Ramblings on the Role of Women

The treatment of women in the history of Christianity has been a largely shameful ordeal. What started out as a movement of radical liberation in which there was "neither male nor female" and husbands and wives were exhorted to "submit to each other out of reverence for Christ" eventually became a political entity that relegated religious women to convents and away from the education it had once afforded them.

This is not to say that by "radical liberation," I mean that women should have been or should be ordained to the priesthood, but rather, that women enjoyed much greater freedom and notoriety in the first two centuries of Christianity than they likely had in the first two centuries before it, directly tied to Christ's inclusion of them in his ministry and their subsequent prominence as consecrated virgins, widows, deaconesses, and martyrs in the Early Church.

Yet, there was a backlash. Especially in the Middle Ages, Western society continued to devalue the roles of women, and even my beloved St. Thomas Aquinas wrote against the idea that a woman should lead or teach in any faculty outside of her household. The 20th Century inherited this bias, as did, I surmise, the feminist movement, so that even the traditional roles of women such as bearing and educating children and keeping house were viewed with disdain as menial tasks and symbols of oppression.

This is a great tragedy, for God reveals our Scripture that woman is not a replacement for, but a helper to man, equally the imago Dei. What role can she play, though? To say that she bears children is well and good, but what of her purpose after this, or if this never occurs? Is there a ministerial role she can have? For many, myself included, there is a strong desire to be faithful to the teachings of the Magisterium, but the gender (sex?) restriction for the sacrament of holy orders remains a perceived injustice.

Now, Augustine and Thomas speak of a lack of a certain spiritual capacity in the soul of a woman that -- despite being made in the image of God and having equal capacity, therefore, for salvation --prevents them from taking certain roles. Mulieris Dignitatem and Ordinatio Sacerdotalis speak of the equal dignity of the sexes, however, without really defining "dignity." I assume we might use Thomas's definition that dignity is that which "signifies something's goodness on account of itself." I wonder what sort of lack of spiritual capacity would enable a woman to yet have equal dignity? My thought is perhaps that if females lack one spiritual capacity that a male has, perhaps a male then lacks one that a female has.

John Paul II spoke of the idea of "motherhood" as extending to the spiritual domain, and in general, I find that helpful, but not in all instances, because I'm not certain that "motherhood" or "fatherhood" get at the heart of the "(lack of) Women's Ordination" problem in sufficient ways. A priest isn't merely a "father," but he acts sacramentally in persona Christi.

I think perhaps part of the clamoring for women's ordinations comes from a continued devaluing of motherhood: a failure to appreciate what an amazing calling that truly is. Again, though, I'm not certain that a revaluing of motherhood is the entire solution - though it should be pursued with great fervor. For my part, I've been musing about what Mary showed us womanhood could be in an analogous sense:

Mary, as woman, was the New Eve, the Ark of the New Covenant, and the Theotokos,

As the New Eve, she is obedient to God where Eve had failed.

As the Ark of the New Covenant and the Theotokos, she is the Bearer of the Word.

Yet she is not the only woman in the New Testament to be so... The women at the tomb are also bearers of the Word, the first witnesses of the Resurrection. Constantly, where the men of the gospel narrative are bewildered, women seem to have unique insight into just who and what Jesus is.

What is the male response? Proclamation. The Ark bears the Covenant, the Covenant is God's Word, the Word is Proclaimed. The Evangelion first comes to the men through the women, and the men proclaim it. Mary approaches Elizabeth, bearing Christ in her womb, and John himself, not much further along, leaps within the womb. I don't think this is an exhaustive notion - it's merely an analogical model, but...

Is this role of Mary indicative of a spiritual capacity, found in women par excellence, that we are not recognizing? Could this capacity be sacramental (it did indeed mediate grace, and Christ, in a manner of speaking, did institute their unique place in bringing him forth) ?

And what of the question of sex vs. gender? To what degree must someone identify as male to be considered male, or is it merely a question of biology? Can we still use a (JP2's?) notion of male-female complementarity? How can we shape our ministry to encompass those who would seek Christ yet have, in the words of Thomas, "some obstacle" which confounds our either/or model which doesn't take into account what current gender theory seems to suggest: that gender, sex, and sexual orientation, while related, are not the same things?

