Freedom and Culture in the Americas: Reflections on Ecclesia in America

(This paper will appear in the Summer/Fall 2001 issue of the Josephinum Journal of Theology.)

The author of these lines is neither Thomas Jefferson nor Alexis de Tocqueville nor Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. It is Pope John Paul II, writing in his 1991 encyclical letter, Centesimus Annus. George Weigel’s portrayal of the pope in his new biography makes it clear that proclaiming the inherent dignity of the person and the freedom the person therefore deserves has been one of the organizing principles not only of John Paul’s pontificate but of Karol Wojtyla’s life in general.2

The notion of freedom is one that Americans hold dear, even if they rarely pause to ponder its meaning. John Paul has paused and has pondered deeply the meaning of the word and its implications for human society. Because of this fact—and, of course, for Catholics because of his office—John Paul’s reflections on the American situation merit attention. Ecclesia in America, the apostolic exhortation emanating from the Synod of the Americas in 1997, represents the most direct reflection on the American situation that the pope has yet offered. It will, then, serve as a springboard from which to investigate the relationship between freedom and culture and what the intersection of the two means for social life in the Americas.

The pope here displays enthusiasm for the replacement of authoritarian regimes by democratically elected political leaders. Clearly he has in mind nations such as Argentina, Chile, and Nicaragua. The significance of this support for the purposes of this essay is its indication of the Church’s coming to terms with the development of political freedom.

As a certain version of history has it, humanity suffered under the oppressive burden of a church-state union from the time of Constantine until the liberation wrought by the American and French revolutions. During that period, much of which falls under the appellation "Dark Ages"—a time of ignorance awaiting the "Enlightenment" of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries—people were generally simple, superstitious, and utterly in thrall to their political and religious superiors. Historians have shown that this is an oversimplification and a distortion, but, as with most distortions, it is based on a kernel of truth.4

That truth is the fact that, from the time of Constantine, the most common form of political arrangement in Europe was some kind of church-state union, a union often sought and endorsed by church leaders. Under these regimes, people were often forced to adhere to or at least to support religious organizations to which they had no personal commitment. Though the articulation of the right to freedom of conscience lay in the distant future, in retrospect it is possible to view these church-state arrangements as not particularly respectful of religious or political freedom.5

The point to be gleaned from this history is that the ideas of freedom and individual human rights were concepts that developed over time. It is important, as well, to remember that these concepts generally developed not in opposition to the Christian Church, but often within the Church and always with an impetus provided by the example and the teaching of Christ Himself. 6

In the midst of this development, from the closing of the fifteenth century through the beginning of the seventeenth, adventurers, explorers, colonists, and refugees departed the shores of Europe and settled on the soil of America. The social backgrounds, motivations, and religious persuasions of these immigrants were diverse, but a devotion to the Christian religion was a strong undercurrent throughout the process. This fact inspired the following reflection by John Paul in Ecclesia in America:

The nations and cultures of the American continents are suffused with Christianity—there can be little doubt of that. In many and sometimes scarcely understood ways, our institutions are shaped by this heritage of religious faith.

Considering again the historical situation, the development of ideas of freedom and individual rights converged with the discovery and colonization of a vast New World. The result was a wide variety of political arrangements that were more or less experimental in their grappling with the notion of freedom. By all accounts the most profoundly original arrangement arose along the eastern seaboard of the North American continent, as institutions of representative democracy developed hand in hand with the concepts of human rights and freedoms. The culmination of this particular development in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States enshrined in a nation’s law the most radical understanding of individual rights to date. These were not documents without precedent, but they did set a new precedent for a standard of freedom and equality before the law.

Where was the Church, meanwhile? In point of fact, the Church was there. Devoted Christians fought on both sides of the Revolutionary war, signed the Declaration of Independence, and represented the states in the first session of Congress. The Church, however, also took a critical stance vis-à-vis the new ideas of the eighteenth century. The idea that the Church should separate itself from the wielding of temporal power was one that would only slowly be assimilated by the bishops and theologians who thought through the relationship of church and society. By the late nineteenth century, Leo XIII would write with some ambivalence to the Church in the United States. On the one hand, he assured Americans of his warmest feelings and his desire that the Catholic Church "should not only share in, but help to bring about …[the] prospective greatness" of the American nation.8 On the other hand, he warned against universalizing the American experience and its resultant political arrangements:

Pope Leo, it must be recalled, led a worldwide Church—a Church that encompassed Catholics living under monarchs as well as parliaments, aristocracies as well as presidents. The relationship between church and state was a fluid thing, a thing that might change over time as the nature of nations and the nature of the Church itself (insofar as it is a human institution) changed.

