The Catholic Church, a cornerstone of global Christianity, faces a complex and evolving landscape in 2025 regarding attendance, membership, and participation, reflecting both challenges and signs of resilience. 

Membership globally has grown, with estimates suggesting a rise from 1.358 billion in 2023 to approximately 1.375 billion, primarily driven by increases in the Global South, particularly Africa and Asia. 

In the United States, however, the picture is more complex, with the Catholic population stabilizing at around 20% since 2014, down from 24% at the turn of the century.

In the U.S., weekly attendance has declined significantly, with only about 17% of Catholics attending Mass regularly—a drop from 25% in 2012 —exacerbated by the lingering effects of the COVID-19 pandemic and the shift to virtual services. 

Globally, attendance varies widely, while Western Europe and parts of the U.S. report figures as low as 10%.

The Catholic Church experienced a significant moment of potential renewal during the papacy of John Paul II (1978–2005), particularly in the 1990s, when its intellectual and cultural influence reached a peak, offering a unique opportunity to shape public discourse. 

This era, dubbed the “Catholic moment” by thinkers such as Richard John Neuhaus, George Weigel, Michael Novak, and Robert George, gained prominence in debates over ethics, politics, and culture, bolstered by John Paul II’s charismatic leadership.

The fall of communism, attributed in part to his influence, and the global attention during World Youth Days amplified this visibility, positioning the Church as a moral and intellectual force in a post-secular world.

However, this promise was squandered through a combination of the sex abuse scandal, clericalism, and doctrinal rigidity. Clericalism further exacerbated the loss.

The Catholic Church’s sex abuse scandal, unfolding over decades with increasing visibility since the 1980s, has posed an existential threat to its credibility and authority, shaking its moral foundation to the core. 

The scandal erupted into public consciousness with the 2002 Boston Globe exposé, revealing widespread abuse by priests and a systemic cover-up by church leaders, a pattern later corroborated by investigations across the U.S. and globally. 

Reports exposed a decades-long failure to protect minors, with bishops often transferring offenders rather than reporting them, prioritizing institutional reputation over victim welfare.

This crisis nearly dismantled the Church’s authority, as trust in its leadership eroded amid evidence of complicity at the highest levels.

The financial toll—hundreds of millions of dollars in settlements—further strained the dioceses. At the same time, the perception of a patriarchal institution shielding abusers fueled disillusionment, particularly among younger generations and those in secularizing regions.

In 2025, the Catholic Church faces a growing disconnect between the theological perspectives of the laity and the Magisterium's teachings, creating a rift that challenges its unity and relevance in the post-secular age. 

This divergence reflects a shift in the laity’s beliefs, shaped by personal experiences, cultural trends, and access to diverse information, often diverging from the Magisterium’s official doctrines on issues such as sexuality, gender roles, and moral authority in general. 

Surveys, such as the 2024 Pew Research Center study, indicate that only 36% of U.S. Catholics accept the Church’s stance against contraception, while 61% support same-sex marriage, contrasting sharply with the Magisterium’s views. These numbers, by the way, are from practicing, Mass-going Catholics.

This tension, noted by scholars and demographers, risks alienating the faithful, as approximately 300,000 to 350,000 U.S. Catholics leave the Church each year, dwarfing the 30,000 to 60,000 new converts. 

Over the past 300 years, the trajectory of Catholic and most other forms of Christian theology has veered off course, straying from its vocation as a participatory, meaning-centered discipline. 

While it was right to resist the reductionistic tendencies of Enlightenment thinking, which sought to confine truth to empirical reason and secular frameworks, theology’s response was marred by fear. 

This fear manifested in entrenchment, clinging to rigid manualism—codified systems of doctrine that stifled intellectual vitality—and legalistic, triumphalist assertions of infallibility. 

Such defensiveness, exemplified by the Syllabus of Errors (1864) or Humanae Generis (1950), prioritized control over dialogue, distancing theology from the lived experience of the real world.

This series of missteps rendered theology prone to category errors, leading it to overreach by claiming an authoritative voice in domains such as science, history, and other forms of human knowledge. 

The earlier Galileo affair and debates over biblical chronology illustrate this, as theology ventured into empirical territory, undermining its credibility and misaligning with its proper focus on meaning and interpretation. Rather than engaging these fields as partners, it sought to dominate, reflecting a loss of humility.