Whatever answers can be given for these questions, there are a few things that we must assert: Women are of equal dignity, and their unique proclivities as women must be elevated and valued to represent this. We must acknowledge in all areas of culture that they are people of dignity, not to be denigrated for their beauty to the male eye (and made to be objects of lust or adornments), not to be thought weaker for their role in motherhood (but rather, stronger), and not to be thought unable to accomplish something because of any accident of their soul (we must avoid falling into the archaic "fairer" / "lesser" sex mindset). We must also endeavor to respect, trust, and be obedient to the Magisterium in this regard as well, despite having the courage to challenge weak arguments and leaps of logic, so that what is true and what is just is what is affirmed not merely in content of Church teaching but in form and expression in letter and practice.

Virtue as Refuge: A Reflection on a Dharma Talk

I beamed this morning as our car wound down through the fog and trees of the Missouri countryside toward the sleepy sanctuary that was our destination. My fiancee, her sister, and I would meet a friend of mine there, and we would spend the day among an unfamiliar culture and a mostly unfamiliar faith.

The Mid-America Buddhist Association (MABA) sprawls over sixty acres of secluded hillside, set back from the main road amidst trees and a beautiful pond full of waterlilies. A handful of Buddhist monastics work the grounds and keep the gorgeous area up for their weekly communal gatherings - gatherings that seemto me more like a family getting together than a worship service. Perhaps by virtue of the commitment required - being so secluded, the journey to MABA is quite a drive - or by the virtue of the small number of Buddhists in Missouri, the congregants arrive, chant, meditate, eat, and visit together over the course of three hours or more each Sunday. It's humbling, compared to many experiences I've had in parishes more familiar, where the congregation is too busy worrying about other business to enjoy the koinonia that could be theirs. A minute too long, and the congregation is unhappy and grumbling. I've even heard of one congregation that neglects the Gloria in the Mass because they think it takes too much time.

None of that is really the intent of this entry, however. The intent is to comment a bit on a talk that Venerable Kaizhao gave just after meditation, on the application of Dharma (essentially the Buddhist notion of "Gospel") in our daily lives. I was particularly struck, being heavily formed by the Thomistic theology of the Dominicans I study with, by the notion of Karma, specifically as refuge. Karma is essentially what Thomas speaks of when he talks of the relationship between virtue, vice, and habitus.

Karma can be roughly spoken of as the energy that forms the habitus from virtuous (or vicious) action. The action cultivates an energy that then returns to us - in the case of virtue, we cultivate peace and move toward Happiness. In the case of vice (also referred to as unwholesome action), we cultivate unhappiness. Venerable Kaizhao spoke of Karma as a refuge. This idea seemed intriguing and played at my imagination; I wondered,
what can I take from this notion?"

In Thomistic Anthropology, virtues reside in powers of the soul, and shape the power in which they reside. For example, Prudence resides in the Intellect, and prudent actions will shape the intellect so that it makes better decisions, and becomes more naturally prudent. A more prudent Intellect will more readily and easily guide the Will, which will help guide the Soul and the whole being of the person toward Happiness. To the contrary, vicious actions, imprudent, frivolous, hateful, and other types of actions, cultivate the opposite effect.

Virtue, then, is our refuge in that it provides our souls shelter from unhappiness. Unwholesome acts invite bad karma, inviting chaos and destruction into our shelter, casting our house (our souls) into disarray. We see this manifest in the disordered concupiscences of the Will and Sensitive Appetite, in the corruption of our imagination, and in the lack of prudence in our Intellect.

Venerable Kaizhou emphasized that these results are both public and private, and inescapable. I would add that these results are fostered not only large obvious acts of sin or virtue, but by the small things, the venial things as well. In a Catholic context, this is why the sacrament of Confession is so important, even for such things as venial sins - it cultivates a virtuous habitus by acknowledging and absolving even the peccadillos, so that all the small harms we may do to ourself and others are not stumbling blocks and obstacles in our den. Confession "cleans our house," so to speak, setting our soul aright so that our actions might be free and excellent, unhindered by the burden of sin, and ordered to their proper end: our Happiness, found only in God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

So, flee from sin, and cultivate virtue: pray, fast, give alms, partake in the sacramental life of the Church in all its fullness, both celebration and penance. This is the path to Happiness, our hope and our salvation.

[+]

~jacob w torbeck

On Comparative Theology

From theologian Henry Karlson,

One of the principles of comparative theology is that one can learn truths from other religious traditions, truths which nonetheless will have to be interpreted via the prism of one’s faith. This is how and why religious traditions can have much to teach each other. It is not that we necessarily will agree with interpretations of truths which are either produced from natural contemplation (natural theology), or truths which were once revealed to people of different religious traditions (rays of revelation found in other religious traditions showing a kind of revealed theology in those other faiths). It is important for us to recognize the truth, and to learn about it, wherever it can be found. Modern science, for example, is a kind of natural theology, and its truths, when discovered, must be seen as compatible with the Christian faith (truth does not contradict truth, as Pope John Paul II pointed out). However, the meaning established for those truths are often in conflict with the meaning Christians would have for them; this does not have to lead to hostility, but rather, dialogue and mutual learning.

