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Timothy Mitchell on
Infra-Theory, the State Effect, and the Technopolitics of Oil










This is the first in a series of Talks dedicated to the technopolitics of International Relations, linked to the forthcoming double volume 'The Global Politics of Science and Technology' edited by Maximilian Mayer, Mariana Carpes, and Ruth Knoblich 







The unrest in the Arab
world put the region firmly in the spotlights of IR. Where many scholars focus
on the conflicts in relation to democratization as a local or regional dynamic,
political events there do not stand in isolation from broader international
relations or other—for instance economic—concerns. Among the scholars who has
insisted on such broader linkages and associations that co-constitute political
dynamics in the region, Timothy Mitchell stands out. The work of Mitchell has
largely focused on highly specific aspects of politics and development in Egypt
and the broader Middle East, such as the relations between the building of the
Aswan Dam and redistribution of expertise, and the way in which the differences
between coal and oil condition democratic politics. His consistently nuanced
and enticing analyses have gained him a wide readership, and Mitchell's
analyses powerfully resonate across qualitative politically oriented social
sciences.  In this Talk, Timothy Mitchell discusses, amongst others, the birth of 'the
economy' as a powerful modern political phenomenon, how we can understand the
state as an effect rather than an actor, and the importance of taking
technicalities seriously to understand the politics of oil.







Print version of this Talk (pdf)



What is, according to you,
the biggest challenge / principal debate in current globally oriented studies?
What is your position or answer to this challenge / in this debate?



I'm not myself interested in, or good at, big debates,
the kinds of debates that define and drive forward an academic field. The
reason for that is partly that once a topic has become a debate, it has tended
to have sort of hardened into a field, in which there are two or three
positions, and as a scholar you have to take one of those positions. In the
days when I was first trained in Political Science and studied International
Relations, that was so much my sense of the field and indeed of the whole
discipline of political science. This is part of one's initially training in
any field: it is laid out as a
serious debate. I found this something I just could not deal with; I did not
find it intellectually interesting which I think sort of stayed with me all the
way through to where I am now. So although big debates are important for a
certain defining and sustaining of academic fields and training new generations
of students, it is not the kind of way in which I myself have tended to work. I
have tended to work by moving away from what the big debates have been in a
particular moment. My academic interests always started when I found something
curious that interests me and that I try to begin to see in a different way.



However, I suppose with my most recent book Carbon Democracy (2011), in a sense there was a big debate going on, which was the debate about the resource
curse and oil democracy. That was an old debate going back to the 70's, but had
been reinvigorated by the Iraq war in 2003. But that to me is an example of the
problem with big debates, because the terms in which that debate was argued
back and forth—and is still argued—did not seem to make sense as a way to
understand the role of energy in 20th century democratic politics.
Was oil good for democracy or bad for democracy? The existing debate began with
those as two different things—as a dependent or independent variable—so you
would already determine things in advance that I would have wanted to open up.
In general I'm not a good person for figuring out what the big debates are.



But I think, moving from International Relations as a
field to 'globally oriented studies', to
use your phrase, one of the biggest
challenges—just on an academic level, leaving aside challenges that we face as
a global community—is to learn to develop ways of seeing even what seem like
the most global and most international issues, as things that are very local.
Part of the problem with fields such as 'global studies', the term
'globalization', and other terms of that sort, is that they tend to define
their objects of study in opposition to the local, in opposition to even
national-level modes of analysis. By consequence, they assume that the actors
or the forces that they're going to study must themselves be in some sense
global, because that is the premise of the field. So whether it is nation
states acting as world powers; whether it is capitalism understood as a global
system—they have to exist on this plane of the global, on some sort of
universal level, to be topics of IR and global studies. And yet, on close
inspection, most of the concerns or actors central to those modes of inquiry
tend to operate on quite local levels; they tend to be made up of very small
agents, very particular arrangements that somehow have managed to put
themselves together in ways that allow them take on this appearance and
sometimes this effectiveness of things that are global. I'm very interested in
taking things apart that are local, on a particular level, to understand what
it is that enables such small things, such local and particular agents, to act
in a way that creates the appearance of the global or the international world.



Now this relates back to the second part of your
question, about substantive concerns that we face as a global community. When I
was writing Carbon Democracy there
was all this attention on the problem of 'creating a more democratic Middle
East', as it was understood at the time of the Iraq war. It struck me that when
debating this problem—of oil and democracy, of energy and democracy—we saw it
as somehow specific to these countries and to the part of the world where many
countries were very large-scale energy producers. We were not thinking about
the fact that we are all in a sense caught up in this problem that I call
carbon democracy, and that there are issues—whether it is in terms of the
increasing difficulty of extracting energy from the earth, or the consequences
of having extracted the carbon and put it up in the atmosphere—that we, as
democracies, are very, very challenged by. Those issues—and I think in
particular the concerns around climate change—when you look at them from the
perspective of U.S. politics, and the inability of the U.S. even to take the
relatively minor steps that other industrialized democracies have taken: this
inaction suggests a larger problem of oil and democracy that needs explaining
and understanding and working on and organizing about. I also think there is a
whole range of contemporary issues related to energy production and consumption
that revolve around the building of more egalitarian and more socially just
worlds. And, again, those issues present themselves very powerfully as concerns
in American politics, but are experienced in other ways in other parts of the
world. I would not single out any one of them as more urgent or important than
another, and I do think we still have a long struggle ahead of us here. 





How did
you arrive at where you currently are in your approach to issues?



Well,
I had a strange training as a scholar because I kept shifting fields. I
actually began as a student of law and then moved into history while I was
still an undergraduate, but then became interested in political theory; decided
that I liked it better than political science. But by the time I arrived in
political science to study for a PhD, I had become interested in politics of
the Middle East. This was partly from just travelling there when I was a
student growing up in England, but I also suppose in some ways the events of
the seventies had really drawn attention to the region. So the first important
thing that shaped me was this constant shifting of fields and disciplines,
which was not to me a problem—it was rather that there was a kind of
intellectual curiosity that drove me from academic field to field. And so if
there was one thing that helped me arrive at where I am, it was this constant
moving outside of the boundaries of one discipline and trespassing on the next
one—trying to do it for long enough that they started to accept me as someone
who they could debate with. And I think all along that has been important to
the kind of scholarship I do; yet therefore I would say where I currently am in
my thinking about my field is difficult in itself to define. But I think it is
probably defined by the sense that there are many, many fields—and it is moving
across them and trying to do justice to the scholarship in them, but at the
same time trying to connect insights from one field with what one can do in
another field. I have always tried to draw things together in that sense, a
sense that one can call an interdisciplinary or post-disciplinary sensitivity.



I
think the other part of what has shaped me intellectually was that, in ways I
explained before, I was always drawn into the local and the particular and the
specific and I was never very good at thinking at that certain level of
large-scale grand theory. So having found myself in the field of Middle Eastern
politics in a PhD-program, and being told that it involves studying Arabic which
I was very glad to do, I then went off to spend summers in the Arab world, and
later over more extended periods of time for field research. But to me, Egypt
and other places I've worked—but principally Egypt—became not just a field
site, but a place where I have now been going for more than 30 years and where
I have developed very close ties and intellectual relationships, friendships,
that I think have constantly shaped and reshaped my thinking. And even when I
am reading about things that are not specifically related to Egypt—the work I
do on the history of economics, or the work I have done on oil politics that
are not directly connected with my research on Egypt—I am often thinking in
relation to places and people and communities there that have profoundly shaped
me as a scholar. 



So
traveling across different contexts I'd say I have not developed a kind of set
of theoretical lenses I take with me. Rather, I would say I have developed a way of seeing—I would not
necessarily call it 'meta', I see it as much more as sort of 'infra': much more
mundane and everyday. While I have this sort of intellectual history of moving
across disciplines and social sciences in an academic way, there is another
sort of moving across fields, another sensibility, and that sensibility
provides me with a sense of rootedness or grounding. And that is a more
traditional way of moving across fields, because whether when one is writing
about contemporary politics or more historically about politics, one is dealing
constantly with areas of technical concern of one sort or another, with
specialist knowledge. Engaging with that expert knowledge has always provided
both a political grounding in specific concerns and with a kind of concern with
local, real-world, struggles on the ground. So that might have been things like
the transformation of irrigation in nineteenth-century Egypt, or the remaking
of the system of law; or it might be the history of malaria epidemics in the
twentieth century, or the relationship between those epidemics and
transformations taking place in the crops that were grown; or, more
recently—and more obviously—of oil and the history of energy, and the way
different forms of energy are brought out of the ground. And I should mention
beside those areas of technical expertise already listed, economics as well: a
discipline I was never trained in, but that I realized I had to understand if I
was to make sense of contemporary Egyptian politics—just as much as I had to
understand agricultural hydraulics or something of the petroleum geology as a
form of technical expertise that is shaping the common world.



In
sum, what keeps me grounded is the idea that to really make sense of the
politics of any of those fields, one has got to do one's best to sort of enter
and explore the more technical level—with the closest attention that one can
muster to the technical and the material dimensions of what is involved—whether
it is in agricultural irrigation, building dams or combating disease. And
entering this level of issues does not only mean interviewing experts but
arriving at the level of understanding the disease, the parasite, the modes of
its movement, the hydraulics of the river, the properties of different kinds of
oil... So as you can see it is not really 'meta', it really is 'infra' in the
anthropological way of staying close to the ground, staying close to processes
and things and materials.





What
would a student need to become a specialist in IR or understand the world in a
global way?



A
couple of things. I think one is precisely the thing I just mentioned in answer
to your last question: that is, the kind of interest in going inside technical
processes, learning about material objects, not being afraid of taking up an
investigation of something that is a body of knowledge totally outside one's
area of training and expertise. So, if I was advising someone or looking for a
student, I would not say there is a particular skill or expertise, but rather a
willingness to really get one's hands dirty with the messy technical details of
an area—and that can be an area of specialist knowledge such as economics, but
also technical and physical processes of, for instance, mineral extraction. I
think to me this is—for the kind of work I am interested in doing—enormously
important.



The
other thing that I would stress in the area of globally-oriented studies, is
that one could think of two ways of approaching a field of study. One is to
move around the world and gather together information, often with a notion of
improving things, such as development work, human rights work, international
security work. This entails gathering from one's own research and from other
experts in the field, with a certain notion of best practices and the state of
field, and of what works, and therefore what can then be moved from one place
to another as a form of expert knowledge. Some people really want that mobile
knowledge, which I suppose is often associated with the ability to generalize
from a particular case and to establish more universal principles about
whatever the topic is. And in this case one's own expertise becomes the
carrying or transmission of that expert knowledge. One saw a lot of that around
the whole issue of democratization that I mentioned before in the Middle East,
around the Iraq war when experts were brought in. They had done democracy
elsewhere in the world and then they turned up to do it in Iraq, and again
following the Arab Spring.



Against
that, to me, there is another mode of learning, which is not to learn about what is happening but to learn from. So to give the example, if there
is an uprising and a struggle for democracy going on in the streets of Cairo,
one could try and learn about that and then make it fit one's models and
classify it within a broader range of series of democratizations across the
world, or one could try and learn from it, and say 'how do we rethink what the
possibilities of democracy might be on the basis of what is happening?' To me
those are two distinct modes of work. They are not completely mutually
exclusive, but I think people are more disposed towards one or the other. I
have never been disposed, or good at, the first kind and do like the second, so
I would mention that as the second skill or attitude that is useful for doing
this sort of work.





In which discipline or field would you situate
yourself, or would we have to invent a discipline to match your work?



I
like disciplines, but I do not always feel that I entirely belong to any of
them. That said, I read with enormous profit the works of historians, political
theorist, anthropologists, of people in the field of science and technology
studies, geographers, political economists and scholars in environmental
studies. There are so many different disciplines that are well organized and
have their practitioners from which there is a lot to learn! But conversely, I
also think, in ways I have described already, there is something to be learnt
for some people from working in a much more deliberately post-disciplinary
fashion. The Middle East, South Asian and African Studies department to which I
have been attached here in Columbia for about five years, represents a
deliberate attempt by myself and my colleagues to produce some kind of
post-disciplinary space. Not in order to do away with the disciplines, but to
have another place for doing theoretical work, one that is able to take
advantage of not being bound by disciplinary fields, as even broad
disciplines—say history—tend to restrict you with a kind of positive liberty of
creating a place where you can do anything you want—as long as you do it in an
archive. I quite deliberately situate myself outside of any one discipline,
while continuing to learn from and trespass into the fields of many individual
disciplines. They range from all of those and others, because I am here among a
community of people who are also philologists; people interested in Arabic
literature and the history of Islamic science; and all kinds of fields, which I
also find fascinating. The first article I ever published was in the field of
Arabic grammar! So I have interests that fit in a very sort of
trans-disciplinary, post-disciplinary environment and I thrive on that.



Yet
doing this kind of post-disciplinary work is in a practical sense actually
absolutely impossible. If only for the simple fact that if it is already hardly
possible to keep up with 'the literature' if one is firmly situated within one
field, then one can never keep up with important developments in all the
disciplines one is interested in. There are some people that manage to do this
and do it justice. My information about contemporary debates in every
imaginable field is so limited; I do not manage to do justice to any field. In
the particular piece of research I might be engaged in, I try to get quickly up
to pace on what's going on, and I often come back again and again to similar
areas of research. I am currently interested in questions around the early
history of international development in the 1940's and 1950's, and that is
something I have worked on before, but I have come back to it and I found that
the World Bank archives are now open and there is a whole new set of
literatures. I had not been keeping up with all of that work. It is hard and
that is why I am very bad at answering emails and doing many of the other
everyday things that one is ought to do; because it always seems to me, in the
evening at the computer when one ought to be catching up with emails, there is
something you have come across in an article or footnotes and before you know
it you are miles away and it has got nothing to do with what you were working
on at the moment, but it really connects with a set of issues you have been
interested in and has taken you off into contemporary work going on in law or
the history of architecture… The internet has made that possible in a
completely new way and some of these post-disciplinary research interests are
actually a reflection of where we are with the internet and with the
accessibility of scholarship in any field only just a few clicks away. Which on
the one hand is fascinating, but mostly it is just a complete curse. It is the
enemy of writing dissertations and finishing books and articles and everything
else!





What role does expertise, which is kind of a central
term in underpinning much of the diverse work or topics you do, play in the
historical unfolding of modern government?



That
is a big question, so let me suggest only a couple of thoughts here. One is
that modern government has unfolded—especially if one thinks of government itself
as a wider process than just a state—through the development of new forms of
expertise, which among other things define problems and issues upon which
government can operate. This can concern many things, whether it is problems of
public health in the 19th or 20th century; or problems of
economic development in the 20th century; or problems of energy,
climate change and the environment today. Again and again government itself
operates—as Foucault has taught us—simultaneously as fields of knowledge and fields
of power. And the objects brought into being in this way—defined in important
ways through the development of expert knowledge—become in themselves modes
through which political power operates. Thanks to Foucault and many others,
that is a way of thinking or field of research that has been widely developed,
even though there are vast amounts of work still to do.



But
I think there is another relationship between modes of government and
expertise, and this goes back to things I have been thinking about ever since I
wrote an article about the theory of the state (The Limits of the State, pdf here) that was published in American
Political Science Review a long time ago (1991). The point I made then, is that
it is interesting to observe how one of the central aspects of modern modes of
power is the way that the distinction between what is the state and what is not
the state; between what is public and what is private, is constantly elaborated
and redefined. So politics itself is happening not so much by some agency
called 'state' or 'government' imposing its will on some other preformed
object—the social, the population, the people—but rather that it concerns a
series of techniques that create what I have called the effect of a state: the very distinction between what appears as a
sort of structure or apparatus of power, and the objects on which that power
works.



More
recently one of the ways I have thought about this, is in terms of the history
of the idea of the economy. Most people think of 'the economy' either as
something that has always existed (and people may or may not have realized its
existence) or as something that came into being with the rise of political
economy and commercial society in the European 18th and 19th
century. One of the things I discovered when I was doing research on the
history of development, is that no economist talked routinely about an object
called 'the economy' before the 1940's! I think that is a good example of the
history of a mode of expertise that exists not within the operations of an
apparatus of government but precisely outside of government.



If
you look in detail at how the term 'the economy' was first regularly used, you
find that it was in the context of governing the U.S. in the 1940's immediately
after the Second World War. In the aftermath of the war there was enormous
political pressure for quite a radical restructuring of American society: there
were waves of strikes, demands for worker control of industries, or at least a
share of management. And of course in Europe, similar demands led to new forms
of economy altogether, in the building of postwar Germany and in the forms of
democratic socialism that were experimented with in various parts of Western
Europe. As we know, the U.S. did not follow that path. And I think part of the
way in which it was steered away from that path, was by constructing the
economy as the central object of government, coupled with precisely this
American cultural fear of things where government did not belong. So this was
radically opposed to how the Europeans related government to economy: European
governments had become involved in all kinds of ways, deciding how the relation
between management and labor should operate in thinking about prices and wages;
instituting forms of national health insurance and health care; and the whole
state management of health care itself... Now this was threatening to emerge in
the U.S., and was emerging in many ways in the wartime with state control of
prices and production. In order to prevent the U.S. from following the European
path after the war, this object outside of
government with its own experts was
created: the economy. And the economists were precisely people who are not in government, but who knew the laws and
regularities of economic life and could explain them to people. It is
interesting to think about expertise both as something that develops within the
state, but also as something that happens as a creation of objects that
precisely represent what is not the
state, or the sphere of government.





Your most recent book Carbon Democracy (2011) focuses on the political structures
afforded, or engendered, by modes of extraction of minerals and investigates
how oil was constitutes a dominant source of energy on which we depend.
Can you give an example of how that works?



Let
me take an example from the book even though I might have to give it in very a
simplified form in order to make it work. I was interested in what appeared to
be the way in which the rise of coal—the dominant source of energy in the 19th
century and in the emergence of modern industrialized states—seemed to be very
strongly associated with the emergence of mass democracy, whereas the rise of
oil in the 20th century seemed to have if anything the opposite set
of consequences for states that were highly dependent on the production of oil.
I wanted to examine these relations between forms of energy and democratic
politics in a way that was not simply some kind of technical- or energy
determinism, because it is very easy to point to many cases that simply do not
fit that pattern—and, besides, it simply would not be very interesting to begin
with. But it did seem to me, that at a particular moment in the history of the
emergence of industrialized countries—particularly in the late 19th
century—it became possible for the first time in history and really only for a
brief period, to take advantage of certain kinds of vulnerabilities and
possibilities offered by the dependence on coal to organize a new kind of
political agency and forms of mass politics, which successfully struggled for
much more representative and egalitarian forms of democracy, roughly between
the 1880's and the mid 20th century. In general terms, that story is
known; but it had been told without thinking in particular about the energy
itself. The energy was just present in these stories as that which made
possible industrialization; industrialization made possible urbanization;
therefore you had lots of workers and their consciousness must somehow have
changed and made them democratic or something.



That
story did not make sense to me, and that prompted me to research in detail, and
drawing on the work of others who had looked even more in detail at, the
history of struggles for a whole set of democratic rights. The accounts of
people at the time were clear: what was distinctive was this peculiar ability
to shut down an economy because of a specific vulnerability to the supply of
energy. Very briefly, when I switched to telling the story in the middle of the
20th with oil, it is different: partly just because oil was a
supplementary source of energy—countries and people now had a choice between
different energy sources—but also because oil did not create the same points of
vulnerability. There are fewer workers involved, it is a liquid, so it can be
routed along different channels more easily; there is a whole set of technical
properties of oil and its production that are different. That does not mean to
say that the energy is determining the outcome of history or of political
struggles, and I am careful to introduce examples that do not work easily one
way or the other in the history of oil industry in Baku,
which is much more similar to the history of coal or the oil industry in
California for that matter. But you can pay attention to the technical
dimensions in a certain way, and the to the sheer possibilities that arise with
this enormous concentration of sources of energy—which reflects both an
exponential increase in the amount of energy but also an unprecedented
concentration of the sites at which energy is available and through which it
flows—that you can tell a new story about democratic politics and about that
moment in the history of industrialized countries, but also the subsequent
history in oil-producing countries in a different way. That would be an example
of how attention for technical expertise translates into a different
understanding of the politics of oil.





This leads to my next question, which is how do you
speak about materials or technologies without falling into the trap of either
radical social reductionism or a kind of Marxist technological determinism? Do
you get these accusations sometimes?



Yes,
I think so, but more so from people who have not read my work and who just hear
some talks about it or some secondary accounts. To me, so much of the
literature that already existed on these questions around oil and democracy, or
even earlier research on coal, industrialization and democracy, suffered from a
kind of technical determinism because they actually did not go into the
technical. They said: 'look, you've got all this oil' or 'look, you had all that
coal and steam power' and out of that, in a very determinist fashion, emerged
social movements or emerged political repression. This was determinist because
such accounts had actually jumped over the technical side much too fast:
talking about oil in the case of the resource curse literature, it was only
interested in the oil once it had already
become money. And once it was money, then it of course corrupts, or you buy
people off, or you do not have to seek their votes. The whole question of how
oil becomes money and how you put
together that technical system that turns oil into forms of political power or
turns coal into forms of political power, does not get opened up. And that to
me makes those arguments—even though there is not much of the technical in
them—technically very determinist. Because as soon as you start opening up the
technical side of it, you realize there are so many ways things can go and so
many different ways things can get built. Energy networks can be built in
different ways and there can be different mixes of energy. Of course most of
the differences are technical differences, but they are also human differences.
It is precisely by being very attentive to the technical aspects of
politics—like energy or anything else, it could be in agriculture, it could be
in disease, it could be in any area of collective socio-technical life—that one
finds the only way to get away from a certain kind of technical determinism
that otherwise sort of rules us. In the economics of growth, for instance,
there is this great externality of technological change that drives every sort
of grand historical explanation. Technology is just something that is kept
external to the explanatory model and accounts for everything else that the
model cannot explain. That ends up being a terrible kind of technical
determinism.



The
other half of the question is how this might differ from Marxist approaches to
some of these problems. I like to think that if Marx was studying oil, his
approach would be very little different. Because if you read Marx himself,
there is an extraordinary level of interest in the technical; that is, whether
in the technical aspects of political economy as a field of knowledge in the 19th
century, or in the factory as a technical space. So, conventional political
economy to him was not just an ideological mask that had to be torn away so
that you could reveal the true workings of capitalism. Political economy has
produced a set of concepts—notions of value, notions of exchange, notions of
labor—that actually formed part of the technical workings of capitalism. The
factory was organized at a technical level that had very specific consequences.
The trouble with a significant part of Marx's theories is that he stopped doing
that kind of technical work and Marxism froze itself with a set of categories
that may or may not have been relevant to a moment of 19th century
capitalism. There is still a lot of interesting Marxist theory going on, and
some of the contemporary Italian Marxist theory I find really interesting and
profitable to read, for example. Some of the work in Marxist geography
continues to be very productive. But at the same time there are aspects of my
work that are different from that—such as my drawing on Foucault in
understanding expertise and modes of power.





How come so many of the social sciences seem to stick
so rigidly to the human or social side of the Cartesian divide? It seems to be
constitutive of social science disciplines but on the other hand also radically
reduces the scope of what it can actually 'see' and talk about. 



I
think you are right and it has never made much sense to me. I suppose I have
approached it in two kinds of ways in my work. First, this kind of dualism was
much more clearly an object of concern in some of the early work I published on
the colonial era, including my first
book, Colonising Egypt (1988), where
I was trying to understand the process by which Europeans had, as it were, come
to be Cartesians; had come to see the world as very neatly defined it into mind
on the one hand and matter or on the other—or, as they tended to think of it,
representations on the one hand and reality on the other. And I actually looked
in some detail, at the technical level, at this—beginning with world
exhibitions, but moving on to department stores and school systems and modern
legal orders—to understand the processes by which our incredibly complicated
world was engineered so as to produce the effect of this world divided into the
two—of mind or representation or culture on the one hand, and reality, nature,
material on the other.



Second,
what were the effects, what were the repetitive practices, that made that kind
of simple dualism seem so self-evident and taken for granted? All that early
work still informs my current work, although I do not necessarily explore this
as directly as I did. One of the things I try to do is avoid all the vocabulary
that draws you into that kind of dualism. So, nowhere when I write, do I use a
term like 'culture', because you are just heading straight down that Cartesian
road as soon as you assume that there is some hermetic world of shared meanings—as opposed to what? As opposed to
machines that do not involve instructions and all kinds of other things that we
would think of as meaningful? So I just work more by avoiding some of the
dualistic language; the other kind would be the entire set of debates—in almost
every discipline of the social sciences—around the question of 'structure
versus agency' which just doesn't seems to me particularly productive. And I
have been very lucky, recently, in coming across work in the fields of science
and technology studies, because it is a field of people studying machines,
studying laboratories and studying people, a field that took nature itself as
something to be opened-up and investigated. In taking apart these things, they
realized that those kinds of dualisms made absolutely no sense. And they have
done away with them in their modes of explanation quite a long time ago. So
there was already a lot in my own work before I encountered Science and
Technology Studies (STS) that was working in that direction; but the STS people
have been at it for a long time and figured out a lot of things that I had only
just discovered.





Can you explain why it seems that perhaps implicitly
decolonization, or the postcolonial moment—which is understood within political
science and in development literature as a radical moment of rupture in which a
complete transfer of responsibility has taken place, instituted in sovereignty—is
an important theme in your work?



