In November, CMT contributor Charles Camosy wrote a piece for Church Life Journal entitled “The Crisis of Catholic Moral Theology.” His arguments have been given new life this week in an America piece in which Camosy is interviewed by Tom Elitz, S.J., “Has Moral Theology Left Catholic Tradition Behind?”
In both places, Camosy argues that the field of moral theology is in crisis. But I think it is too early to plan the Requiem Mass for our field. It is true that huge demographic and institutional shifts are underway. But this is not a field in crisis. This is a field responding to urgent and complex questions all over the world, drawing on the wisdom of the past and the data of the present, including data from a variety of fields in the social sciences and hard sciences. In these pieces, Camosy argues that scholars of Catholic moral theology are not doing theology the way he thinks it should be done. And sometimes they even have the nerve to call themselves social ethicists instead of moral theologians. But I think we need to step back and think about some very basic questions that his critique of the field raises. What do I need to have to demonstrate to someone that I “belong” in the guild of Catholic moral theology? What exactly has been lost by expanding our field’s methodological approaches? I think Camosy’s description of a “crisis” in the discipline is unproductive. Moral theology is vibrant and exciting! We shouldn’t shut down this blog site just yet.
Camosy describes the changes in the field as problematic because scholars are using the methods of sociology and history (including decolonial, feminist, and intersectional methods) in their research and teaching. As Camosy frames the doing of Catholic moral theology, “the starting point” must be “the tradition and the teaching of the Church.” In the America piece, Camosy explains:
But now a lot of folks have decided that that tradition is not even worth working with. It is too contaminated, too patriarchal, too homophobic and so on. And at some point, I think many Catholic thinkers became more interested in reaching certain conclusions on contemporary moral issues than working within the tradition. Moral theologians like Richard McCormick came to controversial conclusions but did so attempting to work within the tradition. I suspect many sympathetic thinkers eventually came to realize that they could not reach the conclusions they wanted to while working within the tradition.
In reading and rereading these two pieces, I keep returning to the question, what does Camosy mean by tradition? Who counts in this retelling of our Christian past? What texts and figures are in the ‘canon’ of moral theology for Camosy? In the America piece, Camosy repeats that he is not a historian. He is trained in analytic philosophy and Catholic moral theology. But what assumptions is he making about history and theology when saying that the tradition is the starting point? Tradition according to whom? Is he talking about documents, rituals, spiritual practices, institutional methods of organizing ecclesial power?
Ever since I was exposed to the writings of Laurenti Magesa, John Mbiti, Benezet Bujo, Mercy Amba Oduyoye, and Anne Nasimiyu, I have learned to question a Eurocentric retelling of “the Catholic moral tradition” from a growing awareness of the richness of an African worldview and inculturation of theology. Aren’t these African scholars doing moral theology? They are wrestling with a complex tradition that contains a mixed bag of liberation and exploitation. In “Culture as the Path of Faith,” in Magesa’s The Post-Conciliar Church in Africa, he frames his analysis by drawing on John Paul II’s expression that “the synthesis between culture and faith is not only a requirement of culture, but also of faith,” but argues himself that “prevarication in this process is evident in Africa.” For example, he notes that some missionary movements despised African cultural traditions. At the end of their meeting in Ghana in 1977, African theologians insisted on the fundamental importance of context in doing theology. Magesa quotes from that document: “African theology must be understood in the context of African life and culture and the creative attempt of African peoples to shape a new future that is different form the colonial past and the neo-colonial present.” (Appiah-Kubi and Torres, African Theology en Route, 193). Magesa writes that “Africans cannot come to the Christian faith in a cultural vacuum and should not be expected to.”
Is the legacy of Christian colonial conquest in Africa toxic and contaminating? Yes! So how do we “do moral theology” in that context? Well, it is complicated. But we start by acknowledging that there is no pure tradition. There is no discourse that is not historically situated. And Magesa invites theologians to proceed with epistemological humility while also recognizing the gravity of their work. He writes:
“Doing theology is closely tied up with the economy of revelation, or revelation as we experience it here and now in the world. Both are situated in a context and must be interpreted. That interpretation must be continually revised by using linguistic tools of one kind or another. For theology, the questions are: What is the context where revelation and its interpretation are taking place? Who are the individuals and communities experiencing divine revelation to whom the theologian is accountable? How is the theologian, as an interpreter of divine revelation, situated in the context? Finally, what is the best way by which to bring out what God may be saying to us? As long as divine revelation continues, which is to say as long as humanity exists, the task of doing theology will continue.”
