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Robert Wade on Zombie Ideas, Being inside the World Bank, and the Death of Ethics in Economics after the Marginal Revolution
The global economy is at the core of some of the main issues in contemporary International Relations. But how do we understand the global economy and what impact does that have on how we deal with the power politics around it? A fault line seems to have emerged between those who take economic theory seriously and those who denounce it for being part of the problem. Informed by his training as an anthropologist, Robert H. Wade—professor at the LSE—takes a different tack: he bases his engagement with the way in which Adam Smith has been appropriated to advocate for a dominant view of 'free markets' on real-world economics and in-depth accounts of insiders. In this Talk, Wade—among others—discusses experimentation in international economic regimes, why the International Financial Institutions don't fight economic crises, and the powers and perils of being inside the World Bank.
Print version of this Talk (pdf)
What is, according to you, the biggest challenge / principal debate in current International Relations? What is your position or answer to this challenge / in this debate?
If we'd reframe your question as being more broadly about global studies, I think that one of the really fundamental questions is how and why it is that the precepts of neoliberalism have penetrated into every nook and cranny of Western societies, and have penetrated to a very large extent many non-Western countries.
This has happened especially, but not only, through the agency of the IMF and the World bank, which have imbued these neoliberal principles; through the mechanism of graduate education: children of the elites in developing countries go out to American, British, other Western universities, and they learn that this is 'true' economics, or 'true' IPE, or 'true' Political Science, and then they come back and implement these same principles and make them a reality back home. But across the globe, this even holds for the Nordic countries. In Iceland and other Nordic countries, from the 1980s, networks of people sharing a belief in neo-liberal precepts, began to form and sort of place each other in key positions within the state, and in politics, and built a momentum in this direction. These precepts have become understood as just natural, as in Margaret Thatcher's 'there is no alternative'.
I live in the UK, and the great bulk of the British public really does believe that the government is just like a household writ large, and the same rules of budgeting that apply to the household should apply to the state. That when times are tough the household has to tighten its belt, cut back on spending, and it is only fair that the government does the same, and if the government does not, if the government runs a deficit in hard times, then the government is being irresponsible. And this is a completely mistaken and pre-Keynesian idea, but it is a 'zombie idea'—that is, however much arguments and evidence may be mounted against it, it just keeps coming up and up and up, and governments come to power riding on this zombie idea and a flotilla of related ideas.
The persistence of this zombie idea is all the more amazing as we just had a global financial crisis in 2007/8, which would prompt a rethinking of these ideas. But these neoliberal precepts have been, if anything, more strongly reinforced. In previous hard times—and obviously the 1930s depression is the exemplary case—there has been a stronger move towards, what you could call, social democratic precepts. But not this time! Indeed, even after the crisis, the whole of the European Union with 500 million people is even more thoroughly structured on the basis of these ideas. I am thinking of what is popularly known as the Fiscal Compact signed by the EU Member States in 2012, which commits all governments to balance budgets all the time—that is, first, the structural deficit may not rise above 0.5 percent of GDP. Second, the public debt may not rise above 60 percent of GDP. Third, automatic financial sanctions are levied on governments that exceed these two thresholds. Fourth, the whole procedure is supervised by the European Commission, and this is presented as in the name of sound budgeting. This package is presented as justified by the proposition that government is a household writ large. The most elementary principles of Keynesian macroeconomics show why this is not simply mistaken, but a disaster, and will keep generating recessionary pressures. It is sold as a kind of excuse for avoiding to put in place the essential conditions for the monetary union, namely, a common budget and a sizable transfer mechanism to the regions just as exists in the United States. But they do not want to do that, but still they call this agreement 'cooperation', which is all about not cooperation, but about writing these dictates around this zombie idea written into the very basic architecture of the EU. Beyond EU politics, it materializes all the way down to, I don't know, the function of the privatization of the Post Office, it goes all the way down to the sort of capillaries of how universities are run, and the incentive systems that have placed upon academics, and there is very little pushback. The one reason, why I am almost completely delighted about Jeremy Corbyn's election as the leader of the Labour party, is that this is one small case of where there seems to be some concerted pushback against these zombie ideas. The point being that the established Labour party basically bought into this whole set of neo-liberal ideas. It combined maintaining the overall structure of inequality in society with more emphasis on providing some help to the poor, but they had to be hardworking poor.
Yet, one knows that there can be dramatic changes in the prevailing zeitgeist of norms. One knows that there can be big changes in the space of a few decades and the question is can one imagine a scenario in which they might be a big change in norms back to a more kind of social-democratic direction. So where will this take place? Because of technological change in the labor market, there is a real big crisis of employment with many middle-class jobs cut out and polarization in the labor market. This might then induce a political movement to have a much bigger change in income distribution than anybody with power is now talking about. Talk of re-distribution these days is really almost entirely around redistribution through the state, but the point I would make is that if there is to be any significant reduction of inequality, especially inequality at the top, there has to be more attention to changes in market-income distribution.
Let me explain. The share of profits in national income has been going up and the share of labor income has been going down. So we should harness the shareholder structure of the market to affect a more equal income distribution by enabling a much wider section of the population to buy into the profit share. At the moment the profit share goes to senior executives and equity holders, but equity holders are highly concentrating at the top of the income and wealth distribution. If equity earners could be spread much more equally, then a much wider section of the population would get income, while they sleep so to speak. We could institute something like trusts, whose members could be the employees of a company, the customers, the neighbors of the company, and the trust would borrow on capital markets and take out insurance against the repayment of the lending of loan and then it would buy shares, it would use that borrowed money to buy shares in the company, and the company would pay out dividends on the shares and then that dividend income coming out of profits would be distributed to the members of the trust. That would be a way of getting the rising share of profits in national income distributed out to the population at large. I particularly like this metaphor of "earning income while you sleep", since at the moment it is only the rich people, who are earning income while they sleep. Somehow that facility of earning income while you sleep has to be made much more widely and available—by using the market against itself, so to speak.
How did you arrive at where you currently are in your thinking about International Relations?
I suppose the starting point was really this; my father was a New Zealand diplomat, so we moved quite often. By that time I was twelve my parents were posted to Colombo, Ceylon as it was called then. After having lived just in Western countries, I suddenly encountered at this very formative age Colombo and Sri Lanka. I was just amazed by that experience; by the color, the taste, the exoticness, but I was also very struck by how the many boys at the same age as me, were walking around with no shoes. I particular remember this boy carrying a baby on his shoulder, the baby looked half-dead and covered in scabs, and I think it was then I got the idea of just how unequal the world was. Then at university I studied economics, but I also visited my parents in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia and I got another sense of that great disparity in wealth and living standards. At this time I had come across Adam Smith and the wealth of nations question and that helped to encapsulate or to crystalize my interests. So I wanted to go the Institute of Development Studies in Sussex and got enrolled for a PhD in economics, but en route I spent several weeks in India and during that time I began to dwell upon just how boring and how useless everything I studied under the name of microeconomics. I kept thinking of these dreadfully dry textbooks of marginal cost curves and marginal revenue curves and utility function and difference curves etc., which I had forced myself to sit exams in. By this time I had done a little bit of fieldwork, living on Pitcairn Island in the middle of the Pacific.
When I got back to Sussex after fieldwork I announced that I wished to not do a PhD in economics, but to do one in anthropology thinking all the time, that this would actually be more use for understanding why for example India, where I had been, was so very poor. So that's what I did: a PhD in anthropology… In some ways I regard that as having been a mistake, because the sort of mainstream of anthropology is very far away from the Adam Smith questions. Having done the degree in anthropology, pretty soon I began to change direction and pay much more attention to the state, to the state bureaucracy. I went to India and I studied the Irrigation Department and other related departments. I went to South Korea and I studied state irrigation agencies and I went to Taiwan and I studied the state more broadly. So I was kind of moving up from my Italian village, moving kind of up the scale in terms of state agencies and then the state as a whole.
Then I went to work for the World Bank in the 1980s and my main reason for doing that was not to do the research the World Bank wanted me to do, but rather to study the World Bank from the inside as fieldwork. If in some ways switching to anthropology was a mistake, in other ways it was not, because I approached those kind of Wealth-of-Nations-questions in a way very different from how economists approached them. For example when I went to Taiwan and studied the trade regime, the first thing I did was to go and talk to people who operated through the trade regime, whereas I noticed that the published works by economists celebrating Taiwan's free trade regime was based on what the rules said and what certain government officials told them was the case. They had never actually talked to people who traded through the trade regime. If they would have, they would have learned about all the covert controls that went on such that there was quite a distinction between the liberal face of the trade regime and the reality of the trade regime. The reality was that the government was managing trade in line with industrial policy, but the government absolutely did not want the world to know that. So all this was kept hidden and I was really regarded as rather unwelcome visitor—and in fact to this day my book Governing the Market (1990, read the introduction here) is not well received in Taiwan. It says the government of Taiwan did a good job of managing the market, but they want the world to believe that Taiwan is a free trade country. So that is the kind of intellectual trajectory that I have been on.
So I think that the value of the anthropology PhD was that it really taught me, in practical terms, the meaning of the anthropological maxim, which is 'soaking and poking'. To put it another way—I love this—anthropologists are social scientists, who believe that the plural of anecdote is evidence. And indeed I place a lot of weight on anecdotes, on gossip, on the stories people tell, whereas economists would be much happier reducing, let us say, South Korea's trade regime to one data point in a matrix, and then compare that data point with, let us say, Malaysia's data point to see how the trade regimes are correlated with growth, or something like that, and that is really not my interest.
What would a student need to become a specialist in IR or understand the world in a global way?
Despite what I've just said, I do think that a graduate training in economics is very useful, provided one does not believe it. And that is really difficult, because the socialization pressures are intense: if you do not say the right things—which are neoliberal type things on the whole—then you will likely not get a high grade. But I have noticed that economists tend to know how to think, how to make arguments, they tend to understand the idea of causality, and that may seem an astonishing thing to say on my part, because it implies that students coming from other disciplines are often weak in understanding the very basic ideas of causality, but that is my experience. I had many students coming from, who knows, IR or Political Science or Sociology or Anthropology, who clearly do not have much idea of causality; they can describe things, but they find thinking in terms of cause and effect, in terms of independent and dependent variables, in terms of left and right side, they just find it difficult. So I do think that there is a lot to be said for studying economics, and mastering the maths, provided that the critical facility is not lost. That is point number one.
Point number two is that I think that there is a huge premium on doing fieldwork, and the field work maybe in developing countries, but when I say field work, I don't just mean going out to villages, going out to see poor people 'over there'. I am talking of fieldwork inside bureaucracies: to try and understand the culture, the incentive systems that people are working under—fieldwork at home so to speak, in the countries one comes from. From the students' point of view, it is clearly much easier to sit in the LSE library to do the research. So in my marking I give quite a premium to a student actually doing fieldwork, going out and interviewing, and having the experience of writing up and interpreting the interviews and somehow fitting it back into a larger argument—but really few students actually do that, and I think that that is a real, real big mistake. Mind you, the same risk holds for fieldwork in economics as it does for studying economics: I encourage students to work for (do fieldwork in, experience) the World Bank; and several have—but to the best of my knowledge almost none of them has kept their critical perspective. They really come to buy into it.
The relations between states are settled either through diplomacy or warfare. Why would we have to focus on economics to understand IR?
Because economics—such as for example balances of payment, surpluses and deficits—set the constraints and incentives on countries in terms of their relationships with each other. A great deal of diplomacy is driven by economic pressures: diplomacy to get other countries to for example open their markets, or to cut deals with countries—'if you do this, we will do that'—deals that may relate to areas that are rather different, for instance if you buy more of these of our exports, we will help you fight such and such country, because the manufactures are in my constituency.
So, in a way, the way you framed the question is part of the reason why I react against the discipline of IR: because it tends to treat diplomacy, war, and so on, as somehow rather separate from economic pressures, and I see these economic pressures as very powerful drivers of both of the other two things. As another example, one of the drivers of the Syrian conflict was that there was an acute drought (like Weizman observed in Theory Talk #69, red), which meant that many people were rendered destitute; rural areas flooded into the cities, and the Assad regime just was—understandably—unable to cope; and large numbers of young men, concentrated in cities, rootless and with no jobs, just were recruiting fodder for the Wahhabi sect. I have always thought of economics—not so much as in the making choices in conditions of scarcity, that is sort of Lionel Robin's definition—in the sense of Alfred Marshal, about how people make a living, as a very fundamental driver of a lot of what happens in International Relations.
Pikkety recently published Capital in the 21st Century, causing quite the stir. But why would inequality between people matter for IR?
Let me comment by invoking a very contemporary exhibit—the migration crisis in Europe now. Maybe a decade ago I looked at the figures and if you took the average income of the EU-15 prior to latest extensions and then expressed the average income of countries outside of the EU—including sub-Sahara Africa—as a percentage, then there was a really dramatic falling away of income levels relative to the EU, in countries all around the EU and whether you took market exchange rates or purchasing power parity. If you went round to sub-Sahara Africa and took the average, it was more like two percent in market exchange rates and seven percent in purchasing power parity; and the 'problem' is that there is certainly here a rather thin slither of sea between Africa and the promised land of Europe and to the east there are these great open planes, where armies can go up and down to the speed of light, so to speak, but people can also move pretty quickly across these planes.
So all one has to do—and this might just be only a bit of an exaggeration—if one is on the poor end of this poverty pyramid is hop across the border and you have a chance at least of getting a very appreciable increase in living conditions and income, with which you can then get savings to remit back to home. So the migrations pressures are just huge. So that is one reason for linking inequality to issues in International Relations—really fundamental issues, and very very difficult to dissolve.
You've done anthropological fieldwork inside the World Bank—an institution drawing a lot of criticism from its detractors in IR. Can you shed some kind of light about what kind of 'animal' the World Bank is?
First of all, let me say that at the micro-level—the level of the people you know and the people I know inside the World Bank—I agree that there are people doing a lot of good work. But if you look at the organization more generally—the World Bank and also the IMF—they are clearly instruments mainly of US foreign policy—and any number of US senators, members of the House, have basically said that. When they are defending the International Financial Institutions (they often criticize them), they do so by saying they are important for US foreign policy. And you have to look at the governance structures to see how it is that the US in particular—but Western states more generally—have from the beginning, through the very Articles of Agreement, created a structure which locks in their power, and has made it very difficult for other countries (including Japan) to significantly increase their shareholdings. The US has kept the presidency of the Bank and the much less recognized Number Two position of the IMF, and has used these positions to have a very strong influence.
Just to illustrate what the Bank and the Fund do: at the time of the East-Asian crisis—specifically the Korean crisis in 1997-1998—the IMF mission was in Seoul. The negotiations were in a hotel there. David Lipton from the US Treasury (and a former student of Larry Summers who was by then Deputy Secretary) was just down the corridor of where the negotiations took place, and every so often the IMF people would walk out of the negotiations and consult with David Lipton, then come back in and—as Paul Blustein reports in his book called The Chastening—often said something rather different from what they had been saying before they consulted with David Lipton.
Just to take another example, the US being able to appoint the president of the Bank—to appoint a person known personally to the Treasury Secretary or to the Secretary of the State, or both—is really of great value: when there is a 'trustful relationship'—or a relationship of dependency, the president being dependent on those who appointed him in the Administration—it is possible for those people in the Administration, or people close to them, to just ring up the president of the Bank, and talk in a very informal, confidential, trustful way about what is happening in Latin America, or what is happening in the Middle East, and what the US thinks the Bank should or should not be doing in those places. Larry Summers appointed a protégé of his to one of the regional development banks, and this person—who is very senior in the bank—told me that Larry would frequently ring him, while he is being driven home in the evening from the Treasury, just to have a chat about how things were going in her region, and to pass on suggestions about what the Bank should be doing there, and to get intelligence from her about what was happening in the region, and so on. The point is that, making these personal connections is of immense value, but at the same time, the US Congress, in particular, is very much against having a big Bank against allowing a capital increase for the World Bank—so that the bank could, as it should be doing, increase its lending for infrastructure investment ten times. It is just a complete scandal how little the Bank has been lending for the past 20 years or more for infrastructure, for roads and power stations and so on. The US does not want the Bank providing socialistic competition with the private sector: it says these things are for the private sector to do, and the Bank has to take care of poverty, because the private sector is not interested in poverty.
So the US wants to keep the presidency of the Bank, it wants to keep, secondly, its unique veto right on the big decisions, such as decisions on whether to increase the capital base—but provided those two things are met it does not care that much about the Bank. In the case of the Fund, the US is also very powerful, but of course the Europeans have a bit more relative power. Right now I think the world is in an even more dangerous sort if financial condition than might appear, because the IMF is acutely short of secure or guaranteed lending resources, so if there is to be another round of crisis—as I think is entirely likely within the next five years—the Fund depends upon borrowing short-term from member countries, like on six months terms, but member countries can say 'no', and that means that the Fund's ability to fight crises is quite constrained. The Fund should implement what was agreed in 2010 by all the member countries represented on the board of the IMF: to roughly double the quote of the guaranteed lending resources, that is, resources the countries actually hand over to the Fund, over which they actually give up country control. All the relevant capitals ratified it with one exception—the US—because Congress refused because the individual barons, who are not under that much party discipline, each said to the Treasury: 'look, the question of the IMF is of zero significance to my electorate, so if you want my vote on the IMF, you have to give me things that I want like projects in my constituency and so on'. The Treasury added up the demands of the people, whose vote had to be won, and it considered those demands were just way, way, way over the top. As long as a Democrat is in the presidency, while the House is controlled by Republicans the world is sort of held hostage to this. Beyond this example, this actually entails a structural problem: the US blocking or producing a gridlock in international organizations, because the Congress is hostile to international organizations, because Congress sees it to imply a loss of US sovereignty. The only way to end this gridlock is to end the US veto in the Fund and the Bank, but the problem is that the US can veto any measures.
One response of the big developing countries is to create bypass organizations—such as the Asian Infrastructure Investment Banks, such as the new Development Bank, such as the Contingent Reserve arrangement the BRICs have established, and then a growing number of sort of regional development banks. And I think that that is a good thing, but it does raise questions about coordination, about who is looking after, if you will, the global interests, global issues such as climate change. In short, we need a genuine World Bank, rather than the American-Bank-in-the-World we have today.
You engage thoroughly with economics and economic theory. Now there seem to be two kinds of critical approaches to economics in IPE: one criticizes its rationality as flawed, and another buys into its rationality but attempts to point out where actual policy gets it wrong. Where do you stand in this?
If you take the example of how the EU attempted to impose fiscal rules on Greece, you see a notion of rationality which draws upon these very primitive notions that I referred to right at the beginning, where the government is just a household writ large, and the same set of rules that apply to the budgeting of the household must apply to the government as well. Here, the assumption is that any macroeconomic proposition must have microeconomic foundations, that it must be derivable from propositions about microeconomic agents acting in this sort of self-maximizing way, and if you cannot derive macroeconomic propositions from those micro foundations, then there is something unreliable, un-rigorous about your macroeconomics. So what are then the sources of these micro-economic assumptions?
This leads us to one fundamental and almost completely unaddressed weaknesses of economics can be traced back to the Marginal Revolution in the late 19th century. From that moment onwards, there has been an attempt to model economics on physics, and that was very explicit on the part of people like Pareto and Walras, and Jevons, early Marginalist thinkers. They even drew up tables with terms of physics, like velocity, on one side, and then corresponding terms in economics on the other. That had a huge benefit in terms of the 'science' of economics, because it cut economics loose from Adam Smith's and other classical economists' preoccupations with issues of morality and ethics. Adam Smith thought his most important book was not the Wealth of Nations but his Theory of Moral Sentiments, on which he was working, revising yet again, when he died. For Smith, economics and morals were never separate worlds, but intimately related. So for him, the Theory of Moral Sentiments and the Wealth of Nations were just twins. The point about the marginalist revolution, and the embrace of physics as the model, was that it cut economics free of all that sort of subjective stuff about values. So economics after the marginalist revolution set off with the assumption that not production, but the movement of individuals in markets engaged in trading with each other became the center of gravity of economics. Making the study of exchange rather than the study of production central was analogous to, say, Boyle's Law in physics. Boyle's Law in physics explained the movement of molecules in gasses, as a function of the pressure applied to the gas. So why did they make that analogy?
The point of likening of individuals in microeconomic actions with molecules in gasses was the following. Everybody knows that we do not apply any consideration of ethics or moral sentiments to the movement of the molecules in gas, so neither should we apply any notions of ethics or moral sentiments to the movements of individuals in market exchanges. And that was the way that all considerations of ethics, of morality were just removed from economics. I for instance asked the question to well-known American growth theorist, as we were walking down the street in Providence at Brown University: 'is it moral for people to freeride?' And he said, 'yes of course, provided they do not break the law'. So ethics and questions of morality have been almost completely expunged from economics in a way that would horrify classical economists including Smith; and a particular idea of rationality has been an important part of cleansing economics from those moral considerations. George DeMartino, editor of the Oxford Handbook of Professional Economics Ethics which just appeared has a wonderful phrase to capture this—'econogenic harm': the harm built into the way that economics, professional economists work.
Haven't specific fields, like development economics—a field you engage with yourself—advanced to overcome these weaknesses in economic theory?
Let me root my answer again in observations about the linkages between theory and practice, for it is in practice that economic theory really does its work and its politics becomes visible. It always amazes me we have had a development industry in place for roughly the past 70 years with vast numbers of people, organizations, money all orchestrated underneath this umbrella of development; yet if you go back and read what the early writers about development and economic growth said—I am thinking of people like Paul Rosenstein-Rodan, Myrdal, Hirschman, Prebisch, but also Moses Abramovitz. If you go back and look at what they were saying, it seems to me that we have not advanced all that much. Sure, we have advanced a lot in terms of econometric techniques, but in terms of substance we have not. One conclusion I draw from that is that it is really important that international regimes—for example, World Bank and IMF loan conditions, but also WTO regimes—give room for experimentation, because it is really not the case that 'there is no alternative'. This Washington Consensus agenda has clearly not been effective in accelerating production, upgrading it, and production diversification, or export upgrading, or export diversification. So, there should be written into the regimes a lot of room for experimentation. But this isn't there because of the political origin of these regimes; because of what western countries want for the rest world, namely, to open the rest of the world to their markets.
In the 80s there were a lot of experts in industrial development in the World Bank and they did good work, promoting industrial growth and investment in productive infrastructure. But then Anne Krueger came in as chief economist, and brought in a whole lot of people with her—who, like here, were arch-neoliberals. The industrial growth people were invited to find employment elsewhere, or to rebrand themselves as experts in who knows what, environmental assessment, primary education, or good governance. There was no room for them. This also fitted well with some bad experiences the Bank had had with investing in infrastructure. It had gotten into a lot of trouble with large-scale infrastructural interventions such as roads and dams and the like from, especially, US NGOs mobilizing Congress—which then put pressure on the Treasury and so on. My lament throughout this whole conversation has been that we seem to have become just locked into this direction that was set in the 1980s, and it is very difficult to see what kind of economic catastrophe would be necessary to give a sufficient shock to reroute the global system of economic governance.
So after the 1980s, the Bank sort of backed off and began saying that development, economic development, was about poverty reduction—the slogan of the Bank became, 'our dream is a world free of poverty'. You can understand that shift partly in terms of pulling out of the concern with production to get into safe territory, but also because poverty reduction seemed to sort of take care of inequality, because you reduced inequality to poverty—to the poor 'over there', and we can feel good about helping them; but we do not want talk about inequality, which involves us, because then there is the question of justice of our income.
But then the most recent turn is that we're seeing a renewed push for infrastructure in the World Bank and western development agencies. I think that you can link this recent infrastructure push to uncertainty about the sources of economic growth. In the West there is a real question about sustaining economic growth without housing bubbles and stock market bubbles—in other words, without endogenously building financial instability. There may well be a similar sort of issue in terms of the growth of developing countries.
Last question. Adam Smith seems to be constantly present in your work as a critical interlocutor. How come?
I kind of engage in a critical debate with Adam Smith, but especially with people today, who believe his ideas. I often start to frame arguments in terms of his famous 40 word summary of the causes of the relative wealth of nations, which he actually wrote in 1755, which is to say long before the first edition of the Wealth of Nations. I will just tell you what these 40 words say, and then I will tell you the significance of them. He said:
'Little else is requisite to carry a state to the highest degree of opulence from the lowest barbarism than peace, easy taxes, and tolerable administration of justice; all the rest being brought about by the natural course of things.'
So I am struck by how today many economists say or imply that this is essentially right; you need some qualifications of course, but essentially that is the nub of it. You might have to translate peace, easy taxes, tolerable administration of justice into more modern terms, but that is the essence of it. For example, Gregory Mankiw—Professor of economics at Harvard, former chair of the National Council of Economic Advisers during the Bush administration, and author of a very popular textbook in economics—said in the Wall Street Journal in 2006: Adam Smith was right to say that – and then he gave the 40 word quote. The renowned economists Timothy Besley and Torsten Persson wrote Pillars of Prosperity, which also begins with Smith's 40 words, and they even see the book as a kind of elaboration, but in that same kind of spirit, of Smith's basic idea. So my point is that these ideas are still current; they are still the sort of front of a lot of neoliberal thinking. I am just astonished these ideas all these centuries later remain so powerful. I have had at the back of my mind the idea of organizing an international competition to provide a contemporary 40 word statement, which is sort of equivalent to Smith's, which would obviously have to be of a more global character, encompassing the globalized world economy.
Robert Hunter Wade worked at the Institute of Development Studies, Sussex, 1972-95, World Bank, 1984-88, Princeton Woodrow Wilson School 1989/90, MIT Sloan School 1992, Brown University 1996-2000. Fellow of Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton 1992/93, Russell Sage Foundation 1997/98, Institute for Advanced Study, Berlin 2000/01. Fieldwork in Pitcairn Is., Italy, India, Korea, Taiwan. Research on World Bank 1995-continuing. Author of Irrigation and Politics in South Korea (1982), Village Republics: The Economic Conditions of Collective Action in India (1988, 1994), Governing the Market: Economic Theory and the Role of Government in East Asia's Industrialization (1990, 2003). Latter won American Political Science Association's award of Best Book in Political Economy, 1992.
Related links
Faculty profile at LSE Read Wade's The Piketty phenomenon and the future of inequality (2014, real-world economics review) here (pdf) Read Wade's Capitalism and Democracy at Cross-Purposes (2013, Challenge) here (pdf) Read Wade's Rethinking Industrial Policy for Low Income Countries (2007 ADB Conference paper) here (pdf) Read Wade's Bringing the State Back In (2005, IPG) here (pdf) Read Wade's Is Globalization Reducing Poverty and Inequality? (2004, World Development) here (pdf) Read Wade's Creating Capitalisms (Introduction to 2003 book 'Governing the Market') here (pdf)
Transcript of an oral history interview with Rollin Reiter, conducted by Jennifer Payne on 5 October 2013, as part of the Norwich Voices oral history project of the Sullivan Museum and History Center. Rollin S. Reiter graduated from Norwich University in 1950 and earned earned his master's in business administration from the Harvard Business School in 1952. In his interview, he discusses his experiences running his family's business, Reiter Dairy, as well as his military service in the Korean War and with the Army Reserve and Coast Guard Auxiliary. ; 1 Rollin Reiter, NU '50, Oral History Interview October 5, 2013 Sullivan Museum and History Center Interviewed by Jennifer Payne JENNIFER PAYNE: This is Jennifer Payne with the Norwich Voices Oral History Project. Today's date is October 5th, 2013 and I am here with Rollin—Did I say it right? ROLLIN REITER: Um-hm. JP: Good. Reiter, Class of '50. So, Mr. Reiter, thank you for being here so early this morning. RR: Okay. JP: Where are you from? RR: Born in Akron, Ohio and we live in Canton, Ohio, except eight months a years, we're in Florida. We're Florida residents now in Key Largo, Florida. JP: Nice area. RR: That's where we live. JP: And your age is? RR: I'm eighty-five. JP: Eighty five. And you attended Norwich in 19— RR: Yeah. I came here in 1946 out of high school, graduated high school at Copley, Ohio and, on the farm, and came to Norwich. I didn't know anybody here—know anything about it, but was right after the War. The War was really a defining event in my life and most people of this age. And I got a postcard in the mail that talked about Norwich University. I admired uniforms and I missed, just missed the military. I was—had my physical and was ready to go but then the bomb dropped and everything was postponed. So, I did come to—applied to Norwich and was accepted and came here. My mom and dad brought me up, dropped me off and that was it. There was another student here from Akron area named Crile. I think it was Gary Crile. In Cabot Hall, where we lived, in the basement, there were two Ohio people. So, it wasn't unusual for Ohio students to be here, but that's how I got here was very, very simple. JP: When you were—when you were here, what activities did you do? RR: I was company commander, eventually, of Troop B and I was president of SAE when they had fraternities then. And I was Russ Todd's roommate and the two of us had a lot 2 of fun. Life at Norwich for us was really interesting and fun. And then, I had very good friends here, as most people do that come to Norwich. You develop some great friendships. It was Russ Todd and Jim Ricker and the others in Troop B and SAE. Other than that, I didn't—I wasn't an athlete or any. I did ski a little bit across the hill, across the road. JP: That's great. RR: Yeah. JP: What was it like with Russ Todd as a roommate? Did you guys get in—did you do many tours? RR: I never walked a tour, never walked a tour. Never exceeded ten demerits apparently. I'm just sort of a conformist. I like the military and I like military discipline so I got along okay. Russ was—he's more aggressive. He's a different kind of guy but the two of us hit is off really well. JP: Did you have a nickname? RR: Yeah. I had a couple. My middle initial is Steese and a couple people, like Russ, used to call me Steese. And then, because of my adventures on the range at Fort Meade when we went for our summer training, I was pretty good and some of them called me Alvin. JP: Alvin? RR: For Alvin Yorke, you know? "Oh, Alvin!" JP: Oh, Alvin! RR: Yeah. JP: What was Fort Meade like? RR: That was fun. That was our junior year and we all went to Fort Meade and then we were shipped—we took buses down to A. P. Hill for tank firing because there's no range at at Meade. So we went to A. P. Hill and that was fun. We lived in tents down there for the training and the weekend off, the three of us, Ricker, Todd, and myself went down to Williamsburg and travelled that area and had a lot of fun. Russ had a car so that was an advantage. JP: What kind of car was it? RR: It was a '37 Ford. Yeah. JP: Fun.3 RR: Is that right? Yeah. That's right. Yeah. JP: How big were the tents? RR: Oh, they were two or three man, I think, down there. Most rain I've ever seen in my life occurred at A. P. Hill while we were there. JP: Really? RR: Um-hm. JP: Did you guys get washed out? RR: That's—the Boy Scouts use A. P. Hill even. That's a great place for outdoor gatherings and maneuvers and things and large groups of people. JP: So when you left Norwich, what did you do? RR: Let's see. I graduated in June and Russ took his regular commission. I was offered a regular commission. Didn't take it. I took my reserve commission and went back to Akron and worked at the company dairy—at the dairy company, milk and ice cream processing. Applied at Harvard Business School and was accepted and went to Harvard Business School that fall and graduated there in 1952. It's a two year course, MBA. That was very interesting. That was a whole other life at Harvard Business School. That was—having been at Norwich, Harvard Business School was clear the other opposite. It was Ivy League and my roommate was from Yale. He taught me what it was like to be an Ivy Leaguer. We had a lot of fun. He and I had a lot of fun like Russ and I had and we probably had more fun than we really should have but we passed. That was the business school. I was in the Reserve, the Army Reserves, and attended Reserve meetings, out at Boston Army Base during that period. Every week, I would show up and the guys in the unit would say, "You still here? You should be in Korea. How come you're still here?" That's when Korea was on. Everybody was excited about Korea. I attended there and the summer camp there was at Fort Drum, New York. Went to that. Then, I went back to Ohio after business school. Worked at the dairy. Because I had no obligation coming out of Norwich with a commission, like they do, later they had two year, one year, six year. I had no obligation, so I was in the draft. I was ready to be drafted even though I had a commission. So, the only way I could avoid going in as a private was to volunteer. I volunteered for active duty as a reservist and took a three year active duty stint. That was kind of a funny thing that you could be drafted and yet you had a commission and were ready to serve at any time you were really asked to, as an officer, reserve officer. I liked the Army. It was fun. I had—when I was at Norwich, in my senior year, somebody came up from somewhere to talk to us about the Counter Intelligence Corps and going in to Intelligence and that we could go down to Dartmouth and take a lesson or have a lecture or something 4 down there on the Counter Intelligence Corps. I went and I applied. When I went on active duty, I was sent to Fort Holabird in Maryland for the Counter Intelligence school. That had to do with security and all those sorts of things. And then, before you could go overseas, you had to go through your basic armor or arm course which would be armor and I was sent to Fort Knox for the Basic Officer's Armor Course Number One. That was their first one of a certain type of basic course from for armored officers. Because I'd been in about six months, I was the senior guy in the class and all the Class of '51 from Norwich, part of that time—he happened to be aide to General, not Taylor, but anyway, he was an aide to a general there. Shorty somebody. Yeah. Russ and I were, again, together and all these guys from Norwich and I had a car and we had a good time. Then, while we were there, the truce was declared in Korea. That was nice to hear. I was out of there in October and was shipped to Seoul, Korea. Well, to Tokyo, and then assigned to the 308 CIC in Seoul, Korea. I went over there for a year. That was interesting work. Was Counter Intelligence Corps attached to the Eighth Army Forward in Seoul and I worked with the Intelligence people at G3, so Eighth Army there. We had the detachments up on the line at all the online divisions. Then, they had an offer. If you would agree to stay in the Far East for another year, you could transfer back to Japan. So, I did that. After a year in Korea, transferred to Japan. Spent a year there with the 441 st CIC which was out of Tokyo. We were located right downtown in the former Kanpai Thai headquarters along the moat. This place we had was where a couple of Jimmy Doolittle flyers were executed in the garden there. It was a pretty little place. But that's where some of his flyers that had been shot down or captured were imprisoned and killed there in that garden. Then, that tour was up. In '56, I came back to San Francisco on E.D. Patrick Troop Ship. We flew over but we came back on a troop ship. It was full of Japanese and Korean war brides mostly. JP: Really? RR: Just full of them and that was one of the things after the truce that the CIC did a lot of was clear these people. They had to have clearances. When they married a Japanese or Korean, they had—those brides had to be cleared before they could come back to the great PX, like they called it. We had a troop full of war brides and so forth. Up in the prow of the ship, we had a lot of army prisoners, criminal types that were being shipped back to the states. Not war prisoners but criminal prisoners, including one guy had butchered his chef, his mess sergeant or something like that. We, the three of us, officers were coming back in a state room, probably the only three in the whole boat that didn't get sick all the time. It was eleven days in rough weather in December. We were supposedly in charge of these prisoners up in the prow of the ship. It got out of hand. We didn't know anything about guarding prisoners and all like that. Halfway over, we had to call on the Marine detachment that was on board and they took over the prisoners and straightened things out. I'll never forget that. That was fun. We never got above the deck, up on the deck, the whole eleven days. It was so rough. JP: What happened?5 RR: Everything slid off all the tables and it was a mess. The luggage in our state room—we had—three of us were in a little state room. The luggage would keep going back and forth across the floor all the time. Anyway, that was the trip back to Oakland and it was a great experience. I like the Army a lot. I stayed in the Reserve in Akron, was in a Reserve, military intelligence unit in Akron. Taught there in the local command and general staff school. Then, it came time to go to Fort Leavenworth, to command and general staff school and so forth. It was becoming difficult because the business that I was in—I was running the business now myself. It was hard for me to get away as much as was required. Unfortunately, I made the decision to retire from the