I
have actually been coming back to this in recent work, because I am currently
looking again at that moment of decolonization in Egypt. The period after World
War II, around the 1952 revolution and the debacle around the building and the financing of the Aswan Dam,
constitutes a wonderful way to explore questions on how much change
decolonization really engendered and to see how remarkably short-lived that
sort of optimism about decolonization, meaning a transfer of responsibility and
sovereignty, actually was. Of course decolonization did transfer responsibility
and sovereignty in all kinds of ways, but then that was exactly the problem for
the former colonial regimes: because, from their perspective, then, how were
all the people who had profited before from things like colonialism to continue
to make profits? The plan to build the High Dam at Aswan—although there has
always been Egyptians interested in it—initially got going because of some
German engineering firms… For them, there was no opportunity in doing any kind
of this large-scale work in Europe at
the time because of the dire economic situation there. But they knew that Egypt
had rapidly growing revenues from the Suez Canal and so they got together with
the British and the French, and said: let's put forward this scheme for a dam
so that we can recycle those revenues—particularly the income from the Suez
Canal, which was about to revert to Egyptian ownership—back into the pockets of
the engineering firms, or of the banks that will make the loans and charge the
fees. And that is where the scheme came from. Then the World Bank got involved,
because it too had found it had got nothing to do in Europe in the way of
development and reconstruction, so it invented this new field of development.
And it became a conduit to get the Wall Street banks involved as well. And the
whole thing became politicized and led to a rupture, which provided then the
excuse for another group, the militarists, the MI6 people, to invade and try to
overthrow Nasser. So just in the space of barely four years from that moment of
decolonization, Egypt had been reinvaded by the French, the British, working
with the Israelis, and had to deal with the consequences and the costs of
destroyed cities and military spending. That is an example of how quickly
things went wrong; but also of how part of their going wrong was in this
desperate attempt by a series of
European banks and engineering firms trying to recover the opportunities for a
certain profit-making and business that they had enjoyed in the colonial period
and now they suddenly were being deprived of. 






Last question. Has your work helped you make sense of
what is currently going on in Egypt and would you shine your enlightened light
on that a bit? Not on the whole general situation but perhaps on parts which
are overlooked or which you find particularly relevant. 



May
be in a couple of aspects. One of them is this kind of very uneasy and
disjunctive assemblage relationship between the West and forms of political Islam.
It sometimes seemed shocking and disturbing and destabilizing that the
political process in Egypt led to the rise and consolidation of power of the
Muslim Brotherhood. But of course the U.S. and other Western powers have had a
very long relationship going back at least to the 1950's—if not before—with
exactly these kinds of political forces or people who were locally in alliance
with them, in places like Saudi Arabia. I have a chapter in Carbon Democracy that explores that
relationship and its disjunctions. And I think it is important to get away from
the notion that is just a sort of electoral politics and uneasy alliances, but
it is actually the outcome of a longer problem. Both domestically within the
politics in the Arab states, of how to found a form of legitimacy that does not
seem to be based on close ideological ties with the West, but at the same time
operates in such in a way, that in practical terms, that kind of alliance can
work. So that would be one aspect of it, to have a slightly longer-term
perspective on those kinds of relationships and how disjunctively they
function.



The
other thing, drawing it a little more directly on some of the work on democracy
in Carbon Democracy, is that so much of the scholarship on democracy is about
equipping people with the right mental tools to be democrats; the right levels
of trust or interpersonal relations or whatever. There is a very different view
in my book, that the opportunities for effective democratic politics require
very different sets of skills and kinds of actions—actions that are much more
as it were obstructionist, and forms of sabotage, quite literally, in the usage
of the term as it comes into being in the early 20th century to
describe the role of strikes and stoppages. These are, I attempt to show, the
effective tools to leverage demands for representation in more egalitarian
democratic politics. I have been very interested in the case of Egypt, in the
particular places and points of vulnerability, that gave rise to the
possibility of sabotage. For instance, one of the less noted aspects of the
Egyptian revolution in general, was the very important role played by the labor
movement; this was not just a Twitter or Facebook revolution, but that was
important as well. Although the labor movement was very heavily concentrated in
industries—in the textile industry—the first group of workers who actually
successfully formed an independent union were the property tax collectors. And
there is a reason for that: there was a certain kind of fiscal crisis of the
state—which had to do with declining oil revenues and other things—and there
was the attempt to completely revise the tax system and to revise it not around
income tax—because there were too few people making a significant income to
raise tax revenues—but around property taxes.
And that was a point of vulnerability and contestation that produced not just
some of the first large-scale strikes but strikes that were effective enough
that the government was forced to recognize a newly independent labor movement.
This case is an instance of how the kind of work I did in the book might be
useful for thinking about how the revolutionary situation emerged in
Egypt. 



Timothy Mitchell is a political theorist and historian. His areas of research
include the place of colonialism in the making of modernity, the material and
technical politics of the Middle East, and the role of economics and other
forms of expert knowledge in the government of collective life. Much of his
current work is concerned with ways of thinking about politics that allow
material and technical things more weight than they are given in conventional
political theory.  Educated at Queens' College, Cambridge, where he
received a first-class honours degree in History, Mitchell completed his Ph.D.
in Politics and Near Eastern Studies at Princeton University in 1984. He joined
Columbia University in 2008 after teaching for twenty-five years at New York
University, where he served as Director of the Center for Near Eastern
Studies. At Columbia he teaches courses on the history and politics of the
Middle East, colonialism, and the politics of technical things.





Related links:





Faculty Profile at Colombia University
Read
Mitchell's Rethinking Economy (Geoforum
2008) here (pdf)
Read
Mitchell's The Limits of the State:
Beyond Statist Approaches and Their Critics (The American Political Science
Review 1991) here (pdf) 
Read
Mitchell's McJihad: Islam and the U.S.
Global Order (Social Text 2002) here (pdf) 
Read
Mitchell's The Stage of Modernity (Chapter
from book 'Questions of Modernity', 2000) here (pdf) 
Read
Mitchell's The World as Exhibition
(Chapter from book 'Colonising Egypt' 1991) here (pdf) 



Print version of this Talk (pdf)



  