These are profound questions for me to consider. As a theologian working on issues of sexuality, when I attend to the data of human experience on rape culture, statistics of sexual assault, clerical sexual misconduct, heterosexism in churches, and women’s narratives of pregnancy and abortion, am I being accountable to divine revelation in the human experience of sexuality? What is the best way to bring about what God may be saying to us? How should I be attending to contemporary sources and what sources from the moral tradition should guide me? Does it matter, when I’m considering how to draw on authoritative sources, that men’s voices have shaped the Catholic moral tradition more than women’s?
These questions are important because Camosy is frustrated by the rise of intersectionality analysis. In their book, Intersectional Theology, Grace Ji-Sun Kim and Susan M. Shaw explain intersectionality this way:
Intersectionality is a tool for analysis that takes into account the simultaneously experienced multiple social locations, identities, and institutions that shape individual and collective experience within hierarchically structured systems of power and privilege. In other words, intersectionality is a lens for understanding how gender, race, social class, sexual identity, and other forms of difference work concurrently to shape people and social institutions within multiple relationships of power. It is kaleidoscopic, constantly rendering shifting patterns of power visible. Is is confluent, a juncture point where identities, locations, institutions, and power flow together creating something new. It is a praxis–an ongoing loop of action-reflection-action– that integrates social justice-oriented theory with activism toward social justice on the ground so that theory informs practice and practice informs theory (2).
Intersectionality analysis reminds us that our tradition presents a partial reflection of the human experience of God. Even the recent US bishops document Open Wide Our Hearts reminds us of Catholic complicity in the colonization of the Americas. Catholics were complicit in the slave trade, genocide of indigenous peoples, and discrimination and hatred of Hispanic/Latinoa peoples. If Camosy wants tradition to be our starting point, in what sense does this “tradition” of racism become our “starting point”? Is that even the right question to ask?
Camosy writes, in his criticism of intersectionality:
The centrality of power to intersectional discourse, however, makes it highly problematic for Christian academics. Commitment to rational inquiry and argumentation, free speech, and viewpoint diversity are, according to intersectional theory, mere attempts to safeguard privilege. But Roman Catholics, who believe in the salvific nature of Christ’s death and resurrection and the continued work of the Holy Spirit in the world, cannot be at home in a discourse that requires the destruction of the perceived enemies of our identity. We must be faithful to the command of Christ to encounter and engage those with fundamentally different views in a spirit of love—which means, for academic theologians, a spirit of intellectual solidarity.
I think Camosy fundamentally misrepresents intersectionality analysis here. But I also think it is important to clearly note that the Catholic moral tradition has not always been “faithful to the command of Christ to encounter and engage those with fundamentally different views in a spirit of love.” The reason why intersectional thinking is so life-affirming for so many people is because whole schools of thought have ignored their lived experiences for so long, and finally intersectional theologians are paying attention. Our scope is wider now, and our methods are more complex. This may mean that comps lists get longer and conference sessions become more variable, but the conversations will be richer.
Camosy is clearly expressing resentment and frustration with the field of moral theology as he sees it. But I would like to be on the record as someone who celebrates the breadth and depth of work being done in the field today. Instead of planning a funeral, let’s have a party and say all are welcome (Lk 14:13).
Update: An interview with Megan McCabe is published in America Magazine and might be of interest to readers. (2/19/19)
Hi Emily:
An important part of Camosy’s thesis that you don’t really address is his claim that the dynamics of the discipline function to marginalize those who understand the importance of tradition more like Camosy understands it. You say “let’s have a party and say all are welcome,” but one of Camosy’s main points is that not all are welcome; when classically minded Catholics come to the party, too many whisper about how awkward it is that those conservatives also want to be included. Or they are deliberately not invited in the first place, their ideas not even acknowledged. Do you have thoughts on this? Charlie is not alone in viewing the field this way, nor is this critique applicable only to moral theology. At the heart of Camosy’s point is that the “ascendance” of intersectionality theory tends to further marginalize those who do not share the presuppositions of intersectionality theory. Here’s a representative sentence from Camosy’s Church Life essay: “But the rise of intersectional critical theory presents the current enforcers with new methods of keeping hegemonic control of the discourse.” That in many ways is the thesis of his whole critique, as I read it. You don’t really address the allegation that the rise of intersectionality has led to the marginalization of more classically minded moral theologians.
Could you explain more why you think Camosy “fundamentally misrepresents intersectionality analysis here”? He is not alone in thinking that the rise of intersectionality is correlated strongly with the “destruction of the perceived enemies of our identity.” That’s the whole point about the “hegemonic” rise of intersectionality in the discipline. Many have said similar things about other disciplines.
I don’t think it is fair to imply that Camosy’s critique of how intersectionality theory has taken a central place in the field means he doesn’t care about non-european ways of doing moral theology, or that he has a simplistic understanding of the tradition. You name some scholars and then ask, “Aren’t these African scholars doing moral theology?” I don’t see anything in Camosy’s critique that suggests he would answer “no” to that question. You allege a “fundamental misrepresentation,” but you don’t explain the allegation. I think it would be worth expanding on that.
