Rebecca Cohen. Journal of Ecumenical Studies. Volume 55, Issue 1. Winter 2020.
There is hardly any disagreement in calling racism evil, but how can we express this theologically when racism reaches beyond personal, individual acts to a pre-existing, all-encompassing system? In Catholic theology, language of sin does not relate to the reality of systematic racism. Th is essay proposes recovering an understanding of ritual purity that lies at the root of the Christian tradition. While Christian theology has never been entirely comfortable with language of purity, the historical and sociological elements help explain the mechanisms by which systematic racism functions as a structure of sin.
“I was taught to treat everyone the same.” “I marched in the sixties.” “I was the minority at my school, so I was the one who experienced racism.” “My parents were not racist, and they taught me not to be racist.” “Children today are so much more open.” “Race has nothing to do with it.” “Focusing on race is what divides us.”
These are only some of the defensive responses that Robin DiAngelo recounted in her recent book, White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk about Racism. A New York Times bestseller, DiAngelo’s work confronts and verbalizes what has formerly been shrouded in silence despite its deep impact on daily life: white fragility, or the discomfort and defensiveness a white person feels when confronted with the reality of racial inequality and injustice. The heart of this fragility, she asserted, is the reaction to what is perceived by one as a direct attack on one’s character by accusing one of engaging in racist tendencies. This bad=racist/good=not racist binary that she identified as fueling fragility deflects from the true focus of confronting racism. Instead of viewing racism as “simple, isolated, and extreme acts of violence,” DiAngelo argued that these acts be viewed in the broader context of a structure permeated with racism from the nation’s beginning. Dismantling racism means confronting an inter-locking system of values that is intertwined with society. Try as one might, through no fault of one’s own, it is not possible to avoid socialization into this system. Thus, in speaking of racism at a macro, it is necessary to look beyond the question of morality. Instead, one also needs to discuss structural or systematic racism and identify ways in which this manifests, intentionally or not, in life.
DiAngelo’s thesis is not easy to accept for the average white person in the United States. The immediate response to defend one’s character, she claimed, does not dissipate by naming it. Instead, it is necessary to and accept that they, too, are part of this system. Even without affirming her work and its conclusions in its entirety, it is easy to see that the main thrust of her argument must be considered if we, individually and as a people, are to reckon with the racism of our society. Theological examination of racism is going through a similarly difficult shift: How is one to relate sin and racism when the focus shifts from individual acts to structural deficiencies? Discussing the average person’s participation in structural racism does not fit comfortably within moral or sinful terms that necessarily entail personal agency. Efforts to define social sin and structures of sin are useful, but it begs the question: How is the structure to be analyzed in theological thought? Racism is clearly an evil that motivates individuals to sin, but the anonymity of structures tends to make conversations that address them difficult. If there is to be progress in dismantling racism from a theological perspective, the systemic prevalence of racism must be understood: its foundation, its weakness, and its dynamics. Today, sociologists such as DiAngelo speak of structural or systemic racism, but in searching for a theological basis, it is perhaps useful to speak more of racism’s functioning as a cult of purity, a system apart from moral concerns with its division of sacred/profane and pure/impure.
Interlude
In dealing with topics intertwined with an individual’s identity, which only serves to make them infinitely nuanced, it seems necessary to name my perspective. I am a white woman. I was born in the late twentieth century in the northeastern U.S. when and where it did seem as though we truly could be color-blind. Despite being taught, as many others had been, of humanity’s equality, my socialization was indeed into a racialized world. I do not remember the incident, but my mother tells me that at a young age I once got angry with a neighbor and declared, “I don’t like brown people.” (Hers was the only African American family on my block.) This horrifies me today. In spirit, it seems as though DiAngelo’s book was written to me. As someone who hopes only to embody the love of Christ to its fullest extent, it was certainly difficult to take in. It provoked a great deal of reflection and countless discussions, and I can only be grateful for being able to struggle with it. I say this to situate my comments within the continued desire to grasp hold of and grapple with what evil we are dealing with as a society. In what I present here, I ask forgiveness for where it may fall short in speaking to another’s experience. That being said, it is also necessary to name that this is written from a Roman Catholic perspective. I hope that much speaks across ecumenical, and even interreligious, lines, but, where theological details are concerned, I am sure to exhibit my Catholic context.