Exakt 20 Jahre nach den Terroranschlägen vom 11. September 2001 kündigte der derzeit amtierende US-Präsident Joe Biden den Abzug aller amerikanischen Truppen aus Afghanistan an. "Es ist Zeit, Amerikas längsten Krieg zu beenden" (Böhm 2021, 92). Bereits vor dem Einmarsch amerikanischer und britischer Truppen am 7. Oktober 2001, bekannt als die Operation "Enduring Freedom", hatte Amerika Stützpunkte der in Afghanistan ansässigen Terrorgruppe Al-Qaida attackiert. Der Grund hierfür waren die durch Mitglieder der Gruppe geplanten und durchgeführten Anschläge auf amerikanische Botschaften in Tansania und Kenia im Jahr 1998. "Aber die Schwelle der Kriegserklärung gegen Terroristen wurde nicht überschritten, auch um Letztere politisch nicht aufzuwerten" (Böhm 2021, 94).Als Wendepunkt gilt der 11. September 2001. Neunzehn Terroristen der Terrorgruppe Al Qaida entführten vier Passagierflugzeuge. Zwei dieser Flugzeuge wurden in die Twin Towers des World Trade Centers gesteuert. Ein weiteres zerstörte den westlichen Teil des Pentagons in Washington. Das vierte stürzte in einem Feld in New Jersey ab. Insgesamt starben durch diese vier Flugzeuge fast 3000 Menschen aus 80 verschiedenen Ländern (vgl. Hoffmann 2006, 47).Die Anschläge veränderten die Wahrnehmung der durch den Terrorismus bestehenden Bedrohung. Bereits wenige Tage nach den Anschlägen verkündete der damalige US-Präsident George W. Bush den "Global War on Terror" (Böhm 2021, 92), eine Kriegserklärung an den Terrorismus. Damit definierte er die Auseinandersetzung mit dem Terrorismus als Krieg.Neben dieser Auslegung gilt auch die Interpretation des Verhältnisses zwischen terroristischen Gruppierungen und Amerika feindlich gesinnten Staaten als entscheidend. Unmittelbar nach den Anschlägen wurde zunächst nur die Bekämpfung der Terrorgruppe Al-Qaida und des Taliban-Regimes in Afghanistan priorisiert. In den darauffolgenden Monaten wurden neben diesen auch den Terrorismus unterstützende, autoritäre Staaten und Staaten mit Zugang oder Beschaffungsmöglichkeiten von Massenvernichtungswaffen zu möglichen Zielen von Militäraktionen zur Bekämpfung des Terrorismus (vgl. Böhm 2021, 92; Kahl 2011, 19).Durch die Anschläge am 11. September 2001 wurde neben der "seit längerem bekannte Dimension der internationalen Kooperation von terroristischen Gruppen […] die neue Dimension der transnationalen Kooperation, Durchführung, Logistik und Finanzierung terroristischer Gewalt deutlich" (Behr 2017, 147).Im Rahmen dieses Beitrags wird der Terrorismus als eine Herausforderung für die Vereinten Nationen vor und nach den Anschlägen vom 11. September 2001 thematisiert. In diesem Zusammenhang wird der Frage nachgegangen, inwiefern diese die Sicherheitspolitik der Vereinten Nationen beeinflusst haben. In einem ersten Schritt wird eine Klärung des Begriffs Terrorismus vorgenommen. Im Anschluss daran wird auf die Strategien der Vereinten Nationen zur Bekämpfung des Terrorismus vor dem 11. September 2001 eingegangen. Darauf folgt eine Darstellung der direkten Reaktionen der internationalen Staatengemeinschaft auf die Anschläge. In einem letzten Schritt werden die daraus resultierenden Folgen für die internationale Sicherheitspolitik näher beleuchtet.BegriffsklärungIn einem ersten Schritt gilt es nun, den Begriff des Terrorismus näher zu definieren. Der Begriff leitet sich von dem lateinischen Wort terror ab, das als Schrecken oder Furcht übersetzt werden kann (vgl. Pfahl-Traughber 2016, 10). Nach dem Terrorismusexperten Bruce Hoffmann wird unter dem Begriff des Terrorismus die "bewusste Erzeugung und Ausbeutung von Angst durch Gewalt oder die Drohung mit Gewalt zum Zweck der Erreichung politischer Veränderung" (Hoffmann 2006, 80) verstanden.Dementsprechend ist eine terroristische Tat zunächst einmal gekennzeichnet durch die Androhung oder die Ausübung von Gewalt. Im Hinblick auf die Intensität der ausgeübten Gewalt wird deutlich, dass keine humanitären Konventionen respektiert werden und terroristische Anschläge sich oft durch "besondere Willkür, Unmenschlichkeit und Brutalität" (Waldmann 2005, 14) auszeichnen."Die Gewalttat hat primär einen symbolischen Stellenwert, ist Träger einer Botschaft, die in etwa lautet, ein ähnliches Schicksal kann jeden treffen, insbesondere diejenigen, die den Terroristen bei ihren Plänen im Wege stehen" (Waldmann 2005, 15). Basierend auf dieser Tatsache bezeichnet der Soziologe Peter Waldmann den Terrorismus "primär [als] eine Kommunikationsstrategie" (Waldmann 2005, 15).Auf der psychologischen Ebene verfolgt der Terrorismus das Ziel, über die unmittelbaren Ziele und Opfer hinaus bei einer bestimmten Gruppe Furcht hervorzurufen, um für deren Einschüchterung zu sorgen. Als Zielgruppe kommt neben Staaten, Regierungen und einzelnen religiösen oder ethnischen Gruppen auch die allgemeine öffentliche Meinung in Frage (vgl. Hoffmann 2006, 80).Davon ausgehend verfolgt der Terrorismus mit der Erzeugung von Furcht und Schrecken auf der politischen Ebene das Ziel, das Vertrauen in eine bestehende politische Ordnung zu erschüttern (vgl. Waldmann 2005, 16). Im Hinblick auf die politische Dimension des Terrorismus grenzt Waldmann diesen bewusst vom Staatsterrorismus ab. Nach Waldmann kennzeichnen terroristische Anschläge ihre planmäßige Vorbereitung und ihre Aktivität aus dem Untergrund heraus.Im Gegensatz dazu handelt es sich bei Staatsterrorismus um ein Terrorregime, errichtet durch staatliche Machteliten. Von Seiten des Staates kann zwar Terror gegenüber seinen Bürgern ausgeübt werden, er ist jedoch nicht in der Lage, die genannten Strategien gegen die eigene Bevölkerung einzusetzen (vgl. Pfahl-Traughber 2016, 17; Waldmann 2005, 12).Bei den Akteuren handelt es sich um einen Zusammenschluss von Handlungswilligen, die sich in annähernd bürokratischen Strukturen organisieren, wobei Hierarchien und informelle Abhängigkeiten entstehen. In den meisten Fällen verfügen diese Gruppierungen über eine "geringe quantitative Dimension […] handelt es sich doch überwiegend um kleinere Personenzusammenschlüsse von wenigen Aktivisten" (Pfahl Traughber 2016, 12).Diese agieren im Untergrund, da sie weder über den erforderlichen Rückhalt innerhalb einer Bevölkerung noch über die erforderliche Kampfstärke verfügen. Am Beispiel von Al-Qaida in Afghanistan wird deutlich, dass ein Hervortreten aus dem Untergrund, beispielsweise durch die Errichtung von Lagern, das Risiko impliziert "angegriffen und vernichtet zu werden" (Waldmann 2006, 13).Hinsichtlich der Bezeichnung werden im Sprachgebrauch zwei Arten von Terrorismus, der internationale und der transnationale Terrorismus, unterschieden. In diesem Zusammenhang stellt sich die Frage, ob das Phänomen des Terrorismus eher als international oder transnational zu bezeichnen ist. Nach Steinberg zeigt sich aus historischer Sicht ein fließender Übergang von dem internationalen Terrorismus hin zum transnationalen Terrorismus.Der internationale Terrorismus zeichnet sich in erster Linie durch "zahlreiche grenzüberschreitende Aktionen [aus], bei denen häufig vollkommen unbeteiligte Bürgerinnen und Bürger fremder Staaten zu Schaden kamen." (Steinberg 2015). Ferner ist für den internationalen Terrorismus charakteristisch, dass die terroristischen Aktivitäten durch Staaten unterstützt werden. Zu den Unterstützerstaaten in der Vergangenheit zählten insbesondere Verbündete der ehemaligen Sowjetunion wie beispielsweise Syrien oder Libyen.Als historisches Beispiel für den internationalen Terrorismus gelten die Attentate auf israelische Sportler*innen während der Olympischen Spielen in München 1972 durch palästinensische Terroristen. Mit dem Fall der UdSSR verloren diese Staaten ihren Schutz vor Sanktionen westlicher Nationen. Damit endete nach und nach auch die Unterstützung terroristischer Gruppierungen. Es folgte ein fließender Übergang vom internationalen Terrorismus hin zum transnationalen Terrorismus.Der Unterschied besteht darin, dass die terroristischen Aktivitäten nicht mehr durch einen Staat unterstützt werden. Die Gruppierungen werden privat mit Geld und Waffen unterstützt oder bauen eigene, substaatliche Logistik- und Finanzierungsnetzwerke auf. Der Terrorismus gilt zudem als transnational, "weil sich die terroristischen Gruppen auf substaatlicher Ebene länderübergreifend miteinander vernetzen und sich dementsprechend aus den Angehörigen verschiedener Nationalitäten zusammensetzen" (Steinberg 2015).Basierend auf diesen Erkenntnissen ist ab den 1990er Jahren nicht mehr von internationalem Terrorismus, sondern vielmehr von transnationalem Terrorismus zu sprechen (vgl. Steinberg 2015). Dies hat auch Auswirkungen auf die Organisationsstrukturen terroristischer Gruppierungen. Sie zeichnen sich durch "Dezentralisierung, Entterritorialisierung und durch Überlagerung und Fragmentierung zwischen wechselnden, funktional orientierten Akteuren aus" (Behr 2017, 150).Ein Beispiel für den Übergang von einer internationalen Organisation hin zu einem transnationalen Netzwerk stellt die im Zusammenhang mit dem 11. September 2001 stehende Terrorgruppe Al-Qaida dar. Vor den Anschlägen galt sie als eine internationale Organisation, die über ein "recht einheitliches Gebilde" (Hoffmann 2006, 425) verfügt. In Folge der Reaktionen auf die Anschläge entwickelte sie sich als eine transnationale Bewegung "mit gleich gesinnten Vertretern an vielen Orten, die über ein ideologisches und motivierendes Zentrum locker miteinander verbunden sind, aber die Ziele dieses noch verbleibenden Zentrums gleichzeitig und unabhängig voneinander verfolgen" (Hoffmann 2006, 425).Nach Vasilache ist "der gebräuchliche Terminus des internationalen Terrorismus irreführend, da er keine gängige Strategie eines Staates gegen einen anderen, sondern ein transnationales Phänomen ist, das vor Staatsgrenzen nicht halt macht" (Vasilache 2006, 151). Als Begründung führt er an, dass terroristische Anschläge oftmals von einzelnen Gruppierungen ausgehen, wobei auf die unterschiedlichen Motive in einem nächsten Schritt eingegangen wird. Weiterhin begründet er seine Aussage mit der Tatsache, dass das Ziel von staatlich initiiertem Terrorismus nicht direkt ein anderer Staat ist, sondern vielmehr zivile Ziele verdeckt attackiert werden (vgl. Vasilache 2006, 151).Anders als Steinberg spricht Vasilache also nicht von einer historischen Veränderung vom internationalen Terrorismus hin zum transnationalen Terrorismus, sondern bezeichnet das Phänomen Terrorismus generell als transnational. Da beide in der Ansicht übereinstimmen, zum Zeitpunkt der Anschläge am 11. September 2001 handele es sich um die transnationale Form des Terrorismus, wird im weiteren Verlauf von transnationalem Terrorismus gesprochen.Im Hinblick auf die Motive terroristischer Gruppierungen können im Wesentlichen vier Motive benannt werden, die sich überschneiden oder einander angleichen können. In diesem Zusammenhang wird von der Tatsache ausgegangen, dass terroristische Gruppierungen mit ihren Zielen und ideologischen Rechtfertigungen nicht zufällig entstehen, "sondern einen bestimmten gesellschaftlich-historischen Hintergrund widerspiegelt, der seinerseits wieder durch ihr Vorgehen eine spezifische Aktivierung erfährt" (Waldmann 2005, 100).Der sozialrevolutionäre Terrorismus möchte die politischen und gesellschaftlichen Strukturen nach der Ideologie von Karl Marx verändern (vgl. Waldmann 2005, 99). Ein Beispiel hierfür stellt die Rote Armee Fraktion (kurz: RAF) dar, die in den 1970er Jahren in Deutschland terroristische Anschläge verübte.Wenn unterdrückte Völker oder Minderheiten das Ziel von mehr politischer Autonomie oder staatlicher Eigenständigkeit mit terroristischen Strategien verfolgen, handelt es sich um ethnisch-nationalistischen Terrorismus. Als Exempel hierfür kommt die baskische ETA infrage, die aus einer Studierendenorganisation heraus entstanden ist und sich in den 1960er Jahren zunehmend radikalisierte (vgl. Waldmann 2005, 103f.).Unter die dritte Form des Terrorismus, "der militante Rechtsradikalismus" (Waldmann 2005, 115), fallen unterschiedliche Gruppen wie beispielsweise die Ku-Klux-Klan-Bewegung in Amerika. Trotz der unterschiedlichen Ausprägungen können bei all diesen Gruppen im Wesentlichen zwei Merkmale ausgemacht werden: zunächst einmal kämpfen sie für den Erhalt bestehender Strukturen und wollen keine strukturellen Veränderungen hervorrufen. Zudem richtet sich diese Form des Terrorismus in erster Linie nicht gegen das politische System, sondern vielmehr gegen einzelne Gruppen der Gesellschaft (vgl. ebd., 115). Ferner kennzeichnet den rechtsradikalen Terrorismus auch eine andere Strategie und eine andere Erscheinungsform. Bei den Aktivisten handelt es sich um "Teilzeitterroristen" (ebd., 117), die typischerweise in ihrer Freizeit agieren. Ihre Aktivitäten sind nicht im Untergrund, sondern werden vielmehr offen durchgeführt. Hinzu kommt, dass die Anschläge teils geplant und teils spontan erfolgen, mit dem Ziel, die Opfer zum Verlassen des Ortes oder Landes zu bewegen (vgl. ebd., 117f.).Bei der vierten Form des Terrorismus handelt es sich um religiös motivierten Terrorismus. Beispiel hierfür ist die bereits mehrfach angesprochene Terrorgruppe Al-Qaida. Sie entstand als Reaktion auf den Angriff der Sowjetunion auf Afghanistan Ende der 1970er Jahre. Die Brutalität der Invasion sorgte für eine große Solidarität innerhalb der islamischen Welt und führte zu einem Zuzug von zahlreichen islamischen Glaubenskämpfer*innen aus anderen Ländern, darunter auch Osama Bin Laden. Dieser gewann im Laufe der 1980er Jahre immer mehr an Einfluss und gründete mit dem Abzug der Sowjets Ende des Jahrzehnts Al Qaida mit dem Ziel, an einer anderen Front weiterzukämpfen. Es erfolgte ein Strategiewechsel "des Djihads nach innen, gegen verräterische Herrscher in den islamischen Staaten, auf die Strategie eines Djihads nach außen, gegen den Westen" (ebd., 152).Ein definitorisches Problem von Terrorismus ergibt sich aus der Tatsache, dass auf der internationalen Ebene bislang keine einheitliche Definition gefunden wurde. Im Rahmen der Resolution 1566 aus dem Jahr 2004 definierte der Sicherheitsrat der Vereinten Nationen den Begriff Terrorismus wie folgt als "Straftaten […], die mit dem Ziel begangen werden, die ganze Bevölkerung, eine Gruppe von Personen oder einzelne Personen in Angst und Schrecken zu versetzten, eine Bevölkerung einzuschüchtern oder eine Regierung oder eine internationale Organisation zu einem Tun oder Unterlassen zu nötigen […]" (UN-Resolution1566 2004).Neben dieser existieren weitere nationale und internationale Definitionen, wie unter anderem die der Europäischen Union oder die Definitionen einzelner amerikanischer Behörden. Auf der politischen Ebene können die Schwierigkeiten hinsichtlich einer einheitlichen Definition anhand folgender Punkte näher beleuchtet werden: zunächst einmal werden Handlungen von unterschiedlichen Staaten unterschiedlich eingestuft. Für die einen handelt es sich um gewalttätige terroristische Angriffe; andere stufen die Aktivitäten als politisch legitimierte Handlungen in Ausübung des Selbstverteidigungsrechts während eines nationalen Befreiungskampfes ein.Ferner herrscht Uneinigkeit darüber, ob eine Definition auch den Staatsterrorismus umfassen sollte oder ob sie lediglich die motivationalen Hintergründe der Täter umfasst. Anhand der genannten Schwierigkeiten wird deutlich, dass die Einschätzung, ob es sich bei der Bedrohung um eine terroristische Bedrohung handelt und ob es sich bei der Organisation um eine terroristische Organisation handelt, dem nationalen Verständnis oder dem Verständnis der jeweiligen Institution unterliegt. Folglich könnte die Klassifizierung missbraucht werden, um ungewünschte innerstaatliche Gruppierungen oder andere mit dem Begriff zu stigmatisieren und deren Verfolgung zu rechtfertigen (vgl. Finke/Wandscher 2001, 168; Kaim 2011, 6).Abschließend gilt es noch zu klären, ob terroristische Aktivitäten als Kriegshandlungen bezeichnet werden können oder ob vielmehr eine Trennung der beiden Begriffe erforderlich ist. Als unmittelbare Reaktion auf die Anschläge des 11. Septembers bekundete Amerika immer wieder seinen Krieg gegen den Terror. Neben Präsident Bushs "global war on terror" sprach auch der amerikanische Verteidigungsminister Donald H. Rumsfeld im Zuge der Anschläge von einer neuen Kriegsart, "die sich vor allem neuer Technologien bedienen, asymetrisch verfahren und deswegen auch nicht leicht zu erkennen sein würde" (Czempiel 2003, 113).Diese Verwendung des Kriegsbegriffes in Verbindung mit terroristischen Anschlägen offenbart einen strategischen Zug der US-Regierung. "Dehnt man den Kriegsbegriff auf terroristische Akte aus, legitimiert dies den Angegriffenen auch zu Kriegshandlungen" (Geis 2006, 12). Der Regierung ist es infolgedessen möglich, über rechtsstaatliche Mittel hinaus Maßnahmen zu ergreifen und sie kann zudem von einer breiten Unterstützung innerhalb der eigenen Bevölkerung ausgehen (vgl. Geis 2006, 12). Bei der Frage, ob der transnationale Terrorismus als eine Form des Krieges bezeichnet werden kann, offenbart sich aus politikwissenschaftlicher Sicht eine erhebliche Kontroverse.Neben der Kategorisierung zwischen den alten und neuen Kriegen existiert auch die Unterscheidung zwischen großen und kleinen Kriegen. Diese "basiert auf der Art der Vergesellschaftungsform der Kriegführenden" (Geis 2006, 21). Im Fall des großen Krieges sind die Akteure in gleichem Maß vergesellschaftet, ein Staat kämpft gegen einen anderen Staat. Im Falle eines kleinen Krieges besteht eine "asymetrische Konfliktstruktur zwischen ungleich vergesellschaftlichen Akteuren: Staatliche Kombattanten treffen auf nichtstaatliche Kämpfer" (Geis 2006, 21).Ob unter die kleinen Kriege auch der Terrorismus zu subsumieren ist, ist jedoch umstritten. Zunächst einmal wird dagegen angeführt, dass der Preis auf normativer Ebene zu hoch sei. Eine Unterscheidung beider bedeutet einen Fortschritt des Völkerrechts, da die Trennung immer eine Unterscheidung zwischen politisch legitimierter Gewalt im Zuge einer Kriegshandlung und illegitimer Gewalt, ausgeübt im Zuge eines Verbrechens, ermöglicht.Hinzu kommen Bedenken "bezüglich der Folgen eines ungehegten Counterterrorismus der angegriffenen Staaten" (Geis 2006, 22). In einem permanenten Kriegszustand hätten demokratische Staaten die Möglichkeit, die Erweiterung des Sicherheitsapparates und Bürgerrechtseinschränkungen zu legitimieren (vgl. ebd., 21f.). Als weiteres Argument wird angeführt, dass eine Trennung beider Begriffe aus analytischer Sicht sinnvoll sei, da es sich beim Terrorismus primär um eine Kommunikationsstrategie handele. Dieser fehlen neben der territorialen Dimension auch die wechselseitig beständige Gewaltanwendung und das Charakteristikum eines Massenkonflikts (vgl. ebd., 23).Für eine Subsumierung des Terrorismus unter den Kriegsbegriff spricht insbesonders die Sichtweise der Vereinten Nationen, die im Zuge der Anschläge vom 11. September 2001 den Vereinigten Staaten von Amerika das Recht auf Selbstverteidigung gemäß Art. 51 UN-Charta zugesprochen hat (vgl. Resolution 1373 2001). Auf diese Tatsache wird zu einem späteren Zeitpunkt noch einmal eingegangen. Anschließend wird der Sichtweise der Vereinten Nationen gefolgt und folglich der Terrorismus unter den Begriff des Krieges subsumiert.Reaktionen der Vereinten Nationen auf Terrorismus vor dem 11. September 2001In einem nächsten Schritt gilt es, auf die Reaktionen der Vereinten Nationen auf das Phänomen des Terrorismus vor dem 11. September 2001 einzugehen. Hierbei wird zunächst auf das unterschiedliche Verständnis in Bezug auf den Sicherheitsbegriff näher eingegangen. Seit den 1970er Jahren gilt nicht mehr nur die politische Souveränität und die territoriale Integrität der einzelnen Staaten als das zu schützende Objekt der Sicherheitspolitik.Neben der zu schützenden staatlichen Sicherheit geriet auch die Gesellschaft, definiert als ein "Zusammenschluss von Individuen" (Kaim 2011, 3), in den Mittelpunkt sicherheitspolitischen Handelns. In den 1990er Jahren erfolgte die Aufnahme einer weiteren Dimension in Gestalt der menschlichen Sicherheit in den Diskurs rund um den Sicherheitsbegriff und die damit verbundenen Aufgaben. Nach diesem Verständnis ist die Sicherheit, die Freiheit und der Wohlstand des Individuums zu schützen. Es zeigt sich jedoch, dass die Dimensionen in der politischen Praxis nicht getrennt voneinander betrachtet werden können. Der Schutz des Individuums umfasst ebenso die Gesellschaft, in der es lebt, und letzlich auch den Staat (vgl. Kaim 2011, 3f.).Aus sicherheitspolitischer Perspektive gilt der "Terrorismus als entterritorialisiertes Sicherheitsrisiko" (Behr 2017, 151), das zu drei Konsequenzen führt. Zunächst einmal sind terroristische Aktivitäten nicht voraussagbar. Es besteht das Risiko, dass sie sich zu jeder Zeit an jedem Ort ereignen können. Hinzu kommt, dass die Akteure anders als Staaten keine politische Einheit darstellen. Vielmehr ereignen sich einzelne, verstreut zusammenhängende Handlungen ohne einen genau ausmachbaren Anfang oder Ende. Folglich kann auf das sicherheitspolitische Risiko Terrorismus nur reagiert werden, wenn die Maßnahmen "Handlungs- und Organisationslogiken transnationaler Politik erfassen und übernehmen" (Behr 2017, 151).Die Problematik des transnationalen Terrorismus als Herausforderung für die Vereinten Nationen und ihrer Sonderorganisationen führte zu einer Reihe von Abkommen mit der Intention der Beseitigung und Bekämpfung der Problematik. In diesem Zusammenhang kristallisierte sich ein pragmatischer Ansatz heraus. "[B]esonders häufig auftretende terroristische Aktivitäten [wurden] zum Gegenstand spezifischer Konventionen gemacht" (Finke/Wandscher 2001, 169).Nahezu alle von der Generalversammlung und den Sonderorganisationen verabschiedeten Abkommen können aufgrund bestimmter Kernelemente als Antiterrorkonventionen bezeichnet werden. Zu den besagten Kernelementen gehört zunächst einmal die Verpflichtung der Vertragsstaaten, die in dem jeweiligen Abkommen genannte strafbare Handlung in das jeweilige innerstaatliche Recht aufzunehmen und angemessen zu bestrafen.Hinzu kommt, dass verdächtige Personen entweder durch den Staat selbst zu verfolgen sind oder an einen anderen, verfolgungswilligen Staat ausgeliefert werden müssen. Eine Auslieferung kann nur dann verweigert werden, wenn das Auslieferungsgesuch aufgrund religiöser, ethischer, nationaler, rassistischer oder politischer Gründe erfolgt ist. Ferner sind die Vertragsstaaten dazu verpflichtet, untereinander zu kooperieren und sich gegenseitig Rechtshilfe zu gewähren (vgl. Finke/Wandscher 2001, 169).Das erste derartige Übereinkommen stellt das Haager Abkommen von 1970 zur Bekämpfung der widerrechtlichen Inbesitznahme von Luftfahrzeugen dar. Darauf folgte das Montrealer Abkommen von 1971 zur Bekämpfung widerrechtlicher Handlungen gegen die Sicherheit der Zivilluftfahrt (vgl. ebd., 169). Die besagten Abkommen ordnen bestimmten Aktivitäten zwar das Adjektiv terroristisch zu, stufen diese jedoch nicht als Bedrohung des Weltfriedens ein oder führen zu der Anordnung von Zwangsmaßnahmen gemäß Kapitel VII der UN-Charta durch den Sicherheitsrat.Dies änderte sich mit der Explosion einer Bombe an Bord des Pan-American-Flugs 103 über der schottischen Ortschaft Lockerbie im Jahr 1988. Hier wurden zwei Staatsangehörige Libyens für die Anschläge verantwortlich gemacht, und das Land von den Vereinigten Staaten und Großbritannien zu deren Auslieferung aufgefordert. Der libysche Staat verweigerte das. Als Reaktion darauf wurde der Terrorakt im Rahmen der Resolution 731 durch den Sicherheitsrat als Bedrohung des Weltfriedens gemäß Kapitel V Artikel 24 eingestuft.Durch Resolution 748, ebenfalls 1992 verabschiedet, wurde die Nichtauslieferung durch Libyen als "eine Bedrohung des Weltfriedens und der internationalen