Josh Evans
Josh,
Can you tell me how you understand “the tradition”? How do the “dynamics of the discipline function to marginalize” scholars with that view of the tradition? I find intersectionality analysis intellectually persuasive. It explains human experience in a way that I find very valuable, and I do think it aligns with Catholic analysis of structural sin. Charlie seems to present it as a discourse that excludes and shuts down dialogue rather than a discourse that challenges power inequalities.Perhaps we are drawing on different scholars in framing our judgment of intersectionality; he doesn’t really talk about Kimberle Crenshaw, Vivian May, Patricia Hill Collins, Gloria Anzaldua, Audre Lorde, and others whose work has influenced my thinking on this. So maybe we are reading different people. There can be a destabilizing that happens in this method, but I think that it raises really fruitful epistemological and theological questions.
Hi Emily:
Thanks for the response. I should say that I am grateful that you have engaged Camosy’s essay- it has been surprising that, among those in our field, there has hardly been any public acknowledgement of his challenging claims, let alone even an attempt at addressing them. I want to reiterate, however, that in my view you have not addressed the central claim of Camosy’s critique: that intersectionality theory is becoming so dominant in moral theology that it threatens to push out any rival approaches, treating them as illegitimate. To be clear, I think Camosy is not quite right on all this: I see it more as a fracturing into rival camps than a triumph of one, but I respect his analysis and his experience.
Camosy does not see intersectionality as merely one methodology in fruitful conversation with all the others, as you present it. He seems to see it rather as a “hegemonic” approach that has already, or will soon, dominate much of our field, relegating other more classical methods to the margins. This is a significant allegation that can’t be easily dismissed or ignored, especially because it fits with many other analyses of the impact of intersectionality on other fields. This allegation is the point of his analysis of the internal politics of the CTSA. This is why claims like yours, that “all are welcome,” ring so hollow to so many in our field. You wondered what I meant when I wrote that Camosy thinks “the dynamics of the discipline function to marginalize those who understand the importance of tradition more like Camosy understands it.” I meant just what Camosy says: classically minded theologians are excluded by those in power, and they are often threatened professionally because of their views.
In your response to me, you write: “Charlie seems to present [intersectionality] as a discourse that excludes and shuts down dialogue rather than a discourse that challenges power inequalities.” His point seems to be that what you call “challenging power inequalities” is actually, in practice, just a new way of wielding power over the new marginalized. Perhaps some think this is merely fair play, a long-awaited payback. But as Charlie presents it, this kind of, in my words, “putting the formerly powerful in their place” is a betrayal of the dream that our discipline would be one where rival interpretations of how to make sense of Revelation converse with one another. He seems to hope that there would be no ascendant class, no aristocracy. But it seems to many that those who adopt intersectionality as their central worldview are the new intellectual aristocracy of our field, and they try as hard as they can to keep anyone who has different views on the margins. You don’t address this claim, even though it is at the heart of Camosy’s critique. He could be completely mistaken about how power is wielded in our field, but you don’t say why.
I don’t think Camosy’s critique has anything to do with whether or not he is reading the many authors you name in your responses. Rather, my sense is that what you call his “frustration” comes from something more fundamental. No one has done more than Camosy to challenge the parochialization of moral theology. My impression is that he is an optimist, someone who thinks that in the end ‘truth wins,’ if only we pursue the truth without prejudice. Maybe this is naive, but it is a perspective worth taking seriously. He’s in dialogue with Peter Singer, with Democrats who don’t share his views on the dignity of unborn babies, with those who have no problem killing animals. He doesn’t seem like someone who is uncomfortable with disagreement. Yet his experience and his conscience conclude that our field is in crisis, because the ruling class is not interested in the exchange of ideas or the adjudication of the merits of rival methodologies. The ruling class is interested only in wielding power to advance their own perspectives. That’s an experience worth taking seriously on its merits. Your response doesn’t address that challenge.
Charlie and I have recently exchanged views over abortion in print, and we seem to have what I view as a significant disagreement. Yet we share a fundamental starting-point, both assuming that the “tradition” of moral theology should inform our own views (you ask how I understand “the tradition”; I’m not sure why it matters). Charlie seems to think that this starting-point is rejected by many in moral theology today, especially those in the ascendant class. Without shared assumptions, our field seems unintelligible. According to Charlie, intersectionality seems to reject the starting-point that Charlie and I share. Do you think that it does not, in fact, reject it? Or do you think that the rejection is warranted? In either case your response does not really address the heart of Charlie’s critique.
Josh, what is the starting point (re:tradition) that you and Charlie share that you don’t think I share?