Reserve. With eighteen years, I retired as a major from the Army Reserve. That's where that stands. I'm retired. That went on and I was very deeply involved in the milk and ice cream processing business in Ohio. We bought—I bought another plant in Springfield, Ohio and we bought branches all around the state. We grew like crazy. We were doing, oh, maybe a hundred million dollars worth of sales when, toward the end there—when I sold the business in 1986 to Dean Foods in Chicago. Then, I went to work for Dean Foods in Chicago. Meanwhile, we had built a really nice business in Ohio. We had some stores. We had a little adventure into the restaurant food business distribution. It was a good—we had a bout five hundred employees at the top. It had grown quite a bit. It was an interesting dairy for Dean Foods to acquire. I went to Franklin Park, the Dean headquarters, and I was responsible for about twenty dairies, mostly in Texas and the South and Miami and Athens, Tennessee and so forth. I had almost three billion dollars worth of sales under me there. I did a lot of travelling. But I was there for a short period because the understanding was, at Dean, when you're 65, you retire. So, on my sixty-fifth—near my sixty-fifth birthday, I was allowed to finish out the fiscal year, walked out, and that was it. That was a great experience because I was there with no obligation beyond doing what I'd been brought in to do. I wasn't concerned about my future or anything like most of the people in the company. I was sort of a free spirit. I enjoyed that a lot. Dean was a great company to work for. They have since sold out. They have been bought by a company in Dallas. It's still called Dean and it's still on the New York Stock Exchange and so forth. That was basically my business experience. I retired and we moved straight to Florida to a place called the Ocean Reef Club in Key Largo, Florida. We knew of that because my sister had married a fellow that had property there and was important in the Ocean Reef Club functioning and so forth. We used to visit them. After a few years, they said, "That's it. If you're going to keep coming down here, you've got to get a place." That was good advice. We should have gotten several places. That was 1993, I think. We moved to Ocean Reef, bought a house, became Florida residents. We spend eight months down there and four months back in Ohio, where we kept our home, which is really a nice place too because it's on a golf course and very green. It's stood empty the whole time we were in Chicago. So, that's where we are today. We're living at Ocean Reef Club in Key Largo, Florida. It's sort of a development but there's, around it, there's nothing but state and federal parks. It's not spreading out a lot. You can't go down the road and buy something cheaper like you can up, further up in the state. I became active there with the Coast Guard Auxiliary. I guess I have a thing about uniforms. We joined. My wife and I joined the Coast Guard Auxiliary. This December, we will have been in that for twenty years. I wound up commander of 6 a— the Keys, the units in the Keys, from Key Largo on down to Key West. I had five units and about four hundred volunteers in that, that division. I was the division commander. But that, of course, was all volunteer work. It was very close with the Coast Guard. It was very interesting. They—I was in on their meetings at Key West with Sector Key West. They trained with us and we trained with them. Our people even sat and ran their radio communication sections at their Coast Guard stations. It was really an interesting relationship that we had with the Coast Guard. That was twenty years of that kind of activity too. JP: All those hurricanes! RR: Yeah. I put in eighteen years with the Army Reserve and twenty with the Coast Guard. I never got any retirement because I didn't quite make it the last two years. That's what I've been doing down there, playing some golf. My wife plays tennis and golf. We belong to the local racket club. That really is our life there. They have a unique unit called OR Cat, Ocean Reef Cat. It has a, we have three hundred feral cats on the property, running around. JP: Three hundred? RR: Three hundred. There used to be more but there's three hundred. They're all neutered and spayed. There's eighty feeding stations that are serviced every day for these cats. You see them. You go down the street at Ocean Reef and you see OR Cats, walking around or hanging around the feeding station or fighting off the raccoons who also eat in the feeding station. We build a really nice room or a building to service these cats. It's a beautiful, air-conditioned building with lots of couches and every cat tree you've ever seen or heard of. There's about a hundred cats in there who can't quite make it on their own outside. We have a veterinarian. We have a groomer and five or six veterinary assistants, running this installation with these cats in there. It's like the Green Briar for cats. It's wonderful! You go in there and these cats come from all directions and climb all over you because a lot of them were probably dropped off. When somebody that mows the lawn, or paints or something has a cat they don't want, they come into Ocean Reef to work. They just drop it off and they know OR Cat will grab it and take care of it. So, there's these wonderful cats and we adopted two of them. They're part of our family. When we go to Florida, there's always the four of us. Dory and I in the front and the two cats sitting in the back, sleeping or walking around or sitting beside us on the armrest. They sort of determine how we do things. We smuggle them into motels where we're not supposed to. Dory won't stay in any place that takes pets. She wouldn't want to stay there. We smuggle our two in in a piece of luggage that looks like a nice suitcase. That's one of our activities down there. We had a boat but we sold that. We're on the water. We have a fifty foot dock. I let my neighbor use it because he's got a seventy-two foot boat and a thirty foot boat. The deal is he can use our dock but he must keep us in fish, all the fish we can eat, when he's always bringing us fresh fish when he goes out. That's the deal there.7 JP: The cats must like that too. RR: Huh? JP: The cats must like that too. RR: Yeah. Yeah. They like that. They're not allowed to go outside. That's the deal when you adopt a cat. You sign that you will not—they can't—they've got to stay in the house. They're all spayed and neutered and well-behaved. JP: That's wonderful. RR: Yeah. They spend their time chasing lizards around the pool. We have a nice pool that's all screened in. There's these lizards that get in the hole somehow. The cats chase them all day and have fun with them. JP: Catch their tails and— RR: Yeah. Yeah. They take their tails off and then they play with them, you know. They never actually kill them. We have to do that. Last—two years ago, they discovered two snakes in our house. They weren't big ones but we knew by their activity that there was something under that chair. We had a little—what they call a corn snake. The kitties discovered that and a week later was another one. You never know down there. It's a funny area for animals and things. Right now, we have a big problem with invasive species of animals in Florida, especially Burmese pythons. Oh. They're taking over the Everglades. They really have. You used to be able to go into the Everglades and see pretty birds and animals and alligators and baby alligators. Now, the pythons have just about cleaned all that out. They claim there may be a hundred thousand pythons in the Everglades. They found they've really acclimated to the Everglades. They're full of pythons now. It's a shame. They've tried to kill them or hunt them out or put bounties on them but it hasn't been very successful. We have those and we have iguanas. They're starting to spread over the area and a couple of other invasive species. It's interesting from a wildlife standpoint. They aren't in Ocean Reef yet but, well there was one python found in Ocean Reef, a big one. They get up to fifteen feet or so. They're big. JP: That's a big snake. RR: Um-hm. Yeah. That's where I am right now. JP: Wow. This business that you sold, your family dairy, this was called? RR: Reiter Dairy. JP: Reiter Dairy and—8 RR: Yeah. My grandfather had started it way back in the Depression. I used to go to work with my dad there back in the thirties. That developed. They were in the butter business and got into the bottled milk business. It was never really very big. It was home delivery in those days. That sort of fizzled out. Then, we became really big in trailer load of deliveries of milk to supermarkets, big stuff, all over the state of Ohio and a lot of private label milk in other people's names, you know, for a supermarket. Then, we got in the ice cream business. We made about five million gallons of ice cream a year, which is not a big operation but it was—it was well-equipped and a good product. We covered most of Ohio out of there. That—they have since moved most of our Akron operations to the plant I bought in Springfield, Ohio. It's still Reiter Dairy down there in a pretty big way. But I haven't been down there to look at that since they've expanded it. In back of all this, I think the basic foundation that was laid, that I achieved at Norwich University was very important in all of this, maybe more so than my MBA training at Harvard. Like Sevie said the other night, there's a secret ingredient here at Norwich University, or a special ingredient that provides, imbues the graduates with a leadership ability through a discipline achieved by military-type life. I think that's a unique thing that is so valuable to Norwich graduates. It's a unique way of life here that they never forget. It just molds the way they approach life with discipline, discipline learned through the military culture. I didn't come here to be a professional military man and I was—I was attracted by the concept of the citizen soldier. I wanted to be able to be a soldier if I was needed and when I was needed but I didn't want to be a professional soldier as opposed to Russ Todd, who went on to be a major general and a division commander. That was—it was so important, I think. Norwich was little when we came here in '46, it was—compare today— today, it was nothing. It was really pretty rough around the edges and the veterans were coming back during that period. We were, for a while, kind of mixed in with the veterans. Then the class, my class, was one of the first really Cadet Corps classes after the War. The veterans, if they were going to be there, had to be in the Cadet Corps, for the most part. That was important for that to happen, I think. They've dropped the fraternities. I don't think the fraternities were very complimentary to the military way of life. There was always a little underlying conflict there, your interests and your loyalties. They did do away with fraternities which I think was a good move. General Harmon did that. That kind of life was very important and I had some great friends. Some of whom have passed on, you know, already. Not too many of us left in our class. We've been treated real nice as old guard. I mean, they—we've been introduced. It's been a—they've taken good care of their old-timers. Yeah. Do you have other questions? JP: I would like to ask, what did advice would you give a rook on how to survive and thrive? RR: Yeah. Yeah. That was one of the questions that you asked me and that's an important question, especially today. I just read a book by Tom Friedlander. He wrote "The Earth is Flat" concept about how we're part of the world economy, which we are. A young man going out into the world today has got a real serious decision to make as to how he's going to approach his job, what he's going to do to sustain his job and not be part of the, part of the economy that doesn't make it. I'd say that to remain in their—retain their integrity and retain their interest in doing a little more than is required in your job and looking for ways to do jobs better. It's the givers who are going to succeed, not the 9 takers. I think it's important for them, going into whatever they do, to be a part for progress and for improvement in order for them to survive. To be one of the survivors, they've got to be one of the people that knows how to improve things and do things in a better way even though it may be threatening, eventually, to their own job but people that can contribute in some way with innovation is what going to be important. Of course, the peak of that would be an entrepreneur that knows how to start his own business and has that determination. That is really great too, I think. It's going to be a tough world out there, a different kind of world, but I think Norwich has prepared them for that in a much better way than a lot of other civilian universities or concepts, especially some of the academic paths that they could choose that—it's got to be pertinent, these days, if they're going to survive and be successful. I think they learn that here. I think that the sciences are going to be extremely important. Be it engineering and that sort of thing, would be a great field to follow. I was reading somewhere, I think it was Harvard Business School, about some of their graduates and where they were going. Some of the more successful have done things like join railroads, Union Pacific or something like that, positive type jobs that have room for innovation and improvement in the economy. JP: Is there anything else you'd like to add? RR: Well, I've been really lucky. I really have. Health has been, I've had some health problems but they've all been fixable. I have two new knees. I had a hip repair. I broke this knee a couple years ago on a rug, slipped on a rug and the doctor in Key Largo said it was the worst break he ever fixed. It was right where the artificial knee is. He put in a steel plate and a cadaver bone and seventeen screws and I've got a, he gave me a copy of the X-ray. It's suitable for framing. I mean, it's really neat. All these screws and wires are in there. He said he couldn't believe it when I got up and walked across the room. He said, "I didn't think you would ever walk on that leg again." JP: You're moving it like nothing's wrong with it. RR: Yeah. As I said, everything that has happened to me, I broke my arm. I broke my shoulder. They've all been fixable. Go to the garage and get it repaired. It's nothing internal that's eating away at you, at least, yet. So, I've been really lucky in that respect. My wife has been so good to put up with nursing me and pushing me around in a wheelchair or whatever has to be done. We've had a great marriage. We have two sons. One's at Arizona State. He's a vice president of Arizona State and his wife is also a vice president in development for their new school of sustainability, whatever that is. Sustainability is a big deal down there. She's set up schools in Amsterdam and Hong Kong and everything with this sustainability concept. The other one, my other son, younger son, is in Chicago at the McCormick Estate, which is called Cantigny. He's in charge of publications and speech writing and all that kind of thing at Cantigny. Cantigny's about a four hundred acre property where Colonel McCormick lived. He was one of the founders of the Chicago Tribune. Colonel McCormick was in the first division, the big red one, in the First World War, an artillery officer. The first battle they fought in France was at a town called Cantigny. So, his home in Chicago was 10 called Cantigny. There's this beautiful estate home, big mansion, home and then the property. He put a museum dedicated to the First Infantry Division on that property. It is first class. It is a beautiful museum. The First Division has meetings there sometimes. Outside, around the museum is a copy of just about every tank that the United States has ever used. They're sitting there, in the grass. Kids can climb all over them. There's an Easy Eight and all kinds of tanks, modern ones and really old ones, sitting around the museum. There's beautiful gardens. There's two eighteen hole golf courses, which are first class courses. It's all open to the public. They've had ten thousand scouts there for a Scout-A-Rama and all kinds of things and weddings. That's where he is. He loves it there, close to his home in the Glen Ellyn area. It's in Wheaton, Illinois is where Cantigny is. Anybody in the Chicago area should visit there. They'll never forget it. That's where they are. I have four grandchildren, two in each place. One of them just got his—in Arizona—one just got his master's in environmental engineering from Stanford. The other is in a discipline, a school for entrepreneurs at Arizona State, in an honors type course, doing really well. That's what they're all doing. I can't think of any other highlights to talk to you about. At Norwich, we did a lot of pranks. We probably got away with much more than we should have, Russ and I. We really did. JP: Care to talk about any of those? RR: We hid behind our authority and that was— that's not really fair. That's not nice. I remember we would take a cigarette and put it, we had M80s, a lot of M80s from having been at summer camp. We had put an M80 and a cigarette, light it, take it down the hall and put it underneath the hall door. The fire door's at the end of the hall. Then, go back in the room. Pretty soon, it be just, "Boom!" You'd dash out into the hall, "Who did that?" And get everybody all excited. Russ told about—I don't remember—when we went around at the summer camp and collected all the guidons from the various units over there with the, telling them they were needed for a wedding that was going to be held. We got away with everybody's guidon and brought them home, I guess. We did a lot of stuff like that. I was surprised. I remember when this time of year, we always had a jug of cider hanging out the window on a string. I mean, that was how you keep it cool. We always had ours hanging up. I didn't see any hanging under the barrel. I think they've straightened that out. They don't allow stuff like that anymore. JP: I've heard about those jugs. RR: Yeah. JP: You'd have a glass jug. RR: Yeah, or a plastic, milk-type jug full of cider, hanging out the window. JP: To keep it cold. RR: Yeah.11 JP: And it would ferment because it wasn't pasteurized. RR: It might. Yeah. It might. But we didn't—there wasn't any drinking problem. I don't even remember a smoking problem. Maybe there was, but I don't remember that. A lot of the things they worry about today, we didn't have those problems that we knew of. Yeah. I remember when we were rooks and the first year, in '46, and once in a while, things would get out of hand. Discipline would break down. The ultimate threat was, "If you guys don't straighten out, we'll call Jackman. Jackman would send the veterans down and straighten you guys out." They did. There were a couple veterans that were really tough and they'd come in and crack down. It was always cracking down. They'd get us out in the hall at night and dress us down and straighten us out and then go back to Jackman. Those were tough days. Discipline wasn't like it should be, like it is now. We did have horses. We had forty horses. RR: Oh, you did. JP: Yeah, my freshman year and the old, grisly cavalry sergeants to go with them. They were really old cavalry guys. The officers brought their own polo ponies with them. Some of the ROTC instructor officers had their polo ponies here. They'd play polo. Then, sophomore year, I think they took all those horses out to Fort Leavenworth or somewhere. Auctioned them off or did something. That was all gone. All the horses were gone and they brought in little tanks. I forget the name of those small tanks, Sheridan Tanks. From then on, it was tanks. The horses were fun. Some guys were better at that than others. They'd take us out there and we'd go up and down those sand hills where the National Guard thing is up here now. We'd go down those hills on our horses. JP: That's pretty hard. RR: Everybody had boots and jodhpurs. It was great. That was more the old cavalry. JP: Well, you turned out all right. RR: Yeah. I had a horse at home in Ohio. When I was at Fort Knox, I chummed around with the guys at the stables and I bought a horse down there. They helped me build a trailer and I trailed the horse home, when I was done at Fort Knox. JP: What kind of horse was it? RR: It was just a riding horse. There's lots of horses down there around Fort Knox so it wasn't hard to find one. The guys at the stables I think helped me find a horse. Meanwhile, I had gone into Louisville and bought a truck. I must have been loaded with money because I paid cash for a nice, brand new Ford pickup. That's what I trailed the horse back home with. That was fun. That's about it. JP: Okay. 12 RR: I thought you might be interested in. JP: Thank you very much for your time. RR: Oh. You're welcome. JP: Really appreciate it. RR: Okay. Track 1 ends. Track 2 begins. JP: We're back with Mr. Reiter, talking about the board of trustees. RR: Yeah. JP: Tell me about the board of trustees. RR: Addendum. When Russ came back from Europe and accepted the presidency of Norwich University. That was really an important thing. He called me and asked me if I would be on the board of trustees, which I agreed to do. I forget who the chairman was. Phil Marsilius was chairman. I was on the board for a while and then Phil resigned, retired from the board chairmanship. I became the chairman of the board of trustees for, I think, about fifteen years. JP: When was this? RR: I don't know. It was in the seventies. JP: We can check after. RR: During Russ's period of the presidency, he's the twenty second president. Twenty second or twenty third, I forget. Twenty second, I think. That was a trying time. Russ had some—was difficult to—for him, in some ways, to adjust from the military discipline for getting things done to the academic way of getting things done where everything has to be staffed around a lot and researched. Russ was used to issuing an order and it didn't always work that way. But things worked out for the better. Charlie Adamson then took over as chairman when I left that job. The biggest thing we did, I think, was search for a new president and get Rich Schneider on board. That was a big job. The board worked really hard on that. I was involved but I had people on the board that were very good at doing that search. That turned out great. I remember that, interviewing Rich and others and so forth. That was a good move and it's turned out to be a really great move. Rich has done a marvelous job. He's brought the university into a more modern time. You can see it when you walk around. It's just amazing what's been done as a result. But that was interesting work on the board. There were a lot of great people on that board. I don't 13 think there's very many of them still on there that I recognize but it's been onward and upward and hugely successful, really great. End of addendum. JP: End of addendum. Thank you.
Issue 24.3 of the Review for Religious, 1965. ; Counseling and Religious Life by Vincent S. Conigliaro, M.D. 337 Mortification by William J. Rewak, S.J. 363 Mary and the Protestant Mind by Elsie Gibson 383 The Mass and Religious Life by Jean Galot, S.J. 399 Devotion to the Sacred Heart by Anton Morgenroth, C.S.Sp. 418 Priest as Mediator ~ by Andrew Weigert, S.J. 429 Religious Life by Sister Elaine Marie, S.L. 436 Election: Choice of Faith .by Carl F. Starkloff, S.J. 444 Our Old Testament Fathers by John Navone, S.J. 455 Poems 461 Survey of Roman Documents 463 Views, News, Previews 467 Questiom and Auswers 473 Book Reviews 478 VINCENT S. CONIGLIARO, M.D. Counseling and Other Psychological Aspects of Religious Counseling,* a technique and a philosophy of treat-ment and human relatedness, is a topic of importance to both psychoanalysts and religious persons, both in a general and in a specific context: in a general context, because both psychoanalysts and religious persons work with human beings and are committed to a profession of service; and in a specific context, because religious sisters may be affected by mental problems as often as other individuals. Thus, in reflecting on counseling in the religious life one cannot help reflecting also on the problems making counseling necessary, the problems, in other words, about which one administers counseling; and on the factors behind these problems, that is, why these problems occur in the first place. Members of religious orders have been the victims of diverse, benevolent and malevolent, prejudices for cen-turies. One problem with prejudice is that sooner or later its victim comes to believe the prejudice himself and begins to think, feel, and act along the prejudiced stereotypes culture and/or society set up for him; this is why prejudice is always detrimental. As an example, one may think of just one of the many prejudices that have been formulated against the American negro: the prejudice whereby the negro is "good-natured," "basi-cally lazy," "clownish," a. jocular Amos or Andy. Even- # This paper was derived from a talk given by the writer on No-vember 9, 1964, at the Maryknoll Mother House; Ossining, New York; the paper was sent to the REvmw in December, 1964. 4- Vincent Conigli-aro, M.D., a prac-tising psychoana-lyst and member of the faculty of Ford-ham University, ihas offices at 104 East 40th Street; New York 17, New York. VOLUME 24, 1965 337 + ÷ ÷ Vincent $. Conigliaro, M.D. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS 338 tually, some negroes began to believe the stereotype themselves and behaved as if they could only be an ineffectual nice-guy Amos or a scheming, shrewd Andy-- or the other way around--I could never tell the two apart. Among the many prejudices formed about Catholic religious orders, there is one that proclaims that "mem-bers of Catholic religious orders are, by the very fact of being that, singularly immune from mental disorders"; or the opposite one, announcing that "members of Catholic religious orders are, by the very fact of being that, singularly prone to become mentally sick." Both prejudices of course are just that, pre-judgments, based on little factual evidence and substantiated by super-ficial experimentations. The facts actually suggest that (a) members of Catholic religious orders do not become mentally ill significantly more often or significantly less often than members of other religious orders; when they do become ill more often, this relates more to circumstantial problems (that is, poor screening of applicants) than to essential fea-tures of religious life; (b) members of religious orders do not become mentally ill significantly more often or less often than members of other tightly organized, rigidly structured organizations, for instance the Army; (c) neither the essential nor the accidental characteristics of religious life make, per se, a significant difference in the incidence of mental disease among the members of Catholic religious orders; (d) the occasional severity in degree of mental illness encountered among members of Catholic religious orders is not related to the essential or accidental characteristics of religious life, but to socio-cultural characteristics at large (for instance the socio-cultural concept that "to have a mental illness is dis-graceful"; treatment, thus, is sought too late, when the illness has been given the time to become severe); and (e) that the intrinsic and extrinsic features of religious life will be, psychologically, an asset or a liability ac-cording to the way each individual reacts to them in terms of life history, heredity, and childhood experi-ences. It may be of interest to examine both prejudices more closely. The first view holds that Catholic religious life is the best guarantee against emotional upsets and claims that members of Catholic religious orders rarely become affected by mental disease. This view is mostly held by members of religious orders; it was frequently expressed to me by the superiors of sisters I have treated or by the priest-counselors I have trained and supervised. The basis of this prejudice is wishful thinking and con-fusion between the natural and supernatural aspects of religious life. This view equates the symptoms of mental illness with the illness itself: ."There are no visible signs of illness; ergo, there is no illness . " I am reminded of an article recently published in a religious journal implying that religious life may actually "cure" neurotic symptoms. The writer of the article first listed some of the traits that may be symptomatic of a neurotic per-sonality, that is, self-centeredness, hypersensitivity, im-maturity; then observed, rightly enough, that religious life is essentially antithetical to such traits: and then concluded that religious life will thus automatically dis-pose of these neurotic traits: religious life, being theo-centered, will dispose of self-centeredness; being giving-hess, will dispose of selfishness; requiring spiritual ma-turity, will dispose of immaturity. One rather suspects that all theocenteredness, givingness, and spiritual ma-turity will do is to veil, temporarily, those neurotic traits they were supposed to have cured. This prejudice, actually, is quite unfair to the re-ligious sister. It suggests that the supernatural aspects of the sister's vocation will sustain not only her soul, which it does, but also her mind, even when natural causes, going all the way back to her childhood, act as a constant irritant; it holds that since she is isolated from the anxieties of the "real world outside," she should have no anxieties from the convent world (which happens to be equally real); and that since she is surrounded by the silence of the cloister, she will not hear the loud clatter of human problems: as if silence, at times, could not be many times louder than the loudest noise. This prejudice also engenders unrealistic attitudes; the religious sister feels supernaturally protected against the frailties of the human mind, and is led to believe that, by sheer virtue of the spiritual direction of her life, whatever factors there were that started operating, years before, toward the development of a psychosis or a neurosis will magically cease to operate. When she ex-periences signs of a mental illness, she feels disillusioned and as if God Himself did not live up to His part in a bargain He had never made; and she feels like a freakish rarity, the only one cursed by an illness that was not supposed to occur, the exception to the rule, thus adding to the anxiety and anguish of a neurosis the painful feeling of being an oddity. In a sister I treated, the latter feeling constituted a very intense symptom that, while mainly determined by a complicated intrapsychic proc-ess, was supported by the prejudiced belief that "reli-gious sisters are not supposed to become mentally ill . " This prejudice creates a problem also in treatment: the sister may be unwilling to unveil her problem to a superior who could take remedial steps; or, once treat- 4- 4- 4- Counseling VOLUME 24, 1965 339 ÷ + ÷ Vincent S. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS 340 ment has started, may be little cooperative and may rationalize her resistance to change by believing that "she can only get better through prayer . " In a case I recently worked with, it was the patient's superior who felt sister should not receive psychotherapy and should only help herself with prayers: "Good sisters do not be-come mentally ill . " On the other side of the coin is the prejudice holding, equally erroneously, that members of Catholic religious orders become mentally ill significantly more often than other persons. This view is mostly held by persons who are not in the religious life, are not Catholics, and, fre-quently, not religious. I believe this prejudice is mainly based on hostility; or on a lack of understanding of what is entailed in the religious life. The danger of this view is that already unbalanced members of religious orders lead a life of trepidation based on the neurotic fear that they will become overtly mentally ill (psychotic, "insane") because "everyone says so . " Here, too, this fear is overdetermined and related to an unconscious intra-psychic process; here, too, however, these patients "latch on" to the prejudice to express unconscious needs. In a priest I treated, the idea that he was going to become insane---because everyone he knew believed that "all priests, sooner or later, become insane"--had become a true obsessional idea; it expressed, among other things, his unconscious desire "to become insane" (more exactly, his unconscious drive to lose all controls and inhibitions) and his need to impute the responsibility of his insanity to those who believed that "all priests, sooner or later, become insane . " At the basis of this prejudice is also the fact that the religious life does have features which, in borderline personalities, may tip the balance in the direction of mental illness. A better understanding of these features will help to understand how religious life may contribute to t,he development of a mental illness. I want to make sure that I am well understood on this point. I am not suggesting that religious life may be the cause of mental disorders; I am saying that some features of religious life, when operating on a personality that has been af-fected by specific childhood occurrences, may precipitate, or "trigger," mental illness. This "trigger effect," evi-dently, may be set up just as effectively by college life, army life, marriage, as it can by religious life: once the keg is filled with dynamite, the explosion may be set up just as well by a spark of electricity, a match, or a gradual increase in room temperature. Which features of religious life act as a trigger on what kind of personality-- this is what may be quite important to reflect on. One might start by reflecting on the spiritual essence of religious life. Considering that this journal is widely read among members of religious orders, there is a bit of "carrying coals to Newcastle" in reflecting on this sub-ject at all. It must be remembered, however, that the specialist, knowledgeable as he is on the most minute detail of his specialty, often misses what may be too basic for him to remember. Basic psychiatric and psy-choanalytic concepts have been pointed out to me by friends who were neither psychiatrists nor psychoanalysts; and I myself have been able to point out basic points on music or art to musicians or artist friends of mine. As a lay person, as a "non-specialist" on religious life, I understand religious life as a life of greater growth in greater union with God~ All of us are born with the potentials for greater and greater participation to a transcendental existence in God; but those in the reli-gious life have the greatest chance of achieving the greatest participation. This spiritual participation, how-ever, can only be realized if the personality is sound; and a healthy supernatural life cannot exist without a sound, well-integrated psychic life. The old Latin saying mens sana in corpore sano can indeed be complemented with religio, sana in mente sana. It must be realized that the accidental properties of religious life may appeal to different personalities for different reasons. Just as one may become a psychiatrist or a surgeon for a combination of healthy, unhealthy, conscious, and unconscious reasons--and a good psy-chiatrist is usually one who, finally, is in his profession more for healthy and conscious reasons than for un-healthy and unconscious ones--it is also possible to enter the religious life with a combination of healthy, un-healthy, conscious, and unconscious motivations. Un-balanced personalities, the individuals with the "keg of dynamite" beneath the placid exterior, may enter the religious life attracted not by its spiritual features but by what these persons unconsciously consider useful for their neurotic needs. When the latent neurotic individual has been attracted to the religious life, religious life will indeed have the "trigger effect" mentioned before. Some examples at this point may be helpful. Religious life, through its essence, offers, to the healthy, opportunities for spiritual and existential richness and for the fullest expression of one's personality; to the unhealthy, opportunities for an impoverished, restricted existence (again spiritually and existentially) and for the fullest expression of one's neuroses. Such features of religious life as the vows of chastity, obedience, and poverty, may attract the latent neurotic personality not 4- 4- 4. Counseling VOLUME 24, 1965 ÷ 4. + Vincen£ $. Conigllaro, M.D. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS because of their essential spirituality but because of the opportunities they offer for neurotic defenses and neu-rotic acting-out. The healthy religious sister has a greater chance of experiencing the transcendental union with God, not in spite of, but because of her vows; the unhealthy sister uses the vows to express instinctual drives and neurotic defenses. In the latent neurotic, the vow of chastity may be appealing for reasons having little to do with spir-ituality, that is, emotional frigidity, fear of love, fear of sex, homosexual tendencies. The all-female environment may be chosen not in order to be chaste to better serve God but because of fear of closeness to anyone. This sister will be fearful of any and all emotional involve-ments, will stand aloof, and will withdraw from every-one, God included. Similar situations have been found with regard to the vow of obedience. As it was once ex-plained to me by a sister student of mine, this vow is "a listening to the will of God as it is expressed through one's community, environment and, ultimately, supe-rior"; a "dialogue in charity," with the superior as the "master listener" fashioning the dialogue between the sisters and God and evaluating what has been heard as the will of God. The sister who enters the convent with healthy motivations can afford to be obedient: she can see God's will beyond the superior's will; the sister with unresolved authority problems cannot be obedient with-out hostility (and the superior affected by the same problem will tend to abuse her authority and provoke rightful resentments). In the obsessive-compulsive per-sonality, which, under a meekly submissive and ingra-tiatingly passive surface, much anger and rebelliousness are concealed, vows of obedience will have a strong neu-rotic appeal to begin with (unconscious wishes to placate authority~ neurotic resolutions of total passivity and total submission) and will trigger, later, serious conflicts. Sister may role-play complete obedience and submission to the point of making no contributions whatsoever to the community life; she may be passive and overdependent; have no intiative; obey automatically, making no repre-sentations even when representations are called for; and create a mockery of authority and a caricature of obedi-ence by indulging in what has been called "whole obedi-ence" as contrasted to "holy obedience." The vow of poverty, too, essentially beautiful (with no material possessions one can better pursue the knowl-edge of God) may be appealing not for spiritual.reasons but because of unconscious feelings about money, love, and possessions. A sister may enter the religious life because of insecurity and the semi-conscious realization that although in the convent she may not have personal possessions, her basic needs will be adequately met. A sister I treated equated having money and possessions with having evidence of being loved. She created a prob-lem in the community by hoarding things, demanding expensive clothes and privileges, requiring costly medical treatments (and feeling intensely guilty when her demands were acceded to). When she did initiate psy-chiatric treatment, the matter of payments was a monthly crisis. She reacted to the fact that the com-munity was disbursing funds for her health not with realistic gratitude--or realistic concern--but with intense guilt (at the fact that a neurotic fantasy about which she had much ambivalence was being satisfied). If the neurotic needs of the religious are actually met by some of the accidental features of religious life, why, then, is there a conflict? I[ a sister with neurotic feelings about authority enters the religious life to find a better disguise--or a better expression--for these feelings and, in some o~ the accidental features of religious life does meet this opportunity, then, again, why is there a con-flict? One way to understand this is by realizing that human drives are arranged by "polarities": we love and hate, like and dislike, are active and passive, assertive and sub-missive, dependent and independent. In the healthy personality these polar extremes are harmoniously inte-grated and blended in the overall economy of personality, and there is no conflict. In the neurotic personality each polarity, as it were, is treated separately by the executive agency of personality, the ego; and each holds separately and simultaneously prospects of security and insecurity, pleasure and pain. Thus, by being overdependent, one is taken care of, but one's needs for prestige and successful competition are frustrated; and by being over-assertive one fulfills one's needs ~or power and status, but one's need to be loved, cuddled, mothered are frustrated. As an example, a sister with unresolved authority problems enters the convent to placate her superego by total sub-missiveness; this will fulfill the polarity of dependency, passivity, submission; but the opposite polarity, which energizes rebelliousness and independence, will have to be vigorously repressed and will remain frustrated. This will result in a worsening of the authority problem; symptomatologically, there will be dissatisfaction (frustra-tion of one polarity); chronic fatigue (because of the need to divert psychic energy to the task of repressing the polarities of rebelliousness and independence); periodic explosions (during which the polarities energizing sub-mission and passivity are frustrated); feelings of guilt; and so forth . One is reminded of what is found in the neurotic marriage, in which the partners marry one + ÷ ÷ 343 4. Vincent S. Conigllaro, M.D. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS 344 another because each offers the other the opportunity for the disguise and the release of unconscious drives. The man with latent homosexual problems marries a frigid, cold woman; the outwardly efficient, "strong" male (the type who exaggerates the outward signs of masculinity because of deep seated feelings of inadequacy) marries a woman who under a calm and restrained exterior is assertive and domineering; a woman with unconscious sexual anxieties marries an impotent male; and so forth . In these cases too, the neurotic bargain is fulfilled and the unconscious expectations which have led to the marriage in the first place are being satisfied: this is why the marriage fails or is beset by severe incompati-bility. I am reminded of a patient in my recent experience, a bright and attractive woman with severely disturbed ideas on sex and much anxiety and guilt about any type of sexual involvement; these feelings were unconsciously rationalized by the conception that sex is "always degrad-ing" and "inherently dirty." She did not marry until the age of thirty-two: the healthy, eligible males who had appeared on the scene up to that time had not been "attractive" enough to her neurotic expectations. She finally met the "right" man: an extremely puritanic, neurotically judgmental individual who consciously visu-alized sex as dirty and degrading; he would subtly "seduce" her into giving in to rather innocent exchanges of affection and would then reject her by sternly lecturing her on the basic depravity of all women. After sixteen months of formal engagement, she married him primarily because she had found in him the external counterpart of her own rigid, punitive superego. It can be easily antic-ipated that this couple's marriage was extremely un-satisfactory. They found each other unbearable; he felt she was shamelessly passionate and "se.xy"; she felt he was sadistically judgmental and critical; and they both acted as though neither had had any idea (in sixteen months of engagementl) of what the other was "really like." The neurotic polarities of each of these individuals were being fulfilled through the neurotic marriage at the expense of intense anxiety, rage, and guilt. In the latent neurotic personality, religious life may trigger neurotic symptoms through some of its accidental features. While the essence of religious life is immutable, its accidental elements, the ways this essence expresses itself, are necessarily mutable and in a state of constant transition and adjustment to changing socio-cultural conditions. The transition itself may be disturbing to the rigid, obsessive personality. A sister I once treated could have functioned satisfactorily only if the Church had gone back to medieval times. A priest once told a colleague of mine, with much anxiety and bitterness: "They are changing my Church, Doctor; they are chang-ing my Church" (in reference to the Ecumenical Council). Some sisters' neurotic structure is such that they only accept meditation and contemplation, to the total exclu-sion of action; and they do this more for neurotic than spiritual reasons. It is also important to realize that religious orders are a world of their own, a society with its own culture (some religious orders even call themselves "societies"). The fact that there are to be rules is inherent in any society; but the religious societies are particularly bound by rules (the etymology of the Word "religious" is "rule-bound"). Some religious societies are very rigidly set up; there may be a rigid ordering of time (the "horarium," the setting down of every hour and activity of one's day from rising to retiring) or a rigid ordering of authority, community rank, behavior (the book of cus-toms). This system of rules may indeed appeal to a rigid personality or to persons with problems about routines, schedules, and time tables. These persons, again, will be attracted not by the spirit behind the rules but by the rules themselves, the scheduling for its own sake, the opportunities thus offered for neurotic defenses or neu-rotic acting out. Religious life indeed may, with its essential or transi-tional features, trigger neurotic symptoms in the latent neurotic personality. It may seem that this point is being belabored. Yet, in reading the religious journals read by most sisters, one finds cause for concern over the explana-tions prevalently given as to the causes o~ mental dis-orders among the religious. While the situation has im-proved considerably in the last fifteen years, there still prevails a lack of awareness of what really should be remedied; and why; and how. Often, we still bark up the wrong tree or beg the issue or believe that sister is neu-rotic simply because she has a difficult superior or because her order is a very rigid one, completely overlooking the fact that most probably these sisters had a neurotic prob-lem to begin with and the environment to which they are now overreacting has only brought the neurotic con-flict to light. I am reminded of a question asked by a group of sisters (and recently published in a religious journal) on the subject of the measures suggested by the Church to reduce tensions among the religious. The answer, as given by a well known and justly respected priest, gives cause to ponder; it suggests that, while the Church has recognized the importance of childhood in the causation of mental disorders, and, at least by implication, the importance of counseling and psychotherapy--these factors (childhood) ÷ ÷ ÷ Counseling VOLUME 24, 1965 345 ÷ ÷ ÷ Vincent S. Conigliaro, M~. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS 346 and these measures (counseling and psychotherapy) are, too often, seen as the least important. According to the above source, among the remedies suggested by the Church are, mainly, such remedies as avoidance of a disordered and restless life, a minimum of calm and peace, avoidance of overwork, enactment of the rule of silence (thus the availability of cloisters), vacations and weekly days off, and so forth . All these measures, I suggest, are far from meaningless; but also far from sufficient. All these measures are important; without them there will be anxiety and tension, but there will be anxieties and tensions in spite of them. A restless and disordered life most often is not a cause of mental illness but a symptom, just as the ability to live a joyful and pleasurable life is a manifestation of good mental health, not a cause. I remember a sister I once treated for a severe compulsive character neurosis, with symptoms of depression, scrupulosity, perfectionism, and chronic fatigue. She had been told (innumerable times) to take some days off and have a good vacation; for at least two years her rigid, grandiose, self-punitive personality had prevented her from doing so: there was too much to do and no one could do it as well as she. Sister was not tense because of overwork: she was tense and overworked because of a deeper common cause. When she was finally ordered to take a vacation and have fun, she worked strenuously and grimly at having fun with no benefit whatsoever from either vacation or recreation. Committed Catholics and psychoanalysts will grow equally concerned over the fact that we still too often believe that emotional illness among the religious is caused by such spiritual reasons as spiritual frustration or the feeling of not having attained the vocational ideal of apostolic sanctity. Spiritual frustrations, again, are more often symptoms than causes of mental illness; and to relate them to incomplete spiritual formation, poor spiritual training, and so forth, is often inaccurate. The psychotic sister will not feel better mentally by leading a better spiritual life; she will lead a better spiritual life when she feels better mentally. The sister with an authority problem will not become more obedient solely by forcing herself to become more obedient; and the sister obsessed with impure thoughts will not be able to solve her problem only with prayer. All this does not question the supernatural power of prayer; it simply questions whether the neurotic or psychotic sister can truly pray, or, better, how receptive one is to grace while in a state of severe neurosis or psychosis. The point, at any rate, is that if these sisters were able to be spiritually obedient, religiously fulfilled, prayerful, and so forth, they would not have these mental problems to begin with. Thus it is often a mistake, for a spiritual director or superior, to simply demand of the neurotic sister to pray more, implying that if she does, this will resolve all problems. When sister finds herself unable to do so, she will feel guilty and become more anxious and depressed; or an emotional problem which could have been cleared in a relatively short time (had counseling or psycho-therapy been administered immediately) is treated psy-chiatrically after months of attempts at treating it by supernatural means, and it may be too late. Evidently, the total answer to the mental problems of the religious does not lie only in counseling and psycho-therapy; but the latter should play a larger role than it played up to five or ten years ago and even larger than the role played now, a time in which the Catholic Church has already made so many strides in pastoral counseling,x The mental problem of the religious, I believe, can only be approached through a holistic concept in which supe-riors, sisters, social workers or psychologists, spiritual directors, pastoral counselors, and psychotherapists make available to the disturbed sister all available means to 1 The history and development of the Iona Institute of Pastoral Counseling well exemplifies these strides and the Church's positive attitudes on mental health. In 1959, Dr. Alfred Joyce, a New York psychiatrist and psychoanalyst, offered his services for a program of talks and seminars on pastoral counseling at the St. Francis of Assisi Church and Monastery in New York City. The Franciscan Provincial, Father Celsus Wheeler, O.F.M., and a Franciscan psychologist, Father George Fianagan, O.F.M., Ph.D., supported the program enthusiasti-cally and the following year Dr. Joyce, this writer, Dr. L. Moreault, Mr. F. Peropat and Dr. J. Vaccaro, under the leadership of Dr. Joyce, founded the St. Francis Institute for Pastora! Counseling, a pioneer-ing institute offering a two-year curriculum on the theory and practice of pastoral counseling. With greater and greater support be-ing received from the New York Archdiocese and Francis Cardinal Spellman, and through the dynamic encouragement of Monsignor George Kelley, Director of the Family Life Bureau of the New York Archdiocese, in 1962 the five founders of the St. Francis Institute transferred to Iona College (New Rochelle, New York) and associ-ated themselves to Brother John Egan, Chairman of the Department of Psychology of the College, to form the Iona Institute for Pastoral Counseling, the only institute of its kind in the Eastern United States. Since 1962 the institute, under the leadership of Dr. Joyce, has offered to larger and larger groups of Catholic priests (total enrollment for 1964-1965 was just under one hundred students) a unique, com-prehensive, three-year curriculum of courses and clinical supervision leading to a Master's Degree in Pastoral Counseling. The Institute's program is designed to develop in its students greater awareness of the psychological dimensions of the problems encountered in pas-toral activity; to foster understanding of the conscious and uncon-scious processes operating in a counseling relationship; and, in general, to increase the effectiveness of the Catholic priest's pastoral work. The Institute's program, therefore, is quite consistent with recent directives of the Holy See, that is, directives which have emphasized the need for the development and refinement of the special competencies required for the pastoral ministry in the twentieth century. + + Counseling VOLUME 24, 1965 ÷ ÷ Fin~en~ $. Conigliaro~ M.D. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS help herself, including prayer and spiritual self-improve-ment but also including counseling and psychological self-improvement. In a truly holistic approach one would also include preventative concepts and work toward the improvement of the existing screening procedures for the applicants to the religious life, the improvement and modernization of training programs for the religious, and the inclusion in these training programs of psychological considerations (mental hygiene concepts of education, group dynamics of training, and so forth). The latter, I believe, can be done very successfully without com-promising in the least the spiritual and religious con-siderations of training. One can think of counseling and the religious sister in many different ways. One may think of counseling admin-istered by a sister who has been trained in the theory and technique of counseling and who gives counseling to the sisters in her own house; the sister counselor may be the superior or another sister. One may think of counsel-ing administered by a trained sister who practices counseling as part of her own missionary, teaching, nurs-ing, or social work, in which case the counselee may be another sister or a lay person, male or female, adult, adolescent, or child. One may think of counseling in terms of "diagnostic counseling," "motivational counseling" and "therapeutic counseling." Finally, one may think of counseling as a philosophy of life, an existential commit-ment, a philosophy of deeper understanding of human psychology and human motivations, by which the trained sister becomes, in the house where she lives or at her place of work, a very valuable trouble shooter and "sig-nificant figure." One may think in terms of the superior of a house who has had enough training in counseling or psychology to do counseling with the sisters of her own house as soon as a problem arises and before it becomes too serious. This may be a "diagnostic counseling," in which the superior, after two, three, or four interviews, is able to recognize the "danger signals" of mental illness, can differentiate them from the symptoms of a strictly reli-gious or moral problem, and is therefore in the position of advising remedial steps. It may be a "motivational counseling," in which the superior has a number of sessions with the disturbed sister for the purpose of help-ing the sister to recognize the psychogenic nature of the difficulty and preparing her for therapeutic counseling or psychotherapy. It may finally be "therapeutic counseling" in which the superior, by using the technique of counsel-ing, helps the sister to help herself. I am convinced that it is administratively unfeasible for the superior of a community to do counseling with her own sisters; and, it administratively feasible, I am still convinced it would not be advisable therapeutically be-cause of the very nature o[ the superior's status in the community: the fact that she is, by virtue and necessity, identified with "authority" and because of the psycho-dynamic dimensions of being the "mother" superior. Better, then, for another sister to be the "house-counselor"; even in this case, however, it will be helpful it the superior is sympathetic to, and understanding of, the philosophy and the techniques of counseling; it will avoid friction between superior and house counselor and the unbalancing of the group dynamics of a religious community. Incidentally, should there be a "house counselor"? Should counseling be at all administered in the house, within the community, b~ an "insider"? I am convinced there are important advantages to doing so-- at least initially. This is in keeping with modem mental hygiene concepts, that is, the concept of "emotional first aid stations." Industrial psychiatrists have found that optimal results were often obtained by treating situa-tionally triggered emotional crises "on the job." In research on this subject I published a few years ago, I felt that the system of having a full time mental hygiene team on the premises is very advantageous. By having a house counselor, emotional emergencies can be handled on a truly emergency basis; situational and reactive crises can be approached more insightfully and with more perma-nent results. To conduct diagnostic and motivational counseling within the community appears advantageous also from a practical and financial standpoint. Finally, disturbed sisters may flatly refuse to see an outsider (especially lay) counselor or psychotherapist or may co-operate with the outsider only superficially. The presence of a house counselor on the premises and the fact that counseling is being practiced within the house may indeed have a disturbing effect on the group dynamics of a community, at least in some houses. This, however, is more an indication for, than against, the presence of a house counselor. If the community group dynamics can be unbalanced by her presence, then there already are neurotic processes operating under the sur-face. The processes would be triggered anyway by other "irritants"; they might as well be triggered by the house counselor, who can understand and treat group anxieties and individual anxieties. Some of the problems that may be triggered by the house counselor are: anxiety about the sister who is undergoing counseling ("There, but for the grace of God, go I"); resentments about the time she spends with the counselor or the superior (a form of sibling rivalry); anger (and envy) at the apparent fact that she is given ÷ Counseling VOLUME 24~ 1965 ÷ ÷ ÷ Vincent S. Conigliaro, M.D. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS 350 special privileges and dispensations (a sister I once treated said about another sister also in treatment: "They are letting her get away with murder . "); and so forth. Some of these problems might perhaps be prevented by utilizing a house counselor from a different house. A Maryknoll superior I recently spoke with suggested that two trained sisters from the same order but from two dit~erent houses could be exchanged between the two houses and be "on call." Parenthetically, I do not believe that one needs to be alarmed at the thought of a nonmedical sister counselor practicing "diagnostic" counseling. Although the formal diagnosis of any dis-order, whether "physical" or "mental," remains within the province of the medical doctor (psychiatrist or medical psychoanalyst), a well trained counselor is quali-fied to evaluate the severity of a mental disorder, formu-late hypotheses as to its course and prognosis, and differ-entiate it from solely moral or religious problems. What one should fear, rather, are the "snap diagnoses" made by untrained individuals in any walk of life: in the case of the religious sister, the diagnosis, "spiritual problem," with the prescription, "prayer, three times a day," for a problem that is mainly emotional in nature and needs counseling (or psychotherapy) as well. I referred above to the "understanding superior." I wonder how many sisters, troubled emotionally and mentally, did not feel, at some point, that it was-"all mother superior's fault., if she only had more under-standing . " I also wonder how many superiors, whose sisters were in the throes of a severe mental problem, did not feel, at some point: ". It's all my fault., if I had only had more understanding . " (I also wonder if some psychiatrists, in treating sisters with emotional problems, have not at times felt that it was ". all mother superior's fault., if she had only had more understanding . "). I believe there is something significant here and worth-while looking into. At times, undoubtedly, the superior is largely respon-sible for a sister's emotional problem as a "trigger factor," as precipitating element. More often, however, the superior is blamed because of the need for scapegoats, be-cause of the psychological tendency to explain difficulties in simple black and white, "good guy, bad guy" terms, and, finally, because of a specific psychological function called "transference." The truth of the matter is that to blame it all on the superior is incorrect; and if it is incorrect, it is also unfair: unfair to the sister, who likes to believe that changing houses will solve all her problems (she will go through one, two transfers to realize, after several cycles of heightened hope and frustrating letdown, that nothing has really changed in her mental status); and unfair to the superior, who will unrealistically blame her-self for her sisters' emotional problems and use this self-condemnation as a nucleus for her own neurosis. The interpersonal relationship of sister--superior is necessarily a very complex one; here, too, we find that in both its essential and accidental characteristics it offers opportunities for spiritual and psychological enrichment to the healthy and for neurotic expressions to the neu-rotic. The superior has full and unquestioned authority, because she represents, supernaturally, the will of God; the healthy sister willfully chooses to submit and defer because she can see the transcendental aspects of her submission and deference; the neurotic sister or superior sees, rather, a symbolic relationship between an omnipo-tent mother-figure and an infantile daughter-figure. Once the relationship has been unconsciously visualized in these symbolic terms, the development of "transferential" reactions is highly likely, because the relationship is already a "transferential" one. "Transference," I believe, explains why the disturbed sister is too ready to put all the blame on the superior or why the superior is ready to put all the blame on herself (or, in opposite cases, on her "insubordinate daughters"). It also explains why everything the superior does, the rewards she administers, the punishments she metes out, the assignments she makes, the time she take to reply to the sisters' mail, even her very traits of personality, become, at times, a matter of life or death for some sisters. ~Vhat is "transference?" Transference is an unrealistic emotional posture which supposedly occurs only in psy-choanalytic psychotherapy but which also develops, in varying degrees of unreality, in other intimate emotional relationships (husband and wife, soldier and N.C.O. on the battle line, pastor and priest, superior and sister, and so forth). In transference, one feels about a contemporary figure not the feelings it deserves because of what this figure realistically is, but the feelings one felt about significant figures from one's childhood, whom the con-temporary figure symbolically represents. In transference, the patient sees his analyst not as what he is but as he saw his own father and/or mother; and feels about his analyst the quality and quantity of feelings appropriate not to the analyst but to his own father and/or mother. Similarly, in transference the sister sees the superior not as the superior objectively is, but as she saw, as a child, her own parents; and her feelings about the superior are not proportionately related to what the superior, objectively, is, does, stands for, but to the feelings the sister had, as a child, about her parents. Transference motivates behavior as well as feelings and thoughts; in transference, the sister will behave, toward 4- 4- 4- ÷ ÷ + Vincent S. Coniglia~o, M.D. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS the superior, not realistically but "transferentially," not as sister-to-superior but as daughter-to-mother. Transfer-ence is "remembering through actions and feelings." In psychoanalytic psychotherapy, the development of transference is facilitated by some of the essential and accidental features of the treatment itself and may be fostered by the therapist (a skillful therapist encourages the appropriate quantity and quality of transference and uses it for his patient's benefit). The accidental features of religious life will also encourage transferential relationships and painful, neurotic transferential reac-tions. But, again, not per se, but in direct proportion to the mental health of superior and sister. Such features as the fact that sisters are referred to as "daughters" and superiors are addressed as "mothers". the psycho-logica. 1 message that may be contained in the very word "superior". the reality of the superior's unquestioned authority over the sisters., the vow of obedience., and other accidental features of religious life will not by themselves "infantil-ize" the sister or "mother-ize" the superior; but the sisters will be infantilized (and the superior motherized) who, from the depth of their un-conscious and latent neuroses, had already looked go these features as opportunities for the release of latent neurotic drives. The very fact that there are so many obedient, submissive, and deferent religious sisters who are, at the same time, joyful, vibrant, productive creatures, with attractive, vital, and no less feminine personalities is a living admonishment against believing that the poten-tially infantilizing (to the neurotic) features of religious life must necessarily (that is, also in the healthy) cause transferential relationships and reactions. Whether the superior is a trained counselor or not and whether her qualities of "understanding" will be rightly perceived by sisters wearing or not wearing transference-colored glasses, there can be little doubt that the "understanding" superior will contribute to the pre-vention of emotional crises in her community. Too often one thinks of an understanding superior as someone who smiles, agrees, and gets emotionally involved with her sisters or who is gentle and unassertive and goes around giving realistic or unrealistic reassurances or who shows total approval of whatever neurotic behavior is exhibited on the part of her sisters. This actually is more the stereotype for a neurotic superior than for an under-standing one. I remember a priest counselor whom I once supervised. He was counseling a hostile, resentful, rebellious adoles-cent whose father was rigidly authoritarian and coldly punitive. The counselee acted out his hostility in the counseling situation itself by being.consistently late for his sessions or breaking appointments without previously canceling them. The counselor was extremely "under-standing," remarked about the patient's lateness only casually and gave him a full-session time by cutting into his own rest periods, feebly joked about the cancelations and, to his own great inconvenience, rescheduled make-up appointments, and made sure not to appear in the least annoyed at his patient's erratic behavior. The counselor's conscious rationale for his "understanding" was: "I want him to see that there are understanding people in this world . 1 don't want him to think that everybody is as bad as his father . " In reality his "understanding" covered his own neurotic feelings about hostility and assertion; he neurotically equated justifiable annoyance (at having his schedule continuously disrupted) with irrational rage and rigidly controlled the former to avoid the risk of expressing the latter. Another counselor I supervised managed to convey to his patient his tacit approval of the patient's practically delinquent behavior; in this case the "understanding" dis-guised the counselor's own neurotic rebelliousness and hostility against authority. The giving of unrealistic reassurances (also often seen as a sign of "understanding") may actually be a symptom of neurosis. I remember the case of a sister with a paranoid char-acter neurosis, very intelligent but extremely disagreeable because of her mistrusting, hostile personality. Sister believed the other sisters disliked and resented her be-cause of her scholastic accomplishments; and her superior usually reacted to these complaints by "reassuringly" telling her that when one is very bright one may be resented by those who are less bright, and telling her not to worry, the other sisters really liked her. The con-scious rationale of this "understanding" was: "Sister is too sick to be told that the other sisters do dislike her. and for her arrogance and imperiousness, rather than for her brilliance . " In reality, this "understanding" covered the superior's unconscious fear of the paranoid sister and only resulted in the consolidation and strengthening of sister's hostility and disagreeableness. Real understanding--whether in the knowledgeable superior or in the trained counselor--basically cor-responds to the ability to understand human psychology and, especially, the complexity of human motivations. This understanding, which the counselor obtains from training, the superior can only derive through her own studies, readings, and observation, since in the great majority of cases we are not born endowed with it. "Intui-tive understanding," "horse sense," the "knack of under-standing people," are either an altogether di~erent quality of understanding (the superficial understanding of ÷ ÷ ÷ Counseling VOLUME 24, 1965 353 ÷ ÷ ÷ Vincent S. Coniglidro, M.D. REV|EW FOR RELIG|OUS few, superficial situations) or the major ingredient of often catastrophic "snap diagnoses" (the simplified con-clusions on "what really bothers" our fellow human beings). If this is fully realized, the superior who has little understanding should not blame her constitution, heredity, luck, or intelligence~in most cases she only needs to study, read, and observe. I am not implying that every superior should go to medical school and eventually specialize in psychiatry. I am suggesting, however, that any investment she will make in courses and lectures on human psychology will pay huge dividends in terms of house morale, a smoothly growing community, and her own peace of mind. Actually, it is a wonder that so many superiors, in spite of very little training in human psy-chology, do such a creditable job as leaders of a com-munity. Industry or government would not expect such a performance from untrained leaders of theirs who were to operate under conditions as difficult as most superiors (unisexual environment, closeness of quarters, the ever present possibility of transferential developments and transferential reactions; and so forth). If real understanding is to work--for the house as a whole, for the sisters, and for the superior herself---it must be mature and loving. It must be loving, or there will r~ot be the concern, care, interest motivating one human being to want to understand another (or, at least, to want to apply this u. nderstanding for healing purposes); and it must be mature, or it may be a neurotically motivated understanding in ~which the superior distorts the sister's demands because of unconscious needs to do so or understands these demands rightly but out of proportion to the total picture and more for her own needs than sister's. The positive features and attributes of real understand-ing can best be discussed in reference to counseling and religious counselors. Some of these features will be of great interest also to the superior: the superior who, without being a counselor or without intending to be-come one, wants to achieve, through her own efforts, personal interest, and dedication, real understanding of her sisters. This superior, however, would not be fair to herself if she expected to attain the quality of under-standing of the trained counselor just by following "a few simple rules," listening to the house counselors' "talk-ing shop," or reading a few articles, like this, at best just glossing over a few aspects of counseling theory. Both in real life and in the understanding of human psy-chology, there are no short cuts; and there are no instant substitutes for the understanding that can be derived only from years of studies, readings, and observation. The trained counselor attains a specialized quality of understanding of human psychology. A house counselor, through the time and effort invested in a comprehensive curriculum on theory and technique of counseling, can recognize, diagnose (in the connotation given before), and prognostically evaluate the signs and symptoms of healthy and unhealthy mental functioning. She can determine which patients are an indication for therapeutic counsel-ing and which patients, an indication for motivational counseling, should be referred to a psychotherapist, psy-chiatrist, or psychoanalyst. With the patients with whom she practices therapeutic counseling she knows, after evaluating the patient,s ego strength, environmental conditions within which the patient functions, and the overall circumstances surrounding the counseling rela-tionship, what techniques of counseling to follow and for how long. The counselor knows that human behavior and the symptoms of emotional disturbances are always over-determined (related to multiple causes and factors) and that the more disturbed is behavior, the more distressing a symptom, the more critical a crisis, the less likely it is that just one or two factors are responsible. Consequently, she will not "jump to conclusions," oversimplify, dispense quick, superficial "diagnoses" ("What really bothers you, Sister, is this and that"). She also knows that presenting symptoms and initial complaints are often a disguise for more distressing and intimate problems. Thus she waits beyond the first few sessions before concluding that sister has told her the "whole story" or even the "real story." She knows the inherently devious and implicitly mimetic nature of defense mechanisms; within herself, therefore, in the process of privately evaluating and understanding her counselee's problems, she will not take "no" (or "yes") for an answer, will not accept every-thing at its face value, will try to read between the lines of the counselee's manifest verbalization, will obtain clues from nonverbal communication, and will, in fewer words, constantly try to understand the dynamic motiva-tions, the "why," the "latent,'.' of her counselee's com-munication. (The really understanding superior may well try to remember this. Sister may come to see her to discuss problem "A"; whether sister knows it or not, she may actually be in the superior's office to discuss problems "B" or "C." The patient, knowledgeable, and, especially, un-hurried superior, will help sister to come to the real problem by prolonging the first interview, by non-direc-tive prodding--"is anything else on your mind, Sister?" is much better than "Is this (or that) what is really on your mind, Sisterl" and, especially, by asking sister to come in again "to talk more about problem A or any-thing else that might be on your mind, Sister . ") 4- 4- 4- Counseling + ÷ Vineent S. Conlgliaro, M.D. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS 356 The counselor knows that even truly distressing symp-toms may only be a first line of defense the personality uses against even more distressing problems and con-flicts. The counselee of a priest I supervised was literally torn apart by persistent masturbatory behavior con-sistently accompanied by vivid heterosexual fantasies; yet this behavior was only a cover-up for very frighten-ing, still unconscious, homosexual problems. A sister I treated was painfully convinced (and so was her superior) that she had a severe sexual problem as she was mainly obsessed with obscene fantasies and per-secuted by sexual compulsions; after several months (and a dream in which she discovered a knife hidden by stacks of pornographic literature) it became apparent that she was using obscene fantasies also to punish herself for unconscious fantasies of a sadistic nature against the superior (and her mother). Thus the counselor knows better than to prematurely remove symptoms or defenses, lest the problems so disguised come to the fore, thus causing disintegration of the whole personality and psychosis. The counselor knows that the best way to counsel is, often, by the "non-directive, minimal activity" technique. Within this technique the counselor, after having ascertained (with a minimum of activity and direction) the quality and severity of the counselee's problem, assumes an "actively passive" posture. She patiently listens; benevolently and calmly waits out pauses of silence; asks few or no questions; stimulates the counselee's continuity of communication by nonverbal means (nodding, assenting, saying "Uhm-uhm") or, verbally, by repeating the counselee's terminal sentence; echoes and reflects back, in simpler, clearer, more concise phraseology the counselee's utterances, and so forth. With the mildest counseling problems this approach is therapeutic in itself and is both means and end. The counselor becomes the counselee's oral vehicle; and the counselee, just by listening to the counselor's clearer re-formulations of the problem, can see solutions or the roads towards them. With most counseling problems this approach is very valuable as a means to an end, as it provides the counselor with material through which she will be able to help the sister to help herself. (A little tip for the superior: "true" listening, with minimal ac-tivity and direction, will cause the "true" problem to shape itself in its clearest outlines under her very eyes.) An important point, made just in passing before, is the one to the effect that light attempts at premature removal of symptoms can be catastrophic. Freud spoke of "wild psychoanalysis"; in a sense, one can talk of "wild counseling." In "wild counseling," the counselor tells the patient what to do; advises; judges; prescribes courses of action; removes symptoms or eliminates defenses; prods too actively, eliciting too much too soon, all this without knowing enough of his counselee's personality structure and whether the patient can safely ~ollow the prescription or in ignorance of the adaptive and defensive meaning of normal and abnormal be-havior. One of the most important discoveries of psychoanalysis was that psychic disorders have a meaning and represent partly successful attempts at defensive adaptation. Even the most distressing symptoms are a partly successful defense---without the distressing symptom of hysterical mutism, the hysteric would be hced with the more distressing problem of wishing to verbalize highly ex-ceptionable sexual desires; without the embarrassing symptom of "trigger-finger paralysis" (a hysteric condition of soldiers on the battle line), the patient would be ~aced with the more serious problem of wanting to press the trigger of a rifle aimed at his own sergeant; without the torturing symptom of persecutory thinking, the schizophrenic would be faced with the much more painful problem of having homosexual desires. The dis-comfort of hysterical mutism, trigger-finger paralysis, and persecutory ideation are a psychic bargain compared with the discomfort the psychic apparatus would experi-ence were it to face, in raw state, the sexual desires, the murderous aggression, and the homosexuality that mutism, paralysis, and persecutory delusions stand for. Thus, if we remove one line of defense, a more drastic defense will be set up and, with it, a more severe mental illness. I remember the patient who came to the emer-gency room of a city hospital in a wheelchair because of hysterical paralysis of both her legs. A brash and eager young psychiatric interne decided he would omnipotently remove the paralysis by hypnotic suggestion. The patient did walk out of the hospital on her own legs; once home, however, she became severely depressed and attempted suicide. The hysterical paralysis was, to her personality structure, an indispensable prop; deprived of that prop prematurely (that is, without any preliminary work on her ego), her personality could only cave in; the process could only be arrested by the setting up of more primitive defenses (more drastic "props"), for instance, the defense of depression. Counseling can be powerful medicine. Words and advice are to the counselor what scalpel and clamps are to the surgeon. Wrong counsel and ill-timed advice can have disastrous effects. I remember a patient "counseled" into borderline psychosis by her own G.P. A twenty-eight year old girl, beautiful and quite feminine, she had never been 4- ~,ounseling VOLUME 357 ÷ 4. ÷ Vincent $. Conigliaro, M~. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS engaged, married, or romantically involved, She had consulted her physician because of ill-defined heart and stomach symptoms, fatigue, sleeplessness, and choking sensations; the physician correctly diagnosed hysteria. In discussing her social life, he was struck by the fact that she never went out with men; he took the explanations she gave (shyness, moral reasons) about her sexual isola-tion at their face value and proceeded to persuade her into going out. After several sessions of "counseling" she reluctantly agreed to go out on a date. Shortly after the first date (and having given in to a very minor physical exchange of affection) she became depressed and with-drawn. Again, the physician accepted the explanations she gave for her depression (moral guilt) at their face value and counseled her to be "more broadminded." She became more depressed and withdrawn and eventually attempted suicide. Several weeks after she had finally en-tered psychotherapy, it was found that at the ages of five and nine she had been sexually molested by a psycho-pathic father. Unconsciously, she had come to associate adult sexuality with the incestuous sexuality experienced at five and nine; and the guilt, horror, and remorse at-tached to the latter had become associated to the former; thus sexuality had to be shunned in all its forms and manifestations. Deprived of her defenses of shyness, ti-midity, and sexual isolation, the patient could only ex-perience severe anxiety, depression, and guilt. The above examples refer to situations in which "wild counseling" was both erroneous from a psychoanalytic point of view and faulty from an ethical and moral standpoint. Yet examples can be given of morally un-exceptionable counseling that is equally "wild" from a psychodynamic point of view. A judgmental and psycho-dynamically imprudent pastoral counselor once strongly advised a young man to give up compulsive masturbation at all costs; the counselee did, at the cost of severe homo-sexual panic and suicidal behavior. A couple was once treated in marital counseling; he was a drug addict, moody, manipulative, exploitative, sadistic, occasionally violent; she, the unnervingly patient and "holy" type of woman who goes through life proudly protesting her humility and vigorously proclaiming her martyrlike good-ness in the face of unbearable male provocations. The counselor did not see that this was a neurotic marriage and that this woman (fully aware of her husband's long record of addiction at the time she had married him) had done so to fulfill her masochistic needs and express her controlling and manipulative polarities in the least obtrusive way. The counselor also failed to realize that this woman had a need to foster her husband's addiction (for example, she used to express astonishment at the fact that her husband always managed to steal the groceries money to buy drugs; in actuality, it was she who would unconsciously "forget" some money [always just the right amount for "a fix"] on her dresser for her husband to steal) and that his addiction was an essential '"prop" to her personality. When the counselor finally persuaded her to separate from her husband, she became severely depressed and became an alcoholic. As indicated before, the counselor should be both mature and loving; without these qualities, the most sophisticated psychological understanding will be basi-cally vitiated; and counseling will remain ineffectual. The psychoanalyst's personal maturity can be assured, in most cases, by the fact that he is demanded to undergo inten-sive personal psychoanalysis before he is o~cially per-mitted to psychoanalyze others; the counselor's maturity can only be assured by rigorous screening procedures at the time he applies for training; constant supervision during training gives the additional opportunity to certify as counselors only those who have demonstrated the needed maturity. Why should the counselor be mature (the quality of "loving," I would like to suggest, is an inevitable by-phenomenon of maturity) is self-evident. The mature and loving counselor practices counseling in terms of his counselee's needs--not his own. He is actively passive and non-directive because he believes in the rationale of this technique--not because he is uninterested or because he wishes to work as little as possible. When he gives active counsel, he does so because he honestly believes that it is right to do s~not because, by so doing, the counselee will love, admire, and respect him or "get off his back.~' The mature counselor responds to his patients realisti-cally and not in terms of neurotic reactions set up in him by the counselee's attitudes, symptoms, or values. He can be acceptant of his counselee's behavior, without condon-ing or approving it. He does not "judge" the counselee's actions; rather, he helps him to understand why he acts this or that way and what results can be anticipated from these actions. In being loving, the mature counselor is also capable o~ the adequate measure of self-love and self-respect, without which, I might suggest, there may be no genuine and consistent love and respect of others. A few examples may be given which will clearly in-dicate the maturity or the immaturity of the counselor. A lay counselor I supervised always managed to ask his counselees very personal questions of a sexual nature not to clarify his views on relevant aspects of his patients' personality but to fulfill, vicariously, neurotic sexual needs of his own. Examples given before (while we were 4- Counseling VOLUME 24, 1965 359 ÷ ÷ + Vincent S. Conlgliaro, M~. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS on the subject of the "understanding superior" and "understanding coun.selor") indicated how the counselor (or the superior) responded in terms of their own neurotic needs rather than their patients'. One pastoral counselor's sternly judgmental reaction to the rage exhibited by one of his counselees was less related to the patient's prob-lems with sadism than it was to the counselor's fear of his own hostility. Sometimes the counselor's immaturity first creates problems to the counselor himself which will then be transmitted to the counseling relationship and the counselee. A counselor I once supervised, incapable of mature self-love and self-respect, became very anxious because of his inability to resist his counselees' manipula-tions and dependency. He allowed counselees to contact him at home, at all hours of the day or night; the more dependent they became on him (and the more they in-convenienced and disrupted his family life), the more he resented them and the more he felt he had to "make up" for his hostility by giving in to their manipulations and dependency, thus getting involved in a self-perpetuat-ing vicious circle. Immature~or insufficiently trained--counselors may want to terminate a counseling relationship for a com-bination of '"right," conscious reasons (that is, the pa-tient is too sick and needs psychotherapy) and uncon-scious, "wrong" reasons (that is, hostility set up by the patient's values, attitudes, habits, and so forth). These counselors may feel so guilty, unconsciously, for the "wrong" reasons that they may be unable to recommend termination on the basis of the conscious, "right" reasons. They may present the "right" reasons to their counselees in such ambivalent, confusing fashion that the counselees sense the existence of hidden hostility, perceive the recommendation to terminate as '"rejection," and neu-rotically cling to the relationship: "interminable counsel-ing." On the other hand, an untrained pastor I know (truly and genuinely loving--of others; not enough, per-haps, of himself) often feels he does not have the right to refuse or deny anyone and gets involved in intermi-nable counseling in a different way: the parishioner keeps on coming, once, twice a week, to the rectory, refuses to be referred to a psychiatrist, and clings to the unhappy and helpless priest for years. Sometimes it is a superior who makes herself un-realistically available to her sisters. She is "willing" to practice informal counseling at any time during office hours (and beyond) and is unable to turn down any sister's request for "a few minutes of time." This superior may be taking too literally the Christian, ethical, or professional obligation to make oneself available to those who suffer, forgetting the equally ethical and Christian obligation to be good to oneself. One superior I knew refused no one coming in to see her, no matter how busy she was, how many deadlines she had to meet, and how many unfinished tasks were before her. She made her-self available "so that sister won't feel rejected."; her inner discomfort and tension, however, inevitably diffused to the counseling relationship. She would listen superficially and be exposed to the risk of making super-ficial, premature comments; or, while she "listened," her eyes would dart to the typewriter or steal a glance at the wristwatch; or her hands would tap impatiently by the telephone or tug at the crucifix ("Dear God, help me be patient."). The sisters she "listened" to inevitably received the message and felt just as rejected as if they had been asked to return later. A more self-loving superior will do better (by herself and by the sister) by recognizing her right (and her duty, perhaps, to herself) to tell sister warmly but firmly that she will take just a few minutes right away to discusse the matter of an appointment: which will be given within the day if sister feels the matter is that important, later, if sister feels her problem is not that urgent. I am suggesting, then, that when counselor, superior, pastor have sufficient mature self-love and self-respect (at least enough of it to resist the temptation of making themselves unrealistically, or masochistically, available to others) they will, at the same time, be capable of mature, joyful, and genuine love of others. (Could it be that "love thy neighbor as thyself" really means that one has as much obligation to love oneself as to love one's neighbor? And that this beautiful maxim, read between the lines, suggests that without mature self-Jove there cannot be mature other-love?) ! On the subject of "mature and loving understanding," it may be very appropriate to conclude by briefly reflect-ing on the question of values and counseling. While the counselee's values should have little relevance to the counselor's effectiveness, the same cannot be said of the counselor's values. ("Values" here is meant on a broad ethical and philosophical plane, not only on a religious or moral plane.) At the risk of being considered an incorrigible idealist, I should like to suggest that the effective counselor (like the effective psychotherapist) must be, above all, a decent, good human being. If he is not to be, at best a sterile and antiseptic technician, at worst a manipulator and a hidden persuader, he must be committed to a philosophy of integrity, love and respect of others, self-love and self-respect. The attributes of maturity, loving-ness, and understanding will ulti-mately be inherent and intrinsic in the man's existential ÷ ÷ ÷ Counseling VOLUME 24, 1965 36] integrity and ethical commitment. He cannot be auto-cratic, manipulative, devious outside of office hours, and genuinely permissive, truthful (to himself and his work), and sincere in his office; by the same token, he cannot be weak, manipulable, neurotically self-effacing outside of his office and reasonably assertive, reliable, and helpful during office hours. He need not be "perfect" (whatever this word may connote in his personal weltanschauung), but honest. He need not feel that he must make no mis, takes; all he needs is mental alertness to the mistakes he makes and the emotional courage to recognize them and try to do his best to rectify them. He need not be a self-righteous crusader for love, freedom, and a democratic philosophy of life, but someone who does his best to love, be free, and set others free. I began by noting that "counseling, as a technique and a philosophy of human relatedness., is important to both psychoanalysts and religious persons. (who) both work with human beings and are both committed to a profession of service . " In closing, I should like to suggest that both psychoanalysts (or psychotherapists, counselors, and so forth) and religious persons (or pastoral counselors, house counselors, and so forth), be-cause of the specific quality of their relatedness to the human beings they work with, are alike also in this respect: the measure of their success in their work is, to a large extent, a measure of their existential richness and integrity. ,4" 4. + Vincent $. onigliaro, M.D. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS WILLIAM J. REWAK, S.J. Mortification: An Entry inta the Christ-Mystery I. Aversion of Modern Man In the spirit of the Church's aggiornamento, there is a great demand today for authenticity in moral and ascetical theology, a demand for new and valid expres-sions for the old values. A value is a value, after all, not because it is traditional but because it is an authentic expression of my personal relationship to God and to other people. We are aware of, and fear, the crystalliza-tion of the primary Christian experiences. It has often happened that the Church---or more exactly, institutions and individuals within the Church---have bequeathed to succeeding generations rites, methods, and customs with-out any inner ideal and spirit. Such a stagnation of the original value can occur in any human experience: mysticism can degenerate into magic and ritualism; prophecy is always in danger of crumbling into moral-lsm. So the original value, idea, must forever be reex-pressed; it must grow within the historical context and be reinterpreted in the light of changing modes of thought. At the same time, it must keep a strong hold on the primitive experience. It is for this reason we will investigate the New Testament doctrine on mortifica-tion. A theology of mortification is badly needed. The pres-ent doctrine is inadequate, for it has not kept pace with the advancements in Sci'ipture and other branches of theology. At the present, we are reacting against a moral theology that has emphasized sin and progressing towards a positive program of Christian life: doing good in the service of a generous charity. The idea of morti-fication, then, which according to many manuals is practiced either as a punishment for past sins or as a deterrent against future sins must be reappraised,x What ~$ee P. J. Meyer, s.J., Science o] the Saints (~t. Louis: Herder, ÷ ÷ ÷ William J. Re-wak, s.J., is a mem-ber of Regis Col-lege; 3425 Ba~.view Avenue; Wallow-dale, Ontario; Can-ada. VOLUME 24, 1965 4, 4, 4, William ~. Rewak, 5.1. REVIEW FOR REL]G~OUS 564 is objected to is not that sinful man needs mortification, but that theories of mortification seem to bypass Christ and have for their starting point, their raison d'etre, the fact of sin. Every natural philosophy tried to elimi-nate "sin"; the Stoics were concerned with perfection, but only natural perfection. A Christian existential view of sin cannot fall into this trap. Many wish to find their mortification in the daily struggle involved in working for their neighbor, in the apostolate. The absolute value itself of mortification is not always questioned; a blank rejection would be an act of infidelity to the Word of God. What is vehe-mently questioned is selpchosen mortification: corporal punishments, voluntary acts of abnegation of the intel-lect and will, all those acts, freely chosen, which hurt our pride or human respect. Their necessity is question-able in the light of the very real difficulties confronting the apostle in today's pluralistic society, in a world where the general breakdown of morality requires a new and more refined, more soul-searching response in his communication with his neighbor. There is no doubt about it: mortification is the daily fare for the dedi-cated apostle. Why opt for additional, self-chosen acts of mortification? Mortification has too often been identified with ex-traordinary corporal austerities. The ordinary apostle, not given to sackcloth and ashes, hairshirts, dank caves, and bloody lacerations, is sincerely seeking an "ordi-nary" saint. He wants as an example someone who must stay strong and healthy in order to perform manfully, joyfully, and effectively the tasks of a university pro-fessor, a retreat master, or a Catholic businessman. Besides, corporal austerities are currently out of favor as a result of the renewed "theology of matter." We have, it is hoped, at least theoretically banished all traces of Platonism and Jansenism from our books and lectures on spirituality. There is today an emphasis on the sacramentality of matter, an emphasis fostered by the late Teilhard de Chardin. The body, the world of the material and concrete, are all good and will con-tribute in their own specialized way to the glory of the kingdom to be revealed in us. If corporal austerities are to be retained, they must be based on a more solid foundation than the Jansenistic distrust of the ma-terial. 2 1902), pp. 88-91. Father Meyer's primary reason for practicing morti-fication is "as an atonement for past sins"; and it is "still more neces-sary as a preservative from future sins." This obviously needs quali-fication and completion. i We use the terms "Jansenistic" and "Jansenism" because they are readily intelligible to the modem reader. It must be admitted, how-ever, that the use of such terms is more for convenience than for Older spiritual books, books which influenced the ascetical teachers of the first half of this century, are notoriously negative in tone: If we were to count all the miseries of human life, we should never have done. Holy Job says, "The life of man is a per- Detual warfare upon earth, and his days are like the days of a hired servant that labours from sun-rising to sun-set" (Job vii. 1, 2). Several of the old philosophers had such a lively sense of this truth, that some of them said, they could not tell whether to call nature a mother or a step-mother, because she has sub-jected us to so many miseries. Others again used to say, it were better never to be born, or at least to die as soon as we were strict and complete historical accuracy. An explanation is therefore in order. We urge the reader to consult Louis Bouyer, The Spiritual-ity o] the New Testament and the Fathers, trans. Mary P. Ryan (London: Burns and Oates, 196~) for an excellent account of the problem of gnosis in the early Church. Contrary to modern popular belief, Father states, there was a legitimate gnosis sought by St. Paul and by the early fathers; one has only to think of the formulation of the First Epistle to the Corinthians on knowing God even as we are known (1 Cor 13:12; see also Eph 3:19 and Phil 3:7-11). And this is a knowledge which is really an experience of God, in the love of the Spirit. St. Ignatius of Antioch says: "Why do we not all become wise in receiving the gnosis of God, Jesus Christ?" (p. 246). Gnosis for primitive Christianity was an experiential knowledge of the mysteries of the Father's plan for salvation. But at the same time the natural Greek philosophers themselves were seeking ~alvation through a gnosis of their own. These influences came in turn to form Christian gnosis. "Eons or angels descended in endless cascades from a pleroma in which everything is divine, towards a foreign matter in which everything is mired and becomes degenerate. To this fall, which is one with creation itself, is opposed the mission of the Logos, more or less strictly identified with the man Jesus. But since salvation is nothing but the recovery of an con fallen into mat-ter, the incarnation could be only apparent. It must lead, in fact, to a salvation which is not a redemption of the whole of man, but a disengagement in man of what has never ceased to be immortal 'spirit,' that is to say, an escape from the bonds of the body and the world . The cross of the Saviour only frees our soul along with his from the chains of the body" (p. 223). It is immediately apparent that the grandfather of the heretical positions of the Jansenists, Puritans, Albigensians, Manicheans, is Greek Gnosticism--a corrod-ing rationalism which understood nothing of the true Gnosis, the Word of God. It is not the Logos of Hellenistic syncretism that we, as Christians, come to know, but the Word made flesh. This is why so many spiritual writers of the last few centuries have misfired with their ascetical doctrine; they were influenced by the same rationalism that has threatened Christianity from the beginning and is too often the error of Christian "humanism": the adoption of ascetical prac-tices for the purification and reintegration of the purely natural man, with no consideration for the priority of the interpersonal relation-ship between man and God. The early Greek Gnostic sought an apatheia: the calming of all disordered tendencies, rendering him insensible to outside influence. The Christian Gnosdc also sought apatheia, but it was attained through perfect submission to charity. This in no way meant an extinction of the human, "but rather its unification in which everything is taken up and transfigured which is worthy of being so" (p. 274). Christian asceticism must begin from faith, from the Word of God; it must proceed from the Spirit of love speaking within us. + + .I-Mortification VOLUME 24, 1965 365 4. 4. 4. William J. Rewak, SJ. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS 366 born; nay, some of them have gone so far as to say, there are but few persons, that would accept of life after having made an experiment of it, that is, if it were possible to make a trial of it beforehand,s If one were to take this seriously, he would have to regret that God ever uttered a fiat. Having disposed of the object, the author turns to the subject: Cast your eyes on yourself, and you will find there motives enough of humility. Do but consider what you were before you were born, what you are since you have been born and what you are like to be after your death. Before your birth, you were a filthy matter unworthy to be named, at present you are a dunghill covered with snow, and in a short time you will be meat for worms.~ An adequate understanding of the Incarnation can surely dispel such gross misconceptions of God's creation. But it is precisely upon such misconceptions that the author--and other authors--have based their arguments for mortification. Little wonder modern man is repelled. An unhappy refrain running through most spiritual manuals of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries is A bstine et sustine! Refrain and endure,s Cast unwillingly into a flaming abyss of sin where even the apostolate is fraught with unimaginable dangers, mortification alone will lead us to "perfection." And this is perhaps the worst aberration of rationalistic moralism: the use of ascetical practices not for establishing and maintaining a dialogue with God but for the stoical perfection of all the virtues. Most spiritual books of the last century offered detailed instructions on how to develop the virtues of fortitude, for example, or temperance, chastity. And the first means was always mortification--as they understood it. "We must possess more virtues; through them only can we reach our end. Here comes in the aid of self-denial and self-discip-line." 0 Another section of the book explained the ob-stacles to the acquiring of these virtues;7 and a third sec-tion enticed the reader with such titles as "Of the Spiritual and Temporal Advantages Promised to Virtue in this Life, s Rev. F. Lewis, O.P., The Sinner's Guide (Dublin: Richard Coyne, 1825), p. 162. ~ Ibid., p. 271. ~ See, for example, Alphonsus Rodriguez, S.J., Practice o! Perfec-tion and Christian Virtues, trans. Joseph Rickaby, S.J. (London: Manresa Press, 1929), p. 567; and Meyer, Science of the Saints, p. 97. °Moritz Meschler, s.J., Three Fundamental Principles of the Spiritual Life (Westminster: Newman, 1945), p. 80. The author seri-ously calls his book "Christian Asceticism in a Waist-Coat Pocket" (p. v). 7See John Baptist Scaramelli, S.J., The Directorium Asceticum, trans, at St. Bueno's College, North Wales (4 vols.; London: R. and T. Washbourne, 1902), v. 2. This second of four volumes is devoted en-tirely to the manifold obstacles to Christian "virtue" and the means for overcoming them--penance and mortification. and particularly of Twelve Extraordinary Privileges be-longing to it" s or "Some Easy Kinds of Mortification." 9 Such pragmatic spirituality, which is nothing but the victory of reason over animality, lacks a real Christian motive based on Christ's entry into our life through baptism and the sacraments. Fortunately, we have recovered the notion that per-fection is not the piling up of virtues, computer-fashion; it is more fundamental, it is Chrigt-centered. We see Christ as the focal point of all our religious activity, of all our apostolic activity, of all human relations; and when an author bids us go forth from our father's house because "in the shelter of the religious life, separated from the world, from all that might .have occupied your thoughts and your hearts, you live for God alone," 10 we cannot believe him. Or if someone counsels us: "If the religious vocation demands the abandonment of the parental roof, sons and daughters must sacrifice their affections for parents and relatives that they may gain thereby Christ's promise of eternal life," or asserts that friendships are dangerous because "friendship between proper parties that has for object their mutual spiritual advancement is rare and found only among saints," 11 we can hardly take him seriously. The author is too much like those of whom P~guy wrote that "they think they love God because they don't love anyone." Mortification and sacrifice have often been put in opposition to joy. Come, my children, when pain, sacrifice, and duty press heavily upon you, when you experience dryness and disgust, endeavour to make, if you will, a dry and bitter act of love of God . Fervour and sensible devotion is good for small minds; shake off these feminine ways, aspire to something more noble, more vigorous. As for ourselves, we have had not one quarter of an hour's consolation in forty years.~ Hard saying for a generation that is experiencing the ascetical consequences of St. Paul's theology of the Res-urrection. Surely sacrifice and consolation, as authentic expressions of God's Good News, must somehow be re-lated. But most authors of moral guidebooks struggled with this "problem" of pleasure, happiness, consolation, and could not easily reconcile it with Christ's example of suffering. There exists in fact the problem of pleasure. Readily enough ~ Lewis, Sinner's Guide, p. 85. ~ Meyer, Science oJ the Saints, p. 101. 10 P~re de Ravignan, S.J., ConIerences on the Spiritual LiIe, trans. Mrs. Abel Ram (London: Washbourne, 1877), p. 185. Italics mine. ~aMonsignor P. J. Stockman, Manual o] Christian Per]ection (Hollywood, Calif.), p. 611. ~ De Ravignan, ConJerences, p. 191. Mortification VOLUME 24, 196S 367 4. 4. William ]. Rewak, 8.1. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS $68 does the concept of pleasure evoke the idea of something which, morally, has little to recommend it, or at the most, something which is to be tolerated. Living in the memory of Christ, the Christian soul with difficulty separates sanctity from suffering. Is it not by the cross that Christ redeemed and sanctified us? How can pleasure, then, be integrated into the moral life? Does this life not seem, on the contrary, to exclude it? Is there a place for pleasure in the context of a life of selbcontrol?18 And the author solves this conundrum by consoling his readers with the distinction that the essence of an act is what determines it and not the pleasure that may sur-round or follow upon it. Pleasure is outside the moral law: if the act is good, the pleasure is good; if the act is bad, the pleasure is bad. It is, he states, permitted to renounce this pleasure for a superior motive; but it is sometimes better to accept it, especially if it leads to virtue; and it may not always be possible to exclude it.14 Such a treatment of pleasure and consolation strikes the modern reader as negative, moralistic, and exces-sively rationalistic. It has not embodied the spirit of St. Paul: "They will forbid marriage, and will enjoin ab-stinence from foods, which God has created to be par-taken of with thanksgiving by the faithful and by those who know the truth. For every creature of God is good and nothing is to be rejected that is accepted with thanksgiving. For it is sanctified by the word of God and prayer:' (1 Tim 4:3-5). One last remark, and this first part will have per-formed its function. Mortification has been strongly identified with the devotions centering around the idea of reparation. We supposedly mortify our flesh to al-leviate the pain of the lash as it struck Christ during His passion; we kneel for hours to repair for the sins which are causing Him pain and sorrow. Sentimentality has conjured up the image of a Sacred Heart, sitting on the banks of the Loire, weeping and bewailing the sins which men are committing. Such misguided devotions can readily develop into dolorism, a perverted anguish which plays on false feelings of guilt; and for the modern psychology-oriented intellectual, this" is territory to be shunned. Mortification, if it is to be Christian, must turn one away from the self and towards Christ and ="I1 existe de fait un probl~me du plaisir. Assez ais~ment le con-cept de plaisir ~voque l'id~e d'une chose moralement peu recom-mandable, d'une tolerance tout au plus. Vivant du souvenir du Christ, l'fime chr~tienne dissocie malais~raent la saintet~ de la soul-france: n'est-ce point par la croix que le Christ vous a rachet~s et sanctifi~s? Peut-on donc integrer le plaisir clans la vie morale? Ne convient-il au contraire de l'en exclure? Peut-on lui assigner une place clans le gouvernement de soi-m~me?" Dora Odon Lottin, Aux sources de notre grandeur morale (Editions de l'Abbaye du Mont Cesar, 1946), p. 32. a~ Ibid., pp. 33-4. man. Sentimentality has no place in the authentic Chris-tian experience of reparation. It is the sum of all these inaccuracies, these exaggera-tions, these inauthentic expressions of Christian asceti-cism, which are causing the current questioning, if not the rejection, of mortification. If we are to retain morti-fication and sacrifice as indispensable e|ements of Chris-tian life, they must be integrated into the scheme of the "Christ-life" of which St. Paul is the outstanding interpreter. We have to make what we mean intelligible to modern Christians so that, as Karl Rahner says, "they will not think that 'sacrifice' is an expression for that misanthropy and secret hatred of life felt by failures who are incapable of courageously enjoying life and this world and the glory of human existence." a~ H. New Testament Doctrine on Mortification We have been using the term "mortification" in its popular sense, meaning all those acts of abnegation, of sacrifice, which are commonly understood as "mortify-ing." It is time now, however, to clarify the meaning of the three words ordinarily used interchangeably as synonyms: abnegation, renouncement, and mortification; and we will present, in the main, Fr. Iren~e Hausherr's distinctions,a6 This analysis will lead us into a further study of the Pauline texts on mortification. The Synoptics have all preserved the saying: "If any-one wishes to come after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me." a7 Fr. Hausherr has pointed out that in the Scriptures, when abnegate, "to deny," concerns a duty, there is always the same direct object: oneself. We cannot, strictly speaking, deny ourselves; that is, negate ourselves. We cannot deny what we really are. The abnegation demanded by Christ consists in denying, or not attributing to myself, that which I am not. The great truth about myself is that I am a creature ---or better, a son---of God; negatively speaking, I am not God. This elementary negation constitutes the es-sence of abnegate, of the "denial" of oneself. It is, to be sure, an intellectual judgment on my condition as a creature, a fully free human commitment to adore and praise the God Who has entered my life. But to stop here would enclose us in the same narrow straits of rationalism that hemmed in former ascetical writers. This basic abnegation--the adoration of God---demands that I act as a creature; but it demands primarily that ~ Karl Rahner, S.J., The Christian Commitment, trans. Cecily Hastings (New York: Sheed and Ward, 1963), p. 167. l~Iren~e Hausherr, S.J., "Abnegation, renouncement, mortifica-tion," Christus, v. 22 (1959), pp. 182-95. a7 Mt 16:24. See also Mk 8:34; Lk 9:23. Mortification VOLUME 24, a965 William ]. Rewak, $.1. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS 370 my filial relationship to God, which is discerned by faith, take precedence over and therefore exclude the primacy of every purely natural reference to self, and this in consequence of the existential character of the supernatural order of redemption I am now living. Transposed into life, this principle demands acts of mortification. The commandment "to renounce" appears in only one text: "He who does not renounce all that he pos-sesses cannot be my disciple" (Lk 14:33). Christ is here again referring to all men, to whoever wishes to follow Him; it is therefore not a counsel but a command, a Christian duty. Obviously, the degree of embodiment of this renunciation will vary for every person and every state in life. Renunciation for a religious is not the same as renunciation for a layman. Although the specific command, "to renounce," does not appear elsewhere, there are related texts: "If your right eye is an occasion of sin to you, pluck it out . " (Mr 5:29); "If you wish to be perfect, sell all that you possess, give it to the poor, and come, follow me" (Mt 19:21); "And anyone who has left house, or brothers, or sisters, or father, or moth.er, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name's sake, shall receive a hundred-fold and shall possess life everlasting" (Mt 19:29). The first Matthaean text is hypothetical but is uni-versal in its application. The remaining two texts refer to those who have decided to follow the counsels, since "to leave" is not commanded, it is optional. Luke has seemed to use the same logion, but the tone is harsh: anyone comes to me and he does not hate his mother and his son and his brother and his sisters, and himself, he cannot be my disciple" (Lk 14:26). In this context, "to hate" someone is to love him less than God, or better, to discern by faith that love of the Father grounds our love for other men. "To leave" is not a duty (except in the hypothetical case of an occasion of sin); but "to hate" and "to re-nounce" are obligations which fall on every Christian, as they indicate the relation that should exist between a son and a Father. Abnegation, then, refers to the subject: my self-love will be characterized and determined by my love for the Father. Renouncement refers to the persons or things outside the subject: all created things will be loved in the Father and through the Spirit because they are ex-pressions of God's love for me. "The charity of God is poured forth in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who has been given to us" (Rom 5:5). Transposed into life, both of these principles demand acts of mortification. It is St. Paul who uses the word "mortification," and the first text we wish to examine is Col 3:5: "Therefore, mortify your members which are on earth." Some have understood this text literally to refer to punishment of the physical body. The Greek word for mortify, nekro-sate, does mean "to cause to die"; but St. Paul is not asking for the physical amputation of our members, he has too great a respect for the body: "Learn how to possess your vessel [body] in holiness and honor" (1 Th 4:4). But neither should the word be weakened to merely mean "suffer," for this, too, would have no precedent in Pauline doctrine. The word "members," then, can-not refer to our physical members; and in the context of the passage, there is an interpretation given to the word. Appearing in apposition to "members" are: "im-morality, uncleanness, lust, evil desire, and covetousness (which is a form of idol worship)" (Col 3:5). What we must put to death, what we must "mortify," are the dis-ordered affections which proceed from blunted self-love, a self-love not grounded in the Father's love, in Paul's terminology, the "flesh," sarx. Now the works of the flesh [sarx] are manifest, which are immorality, uncleanness, licentiousness, idolatry, witchcrafts, enmities, contentions, jealousies, angers, quarrels, factions, par-ties, envies, murders, drunkenness, carouslngs and such like . And they who belong to Christ have crucified their flesh with its passions and desires (Gal 5:19-21,24). The effects of selfish egoism destroy the beauty and the harmony of the Christian person. All these sins which Paul enumerates set a man against his neighbor, against God, even against himself. We must "crucify" the source of this disorder, our "flesh," in order that we may "walk in the Spirit" (Gal 5:16). Mortifying the flesh will produce the "fruit of the Spirit: charity, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faith, modesty, continency" (Gal 5: 22-3). The primacy of the spirit of charity in our lives is evidence that we have "risen with Christ": If you have risen with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Mind the things that are above, not the things that are on earth. For you have died and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, your life, shall appear, then you too will appear with him in glory. ThereIore, mortify your members . " (Col 3:1-5). Paul is inviting us to the state of mortification, in the interests of our resurrected life. "If by the spirit you put to death the deeds of the flesh, you will live" (Rom 8:13). Egdism must be mortified and sensuality curbed; then we live in the full supernatural sense. And here we begin to touch upon a basic Pauline theme. For Paul, the fundamental law of the spiritual life is a dying and a living with Christ. This occurs sacra-÷ ÷ ÷ Mortifwatlon VOLUME 24, 1965 371 4, SJ. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS 372 mentally in baptism and it is of this he speaks to the Colossians. Perhaps his most explicit statement is in the epistle to the Romans: Do you not know that all we who have been baptized into Christ Jesus have been baptized into his death? For we were buried with him by means 6f baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ has arisen from the dead through the glory of the Father, so we also may walk in newness of life" (Rom 6:3-4). The spiritual life is union with Christ; but this is a fellowship with His death and life. We die and rise again sacramentally in baptism, an invisible action which must be fully manifested and made effective in our daily lives. The sacramental, ontological change we undergo in baptism must have a corresponding effect on our moral and ascetical conduct,is Only in this way, by uniting ourselves sacramentally and ascetically to Christ's earthly activity of suffering, can we obtain a freedom from sin and our final resurrection: For his sake, I have suffered the loss of all things, and I count them as dung that I may gain Christ and be found in him not having a justice of my own which is from the Law, but that which is from faith in Christ, the justice from God based upon faith; so that I may know him and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of his suffering: become like to him in death, in the hope that somehow I may attain to the resurrection from the dead (Phil 3:8-11). Fr. F. X. Durrwell states: These texts do not say that the remission of sin is gained in virtue of the merit acquired in the past by that death---one must not water down the reality of a single word of Scripture on the ground of reason being unable to cope with it; they say that it is gained in a communion in that immolationTM. Only by entering completely into the mystery of Christ, by uniting our sufferings to His in such a way that they are no longer our sufferings but Christ's--"l bear the marks of the Lord Jesus Christ in my body" (Gal 6:lT)-~can we truly become a "new creation" (Gal fi:lS) and enter upon the glorious life awaiting us. And so a radical transformation has already taken place at baptism: "As many of you as have been baptized in Christ have put on Christ" (Gal 3:27); "You were heretofore darkness but now light" (Eph 5:8); "The law of the spirit of life, in Christ Jesus, hath delivered me from the law of sin and death" (Rom 8:2). In the Chris-tian life, however, there is a vast difference between establishing a beachhead and the full experience of ~ Concerning this Pauline theme, see Alfred Wikenhauser, Pauline Mysticism (New York: Herder and Herder, 1960), pp. 149-56; and F. X. Dun'well, In the Redeeming Christ (New York: Sheed and Ward, 1964), pp. 84-90. ~ Durrwell, In the Redeeming Christ, p. 85. victory--the pleroma. In principle, Christ's death and resurrection and our sacramental participation in it have destroyed the inevitable domination of "the lusts of the flesh" (Gal 5:16); but the possibility of sin remains. The Christian life is a life of struggle, as Paul knew so well from his own personal experience and fa'om his ex-periences with the imperfections of the early Christian communities. But Christian suffering, the appropriation in our own person of the passion and death of Christ, must reflect the same motive that inspired the exinanitio: the redemp-tion of man and of the universe. "For we the living are constantly being handed over to death for Jesus' sake, that the life also of Jesus may be made manifest in our mortal flesh. Thus death is at work in us, but life in you" (2 Cor 4:11-2). Only to the extent that what is exclusively natural in us dies can the life of Christ become manifest in us in the form of apostolic activity. The death of the apostle is the necessary condition for the life of the Church and her members. And every Christian is an apostle. Only to the extent that we "bear about in our body the dying of Jesus" (2 Cot 4:I0) can we effectively continue the redemption by applying its saving activity to men. And here we reach the basic reason for all mortification: it is an entry into the mystery of Christ, a communion in His suffering, for the purpose of prolonging His re-demption in the world through the Church. His activity in Jerusalem two thousand years ago was not ineffica-cious for the present age; He effected the transforma-tion at that point in time, but He continues it in His glorified state through the members of His Church who recapitulate in their lives His redeeming experience. "Therefore I pray you not to be disheartened at my tribulations for you, for they are your glory" (Eph 3:13). The most important statement of this theme appears in Col 1:24: "I rejoice now in the sufferings I bear for your sake, and what is lacking of the sufferings of Christ I fill up in my flesh for his body which is the Church." Paul does not mean, of course, that he must supply by his sacrifices the defects in the sufferings of the historical Christ. Interpreting "the sufferings of Christ," Fr. Benoit says they are, in general, the tribula-tions of the apostolic life;2° while Fr. Wikenhauser ap-plies them more personally, stating they are Paul's own sufferings.21 These interpretations do not do injustice to Paul's thought; as he says elsewhere, "the sufferings ~o Pierre Benoit, "L'Epitre aux Colossiens," Bible de Jdrusalem (Paris: Cerf, 1959), p. 60, footnote (b). m Wikenhauser, Pauline Mysticism, p. 161. ÷ ÷ Mortification VOLUME 37~ of Christ abound in us" (2 Cor 1:5), meaning his own sufferings. At any rate, all reputable scholars agree with the general tenor of the text: Paul, and all Christians, must express in their lives Christ's passion and death for the salvation of the members of the Mystical Body, the Church. Quite simply, "they live no longer for them-selves" (2 Cot 5:15). And this salvation of the Body of Christ is a source of great joy for Paul, a joy that is a participation in the Resurrection: "For our present light affliction, which is for the moment, prepares for us an etei-nal weight of glory that is beyond all measure" (2 Cot 4:17). Com-munion with Christ in His death necessarily means com-munion in His Resurrection, for this too is the moral and ascetical prolongation of baptism. The Resurrection should be lived, as mortification and suffering are lived. The apostle is a man of joy: "For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so also through Christ does our comfort abound" (2 Cor 1:15). It is in the letter to the Philippians, written during a harsh and humiliating im-prisonment, that Paul overflows with joy--a word that appears in this epistle eleven times because of the fellowship he experiences with his converts who them-selves have endured suffering for the sake of the gospel: "I have you in my heart, all of you, alike in my chains, and in the defense and confirmation of the gospel, as sharers in my joy" (Phil 1:7). In summary, Paul puts great emphasis on the mystical and sacramental fellowship in Christ that is effected at baptism; but he is equally insistent that Christians must foster in their lives a personal relationship founded on imitation--and this can only be done by re-experienc-ing Christ's life, performing the same redeeming activity He performed. To be one with Him in glory, we must be one with Him in suffering. This is the only way we know, the only way given to us by which we can be saved: "If anyone wishes to come after me, let him deny him-self, take up his cross and follow me" (Mr 16:24). III. Some Conclusions ÷ ÷ + William I. Rewak, Sd. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS And what then is mortification? Most basically, it is a state of having died with Christ so that we may live with him, We must make more explicit, however, a dis-tinction which until now has only been implied: St. Paul is speaking primarily about absolute mortification, the state we all must enter as a result of our communion in baptism with Christ. Every Christian is called to this state; and the requirements are the same: the "putting to death" of the disordered inclinations and affections that are ours as a result of original sin.2~ We do not "mortify" the body, properly speaking; we mortify our flesh, sarx, the urge we possess to disassociate our in-terests from God's interests. And we do this that through us the Body of Christ, the Church, may live the Res-urrection more fully. But a problem remains. For this absolute principle of the spiritual life must be appropriated by each Chris-tian and embodied in his daily life. The acts of mortifi-cation, therefore, by which we make St. Paul's principle our constant concern, we term relative mortification. For these acts are always relative, to our state in life, to the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, and to the force of the disordered affections which remain in us. It is this we are concerned with now and it is under this heading we discuss selpchosen, freely imposed mortifica-tion. We live as members of a Church; all our Christian acts are ecclesiological--through, with, and in the struc-ture Christ set up for our sanctification. The existence of sin in any one of its members stops the flow of grace in a particular area and impedes there the growth of the Christ-life. Mortification does serve, then, as punishment for sin and as a deterrent against future sin, as the manuals have pointed out; but sin must be seen in the context of the Mystical Body, of charity: "For you have been called to liberty, brethren; only do not use liberty as an occasion for sensuality, but by charity serve one another" (Gal 5:13). We mortify our disordered affec-tions so that nothing will hinder us from entering into a meaningful dialogue with God and with our neighbor. We must make of our lives a dynamic redemption--a redemption that is continued through our Christian acts of prayer and mortification, in the Church, for mankind. It is in the light of this Christian experience, for example, that we seek the meaning of reparation. Acts directed to reparation are performed principally to further the penetration of the Christ-life in the members of the Church: the Church suffering and the Church militant. They are intended to "repair" the damage done by sin, to heal the wounds which Christ--in His members m St. Ignatius of Loyola insists that a "disordered affection" is an affection which does not take into account the action of God in our life. To mortify this affection, (I) w~ starve it by not allowing it to exercise its influence and (2) we pray that God may change this af-fection. It is obvious how important Ignatius considered both the initiative and the decisive influence of God's action in us; for this reason he puts great emphasis on the necessity of prayer when troubled by "inordinate attachments." See Spiritual Exercises, Nos. 16, 157. ÷ ÷ ÷ Mortit~ation VOLUME Z4, 1965 375 ÷ ÷ William J. Rewak, Sd. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS --has suffered, to open the channels of sanctification that we all may live healthy, grace-filled lives. Christ does not suffer, but His members do: the loss of grace, caused by the power of sin. The dialogue must be re-established, and our acts of mortification do effect, in ourselves and in our neighbor, through the mercy of God, the resurgence of the Christ-life. For within the mystery of the Mystical Body, there is room for mutual help--and this in the sphere of grace alone. This re-vealed fact in itself attests to the mysterious character of the organic union of this Body: "For we the living are constantly being handed over to death for Jesus' sake, that the life also of Jesus may be made manifest in our mortal bodies. Thus death is at work in us, but li[e in you" (2 Cor 4:11-2). But many Christians, agreeing with the general nec-essity of mortification, point to the apostolate, as we have indicated, as source enough of that "dying" Paul insists we must undergo for ourselves and our brothers in Christ. Failure in the apostolate, the limitations of our personality in dealing with others, the rejection of love, the inability to be effective--these are real crosses to be borne by every apostle. They point also to the one great abiding mortifica-tion, the acceptance of personal death. Karl Rahner has said: We have only to recall that death, as an act of man, is pre-cisely that event which gathers up the whole of the personal human life of the individual into one consummation. We have only, too, to recall, as Eutychius (A.D. 582) said, that there oc-curs "pragmatically" in death what had occurred mystically at the sacramental heights of Christian experience, in Baptism and in the Eucharist, namely our assimilation to the death of the Lord.~ And the death of the Lord was not an easy one. But self-chosen mortification, we affirm, performs ex-actly the same function, and that is one of the reasons it is so necessary. Just as personal death demands activity on the part of the Christian, so should our mortification, for mortification prepares us for and establishes a begin-ning and an acceptance of our final assimilation to the death of the Lord. Acceptance of suffering, of the crosses meted out to us in our apostolate, has great value; but it does not reach the depths of the personality as our self-chosen acts do. It is easier to accept .the loss of something we hold dear than to throw it away of ourselves. The blame can al-ways be put on circumstance, on someone else, even on God; and this is a consoling thought, for it is hard to ~a Karl Rahner, S.J., On the Theology of Death (New York: Herder and Herder, 1964), p. 77. blame ourselves, to freely commit ourselves to a dying in Christ. Penances imposed from without are .not free from the nonchalance and superficiality of routine. What may pass for a religious act may often be unthinking obedience. As Fr. Rahner says: One has only to have heard something, however little, about depth psychology, repression, substitution, self-deception, etc., to have to agree that thousands of "religious" and "moral" acts can take place in man which are induced by training, imitation, suggestion, mere instruction from without and a "good will" which does not reach to the real kernel of the person; acts which are not really religious acts because they do not stem from that level of personality, supernaturally elevated and ab-solutely individual, whose free fulfillment they must be if they are to signify, before God, the creation of an eternally valid life?' To maturely and effectively create a situation in which I turn back upon myself the hand of penance and deal a death-blow to self-love, is a fearful thing. Self-love is frightened of it; but self-love, inasmuch as it opposes God's interests and plans for me, must be hammered, molded, that a "new man" might appear whose affections are ordered to one end: that the Lord may appear in us. This creation of an act of mortification, then, reaches profound depths; it engages the whole personality, calls for a personal commitment that acceptance of suffering alone cannot command. What St. Paul calIs sarx--"im-morality, uncleanness, lust, evil desire and covetousness" (Col 3:5)---is rooted out only with dogged and ruthless persistence. "This kind can be cast out only by prayer and fasting" (Mk 9:18). Those who would reject all forms of mortification are, unwittingly, Platonists--any of the forms of false Gnosticism--for they make of us angels who do not need to be on the offensive against attacks of the "flesh"; they would not subscribe to a real Incarnation. Freely-chosen acts of mortification do prepare us for death because they anticipate it; but they also prepare us for the moral and physical suffering which we have admitted will be ours in the apostolate. There is no question of will power here: performing ten acts of morti-fication will not make my will ten times stronger than it was. It does increase our faith, our insight into the suffering Christ as He appears in mankind. We cannot make quick improvisations when Christ approaches in the sufferings we have not chosen. If we have begged for the grace of faith--for that is what we do when we "practice" mortification--it will not be lacking when the crosses He has prepared for us appear. To recognize Christ, where He is and who He is, is the fruit of a life of faith; this does not come full-blown from our hearts; it is the result of much hard labor. The Christian Commitment, p. 88. + + Mortification VOLUME 24, 1965 William ~. Rewak, SJ. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS Besides, Christ has given us an example. It is surely not a coincidence that before His public life He fasted and prayed in the desert for forty days. This unique and signal attention to the Father for the good of men is our invitation to imitate Christ at this salvific moment of His life. We need not retire to the desert, conceived of as a geographical place. But the inner quiet, the fast-ing, doing battle with each one's personal "devil" re-stores an equilibrium that leaves us docile to the inspira-tions of the Spirit. Some type of solitude is necessary for every Christian, be he a contemplative, a diocesan priest, a lay apostle, or the busy parent of a large family. This solitude will take different forms, dictated by the person's own. spiritual potential, the age he lives in, the labors he must perform as a citizen in a highly complex social and economic structure. But some type of inner quiet seems mandatory for true growth in the Christian spirit: Solitude is a terrible trial, for it serves to crack open and burst apart the shell of our superficial securities. It opens out to us the unknown abyss that we all carry within us. And. soli-tude discloses the fact that these abysses are haunted: it is not only the depths of our own soul, unknown to us, that we dis-cover, but the obscure powers that are as it were lurking there, whose slaves we must inevitably remain as long as we are not aware of them. In truth, this awareness would destroy us, if it were not illuminated by the light of faith. Only Christ,, can open out to us with impunity "the mystery of iniquity, be-cause he alone, in us today as ]or us in the past, can confront it successfully.~ ~Bouyer, Spirituality, p. 313. Apropos of the "flight into the desert," Father Bouyer is at pains to dispel the misconceived notions surrounding the early Christian hermits. They were not inspired by net-Platonic spirituality; on the contrary, he states, there was nothing more evangelical than their primary motivation. Speaking of St. Antony, he says, "Anchoritism did not make Antony a con-templative unconcerned with the fate of his brothers; it made him a spiritual father beyond all others" (p. 315). He quotes the beautiful passage ~rom the Vita of St. Antony where, after twenty years, friends break down the hermit's door in their enthusiasm to be with him and to imitate him. This is what they find: "Antony came out, as one initiated into the mysteries in the secret of the temple and inspired by a divine breath. Thus, for the first time, those who had come saw him. They were lost in wonder: his aspect had remained the same; he was neither fat from lack of physical exercise nor emaciated by his fastings and struggle against the demons, but just as they had known him before his withdrawal. Spiritually pure, he was neither shrunken with regret nor swollen with pleasure; in him neither laughter nor sadness; the multitude did not trouble him, having so many people greeting him gave him no excessive joy: always equal to himself, governed by reason, natural" (p. 314). Antony recognized that solitude allowed him to discover the obscure forces he had within himself and to discover the means to cast these forces out. Solitude was not an end in itself: it was a victory of one Spirit over the others that made him seek it. "Men can no longer tempt him, separate him from God. On the contrary, it is he who now finds himself in a position to guide them, to lead them to God. Here Mortification in the form of a retreat, in the form of fasting, became a part of Christ's plan of the redemp-tion; we can do no better than to make it a part of the role we play in the redemption¯ And this is surely the key: by mortification we enter into the Christ-mystery. We become His Body, resuming in our lives His redemptive acts, pleading with the Father for the salvation of man; for mortification is a language, not a sign. It is a response to a Person who has initiated a dialogue with me through baptism and the sacraments and through His reve~led Word. God's action in history is a word to me now; I can only trespond by placing myself before Him as His son, by per~forming acts which indicate my willingness to accept His love, to treat Him as Father¯ I accept Him as the bes.t part of my life, the whole of my life. This is prayer, of course; and mortification, as a language, is an essent, al part of my prayer life. All of my acts as a Christian. are a prayer, and they all contribute to the consolation I should experience--as a Christian--in formal~ prayer. The formal prayer itself fills the reservoirs of f~ith and love, just as formal, self-chosen acts of moruficatlon do, so that my effectiveness in the Mystical Body, through Christ in me, is increased a hundredfold. My formal mortification will result in lived mortification. I The af-fections become ordered, their false security uhmasked by a judicious use of corporal and spiritual p.enances, and the inmost person is calmly and confidently la~d open to receive God's Word. I It must not be forgotten, however, that theseI acts are relative to my present insertion into the mystery of Christ; and so all must be ruled by an expertl discern-ment of spirits. To codify too carefully pemtentlal prac-tices in the novitiate, for example, destroys the'ir mean-ing and their effectiveness; it stultifies ~nventlveness and I often just creates matter for humorous stones. Young religious, no less than young lay people, must be edu-cated in the reality of sin in their lives, in the part they must play in salvation history; and only in this way, I ¯ through the direction of a wise spiritual father, ,will they discover the path of mortification which is suitable to them. result Uniformity of ascetical practices is often the~ of pragmatic spirituality. If everybody performs an act of mortification at a certain time in a predetermaned way, there is an implied assurance that all are r~ortifying themselves. This is hardly the case. St. Ignatius, la mystic who was keenly aware of the value of acts of Oortifica-anchoritism reveals how httle it is a way of escaping from charity. On the contrary, ~t ~s simply the means of effectively ga~m.ng integral charity" (p. 315). ÷ ÷ Mortification VOLUME 24, 1965 379 ÷ William ]. Rewak~ sd. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS 380 tion, refused to set down any rules governing their performance: ¯. it does not seem good that in those things which regard ~Pgnsr,a ywear,t cmheindigtast iaonnd a ondth setru dayu,s oter rciotirepso,r aaln eyx reurclies essh souuclhd abse f alasti-d down for them except that which a discreet charity will dictate to each: provided, nevertheless, that their confessor is always consulted . ~ It is for this reason some countries and dioceses have cur-tailed or abolished the fasting rules. This action does not indicate the depreciation of the value of penance; it has been made obvious that the Christian obligation of penance now devolves upon the individual who, guided by the Holy Spirit and insured against error by the advice of his confessor, will perform more spontaneously and therefore more effectively the penitential practices suitable for him.27 It is not necessary that mortification be identified with corporal austerities, though these will ordinarily be useful to some extent. The best way 0f seeking mortifica-tion is in the sphere of human relations. There is much need here for broadening the scope of our penitential practices: seeking the solutions to others' problems, standing up for others' rights in the face of ridicule, intelligent obedience to legitimate authority--being a Christian individual, in other words, in a world where conformity is a despotic fashion. Father David Stanley says this was the real mistake of the Judaizers: they could not be Christian individuals in a society which con-sidered the cross of Christ a folly and a stumbling-block.~ s "As many as wish to please in the flesh compel you to be circumcised simply that they may not suffer persecution for the cross of Christ" (Gal 6:12). The state of mortification is a state of love; for love is the source of the dialogue that takes place between ~".non videtur in iis quae ad orationem, meditationem et studium pertinent, ut nec in corporali exercitatione ieiuniorum, vigiliarum aut aliarum return ad austeritatem vel corporis casti-gationem spectantium, ulla regula eis praescribenda, nisi quam discreta caritas unicuique dictaverit; dum tamen semper Confessarius consulatur . " Constitutions o! the Society of Jesus, P. VI, c. 3, n. 1 08~). ~ See Paul J. Bernadicou, $.J., "Penance and Freedom," R~vmw FOR Ra~LIOIOUS, v. 23 (1964), pp. 418-9, Father Bernadicou writes with conviction and persuasiveness of the need for expert spiritual guid-ance in the sphere of mortification. Karl Rahner applies this same principle of each one's unique entrance into and expression of the mystery of Christ to the problem of the relation between the indi-vidual and the Church, and here also insists upon the application of the discernment of spirits. See "The Individual and the Church," Nature and Grace, trans. Dinah Wharton (London: Sheed and Ward, 1963). ~ David Stanley, s.J., Christ's Resurrection in Pauline Soteriology (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1961)0 p. 78. man and God and results in man's response of faith, prayer, and acts of mortification. Love is forgetfulness of self because of the neighbor who is loved with the charity of Christ, and what else but this is an act of true penance? Kenunciation, then, cannot but be an exer-cise in joy, for where there is love, there is joy. Our self-chosen acts of mortification, performed at times in great spiritual unrest, are tokens of confidence: Man implicitly recognizes that he does not know where his true happiness lies and that it is hidden from him, but God knows it ~or him. He perceives it through the signs which reveal it to him: the escape from Egypt, the land of slavery, the crossing of the desert under God's guidance, the hope which dwelt in the heart of the wandering host making its way to the Promised Land. The desert is the apprenticeship of an austere joy which is like the dawn on the horizon of conscience.~ We do share in Christ's resurrection, having shared in his death; and consolation will ever be the keynote of authentic Christian experience. But the fullness of joy is not yet ours for we live in the eschatological age, an age of tension between time and eternity, hope and fulfillment. Acts of mortification take on, in this con-text, the character of witness. Asceticism is the eschato-logical attitude of the Church, an attitude that is most acute in religiou