The Christian Struggle to Name the Evil of Racism
DiAngelo’s desire to move the discussion of racism from the moral good/bad binary to the recognition of the systemic prevalence of racism mirrors a similar conversation that framed the discussion of sin in Open Wide Our Hearts: The Enduring Call to Love, the 2018 pastoral letter against racism by the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. In 1979, the Catholic bishops of the U.S. issued a pastoral letter on racism, Brothers and Sisters toUs, which clearly declared, “Racism is a sin.” Nearly four decades later, there is no such assertion in Open Wide Our Hearts. This is not to suggest a deficiency in the most recent pastoral letter, but it reflects a deepening understanding of the role of racism systemically and the nuances of the theological meaning of sin.
In the intervening years, there has been much work in deciphering and defining social sin, and even structures of sin, in relation to the traditional and objective concept of sin. To be exact, actual sin entails a personal act of individual will either committing an act that is prohibited or omitting an act that is prescribed. Being part of a system, or even being socialized into it as DiAngelo explains, does not automatically constitute a sin. On this broad level, it generally falls within the idea of social sin or, more specifically, a structure of sin.
Given greater understanding, the bishops are more careful in their usage of terminology in Open Wide Our Hearts. Discussion of sin is not absent, since, where racism fuels action, these acts are named sinful: “When this conviction or attitude leads individuals or groups to exclude, ridicule, mistreat, or unjustly discriminate against persons on the basis of their race or ethnicity, it is sinful.” It even connects these acts with the broader background of racism that they hope to address: “The cumulative effects of personal sins of racism have led to social structures of injustice and violence that makes us all accomplices in racism.” However, the document, overall, prefers to name the broader background of such actions as “evil.” It finds this evil deeply embedded in social structures that must be challenged: “Racism can only end if we contend with the policies and institutional barriers that perpetuate and preserve the inequality—economic and social—that we still see all around us.”
Even in 1979, despite conflating these different senses of sin, the focus of naming racism a sin was to highlight the evil that is codified in structures: “Today in our country men, women, and children are being denied opportunities for full participation and advancement in our society because of their race. The educational, legal, and financial systems, along with other structures and sectors of our society, impede people’s progress and narrow their access because they are black, Hispanic, Native American or Asian.” While these structures can often remain faceless, nameless, the bishops are clear that the sin of racism does not rest in anonymity: “The sin is social in nature in that each of us, in varying degrees, is responsible. All of us in some measure are accomplices.”
None of this is to say that there is not a moral component. The bishops clearly connect racism with the division of God’s family and the denial of fundamental human dignity as God’s children, an act of injustice. Actions that are taken because of such racist inclinations are clearly deemed sinful. However, these pastoral letters speak to the average person, one who could never imagine taking up arms against another because of their race or ethnic origin but who quietly benefits from a system weighted to their well-being, even unintentionally. The bishops are addressing individuals as part of this structure of sin that they wish to condemn.
Labelling Racism as a Structure of Sin
Differentiating between personal sin and social sin—or, more specifically, structures of sin—is useful in beginning to describe the evil of racism. By doing so, it is possible to identify the social influence of the system of racism that can lead individuals to sin without necessarily ascribing moral fault until such sin is committed. However, there is still much debate over the theological basis of these terms. John Paul II introduced the vocabulary of social sin in relationship and juxtaposition with personal sin in his 1984 exhortation, Reconciliatio et Paenitentia:
Whenever the church speaks of situations of sin or when the [church] condemns as social sins certain situations or the collective behavior of certain social groups, big or small, or even of whole nations and blocs of nations, she knows and she proclaims that such cases of social sin are the result of the accumulation and concentration of many personal sins…. A situation—or likewise an institution, a structure, society itself—is not in itself the subject of moral acts. Hence a situation cannot in itself be good or bad.