It would help if I knew what authors and arguments we are talking about (re: intersectionality), given that intersectionality is used in a variety of contexts. Crenshaw’s point was that black women experienced oppression both as people of color and as women. Neither category of racism or sexism articulated their experience adequately. She needed a way to explain the intersections of racism and sexism in a legal context. If the method is growing in use in our field it is because of its explanatory power.
When you talk about ‘more classical methods’ in theology that are being pushed to the margins, what are we talking about?
Polarization is real. Seeking common ground is important. And faithful theologians on both ‘sides’ continue to feel excluded from key conversations. But I don’t interpret intersectionality as an abuse of power. I see it as a lens of analysis that is a tool to analyze implicit power relations. Power is not concentrated in the field but is ever shifting and is shaped by institutions that include professional theological organizations (for example, I belong to CTSA and SCE), higher ed institutions, ecclesial power structures from Rome to Washington DC to the local parish, Catholic charities, Catholic lobbying groups, Catholic media and publishers, vowed religious and their institutions and mission-driven ministries, Catholic health care, the list goes on… speaking for myself only, there are some spaces in which I am not welcome and other spaces in which I am welcomed. Like any other theologian I have to discern how to navigate this complex field.
I’m grateful for Emily for starting and continuing this conversation, and for Josh’s points. It is really moving the conversation and for me, making me think more deeply about the underlying contentions. Our shared ecclesial and professional commitments to communion with one another become so important at points like this. I don’t think anyone is throwing anathemas at one another, which is great.
I think Emily’s point about clarifying what is meant by “intersectionality” in Charlie’s critique is an important one. The exchange with Josh brings out how easy it is for us to talk past one another, especially if “intersectionality” becomes a term where everyone has to be “for” or “against” it. Perhaps it would be useful to distinguish three different senses of the term. The first is the one Emily points out above (from Crenshaw) that it is a claim about navigating the complexity of experience, and in particular the experiences of oppression. At this level, it seems very valuable for any Christian ethics (or any other ethics) attempting to negotiating issues of sexism, racism, etc. I can’t speak for Charlie, but I can’t imagine he would disagree. I think his argument, though, is targeted elsewhere. A second sense of the term “intersectionality” is a deeper commitment to an analysis of this experience in terms of power. Let’s say (for shorthand) that it is dependent on a social theory of some kind of struggle of power classes along the lines of a Marx or (differently) a Foucault. The oppressor class is bad (even if not intentionally so) and its representatives must be removed from power in order to achieve freedom and justice. At this level, intersectionality seems in tension with Christian commitments to genuine forgiveness and reconciliation in Christ – noting of course that such appeals can be “cheap grace” if they are not accompanied with seriously reconciling action. I don’t have a deep enough knowledge of the background literature here to understand whether different intersectionalists are more or less committed to such an underlying analysis of power, but I think it is worth flagging that this does go considerably beyond the first level of explaining experience. (Aside: in Emily’s original post, she quotes Charlie making what I take to be this second-level critique, and comments that he “fundamentally misrepresents” here… but doesn’t say how. That was a point where as I reader, I wanted more.) Finally, a third level of the critique is Charlie’s claim that intersectional analysis itself is becoming institutionally “hegemonic,” in the sense that its use (or challenges to its use) is rewarded (or punished) in ways that distort both the intellectual character of the discipline (as genuinely free exchange) and the theological character of the discipline (as necessarily rooted in the claims of “the tradition,” a word I put in quotes because of course that tradition is living and in contestation). To use a shorthand example of this, one might point to the criteria for evaluating submissions to the JSCE – it includes as one among many criteria the engagement with this spectrum of issue, but of course it does not include as a criteria for publication that authors articulate an orthodox view of Christology, let’s say, or have a commitment to certain moral views. In citing this example, I don’t mean to be misunderstood: I understand and appreciate why it’s important to be explicit in attending to these issues, but I think it is helpful to recognize (along the lines of Emily’s last comment) that such institutional incentives and disincentives are real… and in some sense inevitable. The fact that they are deployed (very!) differently in different contexts should raise questions about what they are, who is deploying them, and whether such incentives (whatever they might be) are just. Whether or not Charlie is right about his claims at this third level, a prompt to examine these seems worthwhile… and in fact, backs us into the question of “tradition” by pushing us to develop more fully what the tradition means by terms like “justice” and (in its technical sense) “caritas/agape.”
I’m just an interested reader and this statement “Is the legacy of Christian colonial conquest in Africa toxic and contaminating? Yes!” suggests to me where this analysis has headed off-course. First, Christian colonial conquest did not bring only sin and evil but also brought some good. Second, it fails to humbly recognize that our generation may be in error in judging prior generations. Finally, it arrogantly assumes our generation is somehow “less sinful” in our actions and judgements. As Chesterton said, ” Tradition refuses to submit to the small and arrogant oligarchy of those who merely happen to be walking about.”