Sicherheit" (Finke/Wandscher 2001, 171) bezeichnet und Zwangsmaßnahmen gemäß Kapitel VII UN-Charta gegen das Land erlassen (vgl. Behr 2017, 147; Finke/Wandscher 2001, 170f.).Der Einsatz von Zwangsmaßnahmen gemäß Kapitel VII der UN-Charta erwies sich als wirksames Mittel der Terrorismusbekämpfung im Hinblick auf die Durchsetzung bestimmter Maßnahmen. Hierunter fallen insbesonders Maßnahmen, die zwar Gegenstand geltender Antiterrorkonventionen sind, diese durch die betreffenden Staaten jedoch nicht ratifiziert wurden oder die Konvention selbst noch nicht in Kraft getreten ist (vgl. Finke/Wandscher 2001, 171).Diese Strategie des Sicherheitsrates etablierte sich insbesonders hinsichtlich der Situation in Afghanistan. In Folge der Anschläge auf amerikanische Botschaften in Nairobi und Daressalam erließ der Sicherheitsrat mit der Resolution 1267 Individualsanktionen gegen die afghanischen Taliban. Der Grund hierfür war die Tatsache, dass diese den Verantwortlichen für die Anschläge, der Terrorgruppe Al-Qaida und ihrem Anführer Osama bin Laden, Unterstützung gewährte.Insbesonders durch das Einfrieren der finanziellen Mittel, aber auch durch ein Waffenembargo und ein Reiseverbot, sollten diese zur Auslieferung Bin Ladens gezwungen werden. Um die Umsetzung dieser Maßnahmen zu gewährleisten, setzte die Resolution zudem einen Unterausschuss des Sicherheitsrates ein (vgl. Kreuder-Sonnen 2017, 159).Direkte Reaktionen der Staatengemeinschaft auf den 11. September 2001Als erste Reaktion auf die Anschläge des 11. September 2001 wurde vom Sicherheitsrat bereits am Tag nach den Anschlägen die Resolution 1368 erlassen. In dieser wurde der Terrorismus einstimmig als "Bedrohung des Weltfriedens und der internationalen Sicherheit" (UN-Resolution 1368 2001) im Sinne von Art. 39 UN-Charta bezeichnet. Zugleich wurde auf das Recht zur individuellen und zur kollektiven Selbstverteidigung verwiesen (vgl. UN-Resolution 1368 2001).Noch im gleichen Monat, am 28 September 2001, wurde das Recht zur individuellen und kollektiven Selbstverteidigung mit Resolution 1373 bekräftigt und die internationale Staatengemeinschaft aufgefordert, "durch terroristische Handlungen verursachte Bedrohungen […] mit allen Mitteln im Einklang mit der Charta zu bekämpfen" (Resolution 1373 2001).Neben dem Sicherheitsrat der Vereinten Nationen reagierte auch der Nordatlantikrat umgehend. Am 12. September erklärte der damalige Generalsekretär George Robertson die Anschläge zum kollektiven Verteidigungsfall, wodurch Artikel 5 des NATO-Vertrages in Kraft trat. Nach diesem ist jeder Mitgliedstaat verpflichtet, mit von ihm ausgewählten Mitteln zu helfen (vgl. Robertson 2001).Aus amerikanischer Sicht dienten die Anschläge nicht nur dem Zweck der Tötung von amerikanischen Zivilisten, "Bush sah darin die gesamte westliche Zivilisation herausgefordert" (Czempiel 2003, 114). In seiner Rede am 20. September 2001 warnte der amerikanische Präsident alle Staaten hinsichtlich der Unterstützung und der Beherbergung von Terroristen. Innerhalb der Regierung wurde hinsichtlich der Bekämpfungsstrategie "offen von Präemption gesprochen" (Czempiel 2003, 115).Als Adressaten der amerikanischen Drohung kamen insgesamt 60 Länder mit aktiven terroristischen Organisationen in Frage (vgl. ebd., 114). Auch wenn die meisten Attentäter der Anschläge ursprünglich aus Saudi-Arabien stammten, erhärtete sich zunehmend der Verdacht, dass ihre Aktivitäten von Afghanistan aus gelenkt wurden. Im Zuge dessen wurde das Land als "Prototyp" (ebd., 115) für die Terrorismusbekämpfung ausgewählt. Mit der Operation "Enduring Freedom" starteten amerikanische und britische Truppen am 7. Oktober 2001 Angriffe auf Talibanstützpunkte wie etwa auf Regierungsgebäude in Kandahar und Kabul (vgl. Bruha/ Bortfeld 2001, 162; Czempiel 2003, 115).Der Umstand, dass sich am Tag nach den Anschlägen der Sicherheitsrat der Vereinten Nationen mit diesen befasste "ist ein erstaunlicher Beweis für die politische Klugheit der USA" (Tomuschat 2002, 20) hinsichtlich der Legitimation der Reaktion auf diese. In diesem Zusammenhang gilt es sich jedoch zu fragen, ob die genannten Resolutionen das Land tatsächlich zu einem Recht auf Selbstverteidigung gemäß Artikel 51 UN-Charta legitimieren.In Resolution 1368 findet sich in Bezug darauf ein entscheidender Widerspruch, welcher die rechtlich bedeutsamen Aussagen schwer greifbar macht. Dieser bekräftigt das Recht auf individuelle und kollektive Sicherheit im Sinne der Charta, bezeichnet die Angriffe jedoch lediglich als eine Bedrohung des globalen Friedens und der Sicherheit. Die bekundete Entschlossenheit, die Bedrohung "mit allen Mitteln zu bekämpfen" (UN 2001, 315), kann nicht als eine Ermächtigung für einzelne Staaten aufgefasst werden, sondern steht für die grundsätzliche Bereitschaft der internationalen Gemeinschaft.Anders als Resolution 1368 enthält Resolution 1373 mehr rechtlich eindeutige Aussagen. Bereits in der Präambel wird auf die Anwendung der Maßnahmen gemäß Kapitel VII UN-Charta verwiesen. Zudem bestätigt sie die Zulässigkeit des Einsatzes "aller Mittel" durch die Opfer von terroristischen Anschlägen (vgl. UN 2001, 316f.). Es zeigt sich also, dass eine Berechtigung zu der Ausübung des Selbstverteidigungsrechts gemäß Art. 51 UN-Charta durch die Vereinigten Staaten im Rahmen der genannten Resolution durchaus vorliegt (vgl. Tomuschat 2002, 20f.).Nun stellt sich die Frage, ob die Verbindungen zwischen den Anschlägen und dem Taliban-Regime derart offensichtlich waren, dass die militärischen Aktionen gegen die Taliban in Afghanistan unter die Ausübung des Selbstverteidigungsrechts fallen. In diesem Zusammenhang kann man sich nicht auf die genannten Resolutionen berufen, da diese nicht aufzeigen, "gegen wen Gegenwehr zulässig sein soll" (Tomuschat 2002, 21). Folglich gilt es, die Reaktionen des Sicherheitsrates und der Generalversammlung näher zu betrachten.Es zeigt sich, dass beide Institutionen die amerikanisch-britische Militärintervention nicht verurteilten. Vielmehr verabschiedete der Sicherheitsrat am 12. November 2001 einstimmig Resolution 1377. In dieser wurde der Terrorismus als "eine der schwerwiegendsten Bedrohungen des Weltfriedens und der internationalen Sicherheit im 21. Jahrhundert" (UN-Resolution 1377 2001) bezeichnet. Mit dieser Qualifikation wurde implizit der Einsatz von äußersten Mitteln gestattet, da die Resolution keine "Grenzen und Schranken von Gegenmaßnahmen enthält" (Tomuschat 2002, 21). Letztendlich kann man also davon ausgehen, dass die Vereinten Nationen die Ausübung des Selbstverteidigungsrechts gemäß Art. 51 UN-Charta durch die USA als Reaktion auf die Anschläge vom 11. September 2001 zumindest implizit gebilligt haben (vgl. Tomuschat 2002, 21f.).Als Reaktion auf die Anschläge wurden die bislang geltenden Individualsanktionen gegen die afghanischen Taliban und das Terrornetzwerk Al-Qaida mithilfe der Resolution 1390 zu allgemeinen, dauerhaft geltenden Maßnahmen gegen den transnationalen Terrorismus umgewandelt. Damit wurde nicht nur der Adressatenkreis erweitert, es wurde zusätzlich auch die räumliche und die zeitliche Begrenzung aufgehoben.Jede Person, die von einem Staat als Terrorverdächtiger genannt wurde, bekam ab diesem Zeitpunkt die Sanktionen im Hinblick auf das Privatleben, das private Eigentum, auf den Sozialstatus und das Unterhalten von geschäftlichen Beziehungen zu spüren. Fundierte Beweise für eine Aufnahme in die sogenannte "Schwarze Liste" (Kreuder-Sonnen 2017, 160) durch die Staaten waren ebenso wenig notwendig wie eine Begründung gegenüber dem Individuum (vgl. Kreuder- Sonnen 2017, 160).Folgen für die SicherheitspolitikAngesichts der aufgezeigten Gegenmaßnahmen als direkte Reaktion auf die Anschlage des 11. Septembers 2001 wird deutlich, dass man "bezüglich der Reaktion auf den Terrorismus von einer neuen Ära" (Waldmann 2005, 229) ausgehen muss. Es zeigt sich, dass sowohl bei diesen Anschlägen als auch bei terroristischen Anschlägen in den Folgejahren "die durchschnittliche Zahl der Opfer pro Anschlag […] kontinuierlich ansteigt" (Waldmann 2005. 16).Infolgedessen spricht auch Waldmann im Kontext von terroristischen Anschlägen von Kriegshandlungen. Seiner Ansicht nach hat das zunehmende Ausmaß der Anschläge dazu geführt, dass diese nicht mehr als `low intensity´ war, sondern vielmehr als `high intensitiy´ war eingestuft werden müssen. Der Grund hierfür ist seiner Ansicht nach die Tatsache, dass der Begriff des low intensity war neben dem fehlenden Einsatz von konventionellem Kriegsgerät und größeren Truppenverbänden auch einen begrenzten Personen- und Sachschaden impliziert (vgl. Waldmann 2005, 16f.).Auf der internationalen Ebene spiegelten sich die Reaktionen auf das zunehmende Ausmaß der Anschläge vor allem in den zahlreich erlassenen Konventionen und Resolutionen wieder. Hinzu kommt die Tatsache, dass terroristische Anschläge erstmals zu militärischen Interventionen in Länder geführt haben, die sich in erheblicher Entfernung von dem betroffenen Land befinden. Zumindest im Fall von der militärischen Intervention in Afghanistan herrschte eine seltene Einigkeit zwischen den Großmächten im Sicherheitsrat.Ferner führten die Ereignisse zu einem erheblichen Medieninteresse (vgl. Waldmann 2005, 229). Anhand dessen lässt sich "[d]ie neue Einschätzung des gewaltigen, vor allem dem internationalen Terrorismus zugeschriebenen Drohpotentials" (ebd., 230) feststellen. Diese führte zu drei als signifikant zu bezeichnenden Veränderungen im Hinblick auf die Politik und die Einstellung in Bezug auf den Terrorismus (vgl. ebd., 230).Zunächst einmal bewirkte der transnationale Terrorismus in den westlichen Nationen nicht nur einen "politischen Rechtsruck" (ebd., 230) aller regierenden Parteien. Er wirkte sich auch auf alle Ebenen der Gesellschaft aus. Dieser Wandel auf der nationalen Ebene wirkte sich auch auf die Entscheidungen internationaler Gremien aus. Die bislang vorhandene Balance zwischen der individuellen und kollektiven Sicherheit auf der einen Seite und den Grund- und Freiheitsrechten auf der anderen Seite hat sich zunehmend zugunsten des Sicherheitsaspektes verschoben (vgl. ebd., 230).Insbesonders um den Informationsaustausch zwischen den Staaten gewährleisten zu können und damit ein gemeinsames Vorgehen gegen die Bedrohung zu ermöglichen, wurden internationale Instanzen zur Koordinierung geschaffen (vgl. Behr 2017, 151; Waldmann 2005, 231). Ferner erfolgte eine erhöhte Aufmerksamkeit und Ressourcenbereitstellung für national und international agierende Behörden hinsichtlich terroristischer Aktivitäten und damit verbunden eine Reihe neuer, zu diesem Zweck erlassener Gesetze.Neben dem Informationsaustausch wurden auch die Möglichkeiten der Polizei und anderer Instanzen erweitert, um Anschläge bereits im Planungs- und Vorbereitungsstadium erkennen und verhindern zu können. Hierzu gehören beispielsweise Einreiseverbote für Mitglieder islamistischer Gruppierungen. Neben den erweiterten präventiven Maßnahmen wurden auch Notfallszenarien entwickelt, die im Fall eines Anschlags in Kraft treten (vgl. Waldmann 2005, 232).Im Hinblick auf die dargestellten Veränderungen stellt sich in einem nächsten Schritt die Frage, inwiefern weitere Maßnahmen aus der Sicht der Vereinten Nationen erforderlich sein könnten. Nach dem Terrorismusexperten Peter Waldmann "wird keine Unterscheidung zwischen Maßnahmen auf der nationalen und der internationalen Ebene getroffen, weil beide längst immer enger ineinander greifen und in die gleiche Richtung zielen" (Waldmann 2005, 239).Als zentrale Handlungsmaxime benennt Waldmann in diesem Zusammenhang die Tatsache, dass die Strategien gegenüber terroristischen Netzwerken beziehungsweise dem Terrorismus im Allgemeinen "klar, konsistent und glaubhaft" (Waldmann 2005, 239) sein sollen. Hinsichtlich des Umgangs mit dem islamistischen Terrorismus besteht die größte Problematik darin, dass westliche Nationen ihre Glaubhaftigkeit bezüglich ihrer Leitlinien teilweise verlieren. Insbesonders den Vereinigten Staaten von Amerika wird vorgeworfen, dass sie ihren Prinzipien der Demokratie, des Grundrechtsschutz und der Rechtsstaatlichkeit zugunsten von politischen und wirtschaftlichen Interessen teilweise nicht treu sind (vgl. ebd., 240)."Dass sie aus machtpolitischen Erwägungen jederzeit dazu bereit sind, mit Diktaturen Bündnisse zu schließen, und hinter ihrem quasi messianischen Diskurs, es gelte in der ganzen Welt demokratische Verhältnisse herzustellen, nun allzu deutlich das dringende Bestreben durchscheint, der eigenen Wirtschaft lukrative neue Erdölfelder zu erschließen." (Waldmann 2005, 240).Hinsichtlich der Maßnahmen auf der internationalen Ebene gilt es zunächst auf die Transnationalität näher einzugehen. Wie bereits erwähnt, handelt es sich bei terroristischen Gruppen in den meisten Fällen nicht um eine Gruppe aus einem Land, sondern um Angehörige unterschiedlicher Länder, die sich länderübergreifend miteinander vernetzt haben. Um dem begegnen zu können, erscheint es unabdingbar, dass auch Staaten grenzübergreifend miteinander kooperieren. Dies würde eine erhebliche Bereitschaft der Teilnehmenden zu einem Teilverzicht auf ihre staatlichen Souveränitätsräume und ihrer Souveränitätsrechte bedeuten.Hinsichtlich der nationalen und internationalen Rechtsordnungen im Allgemeinen verlangen transnationale Rechtsverstöße auch eine entsprechende Weiterentwicklung des Rechts auf internationaler Ebene. Transnationale Verbrechen können nicht durch an nationale Grenzen gebundenes Recht bekämpft werden, da aufgrund der unterschiedlichen Verfassungen rechtsfreie Sphären auf globaler Ebene entstehen. Folglich ist eine Ausweitung des transnationalen Rechts erforderlich. Hierfür müsste das Völkerrecht, bislang mit dem Staat als Rechtsperson und einer rechtlichen Bindung auf dem staatlichen Territorium, entterritorialisiert werden (vgl. Behr 2017, 151; Schmalenbach 2004, 266).Neben der Kooperation von Staaten und der Erweiterung des internationalen Rechts spricht Ernst-Otto Czempiel von einer "dreigeteilte[n] Strategie" (Czempiel 2003, 57) hinsichtlich der Verhinderung weiterer terroristischer Anschläge. Kurzfristig ist es die Aufgabe der Staaten, weitere Anschläge zu verhindern. In diesem Zusammenhang offenbart sich jedoch eine in demokratischen Staaten schwierige Güterabwägung hinsichtlich des Schutzes der kollektiven Sicherheit und der individuellen Freiheitsrechte (vgl. Czempiel 2003, 57).Die bürgerliche Freiheit stellt in demokratischen Staaten ein hohes Gut dar. Auf der anderen Seite würde der fortschreitende Ausbau des staatlichen Sicherheitsapparates eine "allmähliche Aushöhlung der individuellen Grund- und Freiheitsrechte um des Schutzes angeblich höherwertiger Güter willen" (Waldmann 2005, 242) bedeuten. Die Folge wäre eine Entwicklung des Rechtsstaates hin zu einem "präventiven Sicherheitsstaat" (Waldmann 2005, 242) mit einer teilweisen Abkehr von demokratischen Grundsätzen (vgl. Hofmann 2006, 446; Waldmann 2005, 242).Infolgedessen gilt es mittelfristig, sich mit dem Hintergrund der Akteure auseinanderzusetzen. "Als besonders fruchtbare Brutstätte gelten die zahlreichen `failing states´, also die gescheiterten oder zerfallenen Staaten" (Czempiel 2003, 58). Am Beispiel Afghanistans wird deutlich, dass der Westen einen erheblichen Anteil an dem Scheitern des Landes und an der Entstehung der dort ansässigen Terrorgruppe hatte.Im Zuge des Konflikts mit der Sowjetunion hatte Amerika die Kämpfer unterstützt. Mit dem sowjetischen Abzug endete auch die amerikanische Unterstützung, und das zerstörte Land wurde ebenso wie die von Amerika ausgebildeten Kämpfer sich selbst überlassen. Es gründete sich die Terrorgruppe Al Qaida mit dem neuen Feind in Gestalt der USA. Die Entwicklungen in Afghanistan haben gezeigt, dass bei jeder Einmischung von außen neben den kurzfristigen auch die langfristigen Konsequenzen zu bedenken sind und dass "das Objekt der Einmischung auch politisch und wirtschaftlich davon profitiert" (Czempiel 2003, 58).Aus langfristiger Sicht gilt es, die "Quellen des Terrorismus auszutrocknen" (ebd., 58) und eine Veränderung des Kontextes zu erwirken. In diesem Zusammenhang ist die Stabilisierung der "failing states" von entscheidender Bedeutung. Czempiel spricht von einer Neuordnung der Welt, "die immer mehr als ein Quasi-Binnenraum begriffen und mit entsprechender Strategie bearbeitet werden muss" (ebd., 59). Neben der Verringerung der Dominanz des Westens ist eine Änderung der Werteverteilung und ein Lösen der großen Konflikte erforderlich (vgl. ebd., 59).FazitDie Anschläge in den Vereinigten Staaten von Amerika am 11. September 2001 wirkten sich nicht nur traumatisch auf das "Selbst- und Machtbewusstsein der USA" (Czempiel 2003, 40) aus, sie versetzten auch den Rest der Welt in "Angst und Schrecken" (Czempiel 2003, 40). Zu Beginn des 21. Jahrhunderts erschien eine militärische Auseinandersetzung zwischen zwei Staaten unwahrscheinlich. Vielmehr stellte der Terrorismus als eine "neue Bedrohung von innen durch gesellschaftliche Akteure" (ebd., 57) das größte sicherheitspolitische Risiko insbesonders für westliche Industriestaaten dar. (vgl. ebd., 57). "Der Terror soll Angst und Schrecken verbreiten, ein Gefühl allgemeiner Unsicherheit erzeugen und offene Panik auslösen" (Hofmann 2006, 445). Hinzu kommt, dass mit dieser Form der psychologischen Kriegsführung das Vertrauen innerhalb der Gesellschaft in die politische Führung und in den Staat im Allgemeinen zerstört werden soll.Aus historischer Sicht existiert das Phänomen des Terrorismus seit mehr als 2000 Jahren. "Er hat überlebt, weil es ihm gelungen ist, sich immer wieder an die veränderten Bedingungen und Gegenmaßnahmen anzupassen und die verwundbaren Stellen seines Gegners ausfindig zu machen, um sie für seine Zwecke zu nutzen" (Hofmann 2006, 446). Entsprechend muss bei Gegenmaßnahmen "das gesamte Spektrum der verfügbaren Mitteln […], psychologische und physische, diplomatische und militärische, ökonomische und moralische" (ebd., 445) eingesetzt werden.Es gilt nun abschließend eine Antwort auf die Frage zu finden, inwiefern die Anschläge im Herbst 2001 die Sicherheitspolitik der Vereinten Nationen verändert haben. Kurzfristig führten diese zu einer seltenen Einigkeit der ständigen Mitglieder im UN-Sicherheitsrat, was sich in den zahlreichen erlassenen Resolutionen wiederspiegelt. Darunter fällt auch die Tatsache, dass die internationale Gemeinschaft die Militärintervention in Afghanistan nicht verurteilte, sondern vielmehr den Vereinigten Staaten ihr Recht auf Selbstverteidigung gemäß Art. 51 UN-Charta einstimmig zugestand.Es erwies sich jedoch hinsichtlich der internationalen Zusammenarbeit als problematisch, dass keine einheitliche Definition des Begriffs Terrorismus besteht. Das könnte dazu führen, dass wirtschaftliche Sanktionen oder militärische Aktionen zur Durchsetzung eigener Interessen fälschlicherweise als Terrorismusbekämpfung etikettiert werden.Generell zeigt sich, dass die Anschläge einen erheblichen innenpolitischen Rechtsruck bewirkten, der sich auch auf die Entscheidungen internationaler Gremien auswirkte. Das wurde durch erweiterte Befugnisse für die Polizei und andere Exekutivorgane in Fragen der nationalen und internationalen Sicherheit sichtbar.Mit der Resolution 70/291 stellte der amtierende UN-Generalsekretär Antonio Guterres am 22. Februar 2017 strategische Handlungsoptionen für die Terrorismusbekämpfung vor. Zunächst einmal soll die Effizienz der Vereinten Nationen im Bereich der Terrorbekämpfung allgemein gestärkt werden. Zudem soll die Qualität der Vereinten Nationen hinsichtlich der Unterstützung der Mitgliedsstaaten bei der Umsetzung der UN-Terrorismusbekämpfungsstrategien hinterfragt werden. Hinzu kommt der Anstoß zu einer Debatte hinsichtlich der regionalen und internationalen Zusammenarbeit von Staaten und UN-Sonderorganisationen.Außerdem wurde Wladimir Iwanowitsch Woronkow auf Vorschlag von Guterres zur Umsetzung und Koordinierung der Vorschläge am 21. Juni 2017 als Untergeneralsekretär eingesetzt. Diese strategische Neuausrichtung wird als eine strategische Aufwertung der Terrorismusbekämpfung im Rahmen der Vereinten Nationen verstanden (vgl. Behr 2017, 152).Zusammenfassend zeigt sich also, dass sich die internationale Gemeinschaft der Tatsache bewusst ist, dass eine gemeinsame Strategie zur Bekämpfung des transnationalen Phänomens erforderlich ist. "Wenn wir den Terrorismus erfolgreich bekämpfen wollen, müssen wir ebenso unermüdlich, innovativ und dynamisch vorgehen wie unsere Gegner" (Hoffmann 2006, 446).LiteraturBehr, H. (2017): Die Antiterrorismuspolitik der UN seit dem Jahr 2001. In: Deutsche Gesellschaft für die Vereinten Nationen e.V. [Hrsg.]: Terrorismusbekämpfung und die Vereinten Nationen. S. 147-151.Böhm, A. (2021): Die Gesetzte des Dschungels. In: ZEIT Geschichte 4/21. S 92-97.Czempiel, E.-O. (2003): Weltpolitik im Umbruch. Die Pax Americana, der Terrorismus und die Zukunft der internationalen Beziehungen. München: Verlag C.H.Beck oHG.Finke, J./ Wadscher, C. (2001): Terrorismusbekämpfung jenseits militärischer Gewalt. In: Deutsche Gesellschaft für die Vereinten Nationen e.V. [Hrsg.]: Terrorismusbekämpfung und die Vereinten Nationen. S. 168-173.Geis, A. (2006): Den Krieg überdenken. Kriegsbegriffe und Kriegstheorien in der Kontroverse. Zugriff am 09.03.2022 unter https://www.pw.ovgu.de/ipw_media/Downloads/Geis/Geis__Einleitung_Den_Krieg_berdenken_9_43-p-90.pdf.Hofmann, B. (2006): Terrorismus – der unerklärte Krieg. New York: Columbia University Press.Kahl, M. (2011):Die Militärstrategie der USA nach dem 11. September. In: Bundeszentrale für Politische Bildung [Hrsg.]: Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte 27/2011. S. 19-24.Kaim, M. (2011): Internationale Sicherheitspolitik nach dem 11. September. In: Bundeszentrale für Politische Bildung [Hrsg.]: Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte 27/2011. S. 3-9.Kreuder-Sonnen, C. (2017): Terrorismusbekämpfung und die Vereinten Nationen. In: Deutsche Gesellschaft für die Vereinten Nationen e.V. [Hrsg.]: Terrorismusbekämpfung und die Vereinten Nationen. S. 159-163.Pfahl-Traughber, A. (2016): Terrorismus – Merkmale, Formen und Abgrenzungsprobleme. In: Bundeszentrale für Politische Bildung [Hrsg]:Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte 24-25/ 2016. S. 10-19.Nato Press Releases (2001): Statement by the North Atlantic Council. Zugriff am 09.03.2022 unter https://www.nato.int/docu/pr/2001/p01-124e.htmSchmalenbach, K. (2017): Völker- und unionsrechtliche Anstöße zur Entterritorialisierung des Rechts. In: Vereinigung der deutschen Staatsrechtslehrer [Hrsg]: Grenzüberschreitungen. Berlin: DeGruyter. S. 245-272.Steinberg, G. (2015): Transnationaler Terrorismus. Zugriff am 06.03.2022 unter https://www.bpb.de/shop/zeitschriften/izpb/209663/transnationaler-terrorismus/.Tomuschat, C. (2002): Der 11. September 2001 und seine rechtlichen Konsequenzen. Zugriff am 22.02.2022. unter https://www.ssoar.info/ssoar/bitstream/handle/document/26104/ssoar-2002-tomuschat-der_11_september_2001_und.pdf;jsessionid=A9D1D4BAEDCA16B97394171E0769C782?sequence=1.United Nation publication:(2001): Resolution 1373. Zugriff am 02.03.2022 unter https://www.un.org/depts/german/sr/sr_01-02/sr1368.pdf(2001): Resolution 1377. Zugriff am 26.02.2022 unter https://www.un.org/depts/german/sr/sr_01-02/sr1373.pdf(2002): Resolution 1390. Zugriff am 28.02.2022 unter https://www.un.org/Depts/german/sr/sr_01-02/sr1390.pdf.(2004): Resolution 1566. Zugriff am 01.03.2022 unter https://www.un.org/depts/german/sr/sr_04-05/sr1566.pdf.Vasilache, A. (2006): Hobbes, der Terrorismus und die Angst in der Weltpolitik. Zugriff am 06.03.2022 unter https://publishup.uni-potsdam.de/opus4-ubp/frontdoor/deliver/index/docId/899/file/51_fb_vasilache.pdf.Waldmann, P. (2005): Terrorismus. Provokation der Macht. Hamburg: Murmann Verlag GmbH.

