Edith Stein: A New Look at Catholic Philosophy

Posted by Andrew Haines in , , on 10.30.2009

Each spring semester, the M.A. Philosophy Department at the Franciscan University of Steubenville holds a conference on some particular topic of study in the field of philosophy. Last year, the area of interest was Neoplatonism (in its ancient, mediaeval and modern contexts). And this year, in 2010, the conference will be devoted to the philosophical works of Edith Stein--also known as St Teresa Benedicta of the Cross.


For those who have been reading the blog for a while, you might already know that I have a great passion for studying and discussing Neoplatonism (particularly as it has influenced the history of Catholic philosophy over the centuries). Neoplatonism--most basically--is the tradition of interpreting the philosophical positions of Plato; and its adherents include personalities all the way from Aristotle (who considered himself first of all as a commentator on Plato) to Plotinus, Pseudo-Dionysius, St Augustine, St Bonaventure and--in the estimation of many--St Thomas Aquinas. All in all, Neoplatonism is a vast philosophical tradition that spans the entire history of Christian thought, and then some.

In a very real way, this year's conference on Edith Stein will be an extension of that Neoplatonism conference last year.

Edith Stein was born in Germany in 1881. She was Jewish; although at a relatively early age she lost her faith and devoted herself entirely to philosophy. She was a student of Edmund Husserl--perhaps the most influential single philosopher of the 20th century. As such, she also proved to be a great advocate of Husserl's "phenomenology"--a look at reality from the perspective of man's encounter with the essences of things; and a position that emphasizes, above all, the primacy of the ego in the question of existence.

After spending years studying and teaching, Stein converted to the Catholic faith in 1922; and in 1934 she entered the Carmelite monastery in Cologne, where she took the name, Teresa Benedicta of the Cross. After evading the Nazis for a number of years, she was finally arrested and deported to Auschwitz, where she was executed in 1942.

Stein's preparedness for martyrdom at the hands of the Nazis, nonetheless, was greatly prefigured (and evidenced) by much of her earlier philosophical work. Among her highest academic priorities were 1) providing a synoptic look at faith and philosophy as two co-dependent fields of knowledge and 2) grasping at an understanding of the Christian Trinity as the basis of a metaphysical realism. Given her background, Stein implemented Husserlian phenomenology to a great extent, always beginning her investigations from the perspective of an encounter-with-reality, and moving only subsequently to metaphysical reality itself.

Nevertheless, though, her philosophical rigor was tempered very much by an appreciation of revealed truths as equally-given in the first moments of one's experience of reality. In other words, Stein--very much like Aquinas, in his own sort of Neoplatonism--considers the Trinity as co-given alongside the impressions of "being" that arise from an Aristotelian investigation of the world. For both Stein and Thomas, the Logos (reason, understanding) is not something deduced from real-world experiences; but rather, it is something within the context of which all real-world experiences abide. As such, God-as-Logos (i.e. the Word, or the Second Person) is a co-given reality, without which an authentic understanding of the world (and of metaphysics) is simply not possible.

By reiterating Thomas' centuries-old position in her new, phenomenological terms, Stein does something for Thomistic philosophy that is entirely invaluable. Not only does she help to clarify many points in Aquinas that are often subject to criticism, but she also revitalizes his understanding of the importance (and even the very possibility) of a truly Christian philosophy; and of one that is rooted not simply in supernatural faith, but with utilizes reason to prepare the way for even deeper faith.

The philosophy of Edith Stein is a real treasure for the Catholic Church in the 21st century. Because of her relatively short life, and the volatile and anti-scholastic philosophical milieu of the 20th century, much of Stein's work has remained largely untouched by commentators and scholars. For this reason, the conference at Franciscan University in the spring of 2010 holds a great deal of potential for breaking open what has long been kept locked up in Stein's own manuscripts. The detail and spectrum of her work will ultimately prove helpful--I think--not only for the discipline of philosophy as a whole, but most especially for the area of Christian philosophy, which is in great need of renaissance and revitalization.