Since then, there has been much confusion over the proper usage of these terms. In the hope of clarifying the concept of structures of sin, theologically, Conor Kelly has proposed a revised definition as part of his recent analysis: “an institution or collective practice that either socially idealizes or economically incentivizes actions seeking exclusive self-interest(s) at the expense of the common good.” Basing his work in the social sciences, he first identified that which distinguishes structures of sin from the broader category of social sin. That is, a system supposes an organized character that can itself exert power over an individual. He then characterized that power as that which consolidates and concretizes three existing theories. By focusing on the overlap of conscience formation, the shrouding of moral consequences, and the limiting of options, he concluded that “incentives” is the best category to understand the conditioning of individuals into structures of sin. Finally, the precise sin involved in each of these structures is characterized on a broad scale as actions based in self-interest that hurt the common good, offend theological categories of justice and solidarity, and correspond to pride. It is important to note that personal actions remain the focus.
Racism clearly fits the various aspects of Kelly’s general definition as a structure of sin. The struggle in having the average individual recognize one’s place within structural racism is that the system continues to exert influence without individual effort. For the most part, white parents do not teach their children that they are inherently superior to people of color, but they continue to be socialized into a racialized world. It is also easy to point to the various societal and economic incentives. Great disparities remain between whites and people of color in educational opportunities, housing, access to medical care, occupational mobility, etc. Aware of this privilege or not, it is common for white people to defend, even unintentionally, that advantage. This is the basis of DiAngelo’s characterization of white fragility as a silencing mechanism. Kelly’s analysis is certainly useful in furthering understanding of racism as a structure of sin. It clearly illustrates the relationship of the individual to the structure; however, it does reflect on the inner dynamics of such a system. Understanding these mechanisms is what ultimately can facilitate dismantling the system at its source. A supplemental framework must be added to illustrate better how the system came into being and sustains itself as such a strong force in society.
The Cult of Purity in the Second Temple Period and Morality
Trying to find Christian language other than sin to discuss the intricacies of structures of sin is difficult, but it clearly moves into a different arena. It is not possible to speak of the system itself as sinful, nor does it serve to discuss those trapped within it as sinful until some act can be labelled such. In searching for suitable language, concepts from the very roots of Christianity, that is, from Second Temple Judaism, can advance our understanding. Issues of ritual purity appear largely irrelevant in modern Christian thought. If these issues are discussed at any length, the focus is often on citing such purity laws as evidence of the fossilized ritualism that Jesus came to challenge in Second Temple Judaism. However, understanding the Second Temple cult of purity aids in understanding the mechanisms of structural racism as a structure of sin, bridging the gap between the foundational sin and participation, willing or otherwise, in an established, powerful system.
The laws regarding ritual purity in Second Temple Judaism constituted a system apart from morality. Terms such as “pure” and “impure” are used in several senses in the Hebrew scriptures, such as food laws, ritual purity, moral purity, and what some have termed genealogical purity. What is of concern here is ritual purity as distinct from morality. The interactions of the moral code and ritual purity rules have been discussed for nearly a century; however, there remains a consensus that the two operated at least somewhat independently in Second Temple Judaism. According to Hyam Maccoby, who is perhaps among those who posit the greatest division, ritual purity laws were connected to the moral code in only the most indirect way. In fact, they oftentimes conflicted. Many impurities were contracted in the course of moral acts. For instance, contact with corpses causes the gravest impurity, but it was considered a good deed to prepare a body for proper burial. Other major sources of ritual impurity included sexual fluids and certain skin diseases, which were normal or could not be helped in the course of life. There were no questions of sin in these cases, but those who contracted such impurities were expected to cleanse themselves of these impurities only with the prescribed methods in proximity of the Temple. For Maccoby, these cultic rules set the Israelites apart as a “kingdom of priests,” which constitutes a moral project. Others have posited a stronger connection between sin and impurity, though they, too, assert that the categories cannot be conflated.
While it may seem odd to a Christian, issues of ritual purity still relate to holiness, despite the tenuous connection with morality. In general, what is impure is merely defined as “that which is a threat or opposes holiness.” Built on dual binaries of sacred/profane and pure/impure, it is necessary to ensure that the impure could not contact the sacred or the holy. This included ritual concerns as well as moral. In terms of the ritual, one interpretation, though there are many, claims that it is possible to classify the specific ritual concerns of Second Temple Judaism as those acts that are quintessentially human. Thus, it is humanity that is to be minimized in contact with the holy. Maccoby, however, conceded they are to some extent arbitrary. Whatever the rationale, it is clear that several normal bodily functions were considered inherently incompatible with the sacred in Second Temple Judaism. This is not to assert that ritual purity concerns were foremost in the mind of Israelites at that time. It was part of their tradition along with many other aspects, all influencing their worldview on various levels.