En las líneas que siguen aplicaré la noción de "obstáculo epistemológico" a ciertos planteos que cotidianamente nos formulan los estudiantes de distintas carreras. Aunque algunas ideas de este artículo formaron parte de mi ponencia para las Jornadas de Reflexión Académica 2009-2010 de la Facultad de Comunicación y Diseño de ORT, los fenómenos aquí identificados surgen de mi experiencia en diferentes ámbitos institucionales. Tal vez parezca algo en exceso sofisticado trasladar un concepto clásico de la epistemología a la reflexión sobre la enseñanza de nivel universitario. ¿Qué es eso de "obstáculo epistemológico"?Para comprender la ciencia contemporánea –nos enseñaba hace ya muchas décadas el filósofo Gastón Bachelard–, es preciso abandonar ciertos conceptos que se dan por seguros, tomando conciencia de la precariedad de algunas nociones:"Cuando se buscan condiciones psicológicas del progreso de la ciencia, se llega pronto a la convicción de que hay que plantear el problema del conocimiento científico en términos de obstáculos. (…) El conocimiento de lo real es una luz que proyecta siempre sombras en alguna parte. Nunca es inmediato y pleno. (…) Volviendo sobre un pasado de errores, encontramos la verdad en un verdadero arrepentirse intelectual. De hecho, se conoce contra un conocimiento anterior, destruyendo conocimientos mal hechos". (Bachelard, 1973, págs. 187-188)Según el autor, la noción de "obstáculo epistemológico" refiere a que "es imposible hacer de golpe tabla rasa de los conocimientos usuales" y que "frente a lo real, lo que cree saberse claramente ofusca lo que debería saberse. Cuando se presenta ante la cultura científica, el espíritu jamás es joven. Hasta es muy viejo, pues tiene la edad de sus prejuicios". (Bachelard, 1987)Este concepto puede resultar fecundo para pensar la enseñanza universitaria.Especialmente ante ciertos viejos prejuicios que afloran en el aula, a pesar de que sean muy jóvenes quienes los expresan: atribuciones simplistas a ciertos términos como "verdad" y "objetividad", relativismo moral extremo, vaivén entre las dudas aleatorias y las creencias más pueriles, etcétera. Estos auténticos obstáculos epistemológicos parecen inducir una banalización de la enseñanza universitaria, e incluso comprometer el futuro desarrollo profesional de los egresados. Veamos hasta qué punto esto es cierto, o no tanto.Cuatro supuestosEn nuestra experiencia docente a lo largo de los años, nos hemos encontrado ante la presencia de algo que podríamos denominar "obstáculos pedagógicos", por su similitud con aquellos aludidos por Bachelard. 1Supongamos que a alguien le preocupa que los docentes abriguen el propósito oculto de convencer a sus estudiantes de algo en particular. Esa persona debería atenuar su inquietud: en condiciones normales, las de nuestras democracias liberales en sano y perenne conflicto, es una tarea vana intentarlo. Eso es lo que surge ante las dificultades que uno suele encontrar ante el intento, mucho más modesto, de situar ante la consideración del estudiante ciertas ideas o autores al lado de las "certezas" que ya traen consigo al aula. En otras palabras, pedirles que tomen en consideración, o que supongan al menos provisoriamente que ciertas ideas diferentes a las que les son familiares pueden tener al menos algún aspecto positivo, es un ejercicio que las más de las veces choca contra una pared –es decir, choca contra un "obstáculo pedagógico" –.Parto de varios supuestos para poder reflexionar luego a partir de unos pocos ejemplos.Primero, supongo que el lector posee una formación académica pero no necesariamente en el área de la filosofía, y que no le interesan demasiado los problemas y las discusiones a los cuales esa milenaria disciplina suele conducir.Segundo, el lector es una persona en algún sentido sensata, y sabe que nuestras afirmaciones acerca de "hechos" o acerca de la "realidad" o del "mundo" poseen diferentes grados de certeza –sea cual fuere el significado que pueda atribuirse a términos semejantes–.Este segundo supuesto implica que no es lo mismo el grado de certeza que puede tener la respuesta a la pregunta "¿me amas?" que la respuesta dada a quien interroga por la cotización del dólar o por el número de celular de un conocido común. Incluso si se trata de temas científicos, éstos no poseen el mismo grado de certeza. Es decir, no se encuentra en el mismo nivel de adhesión cognitiva una discusión sobre las leyes del péndulo que otra sobre el big bang, las "super cuerdas" o cualquier otro asunto de la harto especulativa cosmología contemporánea.Tercero. Parto también de la base de que el lector posee cierto "sentido común" y considera ocioso repetir frases tales como "la objetividad absoluta no existe", frase tan obvia que parece hasta de tontos reiterarla.Pongamos un ejemplo bien claro. Hace poco en el salón de actos de la Facultad de Comunicación y Diseño de ORT recibimos a Leila Guerriero. Esta prestigiosa periodista vino a hablarnos de cómo encaraba su quehacer profesional y al referirse a este punto dijo, más o menos textualmente, "la objetividad es una mala idea".Con eso quería decir que cuando concurría, por ejemplo, a una villa miseria para preparar una de sus crónicas, no ingresaba allí como si ella misma fuese una videocámara sino que iba con toda su humanidad, su indignación, sus prejuicios, su ideología. Esto es comprensible y hasta compartible si se complementa con lo que la propia Guerriero manifestó unos minutos después.Palabras más o menos, los matices de la simpática visitante fueron por este lado: pese a que, en cierto sentido, la "objetividad" no es una buena idea cuando uno se la toma muy a pecho, eso no quiere decir que si una señora sale del rancho de la villa miseria al encuentro de Leila y esa señora tiene su dentadura completa, Leila esté dispuesta a escribir luego en su crónica que la mujer tenía la boca en mal estado.En otras palabras, que "la objetividad" en una acepción simplista sea una mala idea, no debería conducirnos a perder la honestidad profesional diciendo una cosa diferente de la que efectivamente se contempló. 2 Parto también de un cuarto supuesto: el lector es partidario de los derechos humanos y no está dispuesto a conceder que sean vulnerados o que no sean defendidos de la mejor manera posible. ¿Por qué hacer explícito este supuesto tan básico para la convivencia civilizada? Ocurre que no solamente los neonazis actuales los desprecian: la adhesión inequívoca a los Derechos Humanos no es nada obvia hoy y tampoco lo era cuando Gilles Deleuze se burlaba de su defensa enL´Abécédaire de Deleuze, la célebre entrevista con Claire Parnet, dirigida por Pierre-André Boutang en 1988-1989. En realidad, el hecho de que algunos invoquen los DDHH de modo hipócrita no debería conducir, precisamente, a rechazarlos. Por si alguien le queda alguna duda, las palabras textuales de Gilles Deleuze son: "Actuar por la libertad, devenir revolucionario, ¡es también operar en la jurisprudencia! Cuando uno se dirige a la Justicia. ¡La Justicia no existe, los derechos humanos no existen! Lo que cuenta es la jurisprudencia: esa es la invención del Derecho. De ahí que los que se contentan con recordar los derechos humanos y recitar los derechos humanos, en fin, ¡no son más que unos imbéciles!". (Deleuze, 1988-1989, pág. 73)Otra "vaca sagrada" de la posmodernidad es Michel Foucault. No es que Foucault carezca de méritos, sólo que en el punto que aquí nos ocupa, da pena pensar que en una célebre polémica de 1972 para la TV holandesa, Noam Chomsky haya tenido que recordarle que la lucha por el poder debía legitimarse por alguna idea, aunque fuese precaria, de "justicia". Entrentanto, a Foucault parecía importarle exclusivamente si el proletariado iba o no a acceder al poder. 3 Por otra parte, irrita un poco que mientras casi cualquier persona de mediana cultura es capaz de recordar las simpatías nazis de Martin Heidegger, poca atención se le haya prestado a la documentada denuncia de las frivolidades políticas de Foucault, llevada a cabo con mucho coraje por Juan José Sebreli en El olvido de la razón(2006).Hasta aquí mis puntos de partida. Necesitaba declararlos de modo manifiesto porque en muchos ámbitos académicos en que he tenido ocasión de participar en los últimos años, encuentro "obstáculos epistemológicos" y por ende "obstáculos pedagógicos" que ponen aquellos supuestos en tela de juicio –en ocasiones en forma despectiva, sin dar la oportunidad al docente o al conferencista de explicarlos o defenderlos mínimamente–.El diario o la vidaRespecto de la noción de "verdad" y de "objetividad", por ejemplo, me he encontrado con dos tesis extremas. Hace ya unos cuantos años –no puedo ser preciso en esto–, no era raro encontrar estudiantes de periodismo dispuestos a defender una noción absoluta de "verdad". La "verdad" y la "objetividad" eran valores supremos y los futuros periodistas era los sacerdotes que debían custodiarlos, en desmedro de cualquier otro valor humano que pudiese entrar en conflicto con ellos.La noción de que los valores más importantes pueden encontrarse en conflicto permanente y que es preciso atenderlos según inexorables soluciones de compromiso, parecía –y parece hoy– por completo ajena para algunos. Algo así como si la tensión entre ser músico y llevar una vida familiar condujese necesariamente a la desagradable dicotomía de prescindir de su pareja e hijos o bien tirar el piano por la ventana.La célebre foto del buitre acechando al niño agonizante, por ejemplo, condujo a algunos a repetir la inadmisible justificación de dejar morir al niño en aras de "cumplir el deber profesional" de sacar la foto y salir corriendo. No estoy seguro que se advierta ya no digo la inmoralidad de esa opción sino la estupidez de quienes la sostienen: según los partidarios del supremo sacerdocio de mostrar a la gente el mundo tal cual es, sería más importante enterar a la gente de estas situaciones, que ayudar a intentar resolver de inmediato una de ellas. ¿Qué sentido tiene informar si no es para poner esa información al servicio de todos los seres humanos de carne y hueso? ¿O acaso se trata de datos para manejo o incluso mero esparcimiento de unos, sin considerar el sufrimiento de otros?Para ilustrar este aspecto, veamos las expresiones de un egresado de periodismo que afirma muy suelto de cuerpo: "Imaginemos un periodista especializado en conflictos bélicos, que es enviado a una guerra. ¿Debe ayudar a los soldados heridos que se desangran a su lado? ¿Debe intervenir el periodista cuando ve que algo está mal, como el hecho de que esos soldados estén sufriendo? Claro que no. La forma más saludable de ejercer el periodismo es teniendo siempre presente que su única función es informar. Si el periodista que fue enviado al campo de batalla se dedica a auxiliar a los heridos en vez de hacer su trabajo, ¿qué pasará con toda esa gente que quiere ser informada sobre lo [que] está ocurriendo en dicho conflicto bélico? ¿Quién hará el trabajo del periodista, si éste se dedica a llevar a cabo el trabajo de alguien más?". 4Al autor de estas expresiones ni siquiera se le ocurre pensar que tal vez haya que distinguir las situaciones en que no es posible ayudar de ninguna manera, o que hacerlo sería correr un riesgo de vida con escasas probabilidades de salvar a nadie, de aquellas en que tal vez se pueda hacer algo, asumiendo riesgos hasta donde nuestra ética y nuestra gratitud lo permitan, para corresponder a quienes nos han protegido y nos han permitido llegar hasta el escenario del conflicto. "¿Debe ayudar a los soldados heridos que se desangran a su lado? Claro que no", afirma con frívola seguridad el defensor del periodismo al servicio de la "información", la "objetividad", la "verdad" o sus variantes, como ídolos abstractos y entidades superiores a los seres humanos que se "desangran" por ellos –y por los "periodistas" que saben poner oportunamente su pellejo a salvo–. La estúpida seguridad del "claro que no" es increíble."La única función es informar" dice el autor de esas frases, como si el derecho a recibir la "información" por parte de los seres humanos que configuran un público fuese superior al derecho a la vida de quienes combaten por ellos –al menos en ciertas ocasiones–.La Tierra es cuadradaPasemos ahora al otro extremo: el de la negación de toda "verdad", de toda noción más o menos de sentido común de "realidad" y del relativismo extremo que supuso el advenimiento de la moda de la "posmodernidad". Como veremos, los autores posmodernos, o mejor aún, lo que creen los estudiantes que dicen o dijeron los autores de la "posmodernidad", supone una confortable negativa a aceptar cualquier teoría o doctrina que promueva valores o pretenda describir la "realidad", por grande que haya sido el trabajo que insumió su elaboración. Es decir, los estudiantes –y a veces también algunos autores "posmo" como los que mencioné líneas arriba a costa de herir muchas susceptibilidades–, no solamente incluyen en su enérgica barrida materias opinables como los valores éticos o estéticos, sino también algunas elementales nociones científicas.Veamos, pues, este otro caso de "obstáculo pedagógico", tomado de un examen de "Análisis de Productos Periodísticos". En una de las consignas, pedí a mis estudiantes que expresaran su opinión personal sobre las declaraciones de Giovanni Sartori en una entrevista donde el notable pensador político italiano explicaba que: "Los medios italianos están llenos de chicos y chicas con muy buena voluntad a los que se pide que hagan una entrevista cada día. Y hacen entrevistas penosas; no porque sean estúpidos, sino porque no están preparados. Y no les dan tiempo para prepararse. Tienen que hacer la entrevista; van allí, y se tragan que alguien les diga que la Tierra es cuadrada. Ellos no cuestionan nada, no saben hacer preguntas e informan que la Tierra es cuadrada. Y por otro lado, los periodistas más hechos son muy cautos, no quieren exponerse a protestas, o no se arriesgan porque no saben lo suficiente de las cosas de las que escriben. Hoy, los periódicos casi no hacen investigación. Es gravísimo; la investigación es lo más importante, es la gran fuerza del diario, y los periodistas que saben hacerla han desaparecido casi, se están extinguiendo". (Sartori, 2005)Una alumna a la cual, por supuesto, no deseo responsabilizar individualmente sino que muestra a las claras las consecuencias de una moda muy fuerte, o de algo más que una moda, respondió con firmeza en estos términos respecto de que la "preparación" de los periodistas: "No puede medirse en términos de las respuestas que aceptan puesto que vivimos en una era posmoderna donde la racionalidad ha dejado de dominar todas las áreas y si alguien quiere sostener que la tierra es cuadrada puede hacerlo. La falta de cuestionamiento que afirma es una tesis también propuesta en Homo videns y tiene que ver con la incapacidad de análisis que produce la cultura de la imagen. Pero esto no es excusa para acusar a un periodista de "penoso" porque publica que la tierra es cuadrada. Ya no hay verdades inmutables. [Sartori] defiende a los periodistas «más hechos» con lo cual quiere decir modernos, es decir, los racionalistas que todo lo verifican científicamente y por eso «no arriesgan porque no saben lo suficiente». Sartori no toma en cuenta que este periodismo no tiene por qué ser mejor, sino que es distinto, pertenece a otro tiempo, a otra ideología y responde a otro público con necesidades diferentes".No conforme con ello, la misma estudiante agrega en líneas posteriores que:"Afirmar que «la investigación es lo más importante» es seguir atado a un metarrelato de verdad que sostenía una definición de periodismo como recolector, procesador y transmisor de hechos fidedignos y no se ha preguntado si hoy, que han desaparecido los metarrelatos (incluido ése) esa concepcion no ha cambiado (…) Creo que lo «gravísimo» es continuar atados a un modelo que ya no es aceptado por el mundo posmoderno, que ya no tiene público y por lo tanto sentido de existencia".Los ejemplos de ignorancia del método científico en particular y de las confusiones acerca del auténtico sentido de la modernidad podrían multiplicarse. La estudiante cree por ejemplo que "la religión y el Estado son dos grandes relatos, ambos cuentan con la confianza absoluta del hombre moderno". Además, sostiene que"el hombre de la modernidad defendía ante todo la racionalidad (…) una noción inmutable de verdad y realidad (…) y una confianza ciega en la ciencia". En otra de las carillas de su examen afirma también que "para el modernista [sic] lo más importante es mantener el status quo".Está claro que la estudiante jamás leyó a Voltaire, ni a Diderot, ni a Rousseau, ni tampoco, más acá en el tiempo y en influencia, a Karl Marx. Y que jamás estudió las diatribas ilustradas contra el papado, la noción de verdad científica como algo perfectible y aproximativo, entre otros aportes de la tan menoscabada como desconocida modernidad, y ha optado por una pésima caricatura. Probablemente ignora también la consigna "libertad, igualdad, fraternidad" de los revolucionarios franceses.Quizás se trata de un caso aislado o, a lo sumo, los párrafos transcriptos podrían haber sido tomados de las hojas de examen de algunos otros estudiantes pero no de la mayoría. Sin embargo, no deja de inquietar el hallazgo de este tipo de "obstáculos pedagógicos". Y me apresuro a declarar que no tengo ningún problema en que se enseñen los autores de la posmodernidad. Al contrario –yo mismo suelo enseñarlos–.Es imprescindible hacerlo, sin duda. (A veces un exceso conduce a advertir mejor los defectos de otro exceso de signo contrario). Lo que sostengo es que habría que tratar de impartir a los estudiantes alguna idea menos esquemática y falsa de las corrientes que la precedieron –o de las que coexisten hoy incluso con ella–.Todos somos EichmannRecordemos que uno de mis cuatro supuestos era el de que el lector es partidario de los Derechos Humanos. En correspondencia con ese tema, he aquí un último ejemplo, tomado de un ensayo que pedí a mis estudiantes de "Cultura y comunicación". Voy a reproducir algunos párrafos y reduciré mis comentarios al mínimo. Para situarnos en el contexto adecuado, debo decir que el programa de ese curso pide ocuparse de Hannah Arendt, la gran pensadora social y política del siglo XX, que se ocupó de conceptos como el de la "banalidad del mal" y de promover la importancia de la "esfera pública" por sobre la "esfera privada". 5Explicado lo anterior, veamos como un estudiante inteligente y que además escribe con cierto talento literario, nos explica: "Descubro que a pesar de haber sido bombardeado en los últimos días con noticias acerca de prácticamente lo mismo, de leerlas en diarios y escucharlas en distintas radios (…) en realidad no sé muy bien qué es lo que pasa en Honduras, por ejemplo. No termino de asustarme por esa gripe extraña que nació hace unos meses en México, aún no sé si es buena idea comprarme uno de esos barbijos…"En tono confesional, íntimo, van surgiendo los fundamentos de toda una cosmovisión: "Me lavo los dientes, apago el calefactor de mi cuarto y me voy a dormir. Al otro día me levantaré para continuar con mi vida. Mientras duermo, una enorme cantidad de gente que no conozco está pasando frio o hambre o las dos cosas al mismo tiempo. Otros tantos estarán siendo asesinados en alguna guerra que no conozco; mucho sufrimiento, mucho dolor… Yo no soy un mal tipo, nunca robé nada, ni maté a nadie (…) Quiero a mis amigos, soy un buen hijo y demás… Muy a pesar de esto último, sería hipócrita si manifestara que me importa algo esa gente que no conozco, seguramente si me importara algo no podría dormir. Pero ¡no! Duermo como siempre, junto a mis pequeñas pretensiones de felicidad y mis sueños".Las líneas del ensayo se aproximan a su fin con la misma ambivalencia de sufrir por los derechos vulnerados y la resignación de asumir la propia monstruosa indiferencia: "Todos nosotros, todos los días convivimos con situaciones desgarradoras: de niños en la calle, chicos violentados por el sistema, hombres y mujeres marginados de la estructura, que vagan de esquina en esquina. Todos sabemos de los desastres que ocurren a diario en África, o en cualquier otro lado del mundo. Todos coincidimos frente a situaciones injustas; pero nadie hace nada. Frente a estas conclusiones se me hace muy difícil no entender a Hannah Arendt, y en definitiva a Adolf Eichmann, por mucho que pese. Todos de alguna manera somos Eichmann, todos somos parte de una especie de Holocausto, y todos continuamos con nuestras obligaciones al pie de la letra".Repasemos los casos que hemos traído para hacer un último comentario.Quizás los estudiantes que protagonizan los testimonios aquí incorporados no constituyen un número considerable, ni nada de esto debería inducirnos a preocupación.Pero es igual que cuando usted se pelea con uno o dos vecinos y vive mortificado todo el día, aunque resida en un edificio de cien apartamentos: estos casos tienden a crear la tónica del aula, pese a no formar una mayoría. Y después de todo, no parece muy halagüeña la perspectiva de ver egresar estudiantes que creen que es mejor dejar morir al prójimo a nuestro lado, con tal de cumplir un deber definido tontamente como "absoluto". O que se puede propalar cualquier opinión infundada o falsa, como "la tierra es cuadrada". O que "todos somos Eichmann" y por lo tanto podemos seguir cumpliendo con nuestras obligaciones y luego dormir tranquilos.* Profesor de Cultura y Sociedad ContemporáneaFACS – LI – Universidad ORT UruguayNOTAS1. En la Facultad de Comunicación, ellos suelen aparecer a menudo en materias como "Cultura y comunicación" y en "Ética y libertad de expresión". En la Facultad de Ciencias Sociales, me los he encontrado en "Cultura y Sociedad Contemporánea". Pero también son numerosos los ejemplos que recuerdo de mis tiempos de la Fundación Bank Boston, donde fui docente de la Diplomatura en Gestión Cultural, o en la actual Fundación Itaú, donde he venido desempeñando el mismo rol hasta hoy (2011), o en mis cursos de Ensayo, Cine y Filosofía en la hospitalaria Unión Latina de Thomas Lowy, o en congresos, seminarios y talleres de filosofía. Una atmósfera cultural similar podía percibir sin esfuerzo alguno en múltiples foros nacionales e internacionales, cuando ocupaba el cargo de Director Nacional de Cultura del MEC del Uruguay (2002-2005). Sería tan largo como innecesario agregar más, refiriéndome a ciertos ambientes intelectuales, donde cualquier cosa puede ponerse de moda. Al respecto, no vale la pena intentar decirlo mejor que Ernest Gellner en Posmodernism, Reason and Religion (1992), del cual existe traducción al castellano: Posmodernismo, razón y religión (1994).2. He aquí una actitud habitual en los estudiantes: del hecho de que haya muchas experiencias ambiguas suelen generalizar indebidamente sosteniendo que todas las experiencias son ambiguas y por lo tanto no es posible afirmar nada seguro del mundo, excepto su propia y dogmática declaración de escepticismo.3. La transcripción de la polémica entre Chomsky y Foucault, moderada por el filósofo Fons Elders, fue publicada en español: ver ELDERS, Fons (1974), La filosofía y los problemas actuales, Editorial Fundamentos, Madrid. También está disponible en: http://www.ddooss.org/articulos/entrevistas/Chomsky-Foucault-Elders.htm4. Por razones obvias, y dado que aquí lo que importa es analizar errores y no hablar de quienes los cometen, ninguna de las transcripciones de frases escritas por estudiantes de Universidad ORT o de otras instituciones serán asociadas a los nombres de sus autores. Puedo exhibir los materiales originales a quien me lo solicite a condición de preservar siempre el anonimato de los estudiantes.5. Para una visión panorámica de la obra de Arendt, ver Courtoisie, 2009. Disponible en:http://200.40.120.165/Suple/Cultural/09/09/18/cultural_441978.asp*Profesor de Cultura y Sociedad ContemporáneaLI – FACS – Universidad ORT UruguayBIBLIOGRAFÍABACHELARD, Gastón (1973). Epistemología. Textos escogidos por Dominique Lecourt, Anagrama, Barcelona. Para avanzar algo más puede consultarse "Gastón Bachelard. Su contribución al desarrollo de la epistemología contemporánea" de Alción Cheroni, en el volumen colectivo Reflexiones sobre el pensamiento francés contemporáneo (2008), Ediciones de la Biblioteca, Montevideo.BACHELARD, Gastón. (1987). La formación del espíritu científico. Editorial Siglo XXI, México. Citado por Luis E. Villamil Mendoza (2008) en "La noción de obstáculo epistemológico en Gastón Bachelard", disponible en: http://www.ucm.es/info/especulo/numero38/obstepis.htmlCOURTOISIE, Agustín (2009). "Ensayos de Hannah Arendt (1906-1975). Caminos de la Política". Suplemento Cultural del diario El País de Montevideo. Disponible en:http://200.40.120.165/Suple/Cultural/09/09/18/cultural_441978.aspDELEUZE, Gilles (1988-1989). El Abecedario de Gilles Deleuze. En varios lugares de la web puede encontrarse esa serie de entrevistas, letras por letra. Impacta mucho ver y escuchar al filósofo pero es muy útil también consultar el texto completo, traducido por Raúl Sánchez Cedillo, y disponible en: http://217.126.81.33:501/psico/sesion/ficheros_publico/descargaficheros.php?opcion=textos&codigo=203GELLNER, Ernest (1994). Posmodernismo, razón y religión. Editorial Paidós, Barcelona.SARTORI, Giovanni (2005). Entrevista con José Manuel Calvo (25/12/2005). Disponible en:http://www.elpais.com/articulo/portada/Giovanni/Sartori/elpeputec/20051225elpepspor_3/TesSEBRELI, Juan José (2006). El olvido de la razón. Editorial Sudamericana, Buenos Aires.