Ultimately, Catholic theology succumbed to the corrupting influences of Evangelicalism, adopting elements of literalism, fundamentalism, and legalism. 

Many who confront our current situation think that if we adopt the correct beliefs or return to past forms of theology and practice, we will reconnect with the sacred and begin to gain cultural ground.

Unfortunately, this is a fundamental misunderstanding of our current dilemma. 

The Enlightenment transformed how we reason and understand the world. Our understanding and knowledge have changed.

Our intellectual culture has undergone a threefold reductionism (initiated by the Enlightenment): 

First, we’ve reduced ontology (our understanding of being itself) to a single level—reality was flattened (see the above section on univocity); its many levels of depth were dissolved into the material.

Second, our culture reduced knowing to a single form: the knowledge that something is the case, meaning an evidential and propositional manner of thinking and reasoning. 

Third, we’ve reduced intelligibility itself (what it means for something to be understood) to generalizability. That is, only what can be abstracted, formalized, and universally applied is deemed worthy of understanding.

These reductions obscure the pathways that allow us to comprehend meaning and purpose in the world, thereby eroding the fundamental functions of religion.

Religion is an experiential connectedness to being, in which the world discloses itself as meaningful.

Religion serves as a vehicle for encountering meaning, rooted in narrative wisdom traditions that speak mythopoetically and are enlivened by ritual. This wisdom must be experienced, not just analyzed and reduced to propositional form. 

Simply giving personal assent to a list of propositional beliefs or convictions does not reintegrate us into the living streams of tradition, community, and transformation.

The Enlightenment has led to the engagement of religion as a reasoned justification of propositional belief, when what we truly need is a set of spiritual practices—a living, interlocking system of disciplines, virtues, rituals, and liturgies in communal contexts that enact wisdom across multiple forms of knowing and being.

This is what the ancient traditions cultivated through rituals, contemplation, storytelling, and shared moral formation. These practices shaped consciousness, oriented attention, and transformed the self's relationship with the world.

So you can’t think yourself back into meaning. You have to live your way back into it. Yes, the path is defined by propositions, but they must be engaged through religious practices to have effect. 

To help us locate and define the path, we must stop doing theology according to Enlightenment principles and develop a holistic theology of meaning that operates mythopoetically and through illiative reasoning, insight, and experiential immersion. 

The Catholic response to the Protestant Reformation, crystallized at the Council of Trent (1545-1563), aimed to reaffirm orthodoxy and counter Reformation challenges, but it inadvertently set theology on a restrictive path. 

A significant outcome of the response was an overemphasis on Thomas Aquinas as the primary theological authority, intended to provide a unified intellectual bulwark. 

This focus, however, evolved into a reduction of theology to catechetical manuals, whose methods resemble geometry, which begins with the assertion of propositional axioms and derives doctrines through a logical yet arid process. 

Such an approach prioritized systematic coherence over vitality, sidelining the rich insights of early Christianity, the Patristic tradition, and even Scripture itself in favor of a neo-Thomist framework.

The result was a stultification of theological development, locking it into a rigid, manual-based system for over 300 years. This period, extending into the 19th and early 20th centuries, stifled creativity and adaptability, leaving theology ill-equipped to address modern questions.

The Ressourcement movement, emerging in the mid-20th century within Catholic theology, was a transformative effort to return to the sources (ressourcement meaning "return to the sources" in French) of Christian tradition—Scripture, the Church Fathers, and early liturgical practices—to renew theological thought. 

Initiated by figures such as Henri de Lubac, Jean Daniélou, Yves Congar, and Marie-Dominique Chenu, it emerged as a response to the perceived rigidity of neo-scholasticism, which had dominated Catholic intellectual life since the 19th century due to its heavy reliance on a manualized interpretation of Thomas Aquinas. 

The ressourcement theologians, often associated with centers such as Le Saulchoir and Fourvière, sought to revive the vitality of early Christian thought, emphasizing the unity of nature and grace, the Church as a living community, and the dynamic interplay between theology and culture.

Ressourcement critiqued the abstract, deductive methods of neo-scholasticism, advocating a more historical and existential approach that engaged with the patristic heritage and biblical narratives. 

Works like de Lubac’s Surnaturel challenged the separation of nature and grace, while Congar’s ecclesiological studies highlighted the Church’s ability to reform itself and its theology from within. 