By the time of Vatican II, the Church was ready to embrace forthrightly the development of the concepts of inviolable human rights and the value of freedom. It was fitting that one of the chief architects of the Council’s statement on religious freedom was a theologian from the New World, the place where Christianity, politics, and culture had grown up together. John Courtney Murray, through his reflection and scholarship, helped the Church to understand its own historical development and its relationship to the modern world. He argued that the Church need not see the rise of religious freedom as antagonistic to its traditional claim of being one and true. Instead, it could be seen as a genuine Christian response to an increasingly pluralistic world and a valid development of the Church’s own venerable insistence on the dignity of the human person and the nature of morality as concerned with free, uncoerced acts.

Murray rejected the conventional terms of the church-state debate, which centered on the dichotomies of ideal versus real and thesis versus hypothesis. A confessional state, the traditional argument went, was the ideal or thesis. A state "neutral" with respect to religion, such as the United States, could be tolerated as a temporary solution to the problem of pluralism, but, if pressed, Catholics must admit that Church doctrine called for a church-state union in the Constantinian vein.

Drawing on the experience of the American system, Murray argued that this view was a misinterpretation of Church teaching. "Are we to suppose," Murray wondered in a letter to John Tracy Ellis, "that 30,000,000 Catholics must be perpetually in a state of hypothesis?"10 It was not the most academic way Murray ever stated the problem, but it got at the heart of the issue. If the Church could thrive in the American milieu (and, from the vantage point of 1953, it was indeed thriving), how could the relationship between church and state there be inherently inferior to that of France, for example, where church-state union had given rise to anti-clerical backlash and the secularization of public life?

The key point is that Murray did not dispute the immutable doctrine at the root of Catholic theologians’ traditional defense of the confessional state. Rather, he located the whole issue of church-state relations outside of the realm of doctrine and in the arena of debatable and contingent prudential applications of Church teaching. It seemed a controversial move at the time, but Murray’s position was vindicated by the documents of Vatican II, especially Dignitatis Humanae. That document declared:

There was another scholar present during the debates over Dignitatis Humanae in 1964 and 1965. He was a theologian and a philosopher who had been present throughout the Council as an auxiliary bishop, but he participated in the third and fourth sessions of the proceedings by virtue of his position as Archbishop of Krakow. Karol Wojtyla, raised and educated in the shadow of first Nazi and then Communist Poland, had a keen experiential understanding of the meaning of human freedom. His recognition of the dangers inherent in the accumulation of power in the structures of the state was both theoretically and practically motivated. The claim of human liberation and common good, Wojtyla knew, was not enough to guarantee their realization. Top-down control could not accomplish the end of a good society; what could do so was free human action in service to the truth.

The combination of the development of the Church’s teaching on the role of freedom in society and the historical context of John Paul II’s life has resulted in a pontificate laced with profound teachings on the dignity of human beings and the demands that dignity makes on Christians in particular and all people in general. Reiterating the teaching of the Second Vatican Council, the pope wrote the following in Centesimus Annus:

In order to fathom the pope’s approach to freedom, one must acknowledge his particular understanding of the term. A helpful distinction is in order. "Freedom" as it is commonly used in public discourse is what has often been called "negative freedom." Another way to state the idea is this kind of freedom is "freedom from." Most commonly, we mean freedom from physical coercion or restraints, the ability to think and to act in any way we desire. This is a useful way to speak of freedom, especially with respect to political freedom. When we deplore the repression of authoritarian regimes, the absence of negative freedom is a large part of what bothers us.

John Paul II has a much fuller idea of what freedom means, however. For him, it is necessary to think about freedom as "freedom for." That is, freedom, to be fully realized, must always point toward something outside of itself; it must always be ordered toward the truth. It is helpful to recall that before John Paul was pope, he was a professional philosopher. In his major work, The Acting Person, he wrote that, "It is man’s actions, his conscious acting, that make of him what and who he actually is…. It is man’s actions, the way he consciously acts, that make of him a good or a bad man." 13

The idea being conveyed here is that the choices people make are constitutive of who they are. Moreover, bad choices result in a deformation of the person and an attenuation of personal freedom. In The Acting Person, Wojtyla identified "self-determination" with freedom. Self-determination is reflected in the statement, "I may, but I need not." When the human being acts in accord with instinct or natural impulses without integrating them into a genuine act of the will ("I may, but I need not"), the person fails to act freely, submitting the will to the instinct instead of the reverse.14 The result is not that freedom is enhanced, but that it is diminished.