Issue 46.6 of the Review for Religious, November/December 1987. ; Self-Awareness and Ministry Gender, History, and Liturgy Humanity's Humble Stable God's Love Is Not Utilitarian Volume 46 Number 6 Nov./Dec. 1987 Rv:vw.w t:o~ R~,~olous (ISSN 0034-639X), published eve~ two months, is edited in collaboration with lhe faculty members of the Department of Theological Studies of St. Lx~uis University. The edito-rial offices are located at Room 428:3601 Lindell Blvd.: St. Louis, MO. 63108-3393. R~vu-:w ~:o~ R~:.~.~t~ous is owned by the Missouri Province Educational Institute of the Society of Jesus, St. Louis, MO. Ol987 by R~-:wt.:w ~:o~ R~.~.~ous. Single copies $2.50. Subscriptions: U.S.A. $11.00 a year: $20.00 for two years. Other countries: add $4.00 per year (surface mail); airmail (Book Rate): $18.00 per year. For subscription orders or change of address, write: R~:v~v:w roa R~:t.mmtts: P.O. Box 6070; Duluth, MN 55806. Philip C. Fischer, S.J. Dolores Greeley, R.S.M. Iris Ann Ledden, S.S.N.D. Richard A. Hill, S.J. Jean Read M. Anne Maskey, O.S.F. Acting Editor Associate Editor Review Editor Contributing Editor Assistant Editors Nov./Dec. 1987 Volume 46 Number 6 Manuscripts, books for review and correspondence with the editor should be sent to wm R~:t.t(:totJs; Room 428; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Correspondence about the department "Canonical Counsel" should be addressed to Rich-ard A. Hill, S.J.; J.S.T.B.; 1735 LeRoy Ave., Berkeley, CA 94709. Back issues and reprints should be ordered from R~:vt~:w wm R~:tot~;totJs; Room 428; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. "Out of print" issues and articles not published as reprints are available from University Microfilms International; 300 N. Zeeb Rd.; Ann Arbor, MI 48106. A major portion of each issue is also available on cassette recordings as a service for the visually impaired. Write to the Xavier Society for the Blind; 154 East 23rd Street; New York, NY 10010. Four Ecclesial Problems Left Unresolved Since Vatican II Martin R.Tripole, S.J. Father Tripole is an associate professor of th.eology at St. Joseph's University; Phila-delphia, Pennsylvania ! 913 !. He,wrote "Suffering with the Humble Chi'ist" for the March,April 1981 issue of this periodical. Catholic scholars have been.talking about crisis in the Catholic Church for so long a time now that almost everyone has gotten used to it. In fact, too many people have been saying there is a crisis for anyone to ignore the situation. But not everyone uses the term. It depends on whom you tall~ to. Until recently, the higher you went in the Church, the less likely you were to find admission of crisis. For example, Bishop Ja~mes Malone of Youngstown, Ohio, former president of the National conference of Catho-lic Bishops, submitted a report to the Vatican in the summer of 1985 on the state of the Church. in the United States since Vatican II, a report made in preparation for the Extraordinary Synod of Bishops that met in Rome November 25-December 8, 1985.:In his. report, Bishop Malone stated the Church in the United S(ates is "basically sound." The bishop made no mention of cri~is; instead he talked of "confusion" and "abuses" and "false ideas'" and "diffiC'ulties" in various areas of church life.~ While many praised th~report, it was also criticized as "looking at the Church in the United States through 'rose-colored glasses.' "2 But another high-level member of the clergy has no difficulty speak-ing of crisis. Joseph Cardinal' Ratzinger,. prefect of the Sacred Congre-gation for the Doctrine of the Faith, surely one of themost powe~rful of-ficials in tlie Vatican, made the ~tiscussion of crisis in the Church today 801 Review for Religious, November-December, 1987 the c.entr~l theme of his Ratzinger Report. This 1985' publicati6r~ of an exclusive interview given to an Italian journalist caught the attention of everyone and produced much controversy, in'view of the cardinal's strong views on the Church, as well as the fact that he published them just before the extraordinary synod was to be held. Ratzinger and his in-terviewer discourse at length on "a crisis of faith and of the Church," of "an identity crisis" in priests and religious, a "crisis of trust in the dogma," a "crisis of confidence in Scripture," a crisis "of the moral-ity. "In his summation of "the gravity of the crisis" in the Church since Vatican II, Ratzinger's tone is markedly different from Bishop Malone's. The interviewer cites views written by Ratzinger ten years earlier and con-firmed by him for the Report as still valid: It is incontestable that the last ten years have been decidedly unfavor-able for the Catholic Church . What the popes and the Couhcil Fa-thers were expecting was a new,Catholic unity, and instead one has en-countered a dissension which--to use the words of Paul Vl--seems to have pasg~d over from self-criticism to self-destruction . it has ended in boredom and discouragement . one found oneself facing a progressive process of decadence . [and] erroneous paths whose catastrophic consequences are already incontestable.3 Nevertheless, when the bishops came together at the extraordinary synod, they spoke of sharing in "mankind's present crisis and dramas" and of the "spiritual crisis., so many people feel" today, but not of an, y crisis of the Church as such. Less exfflt6d Catholic leaders, theologians, and publishers readily speak of crisis in the Church. The Rev. Robert Johnson, president of the National Federation of Priests' Councils, in 1985 stated: Priesthood is in crisis. The vocation of the ordained priest is not what it used to be. The data tells us that. Our own experience tells us that also. There is a crisis in numbers. At its zenith in 1970, the diocesan priesthood .in the United States numbered some 37,000. By the year 2000, it is estimated that this population will be 16,000 or 17,000. This would represent a declin.e of some 54%. i in the year 2000 we will have roughly the same number of priests we had in 1925. Meanwhile, the people we were ordained to serve will have quadrupled.4 Edward C. Herr, in a report on "The State of the Church," in 1985 stated that, whereas in a similar report in 1983 there were "hopes that a relatively stableoand tranquil period" was about to arrive in the Church, he must now report those hopes were "naive," that "the tensions and turmoil have increased and show no signs of ebbing."4A He reports the Four Ecclesial Problems recent findings of Dr. William J. McCready, program director of the Uni-versity of Chicago's National Opinion Research Center (NORC), that "a third of the 52 million Roman Catholics in America rarely or never go to church."5 Herr cites an article by James Hitchcock, professor of his-tory at St. Louis University, which lis~ed a catalo~g of ~'problems facing the Church in America" today: REligious orders openly pro.moting dissent Official Church agencies providing platforms for dissent ~"Radical redefinition of the traditional religious vows" Tolerance of "known violations" of chlibacy Growing influence of "militant homosexual network" in seminaries and religious orders Almost total collapse of seminary discipline "Probably a large majority of Catholic colleges hnd universities have become bffectively secular" Widespread deviations from "official liturgical norms" Majority of Catholic students no longer receive an adequate grounding in their faith Bishops and priests "largely refrain from teaching ,, disputed doctrines.' ,6 ~' Herr also reports the views of Richard Schoenherr, soc'iologist and asso-ciate dean at the University of Wisconsin at Madison in 1985, on "a cri-sis for the Church by the year 2000." Acc6rding to Herr, Schoenherr presents ~ a bleak picture of the Church-at the turn of the century. Opportunities to attend Mass will be fewer since each priest will have to serve 4,000 Catholics in a burgeoning Church; laity,.tired of a subordinate position in the Church, will withdraw from active leadership while those who do continue to serve will be laden with greater responsibility . There will be "an organizational crisis of immense proportion," accord-ing to Schoenherr, with an "ehormous youth drain in theministry," and with more "resigned" than active priests in the United States.7 Norbertine Father Alfred McBride, president of the University of Al-buquerque, also predicts a "ministry crisis" in 2000. He foresees a to-tal of 30,000 priests serving. 65 million Catholics.8 Finally., novelist Mor-ris West, author of many best-sellers on (~atholicism, is reported as see-ing the possibility of "a silent schism" in the Church of the future, as a result of "a defection of millioi~s by a-slow decline into indiffer-ence. ' ,9 Review, for Religious, November-December, 1987 The fact is: there has been talk of a crisis in the Church ever since the '60's--that per_iod which constitutes a kind of a turning point.in the life of the modern Church. That decade, from which date many of the issues whi~c,h 'trouble~the American Church today was equally a problemati~ decade for American society in gene,ra~l., and indeed for the world. In fact, the world is "officially" in a state of crisis---~f sorts. The bishops told us that at Vatican II when they stated the "human race is passing through a.new stag~ 0fits history" where it is undergoing "a true social and cultural transformation" causing a "crisis of gro~vth. "~0 The modern world is experiencing "new foLoas of social and p~sychologi-cai slavery" as well as "imbalances" that lead to "Mutual distrust, en-mities, conflicts, an~'hardships" (~audium el spes 4, 8). According to the bishops, this situation of crisis inevitably "has repercussions on man's religious life as~ well": it cause,s "spiritual agitation,"4"many peo-ple are shaken" in their convictions, and '~growing humbers~ of people are abandoning religion fin pr~actice" .(GS 5, 7). Later in the _same docu-ment, though in the context of a discussion on war and peace, the bish-ops speak of "the whole human family" as having "reached an hour of supreme crisis in its advance toward maturity" (GS 77). While the bishops at Vatican II did not go so far as to say directly that the Church was in a state of crisis, they certainly meant to say that the Church shared in the~crisis situation of the'world in ggneral. It was not long after, however, that writers.started speaking directly, of a crisis in the Church. We may note only a few. Father Andrew Greeley loudly proclaimed that as a fact in an important series of articles he published in diocesan newspapers in 1976; entitled "The Crisis in American Ca-tholicism" (and later in a book entitled Crisis in the Church),~ but the idea of ,the Church. in crisis had already quietly come into standard con-sideratiOn or was .soon to do so through the writings of such renowned historians, scrilSture scholars, and theologians as Raymond Brown, S.S. (B~blical Reflections on Crises Facing the C. hurch),~2 Richard P. McBr~en (he speaks of the "pre.sent crisis within the Catholic Church" in The Remaking oft~ Churcl~),~3 Avery Dulles, S.J. (fie sl~eaks of a "crisis of identity" in the Church in The Resilient Church), 14 and David J. O'Brien (h611spe~iks of the '~Catholic crisis," the "American crisis," and "an age Of crisis" in The Renewal of A. merican Catholicism).~5 Statistical~d~ta since the end of Vatican II--th~e latest reports of An-drew Greeley's National °Opinion Research Center in Chicago,~6 from George Gallup Jr.'s continuing analysis of the state of the Catholic Church in America,~7 and from the Notre Dame Study of Catholic Par- Four Ecclesial Problems /805 ish Life~8--provide overwhelming evidence, as far as statistical data is able to do so, that the American Catholic Church is in a state of crisis. ¯ Evidence: American Catholics no longer accept official teaching of the Church simply,on the basis of the fact that it is official teaching; Catho-lics no lbnger go to church, as much as ~hey used to, to fulfill their Sun-day obligation or from ~i sense of duty; they ~ai'e not contributing to the sti~iport of the Church.in a way consonant with their earnings; they are o~penly criticizing the Chui'ch in a way" that seems to i'epresent a new ¯ sense ol~ independence over agains~t the institutional Church" and its offi- Cial teachers. What is going on, and when will it end? Causes of Crisis Since Vatican II ,Numerous publications have been~ritteri since Vatican II seeking to determine the causes of the crisis Which has beset the Church since~that time. The fact is, the ca~iases are manifold, and only a, lhrge t0ine could hope to anal~,ze and cover them all thoroughl)~. What I attempt here is -'C0: fbcus on what I shall call four unresolved antinomi~ek which are re-flected in the thinking and practices of the Church since Va[i~an II. My point is to argue that the bishops at Vatican II not o~nly were aware o,f, but shgred in,. the theologically, antinomous viewpoints which have largely served to. polarize the Church sin.ce~ the end of the Council.° Though there is~ some exaggera~tion in categorizing these viewpoints quite simplyas conservative/traditionalist and liberal/progressivist, I shall do that for want of better terms, and also because the viewpoints do .tend to be of these two types. Though these terms have a political and ideo-logical connotation, their use here is not meant to imply that. What we,mean.by the use of these terms is that there are two oppos-ing movements working in the Church today. The first is inclined to want ,to preserve elements today which were also characteristic of the life of the Chtirch ~before Vatican II,-elements such as hierarchical authority, clerical priority, and institutional identity;~the second is more inclined toward~elements which arose in the life of the Church since Vatican II, elements such as democratic~procedures, equality of membership, unity based on shared convictions and shared authority. ,Neither group is. to-tally opposed to the values identified with the other, except at the outer fringes. Thus~extreme traditionalists---c~illed reactionaries wish no part of what~the Church since Vatican II has come to be identified with; ex-treme liberals~alled radicals--reject automatically whatever was promi-nent in the Church before Vatican II and yearn for a congregationalist type of community. For the larger membership in both groups, the prob- Review for Religious, November-December, 1987 lem is mainly one of emphasis: which set of values, which viewpoint should ,be the dominant one in the .life of the Church?. That question of emphasis is a serious one. In spite of the fact that it is only a question of emphasis, it leads in practice to polarization. Re-cent events in .the .life of the Church.have increased this experience of polarization rather than diluted it, mainly because the traditionalist camp, which had largely fallen into the ~silent majority in ~the Church .in the post- Vatican II peri0d, has gained a new sense of power in the last ten yehr~s. The struggle between these two, groups is now, in my opinion, at the most intense point of conflict the Church has felt since the early pp,s~t- Vatican II days of the Church. What, if anything, can be done to reduce this polarization? I wish in this article only to point to what I consider the four major areas of po-larization which were left unresolved by Vatican II. They continue to re-main largely unresolved by the post-Vatican II Church, even after the Ex-traordinary Synod of 1985, and they need to be resolved before the po-larization can b6 overcome:~I~ t me discuss each of these areas singly_, and at some length:. Saci~ed ~vs."Si~cular ' The" Catholic Church has had a strong sense of social responsibility throughout the modern era., as shown in a history of concern forrectify-ing inhumane workihg conditions, unjust wages, and unfair labor prac- .tices, starting at least with Leo XIII's Rerum Novarum: On the Condi-tioh of Workers (1891). Nevertheless, there is no doubt that a new and profound theological significance has been given to the role of the Church in regard to such matters since Vatican II. Prior to Vatican II, social activity was generally considered to be peripheral to the primary ¯ work o(the Church, to administer the s~icraments and preach the gospel of salvation in Christ. With Vatican II, the Church seemed to be saying that the .social apostolate was as important to the life of the Church as these two other activities. .A major transformation in the relationship of the Church to the world got underway at Vatican II. The .Chur~hnow saw itself not only right-fully but also dutifully bound to bring the insight and power of the gos-pel into the .arena of world problems, in the hope of changing th~ un-holy conditibns and direction of the life'of the world from within. Church concern for such issues was obvious ifi the countless conventions and publicat!ons on social, political, and moral issues that sprang up in the post-Vatican II era. Most notable was the conference by the Latin Ameri-can bishops at Medellin, Colombia, in 1968, which registered a strong Four Ecclesial Problems / 807 commitment by Latin American bishops to Overcoming the problems of the poor and oppressed in their countries; and the international Synod of Bishops in Rome in 1971, which published the historic document Jus-tice in the World, which, "Scrutinizing the signs of the times.ai~d seek-ing to detect the meaning of emerging history," concluded that "Ac-tion on behalf of justice and participation in the transformation of the world fully appear to us as a constitutive dimension of the preaching of the Gospel, or, in other words, of the Church's mission for the redemp-tion of the human race and its liberation from every oppressive situ-ation." 19 One of the 9learest examples of how important the new thrust into social and political matters would be forthe American Church may be seen from a 1981 publication of the U.S. Catholic Conference enti-tledA Compendium of Statements of the United States Catholic Bishops on the Political and Social Order. It takes 487 pages to cover the docu-ment~ ition from 1966 .to 1980, which includes statements on "war and peace, development, and human rights," as ~eil as "~tbo~tion, birth con-trol, Call to Action (the U.S. Bishops' Bic~htennial Consultation on So-cial Justice), crime'and punishment, economic issues, family life, free-dom of religion, housing, immigrants, labor disputes, minorities, race, rural America, and television."2° More recently the United States bish-ops have taken forthright and controversial stands ori the matters of war and peace and the American economy,'the former in their pastoral.letter The Challenge of Peace: God's Promise~and Our Response (May 3, 1983), the latter in their Economic Justice foroAll~" Catholic Social Teach-ing and the U.S. Economy (November 13, 1986). In each case the bish-ops argue to. the implications of the gospel message, singling out the im-morality of nuclear warfare or the scandalous operations, in the Ameri-can economic system. The full implications of these strong teachings have yet to be determined. ~, All of this would be cause fo'~ unmitigated joy, were it not for the fact that with. this new emphasis UpiSn the social implications of the Gos-pel, something transcendent in the' gospel teaching may have been lost. One :of the major problems in the life of the.Church since Vatican II, according to the bishops at the Extraordinary Synod of 1985, has been the lack of recognition and acceptance of a sacral or theological depth to the Churcti's life--what the synod calls the "mystery" of the Church. The bishops .take responsibility for the fact that this dimension of Churcfi life has been undermined, especially among young people, by a too secu-lar conception of the .Church as a mere human institution. The bishops assert: ~ I~Oll / Review for Religious~ ~November-December, 1987 , a unilateral'presentation of:the 13hurch as a purely institutional structure devoid of her mx.stery has been made. We~are probably not immune from all respon, sibility for th.e fact that, especially the young consider the Chur~ch a pure institution. Have we not perhaps favored this opinion in them by speaking ~too much of the i'enewal Of the Church's external struc-tures and too little of God a'hd of Christ? The bisl~ops admit ~that in their eagerness to open the. Church to the ~,orld they h, ave~qot suffici,ently di~tinguishe.d legitimate openness to the world from a secularization of the Church by the world: From time to time there has also been a lack of the~discernment of spir-' its, with~the failure to correctly distinguish between a legitimate open-ness of the council to the world and ~the acceptance of a secularized ¯ world's mentality and order of~values, . . . An easy accommodation that could lead to the secularizmion of the Church is to be excluded. /(ls0 excluded is an immobile closing in upon itself of the community of the faithful. Affirmed instead is a'missionary openness for the inte-gral salvation of the wo~ld.21 ~ Part of the problem has been the Church's eagerness to,enter the social arena with calls for social justice. While it is vital to the Church to em-phasize ~an active concern for social issues, the Church's concern for these issues should not become so great that it loses sight of .the fact that its deepest life is lived in "mystery" as the Church o_f God, and that the Church is ultimately made,up of the community"of the redeemed in Christ serving his mission of salvation: The primary mission of the Church, under the impulse of the Holy Spirit, is to preach and to witness to the good and joyftil news of the election, the mercy and the charity of God which manifest themselves in salvation history, which through Jesus Christ reach their culmination in the fullness of time and which communicate and offer salvation to man by virtue of the Holy Spir.it. Christ is,the light of humanity. The Church, proclaiming the Gospel, must see to it that this light clearly shines out from her.countenance (ibid., p. 446). Social activism without that sacral 'dimension risks becoming purely secu-lar and human; such activity is totallymconsistent with the life of the Church, however good such acti~ism might otherwise be. To the extent that secularization in its various forms has happened in theChurch since Vatican II, something.inconsistent with what the Church should be arisen .in the community. To restore, a proper~balance, the Church .needs.to'reaffirm the primacy of its religious commitment, and to let that commitment shine before the Four, ,Ecclesial Problems, world.Only.,in the clarity of that commitment conveyed to the.world through its members is it able to seek effective ways of changing the world. These in turn must see themselves as having a primary mission to prove to the world the validityof the sacra~l o trranscendent dimen-sion of life as conveyed in the mission of Chrisi. ~n this respecti0ne not ov~erestimate the importance of Vatican II's and' the s~,nod's ne~ly developed and reaffirmed theology 6f the~ laity~ by Which thdrole of the laity in the.promotion of Christian and human values in.,the wo~ld is heightened ai~d theologically validated. Christians need also to find a way to counte~ract, the.increasing intru-sion ~of the power of the secul.ar into their. 9wn lives. To my mind, there is.no ,way for the Church more dramatically and decisively to restore the primacy, of the faith experience to Christian diving than emphatically to reassert its importance in the personal commi,tment to Christ. The "pas-sion"-, for Christ and the commitme~.t, to God's plan for the world in Christ .have too often been put on the back burner as we enter into the discussion of the problems of the world and seek to resolve them from within, using the naturalistic and,humanistic standards and instruments of action the world is often quite willing at least in,the~i~y to accept. But these are not enough for the Church. We must once again~become "p.as-sionately" committed to Christ and his purposes, and openly manifest to the world that it is primarily these for ~tii~h we stand, If the transcendent dimension, to life is rea!ly crucial to the well-being of the world and~therefore must bepreserved, it will have to come from deeply religiously-committed Christians. For them to be found in any great number, however, a new zeal for Christ and his purposes must be restored. The Church, and especi.ally its leaders both lay and religious, have no greater challenge today. Whether the zeal. necessary to restore the sense of the religious dimension to life in the,world chn be found, however, is not easily answered. Somehow we Christians shall have to enter more deeply into Ourselves, to find out if we really, share strongly a commitment tO Christ and his visi0fi °of the world and ~re willirig to make ~the sacrifices demanded o~°us as we enter into /~ ~riaarketplace al-ready increasingly intolerant of his vie~. W~"shall not~have the impact necessary to the success of the Christian vision merely,, by exporting Chris-tian values in a secularized form. The world does not need to know there is a need for justice nearly so much as it needs t6 kno.w that justice is a dimension of the faith experience in Christ.To seek to alleviate the cries of the poor in social action is really~not the, Christian~mission; rather, our mission is to bring to the poor the vision of~hrist, con- Review for Religious, November-December, 1987 sciously known and passionately calling all people to a commitment to him and to the consequences of that commitment in a life of faith and service. Innovation vs. Traditi6n Th~re is a second, inner-Church conflict to be resolved: between the new and the _old, between innovatidn and tradition. Vatic~'n II met at a crucial point in the life of the Church, when Catho-lic liberal~ were calling for reform while the conservatives wanted to stand by tradition. The bishops who came together represented both view-points. In the final documents they deliberately attempted ~ to draw to- . gether elements from th~ thinking 6f both. camps, hoping to blend their opposing viewpoints.enough to satisfy the desires of each. Apparently both sides were willing to accept compromise. Both also recognized that total consistency was impossible at that time there was simply not enough time to work out the niceties of perfect harmonization, nor was it necessarily desirable. It surely"was expected that the ongoing life of the Church, especially in the work of the theologians under the direc-tion of the bishbps, would work out any incongruities or inconsistencies in thought or prac'tice that ~ight be left over from the Council. And so the Council ended. But as one reporter put it: Yet the Counci'l's efforts to assimilate modernity and still be true to a 2000-year tradition also created the potential for vast misunderstanding. The Council called upon the Church to uphold, simultaneously, freedom and orthodoxy, culturalopenness and identity, change and continuity, modernity and tradition, hierarchy and participation. That is a tall or-der. 22 Avery Dulles, S.J~,.,asks the question that emphasizes the inevitability of the p~:o.b_lem.: Can a Church that simul.taneously moves in thes~ contradictory direc-tions. keep enough homogeneit~y to remain a single social body? . . . Can the Church adopt new symbols, languages, structures and behav-ioral patte .ms 6n a massive scale without losing continuity with its own origins and its ow.n pa~t? (ib!d.) Any break from tradition for any organization necessarily leads to con-fusion. But this would have been a problem even more for the Catholic Church because the break was so abrupt.and deep. Before the Council, many Catholics had~ accepted ex.aggerated acquiescence to unchange as a theological truism, with little or no sense of the role_of history in. the formation'of dogma and Church practice: Because all Church statements Four Ecclesial Problems / I~11 hadotended to be regarded as dogma unquestioningly to be accepted, obe-diential deference to authority was orthodox; freedom ofthbught, unor-thodox independence. Suddenly, after Vatican II, what had been consid-ered un-Catholic was espoused as good Catholicism. Whereas acceptance of lohg-standing traditions was the n~irm for acceptableoCatholic living prior to Vatican II.; now freedom of thought and openness to new ideas and individual conscience became acceptable. This break with tradition, l~owever, was not simply a break from the old frr the neff, but a rever-sal from standards recognizing something as unacceptable to standards recognizing the same as acceptable and even desirable.,Thus ~0nfusion, disagreement, and fallout were inevitable. Also, it is inevitable t'h~t all this leads to a deeper question: what does it mean to be a Catholic and to have the faith? ' There i~ no doubt a wide spectrum of viewpoints regarding'the theo-logica! role of innovatiori vs. that of tradition, and What, if any, the proper combination ofothe two might be. But in certain areas there is cr'rn~ mon consensus and in other areas a lack of consehsus. There is growing consensus that the break with past traditions ~vas too abrupt and that there is a ;need,to retui'n to some past symbols an'd traditions withou~ renouncing everything new. At the time of the Ameri-can bicentennial, John Coleman, S.J., called for an ""open-ended re-sourcement," a dialogue or "creative engageme,nt" between the tradi-tional Catholic sYmbols and new ones that wouldopen up. or adapt to "new purposes, experiences and questions" in an integrating "process of g~:owth."23 More recently, Greeley has also called for a return to the "experience~' and-"imagination" .ofoour "Catholic her!tage" so re-cently abandoned as either irrelevant or impeding ecumenism or incom-patible with the modem world. Greeley understands Catholicism .to,stress the "sacramental" presence of the divine in Christian living, and says that this sacramental "religious style" should now be recognized as of the "essence" of the Catholic "insight," andan invaluable feature of the Catholic approach to religio.n.24 ,~There is growing consensus that there is widespread ignorance of the fundamental teachings of Christianity, especially among Xhe young, and that the problem must be addressed quickly. In an effort ~to make Chris-tianityrelevant to our lives, we shifted too quickly from the rigorous for-malism of the catechism and the memorization of. its teachings to dia-log'oe about the lived experience of the faith. What we lost was a solid understanding of what that faith believed, What is called for today is not necessarily the catechism method, but wtiatever method(s) may be nec- Review for Religiousl November-December, 1987 essary .to restore'to its rightful place knowledg6 about the history of sal-vation in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. A common foun-dation'in,, faith teachings may make it. possible to fost.er conviction, com-mitment, and action. ~ There is lack of consensus on the role of authority in the Church; on the role of the clergy, as well as the Church itself, in social and political activity; and on the degree of freedom to be allowed to personal con-scienc.~ e, espec,ially in matters that do not pe~ain directly to formal dogma in the Church, such 9s moral theology and mattgrs of sex. However rig-orous! y.~,~.ne might uphold the tea, chings of the Church on artificial c~?n7 tracept~ion., few would consider the Church's teachings on the matter as infallibly proclaimed. If that is the case, what degree of disagreement. o if any, is per.missible? In such cases, how much room i~ to be given for private conscience, or for public teaching not fully in accord with offi-cial pronouncements of the Church? VatiEan II clearly gave great weight tO~the right of personal conscience and to scholhrsh!p regarding nonin-fallible teachings, but how far did it intend these°rights'to go? Innova-tors tend toward absolute freedom on noninfallible teachings, traditioii'- ~lists° toward compliance even there. Thes.e,ideologica! disagreements cofistitute adeep source of divisioff in the Chi~rch .today, and represent today's ~xperience of what it means wheri the old clashes with the new~ The Church has yet to come up with a~th~blogy thgt can provid6 an adequate e~clesiology to handle this prob- Compatibility Vs~ Contradiction with,,the World ° There is a third ,problem not adequately resolved by Vatican II; which returns once again to'th~e:relationship of the Church to the world: the prob-lem between compatibility of.the Church with the world ~ahd contradic-tian with it? Prior to VatiEan II, the Church had never published an official docu-ment expounding,a posiiive theology on the'r01e of the Church,-in the world. Traditionally, the world had been an arena of evil or temptation to evil. ISatholics were urged to.remove themselves from the.world if they wished to ,attain sanctity, and the priestly and religious life were com-monly acceptrd as means to that end. Those who needed to become, in: volved in the Wodd;~choosing to remain laypersons,' were allowed to ~be in the world, but .were expected to' be as unworldly as possible in0the midst of the world: Evefi though Christians learned very well how to, live in~ the world by accepting ,itk ~,alues,~ and acquired the world ~s commodi-ties as instruments of well-being and standards of0success,.this accom- Four Ecclesial Problems modi~tion was often done with a feeling of guilt. That the world Was bad was based on the clear teaching of Christ: his followers did~not belong to the world, the world hated the'm, Christ did not take them out,of the wbi'ld but asked the"Father to "guard them from the evil one" in' the world (Jn 17:14-15) until they would one day be united with the Father in heaveh. ~ Now with Vatican II, the Church turned toward the world and, in many ways, accepted th~ world for the first time. Th6 Council Asserted the Church's "sOlidarity with the entire human family," that "nothing genuinely human" is foreign to Christians, that the "joys and the hopes, the griefs hn~l the anxieties of the men of this are" are those of the fol-lowers ofChrist too (LG 1-3). The Council urged Christians to build up the world because "the triumphs of the human race are a sign of God's greatness dnd the flowering of His own haysterious design" (34). In a remarkable affirmation of the value of secular activity, the Cou0cil "ac-knowledges that human progress can serve man's true happiness" (37) and that, insofar as "Earthly progress., can contribute to~the better ordering of human society, it is of vital concern to the kingdom of God" (39). The Council admits~ the world can be "an instrument of sin" and that a "monumental struggle against the power of darkness pervades the whole history of man" (37). Nevertheless, when all is said and done, the emphasis is clearly optimistic--so much so that, when~Karl Barth came back from his visit to Rome during the Council's first session, he expressed a fear the bishops were bbcoming too optimistically oriented toward the World and suggested they take a miare guarded position. And so the question remains: Is the world a good thing, to be ac-cepted and integrated inio the life of the Christian, or isqt to be rejected because it is infected with sin? The Council urged both; 6f course, but failed to indicate how both were possible, or how and where to draw the line limitinginvolvement~: More importantly, however, the new spirit bf the Coiancil had clearly left the impression that theworld a's a whole had been sanctioned as a .giaod thing :and that, with Christian and human co-operation and goodwill, there ~vas no reason why the Church and'the World could not easily become assimilated to each other. The question ofqntegration into the life of the world versus opposi-tion trthe world in favor of Christian values'is not a re'rent one. As.Ger-main Gri~ez recently pointed out, much of the history of Christianity can be seen in terms of a "tension between legitimate ~ispirations frr human and this-worldly fulfillment and God's c~ll to divine and everlasting life.'" Depending upon the emphasis that is greater at any 0h~ torment Review for Religious, November-December, 1987 in Christian thinking, the tendency may be to emphasize "disrespect for the 'merely,' human" and emphasize fulfillment in God, or, as seems to be. happening ~toda);, to emphasize a reaction against other-worldly spiri-tuality, a reaction which has '~crystal!ized into various forms of secular humanism." VaticanlI failed to take a stand on this issue, according to Grisez, or more precisely, not knowing how to resolve the tensign be-tween the two tendencies, glossed over them "with ambiguous formu-las." Instead of acknowledging their inability to resolve the problem and implementing a postconciliar process to work on it, the Council Fathers, caught up themselves in the spirit of optimism generated by John XXIII, chose to try to "maintain ,the appearance of unity" and solidarity on this issue and departed. Afterwards, liberals and conservatives began to read in the documents exactly what each had been looking for and ignoring the. opposite, and used whatever political means were available to have their own position dominate. The need now, according to Grisez, is to face up, to the divisions and try to resolve them.25 Others have stressed very pointedly that the orientation of the world today is strongly toward values quite inconsistent with Christian values. The world today is bombarded by powerful influences from the media, which emphasize for commercial purposes a humanism void of religious direction, which preach success in terms of materialistic values and goals such as accumulation of power and money, which proclaim fulfillment of self in terms of satisfaction of sexual drives rather than in love as per-manent commitment to the other, which evaluate persons in terms of utili-tarian norms, whiCh promote personal satisfaction as the criterion for the worth of all activity, which make the ultimate goal of life the achieve-ment of self rather than the donation of self. In such a ,world, there is inevitable contradiction between the values of the world and those of the Christian faith experience, where personal communion with Christ in a community of believers serving the well-being of all is. the standard of value. The humanistic orientation of a world without religious direction risks becoming ultimately a purely worldly humanism antagonistic to Christian values. For many, the opposition is so great at the .present time that, it seems to be moving toward total and absolute contradiction of the values of Christ. The Council Fathers, in recognizing the need to open the Church to the world, did not indicate strongly enough the nature or degree of this opposition, although it must be admitted 'that, even when they did indicate opposition, their words were largely ignored. But ~as Grisez indicates, the opposition is there and must.be faced. By failing to indicate strongly enough the contradiction between the values of the Four Ecclesial Problems / I~15 world and those of Christ, the Council Fathers unwittingly made accom-modation with the ways of the world that much easier. It is that accom-modation that the Extraordinary Synod of 1985 began totry to correct, but a clear theology of contradiction, is still needed. Active vs. Passive Church Life The last root cause of the problems left by Vatican II may be ex-plained in terms of Vatican II's failure to resolve the conflict between the active and passive dimensions of Christian life. A new spirit of involvement in social and political action, as we have seen, had been emphasized by the Council as an element intrinsic to the life of the Church. This spirit was highly attractive for many reasons: It was new and new things tend to attract; it was optimistic and people tend to like optimism; it was a free and open spirit cgnsequent upon the new theology of the laity, and .more appealing than the more traditional litur-gical and doctrinal elements in Vatican II; it spoke to a strong desire in the '60's to become actively involved in the processes of history rather ttrhaanns ftoor macaqtuioiens ocfe tihne twheomrld; itth naot tw oansl~y h purmovaindlyed e nthgeinoereertiecda,bl usut palpsoor jtu fsotir- a fied it as providing greater fulfillment of the human potential. In all these ways, this new element of "activism" contra~ted so much with the traditional call for restraint on involvement, and spoke di-rectly to many Catholics who were interested in joining the world in a combined divine-human creative.proje.ct. These were delighted to find there was theological justification and ecclesial approval for using one's talents in such a project. Personal involvement and responsibility for cre-ating one's own life in the world spoke more readily to the post-Vatican II age.than acquiescence in the decisions, actions, and authority of oth-ers. At least in the '60's, the mentality of the outspoken members of the Church was increasingly liberal, and the .idea of creating one's future rather than submitting to it was especially appealing to them. Vatican II sanctioned these ideas. It emphasized the theological importance of life in the world and active involvement in the cause of justice and equality, and was to give rise to a dominance after Vatican II of theological move-ments that stressed that same type of involvement. The Church was now also in a position to accept many currents rising in western Protestant cir-cles, such as the new theology of hope and political theology, the theol-ogy of revolution, and finally, in Catholic circles in South American, lib-eration theology. By emphasizing active involvement in creative transformation of the worid, Vatican II unfortunately seemed to downgrade th'e old and less Review for Rel~gious,~ November-December, 1987 captivating styles of spirituality, such as personal prayer, contemplation, and spiritual communion with God alone and in the quiet of one's room. It became increasingly difficult in modern Catholicism to justify a spiri-tual dimension to !ife unless it was translated into active change of the world. Spiritual terminology began to take on a purely active meaning: prayer, commitment to Christ, concern for the salvation of human be-ings '~ all these meant to be in active involvement in the world. Monas-tic theology and asceticism .were seriously questioned, for how could any-one iustify removing on~eself from the world when the only important thing wffs to change the world for the better? Those who dared to speak of contemplatio~n or asceticism in tli'e more traditional ways were often seen as outdated and to be pitied for their archaic ways. The new theol-ogy of spiritual activism slowly took over contrbl of the major or-ganizations in the Church: religious orders, diocesan and parish coun-cils, and other Catholic agencies~' and a new theology of social and po-litical activism translating most or all of Catholic spirituality into causes for peace and justice in the world held sway, The few who dared to criti- "cize these movements as one-sided were ignored. Ct~riously; the more this ~ctivism was promoted as the new and en-lightened foi:m of Christian living, the ~ore vocations to the priestly and religious life went down. The major exception to this trend~was in relig-ious orders, especially of nuns, where the stress On traditional piety was retained--here vocations continued to ~rise or remain stable. But few dared to suggest that this validated'in any way maintaining some room for more traditional contemplative and other-worldly forms of spiritual-ity. " Only recent!y has' it begun to dawn on many that activism without passivism is un-Christian. A spirituality that is t~otally activated tod, ard htlman creation of the world is inconsistent with Christian teaching, which, while s![essing human~involvement in God's creation 6f the king-dom; stresses even more that we are ~saved bec~iuse we have been saved in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. We receive God,s kingdom far more than we create it. If that is the case, a Christian spirituality of ascetical contemplation is important to the Church because it lives as well as symbolizes the importance of this pass.!ve involvement in God's crea-tive process. Coleman ohce wrote: It is helpful to consider some of the cultural paradoxes in contemporary American Catholicism. In a nation n6ted for its one-sided, if not patho-logical, emphasis on activism, instrumental rationality, and opt'imistic pragmatism,, Catholic intellectuals seem to have suffered a bout of am- Four Ecclesial Problems nesia about their classic wisdom concerning contemplation, mysticism, pas.sivity, and receptive acceptance of inevitable and unavoidable lim-its. The Church. in its American incarnation has become almost ex-clusively masculine, with dominant concerns for action, success, build-ing the new e~trth and results (Coleman, p. 553). Christopher Mooney, S.J., argues that in America God rather than hu-man beings was always understood as "the power of our future," the one "from whom the nation had received its mission," and the one "~who works through the structures of society and manifests himself in publi~ affairs." Without that emphasis upon the centrality of God in his-tory, America will lose its sense of destiny.26 Dulles gives personal sup-port to those who argue that "the Kingdom of God is viewed in the New Testament as God's work, not man's," that the Church "is seen as ex-isting for the glory of God and of Christ, and for the salvation of its mem-bers in a life beyond the grave," and that in the New Testarfient it "is not suggested that it is the Church's task to make the world a better place to live in."27 Harvey Egan, S.J., argues that Christians today face "the serious temptation of worsh.iping political pressure groups, causes, move-ments, slogans, and ideo]ogies," and that their social involvement "de-generates into 'pseudo-activism' " unless it is built upon "authentic in-ner freedom, contemplative peace'; spiritual insight, the love born from prayer, integration, and inner transforrnati6n."28 " What we are asserting, then, is that Vatican II, in its effort to sanc-tion involvement in the life of the world as a legitimate dimensio~ of Christian living, unwittingly tended to downgrade the more contempla-tive, prayerful dimension of'Christian and Catholic spirituality. To that extent, Vatican II opened the doors too widely toward the world and pro-vided a gateway to the development of a secular humanism in contem-porary Catholic life. " Christian humanism without.a strong"spiritual foundation in a prayer-ful dependence upon God and his revelation in Jesus Christ is inevitably doomed to secularism. Once that stage is attained, it is inevitable that Christians begin to question whether there is any valid distinction be-tween Christianity and secular ac.tivism; andsince, once this aberration sets in, there is no real distinction between the two, it is only natural that many Christians find the faith experience unrewarding. It is only in the strength given Christianity by its passive dimension that its activist di-mension has any purpose or will to endure. Review for Religious, November-December, 1987 Conclusibn We have argued that at least in these four ways Vatican II left us a spirituality that is ambiguous, in conflict with itself, and undirected. This may indeed have been the Council's intention." To some extent, the Ex-traordinary Synod of 1985 served a valuable purpose in attempting to rec-tify these imbalances and ambiguities. It took twenty-five years to real-ize the bad effects and what needed to be corrected. Nevertheless, the ambivalences we have itemized .still reside in the Church and account for much of the conservative-liberal polarization of today. The next stage will be for the Church to reconvene and resolve the ambiguities. It will be an amazing and groundbreaking Council when it does. NOTES I "Vatican II and the Postconciliar Era in the U.S. Church," Origins 15, 15 (Sep-tember 26, 1985), pp. 225,233. 