Concerns of ritual purity dwindled following the Second Temple Period. Maccoby held that the cult is effectively dead without the Temple, though vestiges of the law remain, practices that are done only in remembrance of the Temple. On the other hand, Jacob Neusner claimed that the conceptual framework continued to play a part in rabbinical thought, though the allegorical interpretation of impurity greatly expands in their literature. In the Christian scriptures, it seems as though sin and impurity become conflated. Jesus is often viewed using ritual law in only allegorical or typological arguments. Within a few decades of his death, ritual practices were neglected. According to the Acts of the Apostles, the Council of Jerusalem ruled that gentiles did not need to adopt Jewish practice to follow Jesus, and any remnants of Jewish ritual law eventually fell out of practice altogether. In keeping with this trend, Thomas Aquinas held that only the moral precepts of the Bible are permanent and thus binding. Issues pertaining to ritual purity became extraneous, even sinful to observe. Despite that, vestiges remained. David P. Wright claimed that it would not be possible to understand the Council of Elvira in the fourth century, with its prohibition on married clergy, without the background of ritual law pertaining to sexual acts. However, much of that background remains largely unspoken. Christian thought attempted to separate itself from concerns of ritual purity, but the mindset still exerted some influence.
Interpretations of Purity Concerns
The system of ritual purity in Second Temple Judaism is biblical. From this essay’s context, there is no question of the divine nature of those commands. However, it is brought forward here as an illustration of deep human truths and patterns that can be found in the roots of Christianity. Maccoby also made this connection: “We are experiencing here a phenomenon characteristic of Israelite and Jewish religion—emancipation from primitive fears through the elaboration of rules.”
Concurrent with the study of sin and impurity in ancient Judaism, the fledging field of sociology began to analyze religion. One of the architects of the field, Émile Durkheim, contributed to building a sociology of religion and continues to influence the field with his work, The Elementary Forms of Religious Life. He put forward a sociological definition of religion, one of the first, and is commonly cited as developing the binary of the sacred and profane: “Whether simple or complex, all known religious beliefs display a common feature: They presuppose a classification of the real or ideal things that men conceive of into two classes—two opposite genera— that are widely designated by two distinct terms, which the words profane and sacred translate fairly well.” These sacred things are set apart and cannot be approached by the profane without consequence, as they are part of an entirely different order. Religion is the system that unites these beliefs and unites a community. Despite providing important concepts of the sacred and the profane, theologians and believers will quickly find his definition wanting. For Durkheim, society created the sacred, and the sacred is nothing more than the society it reflects. However, this is not unexpected as he examined religious phenomenon from a sociological rather than a theological perspective.
In The Sacred and the Profane,Mircea Eliade built on Durkheim’s contribution, but he began from a distinct perspective that was deeply influenced by Rudolph Otto’s characterization of the sacred as the mysterium tremendum et fascinans. For Eliade, the recognition of the sacred occurred when the sacred manifested itself to humanity within the profane world, which he called “hierophany.” Following this manifestation, humans build their world, anchoring it in the sacred and separating the profane from the sacred. Indeed, this view is more compatible with the Christian understanding of God’s omnipresence and sacramentality. He also added an important insight into human behavior, that is, the world becomes increasingly secularized, and more and more people believe that they are able to leave behind religious belief and the architecture of the sacred. However, Eliade doubted that this was possible: Even the nonreligious person “cannot help preserving some vestiges of the behavior of religious man.”
Taking a third starting point focused on the margins, Mary Douglas in her work, Purity and Danger, offered significant observations that have shaped many theological discussions on purity. Her work is often cited in connecting sociological studies to theological examinations of purity laws in Judaism. Importantly, she connected concerns of cleanliness to holiness, placing these concerns within an ordered system so that an impurity is something considered out of place: “If uncleanness is matter out of place, we must approach it through order. Uncleanness or dirt is that which must not be included if a pattern is to be maintained. To recognize this is the first step towards insight into pollution. It involves us in no clearcut distinction between sacred and secular.” Holiness takes on a specific meaning here. For Douglas, it related to wholeness, normality, and, importantly, lack of mixture. Danger lies at the borders where mixture is possible. The label of holiness is not inherent, but rules regarding uncleanness are symbolic, founded on the specific concerns of a community. On a broader level, the same mechanisms function to organize a society. They can even be used to control unwanted behavior; pollutions must be controlled, even punished for breaking a barrier, intentionally or not. This important perception is crucial in understanding the fight against pollution within power dynamics. It can create an “us” and a “them” and provide the tools to keep them apart. It can be used to oppress.
