Cardinal Fernández on Intellectual Humility

A Work in Progress

One of the last works of the great theologian and bishop St. Augustine was his Retractions, written in 426 or 427. In this work. Augustine goes through many of his previous writings and identifies the places where he has since changed his mind. In other words, he admits that, on several occasions, he was wrong. I can’t think of another theological work in which the author is so open about their perceived errors or lack of clarity. Theologians may occasionally admit they have changed their mind on a certain point while in the midst of making an argument, but as often as not they simply present their new view without adverting to the fact that it differs from their previous view! Augustine’s Retractions is a remarkable example of intellectual humility.

Cardinal Víctor Manuel Fernández offered a short meditation on intellectual humility to open a plenary session of the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith (DDF), the Vatican office he heads, late last month. The DDF is the Vatican office responsible for safeguarding the Catholic Church’s doctrine, and it holds plenary sessions every two years, bringing together the cardinals and bishops who are members of the dicastery, as well as the dicastery’s consultors, or theological experts. The plenary session provides the DDF with an opportunity to identify priorities for its upcoming work. Although the proceedings of plenary sessions are not public, Pope Leo XIV provided the world a clue regarding what had been discussed when he addressed the participants, noting that they had focused on the theme of the transmission of the faith, especially in a context where “an increasing number of people no longer perceive the Gospel as a fundamental resource for their own existence, especially among the new generations.” Although Pope Leo offered the public a glimpse of the contents discussed at the plenary session, Cardinal Fernández’s meditation provided insight into how the DDF carries out its work, or at least how it ought to carry out that work.

Unlike Augustine, however, Cardinal Fernández did not focus on identifying past errors, but rather on the limitations of the human mind when confronted with the immensity and complexity of the created world and “the inexhaustible richness of God.” Intellectual humility before the divine mystery should guide the work of all theologians, including (or especially?) those who work for or advise the DDF and whose responsibilities include authentically interpreting the Church’s doctrines and correcting theological errors.

The aspect of Fernández’s speech which has garnered the most attention was his remark that “[T]oday, on any blog, anyone—even without having studied much theology—can express his or her opinion and condemn others as if speaking ex cathedra.” Here Fernández is warning about the temptation to make judgments about orthodoxy and heterodoxy without adequate knowledge of the issue at stake, familiarity with the work of the person being condemned, or in a way that extends beyond what the Church itself has authoritatively taught.

This temptation to liberally hurl accusations of heresy became especially pronounced in response to the widespread dissent from magisterial teachings by Catholics in the aftermath of the Second Vatican Council and especially Pope Paul VI’s 1968 encyclical on contraception, Humanae Vitae, but it has become even more pronounced with the advent of the internet and social media. Everyone is familiar by now with social media’s tendency to intensify polarization and black-and-white thinking. Many years ago, the theologian Anthony Godzieba pointed to another way that the internet has impacted the interpretation of Church teaching. In the past, he argues, when the church’s teaching documents were published solely in print, they were mostly available in locations where those with access to them—for example, clergy, professors, and theology students—were more likely to read them with their theological and historical context in mind. Now that these documents are digitally available online, they are accessible by practically anyone and largely decontextualized. Someone approaching these documents “without having studied much theology,” to use Cardinal Fernández’s phrase, may miss important nuances in their teachings. And in a digital context, a fifteenth-century papal bull and a recent encyclical can both serve as “content” that can be cited with authority; the sense of how the Church’s teaching develops over time is diminished. The widespread availability of ecclesial documents (and other historical documents!) online is likely a net good, but we must be mindful about how this new medium impacts how we read them.

Cardinal Fernández’s focus in his meditation is not on how social media and the internet have shaped theological reasoning, however. Rather, his point about Catholic bloggers is merely an illustration of a much broader challenge that impacts even trained theologians:

God has given human beings the capacity for thought, a capacity with universal scope: one can think about the world, about history, and about our origins; one can even think about God. However, this universal capacity for thought does not mean that humans possess the capacity for exhaustive knowledge or a comprehensive perception of reality. Even with the help of the most powerful technologies imaginable, it is impossible for a human mind to be aware of reality in its totality and in every one of its aspects. This is possible only for God.

