The sixty-year period after Vatican II has been a tumultuous era for Catholic theology. Both sides of the theological divide—progressive and conservative—readily admit as much. The question now facing the theological community is how best to proceed considering the deep fissures that have opened up in contemporary theology. Our present situation feels unsustainable. Yes, every era of Christian history has had its disagreements, but if the Church is to preach a unifying message to the world, there has to be an underlying coherency to its understanding of the Gospel and the Gospel’s implications. This is what seems to be lacking today.

Sr. Theresa Nguyen’s counsel in this book is that we need to return to the expert theological voices that steered the conciliar reforms, most notably, to the work of Henri de Lubac. For her, it’s clear that the field of theology in the decades leading up to the Second Vatican Council was in need of renewal. De Lubac and some of his theological confreres responded to this need, and we are the beneficiaries of their work. Amidst the travails that presently wrack theological discourse, we can look back to Vatican II and its strongest interpreters for inspiration and guidance.

The tenor of the monograph is signaled on its very first page, where Nguyen asserts that, “Over half a century later, the Catholic Church continues to reap the fruits of that momentous gathering [Vatican II] that achieved lasting reforms of the liturgy, instituted fresh ecumenical initiatives, and renewed the structures of the Church” (p. 1). As the study unfolds, she acknowledges that reception of the Council’s teachings has been uneven, and at times contentious, but in her view these issues can be traced more readily to the shortcomings of postconciliar theological movements than to any perceived lack in the documents themselves. The entire discussion is instructive for theologians who are wrestling with the legacy of Vatican II, as we continue to ask questions about its historical significance and how it should be applied today. Nguyen’s focus is Mariology, specifically as that topic relates to ecclesiology, but her analysis has far-reaching implications for contemporary theological discourse, in that the discussions surrounding a Marian ecclesiology can inform broader debates about what it looks like to faithfully communicate Catholic tradition in our time.

Of note, Nguyen’s methodology follows that of her theological hero. De Lubac was a prominent leader in the ressourcement movement of the mid-twentieth century, a theological movement known for its emphasis on “a return to the sources.” De Lubac and likeminded theologians thought that Catholic theology in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries had become weighed down by ossified interpretations of Thomism and other modern assumptions that obscured the vitality of patristic proclamations of the faith. In the face of such trends, their goal was not to dispense of all later theological developments, but to renew the state of theology through appeal to a more perfect tradition—in Charles Péguy’s words, through “a search for the deepest sources” (quoted on p. 9). This modus is inherently different than historic Protestant understandings of reform, which tended to view the Roman Catholic system as hopelessly compromised and thus broke off to start something new. The renewal that de Lubac and others called for, in contrast, was one from within the Church and could only be achieved, they thought, by drawing upon the strongest resources of the Catholic tradition.

And for a time, it truly felt like broad sweeping renewal was underway. The years immediately following the Council were filled with optimism about the direction of the Church and its role as a prophetic voice. Today, however, we feel a disconnect between all the talk of renewal and our actual experience of life in the Church. Some sixty years removed from the conclusion of Vatican II, the “springtime of Vatican II” strikes many Catholics as a false promise. While Nguyen acknowledges that ecclesial life in the postconciliar era has been chaotic, in her view these difficulties should not be attributed to the Council itself. Rather, the real problem lies with inadequate interpretations of the Council or misuse of its teachings. The answer to postconciliar malaise, according to Nguyen, is a new ressourcement—this time not of patristic theology but of the great theological works that inspired the reforming efforts of the Council. The defects in receptions of Vatican II, in other words, can be corrected by going back to the sources that birthed its most important insights.