2 Vivian W. Dudro, "Toward the Synod: General Praise, Some Criticism of Malone Report," National Catholic Register 61, 39 (September 29, 1985), pp. l, 8. The reporter make~ reference to an expression used by Gerrnain Grisez, Professor of Chris-tian Ethics at Mount St. Mary's College, Emmitsburg, MD. 3 Joseph Cardinal RatZinger with Vittorio Messori, The Ratzinger Report (San Fran-cisco: Ignatius, 1985), pp. 44, 55, 71, 74, 83, 62, 29-30. '~ In "The Catholic Priesthood," Overview 19, 10 (undated [August 1985]), p. I, citing a report in NFPC:News Notes, March 1984. aA Overview, May. 1985, p. 1. 5 Overview, June 1985, p. 1, citing a report in New ~'ork Times December 9, 1984. 6 Ibid., p. 2. The 'article was in National ReviewS" November 25, 1983. 7 Overview, May 1985, p. 5. Herr is citing an article by Mary K. Tilghman in The Catholic Review of March 20, 1985. The words are Tilghman's except for the quo-tation from Schoenherr on the "?rganizational crisis." 8 Ibid., p, 6. 9 Ibid., p. 3. 10 Walter M. Abbott, S.J., ed., The Documents of Vatican II (New York: Guild, 1966): "Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modem World" or Gaudium et spes sec. 4 and 5; hereafter, Latin titles used and noted in text. i1 Thomas More, 1979. 12 Paulist, 1975. 13 Harper & Row, 1973, p. 71. 14 Doubleday, 1977, p. 12. 15 Paulist, 1972, citing an article he wrote as early as 1967. ' 16 Greeley's first controversial conclusions were published in Catholic Schools in a Declining Church, with William C. McCready and Kathleen McCourt (Kansas City: Sheed & Ward, 1976); his latest is American Catholics Since the Council: An Un-authorized Report (Chicago: Thomas More, 1985). 17 Gallup publishes yearly reports on Religion in Americh, and has just completed (with Jim Castelli) The American Catholic People: Their Beliefs, Practices, and Val-ues (Garden City: Doubleday, 1987). Four Ecclesial Problems 18 Eight reports from this invaluable study of "core Catholic" parishioners' think-ing and practices hav~ been published so far, appearing in Origins from December 27, 1984, to August 28, 1986. 19 In Justice in the Marketplace: Collected Statements of the Vatican and the U.S. Catholic Bishops on Economic Policy, 1891-1984, David M. Byers, ed. (Washing-ton, DC: NCCB/USCC, 1985), pp. 249-250. 20 Quest for Justice: A Compendium. , J. Brian Benestad and Francis J. Butler, eds. (Washington, DC: NCCB/USCC, 1981), pp. v-vi. 21 Synod of Bishops: "The Final Report," Origins 15, 27 (December 19, 1985), pp. 445,449. 22 E. J. Dionne, Jr., "The Pope's Guardian of Orthodoxy," New York Times Maga-zine, November 24, 1985, p. 45. 23 John A, Coleman, S.J., "American Bicentennial, Catholic Crisis," America, June 26, 1976, p. 553. 24 Andrew M. Greeley and Mary Greeley Durkin, How to Save the Catholic Church (New York: Viking, 1984), pp. xviii-xix, 35, passim. 25 Germain and Jeannette Grisez, "Conservatives, liberals duel over leaking barque," National Catholic Reporter 22, 5 (November 22, 1985), p. 14. 26 Christopher F. Mooney, S.J., Religion and the American Dream: The Search for Freedom under God (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1977), pp. 35-36. 27 Avery Dulles, S.J., Models of the Church (Garden City: Doubleday, 1974), pp. 94-95. 28 Harvey D~ Egan, S.J., Christian Mysticism: The Future of a Tradition (New York: Pueblo, 1984), p. 234. The Autumn Years: A Touch of God Joseph M. McCloskey, "S.J., and M. Paulette Doyas, S.S.N.D. Father McCloskey is Director of Shalom House-Retreat Center; P.O. Box 196; Montpelier, Virginia 23192. Sigier Paulette teaches at the College of Notre Dame; 4710 N. Charles Street; Baltimore, Maryland 21210. Autumn colors stimulate our aesthetic sense. Leaves grown old are beau-tiful to behold, a truth of creation that gives dying its own color. In, our later years our activities are like autumn leaves before they fall to the ground; each one is a jewel in our crown, worn with pride but sometimes hard to see against the perspective of a cold winter. Winter follows autumn; it is the winter we fear. Winter allows us to view the forest of our lives without being lost. in details. The forest stripped of its foliage, our lives are open to scrutiny; unencumbered by duties, we have the chance to really see ourselves. But autumn, with its warnings of dying, allOws us to look at winter with a hope of new birth. Autumn brings a special brand of happiness which belongs to God and is worth reflecting upon. Our autumn years do not have to be unhappy ones if we appreci-ate the meaning of our lives. No one likes to think about growing older, yet the truth is, we have been aging since conception. There is no es-caping autumn; growing older can bring colorful changes into our lives even if we must yield to a certain amount of inactivity. Love frees the spirit. Alienation brings loss of heart and dims our ap-preciation of life. Passion for life belongs to love, yet the passion for life wanes and we yearn for something more when we feel ourselves no longer needed. The mid-life crisis is a taste of what is to come as we ex-perience doubts about our work and what we have been doing with our lives. Glory, honor, and power are perpetual temptations of life, even when we are not sure just what it is we want. We struggle to hold on 820 The Autumn Years / 821 t~J the possibility and potential of doing something wonderful. As We be-come tired of trying to'h61d on and despair cofifronts us, we finally real-ize that life has-a meaning--being in God. "When we finfilly face the meaning of life, the idea of sitting on a porch watc.hing the rest of the world go by.does not have to seem terri-ble. The autumn years are su~ounded by the storms of others' activities and the job still gets done even when we are no longer bearing the brunt of the heat of the-day. As 'we watch the jobget done, we cab laugh at ourselves for all the times we pictured ours61ves as indispensable. We db not have to identify who we are by what we do. We identify ourselves by not doing; we may be retired. The constant round of activities which ful~d Our lives'belongs to those who follow. ~The fruitful year~ of.prbd~ictio~ ~nd hyp~'activity seem unreal as we watch them'in others.The mystic in life touches us; we watch, like con-templatives in prayer sitting on our autumn veranda, the storm of God's love come up in the for.m~ 6f others' work. God bring.s beauty into our lives as we appreciate what others Ho. 'People need our affirmation a~ad appreciation. L'ife is not over because wecan no longer do, it is just be-ginning. Today is the first_day of the rest of our lives, no matter how old we are. Traumatized by thoughts of our past, we can miss the colors of now. Anxious ,about tomorrow, we are sometimes only half present to what we are dbing. E~;en as yesterday can dampen our enthusiasm in what w~ are doing, anxiety over tomorrow can keep us from being fullyi.nvolved now. We live in an age of. activity and our .minds resemble motor boats, chugging noisily over the wavesof what must be done. There has to be a po.int where we cut the m0tor, give up the noises we make, and just glide, delighting in the freedom of knowing that our work may be almost finished. As we grow older, spirituality can give meaning to the lessen-ing activity in our lives. Slowing down without feeling worthless is what spirituality can help us.do.,No ~matter how old we are, idleness can threaten self-worth. We become :victims ,of our own doing, as thoughts of What we could, do to make our lives worthwhile prod us to keep go-ir~ g: "If we stop, that magic momentof doing something great may be missed." Pushing ourselves t6 exhaustion, we do not have time for our-selves now. We fail to apigreciate what we are right now. Unusual are the autumn souls, really alive t6dayin the richness of yesterday's expe-rience, y6t still open to tomorrow's vision of life with new meaning. Many still search for the secret of iife--f6und in living wholeheartedly 822/Review for Religious, Novemb.er-December, 1987 the fullness of now--in some nebulous fountain of youthful actiyity. We need to open ourselves up to'where we are and who we are right now. Spirituality's ultimate goal consists in seeing God face to face. This means "being" with God. All of life, everything we have ever done, everything we have ever been, is a preparation.that we might "be." Be-ing does not imply vegetating. There is a responsibility to b~ for one an-other attached to being for Christ. Whatever. we do for the least one of our brothers or sisters, even when we are not aware of doing it for Christ, is accepted by, him as bei.ng done for himself. In identifying himself as the "I am who I am" God, God reveals himself as reachable in the here and now. The only moment in time truly real is now, touching the "Eternal Now." Living in the now, for even a moment of time, garners those nows of life when we opened our hearts to being loved. These moments become sacramental. We live the "Sac-rament of the Present Moment." 'There are seven sacraments that the Church recognizes as special moments in life where Christ wants to be present in our lives and is giving himself. In these sacraments of the Church, Christ does the work. In the sacrament of the present moment we can make a moment sacramental by our ~illingness tb make Christ present frr each otlaer.° Living in the present, with what good there is, frees us of what anchors us to the past. Because it only takes a moment to love for a lifetime, we have tliE poss!bility of being Christ lovers by giving of who we are to the least person we meet, in any moment of our lives. We are children of the Father. God takes us as his own because we are precious to him. The Psalms tell tls that.: "Before you were born, I knew you!" (Ps 139). We are loved because Of who we are even be-fore we had accomplishments to boast of. Saint Paul teaches us in Ephe-sians 1 : 1-13 that God' s love is deserved in the goodness of Christ. Christ is our Way and our Truth and our.Life. Saint John's first epistle on Love teaches us that .all of life is a preparation for the opening of our hearts, now, to the fullness of the Lord of Life coming into our hearts. All of life is a preparation for this very moment We are living! Wisdom brings knowledge of how to live in God's love, and the contemplative in action lives in God's love by letting God ,work one hundred percent. Doing in God's love becomes being in his love. What becomes of paramount im-portance is how much love we.can accept in Christ, and how much Christ we live for God and each other in return. ~ Being does not happen jus.t because we are old enough. Incapacita-tion is always a possibility when being is thrust upon us. Being is maxi- The Autumn Years mized by freedom and life, but a lot of dying has to take place in each of us before we are really free to love for the sake of Christ. Growing older is part of tile stripping process of b~coming free to let God do all he can in our hearts. Love needs time to mature. The Church says of the young saints that they fulfilled a long life in a short time, so that even th~ child saint can be old when considering years spent on earth. It only take~ a moment to love for a lifetime, andthe meaning of the greatest love of all is giving of one's life for the sake of a ne.ighbor. Giving can be done by being for another. If we think we can do things for ourselves alone, our whole life is wasted. Being in the autumn years can become adoing for others. Being is knowing how to love. Love is being present to the need of another ffhich sometimes in-volves pain. As humans, we would rather bypass the cross and get right to the resurrection. But we are unrealistic if we think the resurrection is possible without,the crucifixion. There can be no spring without the autumn and the winter. Resurrection portrays Christ reaching out to the hurt and pain of his disciples. Christ is our holiness, and the fruitfulhess of our lives in Christis found in how much of Christ's death we are will-ing to accept forbthers. The ultimate, decisive word of God, in the hu-manness of Christ, is Christ's dying on the cro~s. His suffering gives ~m~aning to our pains and our dying even When we do not relate it to our autumn years. Everything we did or woul~t have liked to do becomes as nothing in the light of Christ's suffering and death. He took care of it all. The ultimate, decisive word of God, sp6ken in the humannness of Christ, comes to us in his d~athon the cross. Counselors and sigiritual directors bften meet couples whose mar-riages have revolved around doing'for their offspring, and who now'com-plain about lack of meaning to their lives with'6ut~ their children. After the childi-en are growr~ and off on their own, these pai'ents have not learned how to accept each other, to be with each other. Many priests and religious brothers and sisters have the same problem. So many years found them in their work that they never learned to enjoy each other. So intense was the doing, the~ never discovered the secret of being, for them-selves or others. They ~vere all so busy doing in the spring and summer of their lives that they gave n~o thought to the autumn and winter that had to follow--when doing became more difficult. Working at accomplishing something involves the danger of making doing the meaning of life. The need of another opens our lives to the rush of the Spirit filling us with God's love. The second comings of the Spirit to the Church are pe6ple filled with love who reach out with their gifts 1~24 / Review for Religious, November-December, 1987 to the needs of others. The problem is no~ whether we did enough in our lifeti~ae, but whether we did~:.what we di~l-~vith love. We may complain that we have never had any.thing werth doing. Ye't each time we moan about not being satisfied with what we have done, or regret not hax~ing done enough, always w~tnting to do more with our liyes, we limit our love of God to wh~t.we are ci6ing noV, rather than bringing all we have done in our lives t~ ~,hat we do. Life teaches us toAive in God's love. We do not deserve God's love, but we can accept it. We waste love, think-ing of all we could have done or w, ould~have liked to d~o.~God.'s love frees us to giv~ ourselves.~ It brings the wisdom whichohelps us to ,put aside our accomplishments or hopes of achieveme.nt, and opens our hearts to be filled with God's love in Christ. The awareness of Christ in our lives frees us to live in the Father's love. ~ The victory won by:Christ when he "took captivity._captive," when he took away the scandal attached t6 our suffering and dying; allows us share in the resurrection when we take up our crosses and follow him. Christ calls us in our inadequacies, our brokenness, our nakedness, our need of others, to be part of the resurrection by claimiong~the foothold in heaven we have in him. Our needs bring Christ into our lives. We be-come other Christs by.-lett!ng him do in our live~s. Growing older ih a world with so many younger,~people frees us to be.in their love, even as we learn to be in God's love. If we were.really and truly competent enough to do it all by ourselves, we would never~ need God. Needing God and other's allows our captiyity to-be taken cal~tive by ~hrist. Aristotle, the great philosopher and teacher-some centuries before Christ, said that. a person could become a philosopher only after forty years of age. It is only When we have enough .experience of life that we begin to find the meaning of life, 19v.e, and values which have to do with being rather than doing. All of life's acc6mplishments are insignificant if we are unable to be in the love of God., if we are unable to be in the love of our brothers and sisters around us. Loye is God's relationship to us, and theGod Who gives all in our lives receives it back When we are able to offer our lives in Christ, when we try to be his life by our love for each other. We are called to be lov- ~ers. Even as the doing of our early years is the beginning of love, it is in the need for each other of our autumn years that love is completed, the love which allows us to~be in the f~ullness of Ch,r!st who lives.Eithin us. Our world needs us and we. should be proud to be aging ,in God's love, .basking in the autumn .years of life, content to be in his love for the sake of all who are still able to do'in his love. We are now like th'e " .,Th~ Autumn Years / 825 Eternal Word of the Trinity, always receiving from the F~ther, even as we are"i'eceiving from others who love us. We are created iri the image and likeness of the God who is Trinity. Trinity has its counterpoini in the mystery of indwelling, where G6d is found in the still point of our lives. Family and community are the outer reaches of this m~yst~ry of indwelling where God lives in the love of our hear~sl and in how we reach out to our brothers and sisters. We are told bY the first commandment of life to love God. We would not know how to do this if Christ had not told us he lok, ed us just as the Father loves him. Christ asks us to live in'his l~v~e, and tells us we love him by keep-ing the commandments which show us the ways we ~hould devil with one another and God. Faithfulness to the commandments is faithfulness to one another. How can ~ve lov~ the God we do not see, if we do not love the neighbo~ we do see? God' is love and we live in his lo~ve in the way we love 0n~ another. Wherever there is. ipve, G~I is. Lo~,e calls us to be like the G~d we image and brings us into commu.nity a~ men and women 6reated to lok, e 6ne another. Spirff~al life can be traced_back to T~rinity: in':-TTinit~,, being and do- !ng meet in the total giving and receiving,of the Father and th6 Son. The Father holds b~ck nothing of himself. The S,on, totally receiving of th~ Father, has nothing the Father has not given him. All of life i~ a combi-nation of these two forces, the active and passive 0"f life. The principles of life find in Trinity the °meaning and the sourceof love. Even if we have spent a. life totally, giv, ing all we are in order that the mystery of the Trinity m_ay be comple.ted in us, the autumn of our lives finds meaning in rec~eiving./~s the child needs parents to grow, so too we grow in those moments when our heart~ need each other. We ac-cept the richness o~each otl~r'~/~ifts when we are willing to need one another from the depths of our being.Then the beauty of life finds the special expression of th6oTrinity completed in the giving and~:eceiving which touches Being, and that very_ being i's love. Love is God's, relatioriShip ~to us, '~n.d the God whb gives ~11 lives in our lov~ when w~ are able,t0 ~J.ffer bin: lives in Ch~rist;.wfien ~.t~ry to live his life by our love for each other. We are called to be lovers. But most of all we are c~lled to be loved in Christ. Autumn years bring the kisses and the embraces of our.,Lord which are felt even in the hurts and the pains of our body's resistance to the call of our Lord .to our eternal reward. The warnings of sufferings do not have to be a threat, in our hope of the resurrection, as a lifetime of love and work in response to the call of God's love claims relationship to Christ. Our pains in letting Review for Religious, November-December, 1987 go of our work,:and our good health bear relationship to the ultimate word of God's love in the passion and death of Jesus Christ and offer the love of God in the resurrection. Even as the dping of our early years is the beginnin.g of love, the letting go of the autumn years completes our love as we feel the need for God and each other. The Christ who is in the least one of otir brothers and sisters is now in us, allowing us to be Christ in our need. We become the Christ to whom we have given hll our life, as all~the good we have done for others comes back upon us. Our world awaits a generation of people proud to be'aging in-his love, basking in the warmth of love which ~omes their way in the autumn of life. Mary is the ultimate model of being for Christ, being for God. She accompan'i~d the Church of theresurre6tibn by being present to their needs and helping them to remember her Son in the many ways of a mother's love, as she took care of h.er. children in the trust given to her by Jesus from the ci'oss~ Because Mary was so present to the needs of the Cl~urch before h_er Assumption, the early Church learned to respect her as mo(her, oA very significant part of the spiri.tuality of the autumn years in the lives of m_any is their devotioh to Mary by following her ex-ample in praying for the Church. The work of the autumn years is the same as Mary's; the" limits of that work ar'~ the size of oiir heart. Even as our autumn years are the time for being as much as we can be, they are the time for loving as much as we can love. Mary has taught us how to li~,e, h'ow to love, and how to be, both by her love for her Son and by the way she lived with the early Church. Just as Mary's autumn years were filled with the touch of God, her presence brought that same touch of God's love to the ea~:ly Church. Mary and God's touch would always be close. So too our autumn y.ears can have the touch of God strength-ening the Mystical,.Body of Christ. Mary is therole model of our autumn years and our patron as we pray: Heav.enly Father,.help us to understand the meaningof growing older in wisdom and knowledge. Allow us to gracefully accept the slowing down in the autumn of life. May we be as loving as Mary in her autumn years, presefit to the needs of c'bmpanions~ filled with I.ife and its inys-ter~, so that all will feel free to share your gift, to find your love within us. Open us, O Father, to a concern for.the liu~an race. Fill our hearts with living in the fulfillment of your abiding love every'moment of every day. Help us to be so resonant and filled with the meaning of the mo-ment that we may:be truly able to love,.as you.loved. May we eagerly look forward to the "being'.~'of the autumn years, reaping the golden rewards, fully open to the winter-that is to come, where all is wanned ~bY your love. ~ Community Dialogue and Religious Tradition Sebastian MacDonald, C.P. Father MacDonald is provincial superior of the Holy Cross Province. He may fie reached at Passionist Community; 5700 North Harlem Avenue; Chicago, Illinois 60631. Dialogue is a common form of community experience today. It is an en-deavor which has the capacity of exposing the wealth of tradition latent in a community. Such tradition is often the unspoken element bonding a community together, the ineffable cementing relationships. It can be a mistake, of course, to uncritically commend the rgle of dialogue in religious life, Given the negative experience of it that many religi~us have encountered the past few years, citing its advantages must be balanced with recognizing its difficultie~ and disadvantages. ~'hese latter largely center about the conflict and division that often occurs among community members, as the~y encounter in one another ap- ¯ parently irreconcilable positions on often fundamental and basic aspects of religious life. Dialogue, as the publi~c articulation of these p~ositions, can add to an already~latent conflict. Once public positions are taken by community members, this may freeze a division that has always be~n there, but, here-tofore, private, and to that extent, potentially malleable. By enhancing the feeling elenaent, dialogue can be a further obstacle to community build-ing. II. An aspect of the problem which needs to be recognized is the often 827 828 / Review for Religious, November-December, 1987 ~restrictive or constrained, nature of community dialogue. At times it does not allow full expression of opinion on the part of all present, as when, should everyone address an issue, the frequent result is that the depth of conversation is shallow and glosses over deep feelings and heartfelt con-victions. This may result in one side gradually prevailing, in a community dif-ference of opinion. An unequal division occurs on an issue when the ma-jority silences the minority, or articulate spokespersons cause members who support an opposing opinion to withdraw in some way and possibly to absent themselves from community dialogue: If this happens, an unspoken element remains in the community, fu-eling even more the disagreement raised to prominence by the public dia-logues that have taken place. Just because ~something is unspoken does not mean that'it ce~ases to exist or exert its influence. lie " To offset this development, a full-blown community dialogue be-comes desirable, where each member has the opportunity, and actively utilizes it, of fully expressing himself or herself regarding fundamental issues of religious life, as well as seCondary but still importantelernents. '. Adults who live together for a period of time accumulate a rich de, posit of spirit and. tradition. Any community bonding that 'Occurs must respect that. richness. But where dialogue is restricted and constrained, and opinions go un, expressed, monologue prevails, not genuine dialogue. There may be an appearance of dialogue, as community members dutifully assemble ac-cording to schedule. But if they do so reluctantly and,. fearing r~ancor, sniping or misrepresentation, do not speak from their hearts on issu.es, then only a facsimile of dialogue is present, with peopl~ merely going through the motions of conversing With one another. Honest ~elf, expression is a duty and a respons.ib~ility, together with a willingness to listen to ~thers, who may voice positions in conflict with ~eeply held convictions. Th!s kind of community dia.logue is an art form riot come by easily, spontaiaeous!y or naturally. It has to be worked at with grace, balance and harmony to make the conversation helpful and productive. There is a rich mother-lode of spiritual exp.erience in religious com-munities that beg~ to be exposed, recognized and admired. It is a thing of beauty that often eludes written or spoken form. Congregational documents, such as Constitutions and Regulations, do,not always capture the "tradition" of a religious community which, Community Dialogue and Tradition / 1t29 in large part, is often inexpressible. But it does strive to see the light of day and to be ack.nowledged for what it is, a major cementing factor in a community's life and existence. .Religious life is one of faith. In our efforts to explain it in its com-munal form, we refer to other kinds of community living, especially the family. However, we know that these comparisons are only partially sat-isfactory. The physical bonding factors which account for the stability of communal units such ,as the familY explain much of the emotional and spiritual quality present there. ~ The vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, however, are bonding factors of a different type, which must be described as intangibles. The ~faith quality and spirituality of religious community is intelligible only in their terms. Indeed, religious life is designed to witness to the kind of community living together based on such values. This witness is, hope-fully, given to one another, and to those who observe religious in prac-tice. The spirituality of the "apostolic community,'~' about which we hear so much today, consists of this faith witness on the part of religious bound together by such "intangible" vows accounting for their life and work together. Precisely because the "anchors" for the faith quality of religious life are intangible, it is possible they will be submerged, sliding beneath the surface and remaining invisible, unless they are consciously and delib-erately disengaged and exposed to view. Community dialogue is one way of allowing this to happen. IV. The fuller the attention and exposure that a tradition of religious life receives, the more promising the access it provides to building and unit-ing a religious community together. Tradition can be ineffable, or expressible only with difficulty for the reasons given above. If this .occurs, it is not acknowledged, responded to or accounted for, despite its important role in the community. Tradition often constitutes the very center of religious life in com~ munity. It can explain the reason behind who they are and the values they abide by. When these are not plainly evident to otliers, their lives as com-munity members can in large part go unappreciated by and even un-known to their fellow religious. Can this be community? Unwritten and unspoken tradition bonds a community together, but it needs to be acknowledged and dealt with. Practices regarding poverty, prayer, silence, fraternal relationships, and so forth, often refer to expe- Review for Religious, November-December, 1987 riences that flow deeply and silently, possibly never seeing the light of day, exc6pt symbolically and representatively. It is imperative that they emerge in community dialogue. Otherwise an explosive energy build-up results, driving co-existing lives in opposite directions, into inevitable collision. This is the hidden resistance so often experienced as divisive in community dialogue. It rep-resents the unspoken ground on which people take stands, inadequately explored and investigated with their fellow religious. Much of this tradition is rooted in religious and sacred ~aeaning, and concerns God himself. This adds a dimension of strength and power to values that weigh heavily upon a community that fails to discover them, unspoken and hidden in the depths of certain members who feel that the way they experience God in their lives is not esteemed by others. V. Tradition within the smaller confines of religious community reflects Catholic tradition within the Church at large. It is endowed with a ver-sion of catholicity in its capacity to bind together those who share it. On the other hand, a schism or division can begin among those religious who do not share a common tradition, or fail to appreciate or even perceive its presence. A religious community is like "a little church" in this re-gard. Community dialogue is at its best when it provides full scope to re-ligious experience. In this way it discloses a deposit of reasons and val-ues that give meaning to people's lives and make them real. If it suc-ceeds in this, it helps build community on a solid foundation of full, hon-est, and authentic exchange between people intent on sharing life to-gether. Conclusion Living by a largely unwritten tradition containing rich personal and communal experiences, we stand to benefit by an exposure of this "tra-dition" to others through, dialogue. Hopefully it will win their esteem too, and bind religious more ~closely together. God's Love Is Not Utilitarian William A. Barry, S.J. This is the final of Father Barry's series of four articles which began with a considera-tion of our resistances to God. He may be addressed at Saint Andrew House; 300 Newbury Street; Boston, Massachusetts 02115. A number of years ago---more than I care to remember--as a brash young scholastic I was° engaged in a spirited conversation with some other Jesu-its, priests and scholastics. We were discussing the reasons for being a Jesuit. During the discussion I found myself more and more dissatisfied with the reasons given. I had seen married and single lay men and women who were at least 9s dedicated to being,followers of Christ as any of us. My own parents were examples of rather remarkably unselfish lov-ers. I could not believe that God was more pleased with us than with them~ Nor could I accept the notion that God wanted me to be a Jesuit in order to save some part of the world. That just did not ring true to my experience and reflection. At one point I blurted out something like this: "I'm a.Jesuit because God wants me to be happy and productive. God"s love for me has led me to choose this life, just as his love for o~hers leads them to choose their way of life." I am not su.re I understood all the implications of what I said, nor was I sure that the implied theology would stand up to scru-tiny. But that outburst has stayed with me through the years, and I have pondered its meaning off and on. In the process I began to enunciate a conviction that God's love is~not utilitarian; i.e., God does not love me or anyone primarily in order to achieve some other goals. In this article I want to unpack some of the meaning of this conviction, impelled by a number of recent experiences of directing retreats and giving spiritual direction. 831 ~1~12 / Review for Religious, N~vember-December, 1987 My youthful outburst was occasioned by the realization that much of the reasoning that justified being a religious presumed that being one was a great sacrifice, indeed, even painful. So the life had to be justified or made palatable. But I did not feel that my life entailed any more sacri-fice than anyone else's. I was rather happy, all things considered, and would not have traded my life for anyone's. So I felt that the "call" to Jesuit life was God's gift to me, his way of loving me. To put the same thing in another way: I felt that God wanted me to be a Jesuit because that was the best way for me to be happy and productive. That convic-tion has not changed since. Over the years I have come to believe that all God wants of any of us is to let him love us. I hax;e also come to believe that one of the most difficult things for us to do is precisely to let God love us, to receive his love. We resist his advances, his overtures of love as though they were the plague. In three earlier articles I have tried to probe the sources of that resistance.l In this article I want to focus on what I have come to believe is God's desire in bur regard. Sebastian Moore,2 in his latest book, makes the point brilliantly: God desires us into being. Before ever we were, God desired us so much that he made us, and made us desirable and lovely. And he desires, that we find him lovely, that we love him. But that can only happen if we !et ourselves believe and experience that we are, as it were, the apple of his eye. To the extent that we believe and experience that God finds us de-sirable, to that extent will we be in love with him. People who have let God, demonstrate his love for them often affirm that it is a love without any demands, an3; strings attached. This is a diffi-cult point to grasp, so let us try to be clear. Often enough we are afraid of God's closeness because we fear the demands he will make of us. "He may askme to go to Ethiopia." As far as I can te!l, when God comes close, he does not c6rrie with a list'of demands or conditions for continuing to remain close. For example, he does not seem to say: "Yes, I love you, but I will only keep on loving you if you [fill in the blank]." Infact, he does not even seem to say: "I love you, but I will only keep on loving you if you stop this pai'ticular sin:" God seems to be just what the First Letter of John says he is, namely'love ,'and uncon-ditional love at that. All he seem~ to want is to be able to love Us, to be close and intimate with us. Does this mean that God has no standards, no values? By no means; but his Values are not perceived as demands by those who have let him come close. Rather they find themselves desirous of sharing his values, God's Love Is°Not Utilitaridn / I]~13 of being' like him--not because God'demands that they do so, butobe-causethey are happier and more alive when they live according to God's values. For example, I realize that I am happier, more alive and more purposeful when I can desire to forgive as Jesus forgives, to love as Je-sus loves. Married men and women have found themselves most fulfilled when they have:remained faithful to their marital commitments, even when the grass looked greener elsewhere. Religious have discovered that their great-est happiness lies in giving themselves wholeheartedly to the demands of their vows, even when the bloom seems off the rose, as it were. Many Christians have also discovered that they are most alive and happy when they give themselves as wholeheartedly as possible to living with and working with and for the poor. Of course, at times all these people weaken, and are helped to stay the course by some negative sanction, for example, fear of loss of face, or of sinning and disappointing God, or of hell. But at bottom the motivation for sticking to their lasts is the desire to imitate the God who has so unconditionally and faithfully loved them. In other words they want to be perfect as'their heavenly Father is perfect. Of course, they cannot .do this. Sin is an ever present reality which even the holiest of saints must contend with. However, those who have experienced God as lover do not experience him as contemptuous of their sinfulness but as compassionate and patient. In their best moments, when they are aware of God's love, they recognize that all they have to do is to ask forgiveness and healing for their lapses, and to desire to have their hearts made more like the heart of Jesus. And they can hope that continued contemplation of Jesus will transform their hearts almost by osmosis. Now, perhaps, we have come to the key that opens the last door to insight. Jesus is the perfect human being, we believe, the one who most fully realizes the potential of humanity. When all is said ~nd done, What is the central insight Jesus had? Was it not that Yahweh, the creator of the universe, the unnameable, unfathomable mystery, is "Abba," "dear Father," "dear Mother," Love itself? To the maximum extent possible for a human being Jesus knew God, and he experienced God as Love.3 Let us reflect a bit on Jesus' baptism in the Jordan. I realize that I am reading into the text, but I find it intriguing that the synoptics pic-ture God as saying that Jesus is his beloved in whom he is well pleased before Jesus has begun his public ministry. What has he done to elicit such praise? Perhaps "all" that he has done is to allow God to come ~134 / Review for Religious, November-December, 1987 as close as God wants to come; perhaps "all" that he has done is just to let himself be loved as much as God wants to love him. Perhaps Jesus is so dear to God just because he let God do what God has always wanted to do: reveal himself as our lover par excellence. It is also intriguing to speculate that Jesus' fundamental salvific act may have been, not dying on the cross, but rather accepting God's love as much as it is humanly possible to do. Then the following of Christ might mean not so much doing iheroic deeds, nor even wanting to love as Jesus loves, but much more fundamentally, desiring to let oneself be loved as much as Jesus was and is loved. PerhaPs the world will be saved when a critical mass is reached of people who deeply believe and expe-rience how much they are loved by God. What I have been saying may strike some readers as advocacy of a "me and God" spirituality. It is true that this can all sound very narcis-sistic. But in practice, it is the exact opposite. Those who let themselves be loved by God find in doing so that their own love and compassion for others is enormously increased. This trans-formation does not happen because God demands such love of them. In fact, these persons know that for years they tried to be loving in response to what they took to be God's demands: they made resolution after reso-lution, and failed miserably. Now without effort, almost, they find their hearts going out to others, and especially to the neediest. They are sur, prised themselves at what is happening to their hearts. The more they al-low themselves to be loved unconditionally by God, the more loving they become. And the love of these persons, like that of Jesus, is a tough love. They speak the truth, but it is a truth that is not contemptuous, nor an-grily demanding--at least while they are aware of being loved. This last aside is a necessary nod to realism. For even the holiest of saints has days he or she regrets. Moreover, as they become or are made aware that they are socio-political beings, i.e., constituted at least in,part by the social and. political institutions into which they are born or freely enter, they begin to undergo what Father Gelpi calls a socio-political,conversion, and take steps to make these institutions more just' and caring through organizing, networking, lobbying, and protesting where necessary.4 Moreover, people who let God come close realize, without self-contempt, how far they fall short, and always will fail short, of being like Jesus. They know. from experience why the saints protested so strongly their sinfulness. They feel over and over again how much God loves them and how much God desires to shower them with his love, and God's Love Is Not Utilitarian they see themselves turning their backs on him, resisting his advances, refusing his invitations to intimacy. They find themselves to be enigmas because the experience of God's closeness fulfills their deepest desires, yet they fight him off. In spite of being such sinners they know that God still loves them. Hence, they view themselves and all human beings more and more with the compassionate eyes of God. I have begun to suspect that the notion of God's love as utilitarian is a defense against God's love. IfI convince myself that God loves me for the sake of other people, then I do not have to face the enormity of being' loved for myself alone by God. Many people shelter themselves from the full implications of God's love by seeing themselves as the ob-ject of that love only as part of a group. In other words, God loves all people, and I am included under the umbrella,,as it were. Now there is a truth in this notion, but I can use it to keep God's love very impersonal and distanced. So, too, God'is kept distanced if I conceive of tiis love for me as utili-tarian. "He loves me for what I can do for the people of Ethiopia." It is a very subtle way of keeping God at a distance: he does hoi loveme so much as Ethiopia. It is also subtly Pelagian: God loves me for what I can do for him. Interestingly enough, it is also a subtle way both to puff up my ego, and also to make sure that I am never satisfied with my-self. On the one hand, I am aware of all that I am doing for Ethiopia; on the other hand, I am constantly reminded of how much more there is to be done, and may also be reminded that others have done more. One person on, a retreat, for example, felt that if God really loved her, then he would be using her in more important ways. She discovered that such reasoning was making her unhappy and keeping God at arm's length. Perhaps the burden of the argument thus far can be summed up in an experience of another retreatant. He had experienced deeply that Je-sus knew he was a sinner and would always be a sinner. Jesus commu-nicated to him in a gentle, loving way how he had betrz'yed him in the past, and that he would do it again in the future. Yet he looked at him with enormous tenderness and love. The retreatant felt that Jesus said to him: "I love no one more than I love you--but I love no one less than I love you." God does not love some people more because of what they do, or what they will do. He is just greatly pleased that anyone lets him come as close as he wants to come. If God's love is not utilitarian, does this mean that it is meaningless to ask whether God has a will for me apart from letting him love me and Review for 'Religious, November-December, 1987 loving him in re~urn? If God will continue to love me whether I become a doctor, a carpenter,.a social worker, or a Jesuit, does 'it matter at all to God which I become, as'long as I am happy? To take the question one step further: if God will continue to love me even if I~ continue to sin, does it matte~r to God whether I stop sinning or not? In other words, if we say that God is unconditional Love and that he is not utilitarian in his love, do we not eviscerate of meaning such traditional Christian and Catholic notions as the discernment of God's will, the exist~ence of hell, the call to co.nversion from sin, the person as.God's instrument and vo-cation? Perhaps John was addressing some of the ~same questions when he has Jesus say; For'God so loved the world that he gave'his only Son~ that whoever be-lieves in him should not perish but hav6 eternal life. For'God sent the Son into the world, nbt to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him. He who believes in him is not condemned; he who does not b.elieve is condemned already, because he has not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the judgment, that the light has ~ome into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For every .one wh6 does evil hates the light, and does not come to the light, lest his' deeds should be exposed. But he who does what is true comes to the light, thi~t it may be clearly seen that his~deeds have been wrought in God (Jn 3:16-21). A comment by Raymond Brown on this passage and others in John, may show us a path out of the, dilemma: We believe that the translation of krinein as "condemn" in these pas- .sages (also in 8:26) is clearly justified by the contrast with "save." Nev-ertheless, the statement that Jesus did not come to condemn does not ex-clude the very real judgment that Jesus provokes . The idea in John, then, seems to be that during his ministry Jesus is. no. apocalyptic judge like the one expected at the end of time; yet his presence does cause men to judge themselves.5 In other words, Jesus does not condemn, but his presence brings out what people really are like. He, the human presence of God on earth, loves people and wants their good, indeed their absolute good, which is union with God, and he continues to love even those who spurn the of-fer, They condemn themselves. Let us see where this path leads us. When we love people unselfishly (insofar as this is possible for a hu-man: being), we want their good. We want them to be as happy, fulfilled, right with God and the world as possible. We want them to fulfill all their God's Love Is Not Utilitarian / 837 potential, "to be ttie best that they can be," as the commercial for the Army dins into our memories. At our best ~ve do not demand all this as a condition for our love, but we want it because we love. If this is the case with us, we can imagine what God desires. In his ',~'Contemplation to Obtain Love,'? Ignatius of Loyola tries to help us to imagine all that God's love wants. In an almost poignant line he'says: "I will ponder with great. affection how much God our Lord has done for me, and how much he has given me of what he~ possesses, and fi-nally, how much, as far as he~ can, the same Lord desires to give.himself to me according to his divine decrees."6 God creates a world that he sees is "very good" (Gn 1:31) for his loved ones to live in. He wants them to be co-creators with him of this evolving world. The Garden of Eden image in Genesisl is awonderful symbol of wl~at.Gbd wants for those whom he lo~,es into existence. He °wants us to li~,e in harmony ~vith, and with reverence for the universe and all that is in it, because that is the way to ou~r greatest li~lppines's and fulfillment both as individuals and as brothers and sisters. Moreover, he wants to giye himself to us "as far as he can"; limita-tion comes not just. from our fin.itude, but also from our perversity. God, however, will not compel us to accept what is for. our good. Does GOd puni.sh us for our perversity? It is an age-old tradition that ascribes natural disasters to God's wrath. The Old Testa.ment is~ replete with such ascription~s, beginning with Genesis 2. In the New Testament Jesus is asked: "Rabbi, ,whq,sinned, this,man or his parents,~ that he was born blind~?" He a.nswers: "It was not that this man sinned, or his par-ents, but that the works of God might be made,manifest in him" (Jn 9:2- 3). To say the least, this answer is enigmatic, but it does belie the as-cription of disasters to God's wrath ~at sin, On the hypothesis that God is Love I want to say that we punish our-selves by turning away from God's love. God remains steadfast in his love. But hatred, suspicion, prejudice, fear--these and other emotions-- are the product of our sins and the sins of our forebears. And they are not emotions that are for our peace. In other wor.ds, God made us broth-ers and sisters and desired us to live in harmony and mutual love, but we human beings have brought on ourselves the disharmony and distrust that now threaten the world as we know it. And if anyone does remain willfully and perVersely turned away from God's love and the love of neighbor to the end, then he or she chooses eternal unhappiness. But ~God's love does not change into 'something else. Review for Religious, November-De~cember, 1987 But what abgut the man born blind? What about the child with Down's syndrome? What about natural disasters such as the eruption of the volcano in Colombia which destroyed.