Mr. Karlson writes a decent, if brief, overview of the value and method of comparative theology, one out of my handful of academic subinterests, so I thought I'd share.

Grace and Peace,

Jacob Wayne

On Justification

Matt Boettger, over at An Enlightened Faith, has finished his series on Justification at long last! I've done the work of linking them all here so that you may read his excellent explanation of the Catholic understanding of Justification:

Justifying the Doctrine of Justification:

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Grace and Peace,

Jacob

The Great "Perhaps"

"It may be appropriate at this point to cite a Jewish story told by Martin Buber; it presents in concrete form the above-mentioned dilemma of being a man.

An adherent of the Enlightenment [writes Buber], a very learned man, who had heard of the Rabbi of Berditchev, paid a visit to him in order to argue, as was his custom, with him too and to shatter his old-fashioned proofs of the truth of his faith. When he entered the Rabbi’s room he found him walking up and down with a book in his hand, wrapped in thought. The Rabbi paid no attention to the new arrival. Suddenly he stopped, looked at him fleetingly and said, “But perhaps it is true after all”. The scholar tried in vain to collect himself—his knees trembled, so terrible was the Rabbi to behold and so terrible his simple utterance to hear. But Rabbi Levi Jizchak now turned to face him and spoke quite calmly: “My son, the great scholars of the Torah with whom you have argued wasted their words on you; as you departed you laughed at them. They were unable to lay God and his Kingdom on the table before you, and nor can I. But think, my son, perhaps it is true.” The exponent of the Enlightenment opposed him with all his strength; but this terrible “perhaps,” which echoed back at him time after time broke his resistance.

Here we have, I believe—in however strange a guise—a very precise description of the situation of man confronted with the question of God. No one can lay God and is Kingdom on the table before another man; even the believer cannot do it for himself. But however strongly unbelief may feel itself thereby justified it cannot forget the eerie feeling induced by the words, “Yet perhaps it is true.” The “perhaps” is the unavoidable temptation which it cannot elude, the temptation in which it too, in the very act of rejection, has to experience the unrejectability of belief. In other words, both the believer and the unbeliever share, each in his own way, doubt and belief, if they do not hide away from themselves and from the truth of their being. Neither can quite escape either doubt or belief; for the one, faith is present against doubt, for the other through doubt and in the form of doubt. It is the basic pattern of man’s destiny only to be allowed to find the finality of his existence in this unceasing rivalry between doubt and belief, temptation and certainty. Perhaps in precisely this way doubt, which saves both sides from being shut up in their own worlds, could become the avenue of communication. It prevents both from enjoying complete self-satisfaction; it opens up the believer to the doubter and the doubter to the believer; for one it is his share in the fate of the unbeliever, for the other the form in which belief remains nevertheless a challenge to him."

- Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, Introduction To Christianity

Fr. Robert Barron on Renewing and Reforming Theology

Simulacra and Sacramentality

An excerpt from my undergraduate thesis, and I thought that occurred to me on a re-reading:

The Presence of Simulacra

“The simulacrum is never that which conceals the truth – it is the truth that conceals that there is none. The simulacrum is true.”

--Ecclesiastes

Art cannot transcend artifice. Although art mimics reality, anything that is representative as real is still understood as to be a facsimile. Plato holds that appearance of reality can never truly merge with reality (Ibid 159). However, it would seem that the world that has fostered the growth of postmodern thought is not functioning within Plato’s belief. American culture even seems to thrive upon the suspension of belief that lets us live within a fantasy world similar to a television show. Almost any appearance of reality can easily be accepted as authentic reality in our society, for enough time, at least, to justify our shiny new convertible. Over time, these justifications and ideas become our reality, our values shift and adapt to this new reality that was once just an image on a billboard or in a magazine, or some statue in a plaza.

Film and cinema have also blurred the lines between the real and the imitation, being mediums that can show us both pictures of reality and images of fantasy that to the viewer may appear one and the same if the frame of reference is skewed or removed.

Photography, which I will discuss further in the next chapter, started as a means to record and study the real, and the content of a photograph was considered “real” and “true” by its viewer.