The Ressourcement movement laid the intellectual and spiritual groundwork for the emergence of Nouvelle Théologie. This mid-20th-century Catholic theological renewal built upon its predecessor’s return to the sources while pushing toward a broader engagement with modernity. In the process, it set forward a theology whose self-understood task was the illumination of meaning within the Catholic tradition and the world.

The Nouvelle Théologie evolved as a natural extension of the Ressourcement movement, building upon the historical and theological insights and applying them to contemporary challenges. 

The New Theologians attempted to bridge the past and present, advocating a theology that integrated modern philosophy—such as phenomenology and existentialism—with traditional sources. This shift was evident in their critique of manualism, the embrace of contemporary biblical studies, and their openness to liturgical renewal.

Nouvelle Théologie was not a rejection of Aquinas or Scholastic thought. Instead, it was proposed as a better, more accurate reading of the Scholastic scholars. 

A shared rejection of neo-scholastic abstraction marked the transition, but Nouvelle Théologie went further, embracing a living theology that addressed human experience and modern questions.

While Ressourcement focused on retrieval, Nouvelle Théologie emphasized reapplication, fostering a dialogue between a broad understanding of the Catholic tradition and the secular world.

This progression from Ressourcement’s foundational work to Nouvelle Théologie’s innovative synthesis revitalized Catholic thought, setting the stage for Vatican II’s aggiornamento and a theology that is both responsive to tradition and the contemporary context.

The Second Vatican Council (1962-1965) was the culmination of these movements, as evidenced by documents such as Dei Verbum, Lumen Gentium, and Gaudium et Spes, which emphasized a renewed focus on Scripture, the Church's meaning, and its role in the world. 

A second generation of Nouvelle theologians emerged at and after the Council, including John Paul II, Josef Ratzinger, Avery Dulles, SJ, Hans Urs von Balthasar, and others. 

Its legacy includes a revitalized liturgical theology, an openness to ecumenism, and a dialogue with modern philosophy.

Much of Catholic theology today owes its origins and development to Nouvelle Théologie and the teachings of Vatican II. While we rarely refer to today’s theology as “new,” it remains a vital force in post-conciliar theology, engaging tradition with contemporary relevance.

The movements are not without critics. Some thinkers argue that Nouvelle Théologie dilutes doctrinal precision and opens theology to embrace the errors of modernism. Many of these critics are also opposed, or at least hesitant, to the effects of Vatican II and advocate for the Traditional Latin Rite. 

We assess that such critics would drag Catholic theology backwards into stale and stifling forms of theological reasoning and scholarship. 

The Second Vatican Council (1962–1965) emerged from a complex interplay of historical necessity and theological vision, catalyzed by Pope John XXIII’s unexpected decision to convene it. 

Elected in 1958 at age 77, John XXIII was perceived as a transitional figure, yet his announcement of Vatican II in January 1959 stunned the Church. 

He sought aggiornamento—an updating of the Church’s practices to engage the modern world—while preserving its doctrinal core. 

The post-World War II era, marked by rapid social change, secularism, and global conflicts, demanded a Church responsive to new realities. 

John XXIII envisioned a council that would renew Catholic life, foster Christian unity, and dialogue with science, culture, and other religions, as he outlined in his opening address, Gaudet Mater Ecclesia (1962).

Preparations revealed deep tensions between theological factions. Conservative voices, often tied to the Roman Curia and neo-scholasticism, favored continuity, wary of diluting tradition. 

Figures like Cardinal Alfredo Ottaviani, head of the Holy Office, prioritized defending doctrine against perceived modernist threats, echoing Vatican I’s emphasis on papal authority. 

They sought a council to reaffirm existing teachings, issue clear anathemas, and maintain Latin liturgy and centralized governance. Their preparatory schemas, drafted before the council, reflected this rigidity, focusing on scholastic formulations over pastoral concerns.

In contrast, liberal theologians—many influenced by Nouvelle Théologie—pushed for reform and openness. 

Thinkers like Yves Congar, Henri de Lubac, and Karl Rahner, previously sidelined, saw the council as a chance to retrieve scriptural, patristic, and liturgical sources and move beyond Thomistic manualism. 

They advocated for ecumenism, lay participation, and a Church engaged with modernity’s questions—poverty, war, pluralism. John XXIII’s encouragement of a “new Pentecost” emboldened them, though they faced resistance from curial gatekeepers who feared losing control.

The council’s opening saw 2,500 bishops from diverse regions, amplifying global perspectives, especially from Africa and Asia, which challenged Eurocentric assumptions. 