~a town and took 20,000 lives in one day? We want to know why such things happen. It lies close to hand to ascribe such events either to the punishment of God, or fate, or to the stupidity of the victims. Social psychologists speak of the ."just world hypothesis" in .describing such attitudes. According to this view, everybody believes the world is a place where people generally get what they deserve and deserve wffat they get. To believe that our own good deeds and hard work may come to naught and, indeed, that we can encounter a calamity for totally fortuitous rea-sons, is simply too threatening to most of us. And yet we see people whose lives have been shattered and who seem like us in every way. Are these paraplegics, blind people, sufferers from cancer really innocent vic- .tims, and are we, therefore, candidates for s~ffering the S~me fate? The just world hypoth.esis posits that in these circum~stances we are likely to reject that possibility as intolerable and to conclude that those stricken individuals ~re really wicked, or at least foolish, and deserve their fate.7 Some of these calamities may be caused by human sinfulness or stu-pidity at some time in history. In the United states and in Latin America people still experience the effects of the evil of slavery and of greedy colo-nization. Other calamities may just be random events in a finite world; e.g., some Of the effects of genetic disorders. Others may be caused by someone else's perversity, but the victim is seemingly picked out at ran-dom: for ~xample, the drunken driver plows into John Jones' car, hav-ing just barely missed ten others, and out of the blffe John is dead~ and his daughter is maimed ~for life, through no fault of theirs. The "just world hypothesis" reminds us of the friends of Job or the disciples who asked Jesus about the sin that caused the man to be born blind. It will not work in the case of innocent victims of either random events, the pre-sent sins of others, or the effects of historic evils. How do we square the unconditional love of God with such calami-ties? In experience, people who engage God directly in a relationship, and who look at the world realistically, have the "just world hypothe-sis" pulled out from under them. They see that Jesus, the sinless, be-loved Son, died horribly, and that no bolts of lightning took vengeance on his killers or saved him. As they develop their relationship with God, they may find themselves raging at him for.the seemingly needless suf-fering they ,undergo or see others experience. Somehow or other they dis-cover a God who is beyond what we conceive as justice, a God they can God's Love Is Not Utilitarian hope in and live for, No more than the author of the book of Job can they explain it; but for sure it i~ not the answer proposed by the "just world hypothesis." People who have de'0eloped such a relationship with God experience the deep m~ystery of creation and co-creation. God loves into existence not only the stars that so bedazzle us in the night sky but also the vol-cano~ that erupts suddenly and engulfs a whole city killing 20,000 peo-ple, 'and he loves those people into existence. God not only loves into existence Jesus and Mary, Francis of Assisi, Teresa of Avila, and the lovely people who have lok, ed us in our lives, but also Herod and Hero-dias, Genghis Khan, Lucrezia Borgia, Hitler and the torturers of politi-cal prisoners:of our day. People who meet this God at a deep level sense a bottomless ~compassion and pain at the heart of the world, yet a vibrant hope for life. They become more compassionate--and passionate-~ them-selves. Perhaps they can understand that it was not bravado that kept the martyrs joyful in their s.ufferings and dying. Perhaps, too, they can un-de¢ stand how the poorest of the poor still are capable of tremendous acts of generosity toward their fellow sufferers, just as they can understand the great cruelty o.f which the poor are also capable. Thus far we have threaded our path oiat of the seeming dilemma of the coexistence of God's unconditional love and-punishment for sin and hell. We have also seen a way'of explaining the call to conversion from sin. God wants the best for us and that best includes our turning away from sin and toward living a life that is consonant with a relationship of mutual love with the Lord. Sin does not produce happiness or harmony or peace of mind. Nor does it create harmonious relationsh~p.s between people, or political and social and religious institutions that work toward such harmonious and just relationships. So God's love for us desires that we be converted on all the levels postulated by Gelpi, the affective, the intellectual, the moral and the socio-political.8 Note, however, that God does not make such'integral conversion a condition for continuing to love us. He desires it b~ecause it is for our good; bu~ he does not demand it as the price of his love. Now let us mo4e on to the issue of the discernment of God's will, especially as this regards the question of a vocation to a way of life. Traditionally Catholics have believed that God has a plan for each per-son. He 'calls some to the religious or priestly life and others to the mar- ,ried state. It is true that the term "vocation" was most often restricted to the religious or priestly life. "He-hasa vocation" was shorthand in Catholic circles for saying that an individual felt called to religious or Review for Religious, November-December, 1987 priestly life. But a. more careful use oftanguage:also,saw married life as a calling. A further problem, of course~ is that this language left in limbo those who remain single (and not religious or priests) either vol-untarily or involuntarily. At,any rate, does God call people to a particu-lar way of life? And if. so, how is this calling consonant with the non-utilitarian nature of his love? ~ 0 Again we return to the idea that the lover wants the good of the be-loved. I will use the case of Ignatius of.Loyola to illustrate a way of under-standing God's call in terms of his~love, without~making that love. utilitar-ian. 9 ~ Inigo (his original name) was a hell-raising, ambitious, vain, coura-geous man, a'.man who dreamed of doing great exploits. At Pamplona, according to his own account, he was the rallying point, in resisting the French attackers. When he. was severely wounded in the leg, the defend-ers immediately surrendered. God seems to have used this crooked line to write straight. During his 10ng convalescence Inigo continued his dreaming. He dreamt of doing great knightly deeds to win fame and honor and the favor of a great lady. These daydreams.would absorb him for up to four hours'at a time. The only books at hand for him were a life of Christ and a book of the lives of the saints. When he read these, he began to dream of doing what Dominic and Francis did, and again he would become absorbed for hours. Notice that in both cases ~his ar-dor, ambition, bravery, and even vanity were operative. Finally, after some time of alternating daydreams, he began to notice a difference. When he was thinking about the things of the world, he'took much de-light in them, but afterwards, when he was tired and put theha aside, he found that he was dry and discontented. But when he thought of going to Jerusalem, barefoot and eating nothing but herbs and undergoing all the other rigors that he saw the saints had endured, not only was he con-soled when he had these thoughts, but even after putting them aside, he remained content and happy. He did not wonder, however, at th~s; nor ~:. did he stop to ponder the difference until one time his eyes were opened a little, and he began to marvel at the difference and to reflect upon it, ~ realizing from experience that some "thoughts left him sad and others happy)~0 ~' This was the beginning of Ignatius' own discovery of the discernment of spirits, a discernment that eventually led him to found the Society of Jesus, with enormous consequences for the Church and the world--and for not a few individuals who in almost four hundred and fifty years have joined this Society. God's Love Is Not Utilitarian How are we to understand this story of a vocation? I would maintain that ~God's 10ve for Inigo involved his desire that Inigo use his great ener-gies, his ardor, his ambition in ways that would make. him most happy, most fulfilled, and most useful to others. I believe that it mattered a great deal to God how Inigo used his talents, for Inigo's sake first of all, but also"for the sake.of others .whom God loved. However, God would not have loved Inigo any the less if he had missed the opportunity for dis-cernment, and had ~ontinued on his course toward "worldly" achieve-ment. But he might have been greatly saddened that Inigo did not choose what was for his greater happiness and peace. Later in life Inigo himself might have felt the sadness as he pondered how his life had gone since his recuperation. Only God could so love us that he would allow us the freedom to turn away from receiving all that he wants .to give us, and still keep loving us unconditionally, even when we so chopse. ., It seems to me that a consi.stent cleaving to the central insight of the New Testament, that God is "Abba," does not force .us to give up any truths of.faith and has several distinct advantages. The preceding pages have shown some ways of understanding traditional truths that hold in the forefront that" God is unconditional love, a love that is not utilitar-ian. Su(h an understanding demonstrates an intrinsic connection between the love of God and the search for his frill. Because God loves me, he wants the best for me. Because and insofar as I love God, I want the best for him, which is that he may give.himself to me as much as he can. The way of life God wants for me is the best way for me to receive his love and to be a co-creator with him. Hence, in my better moments, I try to the best of my ability to discern wfiere his love leads me. I do not try to find his will for fear that he will punish me, but rather for fear that I will miss the way that would allow him to give me more of him-self. I also try to find his will because I.know that his love desires more good for all those whom I will touch in my life. Perhaps we can understand in a slightly new way an axiom attributed to Ignatius (and often put inversely). Loosely translated the saying goes: "Pray as if everything depended on you; work as if everything depended on God." 1 ~ It is very important for me to pray in order to know how and where God wants to love me, how he wants to gift me. It is important not only for me, but also because of others. The more I let God give him-self to me as far as he can, the more "sacrat~entally" present he is to others with whom I interact. And once I have discerned God's way, I can work without ambivalence and self.concern, trusting that God will accomplish whatever else he intends. Review for Religious, November-December, 1987 One final question occurs. Suppose that Inigo's eyes had not opened up during his convalescence, and that he had gone on to worldly exploits. Would he have been given another chance? That is, of course, an unan-swerable question. But God would surely continue to love him and, we presume, continually offer him a call to a radical conversion of heart. ~If, later in life, he were to have his eyes opened, he'might have to come to terms with those earlier missed opportunities. Repentance would be in.~order, but a wallowing in his "spilt milk" would not be an appropri-ate response to the God of love. Conversion'means to accept my past pre-cisely as my past, i.e., both mine and past, and to surrender in freedom to the new and mysterious future offered by God's love now. But an historic moment surely would have been lost if Ignatius had gone an alternate route instead of the one he did take. There are conse-quences to our choices. Hence, it is incumbent on all of us who minister to help people who stand, or soon will stand, before serious life choices to become discerning Christians. Historic consequences may be at stake. -And now a final word. For the past year and a half I have been com-ing at the same issue from different angles. At first I was intrigued by a strange resistance to God's initiative, a resistance that clearly was a run-ning from a positive experience of God'~ presence. My curiosity pro-duced the three articles for this review mentioned earlier. Then a few experi,ences with direcfees prompted this article. I want to end where I began, with the first article. We need to be mind-ful that there is a force within us ~hat does hate the light, that seems to want to thwart all God's loving desire to give us of himself. We need to be on the alert to discern the presence of that force, but also to rely on thos~ various sayings that have given people hope through the ages, sayings like: "With men it is impossible, but not with God; for all things are possible with God" (Mk 10:27) or "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made per.fect in weakness" (2 Co 12:9). NOTES 1 William A. Barry, "Resistance to Union: A Virulent Strain," REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS, 44 (1985), pp. 592-596; "The Desire to 'Love as Jesus Loved' and its Vicissitudes," REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS, 44 (1985), pp. 747-753; "Surrender: The Key to Wholeness," REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS, 46 (1987), pp. 49-53. 2 Sebastian Moore, Let This Mind Be in You (Minneapolis: Seabury, 1985). 3 After I had finished this article I came upon Francis Baur's Life in Abundance: A Contemporary Spirituality (New York/Ramsey: Paulist, 1983) who uses process the-ology to develop a spirituality based on the definition of God as love. While some- God's Love Is Not Utilitarian what hortatory and at times polemical, the book can serve as a theological underpinning for the more experience-based assertions of this article. 4 Donald L. Gelpi, "The Converting Jesuit," Studies in the Spirituality of Jesuits, XVII, no. 1 (Jan. 1986). 5 Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel According to John: I-XII. The Anchor Bible, vol. 29. (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1966), p. 345. 6 The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola. trans. Louis Puhl. (Chicago: Loyola University Press, 1951), no. 234, p. 102. 7 Edward E. Jones, Amerigo Farina, Albert H. Hastorf, Hazel Markus, Dale T. Miller, and Robert A. Scott, Social Stigma: The Psychology of Marked Relatiohships (New York: Freeman, 1984), pp. 59-60. 8 Gelpi, op. cit. 9 What follows is based on The Autobiography of St. Ignatius Loyola, trans. Joseph F. O'Callaghan. ed. John C. Olin (New York: Harper & Row, 1974). 10 lbid, p. 24. ~ The Latin version can be found in "Selectae S. Patris Nostri Ignatii Sententiae," no, II, in Thesaurus Spiritualis Societatis Jesu (Roma: Typis Polygiottis Vaticanis, 1948), p. 480. Gaston Fessard, in a long appendix to volume I of his La dialectique des Exercices Spirituels de saint Ignace de Loyola (Paris: Aubier, 1966), traces the historical background of the saying. He demonstrates that although not from Igna-tius' hand the saying does express the dialectic of his spirituality. Vocation She said she wished to be a shrub And sit in silence, lost, obscure In some dim woods where no one ever comes and she could muse and watch the quiet winds go by. But He who long ago observed a brambled bush Looked at her once among the ferns. He looked but once; the winds became a storm And now she burns, she. bu.rns! Ruth de Menezes 2819 D Arizona Avenue Santa Monica, CA 90404 Novitiate: Captivity or Liberty? Mariette Martineau Mariette Martineau, a novice with the Sisters of Mission Service, had recently com-pleted sixteen months of formation at St. Albert, Alberta, when she wrote these re-flections which she hopes will benefit others in novitiate life. She may be reached at Box 2861; Merritt, British Columbia; VOK 2BO, Canada. ~l~hat are the realities of being a novice in a religious community in the Church today? Since the exodus following Vatican II, communities have been growing smaller and older. Novitiates have been created and re-created to meet the ever changing formation needs of both the commu-nity and the candidates. How often have novices of today heard this com-ment from one of the older members of their community, "How for-tunate you are to have such a novitiate, full of prayer and study! In our days . " Come and journey with me as ! reflect on my novitiate experience. I am on the last Stretch of that journey ~as I am presently completing a six-month apostolic experience before returning to Edmonton in June for immediate preparation for vows scheduled to be, celebrated in August. I have often asked myself, particularly in the early months, "Is this no-vitiate experience one of captivity or liberty?" When I first arrived at the novitiate I experienced what I like to call the "honeymoon" phase. Life was fairly flexible as time was granted to unpack, to explore the h6use a6d neighborhood, and most importantly to meet the new commuriity and ito become comfortable with the direc-tor. The excitement of not knowing exactly what to expect and of enter-ing into the newness of activities energized me and I felt that I had made a good decision. Reality soon set in, and the struggling began. Before I entered, I prom-ised myself that I would give me, the community, and God a year to dis- 844 Novitiate: Captivity or Liberty cover if this was truly the way of life for Mariette to grow fully alive. I am thankful for that commitment for there ~vere many times during th'ose first few.months that I was ready to pack my ba~s and leave~. My director was also aware of that commitment and when times were rough she gently reminded me of it. The challenge to let go of one's independ-ence- socially, financially, emotionally, and so forth---can be a painful one. If I had chosen to leave at this stage in the novitiate procesS, I would have been leaving not because I had chosen the wrong way of life but because I was unable to release certain things in my life and give all to God. The second phase or reality of novitiate after the honeymoon phase is this ti~e of purification, of letting go. Tears can be an enriching and cleansing experience! One's schedule soon seems to become another's schedule as 'the director sets her expectations before you and challenges you to integrate and balhnce your time between formal classes, prayer, spiritual reading, community, household chores, writing papers, and per-haps weekly apostolic experiences andthe ~ccasional weekend work~ shop. Your life no longer seems to 15e yoOr own; anger and depression sometimes become an everyday experience as you strive to fully enter into the year. One has usually left a job behind and now feels like a "non-producer," dependent on the community for food, shelter, recreation. Suddenly you have to keep an account of the money you spend and have to ask someone for that money. You now have to ask permission before disappearing in the community car or going out with a friend. In some ways you feel that your personal autonomy is being threatened and you no longer have control over your life. You do not understand all the things that are being 'asked of you. In fact, some of the requests make no sense at all, This calls for trust--in tile community and in the forma-tion personnel. Trust that they do know what they are doing and have your growth as their priority, while attempting to see if you do indeed have the charism of this community. The Yes I said when I ei~tered soon grew into a series of "yeses" that were not always easy to say. I must point out that it was not a "yes" to°having things done to me but a yes that said, "I will enter into the process that you have set before me." During this phase the novices may find themselves projecting a lot of anger at their director. It is they who are setting down the guidelines, they who are enforcing them. The director is the one called to tell the novice, "This year is a time to place some relationships on the back burner, a time to get in touch with who you are, your relationship with God and the community in which you have chOsen to live out that rela- Review for Religious, November-December, 1987 tionship." The director is the one who has been given the sometimes pain-ful responsibility of making the novices aware of areas in their lives that need growth. "I do not feel that you are using your time properly--Do you realize that you snapped ~at Suzanne during supper last night?--You are too,much of a perfectionist." A novice, like anyone; finds it painful to look at her brokenness. I sometimes found myself saying in response, "What about Sister Perpetua? I look great beside her and she has been in the community for twenty years." It is much easier to focus on some-one else's areas of growth rather than your own. In the midst of all of this is the fear of reje6tion: One can begin to foc~s entirely on the nega-tive while neglecting to hear the affirmation that is also present. During the novitiate phase one journeys closely with the director. The goal is to have someone to process the year with you, to guide you, to challenge you,. to affirm you, to see if you do have a vocation to religious life. I found this aspect of my journey difficult. As. much as I wanted to dis-cover if I was in the right place, I feared rejection and wanted to appear as someone who had it all "together," I wanted to be an instant relig-ious, comfortable with poverty, celibacy, community, and obedience. Simply put, I wanted to be perfect and got angry with myself and: others when I was not. Directors often tell their novices to be prepared for a time of regres-sion following their initial entry into novitiate. One can hear this with the mind but the heart sometimes gets in the way. One cannot understand why she feels depressed, angry, without energy, and without the finesse she had when she entered. Insecurity may be another reality, but doubt is always good because it challenges one to dig deeper. The gift during this time of grieving and regression is the realization that, "Hey, I am not going crazy! I am just striving to say good-bye to some excess bag-gage. I am feeling the loss of many things and many people. I am spend- .ing so much energy on being angry, I need some way to deal with the anger in a more creative way. I want to grow and become me fully alive, but that hurts and I just cannot seem to grow fast enough." A novice was asked one time, "When did your novitiate start?" She replied: "Nine months into it!" Another reality of novitiate life is the focus on community. One no longer, has the freedom to skip supper when she feels like it and go shop-ping instead. Recreation often takes place in the community context, and outside contacts can be limited and are often with other religious. One may get the sense of dead air--I need to.see other people! The challenge is to enter into the times of community and group activity while remem, Novitiate: Captivity or Liberty / 1~47 bering to also enter into moments of aloneness. We all need some de-gree of personal space. In relation to community, the novice who enters and places before herself the goal of reforming the community will find herself in conflict and perhaps will receive an invitation to leave. It is similar to marrying someone with the intent of changing that person into the person ~hat you think he or she should be. Those of us novices who are still young when we enter often bring with us our youthful idealism. This idealism is not wrong, and may indeed carry with it challen.ges to the community. But we must remember that novitiate is a dialectical proc-ess; both the community and the individual have so.mething to leai'n from each ot~her. Neither is perfect and neither should be expected to be per-fect. A line from a friend says, "I love you as you are in the middle of where you are." How does one know when to leave? After haying earlier stated that I had committed myself (t° myself) for a year, what would have caused ~e to leave? If at any point in that year the person of Mariette completely disappeared, I think it would have been time to pull out. If I had to die to all that I was, I think I would have been in the wrong place, perhaps simply at the.wrong time, or forever. Dialogue with the director is ex-tremely important during this discernment.' She is an objective observer, trained to help one make such decisions. Naturally the decision is always our own, and one always has to keep before herself the freedom to stay or to leave. Again I would say, trust the formation personnel, as it is easy to get entangled in one's emotions and make a decision to leave for the wrong reasons. I would not encourage anyone to leave while in the mid-dle of the grieving process. One can expect to say some good-byes to journey companions dur-ing novitiate. Some people will be with us until the end of the journey, others are called to different places before then. Good-byes can be pain-ful, especially if you have shared a deep relationship with the person leav-ing or if you have difficulty accepting the reasons for leaving. Each time someone left, it was an opportunity for me to reexamine my own rea-sons for staying or to find some good reasons to leave. Usually new life followed these reflections especially if I had been given the opportunity to sa~, good-bye to the person leaving and/or to ritualize her departure with the community--whether it be my own or the intercommunity no-vitiate of which I was a member as I was the only novice in my own com-munity. I strongly encourage and invite novices who have decided to con-tinue their journey in a different direction to realize the importance of saying good-bye to their directors and their communities. "848 / Review for Religious, November-December, 1987 The happie,st phase of the novitiate seems to come too late. You feel ready to enter into the process, you have develop.ed new relationships, ygur, anger and depression no longer seem to have control over you, the journey inward has become a challenge that energizes you. And guess what? It is time to move on, perhaps to an apostolic experience or fur-ther studies or even vows. It is gratifying at this time to look at how one was at the beginning and how one appears to be now. Signs of growth are evident and as you reflect back you. feel yourself wondering,. "Was I, really like that? Did I make life that miserable for others in the house, especiall3~ my director? . . ." Now may also be a time of increased heal-ing, reaching out in love and forgiven, ess in a deep and meaningful way to those wh6 have journeyed so f,,aithfully with 'you. One still does not haveit ~11 "together" bu~'acknowledges the joys and pains of being a pilgrim. Is novitiate a time of captivity or liberty? It can be a time of captiv-ity, ofimprisoning one's self in anger, loneliness, schedules, pride, in-security, or one's past, But it is designed to be a time of liberty. A time to spend kvitli,y.ourself and God, journeying towards wholeness by being -given the gift to leave behind many of the earthly cares that can take over our existence. It is a time to begin to d~velop the"skillS and behavior pat5 terns that a religious needs to integrate her life choice of prophet into the world" and the Church today. Community in Religious Life and the - Church: Some Reflections Angelo M. Caligiuri Monsignor Caligiuri is Episcopal Vicar for Religious in his diocese. His reflections here represent his part in dialogues between bishops and religious in several areas of the country and discussion with various religious superiors and other vicars. He may be reached at the Office of the Vicar for Religious; Diocese of Buffalo; 100 South Elmwood Avenue; Buffalo, New York 14202. During the final months of 1985 and the first months of 1986, through-out the dioceses of the United Sti~tes, diocesan bishops met with their re-ligious to dialogue about six areas of mutual concern. These areas of in-terest and concern surfaced from the series of listenin~ sessions held the previous year under the leadership ~nd guidance of the special Pontifical Commission established by our Holy Father, under the chairmanship of Archbishop John Quinn of San Francisco. As a result of these listening sessions, .each diocese prepared a writ-ten report on what was heard and these reports were sent to Archbishop Qtiinn and his committee. From a reading and evaluation of the many reports, the committee saw the following subject areas surfacing as mer-i
Part one of an interview with Anna Mazzaferro. Topics include: Anna's grandparents lived in Italy. Her father moved to the United States around 1910, settled in Fitchburg, and joined the military in 1917. How her parents met. The work her father did. Her father's death from a brain tumor in 1947. How life changed for her mother after her father died. The importance of family meals. The food Anna's family would prepared and can with produce from the garden. The chickens her father kept. Neighborhood blackouts during World War II. What life was like during World War II. The importance of education to Anna's parents. Anna went to college after her children were grown. Memories of Fitchburg from her childhood. The band she played in. Her father's bocce games on Sunday afternoons. How Anna learned to drive and how she got her first car. The trip she took to Italy in 1998. Her mother's relatives in the United States. What her mother was like. Her father built the Marconi Club Hall in Fitchburg. Social clubs and the community created by parishes. The values Anna grew up with and how she carries on traditions. The family newsletters she writes. ; 1 LINDA: I can never remember the date. ANNA: It's the middle of November already. LINDA: I know. It's amazing. So this is Linda [Rosenwan] with the Center for Italian Culture. It's Wednesday, November 14th, we're with Anna Mazzaferro at 575 West Street in Leominster. This is actually her second interview. The first interview unfortunately didn't come through. There was a corrupted smartcard. So good morning, Anna. ANNA: Good morning, Linda. LINDA: So, we're going to try not to reinvent the second interview and just make believe this is the first one. So if I ask you the same questions, don't wonder, don't wonder why obviously. ANNA: Okay. LINDA: So I believe that you'd like to start with your grandparents. Is that true? ANNA: My grandparents never came to America, they were in Italy. And I have most of the information about my grandparents from my cousin who was living in Rome. She tells me how my grandfather, Alphonso [Guglielmi] was a great mason and bricklayer and a builder of homes. She tells me he built a little palace in Rome. The family, my sisters and I visited this area of um Italy, which is Pina Santovani in Lemarca, the province of Lemarca. And we saw the homes that were built in 1902 and 1913 that the family used out there. The homes were still standing; they're stone homes and they have -- the keystone has the dates on it, so this is how we can remember the dates that the houses were built. Now, my father and his father worked on the 1902 home, but my father had left for America in 1910 or 1911, so he never saw the 1913 home that his father and his brothers built. And from what my cousin tells me, they traveled a great deal between Pina Santovani and Rome to do construction work. Also my, my grandfather did other work like making olive oil. 2 They would go to Rome, make olive oil, and bring it back to Pina Santovani to sell. They did a lot of trading at that time. This was 1900 up to 1910 that my father was involved with. After that it was my grandfather and my uncles. So my father came to America in 1910, 1911, and that date is the date we think he came because going back to my grandfather, he kept a journal. Every day he would say, "Today I went to such a place," "Today my son Dario did this," "Today we bought shoes for Oreste." And he kept this journal. In 1910 there were no more entries pertaining to my father, so they felt that this was when he left for America. LINDA: It's strange that that wasn't an entry. ANNA: I know. I know. I haven't seen that part of the journal, and maybe it's there and maybe pages have torn out; it's a very old one. But in 1918, the journals relating to my father appear again, and they say that they received money from America that my father had sent back to his family. So this was of course during the First World War, and my father… LINDA: Did your father join the service? ANNA: Yes, my father was here in 1910 or 1911. He became a United States citizen, and he entered the war in October of 1917. I have a copy of the newspaper article that it said the second 40 depart from Fort Devens. And the 40 I think refer to a 40 percent. I think each area had to send a certain percentage of the males to Devens, and Fitchburg sent their second 40 percent, and the picture was in the newspaper. My father of course is the most handsome man in that picture. But how we happened to find that newspaper, my husband Aldo was at a meeting at the City Hall in Fitchburg, and at that time in the waiting room the walls were being painted, and all the framed pictures from the wall were on the floor. And waiting for his turn my husband saw this newspaper that was framed on the floor. He picked it up and started reading it, and the date was October 8, 1917. And he's looking down the 3 list of about 40 or 50 names that were in that picture, and he comes across the name Oreste Guglielmi. So he knew that my father's picture was in that newspaper. And I did go up to the City Hall and ask for a copy of it so that I could make copies of that, and I have one now. So it's quite a nice… LINDA: A nice treasure, yeah. ANNA: A treasure, a great remembrance. LINDA: Now, getting back to your grandfather, how many children were there in the family? ANNA: Five children, I believe there were four boys -- there were six, two girls and four boys. Some of them died in infancy. LINDA: Four girls and… ANNA: Four boys and two girls. LINDA: Okay. Now, was your father the only one… ANNA: He was the oldest. He was the oldest boy in the family. LINDA: Now, did he ever have contact with his brothers and sisters again? ANNA: Yes, he would always write to them, but he never got back to see them. In 1917, 1918 when he was sent to France, from what my cousin tells me, he requested permission to go to Italy, and apparently it was not granted. He never went back to Italy. LINDA: And they never followed him? ANNA: Well, one of the journal entries from my grandfather's journal said that he prepared passports for himself, his wife, and the children. The whole family was to come to America. But shortly after that my grandfather became ill, then my grandmother became ill, and they never came. They both died. LINDA: Now, do you remember any stories that your father may have told you about Italy? ANNA: My father died in 1947, and we were quite young. We really didn't get into too many stories about Italy. But he said he had come because the streets of the United States were supposed to be paved in gold and there 4 wasn't much work other than their own construction, and they felt that he could do better if he came to Italy. And he was to come and see how it is and then fly back. I do have some of the letters that my father wrote to his parents when he got back from the war in the 1920s. When he was married, he would send money to them. In fact some of the entries in my grandfather's book show that in 1920 he would send over 10,000 lira to Italy. And at one point in April of 1920, he sent back to ask his parents to get a marriage certificate that he had married in the United States, and I guess they wanted it recorded in the church out there where he was born. So that's in my grandfather's journal. LINDA: Interesting. Now, how did your father meet your mother? ANNA: My father came and boarded on Third Street. The Lily family had a boarding house. Apparently there were other young men that had come from Italy, and they came from the area that the Lily family had come, and they knew that there was a boarding house here in Fitchburg, and they did board with them. Now, when my mother came, which was in 1919 -- I recall her saying that she landed in New York on Labor Day, September 1919. Her brother was here already, was married, and lived on Second Street in Fitchburg. And my mother came from New York to Fitchburg and lived with her brother and his family, and I'm sure there because Second Street and Third Street were only a block away, my father and mother met. And they were married in April of 1920. So my mother was here about six months, six or seven months before she married. LINDA: Seems unusual that your father was here about nine years, eight to nine years, although he spent a few years, I guess… ANNA: In the war, right. LINDA: Yes. So what kind of jobs did your father have?5 ANNA: He had construction work. He was an artist in building fireplaces, chimneys, brick homes, stucco work, plastering, and he was very much in demand. Many contractors would call and ask my father to work for them; and as far as I can remember he worked just about every single day, except Sundays, of course. But it was always beautiful work. And as children, during summer vacation if he worked in any area that was within walking distance we would carry his lunch to him at noontime, and we would sit with him and have a sandwich while he ate his lunch. They would have a half an hour for a break at noontime, and my mother would make sure that we were there by twelve o'clock so he got time to eat his lunch. He was a wonderful man; I have great memories of my father, and my mother, but especially my father. I seemed to be closer to him probably because I was the middle daughter. The oldest one, my sister, who's only a year and a half older than I am, but she helped my mother more. And my other two sisters were twins, and they were probably two or three years younger than I, and they were always considered younger. So I was the middle one, and I was the boy of the family more or less. LINDA: Now, did he ever teach you anything about laying brick? ANNA: No. No, I never did any of that work. LINDA: But do you suppose if you were a boy you would have? ANNA: I would have been, I definitely would have been. I know many young men that were taught under my father. He always had an apprentice with him, somebody who was learning the trade. In fact my brother-in-law, my sister's husband, learned the trade under my father. And there are other men that worked with my father and then they brought their sons in to learn the trade. There are many people that still remember my father and his work, and they speak to me about telling me well, the fireplace is still in my home that your father built, or the chimney is still standing that my father built. He died in 1947, so that's quite a few years ago. 6 In fact he died as a result of an accident on work. He and an apprentice were working on a roof this particular day, and they were carrying pails and bricks and other things up to the roof, up and down the ladder. Well, at this particular time my father was at the bottom of the ladder and the apprentice was climbing and dropped something, which hit my father in the back of the ear on his head. And shortly after that my father started experiencing dizziness, and he thought it was his eyes or his teeth, and everything checked out fine, but apparently it was a start of a tumor. So when this became obvious that he was having this dizziness was the month of July. And my father had one cousin, only one cousin that came from Italy; all the rest of the family stayed out there. So my father and this cousin were very close, it was David [Potheti] who lived in Quincy, which was at that time maybe an hour and a half or two-hour drive from Fitchburg to Quincy, and we would often visit. But this particular day in July, my father wanted to go to visit his cousin, and my sister Helen was preparing for a wedding in October, for her wedding, and my sister Lena was already married. So my father asked me to go with him to Quincy and he asked me to drive, which is very unusual, especially going out of town. He would never have asked me to drive, so I sort of thought he wasn't feeling well. But he and I went to Quincy, and on the way back he was telling his cousin that when he looks up into chimneys and all he gets dizzy, so he was going to have his eyes checked, thinking there was something wrong with his eyes that was causing the dizziness. And on the way back from Quincy he told me, he says, "Well, I'm going to go to the doctor and have my eyes checked because this dizziness is bothering me." 7 So that was the month of July, but he never complained. He did end up getting reading glasses, but everything seemed to check out okay. And apparently the test was not as thorough as they are today, because there was a tumor growing in the back of his head on the side behind his ear, and they didn't discover that until October. It was at my sister's wedding reception that my father collapsed. He had gone through the wedding ceremony, the dinner, the receiving line, and during the reception he just collapsed on the floor. And the next day when he saw the doctor, after a few days they admitted him to the hospital for tests, and they found that he had a tumor in his brain. And from October to the time he died in March, he never got out of bed. I recall him saying, I drove him to the hospital and he said, "You know," he says, "I never packed a suitcase for a vacation." He