Here's a post, from April 2005, that I thought was worth re-visiting (in light of, among other things, our own Rob Vischer's new book on conscience):
More Thoughts on Americans, Catholics, and Conscience
For starters, Professor Steven Smith has written several interesting papers -- available at SSRN -- on the problem of conscience. In "The Tenuous Case for Conscience", he writes:
If there is any single theme that has provided the foundation of modern liberalism and has infused our more specific constitutional commitments to freedom of religion and freedom of speech, that theme is probably "freedom of conscience." But some observers also perceive a progressive cheapening of conscience - even a sort of degradation. Such criticisms suggest the need for a contemporary rethinking of conscience. When we reverently invoke "conscience," do we have any idea what we are talking about? Or are we just exploiting a venerable theme for rhetorical purposes without any clear sense of what "conscience" is or why it matters?
This essay addresses two questions. The first is discussed briefly: what is "conscience"? What do we have in mind when we say that someone acted from "conscience"? A second question receives more extended discussion: granted its importance to the individuals who assert it, still, why should "conscience" deserve special respect or accommodation from society, or from the state? That question forces us to consider the metaethical presuppositions of claims of conscience. The discussion suggests that claims to conscience may be defensible only on certain somewhat rarified moral and metaethical assumptions. The discussion further suggests that shifts in such assumptions have transformed the meaning of claims to "freedom of conscience," so that such claims typically now mean almost the opposite of what they meant when asserted by early champions of conscience such as Thomas More, Roger Williams, and John Locke.
In "Interrogating Thomas More: The Conundrums of Conscience," he writes:
The martyrdom of Thomas More for refusing to take an oath affirming Henry VIII's marriage to Anne Boleyn and his supremacy over the church has fascinated historians, playwrights, and their readers. Why did More refuse, at such sacrifice to take an oath that nearly everyone in the realm (including More's family and friends) had taken - and that they regarded him as obstinate and absurd for not taking? Why did More refuse to explain the reasons for his refusal, even to close family and friends, beyond saying that they were reasons of "conscience"? And how can More's eloquent affirmation that he would "leave every man to own conscience" and that "every man should leave me to mine" be reconciled with his active persecution and execution of Protestants whose consciences impelled them to embrace what More regarded as heresy? This essay investigates these questions and reflects on their significance for modern commitments to (and difficulties with) the idea of "freedom of conscience."
In another vein, but also on the question of conscience, I'm very grateful to Steve Shiffrin, for his note, and also to Rob Vischer for his response. I'd offer just three, minor thoughts about their exchange.
Steve writes to Rob: "You seem to suggest that Catholic legal theory can help to lead American Catholics away from their disagreements with the Vatican. What I like about the Mirror of Justice site is that it brings together people who bring quite different Catholic perspectives to the site. Your comment seems to suggest that Catholic legal theory is committed to the view that American Catholics are wrong." To which Rob replies: "I think it's important that we help elucidate connections between the Gospel and our real-world environment, particularly connections that run along our legal and political cultures, challenging each other to reflect more deeply on what it means to follow Christ in the modern world. More often than not, this effort will be directed toward encouraging Catholics to recognize the wisdom of Church teaching on a range of issues that are given short shrift in the current climate (notably war, materialism, and poverty, not just sexuality). At other times, though, Catholic legal theorists may challenge the Church to recognize overlooked or potentially misconstrued implications of the Gospel."
I think it is worth remembering -- because, in the last few weeks, the press covering the death of Pope John Paul II and the election of Pope Benedict XVI rairly has -- that not all "American Catholics" disagree with "the Vatican." (I'm putting aside the additional point that many American Catholics who profess disagreement with "the Vatican" -- I'm certainly not talking about Professor Shiffrin or any of my MOJ colleagues here -- have, I think, been misinformed by the press about what "the Vatican" claims and teaches. The coverage of Pope Benedict's pre-election theological work -- on, for example, "Truth and Tolerance" -- has, in my judgment, been egregiously bad in this respect).
Maybe I'm being pollyannish, trying to paper over differences, but -- as one would hope, I suppose -- most Catholics believe and assent to most of what the Magisterium holds out as the crucial content of the Catholic faith: We have been redeemed through the saving work of Jesus Christ, who is Lord, who has gifted us with the Church and its sacraments. And, in many cases, I imagine that American Catholics' failure to embrace that content has more to do with lax instruction than specific rejection. (For example, I cannot help thinking that polls revealing that a non-trivial number of Catholics do not accept the divinity of Christ probably means that 10% didn't understand the question, or has never been given even rudimentary catechesis -- not that there is a big schism between the United States and Rome on the matter). The press loves to talk about -- and, not surprisingly, we MOJ-types often talk about -- the hot-button areas of serious, often conscientious and principled, disagreement, but I like to think that, again, the vast majority of us agree about the vast majority of the Church's teachings.
Also, it seems worth emphasizing that there is nothing uniquely "American" about contemporary rejection of -- or failure to embrace -- certain teachings regarding the Usual Suspects issues. That is, do American Catholics tend not to embrace the Magisterium's teaching regarding contraception because they are "American," or for some other reason? I'm not sure.