By way of example, consider Nguyen’s commentary about “a decade without Mary,” beginning at page 137. She first quotes Joseph Ratzinger, who lamented that “the immediate outcome of the victory of ecclesiolocentric Mariology [at Vatican II] was the collapse of Mariology altogether” (quoted on p. 137). Building upon Ratzinger’s point, Nguyen notes that, “The anemic state of postconciliar Mariology starkly contrasted with the fervor of the Marian spirit of the postconciliar era” (p. 138). But the answer, she quickly adds, is not to abandon what the Council initiated. Some of the excesses of preconciliar Mariology needed to be trimmed, and the ecclesiocentric Mariology articulated in Lumen Gentium truly was a renewal, in Nguyen’s opinion. We have to better apprehend the theology of the Council, she asserts, not try to replace it. Here, Nguyen follows the lead of René Laurentin, who claimed that “the actual crisis [in postconciliar Mariology] is not the result of decadence, but of a reconversion. It is not the result of carelessness, but of adaptation … Here, as in other places, Vatican II did not create the difficulties but recognized them with the loyalty that the Holy Spirit inspires in the assembled Church” (quoted on p. 138). According to this line of interpretation, we are mistaken to think that the challenges after Vatican II are a direct result of what the Council taught. In Laurentin’s (and Nguyen’s) view, the Council was like a bright lamp that cast a light on crucial theological questions needing to be addressed. We are wrongheaded to question the utility of the lamp when the real issue is our poor use of its light.

It's on this point that I part ways with Nguyen. Without adopting an antagonistic stance towards the Council, at some point we need to ask how its documents ended up precipitating the confusion and fragmentation that are characteristic of postconciliar theological discourse. Certainly, whenever an ecumenical council is held, competing lines of interpretation will emerge in its wake. However, the tensions surrounding fundamental theological questions that arose following Vatican II show no signs of dissipating. Given the depths of the crisis, as well as its persistence, theologians have to at least be able to ask whether the directions taken at the Council led to the practical outcome of the postconciliar crisis.

This line of inquiry can be unsettling for some theologians to confront. Over the past five-and-a-half decades the energies of the papal magisterium have been spent, in large part, on solidifying an authoritative interpretation of the Council’s documents. Even Pope Benedict XVI, who was most acutely aware of the postconciliar crisis, thought the path forward for the Church was to sift the authentic teaching of the Council from faulty readings of its message, including impressions of the Council that were advanced by the media—what he described as “the council of journalists.” But how long can we insist that theologians are simply misreading the documents of the Council? Is it possible that there are shortcomings in the documents themselves? Perhaps the genre of the documents, which differed so markedly from the output of previous councils, naturally lends itself to competing interpretations, which will only be cleared up through an extraordinary intervention or interventions by the magisterium.

While my recommendations may sound hostile to the goal of Nguyen’s study, I am actually advocating for a theological method that resembles hers in significant ways. She is right to affirm the importance of ressourcement. Theological renewal within Catholicism contrasts starkly with the dominant mode of Protestant reform, which seeks renewal through passing over large swaths of church history in order to recover a supposedly pure articulation of the Gospel message. De Lubac and his allies were about something different, and Nguyen is right to follow their lead. What I am suggesting is that we be open to drawing upon a broader range of theological sources, even some that were criticized by the doyens of the nouvelle theologie. The coldness that mid-twentieth-century theologians felt towards neo-scholastic and manualist theologies, while understandable, may have gone too far in pushing a different direction. Just as we are witnessing a rediscovery of traditional liturgical practices in some corners of the Church, I expect that something similar in the realm of theology is underway and could spark a kind of rebalancing when it comes to fundamental topics, like ecclesiology.

Prognostications of this sort are typically fraught with blind spots. For now, the strategy of the hierarchy—and of the majority of academic theologians—appears to be one of doubling down on the theology of Vatican II, without any recognition of its limitations. But what John Henry Newman said of councils in general should inspire some level of restraint as we talk about the significance of Vatican II. Per Newman, the early centuries of Christian history show how the Church “moved on to the perfect truth by various successive declarations, alternately in contrary directions, and thus perfecting, completing, supplying each other.” In light of this dynamic, Newman encouraged correspondents who were troubled by Vatican I to practice patience. “Let us be patient,” he counseled, “let us have faith, and a new Pope, and a re-assembled Council may trim the boat.” What I am suggesting is that a similar trimming, or course correction, may be necessary when it comes to the inheritance of Vatican II. Nguyen has provided us with an excellent resource for thinking through reception of the Council. Her study can serve as a starting point for asking tough questions about where we go from here in addressing the tensions that have emerged since the heyday of de Lubac’s contributions.