“Thus perhaps at stake has always been the murderous capacity of images, murderers of the real, murderers of their own model as the Byzantine icons could murder the divine identity.”

Baudrillard fears the aforementioned tendency for an image to oppose what he terms an “intelligible mediation of the Real.” (Baudrillard, Simulations, 10.) A critic of postmodern art, Baudrillard warns of absolute reality being reduced in some way to a mere visual signifier that speaks to it’s own existence. If that which gives order to representation is reduced to representation (which is then subjectively perceived), Baudrillard argues that the entire system of order and the rubric upon which interpretation stands now falls away to a simulacrum – a representation that does not refer to reality, but another imitation.

The simulacrum, a meta-representation, then, has the power to subvert the object. However, it also possesses the power to convey meaning, perhaps even adding meaning to the signified by virtue of its own existence as a simulacrum. In the film Waking Life, Caveh Zahedi and Daniel Jewell discuss what Andre’ Bazin calls the “Holy Moment,” a moment of awareness that acknowledges the divine presence within the other. As they converse, however, they are actually on a movie screen, their conversation a film being watched by Wiley, the main character within Waking Life. So the film that we watch, in essence is the simulacrum, an object that gives reference to a reference to this conversation between Zahedi and Jewell. However, instead of being inert, we find that the simulacrum, the film that we are viewing, is actually the vehicle for meaning (Waking Life).

So here we have at least one example where simulacra can convey meaning that seems valid. Because of this instance, which I consider to be a positive use of simulacra, I am inclined to apply Baudrillard’s warning subjectively, as would seem suitable, given that his arguments are placed within the framework of postmodernism that visual culture theory works from.

Despite a willingness to apply scrutiny with subjectivity, one must continue to be conscious of the presence of simulacra, as without an awareness of their occurrences within our culture, Baudrillard’s “collapse of meaning” may be more likely to occur.

Food for thought:

A true sacrament is that which actually participates in what it represents in a real way... not merely symbolic. If we lose our sense of sacramentality, then our rituals become simulacra, and Baudrillard's "collapse of meaning" becomes a real danger to our faith and praxis.

St. Catherine on Dominican Preaching

Fr. Romanus Cessario, O.P., lectures on St. Catherine of Siena and Dominican Preaching:

On Natural Law: A Synopsis

My final paper under Fr. Michael Carey, O.P., was a brief synopsis of Natural Law in Aquinas. Here it is:

Natural Law: A Foundational Understanding for Calls to Goodness

The current climate of American Catholicism, perhaps even Western Catholicism in general, has changed greatly in the last century. Global war, secularization, scandal, and a slide into moral relativism has tested and reshaped the faith of Western culture, to such a degree that one might wonder what future a traditional Christian morality might hope to have. Yet, in a culture that might be considered post-modern or even post-Christian, the task of evangelization remains with us, the survival of the faith depends on it. It is in the interest of this survival that the issue of natural law comes to the fore of Catholic thought in the public arena. It seems that it is no longer enough, in dialogue with those both outside and within the faith, for faithful American Catholics to appeal only to the Gospel message and the teachings of the Church - much of the wider world does not see such things as reasonable, and thereby rejects them. We must start with something more basic: natural law - the idea that we all share some common morality, and at least in this, there may be some common ground on which we may start the difficult process of transforming lives and transforming culture. In current debates about the dignity of the human person, abortion, biotechnology, and war, natural law has been invoked in an attempt to offer what Catholics and many non-catholic ethicists believe to be a philosophically reasonable and theologically correct understanding of right action. To employ this knowledge, however, we must correctly ascertain what it is that we, as faithful Catholics, believe this to be, at least foundationally. Where does natural law come from? What does it consist of? And what does this mean, practically?

The most current, though not the most complete, understanding of natural law can be seen at work in the encyclical of Pope John Paul II, Veritatis Splendor:

The primary and decisive element for moral judgment is the object of the human act, which establishes whether it is capable of being ordered to the good and to the ultimate end, which is God. This capability is grasped by reason in the very being of man, considered in his integral truth, and therefore in his natural inclinations, his motivations and his finalities, which always have a spiritual dimension as well. It is precisely these which are the contents of the natural law and hence that ordered complex of "personal goods" which serve the "good of the person": the good which is the person himself and his perfection. These are the goods safeguarded by the commandments, which, according to Saint Thomas, contain the whole natural law.[1]