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'Faithful' Dissent: Where's the Line?

Posted by Andrew Haines in , on 10.26.2009

During my days as an undergraduate student at a (Jesuit) Catholic university, one could pretty well count on the fact that most campus ministers would define themselves, proudly and primarily, as 'faithful dissenters.' "I am Catholic," they would invariably admit, "but the Church is really behind the times on [insert dogmatically defined issue here]." From small-group leaders to musicians to sacristans, almost anyone involved in serving the Catholic community at my college was somehow at odds with some aspect of Church teaching.

And in all cases--on the heels of such discordant convictions--their 'ministry' to the community suffered. Instead of attesting to the truth of the Church's magisterial authority with their very lives, they spent most of the time discussing why such-and-such was holding them back from really living out an authentic Christian vocation.

Five years after those tumultuous (and tiring) days as an undergrad, I still can't seem to escape the phenomenon of 'faithful dissent.' And, what's more, of 'faithful dissent' coupled closely with a desire to minister to the people of God. In particular, an encounter I had just last month reawakened many questions that had, for a while, lain dormant in the back of my mind. Now, again, they persist.

For the last few months, I've been heading up the Gregorian chant schola at my local parish. After singing at a Mass the other weekend, the parish organist/music director approached me to discuss how Mass had gone. "You sounded good," she said, and proceeded to mention her thoughts on chant, music and our schola as a whole. "Gregorian chant is nice," she finally said, with a bit of a chagrinned look on her face, "but I don't want to go back."

"Go back to what?" I asked.

"Back! This diocese has a tendency to go back, not forward," she suddenly retorted. "And I don't know why! It's not doing what all the other dioceses are doing; and I think our diocese needs to realize that the past is not the answer. The Church needs to realize that it won't go anywhere until it reconsiders how it does things--and starts to let women up there!" She pointed toward the sanctuary.

In less than a minute, our friendly discussion of liturgy and music degraded into a diatribe against the male, celibate priesthood, and the very foundations of the Church's teaching authority. Without so much as hinting at a reason, our music director had bypassed all logical segues and proceeded directly into a rant about 'antiquated' rituals and mediaeval hierarchical nonsenses. However, I have to admit that (sadly) I was not all that surprised. And I immediately thought back to those folks at college--those 'ministers'--whose energy was spent more on rationalizing and justifying than on serving and teaching.

In light of this most recent run-in, I'm left with the same perennial questions: namely, is it really possible for someone who dissents from a dogmatic teaching of the Church--and who dissents so vehemently--to be an authentic minister of that Church? Or, to put it a different way, what's the line beyond which one's actions in the name of the Catholic Church cease to be effectively Catholic, and start to be effectively something-else?

For my old college campus ministers, being a 'faithful dissenter' was a badge of pride; and they wore is courageously on their breasts (probably alongside a rainbow ribbon and a "Catholics for Choice" button). For my present colleague, 'faithful dissent' seems rather to arise from some long-held resentment, which betrays a deep and fundamental divergence from the faith of the Catholic Church. In both cases, Christians feel a desire to serve others; but it is a desire weighted down heavily by the burdens of constant complaint, disagreement and capriciousness. In either case, the very bedrock of ministering to others "in the Catholic tradition" (as some are wont to phrase it) is utterly compromised by the desire to hold in tension two conflicting and diametrically opposed viewpoints--i.e. that of the Church, and that of unwavering personal opinion.

Certainly, there is no easy answer to this dilemma. It is an ubiquitous one both in America and throughout the entire world. But it raises deep questions that ought to be dealt with, lest we lose sight of the responsibility of Christian ministers--in whatever capacity--to serve with honesty and integrity. If one can only give to others so much as he or she has received from the first Giver, then how much of a unified, true message can one convey who himself sees truth as negotiable and unity as simply an option?

To minister to others requires that we first be ministered to by the Church herself. If our understanding of that Church promotes any sort of disunity among its members, then we are not aspiring to the true Christian Church. And if we are not ministers of the true Church, we are not ministers to the faithful of that Church after all.

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