John XXIII’s death in 1963 and Paul VI’s succession sustained the reformist momentum, though debates intensified. 

Conservatives feared relativism; liberals sought balance, not rupture. These tensions shaped Vatican II’s deliberations, producing documents that married fidelity with adaptation.

The council’s background thus reflects a Church at a crossroads, navigating tradition and change. John XXIII’s bold vision set the stage for a transformative dialogue that redefined Catholicism’s role in the 20th century.

The Second Vatican Council (1962–1965) produced 16 documents—four constitutions, nine decrees, and three declarations—that reshaped Catholic theology, liturgy, and engagement with the world. 

The four constitutions—Sacrosanctum Concilium, Lumen Gentium, Dei Verbum, and Gaudium et Spes—form the council’s core and articulate foundational principles with lasting impact. 

The decrees and declarations address specific issues, complementing the Constitution’s broader vision. They reflect Vatican II’s balance of tradition and renewal, responding to modern challenges while grounding the Church in its apostolic roots.

Lumen Gentium (Dogmatic Constitution on the Church)

Lumen Gentium redefined the Church’s identity, moving beyond institutionalism to a biblical, communal vision. 

It describes the Church as the “people of God,” encompassing laity, clergy, and religious, united in a shared call to holiness. The document emphasizes the Church as a mystery and a sacrament, reflecting God’s presence as it journeys toward fulfillment.

It clarified the roles of bishops, affirming collegiality with the pope, and elevated the laity’s mission, rejecting clericalism. The universal call to holiness, rooted in baptism, underscored that all share in Jesus’ priestly, prophetic, and kingly roles. 

Drawing on Scripture and the Fathers, Lumen Gentium countered neo-scholastic legalism, presenting the Church as a dynamic communion serving the world rather than a fortress against it. Its ecclesiology shaped subsequent reforms, fostering inclusivity and shared responsibility.

Dei Verbum (Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation) 

Dei Verbum reoriented Catholic understanding of revelation, emphasizing God’s self-communication through Scripture and tradition. 

It rejected manualist views of Scripture as mere prooftexts, presenting the Bible as a living word inspired by God yet expressed through human authors. 

Tradition, it clarified, is not static but develops under the Spirit’s guidance, interpreted by the magisterium in continuity. 

The document urged Catholics to engage Scripture devotionally and scholarly, promoting biblical literacy among laity and clergy alike. It also acknowledged truth in other religions, opening avenues for dialogue. 

Dei Verbum’s focus on revelation as relational—God speaking to humanity—aligned with Nouvelle Théologie’s scriptural renewal, influencing preaching, catechesis, and ecumenism. Its emphasis on the centrality of the Word revitalized theology, making it more accessible and dynamic.

Gaudium et Spes (Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World)

Gaudium et Spes marked a bold shift, addressing the Church’s role in a pluralistic, secular age. 

It engaged modern issues—poverty, war, technology, human rights—with a tone of dialogue rather than condemnation. 

The document affirmed human dignity as the basis for justice, calling for solidarity with the marginalized and respect for cultural diversity. It endorsed democracy, economic equity, and peace, critiquing materialism and nationalism. 

Marriage and family were upheld as cultural foundations, while science and reason were embraced as true partners. The Church urged Catholics to serve humanity, seeing the world’s joys and struggles as its own. 

Its optimistic anthropology—humans as co-creators with God—drew on personalism and resonated with John XXIII’s vision of openness. 

This constitution’s legacy lies in inspiring social activism and interfaith collaboration, positioning the Church as a global advocate for human flourishing.

The Second Vatican Council profoundly reshaped Catholicism, with immediate effects on liturgy, ecclesiology, and global engagement. 

Its reforms sparked enthusiasm and tension as the Church navigated its new openness to modernity. The council’s documents, particularly the four constitutions, triggered swift changes that altered Catholic practice and identity worldwide.

It transformed worship almost instantly. By 1964, vernacular languages began replacing Latin in the Mass, enabling greater lay participation. 

Revised missals and restored practices, like the prayer of the faithful, made liturgy more communal, though some mourned Latin’s loss. 

Parishes saw increased attendance initially, as believers embraced accessible worship, but debates over implementation—haste versus fidelity—emerged, especially among traditionalists.

The Council’s vision of the Church as the “people of God” empowered laity. 

