is in Jesus Christ, who was and is the only infallible person to walk among us. None of us will ever, in this lifetime, get it right, get his teachings, his charism, right. Let’s just be honest and embrace this truth. But we cannot neglect the heart of his teaching, the heart of who he was, is, and always will be – LOVE.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.

The question that I pose to every honest seeker: if the institution that has become a center for one's faith was suddenly seen in its naked reality, that is, in its all too human reality - a mixture of sin and grace - would one's faith be irrevocably shattered? Or will the profound experience with the lover of the universe, the one who loved creation into being, be enough to maintain one's commitment, trust, loyalty? If the latter is not possible because of the trust that has been given to the former, then we might be facing a case of ecclesiolatry. 

A Reflection on Catholic Academia

Dr. Timothy O’Malley has written an incredibly honest and insightful article for those who have a great desire to pursue graduate studies in theology, those who want to make a career in theological academia. I find his insights incredibly illuminating. Tim is a realist, with a touch of pragmatism. His word to the wise is imperative for those with a smidge of wisdom.

I myself lack the level of realism and pragmatism that Tim displays in this article (you should read it before going further with my little yadda, yadda. It can be found here). I am a dyed in the wool idealist. I so wish I was a realist, but I have been an idealist for so long that I am incurable. I am also a bit of a Don Quixote, tilting my lance at windmills that I find annoyingly blocking my path to my Dulcinea – my idealistic paradise.

Unlike many, or most, who pursue graduate level studies in theology, I am not beholding to the economic system that impedes those who want to delve into the depths of some specialized pool of theological wisdom. As noted in Tim’s essay, Catholic, and even secular, liberal arts education is in a precarious situation in a world that deems the bottom line to be the primary indicator of a successful education. Does it bring economic success? Institutions track graduate’s career success and use these statistics in their promotional material. My situation is different from non-religious, non-ordained students. I have a backup plan if this professor gig goes south. As an ordained presbyter in the Roman Catholic church, I dare say that I will land on my feet if the academic institution goes bust. Those without such a plan B do not have this safety net. Thus, the luxury of my being able to be an idealist.

But I would like to believe my idealism is bigger than that. I am a true believer in the promise of a liberal arts education. As someone who does not believe that we are ultimately defined by the moniker homo economicus, I believe that the best we can offer a student is not a great payout, but a deeper understanding of what it means to be truly human, to know one’s telos, which no amount of money can buy. See, I told you, an incurable idealist. In order for my idealism to become a reality society would have to fundamentally, radically (at its roots), change, and even my idealism knows the Mount Everest that is.

Another aspect of Tim’s realism that I know to be true is his statement “…academics are formed with a competitive instinct in which it’s every man or woman for him - or herself.” Unfortunately, this is true even in a Catholic theology department whose stated mission is to advance the kingdom of God. I have found this temptation for competition to be a real force even in my own idealist pursuit of this professed mission. I often feel the sting of envy when I read about those in my academic discipline making a name for themselves because of their brilliance. Instead of being grateful for their gifts I can fall into a petty revery of “I’m just as smart as them, why…blah, blah, blah.” It is the human condition. Of course, as a Girardian, I recognize the mimetic nature of this envy. But knowing this doesn’t safeguard me from these feelings.

Another aspect of my idealism is the belief that theologians are about changing the world by changing people. As our Eastern Christian brothers and sisters remind us, a theologian is one who has had a profound, life changing experience of the divine. Academics for academic’s sake does not a theologian make. A true theologian is one who has been touched and transformed by grace. Forgetting that is what fosters the competitive spirit Tim warns us about. One of my spiritual practices to deal with my envy is to praise in some public format those in my discipline (and some outside my discipline) who have written something that I believe is life giving, that brings us just a bit closer to the divine, to love, to forgiveness, to our true self. Sometimes it hurts to do so, which is an indicator that I need to do it.