How can we explain that some Popular education militants are also referring to the Information Society and thus seem to join this plan, carried to a great extent by merchants and the authorities ? Which are the stakes at work in this "meeting" ? Popular education, in addition to a long and plural history, is not homogeneous. However, Popular education is marked by a common philosophy aiming at developing social, cultural and political people's emancipation. In the mean time, political and economic authorities need to get the support of social actors to carry out the Information Society. Within this framework, associations would be the relay of the development of this society ; the necessary social mediator of this plan. Meanwhile, Popular education movements are seeking ways to appropriate this concept in order to make it able to serve the interests of Popular education. But they also question the specific purposes of this model. Indeed, the reference to the Information Society allows the militants of Popular education to update their traditional matters, and also to come out of the crisis they are facing. Lastly, if this meeting seems, at first sight, to generate consensus, the inherent conflicts in the confrontation of the values and identities do not therefore disappear and question the real stakes at work.

Issue 50.3 of the Review for Religious, May/June 1991. ; Review for Religious Volume 50 Number 3 May/June 1991 Paradigms for Ministry ,Religious Life and Modernity Mary, Woman for Peacemakers Atheism in Our Prayer ANNIVERSARY VOLUME Rt~vmw vo~ R~.:t,tc~ous (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bi-monthly at St. Louis University by the Missouri Province Educational Institute of the Society of Jesus: Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard, Room 428: St. Louis. MO 63108-3393. Telephone: 314-535-3048. Second-class postage paid at St. Louis. MO. POSTMASTER: Send address changes In Rr:v~:w ~'ou R~:~,l~;,ms: P.O. Bnx 6070: Duluth, MN 55806. Subscription rates: Single copy $3.50 plus mailing costs. One-year subscription $15.00 plus mailing costs: two-year subscription $28.00 plus mailing costs. See inside back cover for subscription informa-tion and mailing costs. © 1991 R~:w~:w David L. Fleming, S.J. Philip C. Fischer, S.J. Michael G. Harter, S.J. Elizabeth McDonough, O.P. Jean Read Mary Ann Foppe Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Assistant Editors David J. Hassel, S.J. Iris Ann Ledden, S.S.N.D. Wendy Wright, Ph.D. Advisory Board Mary Margaret Johanning, S.S.N.D. Sean Sammon, F.M.S. Suzanne Zuercher, O.S.B. May/June 1991 Volume 50 Number 3 Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor should be sent to R~:vl~:w ~'on R~:Lt{;tot~s; 3601 Lindell Boulevard; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Correspondence about the department "Cannnical Counsel" should be addressed to Elizabeth McDonough, O.P.; 5001 Eastern Avenue: P.O. Box 29260; Washingtnn, D.C. 20017. Back issues should be ordered from Rt~vt~:w vo~ RELI(;IOUS; 3601 Lindell Boulevard; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. "Out of Print" issues are available from University Microfilms International; 300 N. Zeeb Road; Ann Arbor, MI 48106. A major portion of each issue is available on cassette recordings as a service for the visually impaired. Write to: Xavier Society for the Blind; 154 East 23rd Street; New York, NY 10010. PRISMS. Struggle marks these first few months of 1991. The struggle in the Middle East, whatever the good and bad results, has made even more evident in our time the futility of modern warfare as a way of solving human problems. Violent warfare breeds only further injustice in a down-ward spiral for humankind. Pope John Paul II, along with leaders in the other Christian churches, left no doubt that "just" wars (much less "holy" wars) are concepts with no meaning for our technological world. How painful a struggle it is for people of different races or ethnic origins to work together to form a single nation becomes daily more ap-parent in Africa, in India, in the Eastern European countries, and in North, Central, and South America. Poverty and wealth present another face of struggle---evident perhaps as close as our urban neighborhood and writ as large as the consumer societies of the northern hemisphere in relation to the debt-ridden nations of the southern hemisphere. And differences in religious belief and traditions still mix in with other fac-tors to stir up the seemingly endless struggle in situations as far apart as Northern Ireland, Lebanon, and Sri Lanka. In comparison with these world-situated struggles, our local strug-gles in parish life, in our religious communities, in family, and in our various ministry situations pale in significance. But local struggles still cause real pain and leave wounds that cripple our efforts, make us less faith-filled and less human, and ultimately tend to arouse in us the war-monger desires we decry "out there" in the bigger world. In the venerable tradition of the Catholic Church, Mary mother of the Lord, appears to take prominence in our faith lives at times of greater struggle. With reflections particularly appropriate to our present-day con-text, Patricia McCarthy, C.N.D., turns our focus to Mary as a woman for peacemakers. In a similar way, Jeffrey Gros, F.S.C., suggests that Mary may well play an integrating role in ecumenical relations rather than the divisive one that is traditionally projected. Perhaps with our hearts more attuned to the peacemaking role of Mary we can enter more reflectively into the struggle of our Christian and religious community lives and of our various ministries. James J. McEnroe explores new meanings for the images we use in regard to Chris-tian ministry as a way of presenting some reconciling paradigms. "The Ministry of BEing" represents Charleen Hug's attempt to bring balance to the interior struggle which people face in'the midst of their work. For his part, William Hogan, C.S.C., underscores mission as central to life together as well as to a vocational appeal. Dennis J. Billy, C.SS.R., 321 Review for Religious, May-June 1991 brings together some traditional and modern approaches taken to moral theology and the special symbol role of religious life within this disci-pline. Perhaps he points a way to understanding how religious life and peacemaking are meant necessarily to be congruent. Other writers turn our attention to some alleviating factors in the strug-gle areas of our community lives--whatever form community may take for us. Mary Carboy, S.S.J., stresses hospitality, Donald Macdonald, S.M.M., considers courtesy, and Melannie Svoboda, S.N.D., imagina-tively suggests various lubricants for community living. With a specific focus on the life of women and men religious, Albert Dilanni, S.M., pre-sents some insightful reflections to situate the current struggles about re-ligious- life identity. Gerald Arbuckle, S.M., looks at leadership and its organic role in the struggle of refounding. The area of formation in the light of structural sin and structural conversion is the concern of David Couturier, O.F.M.Cap. Doris Gottemoeller, R.S.M., gives us further food for thought about the confused issue of membership as new ways of associating people into religious organizations and activities are be-ing explored. Our ultimate struggle, of course, is our relationship with God. One very important aspect of that struggle is caught in the paradoxical title of David J. Hassel's "Atheism in Our Prayer." Just as the biblical ac-count of Jacob's wrestling with an angel mirrors at times our own strug-gles to respond to the continuing conversion calls from the Lord, so Has-sel tries to shed light into the areas of darkness and apparent absence of God that are often a part of developing faith life. In prayer, in community, and in mission we look to Mary to intro-duce us ever more deeply into the ways of her Son, the Son of peace. Perhaps the Marian mantra for our times is captured in the traditional "Mary, queen of peace, pray for us." David L. Fleming, S.J. Paradigms for Ministry: Old Images, New Meanings James J. McEnroe, Th.D. Father McEnroe, of the St. Louis archdiocese, teaches pastoral theology at Kenrick Seminary and has helped facilitate some programs for the archdiocesan Office of Min-istry. His address is Kenrick Seminary; 5200 Glennon Drive; St. Louis, Missouri 63119. Recently, during a class session in which the topic "Paradigms for Min-istry" was being discussed, a student observed that it is difficult to find meaning in some of the traditional paradigms for ministry, especially those derived from another culture and another time. ~ The paradigms that the student was referring to are some of the more traditional in Christian theology and in the Bible. These paradigms are pilgrim, servant, prophet, and shepherd.2 Each of them, if they are to be meaningful, must be retrieved and reinterpreted in the light of a contemporary understand-ing of ministry, including the skills necessary to live out those paradigms in ministry. In this article each paradigm will be discussed, with special consideration given to its biblical roots, its contemporary meaning, and the skills required to live it out in ministry. Finally, some conclusions will be drawn concerning ministry today, especially the demands placed on persons who are engaged in or preparing for ministry, in the church or in the marketplace. Paradigm (paradeigmatizo) means "to make an example of." Para-digms emerge from an attempt to think about something from within our own experience. Paradigms are by their very nature incomplete; that is, they are helpful constructs with which to speak about a particular reality but which always fall short of that reality. If paradigms are to make sense, therefore, they must resonate with our experience in ministry. 323 324 / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 And, if we are to put those paradigms into practice in ministry, we must gain the skills necessary to do so. Pilgrim The paradigm of pilgrim evokes the image of a journey. The Greek word (anabaino) means "to go up to." In the New Testament the fol-lowers of Christ are called nonresident aliens (para-epi-demos), because they were on a pilgrimage to their true homeland, which is connected in-timately with the reign of God. The first epistle of Peter (1:1) is ad-dressed to "those who live as strangers scattered throughout Pontus, Gala-tia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia.' ,3 The image conveyed in the para-digm, at least as it is found in the Christian Bible, is that of persons who know where they are going, but who need to travel through some un-known territory in order to get there. In the Bible these pilgrims are pre-sumed to be traveling on foot, taking one step at a time, and in a rather systematic, that is, orderly, way.4 As with any travelers, pilgrims must possess certain skills, which be-come tools of their trade. Pilgrims are confronted with the need to read road maps, recognize the meaning of signposts, and investigate the proper means of conveyance in order to reach their destination. Those traveling to areas with which they are unfamiliar, for example, soon dis-cover that, unless one of their party possesses a sense of direction and is skilled in the art of map reading, the journey can become inconven-ient, even treacherous. C.S. Lewis, in his Pilgrim's Regress, says that pilgrims must pos-sess the ability to use certain instrumentation on their journey. One of Lewis's characters, a young man named John, is being instructed in the ways of the world by his elders. He cannot understand their suggestions, however. The elders are supposed tO be his guides. Yet, as Lewis points out, if John does not learn to navigate on his own he will be forever at the mercy of other would-be guides.5 At one point in the story, a stew-ard slips a card containing some rules into John's hand, at which point a question is posed. "What use are rules to people who cannot read?''6 If those engaged in or preparing for ministry cannot use the tools of their trade and do not possess practical knowledge, they will be forever at the mercy of other, perhaps less competent, guides. The skills that are required for putting the paradigm of pilgrim into practice in ministry are called instrumental skills. They are the skills of the mind and of the hands: of cognition, of artisanship, and of one's min-istry. The origin of instrumental skills relates to the development of tools in the history of the human community, and to the personal dexterity re- Pardigms for Ministry quired to use them.7 It is difficult to imagine someone ministering in today's Church who is unable to use a computer, which is really an advanced form of the quill or pen. It is equally difficult to imagine someone ministering who is un-able to express himself or herself clearly and effectively, either in pub-lic speaking or in writing. Since ministry today requires both planning and evaluation, it is essential also for those engaged in it to be able to plan programs effectively and to evaluate them when they are completed. There is also a body of practical knowledge, for example, theology, Scrip-ture, and Church history, that is essential for ministry today. It is common to hear persons engaged in ministry complain about be-ing required to attend computer training courses, time-management and stress-management classes, or opportunities for continuing theological education. When asked why they are complaining, persons in ministry may say, "Because I am too busy and tired." Which perhaps demon-strates that time management and stress management are necessary in-strumental skills for today's ministers. While they may complain, min-isters are doing themselves, as well as those with whom and for whom they work, a great service by acquiring the necessary instrumental skills for their work. If we are going to be pilgrim people, we must possess the skills re-quired to be the best of pilgrims. We must, with God's help, be able to chart our course and read the signposts and thereby successfully negoti-ate the journey. Servant The second paradigm, that of servant, evokes an image of one who assists others. In the New Testament the word servant (doulos) is actu-ally a title of honor, which was claimed by Paul and by the disciples of Jesus. In the letter to the Romans (1:1), Paul refers to himself as a "ser-vant of Christ Jesus." The servant paradigm, at least among the early Christians, had lost its pejorative meaning. In fact, those who assisted others in the community were called servants (douleo) because that was their ministry.8 In the Church today there are many ministries that are ministries of service: for example, spiritual direction, pastoral counseling, evangeli-zation, and youth ministry. These,'and other ministries of service, re-quire certain skills that allow the ministers to walk with those with whom they minister and to whom they are sent. Karl Rahner, in his Servants of the Lord, says that ministry is by its very nature service, not status. He adds that service must be seen always 326 / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 in reference to the community. Service requires ministers to be with and to walk with others who are on their own journeys in life.9 The skills necessary for serving others are called interpersonal skills. They bring about human cooperation, they enhance human interaction. ~0 In fact, the Church, in its traditional understanding of ministry, equates it with service. Ann Wilson Schaef, in her book The Addictive Organi-zation, points out that we live in a world of codependents, rather than in an interdependent world. Dysfunctions in the family of origin makes it very difficult for an incr.easingly large number of persons to work ef-fectively in cooperative and collaborative settings.t~ Since those preparing for or engaged in ministry are products of their environment, both familial and societal, and since environment deter-mines to a large extent the strengths as well as the weaknesses which per-sons bring to ministry, today's ministers must work especially hard to develop and maintain their interpersonal skills. In the Church today there is a clear call for collaborative ministry, that is, for teams of women and men working together for the good of the Church. Ironically, for some of the aforementioned reasons, many of those choosing ministry as their vocation would rather work alone. They are not team players, perhaps because they have not learned the skills necessary for cooperation and for successful human interaction. ~2 For a significant number of persons preparing for or engaged in min-istry, there are several interpersonal skills that are difficult to put into practice in their lives and in their ministries. One of those skills is con-frontation. Perhaps the difficulty lies in the assumption that confronta-tion, which requires the honest expression of emotion and assertiveness, is not the Christian thing to do. When those engaged in ministry experi-ence conflicts between themselves and others, they must confront the per-son or persons with whom there is a conflict--which is perhaps the only Christian thing to do. Confrontation is the ability to name and express one's inner reaction, usu-ally emotional, to an external event, especially but not exclusively when it involves an unpleasant encounter. Confrontation is like holding up a mir-ror so that others can see themselves. Confrontation should be used with honesty and care to address another person's behavior, when that behav-ior is appropriate and when it is inappropriate. It is essential, both for life and for ministry, to skillfully confront problematic situations so that com-munication and understanding can lead to more successful ministry. Instrumental and interpersonal skills, therefore, are basic skills for anyone engaged in or preparing for ministry. And, more often than not, Paradigms for Ministry / 327 instrumental and interpersonal skills are acquired at the same time. In fact, they are complementary. They enhance the minister's ability to meet the technical demands of ministry and to communicate more effec-tively with others on a daily basis. Perhaps a concrete example of the interaction and interdependence of instrumental and interpersonal skills will be helpful. The ministry of spiritual direction, which more and more persons are requesting, requires directors to possess certain instrumental skills. Directors must know the techniques of direction and be versed in spiritual theology and sacred Scripture. They must also possess certain interpersonal skills. They must hear accurately the issues presented by directees and reflect back to them what they hear. Instrumental skills, for the most part, must be acquired. Interpersonal skills, on the other hand, can be innate. But more often than not they need to be acquired. Perhaps, at meetings with technically competent per-sons, we have seen the participants "sharing" insights with one another and yet not hearing one another, or at least not reflecting back to the speak-ers what they heard. The purpose of such reflecting back, of course, is to give the speakers a sense of being heard and the listeners a chance to check out what the speakers are saying. Formation programs for minis-try, as well as many professional schools, teach and foster not only the instrumental skills necessary for their professions, but also the interper-sonal skills necessary for cooperation and collaboration. This is both en~ couraging and timely. Persons engaged in or preparing for ministry today face the challenge of acquiring the instrumental and interpersonal skills that are necessary for their vocation. Skilled helpers are not only good pilgrims, but they are also more effective servants, offering companionship, guidance, and support. Prophet The third paradigm is that of prophet, which all too often evokes the image of a wild-eyed eccentric ranting and raving against someone or something. In the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures, the prophets (nevi' im) are seers, interpreters of God's activity in the midst of the peo-ple. 13 The prophets see things that others have not seen, cannot see, or refuse to see. Because the prophets are persons of extraordinary faith and commitment to the community, they name the action of God in the midst of the community. In Luke's gospel (2:36-38), for example, the prophet Anna brings the news of the Messiah to those who wait for his coming. She sees, be- ~121~ / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 cause she is a woman of prayer and self-denial, what others have not seen. Like other prophet.s in the Bible, she possesses extraordinary vi-sion. In the Acts of the Apostles (2:4, 17-18; 19:6) and in the Book of Revelation (10:11 and 18:20), we are reminded that on Pentecost the gift of prophetic imagination was renewed by the Holy Spirit and the gift of prophetic vision was given to the community of faith. The disciples saw and heard. And they announced to others the Good News of salvation. More importantly, they exhorted the community to live in the light of the redemption, and they consoled those who were frightened or weary. Their prophetic vision was .their ministry and their gift to the commu-nity of faith, the Church. 14 Gerald Arbuckle says that the refounding of religious life, and per-haps of the Church itself, will be accomplished by persons who possess a charismatically inspired and well-developed imagination. 15 The proph-ets will be those who seek out new ways of doing things. They will be inspired by a prophetic imagination and by the Spirit of God. 16 They will be both intuitive and imaginative. And, at times, they will be misunder-stood by their contemporaries and even by their colleagues, sometimes simply because they will find it difficult to communicate their insights to others, for whom the insights will seem outrageous and ill-advised. 17 Walter Brueggemann, in his book The Prophetic Imagination, points out that the task of prophetic persons, like that of their forebears whose lives are recounted in the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures, is to nurture and to nourish their communities by evoking a consciousness and a per-ception of reality that is often different from that of the dominant cul-ture. 18 Prophetic persons challenge those within the dominant culture, who are unwilling to go beyond the scope of common sense or the pre-vailing wisdom and who say, "This is the way that we have always done things" or "If it is not broke then do not fix it." The key to cultivating a prophetic vision is to learn and to enhance imaginal skills. Those wanting to develop their imagination must engage in projects and educational experiences that encourage them to search for possibly better ways of doing things than the way they have always been done--even improvements on "common sense." Imaginal skills enable one to generate new ideas and alternative so-lutions. 19 Imaginal skills arise in the interaction between fantasy, emo-tions, and the reflective intellect. These skills allow persons to miniatur-ize, to organize, and to reflect accurately on data gathered from their en-vironment and from the five senses.2° Imaginal skills are acquired some-what differently than instrumental and interpersonal skills. To acquire or Paradigms for Ministry / 329 to develop imaginal skills, women and men must associate and work with other imaginative and creative persons. This, however, requires that cer-tain instrumental and interpersonal skills are firmly in place. Imagina-tion is developed also through attentiveness to, participating in, or ap-preciating the arts. For some, especially for those whose imaginal skills are less well developed, imaginative and creative persons often appear to be flying by the seat of their pants. And in some ways they are. Pro-phetic persons often find little support in their communities because their suggestions seem distant and even frightening to the less imaginative.2~ People commonly criticize persons in their community who are "pains." In reality, those "pains" may be creative and imaginative, but they may lack the necessary skills (instrumental and interpersonal) to communicate with others. Imaginal skills that are necessary for anyone attempting to live out the paradigm of prophet are resourcefulness and experimentation. These skills facilitate progress---even if their attempts sometimes lead to fail-ure. 22 At such times imaginative and creative persons may appear flighty and irresponsible. To prevent avoidable failure, they need to select from the imagined alternatives not only concrete but practical and construc-tive solutions to the problems with which their communities are faced.23 People usually acquire imaginal skills after acquiring instrumental and interpersonal skills because, with instrumental and interpersonal skills, they begin to experience and appreciate their autonomy while still rec-ognizing their connectedness to the community of faith.24 If persons are going to live out the paradigm of prophet, they must possess a prophetic imagination, as well as certain instrumental and in-terpersonal skills. Communities of faith need the gift of prophetic imagi-nation just as much today as at the time of the prophets of old. Shepherd Finally, there is the paradigm of shepherd, which evokes the rustic image of a person with staff in hand leading the sheep down a treacher-ous hillside. The paradigm may seem even more problematic if one re-alizes how dumb sheep really are. Yet in Luke's gospel it was the shep-herds who were among the first to be informed of the Messiah's birth (2:8-20). And in the epistle to the Ephesians (4:1 l) the apostles and their successors, who exercised a ministry of leadership in the community of faith, are referred to as shepherd-leaders ~n the Christian commumty. Gerald Arbuckle notes that leaders in religious congregations, and by analogy in the Church itself, are called to be problem solvers. They must be highly rational and organized persons. They must be able to Iogi- 330 / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 cally analyze problems, to take the advice and counsel of others, and to implement the likely solutions.25 Leaders in ministry are called, there-fore, to help create and to share a vision with others, often in consulta-tion and in collaboration with prophetic persons, with servants, and with the great mass of those along their pilgrim way. Leadership in the Church today requires the development of system skills. Leadership requires both an acute sense of the direction in which commu-nities are headed and the ability to help them to get where they should be headed. Yet many persons with these system skills are frustrated. Their psychic and spiritual energies are drained because they face enormous fi-nancial problems and ever increasing personnel issues. Leaders today are expected to keep their communities financially stable and to meet the emo-tional and spiritual needs of the community members. Many leaders spend so much time maintaining the community and its members that they have little time or energy to help create the long-term solutions to the problems. As a friend said recently, "Anyone who yearns for or covets leadership in the Church today deserves to be a leader!" In light of the aforementioned demands, it is reasonable to assume that leaders do not have to be the prophetic or imaginative persons in the community, although a healthy dose of prophetic imagination helps. Lead-ership does require, however, the ability to recognize imaginative and creative solutions to problems and to coordinate the various gifts and skills of the community. System skills require a blend of imagination (imaginal skill), inter-personal sensitivity (interpersonal skill), and instrumental competence (in-strumental skill). System skills enable those who possess them to see how the parts of a community (diocese, religious congregation, parish, or organization) relate to the whole. System skills are not necessarily man-agement skills, although leadership may require a person to be a good manager, to make sound financial decisions (instrumental skill) and to relate well to persons within the system (interpersonal skill). System skills do, however, allow one to plan for change, especially when a change of direction is necessary for the health of the system in question. As Brian Hall says, persons who possess system skills see "the simple unity of it all."26 Shepherd-leaders see the big picture. And they are willing to take the necessary risks that will allow their communities to grow and to pros-per. Shepherd-leaders, because they possess system skills, seldom get trapped by shortsighted and wrongheaded solutions to complex prob-lems. While the solutions they endorse may sound extremely simple, Paradigms for Ministry / 331 even naive, they often embody an inherent wisdom and even God's will and desire for the community itself. An example of a system skill is system recognition, the ability to read the present and future needs of the community.27 At a deeper level, system recognition allows shepherd-leaders to read the signs of the times as they are significant for the community itself. Of course, the challenge to "read the signs of the times" was enunciated at the Second Vatican Council. Pope John XXIII possessed the skills necessary for his pro-phetic and imaginative shepherd-leadership. There is a picture, actually an icon, of Pope John holding a scroll on which the following verse ap-pears: "We are not on earth to guard a museum, but to cultivate a flour-ishing garden of life." The attitude behind that quotation summarizes the attitude with which shepherd-leaders carry out their task. Of course, shepherd-leaders must be able to distinguish between myth and reality, between a bright idea and a right idea.28 System skills allow those who possess them to discern more easily whether the direc-tion in which the system (diocese, congregation, parish, or organization) is headed is in accord with God's will and desire. Persons preparing for or engaged in leadership ministry must learn or develop system skills in order to be shepherd-leaders within their com-munities of faith. It has been said that the paradigm of the shepherd is both outdated and irrelevant. Perhaps, as we put the paradigm into a new context, namely into a system perspective, we can appreciate it in a new way by retrieving its original meaning and beauty, even within a largely nonagrarian culture. Through the Bible and through theology, the Church has been blessed with some very rich paradigms for life and for ministry. These paradigms (pilgrim, servant, prophet, and shepherd), if they are to be lived out in ministry, require the development of certain skills. Practical Conclusions There are some practical conclusions that flow from an understand-ing of the paradigms for ministry that were discussed in this article. First, skill development is sequential. Second, effective ministry requires that skills be identified in and shared among the members of a community. Third, as persons reach a certain level of skill development, they are con-fronted with the need to acquire higher levels of skills in the four skill areas (instrumental, interpersonal, imaginal, and system). Finally, life-long learning and continuing education are required for anyone engaged in ministry today. First, skill development is sequential. Instrumental and interpersonal 3~12 / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 skills are developed conjointly. One learns to think and to perform man-ual tasks while learning to relate to other persons in the environment. Dur-ing childhood, for example, we learned to read and write while we learned to relate to others. The process is the same in adulthood, except that the reading, writing, and relating require a higher level of skill de-velopment. Formation programs for ministry in the Church are, hope-fully, teaching those who participate in them theology and the traditions of the Church and of the communities to which they will be sent. They are teaching the participants also to pray. All of these are instrumental skills. Formation programs teach people how to relate to others more ef-fectively and to integrate their lifestyle (married, single, or celibate) into their ministry; these are interpersonal skills. As persons acquire instrumental and interpersonal skills, through for-mal education their energies are directed toward convergent thinking, that is, toward remembering and reproducing what is already known. It is necessary, therefore, to develop within those preparing for ministry the capacity for divergent thinking, which is a requirement for prophetic ministry. 29 Divergent thinking leads to new ideas and new ways of doing things. Gerald Arbuckle describes divergent thinkers as "intrapreneurs," whose task is to revitalize existing corporate cultures (dioceses, congregations, parishes, or religious communities). He describes entrepreneurs as those whose task is to establish new ventures outside the existing corporate struc-ture, yet who have close ties to that structure.3° Intrapreneurs must pos-sess high levels of system skills, and entrepreneurs must possess high lev-els of imaginal skills. In order to be effective, ministers must continue to develop skills in the areas that are appropriate for the ministries in which they are engaged. Second, skills for ministry are most effective when they are shared among a group of persons working cooperatively and collaboratively. As St. Paul said in l Corinthians 12:4-7, "There are different gifts but the same Spirit; there are different ministries but the same Lord." While very few individuals possess notable skill in all of the skill areas, a team of persons may possess all those skills to a notable degree. The more gifted and skilled the collaborators, the more effective their ministry will be. One person, within a group of persons working together, may pos-sess the ability to commit the group's wisdom to paper or even to do some-thing as practical as writing a proposal or a request for a grant. Another person may possess the ability to relate to others in the group and in so Paradigms for Ministry ! 333 doing make the entire team more efficient and effective. Another team member may be imaginative, dreaming up solutions to problems facing the group. Another member may be able to see how the group's activi-ties fit into the overall scheme of the larger community's (diocese, par-ish, or religious congregation) life and mission. The more diverse the skills of the collaborators or coministers, the more efficient and effec-tive their ministry will be. Third, as ministers reach a certain level of skill development, they discover a need to acquire skills at higher levels in order to meet the in-creased demands of their life and ministry. Perhaps some examples will be helpful. Many persons in ministry today find themselves spending time and energy writing talks and proposals. They are learning, there-fore, to use computers and other high-tech communication equipment-- which, of course, requires them to develop more sophisticated instrumen-tal skills. It is also necessary today, especially for those engaged in ministry or in religious life, to become more skilled participants in meetings and in other group endeavors. This requires the development of better inter-personal skills. As ministers plan for their own corporate ministry and for ministering within their communities, there is an increasing need for persons with imaginal and system skills to be working with their col-leagues in ministry. Persons in ministry today must, then, bring to their cooperative en-deavors their own skills and talents. With those skills and talents, the ef-forts of the ministering community will be successful; without them those efforts may be in vain. Finally, if the skills needed to meet the inc.reasing demands of min-istry are to be developed, persons engaged in or preparing for ministry must make a commitment to lifelong learning. Perhaps congregations of men and women religious were the first to recognize this fact and to de-velop continuing-education programs for their members. Today dioceses are developing programs for the continuing education of priests and dea-cons, as well as formation programs and continuing-education programs for nonordained persons in ministry. Persons in ministry do value and use the continuing-education and formation programs at their disposal in order to meet the demands made upon them in the Church in particular and in society at large. Our theological and biblical heritage contains a wealth of paradigms for life and for ministry. We are pilgrims on a journey of faith. We are called to care for one another along that journey. We are invited to dis- 334/Review for Religious, May-June 1991 cern the movement of God's Spirit in our midst as we journey. Finally, we are commissioned to be shepherd-leaders. May our communities of faith be blessed with pilgrims, servants, prophets, and shepherd-leaders skilled enough to build up the body, the Church, and to usher in the reign of God. NOTES I Michael T. Winstanley's article "The Shepherd Image in the Scriptures: A Para-digm for Ministry" (Clergy Review 71 [June 1986]: 197-206), which focuses on the paradigm of shepherd from a biblical perspective, was an inspiration for the class presentation that elicited the student's observation. Winstanley's presentation of the shepherding image invited reflection on the skills that are necessary in order to put that image into practice. That reflection raised the issue of the need to put other equally helpful paradigms into a contemporary context. 2 I am using both prophet and shepherd as gender-inclusive words. 3 The biblical quotations in this article are from the New American Bible. 4 Xavier L6on-Dufour, Dictionary of the New Testament, trans. Terrence Prender-gast (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1980), p. 324. 5 C.S. Lewis, The Pilgrim's Regress (New York: Sheed and Ward, 1944), pp. 15f. 6 lbid, p. 193. 7 Brian P. Hall, The Genesis Effect (New York: Paulist Press, 1986), pp. 99f. 8 L6on-Dufour, p. 368. 9 Karl Rahner, Servants of the Lord (Montreal: Palm Publishers, 1968), p. 6. 10 Hall, p. 100. 11 Anne Wilson Schaef, The Addictive Organization (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1988), p. 96. 12 lbid, p. 100. 13 John E. Steinmueller and Kathryn Sullivan, R.S.C.J., Catholic Biblical Encyclo-pedia (New York: Joseph F. Wagner, 1950), p. 527. i,~ L~on-Dufour, p. 338. 15 Gerald A. Arbuckle, S.M. Out of Chaos: Refounding Religious Congregations (New York: Paulist Press, 1988), p: 1. 16 lbid, p. 14. 17 Ibid, pp. 30f. 18 Walter Brueggemann, The Prophetic Imagination (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1978), p. 13. 19 Hall, p. 100. 20 Janet Kalven, Larry Rosen, and Bruce Taylor, Value Development: A Practical Guide (New York: Paulist Press, 1982), p. 23. 2~ Arbuckle, pp. 30f. 26 Hall, p. 147. 22 Kalven et al., p. 26. 27 Kalven et al., p. 31. 23 Ibid. 28 Ibid. 24 Hall, p. 143. 29 Kalven et al., p. 125. 25 Arbuckle, p. 31. 