Finally, I think that there are a number of questions where (a) Catholic teaching, properly understood, poses a real challenge to "American" premises and practices; but (b) most of us would agree, despite our various differences, that part of our job here at MOJ might well be -- in Steve's words -- to "help to lead American Catholics away from their disagreements with the [Magisterium]." To the extent that American Catholics, qua Americans, believe that (say) utilitarian reasoning can and should supply the answers to moral questions about human life and the common good, then these Americans -- however well-meaning -- are mistaken, and in need of "Catholic legal theory's" help.
Tomorrow, I am doing a "welcome address" for a large group of students who have been admitted to Notre Dame Law School. While thinking about things to say, I was going through some of the many MOJ posts we have put up, over the years, on the subject. Here is one from five years ago:
I asked, a few days ago, "about the place of a law school in a university, particularly in a Catholic university that aspires to be 'great.'" Here is a very interesting "take" -- to which I would welcome responses -- from an MOJ reader:
Apropos your question about the role of a law school in a great Catholic university, I'd have the following observations:
1. [Some other Catholic universities] decided that it was enough to have a law school that aped secular models and had nothing distinctively Catholic about it. . . . They were content first to provide an avenue of social mobility for the children of the immigrant Church, and later to compete with purely secular law schools on purely secular terms for prestige.
2. This underestimated the importance of law in both public life and intellectual life in the US, where for many reasons it has played an unusually influential role. Law has almost always been the field (or crucible) in which conflicts over Catholic values and perspectives have been played out, from the 19th C battles over education and the status of the Church and Catholics in a hostile environment, to the current culture wars over abortion, sexuality, the family, the nature of the human person and bioethics. To the extent the Church (and the great Catholic university) wants to influence those debates -- or understand them for their own purposes -- there should be Catholic law schools. Also, to the extent the great Catholic university concieves of itself as a place where Catholics can talk to each other critically about the Church and its teachings, and as a countercultural force that can address society critically, it must be able to "talk law", because the focus of criticism will often be the law as an expression of values and a conception of the human person.
3. A great Catholic university thus must have a great Catholic law school: one with plenty of faculty grounded in the Tradition, convinced that their Catholic faith is relevant to the way they think about law, able to imagine connections across the spectrum of law and not just the law of Church and State and the obvious hot button issues such as abortion, and able to integrate their faith into their teaching and scholarship. . . .
4. A great Catholic university seeks to engage in the moral formation of its undergraduates, using the solid platform of Catholic faith and thought as a way of countering the moral skepticism, relativism and indifference that is the conventional ideology of higher ed today. That task is even more urgent in law (and other professional) schools where we are turning out people with great power and responsibilities and no moral touchstones other than a devotion to craft and their ambitions, restrained only by minimalist, rule-bound professional "ethics." Catholic law schools can have the moral framework and confidence to produce very different kinds of lawyers. The Catholic university that makes that happen is indeed doing something great.
5. The Catholic law school an make a Catholic university greater by providing a real (and not made up or forced) locus for genuinely interdisciplinary work. . . . Think of how . . . theological anthropology influences fundamental jurisprudence, moral theology influences the law of bioethics, and Catholic sociual thought influences understanding of everything from immigration law to corporate law. The Catholic law school can be where all olf these strains of Catholic thought can come together in imaginative ways.
Hope this is a helpful answer to your excellent question . . . .
Thoughts?
UPDATE: Here is a reaction from "Midwestern Mugwump."
And now . . . we have comments!
In light of her recent performance, I'd pretty much stopped reading Maureen Dowd, at least until Pentecost. Yesterday, though, I succumbed to the temptation to read "The Church's Judas Moment," her column in the NYT. Silly me. Most of her piece yesterday was a letter from her brother Kevin, whom she describes as a "conservative and devout" Catholic. Kevin has lots to say, some of which struck me as correct. But then comes this whopper: "[L]aypeople giving [sic] the sacraments are not going to destroy the church." With the exception of the sacrament of matrimony, does *anything* in the Church's sacramental theology suggest that "laypeople" are capable of celebrating the sacraments? Yes, the laity have their roles in the sacraments (except Holy Orders), but are the laity capable of "giving" them without the ministerial role of the ordained priesthood?
The sort "baby with the bathwater" strategy Kevin provides is further unneeded evidence that the grievous shortcomings of some Church leaders are being exploited to advance an agenda that belies any respect for or comprehension of essential characteristics of the Catholic ecclesial reality.
Martin Sheen was literally the first pilgrim I met when I arrived in St. Jean Pied-de-Port, France to start my 500 mile walk across northern Spain on the Way - The Camino de Santiago. Although I didn't talk to his son, Emilio Estevez, I did see him down the street. This link is an interview with Emilio about.his new movie, "The Way" and his experience on the Camino. They ended up in Santiago about five days after I did so I never saw them again after that first day.
UPDATE
Here is the movie's trailer.