It’s significant that Fernández’s point about intellectual humility extends to the natural and human sciences and not just to theology. Despite the incredible advances in sciences like biology, physics, and astronomy in modern times, much of the created universe remains a mystery. Even elements of the natural world about which we believed we had a solid understanding can reveal further riches. For example, Albert Einstein’s discovery of the theory of relativity introduced a layer of reality that had previously remained hidden beneath the world of Newtonian physics. Recent discoveries regarding epigenetic inheritance—the impact of environmental factors experienced by an organism on the genetic expression of its offspring—are potentially revolutionizing our understanding of genetics and heredity.

(Photo: Lysander Yuen, Unsplash)

Theology is distinct from the natural and human sciences, however, because it involves the study of God’s revelation. As Catholics, we believe that God’s revelation was complete in Jesus Christ, and so, unlike the case with physics or biology, one might say that there is nothing left to discover. As the Second Vatican Council teaches, because of the infinite richness of God’s self-communication in Christ, however, “[T]here is a growth in the understanding of the realities and the words which have been handed down” in Scripture and Tradition (Dei Verbum, #8). As the Christological controversies of the first centuries of the Church illustrate, even when a particular theological question is settled through a doctrinal formulation, further questions emerge. Even seemingly long-settled teachings take on new light in changed contexts, such as Christians’ evolving understanding of the doctrine of Creation in light of what some call the “New Cosmos Story” arising from contemporary astronomy and physics.

Fernández goes on to say, “[W]e cannot have a complete understanding of even a small part of this world, since that same part can be understood fully only in the light of the totality in which it is integrated, for everything is connected.” He adds, “Consequently, we are incapable of interpreting all the meanings and nuances of a reality, a person, a historical moment, or a truth.”

Some have mistakenly interpreted this to mean that we are incapable of knowing the truths of the Gospel at all, but Fernández is clear that all he is suggesting is that we cannot have a “complete understanding” of the divine mystery that has been revealed to us and that, by implication, theology can only be a partial and limited attempt to systematize what we know about God.

Cardinal Fernández draws two implications from the limits of the human intellect that should guide how we approach theology. First of all, “[I]n order to understand anything fully, we must allow ourselves to be illuminated by God. We must invoke him, pray and listen to him, and let ourselves be guided by him amidst the shadows.” Here the cardinal invokes the traditional maxim that faith enlightens reason. His statement also hints at the philosopher Maurice Blondel’s argument that human reason experiences itself as incomplete when left to its own devices and is only fulfilled by faith. Interestingly, however, Fernández’s point does not seem to be limited to theology; he is suggesting that faith even sheds light on what we learn from the natural and human sciences, not directly, but “in the light of the totality,” which includes God and God’s creative act.

The second implication drawn by Fernández is:

[W]e must reflect, think, and analyze reality, but while also listening to others, welcoming their perspectives—which allows us to perceive other aspects of that same reality—and opening ourselves to other points of view. For this reason, it benefits us to pay attention to the “peripheries,” where things are seen differently.

Because even the greatest theologian’s understanding is finite, we must learn from one another. Fernández’s point is similar to one made by Pope Francis, who said that theologians should “do theology in a synodal way, developing their capacity to listen to each other, to dialogue, to discern and to harmonize their many and varied approaches and contributions.” Fernández’s statement also suggests that we should acknowledge that theology is contextual—that is, the work of theology is shaped by our social and cultural context and should respond to that context—a point likewise raised by Pope Francis.

Fernández offered this meditation on intellectual humility to guide the work of the DDF, since, he says, “[W]e have the possibility of giving authoritative answers, of writing documents that become part of the Ordinary Magisterium, and even of correcting and condemning.” In concrete terms, however, what would this mean for the DDF and its work?