The same idea has been stated in different ways. One of the precepts of classical republican theory, which deeply informed the American founding, was that passions must be brought under the control of reason, so that men can serve the public good in a disinterested and virtuous manner. It was recognized that passions distorted the choices available so that men, if in bondage to passion, were inhibited in choosing the best course. To this end, the Massachusetts legislature issued a proclamation in 1776 that declared, "piety and virtue … alone can secure the freedom of any people." 15

Christianity complemented the classical republican ideas (with their roots in pre-Christian Greece), by bringing to the discussion the notion of enslavement to sin. When one sins, Christian moral theology has ever taught, one does not act freely, but subordinates oneself to the desires of the flesh and the will of the devil. "Truly … I say to you," Christ declares in John 8:34, "everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin." It is only in choosing to do good that man becomes truly free, because true liberation involves becoming more fully human, and human nature is most perfectly fulfilled in living in harmony with the will of the Creator.

Consistent with this vein of thinking, in Ecclesia in America John Paul, speaking of the necessity of the rule of law, warns, "There can be no rule of law, however, unless citizens and especially leaders are convinced that there is no freedom without truth." 16 The uncoupling of freedom and truth, so often committed in the name of liberty, ends by undermining freedom.

At the same time, truth cannot be instilled by the coercive force of government or the Church. A virtuous society cannot be brought about by legislation. The various historical attempts to do so in a radical fashion were notable failures. As Alcibiades of Athens once said of his city’s regimented rival: "No wonder the Spartans cheerfully encounter death; it is a welcome relief to them from such a life as they are obliged to lead." 17 The repression of Puritan New England, while often exaggerated, was real and its benefits in moral terms questionable. A society hedged by legal prohibitions at every turn is a society in which the human spirit is quenched and genuine virtue stifled.

In its evangelizing task, John Paul said in Centesimus Annus, "the Church’s way is always that of respect for freedom."18 And in a section of Ecclesia in America directed most evidently at the situation of Central and South America, but serving also as a reminder to Christians of the North, the pope underlines the correct role of the Church in society:

The Church, the pope makes clear, is not to be identified with any political party or political agenda.

In what way, then, can the Church act, as the Second Vatican Council puts it, as "leaven" in society, if not through direct political action? The key to the effectiveness of the Christian Church in influencing humankind in a positive way lies in the idea of culture. As already mentioned, lay Christians have the right and the duty to participate actively in the political and economic activities of society. Moreover, the Church certainly has a public role to play in offering moral principles that will guide the political action of her members.

John Paul’s pivotal insight, however, is that it is culture that holds the potential for society-wide transformation. "It is not possible," John Paul writes,

It is in culture, the pope believes, that a society’s core tenets are revealed. "At the heart of every culture," he continues, "lies the attitude man takes to the greatest mystery: the mystery of God. Different cultures are basically different ways of facing the question of the meaning of personal existence." 21

The pope’s meditations on the relationships among the Church, freedom, and culture have implications for the way we ought to approach the construction of a just and humane society. Consider the political sphere. Though the Church is not to be an instrument or manipulator of political power, it has a prophetic message to proclaim to the political culture of the Americas—both to the North American nations where notions of freedom and rights have been taken for granted and their genuine bases forgotten, and to the Latin American nations where their full implementation is still struggling to be realized.

"It is appropriate to recall," John Paul reminds us, "that the foundation on which all human rights rest is the dignity of the human person." And later, "This dignity is common to all, without exception, since all have been created in the image of God."22 Other foundations for the rights of man have been constructed—from the state fiat of the French Revolution to the democratic consensus of modern liberal political theory—but these have proven to be little more than shifting sands incapable of supporting what is an indispensable edifice of the social and political orders.