My idealism will not find success in our present cultural reality. Many small liberal arts colleges and universities (including Catholic ones) are going to die, that is just a reality. An important reason for this, despite the fact that Americans are having less children, is that Christians, both Catholic and Protestant, have bought the big lie (usually unconsciously) that we are in fact homo economicus. Despite the general disparagement Karl Marx receives among Christians in this capitalist culture, there is some truth to the reality that to a certain extent the base shapes the superstructure. Regardless of the professed belief, or public confession by Christians, that as followers of Jesus we should be about the business of the kingdom of God, the lure of capitalist ideology has coopted the hermeneutics of Christian practice. The old saying, ‘put your money where your mouth is’, proves this to be the reality in US Christian culture. This is not only true for those parents who strategize where best to send their children to college, but it is also true of many Christian academics who, if given the opportunity, choose those institutions where both their reputation and their bank account is best served. There is also the issue of Catholic colleges and universities whose need for a ‘reputation’ of a quality education (read economic success) demand of academics an obeyance to certain academic practices that impede their foundational missional commitments.

See, I told you I am an idealist. I can hear the murmurs, “But Kyle, we can’t survive without money!” Yep, and where is the money going? And what cultural zeitgeist has formed the belief that a true education leads to the ultimate symbol of a good life – money? And how have those called to be heralds of the great King been complicit in this telos?

The Pathological Need For Certainty

Humans are meaning makers. Through the mystery of evolution there arose in hominization symbolic consciousness. Signs and symbols arise in such a consciousness, shaping a hermeneutics of meaning.

Charles Sanders Pierce noted that signs never have a definite meaning, as they are continuously qualified. Despite a common moniker, such as a traditional icon, word, or phrase, the meaning of the sign depends on the perceived referent in the mind and imagination of the individual, an individual living in the matrix of a particular social and cultural zeitgeist. Because of the appearance of sameness, e.g., the moniker Christ as a two-thousand-year-old symbol in Christian tradition, there is the illusion of a common meaning transcending time and space. How St. Peter understood the concept ‘Christ’ is the same as how I understand this concept – or so the illusion goes. An overly zealous attachment to such believing tends to result in a combative defensiveness when such a hermeneutics is challenged.

As social creatures, our meaning worlds are shaped in the context of various fields of play, to use Bourdieu’s sociological schema. In each of our fields (social and institutional relations) we inhabit and embody the worlds of meaning we observe and experience from the models in our social milieu. In Bourdieu’s schema, we incorporate into our consciousness the rules of the field of play. These worlds of meaning become habituated over time, forming our habitus – the embodiment of the symbols and metaphors that frame our interpreted experiences.

Humans are not only meaning makers, but in fact require meaning to be able to survive and flourish in the world. We need our meaning worlds to give us a sense of order. Disorder is vertiginous to our psychological and spiritual wellbeing. A stable and ordered meaning world increases a sense of security, a more stable and plausible foundation to stand on. Challenges to our meaning worlds, thus to our sense of security, is like an earthquake that causes us to realize, or to rage against, the fragility of our ideological constructs.

There is a ubiquitous belief that is found among many people in much of human history; the idea that there once was a golden age. In almost every era there are those who believe the present has strayed from a time in which one’s institutions, be they religious or otherwise, spoke and manifested the truth. For nineteenth century Catholicism that golden age was the 13^th century. It appears that there is a revival among a number of Catholic priests and theologians who long for this golden era, a time of comfortable stability, before the onslaught of modern psychology, sociology, and the other ‘ologies’ that have shaken the ‘solid’ foundations of certainty. This mythic golden age is believed to have attained the heights of an immutable truth and is celebrated in its gift of doctrinal stasis; a blessing that has been battered by a stultifying assault from human discovery, wonder, and mystery.

This meaning world shaping the habitus of many young priests is reinforced by a theological formation that seeks a recapitulation of a time in theological and institutional Catholicism that is as much a myth as those myths of origins that fundamentalists take as historical. This meaning world gives many young priests and theologians a sense of stability among a community in which the need to belong is satisfied, thus a form of groupthink impedes critical thinking, increasing the fear of questioning the paradigms claimed as capital T Truth. The desire for certainty is a compulsion, an addiction. It is pathological, and it results in tribalism, discontent with reality, a need for entrenchment, and need to scapegoat those who are believed to be the perpetrators of doctrinal and ecclesial betrayal. Faith is not certainty. It incorporates reason, and must be critical, but it is not certain. The need for certainty is the manifestation for the desire to be God. Thus, the desire, the compulsive need for certainty is idolatrous.