In a letter Pope Francis wrote to Fernández upon the latter’s appointment as prefect of the DDF, Francis stated that the dicastery should not be so focused on the pursuit of possible doctrinal errors that it neglects the promotion of theological knowledge and the increase in the understanding of the faith in the service of evangelization. Cardinal Fernández seems to have taken this charge to heart; although not shying away from identifying what it believes are theological or moral errors, the DDF under Fernández’s leadership has primarily focused on clarifying the Church’s teachings on issues like marriage, the dignity of the person, and Mary’s role in salvation history. Fernández’s DDF has so far avoided issuing condemnations of the works of particular theologians.

Fernández’s meditation also suggests that the DDF should take a synodal approach to its work. Here the DDF’s work under Fernández has arguably fallen short. For example, its handling of the question of the female diaconate during the Synod on Synodality and after has been criticized as opaque and lacking sufficient dialogue. At the same time, some have criticized the DDF for the lack of a synodal process in the drafting of Fiducia Supplicans, the 2023 document opening the door to the blessing of individuals in same-sex relationships. The bishops of the world were not consulted before the document was published, contributing to the refusal of the African bishops to implement the document. Similarly, the Kenyan theologian Leonida Katunge has criticized the more recent document Una Caro on the beauty of monogamy for the lack of consultation with African theologians or pastoral leaders, leading to misleading stereotypes about the practice of polygamy in Africa.

The American theologian Daniel Horan has also praised Cardinal Fernández for emphasizing the necessity of listening to the practice of theology and the work of the DDF, but Horan points to recent statements by the DDF on transgender identity and gender-affirming care for transgender persons as examples of where this insight has not been put into practice. Horan writes: “[N[o effort appears to have been made to consult with and take seriously the experiences and expertise of transgender people or examine the latest in scientific research.” Wherever one stands on questions related to transgender identity, I believe Horan is right that the Church’s teaching would benefit from learning from the experience of those who identify as transgender.

One might say, then, that the task of embodying the virtue of intellectual humility at the institutional level in the Vatican is a work in progress. But of course, it is a work in progress for the individual theologian, as well. Indeed, Fernández opens the meditation by noting that he chose the theme of intellectual humility because he has felt a “strong call” to greater intellectual humility in his own life. Hopefully we all can heed that same call, whether we are consultor for the DDF or a mere blogger.

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Of Interest…

• Speaking of the temptation to hurl accusations of heresy, one of the most common of these is the accusation of “Modernism.” Modernism was a heresy condemned by Pope Pius XI in his 1907 encyclical Pascendi Dominici Gregis. Some have used the term as an epithet for any Catholic theologian who has tried to engage with the modern world, but what exactly was Modernism? In an interesting essay, Larry Chapp explains what Modernism was and distinguishes it from the theological movement known as la Nouvelle theologie, whose members (like Henri de Lubac, SJ and Marie-Dominique Chenu, OP) were accused of being Modernists during their lifetimes. Chapp’s essay is worth a read (I would stay away from the comments, though…).

• I wrote my recent article on “Christian Martyrdom after the Death of Renee Good” only the night before Alexi Pretti was fatally shot by two Border Patrol agents. I had originally scheduled the article to be available only to paid subscribers, but after Pretti’s shooting, I decided to make it available to all readers. Writing after the shooting, Terrence Sweeney argues in Commonweal that Pretti, who was Catholic, was a martyr. Bishop Joseph Tyson of Yakima, Washington has also made the case that Pretti was a witness, the original meaning of the term “martyr,” in this case a witness to the “assaults on our morality” occurring in cities like Minneapolis.

• In that earlier article on martyrdom, I noted that Renee Good’s death had inspired remarkable bravery in the observers and protesters in Minneapolis who continued their work despite the risk. I pointed to a sign visible at a protest in Minneapolis: “For those who believe in ‘Paid Agitators’: You couldn’t pay me to be out in this weather. But for our neighbors, we’ll freeze for free!” The sign demonstrated the willingness to sacrifice one’s own well-being for the sake of solidarity with others at the heart of the Christian witness. At a protest in Boston soon after Pretti’s shooting, protesters chanted, “We’re not cold, we’re not afraid, Minne[apolis] taught us to be brave.” This sense of an awakening of bravery seems spiritually and culturally significant and worthy of continued reflection.