The repercussions of these mistaken theories are evident in contemporary conflicts between what are seen as competing rights and freedoms. "To claim the right to abortion, infanticide and euthanasia," John Paul argues in Evangelium Vitae, "and to recognize that right in law, means to attribute to human freedom a perverse and evil significance: that of an absolute power over others and against others. This is the death of true freedom."23 The grounding of human rights in human nature as a creature of God is a sure and solid thing, and, ultimately, the best guarantor of human freedom and dignity. This is the message the Church must disseminate to a culture in need of surety and solidity amid rapidly changing technology and increasingly tenuous social ties.

Consider also the economic sphere. In Centesimus Annus, John Paul embraces the idea of the free market because of its superior ability to serve the material needs of people and to produce and distribute goods efficiently. Through the principle of subsidiarity (an entity of a higher order should interfere with an entity of a lower order only when the lower order entity is incapable of carrying out its role), the pope warns against undue governmental interference in the economy.

At the same time, when considering human needs, it is not sufficient to say, "the market will take care of it." There are many human needs, the pope insists, "which find no place on the market."24 The cultural institutions of family, church, and fraternal organizations must address those concerns. The market will not ensure that the gospel is proclaimed, for instance, a task that Christians ought to consider imperative in the formation of a good society. The market will not ensure that a homeless drug addict gets the help he needs to overcome his immoral behavior and become a productive and virtuous citizen. The market will not ensure that a grandmother in an elderly care center will not become lonely and depressed.

It is also insufficient to say, however, that "the government will take care of it." The government can declare a state religion, but that has proven to be an ineffective way to convert people to accept sincerely the message of the gospel. The government can operate drug rehabilitation facilities, but these have proven generally to be inefficient and ineffective. The state can fund homes for seniors and fill them with certified nurses and social workers, but that will not guarantee that the homes are places where love and friendship can flourish.

For such needs as are applicable to the state—such as basic material necessities—the government must make sure that the needs of its people are adequately addressed. According to subsidiarity, the state may also supplement deficiencies in the ability or willingness of the cultural institutions. It must always be, however, with caution and on a temporary basis that political institutions play this role of substitution. The danger, John Paul warns, is that the state will enlarge "excessively the sphere of … intervention to the detriment of both economic and civil freedom." 25The excessive enlargement of the political sphere, that is, will impinge on the proper and necessary functioning of the economic and cultural spheres.

The truth of this principle has been borne out repeatedly over the last fifty years. This is one of the reasons the transition to democracy has been so difficult for many eastern European nations. The institutions of civil society that existed prior to Communism were vanquished by the expansive power of the state. The rise of free economies and political systems in the countries behind the defunct iron curtain is undoubtedly a positive development, but the cultural destruction left behind has made this rise problematic. Particularly in such cases where the mediating institutions of civil society are lacking, the state may indeed play the substituting role mentioned above. But in these situations it all the more imperative that the state do so with a goal of empowering and enabling mediating institutions, not with the idea that it will be a permanent replacement.

As these examples imply, cultural supports are of utmost importance in maintaining the just and free operation of political and economic systems. Imagine a society in which the moral/cultural climate is such that contracts are not viewed as binding and dishonesty is the norm rather than the exception in business dealings. Political authority would be impotent to bring about the smooth operation of a market economy in such a situation.

One might also consider the materialism afflicting the United States. Consumerism is one of the evils John Paul cites as attending the increasing wealth of a free economy. This tendency to relativize human worth according to the acquisition and possession of material goods is destructive of human community and dignity. Politics can do little to address this kind of attitudinal dysfunction. Instead, the family and the Church must instill the values necessary to permit detachment from material wealth in the midst of an increase of the same. An inordinate focus on material development, it might be added, can be attributed, in different ways, to the Church in both North and South America. "[I]t is necessary to ask," John Paul contends, "whether a pastoral strategy directed almost exclusively to meeting people’s material needs has not in the end left their hunger for God unsatisfied, making them vulnerable to anything which claims to be of spiritual benefit." A Church, he adds, "which fervently lives the spiritual and contemplative dimension, and which gives herself generously to the service of charity, will be an ever more eloquent witness to God for men and women searching for meaning in their lives." 26

The pope here reminds Christians that their foremost obligation is to proclaim the gospel. Christians ought to be reminders to each other and to others that human beings’ ultimate destination is beyond this world, with all of its material and emotional attachments. By directing people’s vision toward the transcendent, we can encourage recognition of the fact that they possess inherent dignity and value and that the source of that value is neither the state nor the economy but their creation in the image of God. In this way, instead of the culture being degraded according to the basest of human desires, it can be reformed according to the highest of human aspirations.