John Paul II here asserts a teleological worldview in which actions might have a quality of moral goodness related to their contribution toward the end pursued in the aforementioned worldview, in this case, God. In fact, before moving forward, it is necessary to clarify that Thomas's understanding and also the dominant Catholic understanding of natural law, and indeed law in general, is that they are underpinned and surrounded by affirmation that God is the eternal source, sustainer, and end of all things.[2] To say that God is the eternal source of all things (and therefore the source of law) is to say that God, as reasonable creator and ruler of the universe, governs all things with divine reason, which can then be said to be the law of creation.[3] Because this is the case, creatures participate in this law, the eternal law, insofar as they are subject to it. But being rational creatures, humans are governed in a specific fashion, not as recipients of continual directives, but as reasonable beings that can use this very reason to order their own acts according to their reasonable assessment of good and evil. This reasonable participation in God's eternal law is natural law.[4]

Aside from the existence of God as source and sustainer, we have also the notion of God as end pursued, or merely, that each thing pursues its natural purpose (which Christians understand to be God), an idea famously espoused by Aristotle, and reconciled to Christian thought quite smartly by St. Thomas Aquinas. The teleological worldview at work in the theory of natural law maintains that objects' essences might be better known by their purposes, and might be judged to be good to a degree that it fulfills its essence.[5] For example, the essence of a knife is to cut, and a knife that cuts well is said to be a good or excellent knife. Likewise, an animal's purpose seems to be its own flourishing, which includes things which one might consider under one banner of health and reproduction: movement, perception, taking nutrition, and propagation.[6] Humans, as social animals with reason and free will, must in addition to health and propagation, exercise free will in achieving their end as they reason it.[7]

Thus, the essence of a human might be stated as consisting of life, procreation, knowledge, and socialibility. If something's quality of goodness might be judged on the degree to which it exemplifies its essence, as previously stated, then a human may be said to be good to the extent that it is social, knowledgeable, fruitful, and healthy, and a human act might be said to be good to the extent that it contributes to the improvement of one or all of these qualities.[8] Conversely, something that contributes to the diminishing of these qualities or to the abolition of these can be said to be the opposite of good, that is, evil. And it is this very knowledge, the response to the question "Is this good for myself and/or others?" that is known by natural law.[9]

St. Thomas Aquinas codifies the basic, universal rule of natural law in what he names "the first principle," stated as "Do and pursue good and avoid evil." From this first principle, he states, humans use reason to deduce or infer any number of secondary principles that "will be based upon it, presuppose it, be less common than it."[10] The aforementioned Decalogue, containing the whole natural law, is such that it is a collection of these secondary principles - deductions that flow naturally from the axiom that one should "do and pursue good and avoid evil."[11] This first generation of deductions from the first principles is asserted to be true by virtue of reason. However, further deductions, precepts, or judgments made from secondary principles are admittedly, not universal to all.[12] How then, outside of very formal circumstances, can we use natural law at all?

We can say that conscience, in fact, is natural law in practical application, affirming our reason's participation in eternal law:

. . . [W]hereas the natural law discloses the objective and universal demands of the moral good, conscience is the application of the law to a particular case; this application of the law thus becomes an inner dictate for the individual, a summons to do what is good in this particular situation. Conscience thus formulates moral obligation in the light of the natural law: it is the obligation to do what the individual, through the workings of his conscience, knows to be a good he is called to do here and now. The universality of the law and its obligation are acknowledged, not suppressed, once reason has established the law's application in concrete present circumstances. The judgment of conscience states "in an ultimate way" whether a certain particular kind of behavior is in conformity with the law; it formulates the proximate norm of the morality of a voluntary act, “applying the objective law to a particular case.”[13]

Conscience understood thusly, as our moral judgment that takes as its measure natural law, can also then be said to be our own reaction to our own participation in eternal law; and it is precisely this reaction, this judgment that ethicists, moral theologians and especially the Magisterium hope to change and form when they speak out against abortion, war, the death penalty, and certain biotechnologies on the basis of natural law and its first principle. For Catholics in particular, these exhortations are calls to conform our consciences to the teachings of the Church, which we trust echo eternal law, God's divine wisdom. For our wider, secular culture, exhortations from natural law are earnest admonitions to change the way we think about a particular issue in a way in keeping with something many will find common to all: human reason and the desire to do good over evil. The common ground we are able establish in the invocation of natural law becomes a renewed chance to reach those of a reasonable mind but a hardened heart, a new field on which we may continue our work of transforming our world into a world that seeks more of the Good than it did the day before, and truly seeks to be delivered from evil.