30 Arbuckle, p. 33. The Ministry of BEing M. Charleen Hug, S.N.D. Sister Mary Charleen Hug, S.N.D., wrote "Celibacy: Gift of a Woman's Love" for our issue of September/October 1988. Her address is 3837 Secor Road; Toledo, Ohio 43623. What an exciting age for apostolic women religious! Never before in the history of the Church have there been so many diverse ministries open to them. My people are homeless, shelter them. My people are starving, feed them. My people are oppressed, unshackle them. My people are ignorant, teach them. The lure is there. The challenge is there. The need is there. Called and sent, committed and dedicated to the cause for peace and justice, women religious now head health clinics, retreat centers. They serve in parish ministry, as pastoral associates. They are found in class-rooms, in the mission fields, in hospices for the terminally ill. They are chairpersons on national committees and help staff diocesan offices. They are participants in marches for the plight of the homeless and in protest against nuclear buildup. They take their stand against abortion, racism, and the arms race. They are engaged in all of these ministries and more. More, because there will always be the more. With the two talents I give you, says Jesus in a parable, go and make two more; with five barley loaves and two fish, feed the five thousand; all that I have done, so will you do---all this and even more! In return for the more I will reward even a cup of cold water given in my name, says Jesus. Our present age takes this more seriously, for it is the age of minis- 335 336 / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 try. One more act of service to perform, one more cause to support, one more lesson to prepare, one more meeting to attend. The global village is shrinking. Impersonal people "out there" have become our brothers and sisters with very real needs that we can no longer ignore. Address-ing these needs in Jesus' name in view of the gifts and abilities with which we have been blessed is what Christian ministry is all about. For the deeply committed religious it would seem at times that this very min-istry sustains, as though that were part of the hundredfold promised. This is indeed a very blessing because experience soon proves that no matter how many ministries we take on, no matter how effectively and effi-ciently we labor, there will always be the more that is needed--more that cries out to us for fulfillment. Without great vigilance on our part we can all too readily fall into the do-list trap of evaluating the seeming "suc-cess" and "failure" of any given day by the number of items we have managed to cross off our daily list come nightfall. Because continuous do-ing drains, our present age calls apostolic women religious just as loudly to the ministry basic to all ministries, the ministry without which all do-ing becomes meaningless, empty, namely the ministry of be-ing. This ministry will be neither underwritten nor ig-nored without serious consequences not only to do-ing, but also to all that we are. Is it because the ministry of be-ing is so basic to who we are in essence that we rarely take heed of it? Do we take it so for granted that we fail to provide the time and solitude necessary to cultivate, nour-ish, and cherish it? How often, amidst all of our do-ing, do we set aside time to praise and thank God for this ministry for which each person quali-fies, in which each person can excel? In solitude the truth of "what you do flows from who you are" takes in-depth meaning. In solitude we look to Jesus, for whom, to whom, through whom we minister. In the beginning was the Word: the Word was with God and the Word was God . Through him all things came to be, not one thing had its be-ing but through him .The Word was made flesh and lived among us. (John 1:1, 14). The Word had so brief a time in which to perform the greatest min-istry this world would ever know. In the span of just thirty-three years Jesus had to be the fulfillment of the entire Old Testament, make his Fa-ther known and loved, and secure the redemption of every soul his Fa-ther would love into life. Given this ministry Jesus chose to devote the first thirty of these years to the ministry of be-ing God-made-man. When his active apostolic ministry did commence, "I AM!" identified who he was and why he "dwelt among us." He showed himself to be bread for The Ministry of BEing the hungry, drink for the thirsty, comfort for the sorrowing, compassion for the sinner, friend of simple souls, rest for the weary, light in the dark-ness, perfect image of the Father, I AM the way, the truth, the life. That Jesus' mission of be-ing was misunderstood by those to whom he minis-tered is evidenced by those who jeered. What good are you doing hanging there! Come down from the cross and do! There are still illnesses that need to be healed, sins that need to be forgiven, lessons that need to be taught, so much that we still do not un-derstand. Come down from the cross and do! By remaining on the cross Jesus became the supreme example of the relationship between be-ing and do-ing. It was in be-ing the sacrifical Lamb of God that all do-ing for all time would take on eternal value. By be-ing Resurrection and the Life he gave to each person (as inheritance!) eternal be-ing with the Father! Each of us is a be-ing created in the im-age of the Father! To remain true to this essence it is paramount that, in the midst of and because of all the ministries that demand our do-ing, we spend ample time daily in solitude. Then, while "surrounded on all sides by the crowds," as 'Jesus was, we, too, will know when someone has "touched us." We, too, will experience that "something has gone forth from [us]." Someone has called forth from "who we are" the very reason "that we are." We will discover why we are there: why we are there; why we are there amidst that particular crowd of people. In soli-tude we come to see that it is not sufficient that we praise God through our ministry; we long to be his praise. It is not sufficient that we thank God; we long to be his thanksgiving. We are not content to spread his goodness; we desire to be his goodness. It is not enough that we speak to others of his beauty; we long to be a tiny part of that beauty--and of that peace, that joy, that love! Such subtleties are not gleaned in the mar-ketplace. When it comes time for the belt that Jesus said would be tied around our waist leading us to where we would rather not go (see Jn 21 : 18), thus perhaps ending our ministry of do-ing, even if temporarily, we will em-brace that "belt." In the midst of our do-ing we will have sensitized our-selves to hear a Voice beckoning us: Be daughter of the Father, special possession of the Son, bride of the Spirit. Be she in whom the Father delights, she for whom the heavens were made. Be home of the Trinity, safekeeping for the kept secrets of the King. Be she whom the Father surrounds with his presence, enfolds with his tender love. Be faithful daughter of holy Mother the Church. Be an altar for the offering of a sacrifice of pure love, praise, and Review for Religious, May-June 1991 reverence to God. Be the dove sheltered in the clefts of the rocks, long-ing to see the face of God. Be garden enclosed, the fountain sealed. Be the fire set ablaze that Christ came to cast upon the earth. The Voice beckons further extending our parameters: My people are victims of injustice, be their righteousness. My people are suffering from painful diseases, be their relief. My people are lonely and without a shepherd, be their friend. My people are killing each other, be the peace between them. Be the missionary you always longed to be, spreading the joyful mes-sage that the kingdom of God is here, now. Be witness of the fidelity of a merciful God who loves jealously, passionately, infinitely. Be a bea-con of hope to those whose light has grown dim. Be a wounded healer by gathering up the pain of the world and offering it to the Father. Be a caring, compassionate, companion on the journey. Be for those en-trusted to you, those who depend on your be-ing. Be all things to all peo-ple. As in the case of the ministry of do-ing the ministry of be-ing like-wise demands the more, the infinitely more. More joy, more love, more peace, more patience . The more we embrace this ministry, the more it will embrace us. The more perceptive we become to living this minis-try, the more fully alive we become. The more we treasure this minis-try, the more it becomes our priceless treasure. It is an inexhaustible min-istry with inexhaustible fringe benefits just waiting to be claimed. The ministry of be-ing can be the pledge, the promise, and the prized pos-session of every apostolic woman religious. It is this reality that makes the present age an exciting one indeed in which to minister! Religious Life and Modernity Albert Dilanni, S.M. Father Dilanni taught philosophy for thirteen years, served as provincial of the North-east Province (U.S.A.) for six years, and has been vicar general of the Marist Fa-thers since 1985. His address is: Padri Maristi; Via Alessandro Poerio, 63; 00152 Roma, Italy. There are many ways of describing what has happened in the last twenty-five years since Vatican II. Historians say that there has been a shakeout after each ecumenical council and that approximately twenty-five years are required for the spirit of a council to take root and bear its best fruit. Commentators on the development of religious life since Vatican II seem to concur in this. They now present this development in three stages: (1) the rigidity prior to Vatican II, (2) the immediate chaos after Vatican II, and (3) the current period of sober reassessment with its talk of refoun-dation. Some CARA consultants name these stages Paradigms I, II, and III. Vatican II was an effort in openness and aggiornamento. Its changes were radical. The council recognized the ecclesial reality of other Chris-tian religions, opened the way to dialogue with non-Christian religions, took a radically new position on religious freedom, realized the independ-ent goodness of the secular world, called for a renewal of the liturgy and of religious life, recognizing that through baptism the laity are called to the same degree of holiness as priests and religious. All very heady at the time, exhilarating and in many ways very posi-tive and productive. Vatican II brought the Church face-to-face with the world and urged it to view it in its glory as well as its weakness. I do not think anyone really wants to go back. But even Vatican II had its shadow side. One of its results was that Catholicism in general and re-ligious life in particular seemed less important. When personal con- 339 ~141~ / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 science was exalted, when sin and hell were deemphasized in favor of love and heaven, when the great enemies of Protestant theology were quoted side by side with Rahner and Lonergan, when many distinctions were blurred and the Catholic ghetto vanished--there was no longer a dragon to kill. Now, while enemies, distinctions, ghettos, and dragons are not always eminently desirable, they did provide one thing: identity. Their removal was a major r.ea.son why the principal question exercising the Church and religious congregations since Vatican II has been ad nau-seam the question of identity. What does it mean to be a Catholic, a re-ligious, a Jesuit, a Carmelite, a Marist? But the identity question had other nonecclesiastical sources. The post-Vatican II world found itself engulfed in a cultural upheaval which it did not cause. Religious congregations were not simply surrounded by a materialistic and skeptical culture, they were immersed in it. It had in-filtrated the convent walls. Tillard says that the failure of enthusiasm, passion, and wholeheartedness apparent in religious is rooted in a shift in belief, a hesitancy of faith. Walter Kasper has remarked that what we combat today is not only an external atheism, but an atheism within our own hearts. Cultural modernity has been analyzed and reanalyzed as the on-slaught of secularization. ~ It was as if in the second half of our century the Enlightenment had reached the masses. What up to the present were ideas of intellectuals, philosophers, and cranky atheists, now, due to bet-ter communication and general education, became the fabric of culture at large. The well-documentated cultural revolution which has been play-ing itself out since the 1960s seemed to be a quantitative expansion of ideas which had been around since the eighteenth century. But Paul Ricoeur underlines that the Enlightenment has passed through two distinct stages. We might even speak of a first and second Enlightenment, that of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and the different one which began in the nineteenth and flowered in the twenti-eth century. Both began with doubt, methodic doubt, but the first went back to consciousness and found certitude, while the second in returning to con-sciousness found only suspicion. Descartes began by doubting everything methodically, but banished doubt because he believed we could find a place of certitude in consciousness. Even doubting was a form of think-ing, and the one thing I could .not doubt was that "I think." Cogito, ergo sum. At the center of consciousness was a source of clarity and dis-tinctness (les idles claires et distinctes), a way of banishing skepticism Religious Life and Modernity about the existence of the world or the truth of morality. Thus the first Enlightenment was characterized by an exaltation of the human subject and an overconfidence in a certain type of reason. Its champion was Kant, for whom the subject in the act of knowing became a partial crea-tor of the object known. But the second Enlightenment, grounded in Marx, Freud, and Nietzsche, was quite different. Commencing similarly with scientific me-thodical doubt, these thinkers also turned to the conscious and thinking subject but found there not a place of certitude but another ground for suspicion. For them human consciousness turned out to be a creator of illusions, the fabricator of masks, the great pretender. Consciousness it-self was in need of unmasking. This is the case especially when it con-cocts religions. Religion was the deception par excellence. It was an opium creating lassitude among oppressed peoples (Marx), it was a col-lective obsessive neurosis (Freud), it was a cover for a will to power pres-ent in the hearts of the weak and envious (Nietzsche). Leaving aside the fine nuance present in their systems, we can say that for these thinkers consciousness spins illusory language about God to hide what men and women really desire: sexual gratification, wealth, and power. This modern atheism, the atheism of consciousness as pretender, has with legitimacy been called a "beautiful" atheism. It has an ethical side and bears a moral, attraction. It is born of the desire to avoid masks and pretensions. The modem atheist is an atheist because he does not want to remain in a false consciousness. He wants to be honest; he does not want to tell a lie. The great modern drive, the drive of the second En-lightenment is to be authentic, not to worship an idol. For this reason, too, its geniuses Freud, Marx, and Nietzsche can present themselves as moralists. This is why Sartre can present belief in God as bad faith. Con-sciousness, in the second Enlightenment, is the escape artist, the artful dodger. Consciousness reaches salvation when it strives to catch itself at its own artifices. In light of this we can explain two moral phenomena which have oc-curred in our lifetime. First, the fact that, for many people of the twen-tieth century, hypocrisy became the great sin and sincerity the great vir-tue. (This has been documented by Lionel Trilling.) It was hypocrisy not to admit who and what you were. If you were gay, you must say it. If you were committing adultery, you must admit it. Being moral meant coming out of various closets. But unfortunately many people failed to ask the question whether acting out according to the instincts of these closets was good or bad. Some decided that anything was allowed as :342 / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 long as you owned up to it. Others, plagued by a secret guilt, tried to have everyone approve whht they were doing privately; they wanted their private morality publicly sanctioned. The other phenomenon characteristic of the second Enlightenment was that contemporary thinkers were more interested in meaning than in truth. This explains the death of apologetics in the last twenty-five years. Hugo Meynell bemoans the fact that the last real apologist was C.S. Le-wis. Today, he complains, theologians are more concerned to show that Christianity is relevant. What floods the market is writing on the social and political implications of Christianity, or on its power to lead us to a fuller and more authentic personal life. Admitting the importance of such writing, he believes, nevertheless, that a serious apologetic which looks beyond meaning to truth is absolutely indispensable for the Church and that many of its present ills are due to a neglect of it. Without a proper apologetics, says Meynell, "the unbeliever is apt to infer that edu-cated Christians have really grasped the fact that social reform, political action, and psychic hygiene are that to which religious aspiration ought to be directed."2 Related to this move from truth to meaning is the fact that for the last twenty years seminarians, both religious and diocesan, have unchar-acteristically manifested a distaste for intellectual argument. Even some of the most intelligent tended to shun involvement in debates about the truth and falsity of moral positions or thorny dogmatic issues like the in-terpretation of the Resurrection, and were satisfied if they were con-vinced that a particular doctrine of the Church held some meaning for people. More and more religious showed up on the Myers-Briggs test as feelers and not thinkers. Brought up in an Enlightenment of suspicion, they suspected intestinally that the search for truth is impossible and that the different philosophies are simply a parade of ideologies with no cri-terion for discerning which is right and which is wrong. This is prob-ably the deep side of the vocation crisis among the youth of the second Enlightenment. If consciousness suspects its very self and its powers, how can it commit itself to anything for a long-term future? Ricoeur believes that we must face head-on what he calls the "her-meneutics of suspicion." We must take seriously its originators and think-ers and recognize their contribution. We cannot return to a primitive naivet6. But he also insists that we cannot remain in a state of denial, in a vacuum of truth, in mere negation; we must move to a second naivet6, we must move to a new place of affirmation. In order to do this we must not only respect the creators of suspicion but also question Religious Life and Modernity them. We must suspect the suspicioners and put them to the test. We must transcend the Enlightenment in both its phases. We will not achieve this by attempting to return to a consciousness conceived of as pure thought, to a thinking self which is sufficient unto itself apart from the world. For contemporary philosophy such a move is impossible. Consciousness can only be encountered as already in and of the world. The only way to discover what the human mind or human consciousness is like is through an examination of the works it has strewn in the world down the centuries, that is, through an examination of the institutions and documents of culture. Ricoeur bets that after such a re-flection the scandal of the cross will remain as much a scandal for mod-ern consciousness as it was for an earlier consciousness. He bets that the scandal of the cross will be discovered to be transcultural, a scandal not merely for humans in one stage of history, but for the human condition as such. For the modern age, theology's method has itself changed. We do not go immediately to the transcendent, to God, to the sacred and then try to relate God to the world. We find God through the world; we dis-cover the transcendent as the depth of the world. We seek an incarna-tional approach to eschatology and transcendence. We try to find God within the world as the Creative Moment therein, as the source without which justice and equality, as absolute moral imperatives, lack motiva-tion and a rational ground. The Enlightenment andthe Redefinition of Religious Life Whether we consider it in its first or second phase, the Enlighten-ment is marked by the same ideals, the dethroning of authority and tra-dition in favor of reason, free thought, and humanistic brotherhood. The ideals of both Enlightenments can be summarized most easily in the slo-gan of the French Revolution whose 200th anniversary we celebrated in 1989: liberty, fraternity, and equality. It was onto these very three ideals that religious life fastened almost in sequence after Vatican II in an effort to redefine itself, to forge a new identity. It had to deal with them as reinforced by the genius of Nietzsche, Freud, and Marx. Note that these ideals are mirror-imaged in the three vows and are in a sense the concern of the vows: (liberty) obe-dience, (fraternity) chastity, and (equality) poverty. The first of the Enlightenment ideals to make dramatic entrance into our culture and religious life was the ideal of personal or individual free-dom (its hero, Nietzsche). Never in a general culture had the notion "I want x" enjoyed such power as a reason for morally justifying an ac- ~144 / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 tion. In an earlier climate of opinion, the fact that someone strongly de-sired something rendered suspect his or her opinion about it. In this ear-lier climate it was because an issue like abortion was so important that it could not be decided principally by the person who was subjectively involved. She could hardly have an objective viewpoint. But now it was precisely because an issue was so important that it must be left up to in-dividual choice. Major books have been written documenting and decry-ing this shift to individualistic freedom: Mclntyre's After Virtue, Allan Bloom's The Closing of the American Mind, and Robert Bellah's Habits of the Heart. Some of its critics distinguish between a liberal spirit which is admirable in its pursuit of discussion and exchange of ideas, and a lib-eral dogma which in its exaggerations is pernicious because it has not allowed us to build a community upon agreed societal values. Enlightenment freedom and its individualism invaded religious life in the 60s and early 70s. The major concern of seminarians and religious of that era was self-fulfillment and the idea that they could not be ful-filled unless they made their own choices about lifestyle and ministry. This was also the age when many seminarians refused to kneel down in chapel and to acknowledge any difference between themselves and their professors. Their slogan was that of the youth culture of the sixties: "Don't trust anyone over thirty!" Articles on religious obedience ap-pearing in REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS at the time had less to do with the su-perior's authority as representing God or as the leader of a group engaged in a religious cause, than with how he or she should be a caring person or a listener attentive to the needs of community members. The second Enlightenment ideal used in the attempted redefinition of religious life was the ideal of fraternity interpreted as intimacy (its hero, Freud; its favorite book, Fromm's The Art of Loving). In the 70s fraternity came to the fore in the form of the need for intimacy and com-munity. Some felt that religion itself was a projection of affective needs. Everyone seemed sure that, without at least psychological sexual rela-tions, you could not really develop as a person. A good number left re-ligious life while they were still nubile in the conviction that the Church would soon wake up and change the rules. Others adopted what for a brief time was called the "third way," that is, remaining somewhat celi-bate while dating. All of this was later exacerbated by the gay movement and the inability of some to realize that, whatever one might think of ho-moerotic relations in general, all religious, whether homosexually or heterosexually oriented, had taken the same vow. Those who chose to remain and to keep the vows fought for a more Religious Life and Modernity / 345 fraternal and intimate form of community life and began using the word "sharing" as an intransitive verb. "Sharing" went on till the wee hours of the morning. "Thanks for sharing" and a big hug seemed to end every conversation, even a conversation in which a provincial had in no uncertain terms said, "No.t'' For all its positive aspects, this age of individualistic freedom and of fraternity/intimacy/community was "the era of the divided heart." It was a time, not entirely past, in which many of us, ~11 of us to some degree, were sidetracked, distracted, not completely present to the task, unhappy. For many religious, life became not so much a vocation as an avocation. They did good work and were not completely disinterested in the religious community, but their treasure, their compelling interest seemed to be elsewhere. They did not realize it at the time and cannot be blamed, but absorbed in themselves, jettisoning traditional practices without replacing them with new communal structures, they were sap-ping the energy of the group. It was in subconscious reaction to this drift that there appeared in re-ligious- life circles the talk about the need for a shared vision or a com-mon sense of mission. Much effort went into writing mission statements which everyone signed and accepted mutteringly in paraliturgical cere-monies. But there was an unexamined assumption in writing such mis-sion declarations, the assumption that everyone wanted a common vi-sion. Though there has always been a degree of pluralism and confusion in the Church, what seemed different now was that some religious seemed almost to welcome the confusion. They gave up the search for a shared vision not simply because it is hard to attain, but because in a deep sense they did not want one. It may be a hard saying, but I believe it is true that many of us, all of us to some degree, did not desire a true unity of mind and vision, at least not one which was set down in great detail, one which invaded and interfered with our life. The third ideal of the French Revolution and Enlightenment to enter religious life in the time of attempted redefinition was that of equality (its hero, Marx). It was the same ideal which gave rise to liberation the-ology and to the preferential option for the poor. It came strongly to the fore in the 80s. Beginning with the 33rd General Congregation of Jesu-its it thundered into religious life under the title of faith and justice. So-cial analysis and peace-and-justice committees soon became the vogue. Religious, male and female, left long-standing apostolates in education and hospitals and went to work among the poor and oppressed of both the third and first worlds. Soon the movement became involved with jus- 346 / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 tice questions within the Church as well as the world, in the first as well as the third world. Now suddenly every question was interpreted princi-pally in terms of the power-equality schema. Everywhere there was talk of the need for assertiveness, the tactics of confrontation, the evil of pa-triarchy, the lucha de clases. Not just politics but a liberal politics was brought to the center of religion and religious life. At Boston College in 1984 the Jesuit historian John Padberg said, "It must be admitted that from a historical point of view many of the changes which have taken place in feminine religious communities do not derive from Vatican II, but from the secular feminist movement." I believe that these attempted redefinitions of religious life have all failed because religious have remained at a superficial level in thinking about freedom, fraternity, and equality. In their general thrust these new values are wonderful and exhilarating and are here to stay. But they must be retrieved in their Christian depth and meaning. Secularization and the Return of Religion We are in a polarization situation in the Church today, liberals against conservatives. This can be documented by reading any theologi-cal review or religious newspaper. Avery Dulles, in fact, discerns four quasi-ideologies in the Church, liberal, traditionalist, neoconservative, and radical.3 Signs of the resistance appear not only in a growing funda-mentalism in Church practice, but in the "postliberal" or "postmod-ern" stances in academic theology championed by men like Lindbeck, Huston Smith, and Stanley Hauerwas. The resistance is also apparent in the area of religious and priestly vocations. In the entire industrialized world it is the progressive orders which continue to experience a decline, while conservative congregations enjoy substantial increases. But what is not understood is that the very fact of the polarization has a religious meaning. It means that modernity cannot be understood as a single phenomenon of ongoing secularization. There is something else occurring. The evident resistance to a liberal secularism hints at the possibility of a great reversal, a move to a higher synthesis. Many have been willing to see a religious significance in seculariza-tion. They interpret it as the desire to be authentic, to be rid of idols, to avoid at all costs the telling of a lie. But is there not also a deep mean-ing to the liberal/conservative split and the rise of fundamentalism and neoconservatism? Is this not also a sign of the times? It seems simplistic to view the resistance to tendencies which have been the vogue since Vati-can II as a mere knee-jerk reaction, a neurotic flight to security in the face of a secularized world. The very fact of these countermovements Religious Life and Modernity / 347 has a religious sense. It reveals, among other things, that modern men and women still recognize the presence of mystery and transcendence and feel that without it liberty, fraternity, and equality remain superfi-cial and, in the end, stifling. In an article entitled "Can the West be Converted?" Leslie Newbigin, the famous Anglican missionary to India, asks: Can there be an effective missionary encounter with this culture--this so powerful, per-suasive, and confident culture which (at least until very recently) simply regarded itself as "the coming world civilization"? He bemoans as excessive the criticism of the nineteenth-century mis-sionary on the part of socially-minded Christians, and disagrees with drop-ping the term "foreign missions" in favor of "overseas ministries" or "cross-cultural ministry." Says Newbigin: "The contemporary embar~ rassment about the missionary movement of the previous century is not, as we like to think, evidence that we have become more humble. It is, I fear, much more clearly evidence of shift in belief. It is evidence that we are less ready to affirm the uniqueness, the centrality, the decisive-ness of Jesus Christ as universal Lord and Savior, the Way by following whom the world is to find its true goal, the Truth by which every other claim to truth is to be tested, the Life in whom alone life in its fullness is to be found."4 Instead of weighing the Christian religious experience in the scale of reason as our culture understands reason, let us suppose, says Newbigin, that the Gospel is true; that, in the story of the Bible and in the life and death and resurrection of Jesus, the Creator and Lord of the universe has actually manifested himself to declare and effect his pur-pose; and that, therefore, everything else, including all the actions and assumptions of our culture, has to be assessed and can only be validly assessed in the scales which this revelation provides. What would it mean if, instead of trying to understand the gospel from the point of view of our culture, we tried to understand our culture from the point of view of the gospel? Rabbi Abraham Heschel said something similar when addressing theo-logians at a conference on the future of theology: "It has always seemed puzzling to me how greatly attached to the Bible you seem to be and yet how much like pagans you handle it. The great challenge to those of us who wish to take the Bible seriously is to let it teach us its own essential categories; and then for us to think with them, instead of just about them."5 Something new is stirring, something new striving to be born. A sig- 3411 / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 nificant group of theologia.ns is reaching for a postliberal stance which might feed the hunger for truth and a deeper meaning which exists in America. Professor Huston Smith puts it as follows: "While the West's 'brain,' which for present purposes we can equate with the modern uni-versity, rolls ever further down the reductionistic path, other centers of society--our emotions, for example, as they find expression through our artists and our wills. --protest. These other centers of ourselves feel they are being dragged, kicking and screaming, down an ever-darken-ing tunnel."6 The first world turns to suicide, drugs, and hooliganism because of a lack of meaning in the lives of its members. Culture is the meaning system of society. According to some sociologists, religion is the deep-est aspect of that meaning system. But the religion which remains in West-ern society is impoverished. The religion of our secularized cultures is highly intellectualized, pared down, devoid of mystery and passion. Mys-teries are embarrassments and explained away reductively. Modern churches look like banks. In many Catholic churches statues of saints are either banished or shrunken to stand sheepishly in shadowy corners. Lit-tle remains of the sense of an invisible reality beyond the material one, of a grand communion of saints, of Blake's "infinity in a grain of sand" and "eternity in an hour." And what has sprung up in the desert of modernity? The so-called "pipeline religion" of charismatics and Pentecostals, a revival of an emo-tional type of prayer with a need for a personal attachment to Jesus ex-pressed emotionally and publicly, the ministry of healing in sum, the desire for a backdrop to life, a deeper dimension, an invisible world; the need once again to feel that God is near and that we are able to commune with him; the need for a God who is transcendent as well as immanent. We desire the divine face of Jesus as well as the human face of God. The pendulum swings of the Christological debates of the early Church are again in evidence. The third redefinition of religious life in terms of equality and jus-tice is an improvement over the first two redefinitions in terms of liberty and fraternity, especially where these are interpreted as individualistic freedom and a sentimentalized intimacy/community. Individualism can-not form community. Nor can we religious be merely intimiste in our spiri-tuality. We cannot be satisfied with simply voicing our affections of love toward others or even for the Lord. Love must be active, social, and even political. Christians cannot concentrate solely on their own salvation whether earthly or celestial. "What would the Lord say," asked Char- Religious Life and Modernity / 349 les P6guy, "if we go to him without all the others?" On the other hand, this third effort to redefine ourselves and discover a lost identity was (is) in some ways more seductive, more liable to be-come an idol, for in itself it is strongly rooted in the Gospel and demands great sacrifice. The quest for social justice is "a constitutive part" of the Gospel, says an oft-quoted text of the 1971 Synod of Bishops. But it, too, has its shadow side. It was an improvement because it took the focus off of the individual subject, the I, but it was not sufficient because it replaced the individual subject with another earthly subject, the spe-cies subject, Marx's Gattungswesen, or with a part of society, the poor, the oppressed of the human species. To define religious life principally in terms of social justice is to make the Marxian move of replacing re-ligion with the need to foster a truly socialized man and woman. While fear of idolatry caused men of earlier ages to set God above the world and beyond all images, the danger of idolatry returns a hun-dredfold when we look for him within the bowels of the world. Some will call this double-talk and say they will have nothing to do with liberation, equality, compassion, and the betterment of people. But such a conclusion does not follow from what I am saying. Just the oppo-site is true. Unless we live in light of the truth that the world belongs to God and that its primary duty is to praise him in gratitude for what has been given, we cannot even begin to construct a world of justice. Unless we see that God is first and creator and that the human is second and created, we cannot find any basis for human equality or for treating everyone with justice and care. Evolutionists turned philosophers say that humans are equal only by the accident that a group of beings with about the same size brain flow-ered at a certain period of time. As a result these thinkers can find no ground for the moral imperative of justice. Such an imperative appears only when and if we view humans as having a relationship to an Abso-lute whose essence is Love. Humans have a dignity not because they hap-pen to have a complex brain which gives them a kind of free will, but because they are loved and because the very meaning of their being is to love as the Father loves. As Martin Buber has said, whoever makes freedom the primary characteristic of humans is blind to the real nature of human existence which is "being sent and a being commissioned."7 It is because God's love for us does not rise out of a personal need but is gratuitous, that the universe has meaning and that social justice is an imperative. In this discovery we will find true freedom. For the God of the absolute future is a God of plenitude who does not enslave nor ~150 / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 brook enslavement. Contemporary thinkers are obsessed by the thought that dualisms must be overcome at all cost, that all distinctions must be leveled, the natural and the supernatural, laity and clergy, Church and world. In this same vein, because of the doctrine that all are called to the same degree of holiness in baptism, they tend to believe that the distinction between laity and religious cannot ultimately be maintained. But in counteract-ing dualisms we must be careful not to submerge certain important dis-tinctions. There may be other distinctions between religious life and lay life which are .not connected with the call to holiness shared in baptism. Religious, I believe, are called to a different kind of separation from the world. Religious must be not above or beyond the world, nor seek to escape its toils. BUt yes, their life must be distinct and separate by tak-ing up the very different lifestyle of a pilgrim as did the apostles, not remaining at home but accompanying Jesus on the way. Again, if a religious must be a prophet, as many commentators urge, then he or she must be different from others in the way that a prophet is different from those to whom he or she prophesies. The prophet is one who shows the way. Religious must teach by their life that all Christians must be in the world but not of the world, that their greatness will not spring from surrender to the values of the world. Without a distinction between religious and laity the significance and identity of a truly Chris-tian laity may also be in danger of being lost. Something new is being born: a higher synthesis. It will consist es-sentially in a rewinning for human consciousness the sense of the tran-scendent and a new understanding of what is meant by a separation from the world. The problem of the third world is poverty; the problem of the first world is paganism. The third world retains the sense of the transcen-dent, though the embrace may at times be cluttered with emotion and su-perstitions and not translate into social action. The first world has in many cases simply given up the embrace. And in doing so it finds no adequate ground for love of neighbor, enemy, or stranger. Earlier spirituality taught that only in recognizing God's sovereignty can we avoid pride. It is through the same recognition that we will be-come compassionate and work for justice. True kenosis lies in the reali-zation that all humans--poor or rich, woman or man, ourselves or oth-ers- are of secondary importance. What is of prime importance is be-yond. But the God beyond sends us back to the world whose inhabitants he loves unconditionally as individual persons and as societies. He places upon us the moral imperative of justice and the command of love. Religious Life and Modernity Through a relationship with the Lord established in prayer, the extent of our task as Christians will be revealed. In transcendence we will redis-cover immanence. Modernity and its religious need again to ponder the words of the psalmist: "In your light we shall see light." NOTES I In support of a minority dissenting position, see Andrew Greeley and Michael Hout, "The secularisation myth," The Tablet, June 10, 1989, pp. 665-667. 