Using Lumen gentium as a focus, what can we say about the unfinished business of renewal? How does it work, and how must we read Lumen gentium in order to grasp “what remains to be done”? We consider four issues, each of them in dialogue with one of four theologians who reached their 60th birthday in 1964, the year Lumen gentium was completed. Bernard Lonergan helps us come to terms with the historically conditioned nature of Lumen gentium itself. Karl Rahner points the way towards a better grasp of Lumen gentium's discussion of the place of other religions in the economy of salvation. John Courtney Murray's influence on the Council fathers is a case study in the importance of the local church. And Yves Congar's willingness to rethink his own positions testifies to the importance of not making Lumen gentium into unchanging truth. Overall, the unfinished business of the document on the Church is to learn to treat it, in Lonergan's words, as “not premisses but data.”

Henri de Lubac's Corpus Mysticum, published during and immediately after the conditions of wartime France, had a profound influence on the theology and actual practice of not only Catholic, but also much Protestant liturgy in the course of the unfolding liturgical movement. The interpretative keys of the text were established primarily by Michel de Certeau and Hans Urs von Balthasar, and have emphasised a historical shift from understanding in the connections between a threefold hermeneutic of Christ's ‘mystical body’. The ‘mystical body’ is variously understood as the Eucharist itself, the extant body of the Church, and the actual body of Christ. The conventional reading of this text is to claim that de Lubac traces a shift, occurring in the High Middle Ages that points away from the body of the Church to an objectification of the eucharistic species, resulting in the highly individualistic piety that manifested itself in the Catholicism of the nineteenth century. This paper challenges that hermeneutic key as an oversimplification of a much more subtle reading suggested by de Lubac himself and intrinsic to the text of Corpus Mysticum, and suggests that de Lubac understood the real shift to be the triumph of a certain kind of rationalism, exemplified by Berengar's thought, emerging to assert itself as the basis and ground of theological thinking, eclipsing the grounding character of the liturgy as the source of meaning in theology. It examines de Lubac's late claim that Corpus Mysticum was ‘a naïve text’ and asks what kinds of naïvety are indicated in this statement.

In response to the Wild-Anderson Report, Little Children are Sacred (June 2007) that outlined a pattern of widespread sexual abuse of small children and chronic alcoholism among aboriginals in the Australians' N.T. (Northern Territory), the federal government launched a major Intervention there sending in teams of doctors and health workers to examine all aboriginal children for abuse and special police and army units to stabilise the situation in remote communities. Moving beyond the recommendations contained in the Report the Howard government announced it would use compulsory acquisition powers and appoint administrators over aboriginal townships and centres (about 73 of them) for five years. These officials would be charged with building up local infrastructures and could assign individuals to work for their welfare payments at jobs assigned to them. More disturbing to aboriginal leaders and communities was a government plan to allow individual aboriginals to lease small plots of land on traditional community owned reserves for the purpose, it was said, of owning their home and/or to start a small business. Furthermore, traditional owners would be allowed to enter into long term leases (for 99 years) on their lands in order to attract outside investment and capitol. There was considerable fear among aboriginals that these unilateral moves by the government would undermine the basis of aboriginal culture and lead inevitably to the loss by aboriginal people of real control over their traditional land.

The stranglehold on our imagination by the mind-body dualisms that permeate the culture is such that most people seem to suppose that “body” and “soul” name distinct and separable entities. Resisting such dualisms in favour of an old-fashioned Aristotelean view of the soul as the form of the body, this essay considers two questions: do human parents produce human beings, and do human beings die? The doctrine of the special creation of the individual soul seems to require us to answer the first question in the negative because, according to this doctrine, parents only produce matter for the God-given soul to form. As to the second, many people seem to suppose that human beings do not die, only their bodies do. Arguing against the view that immortality is a natural property of human minds, the essay suggests (with the help of Joseph Ratzinger) that, whether we speak of “immortality” or of “resurrection”, life from death is neither nature, nor achievement, but gift.

Raimond Gaita's moral philosophy is distinguished by, among other things, its attention to the role of embodied, enacted witness in disclosing certain moral values, and its understanding of the emotions as forms of thought. In this paper, I consider how Gaita's insights on these matters may be applied to certain questions in the philosophy of religion, paying particular attention to the nature of religious experience and ‘the problem of evil’. I suggest that Gaita's discussion of how we come to recognise moral values or ‘meanings’ can be extended to the question of how we might recognise religious meanings. On this view, religious experience may take the form of an appreciation of the meaning borne by a material context (rather than, for example, some supra-sensory encounter with a supernatural agent), and our sense of the goodness or otherwise of the world may be answerable to the authoritative example of particular lives.

Today, within the Christian culture, the celebrity has replaced the idea of the saint. Very strangely, the celebrity is the dire opposite of the classic notion of the saint. Even more strikingly, the idea of celebrity runs contrary to Jesus' teachings. Of course, in Jesus' day, there were no celebrities, as we know them today. What passed for celebrities in his day were the rich and wealthy. They were the ones that everyone looked up to and admired, but Jesus tells us that they are actually the most unfortunate, and that wealth is the most dangerous of any of the idols that possess us and keep us from the fullness of life God has for us.