---

[1] John Paul II, Encyclical Letter Veritatis Splendor (06 August 1993), 79.

[2] Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, Ia IIae, q. 91, a. 1.

[3] McInerny, Ralph, Aquinas on Human Action: A Theory of Practice. (Washington, D.C: Catholic University of America Press, 1992), 110.

[4] Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, Ia IIae, q. 91, a. 2

[5] Timmons, Mark, Moral Theory: An Introduction. (Lanham, Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 2001), 68.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Ibid.

[8] Ibid., 73.

[9] McInerny, Ralph, Aquinas on Human Action: A Theory of Practice. (Washington, D.C: Catholic University of America Press, 1992), 110.

[10] Ibid., 125.

[11] Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, Ia IIae, q. 100, a. 1.

[12] Ibid., q. 94, a. 4.

[13] John Paul II, Encyclical Letter Veritatis Splendor (06 August 1993), 59.

A Recent Essay

The Purpose of Theology:

A Brief Examination of Fr. Timothy Radcliffe's statement, "The intellectual discipline of our study has this ultimate purpose, to bring us to this moment of conversion when our false images of God are destroyed so that we may draw near to the mystery."

What is the purpose of theology? A search on google reveals 77,800 results for such a query[1]. It is a question asked often enough to demand attention, but for the sake of this essay, I shall here consider only one person's answer - that of Father Timothy Radcliffe - and my reaction to that. For Fr. Radcliffe, "The intellectual discipline of our study has this ultimate purpose, to bring us to this moment of conversion when our false images of God are destroyed so that we may draw near to the mystery [2]." This view seems to be echoed by M. Scott Peck in The Road Less Traveled, when he states, "The path to holiness lies through questioning everything," and in my own personal experience with a friend of mine, who once advised me to "Keep asking your questions, they are essential in your pilgrimmage toward the face of God." In all of these statements, study and investigation are means linked with the ends of drawing closer to God.

How and why does it do this? Theology, according to Radcliffe, leads us to knowledge of God via our own conversion. As Paul says, in his second epistle to the Corinthians,

"Yes, to this day whenever Moses is read a veil lies over their minds; but when a man turns to the Lord the veil is removed. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being changed into his likeness from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit." [3]

So, encountering the Lord without veils, or "false images," in this case, leads us to conversion. But this can be challenging, because our preconcieved notions of God, notions that we've grown comfortable with and have sometimes built whole sections of our worldview upon, risk being torn away with each new veil we remove. If we use Paul's notion of metamorphesis as a continuing hermeneutic, we may also feel threatened by handing over authority to something we cannot understand - that is, God. Paul states that our process of seeing God clearly happens when a person turns to the Lord, as in, one who has authority over another. Certainly, most Christians at least pay lip service to the idea that God is sovereign in their lives, but most of us also struggle with this same concept of being subject to another, especially another that they cannot understand. Ironically, it is in humbling ourselves to our Lord that we see more clearly, and undergo further conversion.

In this very manner, Fr. Radcliffe's statement is also comforting, for even as we are brought into a moment of conversion through our humility, we are drawn closer into Mystery; our study enables us, through its transformative virtues, to be pulled deeper into God's reconciling embrace. That is just the revitalizing touch we need, for the smoke before our eyes, that which conceals the Mystery, is nigh infinite. It is likely that a theologian thinks and studies in the manner in which he or she does due to a yearning and a passion for religious knowledge, and so, theology, with its continual call to study and conversion, provides for those that are willing to be converted, a path that is infinitely nourishing for both their human curiosities and their spirituality.

Following Paul's hermeneutic of the New Covenant, this conversion's result is enacted in imitation of God, that is, as we are reconciled to God, we desire to do his work, specifically that of evangelization and ministry. For, while Moses wore a veil to hide his shining face, it is the theologian's business to remove these veils, and in doing so, we may show others the brilliant glory of God, proclaiming the Gospel with authority that comes from truth gleaned from the grace of our continuing reconciliation to God. In short, the telos of theology is the very purpose of Christianity, to spread the Gospel to all, so that all might be reconciled to their Loving Creator.


Sources:
[1] Google query of phrase "Purpose of Theology," on Friday, July 17, 2009. 77,800 results were found in .33 seconds.
[2] Sing a New Song (Templegate, 1999), p 64. Radcliffe, Fr. Timothy, O.P.
[3] II Corinthians 3:15-18, The Holy Bible, RSV, Second Catholic Edition (Ignatius Press, 2006).