Lay ministries—lectors and catechists—proliferated, and grassroots movements, like base communities in Latin America, flourished. This shift challenged clericalism, though resistance persisted in hierarchical structures. 

The Council spurred biblical renewal; Scripture study groups formed, and homilies drew more from the Bible, fostering a spirituality rooted in God’s word among ordinary Catholics.

It also inspired social activism. Catholics joined peace movements, anti-poverty efforts, and civil rights causes, reflecting the council’s call to engage the world’s struggles. 

There were newly opened ecumenical and interfaith dialogues—joint services with Protestants and meetings with Jewish leaders became common, reducing centuries-old hostilities.

Yet, the rapid changes unsettled some. Fearing doctrinal erosion, Conservatives clashed with liberals eager for more reform, foreshadowing later divisions. 

Vatican II’s initial impact was a vibrant, if contested, renewal, setting Catholicism on a dialogue, participation, and mission path that reshaped its role in a pluralistic world.

The Second Vatican Council remains a touchstone for Catholic identity, yet its interpretation continues to spark debate, revealing a divide between conservative and liberal factions within the Church. 

These groups approach the council’s legacy differently, with conservatives often seeking to limit its reforms and liberals invoking its spirit to push for further change. 

This tension shapes how the council’s vision—balancing tradition and openness—unfolds in contemporary Catholicism.

Conservatives, wary of perceived ruptures, argue that the council has been misapplied, leading to liturgical chaos, weakened authority, and diluted doctrine. 

Some, like those associated with traditionalist movements, claim the reforms strayed from the council’s intent, pointing to declining Mass attendance or relaxed discipline as evidence. 

They advocate a “reform of the reform,” emphasizing continuity with pre-conciliar practices—restoring Latin liturgy, reinforcing hierarchical roles, and prioritizing doctrinal clarity. 

Figures like Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre, who rejected aspects of the council, exemplify this resistance. However, most conservatives work within the Church, urging a stricter adherence to texts over their broader implications. They aim to anchor Catholicism in timeless truths, fearing that unchecked change risks secularization.

Liberal Catholics, conversely, see the council as a springboard for ongoing renewal, invoking its call for dialogue with modernity to justify theological evolution. 

They interpret its emphasis on the laity, ecumenism, and engagement with culture as mandating bold steps—such as women’s ordination, inclusive sexual ethics, or decentralized governance. 

For them, the council’s spirit transcends its documents, encouraging adaptation to contemporary values like equality and pluralism. 

Movements inspired by liberation theology or interfaith initiatives often draw on this vision, arguing that rigidity betrays the council’s pastoral heart. Critics of this approach, however, warn that it risks conforming faith to worldly trends, diluting Catholic distinctiveness.

The ongoing debate reflects the council’s complexity—a deliberate blend of fidelity and reform. 

Since 1965, Popes have navigated this divide. Paul VI implemented changes cautiously, John Paul II and Benedict XVI stressed continuity, while Francis leaned toward the council’s outward-looking ethos. 

The challenge lies in discerning authentic development from distortion. Both sides agree that the council was Spirit-led but differ in scope—whether it was a finite reset or an open-ended mandate. 

Its legacy endures in vibrant parishes, global outreach, and renewed spirituality. Yet, polarization persists, underscoring the need for dialogue to realize the council’s vision of a Church that is both rooted and responsive.

Pope John Paul II (1978–2005), born Karol Wojtyła, is recognized for his profound theological contributions, which bear the imprint of Nouvelle Théologie (New Theology). John Paul II embodied the principles of Nouvelle Théologie, shaping his papacy.

John Paul II’s early formation as a priest and bishop in Poland exposed him to the ideas of Nouvelle Théologie, particularly through his engagement with phenomenology and personalism, which aligned with the movement’s focus on human experience and divine encounter. 

His doctoral studies under Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange, a critic of Nouvelle Théologie, paradoxically deepened his awareness of its debates, allowing him to synthesize its insights with Thomistic rigor. 

This is evident in his philosophical work, The Acting Person (1969), where he explores human dignity and freedom, echoing de Lubac’s rejection of a “pure nature” divorced from grace—a key Nouvelle theme—favoring a participatory view of humanity’s divine calling.

His encyclicals reflect this influence. In Redemptor Hominis (1979), Paragraph 10, he writes: “Man cannot live without love… and his life is senseless if love is not revealed to him.” This resonates with Nouvelle Théologie’s emphasis on love as the lens for theological meaning, moving beyond abstract doctrine to lived experience, a shift Vatican II endorsed in Gaudium et Spes. 