This brief sociological survey is not to take the position that all societies are shaped in identical terms, or to equate one with another. However, the contributions of these scholars have been to illuminate some very real tendencies in society. The scope and size of this essay unfortunately restrict the breadth of research that could be discussed here, but these essential works illustrate just how human it is to impose separation with the use of purity concerns and invest in keeping those boundaries intact. Despite abandoning a ritual code, Christian society is still influenced by these impulses to divide the sacred and profane, to construct systems to keep the impure from impinging on the sacred, and to do so in ways that may or may not oppress others.
Constructing a Ritual System of Racism on Idolatry
Christian theology has never been wholly comfortable with language of ritual purity. Left with a forgotten inheritance and without a religious language dividing the sacred from the profane, complete with purity systems to keep pollutions at bay, pseudo-theologies have been allowed to grow. One of these false doctrines that has taken root in Christianity is the evil of racism. Several scholars have taken it upon themselves to trace the Christian roots of racism, and, while it is not possible to discuss them all in this space, one of the most influential will be highlighted.
According to Willie Jones Jennings, racial thinking entered the Christian tradition as the African slave trade grew. To cope with the pain and misery inflicted on the newly arrived slaves, Prince Henry’s royal chronicler, Gomes Eanes de Azurara, cast his ruler as a divinely appointed savior, bringing these unfortunate souls into slavery so that they might be converted, a narrative that would be repeated over and over again. Eventually, it was tied to biblical language of the “curse of Ham.” The white, European man was placed in the role of savior while the nonwhite was considered lesser and in need of saving. Jennings traced this development in Christian writings from Jesuit missionary Alessandro Valignano, theologian José de Acosta, Anglican bishop John William Colenso, and others. It evolves from the narrative to a theoretical racial scale. All people were placed on a scale from black to white, where the possibility of salvation increased as one moved toward white. Everywhere Europeans went, native peoples were forced into this framework, disconnecting native peoples from their own connections and identities. Jennings loosely equated this to a perverse act of Creation. If the Europeans faced resistance, it was not their approach but the native to be blamed for not recognizing what was offered: They were too stupid, or too arrogant, or too stubborn, but mostly too black. For the Christian, it cannot be denied that salvation in Christ is for all, but, tragically, many who encountered new lands and people placed their own conditions steeped in racial terms on this offer.
Racism entered modern discourse on the back of theological reflection, and it is useful to pause and consider how often language of purity is used in discussions of race in general. It constitutes the core of racial discourse. The eugenics movement beginning in the nineteenth century consistently employed concepts of purity. The one-drop rule that was prevalent in U.S. legal systems and society in the twentieth century was the embodiment of purity concerns. Dana Berthold recounted an advertisement from the nineteenth century that clearly connects ideas of cleanliness with whiteness:
Depicted in the ad are three Native Americans dressed in Euro-American clothing, sparkling clean and civilized thanks to Ivory soap. The script ends with these lines: “And now we’re civil, kind and good; And keep the laws as people should; We wear our linen, lawn and lace; As well as folks with paler face; And now I take, where’er we go; This cake of IVORY SOAP to show; What civilized my squaw and me; And made us clean and fair to see” (Procter and Gamble, 1883).
Society is rife with allusions to whiteness under the guise of purity concerns, and the tradition inherited by contemporary Christians is not immune.