Taking a somewhat indirect route that includes some autobiographical reflection, I address three questions. One is what it might mean to say, with Socrates, that philosophy is “studying for death”. The second is why Christians should fear death at all, if the good of Heaven is really what they believe is beyond it. The third is the question what difference it makes to your philosophical view of death if you are a believer.

Beginning with the question of whether Aquinas's Summa theologiae inevitably distorts the meaning of biblical texts by removing them from their narrative context, this essay suggests that one way to think about Aquinas's use of Scripture in the Summa theologiae is to read together, as an ensemble, the biblical texts that he cites when treating a particular theme. Focusing on his first four questions on the virtue of faith (ST II-II, qq. 1–4), I argue that Aquinas's selection of biblical texts from across the canonical Scriptures enables him to provide a nuanced biblical perspective on a particular theme even without finding it necessary to quote Scripture in every article. I seek to bring to light the way that the various biblical texts in the question—whose functions within the articles are widely diverse, from providing the hinge for a responsio to framing a minor objection–complement and echo one another.

This article reviews the church and culture relationship developed in Gaudium et Spes and Lumen Gentium and proposes a Catholic account of modernity as a way in which the contemporary mission of the church in today's culture can be creatively and faithfully carried forward. After an initial outlining of the definitions of church and culture proposed by the Vatican documents, I then go on to position my proposal of a Catholic modernity in relation to some important current accounts of the church and culture relationship that tend towards a rejection of secular culture. I argue that Protestant accounts of modernity have dominated in philosophical and sociological theories and draw on my previous work on Max Weber to illustrate the significance of this for developing a Catholic account of modernity. I conclude by sketching some of the important issues which would need to be addressed in formulating a systematic account of a Catholic modernity.

Despite the perceived ‘human rights revolution’ within Church teaching since Vatican II, a measure of dissonance survives between secular rights theory and practice on the one hand and, on the other, ethical thinking informed by the natural law tradition. This article examines some recent developments in that secular theory and practice for signs of possible rapprochement. In particular, it considers the way in which the emergence of ‘disability’ as a rights issue, for example in the recently ratified United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, has contributed to the transformation of equality and human rights law and so has helped shape a broader transformation of rights theory and practice. Central to that transformation has been the ambition of establishing human rights as the basis of a progressive political programme, as witnessed for example by the work of Sandra Fredman and by the Hamlyn Lectures of Conor Gearty, whose Catholic provenance makes his approach especially salient. The article concludes by considering Herbert McCabe's interpretation of Aquinas’ ethics, especially in his Law, Love and Language, and proposes some potentially fruitful points of contact between McCabe's approach and the identified developments in secular rights theory.

Pius XII condemned atheism's “most ignoble corruptions” in his 1956 encyclical Haurietis Aquas, along with its “lethal tenets” in 1958's Meminisse Iuvat. Only six years later, however, in 1964, Vatican II's Lumen Gentium affirmed the possibility of salvation for “those who, without any fault of theirs, have not yet arrived at an explicit knowledge of God” (article 16). Furthermore, the following year's Gaudium et Spes 19–21, drafted by Paul VI's newly-founded Secretariat for Non-believers, offers, among much else, a sympathetic overview of contemporary atheisms, and invites their contemporary adherents to “a dialogue that is sincere and prudent”. These paragraphs, according to Ratzinger, “may be counted among the most important pronouncements of Vatican II”.

Evidently, comparing Pius XII's “lethal tenets” to Vatican II's salvific optimism, profound developments are manifest in the Catholic engagement with atheism. Primarily responsible for this are, I argue, two episodes in French Catholic history in the decades preceding Vatican II: a) the unprecedented dialogue of Catholic intellectuals with modern atheism, following the French Communist Party's main tendue (“outstretched hand”) during the period of the Popular Front (1934–38); and b) the ‘priest-worker’ experiment, initiated by Henri Godin and Yvan Daniel's 1943 publication of La France – Pays de Mission?

St Thomas Aquinas' antiphon from the Office of Corpus Christi, O sacrum convivium, enjoys popularity and remains part of the Liturgy of the Hours, as do other parts of the Office and Mass he composed for the feast. It offers a survey of Eucharistic theology, evoking past (‘the memory of the Passion’) present (‘the soul filled with grace’) and future (‘pledge of future glory’). It points, too to the Eucharistic flavour of authentic Christian spirituality, always remembering the self-giving of the Saviour ‘for us’, becoming what it has received in the Eucharist, and straining forward towards a goal whose foretaste is ever on our lips. On other occasions Aquinas points to these three dimensions of any sacrament, finding its source in the passion of Christ, its content in the effect achieved in the soul and its aim in the glory of communion with God. a goal whose foretaste is ever on our lips. On other occasions Aquinas points to these three dimensions of any sacrament, finding its source in the passion of Christ, its content in the effect achieved in the soul and its aim in the glory of communion with God.