Critics might argue his conservative stances—e.g., on women’s ordination—clash with Nouvelle Théologie’s progressive leanings. Yet, his integration of its ressourcement with a robust anthropology suggests a nuanced adaptation, not rejection. 

His theology, shaped by de Lubac’s Surnaturel and Congar’s ecclesiology, reoriented Catholicism toward meaning and participation, influencing his global mission to bridge faith and modernity. 

This legacy underscores a papacy where the spirit of Nouvelle Théologie, tempered by personalism, fostered a vibrant and engaged Church.

The Catholic Church today finds itself deeply divided, strained by decades of scandal, cultural upheaval, and a rapidly evolving world. The devastating impact of the sexual abuse crisis severely damaged institutional trust, prompting significant numbers of disillusioned Catholics to drift away from pews, parish life, and church identity. This period of “hemorrhaging,” reflected in plunging membership and vocations in many Western countries, has left the Church searching for both healing and coherence.

These wounds have reopened and intensified longstanding theological and cultural rifts within Catholicism, producing distinct, sometimes competing, camps. The first is the group of Latin Mass Traditionalists. Energized by a mistrust of post-conciliar reforms, they seek a return to the Tridentine Mass and the classical manuals of moral theology. This camp emphasizes a heavily ritualized liturgy, strict doctrinal clarity, and a nostalgia for what they perceive as the purity and order of Catholicism prior to the Second Vatican Council.

A related but separate current is the Legalist Arch-Conservatives. Anchored in a deep reverence for papal authority and doctrinal precision, they treat Catholic theology like a highly developed legal code. This group views the Church primarily through a juridical lens, prioritizing rules and canonical regulations over pastoral adaptation. For them, Catholic identity is best preserved by rigorous boundary-setting and clear-cut orthodoxy.

On the opposite spectrum lies a smaller but vocal Progressive camp. They retain a powerful attachment to Vatican II and its unfinished agenda, often viewing the council as an opening to redefine almost any aspect of Catholic faith and practice. For these Catholics, tradition is flexible, and innovation—whether in liturgy, ethics, or governance—is vital to keeping the faith relevant. Sometimes, this group’s approach can appear unmoored from historical continuity, generating anxiety among the more tradition-minded.

Recently, a moderate cohort has been gathering momentum—a group of Catholics who recognize the urgency of modernization but also value the riches of tradition. These moderates reject both the arch-conservative desire to freeze Catholicism in a past golden age and the progressive impulse to deconstruct it for the sake of novelty. They advocate gradual, thoughtful reform and a renewed engagement with contemporary issues while holding fast to ancient sources of wisdom. The last two papacies, including the current one, have been guided by this pastoral and moderate spirit, appointing bishops who embody these ideals and fostering a global vision that transcends parochial polarities.​

Demographically and culturally, it’s likely that this moderate wing will continue to expand its influence. It appeals to Catholics—especially in the Global South and among younger faithful—who are skeptical of polarization and weary of ideological battles. The moderates’ commitment to tradition-in-continuity and dialogue can be seen in Synodal initiatives and charitable outreach, aiming to rebuild trust and restore unity in a wounded ecclesial body.

In summary, the Catholic Church in 2025 is fragmented: Traditionalists look to the past for stability, Legalists emphasize rule and order, Progressives chase reform, and Moderates pursue a balanced path between renewal and continuity. The success of Catholicism’s future as a global spiritual force will likely depend on the moderate majority’s ability to articulate a compelling vision of unity—one that both honors the tradition and responds pastorally to the challenges of today’s world.

More recently, the mantle of Nouvelle Théologie has been notably taken up by Radical Orthodoxy, an Anglican and Catholic postmodern theological and philosophical movement that emerged in the 1990s. 

Radical Orthodoxy, spearheaded by John Milbank, Catherine Pickstock, and Graham Ward, extends the legacy of Nouvelle Théologie by integrating postmodern philosophy to critique modernity and to forge a theological vision focused on meaning and normativity.

Radical Orthodoxy’s core ideas challenge the secular-modern paradigm. It rejects a strict division between faith and reason, asserting that human knowledge thrives only through divine illumination, aligning with a participatory ontology where all creation reflects God’s being. 

The movement also engages Catholic social teaching, applying its insights in a bolder and more detailed manner, arguing that much of the secular paradigm is rooted in violent reductionisms and therefore results in pernicious forms of nihilism.