It is now possible to conceive of the structure of racism in religious terms. As with all structures of sin, concrete acts by individuals who introduce and consolidate them constitute its foundation. Thus, while the structure of sin that is racism cannot be spoken of in terms of personal sin, it is clearly built upon it. The first step in this system was to identify the sacred and separate it from the profane. In the Jennings analysis, it is clear that white Europeans considered themselves in the role of savior and creator when confronted with new lands and peoples. Here is the fundamental sin: Whiteness is lifted up as the sacred as a form of idolatry. Upon this ground, the system rose. It grew stronger, spread, became and remains the sources of other sins, and so influences people’s behavior. It is this whiteness that must be protected from the impurity of blackness. Blackness itself was something labelled at the whim of the European white, normally based on moral value, such that blackness represented those who were called ignorant or stubborn in the writings cited by Jennings, but always indicating difference and inferiority. However, a person’s skin color is clearly not something that can be controlled by an individual’s moral merit. It is genetically decided, a natural part of a person’s identity. Thus, it is not a moral measure but an inherent quality—and one that has been distinguished arbitrarily as indicative of salvation.
Unfortunately, blackness continues to exclude individuals from privilege and opportunities in contemporary society. As a genetic attribute, it is more akin to the ritual impurities of Second Temple Judaism that prevented entry to the Temple than it is to a sin. Our society acts in ways that repel individuals from crossing the boundary between black and territory that belongs to whites, such as economic mobility and access to elements of a high quality of life. It is the same type of system that Douglas discussed, acting to punish those things that are out of place. Indeed, there are some exceptions, for example, individuals who have been able to reach a level of economic affluence. But, even they are precluded from acceptance by the color of their skin, as they are led to believe that they should be grateful and yet never fully exempt from scrutiny. However, for the most part, society continues to reinforce itself so that opportunities are systematically skewed to whites—what has been described as “white privilege.” Questioning this status and pushing those boundaries leads to being labelled “dangerous,” which echoes the language that Douglas used in her analysis. Structural racism is nothing less than protecting a false sacred—that is, whiteness—from the imaginary impurity of blackness.
Conclusion
To address the evil of racism in the U.S. it is necessary to take a broad perspective. While individual acts of racial violence need to be resisted and condemned, the structure of racism that affects the average person must also be dismantled. To do so, it must be identified. The Catholic Church, as well as other Christian communities, have struggled to put this system in theological terms, as designations of sin can conflate its systematic nature with personal action. Theologians such as Kelly have provided new insights regarding the definition and classification of structures of sin, which applies to systematic racism. Kelly’s revised definition makes clear how an anonymous, pre-existing structure can influence individuals to sin with incentives that privilege self-interest over the common good. However, this interpretation lacks an analysis of the structure itself, which can exhibit the foundational principle around which it organizes and the mechanisms that it uses to keep itself in place. As such a system does not refer to individual human actions, terms other than sin must be used to discuss these inner workings theologically.
The characterization of racism as a system of ritual purity is a suggestion that may better illustrate the mechanisms of systematic racism in religious language that are not fully illuminated in analyses of sin. A system of ritual purity was a strong influence in Second Temple Judaism, from which Christianity arose. It was not carried over into early Christian thought per se, but, as a deep human response, concerns regarding ritual purity were never fully managed. It is possible that such concerns then appear unintentionally in unexpected and improper places, such as systemic racism. While the language of ritual purity is awkward for the Christian, viewing racism through this lens is useful in that it highlights that this system has been founded on false, even sinful, convictions, that is, the idolatrous commitment to whiteness. It also analyzes how structural racism continues to operate. Racism is not kept in place just by willful individuals or disjointed policies. It perpetuates because it works as an organized system that repels what has been understood as inherently impure, namely, blackness, vis-à-vis what it deems sacred, whiteness. This is its organizing principle that must be challenged if racism is to be combatted successfully.
Some may suggest that this focus on racism as a structure of ritual purity separates it too much from human action and the ultimate issue of sin. On the one hand, it partitions the inner workings of the system from individual acts. There are some who could possibly use this as an escape, denying any personal responsibility or participation in racism. On the other hand, the structural focus, especially one considered in terms of ritual purity and not sin, may allow individuals who generally consider themselves to be good people to recognize their participation. In understanding how the system works, they can better reflect on how they do or do not contribute to its perpetuation or to what extent it affects them in their daily lives. It will only further the ability to answer the bishops’ call to “fight the evil of racism by […] reflecting on personal thoughts and actions.” It is in these reflections that the influence of a system laid bare can become apparent, that sins come to light, and that conversion can be sought. Only then can the evil of racism be conquered.