says, "But here I am packing it to go to the hospital." He said that when he got out of the hospital he and my mother were going to take a nice vacation. Then he went to the Burbank Hospital in Fitchburg, and from there to Mass General in Boston, back to Burbank, back home and from October to March he never got on his feet again. So he died the end of March, March 29, 1947. LINDA: So 1947 or '48? ANNA: '47, 1947. LINDA: Okay. How was life different for your mother, let's say, after that? ANNA: Well, she relied a lot more on me, because I was driving and my other sisters were not. My sister Lena was married, and my other two sisters were at home, the three of us were at home. Well, Helen had just got married in October, so she wasn't there. But my sister Mary and I were at home with my mother. So it was different, it certainly took a lot out of my mother because she aged, I think, 10 years in just a few months. LINDA: Now, how was she able to get money to live?8 ANNA: Well, we were working, and there was Social Security that my father had left for her. And we owned our home. This was the home that my father built when I was two years old, and we'd been living in that house all that time. He built the house in 1924, and it was a stucco house with shingles on top and a two-family house. LINDA: Now, why did he build a two-family house? ANNA: For economy, I think, you know, collect the rent, and it paid for your own. LINDA: He rented to other Italians? ANNA: We rented to one family that lived with us until their family got too big and left. That was the [Mendosi] family. They remained close friends all the time. Then we rented to a family, the Levanti family, and they stayed there for 60 years. LINDA: Sixty? ANNA: Fifty years, yeah they liked it so much that they stayed. They have a small family, so they were able to -- they had two boys, and there's four rooms upstairs, and they loved the house so they just stayed there. Downstairs we had four girls, so it started out to be a four-room house, but he added on a two-car garage and made two rooms above that garage, so he had an extension to the first floor where we lived. So, the six of us were very comfortable there. We felt very comfortable. You know, we weren't rich, but my father had a car and worked every day. We never felt any want for things that we could not have. There was always food on the table. It was different than it is nowadays I think, my mother would be at home, she'd have supper ready at five o'clock, you know, for my father when he came home. And the family always ate together. We would all be home from work at that time. So it was a nice family. LINDA: Do you think it's important to eat together? ANNA: I think so, I think it is. Although I could not do it when my children were growing up and my husband had very bad hours as far as getting home, he 9 never got home at five o'clock, you know. And my children, when they were in school, they were involved in sports, and one would have a four o'clock game, the other one would have five o'clock, the other one at six, you know, pick one up, drop the other one off and always had something to eat, but it was never sitting together. It was a rare occasion rather than the common thing to have supper all together. LINDA: So how did you keep your family together? ANNA: Well, it was a challenge, but we managed to do that. We stayed together, certainly. Just took care of all their sports, all their school activities, all their sports activities. There was always a time where we would come together Saturdays, Sundays we'd be together, holidays. LINDA: Did you keep those days sacred? One day? ANNA: Sundays. Sundays was always a church day; we'd go to church as a family all together. LINDA: And then share a meal after? ANNA: Yes, yes. LINDA: Was it a traditional Italian meal? ANNA: Usually, yes. It was always pasta and chicken on Sundays. Then as they got older, Aldo was at home at that time and after mass we would go for breakfast in some restaurant, and that would be a family affair. We did this quite often with my own family, of course not when I was a child because we didn't get into restaurants in those days, you know. But my family, I recall almost every Sunday going to breakfast at Howard Johnson's or someplace, you know, that they would pick. LINDA: So getting back to growing up in Fitchburg, you had told me what street that you had lived on and there were gardens, perhaps? ANNA: Yes, our house was the last house on the street. And beyond that, there were gardens and woods. And the neighbors would lease a lot of land from whoever owned the property, and they would grow their tomatoes and beans and potatoes, carrots, all the vegetables they could fit there, lettuce and all kinds of produce. And this would be their activity during 10 the summer. They would go up there and take care of their garden and collect whatever fruits there were. And the children early in the morning, all the children of the neighborhood would meet say at 6:30 in the morning and go pick blueberries up in the woods. We'd come back and we'd be making blueberry pancakes or muffins or something like that, you know, with our blueberries. And even freeze, not freeze them in those days, you had to can them, so we would do that. And many of the vegetables that were grown in the garden, tomatoes and all, would be canned. They would be bottled for the winter. It was not unusual to find a cellar that had all the provisions for the winter, the homemade tomato sauce and all that all packed. LINDA: Did you ever sell any of the produce? ANNA: Yes, if you had too many tomatoes you would call one of the markets and see if they could use some of the fresh fruit, some of the tomatoes, green peppers, green beans. If you had too much you would sell it to the stores; they would give you something for it, and they would sell it to other people. LINDA: So who was in charge of the garden? For example, who was responsible to weed it and plan for its harvest? ANNA: My mother and father did most of it. I would say they did all of it, yeah. We would probably help a little but not that much. I don't recall doing too much. We also had chickens, and I do recall that as my job to go get the eggs and to feed the chickens every day, and I did that until the rooster sniffed me one day and then I wouldn't go in there anymore. LINDA: Now, where were these chickens kept? ANNA: We had another garage that my father built, and we had that as a chicken coop. We made a chicken coop out of that garage, yeah. LINDA: Someone had told me that sometimes at these gardens someone would build a shack. ANNA: Yes.11 LINDA: And I forgot, there's an Italian term of course, and I can't remember what it was called, but evidently sometimes there was a woodstove in there so that people could cook their sauce. Did you have anything like that on your property? ANNA: No, we didn't. No, we had that garage that my father had built. That was not the two-car garage that he built for our cars with the bedrooms over; this was another garage separated from the property. There was also another two-car garage, and one of them we used as the chicken coop. LINDA: So it must have been abutting your land? ANNA: No, it was on our land but it was separated from the house. LINDA: Is it still there? ANNA: It's still there, yeah. And now it's used for a garage, you know. My sister lives in the house now, my sister and her husband, and they rent the garage. They have a car, one car, and the other three stalls are rented. So the stalls were very well built; they're still being used today. LINDA: Now, did your family have another kitchen, maybe in the basement, a stove? ANNA: Yes, yes, we had -- not a stove, we had a sink down in the cellar so that when vegetables or whatever was brought in, we'd be -- in fact this is funny, but we had this sink with a mirror on it, and many times there were four daughters, we had four girls in the house. And he would go downstairs to shave so that we could use the bathroom; he was very accommodating. He would go down into the cellar where the sink and this mirror were set up, and he would shave down there. LINDA: Did your family ever use the cellar in the basement to eat? ANNA: No, no. No, it was just for storage. It was cold; a cold cellar, so you could keep vegetables down there, you could have a barrel full of apples that would last you all winter. We'd have a wine barrel, but it was cool enough to store apples. And I recall many times we'd go down, fill up our fruit bowl with apples from the cellar. We didn't have to go to the store or to the farm to buy apples. We'd do it once, and it would last for the winter.12 LINDA: I'm noticing that different regions where Italians are from, that Southern Italians rarely utilize their basement. They actually have a kitchen in the basement, but I think it's probably because it's so much warmer in Southern Italy, so they just grab that tradition here. ANNA: Yes, probably. Ours was just storage. In fact my father built cabinets down there that -- one of them he made like a cedar cabinet that we would put our woolens in there and keep our clothes there that were out of season. And with four daughters, he provided all this for us. But we had the furnace down there, you know, then -- and for a while it was coal, and then it was converted to oil, you know. So it wasn't a place to have a meal, but it was a place for washing your vegetables and anything that wasn't clean enough to come upstairs, you have to wash it first downstairs. LINDA: Now, do you feel as though because there were four daughters that perhaps come of you did what would be called a boy's jobs? ANNA: Yes. Yes. And I was the one to do that. Yeah. Yeah. LINDA: Well, tell me about that. ANNA: Well, I recall during the Second World War when we had blackouts in the area, you know, they would put all the lights out in homes and in streets, then they would assign people to join the civil defense, and they would have various jobs to do. Well, my father and a few of the men from that neighborhood had to go out and patrol the streets to make sure that everything was all right during these blackouts, and I would go with my father. I would accompany him on these blackouts. Then also women were asked to do things. We had Rosie the Riveter at that time, and we also had a motor corps, which is what I joined. They would teach us how to change tires, how to look under the hood to see if anything was wrong with the car, and things that, you know, might go wrong with cars and they weren't -- the men were all in the war, so the women were supposed to know how to do these 13 things. But today I wouldn't change a tire. [Unintelligible - 00:31:42] I wouldn't know what to do today, but in 1941, '42, we did that. LINDA: So let's get back to the blackouts. Was that typically what a son would do? ANNA: Yes. Yes. LINDA: Accompany his father? ANNA: Yeah. Mm-hmm. Yeah. It's the men that did that. Yeah. LINDA: Mm-hmm. So what would happen if you noticed the neighbor wasn't turning off the lights? ANNA: You'd have to go tell them turn off your lights, you know, you got to knock on the door and tell them. It's blackout. And most of them, I think, most of the people really cooperated. If there was a blackout, you'd find the street black, you know, and all the lights were out. LINDA: Mm-hmm. So do you feel that your generation was defined by World War II and the Depression? ANNA: I think so. World War II was -- started right after I got out of high school, and the boys from my class went to war, and the women were doing the work around that the men should have been doing if they were there, but there weren't any men around. I worked for an attorney at that time, Thomas [Duling], in the Park building in Fitchburg, and I started working -- well, the day after I got out of school I started working at Fitchburg State College in the registrar's office. They were taking summer registration, and I was asked if I could go up there and help with the registrations, and I did for about two weeks but then Attorney Duling's secretary was going on vacation, so he called to see if I would help him out for two weeks, and that sounded interesting, you know, to work in the law office. And I did, but those two weeks extended to nine years. I stayed there with him for nine years and really helped him with the legal work. I would go to court with him, take down a lot of the 14 testimony in [unintelligible - 00:33:49] like quote stenography and worked on many cases. The hours were long. There was no 9 to 5 job. It was like get there at maybe eight o'clock in the morning. You might still be working at eight o'clock at night if there were a case that were coming up the next day, a new trial, or you'd have to be there interviewing witnesses and getting ready for the next day. I did a lot of traveling with him between Worcester and Boston to go to the various courts. LINDA: Was there ever a time that you wished that you had gone to Washington? ANNA: Yes. Yes. There was. [Unintelligible - 00:34:32] get there. LINDA: But you had mentioned before that your parents thought that education was very important. ANNA: He did. Yes. But they also felt that they could not send me to college. The money was not around for a college education, and I think at that time too it was felt that a girl was going to marry, raise a family, and stay at home. It wasn't as necessary for a girl to have the college education as it was for a son. And that was the situation when I got out of high school. There wasn't any money for college. But when my sisters, my two youngest sisters got out, he was -- he wanted to send them to college. They were -- I think they got out three years after I did, but they didn't want to go. So I always felt that I wanted go further into education, and I went back to school after I married, and I had six children. One of them died in infancy. But after the five children were grown up, the youngest was then in junior high school, I did got back to Fitchburg State College, and that was in 1973, I believe it was. LINDA: So you were about 51 or so? ANNA: Yes. Yes. Yep. I would call -- the math teacher in one class was showing averages. And he says, "Now, the average student, the average age of this class is," and he's going up and down the aisle, you know, and this one 15 was 18, that was 19, and I was 20 now, and he got to me and I said 50. And I brought that average way up there. So they laughed at that. LINDA: Well, good for you though. And I bet you were an inspiration to all of them. ANNA: I enjoyed going. I found -- you know, there was a lot of young people that, you know, sometimes they have the reputation that they're just going to college for the fun of it, but there were some there that were really into getting an education, and it was nice to see that. LINDA: So during the time that you were going to college, did you have children in college? ANNA: Yes, I did. Yeah. My oldest son had already started. He was, I think, in his sophomore year, and my second son was in his last year of high school. He was ready to start the following September. And my other two children were in high school, and my last daughter was just going to start high school. She was in her last year at junior high. She was in the 8th grade. She was going to go in the 9th grade. So I had a 9th grade, 10th grade, 11th grade, 12th grade, and one in college. LINDA: Well, did you take a full course load? ANNA: Yes. I did. In fact, I took an accelerated course because I wanted to get through as quickly as possible knowing that I had family responsibility. So I did finish in three and a half years. I got through in December of '76. LINDA: That must have been a big family graduation party? ANNA: No. LINDA: No. ANNA: I didn't want any party. I was just glad that I had finished, and I did graduate magna cum laude, so I felt good about that. That was good. LINDA: So did you feel as though you growing up in a household of girls and your parents really didn't have enough money, and they thought you're a woman, maybe didn't need an education, how did you feel that you had two daughters and three sons? ANNA: Three sons. Yes. 16 LINDA: Did you treat them differently? ANNA: No, we wanted education for them. They knew from day one they were going to go to college, and knowing that they were so close in age that I knew that I had to prepare for this, you know, and I did. My husband, of course, knew how to save money, too. He knows how to spend it, but he knows how when it's necessary to save it and start investing, and we were able to do it. There were four in college and one in graduate school all at the same time. So that was quite a hefty bill to pay, you know. But we managed it. LINDA: So getting -- I want to still talk about your childhood in Fitchburg. I remember you talking about a sled and a tricycle. ANNA: Yes. We had one sled and one tricycle, and it was passed down to all four of us. Yep. Yeah, there were no bikes. No, nothing. Nothing else, you know. We had this one tricycle, and that was it. Lena had it first, I would have it second, and then the two twins had to share it. Yeah. And the sled the same. SPEAKER 1: Hello. Good to see you. LINDA: So actually, more about the sled and tricycle. I was just wondering if you could tell me a little bit about your leisure time. We know that your generation had to work so hard, you know, just to make ends meet. But what did you do [unintelligible - 00:40:03]? ANNA: Just in our last years of high school when I formed an all-girls band. I think I -- I don't know if I mentioned that before, but we called ourselves the Melody Maids. And we played for our church events, the dances that they would have, the Catholic youth dances, at that time. We played for that. The girl scouts held a prom, and they hired us to play at their prom. I think we got paid a dollar for the evening. One dollar. LINDA: A dollar apiece. ANNA: A dollar apiece. Right. And there were six of us. We had a piano, violin, a saxophone, a trumpet, an electric guitar, and the drums. So we had a nice band. We would practice at my house, open all the windows. The 17 neighbors wanted us to -- they heard us practicing and they wanted to hear the music. So we would play in our living room and entertain as much as -- if they call it entertainment. But we played for the neighbors. Then that didn't last too long, long enough for us to have a few jobs and have somewhat of a reputation around the churches that we could play for them. LINDA: Are you referring to a few years, or… ANNA: Yes. A few years. But then, with the war and girls going off with boyfriends and getting married, we didn't continue anymore. LINDA: So was it typical for your generation to learn a musical instrument? Was that considered important? ANNA: I think it was, especially among the Italians. In our neighborhood, there were mostly Italian families, and there were several that played violin that I know. If they happened to have the piano, somebody would always play the piano. But again, it costs money, and many families could not afford the lessons. In our Melody Maids band, the only Italians -- that were not Italians in the band were -- there were three of us Italian, my two sisters and myself. My sister Lena had her boyfriend, and she didn't want to play with us, so she felt we were too young for her. And she was only a year and a half older, but she didn't want to play with us. So we had another pianist who was very good. But we all played in the high school band. And I didn't play in the band; I played in the orchestra because I played the violin. My sisters both played in the band. One played the sax and one played the drums. And they happened to pick up those instruments because when I was forming my band, I didn't have a sax player and a drum player. So I got the two of them to take lessons and learn our songs quickly. So they did, and they played with us. We had lots of courage, I guess, to get out and play like that. LINDA: Yeah. Did you know of any other girls who [unintelligible - 00:43:40] could play in bands? 18 ANNA: No. That wasn't even in style at that time. They had all boys, you know, they had -- some boys would get together and play in groups. You know, they have jazz bands and things like that, but no girls. I says, well, why not? So we formed the all-girls band. LINDA: What kind of music were you playing? ANNA: Well, our favorites were Glenn Miller songs. It was just the time of Glenn Miller. So we would play many of his songs, and then it was the Polka, "Roll out the Barrel." I don't know if you're familiar with that song. I remember one New Year's Eve; this was all they wanted to hear. The people wanted "Roll out the Barrel," and we had to play it a dozen times. LINDA: Now, did anyone sing? ANNA: Not in our group. No. LINDA: Now, you talk about having money for lessons. Were lessons given at the high school level? ANNA: I took lessons from third grade through high school, and then I didn't take lessons anymore. I gave up playing for about 50 years, and then I got back to it. LINDA: [Unintelligible - 00:44:53] and I hope you want to do that again. But getting back --I don't think that I phrased that question correctly. Did the school's department offer lessons? ANNA: Offer lessons. No. Not that I know of. They probably did, but I don't know. I took lessons from some Joseph Scilano, who is a violinist, and a very good violinist, played with many symphonies in the area. LINDA: So why is it that you chose the violin? ANNA: There was a group, a conservatory that came through the neighborhood to see if there were children in that age group that wanted to take up a violin. And I think that's how it started. I started going to this conservatory for about a year. They would give lessons uptown in Fitchburg, and that's how we started. And a year after that, Joseph Scilano was giving lessons, and he was related to the family too. He was a good friend of ours, and I took lessons from him. 19 LINDA: Yeah. How did you recruit some of these band members? LINDSEY : I put an ad in the paper for an all-girl band, and I received these other three calls for a piano player, the electric guitar, and a trumpet. So it was a good start. It was encouraging to get the girls to answer the ad. LINDA: And then they would join you at your home? ANNA: At my home, right. And we played. Yeah. That was fun. LINDA: I bet. Did anyone every make a tape of you playing? ANNA: No. LINDA: No. ANNA: In fact, one fellow did. He came to the house one time, and he had just got this microphone and he was going to record us. Well, every time someone came to the melody, he would put it on bass. He didn't know who he was recording, and the tape was so awful. He didn't -- he would just pass around from one to the other no matter what we were playing. If we were playing, you know, just an accompaniment, he would record that. So he didn't know what he was doing. But anyway, we don't have that tape. We didn't want it. LINDA: You didn't want it. So tell me about Sundays. I think that Sundays were special days for you and your family. I'm talking about your mom and dad. ANNA: Yes. LINDA: And siblings. ANNA: Yes. It was going to church every Sunday, and Sunday afternoons my father had a bocce court in his backyard, and many of the men from -- his friends would come to our house, and they would play bocce, and this was a favorite game among the Italians. And this would be two or three hours on Sunday afternoon. However, we would always end up going out for a Sunday afternoon ride. My father would take the whole family out for a Sunday afternoon, and before we got home, we would stop and buy three pints of ice cream, which was a special treat in those days. Go home, slice 20 the ice cream boxes, and everybody would have half-pint of ice cream. Half of a pint. LINDA: Wow. ANNA: So that was a special treat. But every Sunday, on Easter Sunday, and then still came up to play bocce, but they would play with hard-boiled eggs. And the one who could play bocce and not get his egg cracked was the winner. So the four daughters would be up on the porch saying, "Pa, are we going for our ride today?" "Yes, we'd go for our ride," and he would have to dismiss the men at one point, and he would take his family out for a ride. It was very special. I think we were the only family on the hill that had a car. So that was quite nice. He needed the car for his work. He always had to carry a truckful of tools with him, and to get to his job he always needed a car. So he always had a car. Every two years he would buy a Chevrolet. And when I was married, he would buy a Chevrolet at Matthew's Garage, and Mr. Matthew knew me through my father, and that was where I had taken the motor car course. So when I was married he had a car for me. This was 1949, and you could not buy cars. I don't know if you recall that. You had to put your name on the list and wait for cars to come in because there was such a demand for cars, you have to [unintelligible - 00:49:55]. So in 1949, he knew I was getting married. So about two weeks before I was married he called and says, "I have a car for you." So that was quite special, and I was working for Judge Duling at that time, and I think my car cost me, like, $800 or $900. It was a nice Chevy. LINDA: Now, was it unusual for you to have your license? ANNA: Yes. It was. Yeah. I worked for Judge Duling, and my father was working building a gas station, very close to the park building and my cousin, [Claude Gimarino], was not working at that time. So he said, 21 "Why don't you and I teach Anna how to drive?" He says, "I'll pick your car up while you're working, she gets out of work," and at that time I'm getting out at four o'clock. He says, "And then we'll be back at five o'clock to give you your car," he would say to my father. So that was arranged. So he gave me a total of three lessons, about three hours, and then he took me out for my driver's license. And I passed. I passed the test. So I had my license immediately, you know. There were no learner's permits at that time. LINDA: And how old were you then? ANNA: I was just working. I must have been 18. It was 1941, so I [unintelligible - 00:51:28] high school and started working for Judge Duling. So I got my license right away. LINDA: Sound like quite the trailblazer in many ways. ANNA: Yeah. So Claude will talk about that now. He said, "My cousin could drive in three hours." LINDA: Now getting back to your parents, did they both speak English? ANNA: My mother spoke broken English, but my father spoke very well. Yeah. I don't recall my father ever having an Italian accent. He spoke very well. LINDA: Now, were they both citizens? ANNA: Yeah. Yes. LINDA: Do you remember hearing of any stories of them going to the American… ANNA: No, I don't. My father, of course, before he was married he was a citizen here because he went into the war. He probably became a citizen very soon after he got to the United States. I haven't been able to find any records on him from Ellis Island. I don't know why, but they don't seem to have his name there at all. They have many Guglielmis, but nothing within their time frame I think he came. I did find some records on my mother, [Carmela Gimarino], but they have the wrong date. They have her coming in 1909 when she was probably 16 years old, and she tells me she came 1919, so her record isn't there either. Not accurate anyway. So I have to do some research on that to see if I can find anything. 22 LINDA: I don't remember what you said, did you check the website? ANNA: Yes, I did. LINDA: You have. And… ANNA: No. I got this wrong information. So I've written to my mother's two sisters in Italy to see if they can tell me anything. And they're -- one of them is in her 90s; the other one is late 80s, so I don't know how much they can tell me. But when I met them in Italy they seemed to be -- they have it all together, so I'm hoping that they can come up with some dates. LINDA: So explain that to me -- the trip to Italy, in what year was that? ANNA: This was in '89. Well, '98. My three sisters and I went to Italy for that express purpose, to meet my aunts, my mother's sisters, and my father's relatives. And this is when we went to Salerno, which is where my aunt lives, my mother's sister, and her other sister lives in Milan, but she was going to visit with her in Salerno during the time that we were there, so we saw both sisters, and they were wonderful. These two sisters are the youngest in the family. My mother was the oldest of the first mother who died at my mother's birth, my mother's. Very soon after my mother was born, her mother died and her father remarried. He had had eight or nine children with his first wife, and he eight or nine children with a second wife. So there are about 18 of them. And now only these two are left, these two sisters. So we met them, and they were a joy to meet. They were wonderful, this 92-year-old, the oldest one, would have her supper and then go out and have her cigarette. The younger sister, who was probably 88, would say, "You're not supposed to be smoking." She says, "It hasn't hurt me for 92 years," she said, "well, why should I stop now?" So she was quite modern. And the other sister was wonderful too, the one that's in her 80s. They have a family out there that I've met, two cousins, you know, are out there, but 23 they're not planning to come to America. Maybe the next generation will. But they all [unintelligible - 00:55:49]. LINDA: Now, did your aunts look like your mother, or did they have any characteristics that were familiar? ANNA: Yeah, they did. One of them, the one in Salerno that I had met probably two years before that when my son Anthony and I went to Bologna for a trade show for our [unintelligible - 00:56:10] business. We went to Bologna. He needed an interpreter, so he thought I would be good to have along there. So I did go with him to Bologna, and then we took the train from there down to Rome and then down to Salerno to meet this aunt, and my son told me, my son thought he was seeing his grandmother all over again, you know. He could see such a resemblance in her to my mother. So that was nice. The other one, too, you can see the family resemblance, but she looked probably more like my grandfather, the old man up on the wall there. Yeah, that's my mother's father. He lived to be in his 90s. My mother had come here in 1919, and she never went back to see him until 1953. All those years. Then she made her first trip back to Italy, and he said at that time, he says, "Now I can die." He says, "I waited for you to come back." And he did. He died. LINDA: [Unintelligible - 00:57:24] ANNA: Yeah. Yeah. He died a few years after that, or a short while after that. LINDA: So did your mother just go back to visit? ANNA: To visit. LINDA: She didn't return to live there? ANNA: No. She just went back to visit her family. LINDA: Did she ever talk about missing her homeland? ANNA: No. I don't think she -- well, she would write to her family, her parents and her -- not her mother, her mother had died. But her father and her sisters and brothers, they would correspond. But there was never a trip, never talked about going back until in '53 when, you know, I was married. All my sisters were married, and she felt she could go back, and she did. 24 There's always a question of priorities. Where is the money going, you know? So in '53 it got to be easier for her when we were all on our own. LINDA: She made the trip by herself? ANNA: Yes, she did. LINDA: So she had only a brother here. So the brother…? ANNA: No. She had more. She had one brother in Fitchburg. But she had another brother in Springfield who had a family out there and we would visit between Quincy, my father's cousin, and Springfield in Massachusetts. We would spend many Sundays going to visit one or the other. Yeah, so they remained close. She also had a sister who lived in Brooklyn, New York, and that wasn't a trip that we made too often but we did make that trip as, you know, six of us in the car, the four girls and my mother and father, we'd go to visit her, the aunt in New York. And she would take a bus and come up to Fitchburg and stay with us for a while. LINDA: Now, I imagine life was very different for the aunts that stayed in Italy compared to here. ANNA: Yes. Yes. LINDA: But I doubt that the aunt living in Brooklyn also had a much different experience. ANNA: A very different experience. She was very modern. We would love it when she would come from New York to visit us, and she would always bring sometime from New York, either some clothes or some scotch. I think it's -- not pantsuit, they were more like pajamas. They started wearing them in New York, and she would come for a summer [unintelligible - 00:59:59] that we would have here in Fitchburg, and she would be dressed with a big hat on, the big sun hat and the pajamas, and she would show up at these outings. I said that's my sister from New York, my mother would say. She would have beautiful jewelry on, you know. She wasn't married at that time. She married later in life. And her husband died in a very sad accident. They had no children. 25 They were both married later in life, but he was working for the trains, and it was 4th of July and his friend who was scheduled to work, said, "It's a holiday. Could you take my place?" because he was going to take his children somewhere. And Aunt Rachel's husband Sal says, "Why, sure. I don't have any children at home." Apparently one train hit another train, and he was caught in-between. So he was decapitated. Very sad. Yeah. So that was the end of their married life. They hadn't been married very long. LINDA: So tell me what kind of person your mother was. ANNA: Well, she stayed at home, always did housework. Always took care of the family; didn't drive. She had twins. I recall many times she would have to go uptown to pay a bill, maybe, and she would have the double carriage with the twins in it, you know, one of these wide carriages. She'd push it all the way uptown, which was a good mile or more, you know, but didn't faze them at all to do that walking. I recall I was going to take my violin lessons, walking more than a mile to go take my lessons. I was given a scholarship when I was in the 8th grade to go to the art museum to take some lessons, and this was on Saturday morning—and that was probably two miles away from my house, or almost two miles—and I would walk on Saturday mornings to go up there and have those lessons, walk back, you know. It didn't faze us at all to do this walking, and -- but then when winter came my mother said I had better stop going to the art museum, so those lessons didn't last too long, so. LINDA: Did your mother have any friends in the neighborhood? ANNA: Yes. They were all friends. Yes. Every house on the hill, we would know them. You know, and many times they would just gather on one another's porch, and most of the times it would be up on our porch because we did have a front porch then, and we were the last house on the hill. They would walk up the hill, and they would gather there. There was a 26 streetlight right across from our house, and all the children would play under that streetlight, hide and seek or anything you could think of that, you know, you could see with the one streetlight. But because there was no traffic, they would just play out there. And as children, all the neighborhood children played together. They all went to the same school because it was their neighborhood school. All belonged to the same parish. So whatever came up as a social event, just have your whole neighborhood doing it, you know. LINDA: So I hear you refer to the neighborhood as "the hill." Did people in Fitchburg refer to it as that? ANNA: It was Belmont Street, and we lived up at the top of the hill. Yeah, it was. It was our hill. And ours was the last house. LINDA: Now, were there a lot of Italian families living in that area? ANNA: Yes. Yes. Everyone in that -- very few other families, there were some. There was on O'Connor family. There was a [Ketteridge] family that I recall, but all the others would be Italian. LINDA: Now, were they basically from the same region? ANNA: No. Somewhere, in fact, they built -- my father built a place anyway. He built the Marconi Club Hall. They called it the Marconi Club because these were people that came from [Le Marche] in Italy. And they all seemed to congregate in this St. Anthony's Parish of Fitchburg in the Water Street, and then coming up the hill they would come up to where the parish, the church, and the school was, which was Salem Street; and then going up the hill a little further you'd come up to where we lived on Belmont Street, and going further on, Hayward Street. But this whole area was Italian area, and this was the Italian parish, and most of the children in the school were Italian. And they formed a Marconi club for the people that came from Le Marche. I think Water Street had another club for people that came from another area also, in Fitchburg. But the Marconi Club was right there behind our church, 27 behind our school, and the people they called the [Marchedioni], they would meet there, they would have all sorts of events there. They would rent the hall out for dances, weddings; wedding receptions would be in this hall. They even had a restaurant, would go in and have their Italian supper, and the club still exists today. Not the club. The clubhouse exists today. I don't think the Marconi Club exists. But it was a place where these people would have picnics. They would -- at least an annual picnic would be up at [Sima] Park, and all the ladies would cook their Sunday specialties or what. It wasn't sandwiches, you know; they would bring their pasta and their chicken or whatever they were going to cook for Sunday dinner, and they would go eat outdoors at the Sima Park. They would have a band up there. They would have dancing. There was just a day out for that whole group that belonged to the Marconi Club. LINDA: What does Marconi refer to? ANNA: Guglielmo Marconi, who invented radio, the wireless. In fact, all the wireless things we use today probably originated from the first wireless, and they called it Marconi in honor of Guglielmo Marconi. LINDA: He was obviously from this Le Marche region? ANNA: Yes. I think so. I'm not sure if he was, but he was from Italy. LINDA: There's a beach on Cape Cod, Marconi Beach. ANNA: Marconi Beach. Yes. LINDA: And that's named after him. ANNA: After Guglielmo Marconi? LINDA: Mm-hmm. I wanted to talk about the boundaries of neighborhoods, let's say, in Fitchburg. Was there ever a period of time where people didn't get along with each other depending on where they lived or what ethnic group they were? ANNA: I don't think -- it wasn't that they didn't get along with each other. I think they felt closer to the ones that came from their own region. But I can't 28 recall, you know, anyone being looked down on. I think if there was any group that was looked down on, it might have been the Sicilians. At that time, they probably felt, you know, he's a Sicilian. But tenant that I spoke of that lived in our house was a Sicilian, and he was a wonderful person. But I don't think anyone, you know, had any hard feelings, or it was -- you're closer to your own region but friendly with the others too. LINDA: It seems like these neighborhood clubs or these region clubs helped bring people together? ANNA: Yes. LINDA: Did the parish also do this? ANNA: Yes. The parish did. The parish had societies for women, for men, for their unmarried women, from the time they made their first communion, which would probably be seven or eight years old, up until the time they married they belonged to the Children of Mary Society. Once they married they joined the Our Lady of Marcomo Society. And the men always had the Sacred Heart Society for the men. Then once the kids get into high school, they would have the Catholic Youth Organization, and they would have functions to keep them, you know, which, you know, many parishes today don't have that. They may have a society or a men's group, but I think the youth are probably more reliant on schools, on their high school, to have group activities rather than the parish. Maybe because the shortage of priests, no time, you know, that could be it. I know our parish today doesn't have anything for youth. LINDA: And what is your parish today? ANNA: St. Anna's Parish here in Leominster. They do have the ladies group, and they do have the men's group, men's club. LINDA: Now growing up though, you belonged to St. Anthony's. ANNA: St. Anthony's in Fitchburg. Yes. And I belonged to The Children of Mary's [unintelligible - 01:10:10] until I married. 29 LINDA: So what kinds of things would you do as part of the…? ANNA: There would be picnics. There would be outings. We would form a group to go to an amusement park. In the winter we would go skating. Probably get a group to go up to near a lake at [Cod Shaw Park], and even younger than the Catholic youth, when you were in the earlier years, the summer activities were keyed around the parish. We had the Venerini nuns there, and the girls would go up there to learn how to do embroidery or cutwork or crochet, any of that work. When the youngsters would go on what they call the [asilo], the kindergarten, and they would learn the, you know, writing and songs or how to write their name, things like that. But this is like a summer school so you didn't look for other things to do in the summer. Your family planned your going to the convent and take these lessons. LINDA: Now, who would teach the lessons? ANNA: The nuns, the Venerini sisters. LINDA: The Venerini sisters. ANNA: Yeah. Yeah. LINDA: Now, are they still present? Do they still have a presence in…? ANNA: Yes, they do. They do. Yes. They -- some of them. I don't know if they still teach, but they did teach at St. Anna's School. We don't have any nuns there now. And they did teach at St. Anthony's School, and they might have one or two nuns teaching there now. But there is a shortage of nuns, too. Yeah. I think now we have two Venerini nuns that are working with the Beacon of Hope here in Leominster, which is a respite care for challenged adults, I think they call them, and mentally retarded. The two nuns take them for outings. Take them to games, take them on swimming in the summertime, and they try to give the families some free 30 time, you know, because it's a constant 24-hour care, you know, you have to -- they need that attention, and they need the activities too. So they take them to dances and to suppers, and they invite them to play games. So, two nuns are doing that here in Leominster. They have their mother house in Fitchburg on Prospect Street, and I'm not sure what activities they have there. I think they're still quite active. They're certainly active in ministry, in teaching religious education, in visiting nursing homes, things like that. LINDA: Okay. So what are the values that you grew up with and you tried to keep those traditions? ANNA: Yes. Our family, my mother, father, the four children, always went to Mass on Sundays. Holy days and Sundays. It was a family thing. We would go to Mass all together. And I did that with my family, too. You know, we'd go to Mass all together as they were growing up. Now, they go on their own. They go. They don't go. They, you know, but some of my family are still keeping that up with their own children, Mass every Sunday and holy days. Some of them break away which is sad, you know. It's sad to have that happen, but you hope that they will get back. But faith and family was foremost in my mother and father's time than it was in my time and my husband's time. Education was very important, and I always feel that you never get enough education. Even if you have a college degree I feel, you know, get more because there's so much out there, you know. If it isn't in the college. It's other things that you can learn, you know, in the arts and music and things like that. There's so much. And don't ever feel that there's a limit to what your brain can absorb. You know, I think if you can do it, this is the time to do it while you're still young enough to do it, you know. LINDA: What kinds of messages do you try to send to your grandchildren? ANNA: That faith -- I write a newsletter every week. I think I'm over, like, 112th newsletter that I've written, so it goes over a two-year period now. LINDA: And this is a family newsletter?31 ANNA: A family newsletter, and I send it to all five families. My children. And I always try to put a message in there—birthdays are coming up, it's a family affair, you know, and if someone had accomplished something, like this week my granddaughter, Laura, got the MVP in soccer. She's a sophomore in high school. So she got the MVP. So I sent that in my newsletter and let everyone know. And if someone has played football and is, you know, scored a touchdown, I tell them that. I always tell them what's going on at church. I always try to bring something in that has to do with faith, you know, and values, you know. Things that you look for, you know, and things that would be good for them to do. And they're very young. The grandchildren, I think, always looks forward to that letter. In fact, if I should mail it one day too late, they're, "Where is it?" you know. If the mail is one day too late in arriving, they look for it. And I try to keep them abreast of what is happening in the family because they're all so busy that they don't communicate like they did when they were younger, you know. They see each other quite often, but now, one has a game and the other one is going somewhere, and now one family lives in New York, so. But they're doing -- I like to help the others here in Leominster what's going on. LINDA: Did you ever foresee that? ANNA: No. To write a newsletter? LINDA: Not just that, but that your family would be so widespread and so busy that you had to write a newsletter to keep up. ANNA: To keep up. Right. Yeah. No. But I think it was bound to happen, because the two boys are now running the two businesses, and they're as busy as they can be. And my daughter has her own little business, my daughter, Rose Mary, which is just a small phase of the comb business. She has the side combs, the decorative combs that they use in their hair, 32 bridal salons, especially. And my daughter Mary Ann is in real estate, and she is busy with that. And the grandchildren, living in different parts of the city, go to different schools, so they don't see each other as often. And of course, the one in New York comes out for holidays usually. If the children have an extra day off from school, they'll make a trip, or we can get out there, we visit them. But they also -- they look forward to the newsletter. And as long as they like it, I'll keep writing it, you know. LINDA: I think it's a wonderful idea. ANNA: Yeah. LINDA: What do you think your parents would think of the new generation? [Unintelligible - 01:18:43] ANNA: Yes. I think they would say that it certainly is different. At that time, they'd go to school, they'd come home from school, and mother and father would be at home at supper time, and mother would be at home all the time. But we didn't have the cars that they have nowadays, so any activities would be within your area. You had to walk to it. Now it's from Leominster you can get to Worcester in no time. You can get to Boston. Drive to New York. So I think they would say times have changed. LINDA: You think they'd be happy about it? ANNA: Yes. I think they would because it seems to be better. We have more opportunities, but it's, you know, I hope it is better. Sometimes they have too much and they appreciate less. If you can get everything, you know, nothing means too much to you. AT/pa/my/mfb/es