With this initial background of understanding, let us now turn our attention to the two primary themes of meaning and participation that characterize the theology we propose. 

Nouvelle Théologie marked a significant positive advancement in theological discourse, revitalizing the Church’s engagement with modernity.

However, when evaluated against Jürgen Habermas’s concept of Rapprochement—a mutual, communicative engagement between secular and religious spheres for the common good—this movement, while progressive, falls short of being a complete and authentic partner, necessitating further evolution to meet Habermas’s rigorous standards.

Habermas, a prominent philosopher of communicative action, envisions Rapprochement as a dialogical process where religious and secular perspectives translate their respective truths into a shared public language, fostering mutual understanding without domination. 

This requires both sides to critically reflect on their presuppositions, ensuring reason and faith contribute equally to societal discourse. 

The Nouvelle Théologie advanced this by rejecting neo-Scholastic rigidity, embracing human experience, and promoting a participatory Church, most notably in Gaudium et Spes, which signaled openness to secular dialogue.

However, to become a full partner in Rapprochement, Nouvelle Théologie must evolve further. 

Paradoxically, theology’s evolution requires its acceptance of limitations. 

These limitations involve allowing the natural and social sciences, along with other contemporary forms of human knowing, their methodological integrity while acknowledging their general validity. 

Theology should not attempt to make scientific, economic, or historical claims, as these are outside its purview and expertise. Following on this self-imposed discipline, theology needs to integrate the findings of these other forms of knowing into its work and vision.

What does this mean in practical terms?

Scripture and tradition are full of claims and events that, on the surface, appear as historical or scientific assertions. However, the ancient authors and thinkers didn’t approach history or science in the same manner as we do today, following the Enlightenment. 

Theology, therefore, should focus on the meanings of the creation narrative, flood account, acquisition of the land, and even the growth and spread of Christianity.

This same focus applies to the Gospel accounts of healings, calming storms, walking on water, and even the elements of the Passion, Resurrection, and Ascension descriptions.

We read these accounts today with post-Enlightenment eyes and a post-modern mindset. We read much of the Scripture as history, telling us stories that include information provided by eyewitnesses. 

Theology should leave history to historians and science to scientists. Theology cannot comment with any authority on the practical details of the Ark, nor on whether a flood event occurred or when it took place. 

We must move beyond theological arguments about how Jesus walked on water or fed a crowd with a few loaves of bread and fish, or concerning the journalistic facts or historical telling details of the events. 

First, form criticism and careful textual analysis suggest that the scriptural accounts did not assert eyewitness information or engage in historical analysis as we do today. Instead, they are much more sophisticated writings.

The ancients are conveying meanings and wisdom in their accounts, stories, and claims. Theology must focus on the meanings of such. 

A theology of participation naturally yields a theology of meaning by reorienting theology as one perspective of participation, specifically, the perspective of meaning. 

Unlike science, which explores empirical data, or history, which chronicles events, theology’s focus is existential, addressing questions of human destiny, moral goodness, and practical wisdom.

By understanding theology as the perspective of meaning, it becomes a participatory act of aligning with the graced world, uncovering the significance of our lives and actions.

Asserting the unity of nature and grace suggests that this meaning is inherent and calls for a narrative approach, as provided by the Gospels.

Returning theology to this focus achieves a rapprochement with naturalism and Enlightenment thinking, which emphasize human experience and reason, by affirming the world’s inherent value without competing with their domains. 

As an art of meaning analysis, theology crafts narratives and symbols to address life’s ultimate questions—purpose, suffering, and love. 

Unlike science, which deals with empirical facts, theology employs mythopoesis, metaphor, inductive reasoning, and narrative to convey transcendent truths. 

This meaning-making is inherently artistic, requiring creativity to reimagine ancient symbols as metaphors for renewal and meaning in today’s modern and pluralist contexts. 

As a form of normative analysis, theology evaluates how humans ought to live in light of divine revelation and subsequent ethical insights. 

It provides a framework for discerning right action, not through rigid rules, but through reflective engagement with perceived realities, such as human dignity, and perceived values, including justice, love, and community. 

This dual role—encompassing both meaning and normative analysis—positions theology as a vital discipline today. It avoids the pitfalls of literalism and legalism by focusing on existential depth and ethical guidance, which resonates with human experience while avoiding entanglement in empirical frameworks.