2 "Faith and Reason," The Tablet, March I 1, 1989, p. 276. 3 See "Catholicism and American Culture," America, January 27, 1990, pp. 54- 59. 4 International Bulletin of Missionary Research, April 1988, p. 51. 5 Quoted by Prof. Albert Outler, "Toward a Post-liberal Hermeneutics," Theology Today, October 1985, p. 290. 6 Toward the Post-Modern Mind (Crossroad, 1982), p. 25. 7 Martin Buber, The Eclipse of God (Harper and Row, 1962), p. 69. A Celibate Dialogues with God I asked God: "Must I be my last and only word? Will this who-I-am be heard no more when I am dead? Who will know what I have said? Who will weave my melody into their song or hum at least my harmonies along with theirs? Who will? Who will?" And God said: "Peace. Be still." Irene Zimmerman, S.S.S.F. 3601 South 41 Street Milwaukee, Wl 53221 Focus: The Mission William F. Hogan, C.S.C. Father William Hogan, C.S.C., wrote "Chapters and Structures" for our issue of January/February 1989. His address remains Fratelli Cristiani; Via della Maglian-ella 375; 00166 Roma, Italy. Mission is the most written about concept in religious institutes and it sets the tone of most revised constitutions. Furthering the mission of Jesus in today's world has provided the framework for renewal programs and processes in communities of the consecrated life. The concerns that pre-occupy us affect our lives in many ways, providing an overall orienta-tion for judgments, the determination of choices, the perception of life and reality, the measurement of problems. And yet, all too often con-cern for the mission is not carried over into the nitty-gritty of daily life; we can find in ourselves a gap between the intellectual approach to mis-sion and what motivates our actual responses in concrete situations. Con-tradictions can abound in our human persons! The morale of many religious today is deeply affected by dwindling numbers, aging, and the lack of new members to carry on the life and work. Some give in to discouragement and the tendency to pull in on self; survival looms as a major concern and the scope of vision becomes quite narrow. Surely the Lord does not want a yielding to inclinations along this line because they are contrary to the tenor of the Gospel, which would focus our attention with largeness of heart and vision on the mis-sion of Jesus and the call to live, be, and do in response to the mission today, no matter what. The Christian must be an apostolic person in all the phases and situations of life with their ups and downs. It is understandable that there be a human reaction of preoccupation with self-preservation and self-survival, given the innate drive for the self 352 Focus: The Mission / 353 to live on and the desire to continue a form of life in which one believes. At the same time we must confront within ourselves some very real is-sues, the most basic of which centers around whose mission it is we are called to serve. This is the struggle of God and the "me," the struggle with which we have to cope in one way or another all through life, the struggle of sinfulness. "Your thoughts are not my thoughts, nor my ways your ways" (Is 55:8). What does our God seem to be asking of religious today, especially in institutes that appear to be dying? It surely is not pious platitudes: "God's will"; "God will provide"; "History will repeat itself"; "It happened before." While it may be hard to read what is happening, we can surmise a few points about basic attitudes to which the Lord may be calling us. Most basic of these is to expand our vision beyond our own religious institutes to see how the Spirit is active in the birthing of so many new forms of consecration for mission. Despite secularism and other "isms"--perhaps because of them--our times are seeing all kinds of new Christian community foundations with a variety of time-tested and new elements. We are living in an era as rich as the nineteenth cen-tury, as far as new religious ventures are concerned, although the em-phasis on some aspects of consecration may differ. In many parts of the world the Spirit is pouring forth founding charisms on individuals to wit-ness to Christ in discipleship in new ways. In some instances there are blends of various long-standing spiritual traditions; others are different combinations of the monastic and actively apostolic; still others would appear to be revivals of forms that have passed out of existence over the centuries; some are entirely new. One can look at the community movements springing up and won-der why these people do not simply join already existing religious con-gregations that are in need of new members in order to continue. And we just cannot find adequate answers on a human level. It is not enough to say that today's individuals want less structure because some of the emerging groups are very highly structured. Nor can one merely explain that people want to be unencumbered, free of age-old traditions and in-stitutionalism, since many are deeply rooted in traditions and some have picked up practices that religious congregations have laid aside. Is it the attraction of the new? Who knows? What is important is to have a vi-sion that embraces what the Spirit of God is doing to further the mission of Jesus in our age. If all disciples of Christ are people of mission, the challenge is to keep one's attention on the accomplishment of the mis-sion and not just one's own particular part in it. The glory of God Review for Religious, May-June 1991 through the restoration of creation in Christ is what matters and not how we think we are glorifying God. We are face-to-face with the issue of whose mission this is, God's or ours, and whether we have fallen into the trap of overestimating the importance of our own role in the mission. A breadth of vision is needed, with the focal point being Christ and the continuation of Christ's message and work. We share in that work; we witness to Christ's person and message. The continuation of the mission is what counts, not so much who accomplishes it. Religious today may find themselves in a situation somewhat analo-gous to some incidents described in the Bible: Now two men, one named Eldad and the other Medad, were not in the gathering but had been left in the camp. They too had been on the list, but had not gone out to the tent; yet the spirit came to rest on them also, and they prophesied in the camp. So, when a young man quickly told Moses, "Eldad and Medad are prophesying in the camp," Joshua, son of Nun, who from his youth had been Moses' aide, said, "Moses, my lord, stop them." But Moses answered him, "Are you jea.lous for my sake? Would that all the people of the Lord were prophets! Would that the Lord might bestow his spirit on them all!" (Nb 11:26-29). John said to him, "Master, we saw a man who is not one of us cast-ing out devils in your name; and because he was not one of us we tried to stop him." But Jesus said, "You must not stop him: no one who works a miracle in my name is likely to speak evil of me. Anyone who is not against us is for us" (Mk 9:38-40). If God was giving them the same gift he gave us when we first be-lieved in the Lord Jesus Christ, who am I to impede the action of God? (Ac 11:17). Perhaps individuals experience pain when they see others in search of values in new groups and it appears that the ideals are the same that they themselves are trying to live. Yet the attention must be on Christ and ful-fillment of his plan now, what is needed for the mission now, and not on one's own pain. Granted that this is easier said than done, but we must keep trying to be conscious of the mission that is the very reason for our being. Our faith would tell us that the Lord is very much present in the cur-rent situation, though not necessarily in the way that we would like the Lord to be present, that is, according to our desires and plans. And that is another aspect of what God is asking of religious today: to find him present in the decline as much as in the previous rise in religious life. This entails hope, defined in the dictionary as desire joined with the ex- Focus: The Mission pectation of getting what is desired. The "what is desired," however, constitutes a problem area. Most religious say that they hope there will be a resurgence of vocations to their institutes and they frequently wit-ness to their words through intense prayer for vocations, both in personal prayer and in petitions during the Prayers of the Faithful at Eucharistic celebrations and the liturgy of the hours. Christian hope must be founded on the person of Jesus Christ, whose power gives us the basis for expectations to be fulfilled. Jesus' mission/ kingdom are inseparable from his person and to hope in him touches upon his mission and his ways of bringing it about rather than our own projections of what the mission demands according to our viewpoints-- in particular, the preservation of our particular religious institutes. We hope, but in what way'?. In total openness to God's ways? Genuine hope involves a finding of the Lord present in situations that may lead to a cer-tain type of dying; hope in the Lord may mean a letting go of some of our desires and false hopes, and even of any panicky types of prayer for vocations. Now is a time for deep inner calm founded on the Lord Jesus who is at work among his people, accomplishing the mission, though our vision be obscured through personal suffering over the decline of reli-gious life. Not resignation, but a lively hope in the Lord! How frequently the Word of God calls us to wait on the Lord in a spirit of peace, "singing the favors of the Lord" even when we feel weighed down with concerns. The Lord's time and way so often are not our times, ways, and vision; thus he challenges us to a patient engaging trust in him, as he did Habakkuk of old: Write down the vision clearly upon the tablets, so that one can read it readily. For the vision still has its time, presses on to fulfillment, and will not disappoint; if it delays, wait for it, it will surely come, it will not be late (Hab 2:2-3). This waiting in patience is not passive, for it demands a struggle for faith in and openness to God's ways in the accomplishment .of the mission. And it charges us to keep on going in what we are living, giving, and doing and not to pull into self, overwhelmed by feelings of discourage-ment. The blindness of faith and surrender to the Lord's way are invoked by waiting on the Lord. St. Therese of Lisieux described herself as a little ball: "You [God] throw me to someplace in a corner; maybe ten years later you pick me up again." Catherine de Hueck Doherty mentions in her writings a starets who said that we should be like rag dolls that can be picked up 356 / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 by the hand, foot, or head, thrown in the bushes, hugged, thrown in the toy box. These figures of speech point to the self-emptying at the heart of waiting on the Lord--the painful surrenders to go the Lord's way and not our own, holding on in faith as we try to let go of our ways and yield to the divine ways. It is a movement to selflessness with conviction that God knows what he is doing, even when it is beyond our comprehen-sion. Human solutions to problems and techniques for attracting possible vocations are important, but none are miraculous. There is no mystical, magical solution for the vocational crisis in religious institutes. No mat-ter what human avenues and approaches are pursued, we must look to the basic point of attitudes our God wants of us now: faith; largeness of vision of the mission and how it is being realized today and by whom it is being promoted; and awareness that the Lord is calling us to a kenosis beyond what we have experienced in the recent past. And all of this would appear to be part of the divine plan for greater growth in open-ness to God's ways. The alternative prayer for the fourth Sunday of Eas-ter expresses it powerfully: God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, though your people walk in the valley of darkness, no evil should they fear; for they follow in faith the call of the shepherd whom you have sent for their hope and strength. Attune our minds to the sound of his voice, lead our steps in the path he has shown, that we may know the strength of his outstretched arm and enjoy the light of your presence for ever. We ask this in the name of Jesus the Lord. Participative Leadership for Refounding: Reflections Gerald A. Arbuckle, S.M. Father Arbuckle is well known to many of our readers around the world for his arti-cles, books, and workshops. His address: Catholic Theological Union; ! Mary Street; Hunters Hill, Sydney, N.S.W.; Australia 2110. Refounding is the process whereby an apostolic congregation, under the inspiration and leadership of creatively pastoral people, relates the Gos-pel message to the critically challenging problems within contemporary cultures (for example, secularism and injustice) according to the spirit of the original founding vision. ~ These imaginative people cannot emerge and act, however, if their officially appointed congregational leadership team fails to realize its primary function: to foster an atmosphere condu-cive to pastoral creativity within the religious community. I believe that the decision-making processes of the leadership team that aim to facilitate refounding must be based on the principles of parti-cipative (or collaborative) leadership. However, considerable confusion can exist about precisely what is meant by participative government. In this article I seek to clarify what is meant by "participative lead-ership for refounding." I concentrate on the dynamics of participative leadership within the officially appointed congregational leadership teams at the provincial and general levels. By extension, what I say of the participative process within these teams will apply mutatis mutandis to all other congregational leadership groups. Leadership for Refounding: Clarifying the Model Two relevant models of administrative style can be distinguished-- the "mechanistic" and the "organic"; they differ according to the pur- 357 Review for Religious, May-June 1991 pose for which an organization exists.2 In the mechanistic style, the tasks of the organization are considered predictable or unchanging. The organi-zation is characterized by many rules and regulations; the leadership's role is to make sure that these long-established and neatly set-out rules of operation are being followed. Creativity is discouraged because it threatens a predictable way of acting. Thus, the mechanistic style of lead-ership is totally unsuited to a world of change. Within the Church, the methods of evangelization and pastoral care changed little over several centuries prior to Vatican II. The world had to adapt to the Church, not vice versa. The administrative style of the ecclesiastical and religious congregations had become mechanistic. Re-cently I reviewed the provincial-chapter decrees of an apostolic male cleri-cal congregation from 1894 to 1956. Never at any point is there refer-ence to the need for pastoral creativity; instead the emphasis is on con-trol through the maintenance of detailed discipline rules. For example, in the decrees of 1900, phrases like "the present Chapter reasserts the prohibition against." are commonplace. Little wonder that our pastoral administrators failed to take note of the emergence of the urban/factory working class in the nineteenth cen-tury. Pastoral care remained predictably and "pleasantly" rural in ori-entation. Not surprisingly, the vast majority of this often oppressed class became alienated from the Church and continue to remain so. The second style of administration is organic. There are few rules and regulations in the organization. The emphasis is on constant inno-vation, creativity, and evaluative feedback because the marketplace de-mands an ever-increasing variety of new products, devices, and designs. The leadership fosters in the organization a participative atmosphere in which people feel they can create and be supported by other members in the group. Decision making is primarily proactive rather than reactive or crisis solving. By this we mean that organic administrations are "an-ticipative people," that is, they see change coming and then begin to plan and discuss different ways to adapt to it. They begin to create and control change rather than succumb to it.3 Organic-oriented leadership is founded on six assumptions. First, the process of creativity and innovation is a generally very messy one, be-cause it is a human activity that "involves the personalities, emotions, and quirks of many creative people. It does not always work cleanly; it does not always work well; it certainly does not usually work effi-ciently.' ,4 Second, leadership teams need space and time in which to ponder Participative Leadership / 359 over the implications of the information coming .to them. If leaders do not have this sacred space and time, they will, without realizing it, re-gress to an authoritarian style of leadership. Today congregational lead-ership, especially at the provincial level, must carry unprecedented bur-dens. For example, as a consequence of the inevitable contemporary "re-ligious- life chaos," congregational leadership must be involved in press-ing maintenance issues, such as the closing of houses because of the de-cline in membership and the development of new ministries, the pastoral care of religious who are confused by the chaos within and outside re-ligious life, and the finding of finances to cover health and retirement costs. At the same time they must be giving priority to the future of the congregation, its mission, new and creative responses. If congregational leadership is not ruthlessly careful, it will be exhausted with maintenance demands. Creativity space will be choked out. Third, because the organization exists to respond to the needs of a rapidly changing world, the communication about these needs and the creative responses to them must be fast, two-way, and accurate. The lead-ership team is concerned to get the right information at the right time and to pass it on to the people who need it, to get the message understood and acted upon. Fourth, the temptation to spend an excessive amount of time on analy-sis of the information being received must be resisted. Organizations can become so caught up in more and more analysis and information gather-ing that they become paralyzed. On the other hand, paralysis can also develop if organizations are consistently rushing into decision making without sufficient research and information. Creative risk takers become deenergized not only with excessive, introverted meetings and analysis, but also by having to interact with groups that constantly fail to listen to reality.5 In whatever way group paralysis occurs, we have a recipe for organizational suicide. Fifth, even the most creative leadership teams can develop middle-life weariness. They can lose their drive and enthusiasm and adopt a mechanistic leadership style; they fall victim to the deadly temptation to spend their time solving the problems of yesterday rather than anticipat-ing the challenges of tomorrow. Bureaucracy, red tape, and complacency are the symptoms of this mortal disease.6 Sixth, organizations that have become bureaucratic, inward-looking, or unresponsive to changing needs can only be refounded if their leadership is prepared to adopt the organic style. The resistance to change and to creative persons, however, could be so great that the pro- 3130 / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 cess of refounding is impossible. The leadership team is powerless. But the team should not lightly surrender to resistance---on the other hand, ,the real obstacles to refounding may well be within the leadership group itself. Seventh, every leadership team needs skills for interpreting what is happening within its own group and within the wider society it seeks to serve. If a team is unable to be honest and courageous enough to reflect on the strengths and weaknesses of its own interrelationships, it will re-main insensitive to what is taking place within the wider organizational culture.7 Organic Leadership Style and Religious Life Apostolic religious congregations exist to minister to the changing pastoral needs of people and cultures.8 An essential reason for their ex-istence is that they be bold in apostolic initiatives.9 This ministry de-mands an organic leadership style in congregational administrations. 10 The Ignatian discernment method of coming to decisions is a form of the organic leadership style. The organic style finds support in the approach of St. Paul to evangel-ization. While there must be respect for the unchanging values of the teaching of Jesus Christ, there must be an openness to the use of the di-verse girls of people in preaching the Good News: "Now Christ's body is yourselves, each of you with a part to play in the whole" (1 Co 12:27). Paul lists the girls in order of importance. After the apostles (and their successors) came prophets (v.28). The prophets, whose distinguishing qualities are spelled out by Paul in writing to the Galatians (5:22), are the imaginative and creative persons within the Church (and religious con-gregations). Their role is to challenge Gospel communities constantly to develop new ways to preach the Good News to the world of today. Paul assumes that leaders of Christian communities must allow authentic proph-ets and pastorally creative persons to emerge and function. There is nothing nonincarnational, stuffy, bureaucratic, or mecha-nistic about Paul's thinking. Achieving Organic Leadership: Practical Guidelines If religious leadership teams are to have an organic leadership style, they must: 1. Formulate a clear team vision of goals and strategies. If a team does not know what it is aiming for, it will be equally fuzzy about what it should be doing; personal and group energy will dissipate Participative Leadership / 361 on minutiae or nonessential issues. The forming of a vision of realistic goals and the strategies to achieve them is at first sight deceptively simple. The formulation of practical strategies, for example, demands precise thinking and forecasting as well as making commitments involving others; most superiors are not accus-tomed to viewing the process in this way. ~ 2. Be aware of differing forms of participative leadership. The participative approach means that all team members share in the decision-making process. They do this in various ways, for example: dis-cussion leads to consensus or a majority vote or after consultation of mem-bers or their free offer of advice, the team leader or a delegated member decides. The preference is the first option: full involvement in decision mak-ing through consensus. However, there must be flexibility. The group should learn what option is the most appropriate at a given time. For ex-ample, the urgency for decision and action may allow only the last op-tion, that is, a decision made by the one with the most authority. Deci-sion making through consensus normally takes considerable time. Canon law and congregational constitutions do prescribe that some matters be decided, for example, by the major superior with the consent or advice of other members of the leadership team. If lengthy or wide consultation or majority voting is made the unchanging rule, then decisions may never be made and the urgent apostolic needs are left unattended. The conse-quence is that an organic style of leadership is turned into an oppressive mechanistic one. Decision making through consensus needs to be carefully under-stood. By consensus is meant that all parties agree what the decision should be and feel that they have been thoroughly involved at all stages. However, if consensus decision making is pursued at all costs, that is, if it is made into a rigid ideology, then points of conflict and disagree-ment are forced underground. If these issues remain unattended to, then all kinds of unresolved negative feelings or hurts will haunt the group and threaten to split it apart. The same danger exists if the majority vot-ing option is pushed through too quickly, because then disagreements and differences of opinion also remain unresolved. Pseudoconsultation is to be ruthlessly avoided; this involves the il-lusion of participation without the substance. Decisions have already been made by leaders, but other team members are then "consulted to keep them happy." There is no intention of changing the original deci-sions. This leads to disillusionment, disaffection, and cynicism. 362 / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 I find that major superiors can unwittingly raise false expectations within their leadership teams (and within their province or congregation) simply by failing to specify the particular form of participation they ex-pect at a particular time. Sometimes the word "collegiality" is used interchangeably with "participative government," but this can also cause needless confusion. Strictly speaking, collegiality connotes a particular relationship between the college of bishops and the pope. The term can be applied to religious life only with extreme care. Collegiality has come to be synonymous with "participatory democracy," which assumes that in all decisions every member of a team o.r province must be fully acquainted with every detail and that decision making must be always according to the major-ity vote. 12 Collegial government in religious life, that is, where all mem-bers have equal rights in decision making by law, exists only at general and provincial chapters. 3. Adhere to subsidiarity. Whatever individuals or committees of councilors are able to do for themselves ought not to be removed from their competence and taken over by other people, for example, major superiors. Canon law or. the constitution will set out precisely those decisions that must be made by the major superior with the consent or consultation of the council. In other matters he or she can lawfully delegate authority to congregational team members. I find, however, that subsidiarity fails to work whenever team mem-bers are unsure precisely who has the delegated authority or authoriza-tion. Team members and the province or congregation as a whole must know who has the right to make decisions and takes responsibility for them. Secondly, when the major superior attempts to take back the author-ity without justification or when other team members try to interfere, un-necessary frustration occurs. Team members feel used, irrelevant, and deenergized as persons and leaders within the community. One practical consequence of adhering to the principle of subsidiarity is that great care must be taken to see that the agendas for congregational team meetings be carefully screened. No matter should come to team meetings that can and should be dealt with at lower levels. If this screen-ing does not take place, the team is back to the limitations of participa-tory- democracy procedures. They become bogged down by irrelevant mi-nutiae, and the critically important issues for team consideration become crowded out. Participative Leadership 4. Delegate maintenance tasks. Remember that the primary role of congregational leadership teams is to challenge their religious communities to face the realities of the fu-ture. They cannot even begin this task if they are constantly burdened at meetings with maintenance and personnel issues. This is not to deny the pastoral importance of such issues, but merely to highlight the key function of leadership teams. As far as possible, the maintenance requirements of congregations must be delegated to others. This will demand of leaders a ruthless self-discipline to prevent them from becoming smothered in maintenance prob-lems. Without such self-discipline there can be no congregational fu-ture. ~ 3 5. Be accountable. Every team member must be accountable for his or her performance to the group and through the majo.r superior and team to the whole prov-ince or congregation. But a warning: If delegation is working effectively, then the amount of material being made available to other members of the council or team for the sake of accountability should be controlled; otherwise they will again be swamped within a paper jungle. Leadership teams must be alert to the fact that they can easily be-come trapped in their own busyness so that they have no idea where they are going or what is really important, and end up experiencing rather than inventing the future. Busyness is apt to lull leaders into thinking that their decisions are relevant when in fact the opposite is the reality. 6. Understand and use power. Though power is a commonly used word, it is nonetheless frequently misunderstood. However, it is critically important to grasp its meaning and its various types because the failure to do so can frustrate the work of a congregational team's involvement in the refounding process. Power is the ability to influence the values and behavior of the or-ganizations or cultures in which we find ourselves. Structural power de-rives from the roles that we officially hold in an organization, for exam-ple, congregational leader or team member. Functional power derives from the skill we use within a group, for example, the skill of animation or coriamunication; personal power derives from our personality.14 Again recall that the primary task of a congregational team commit-ted to the refounding process is that of finding, empowering, and sup-porting the right people. On their own team and in the province or con-gregation they serve, these persons must be enabled tO create, not made 364 / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 to devise elaborate controls to make less creative or resilient persons do what they should be doing. This requires that the congregational team, first, use its functional and personal power to find the right people and empower them to act and, second, use its structural power to open up the congregational struc-tures to allow the creative persons to operate without unnecessary inter-ference from other sections of the leadership team or the congregation or province as a whole. In brief, a creative team allows for and fosters the "pastorally in-novative eccentric." This may even mean applying the axiom "The new belongs elsewhere," which I have described at length in a recent book. ~5 That is, through the application of structural power, the team establishes structures that permit the "innovative eccentrics" to act without having to be accountable to a large number of people for what they are doing. The leadership team assumes the initiative of explaining to others the na-ture and progress of the creative pastoral project, thus allowing the in-novative people to concentrate on their new apostolic ventures. 7. Foster team trust. Congregational leadership groups must learn to see themselves as teams, not as a set of individuals. On a team, members are aware of each other's strengths and weaknesses; they aim to act in a manner which uses their individual diversity to serve the group. The group needs to ask itself three questions if it is to assess the qual-ity of its teamwork: (1) Does the group have the necessary skills and struc-tures to work together cooperatively and effectively? (2) If the team has not the necessary skills, can it develop them or should it seek them from outsiders? (3) Does the group have the attitudes, values, and norms that foster the required skills and support the required structures? If members do not trust one another, they will communicate inadequately. They will hold back information, thus weakening the quality of the team's deci-sion making. Maybe such lack of trust comes from conflict or the fear of it. Yet conflict is unavoidable even on the best teams. Members should npt try to hide it, but should try to recognize its causes and develop methods of resolving it. Robert Bolton distinguishes between the emotional and the substantive dimensions of conflict. The former include anger, distrust, defensiveness, fear, and resentment. Substantive dimensions involve con-flicting needs, disagreements over policies and practices, and divergent views of roles and the uses of resources. These substantive issues can-not be resolved until the emotional aspects are faced up to; the team may Participative Leadership / 365 require an outside facilitator for this to take place. 16 Members need to realize that the primary concern of team building is not the individual needs of the group's members, but the welfare of the congregation and the Church it serves. Members can become so con° cerned to achieve collaboration and cohesion that these qualities become not a means but an end in themselves. The team style then changes from an organic to a mechanistic one, and a rigid conformity to rules of unity predominates. The creativity of individual team members is then stifled or crushed. This is what William G. Dyer means when he writes: "Crea-tivity is often at odds with the conditions that foster collaboration. It is possible to increase team work while inhibiting creativity, which seems to stem from the less fettered individual.''~7 8. Nurture group life humanly and spiritually. A task-oriented congregational team expends considerable energy. Unless individuals and the group have space and time to restore this en-ergy, problems develop: bickering, excessive tiredness, poor concentra-tion, and individual and group burnout. Organizational and leadership culture must, then, be cared for if ap-ostolic effectiveness is to be maintained and grow. The group can revi-talize its own energies in a variety of ways. The options chosen will de-pend on what the group enjoys doing. One team, for example, may en-joy a regular meal together well away from their place of meeting; an-other team may receive energy through open-ended discussion on par-ticular topics. A group that has fun together is more likely to be a group that can stay and work together.18 As a top priority the spiritual life of the group needs nurturing. When the members are unable to share in prayer their faith experiences, they will lack the inner freedom for honesty and openness. I have seen the energy of individuals and groups rise with extraordinary rapidity as a con-sequence of members sharing their reflections on scriptural passages. Shar-ing cannot be pushed; it grows under the power of the Holy Spirit as mem-bers become more comfortable with one another and with the presence o~ the Lord in their midst. 9. Be flexible with meeting styles. Meetings need variety. Formal meetings, namely, regular team gath-erings that have agendas in advance, are essential. But, since these gen-erally are not the occasions for inspiration and energy-creating interac-tion, from time to time there should be team meetings with no detailed and set agendas. At these informal meetings the group could benefit from 366 / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 a clear and simple process of critical self-reflection. Questions like the following could be used: How do you think the team is working together? Are our objectives being realized? Do the objectives need sharpening? Do individual members want to share the major concerns of their depart-ments? These gatherings become a mixture of sharing worries and suc-cesses, of.dreaming about the future of the province or congregation, of brainstorming about strategies. lO. Implement reality-testing sessions. A congregational team, like any human group, can lose touch with reality--for many reasons. For example, the group may become so anx-ious about the difficulties it faces in its leadership task that it uncon-sciously denies and represses much reality and so ignores it in its deci-sion making. To forestall such an eventuality, the team desperately needs regular reality-testing sessions: Are the usual staying-in-touch methods still working? Have they outlived their usefulness? Are they blocking the flow of information in and out of the group? Are members of the team continuing to listen to and communicate with one another? Have barri-ers developed between members? This can be a thoroughly uncomfort-able exercise, but without it much well-intentioned apostolic energy can dissipate. 19 Conclusion We read that the early Christian communities were "united, heart and soul; no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, as ev-erything they owned was held in common" (Ac 4:32). This aptly de-scribes what congregational leadership teams should strive to be like, plac-ing their possessions--their talents and their skills--at the service of the team and the congregation, making that effort even if it be painful. Such unity is achievable only if the efforts of the team members are earthed in the power of Christ's resurrection (see Ac 4:33). It is only through resurrection love that members can learn to find "joy in the truth., to make allowances, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes" (1 Co 13:7). Then there will be an organic, flexible style of lead-ership within congregational teams, and it will be apostolically energiz-ing for all who experience it.2° NOTES ~ See G.A. Arbuckle, Out of Chaos: Refounding Religious Congregations (New York: Paulist Press, 1988), pp. 88-135, and Earthing the Gospel: An Inculturation Participative Leadership / 367 Handbook for the Pastoral Worker (London: Geoffrey Chapman; Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1990), chap. 12. 2 See T. Burns and G.M. Stalker, The Management oflnnovation (Chicago: Quad-rangle Books), passim. 3 See C.R. Hickman and M.A. Silva, Creating Excellence: Managing Corporate Cul-ture (New York: New American Library, 1984), p. 191. 4 K. Albrecht, The Creative Corporation (Homewood, I11.: Dow Jones-Irwin, 1987), pp. 46f. 5 See G. Pinchot, lntrapreneuring (New York: Harper & Row, 1985), pp. 224f.; see also the helpful insights of I. Briggs Myers, Gifts Differing (Palo Alto, Calif.: Con-sulting Psychologists Press, 1980), pp. 69-75. 6 See P. Drucker, Innovation and Entrepreneurship: Practice and Principles (New York: Harper & Row, 1986), p. 149. 7 See E.H. Schein, Organizational Culture and Leadership: A Dynamic View (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1987), pp. 137-147,270-296, and D. Graves, Corporate Cul-ture: Diagnosis and Change (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1986), pp. 120-144. 8 See J. O'Malley, "Priesthood, Ministry, and Religious Life: Some Historical and Historiographical Considerations," Theological Studies 49 (1988): 223-257. 9 See Congregations for Religious and Bishops, Directives for the Mutual Relations between Bishops and Religious in the Church (Sydney: St. Paul Publications, 1978), para. 12. 10 See comments on the New Code of Canon Law in G.A. Arb'uckle, Strategies for Growth in Religious Life (New York: Alba House, 1986), p. 137. i~ See G.A. Arbuckle, Out of Chaos, pp. 30-33, 105f. 12 See L. Schaller, The Change Agent: The Strategy of Innovative Leadership (Nash-ville: Abingdon Press, 1972), pp. 14, 152-154. ~3 See K. Albrecht, Successful Management by Objectives: An Action Manual (Engle-wood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1978), pp. 176f. ~4 Definitions and clarifications on power are provided by Jane Blaxland. See als6 " G.A. Arbuckle, Strategies for Growth in Religious Life (New York: Alba House, 1987), pp. 134-139. 15 See G.A. Arbuckle, Out of Chaos, pp. 112-135. 16 See R. Bolton People Skills (Brookvale: Simon & Schuster, 1987), p. 217; see also J.F. Benson, Working More Creatively with Groups (London: Tavistock, ! 987), pp. 130-145, l19f. 17 W.G. Dyer, Strategies for Managing Change (Reading, Mass.: Addison-Wesley, 1984), p. 176. 18 See J.F. Benson, Working More Creatively, pp. 184-186. 19 See the helpful insights of M.F. Kets de Vries and D. Miller, The Neurotic Or-ganization: Diagnosing and Changing Counterproductive Styles of Management (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1985), pp. 15-45, 133-205; and E.H. Schein, Organizational Culture, pp. 185-208, 311-327. 2°I am grateful for the help of Jane Blaxland and Michael A. Mullins, S.M., in the preparation of this article. Mary, Woman for Peacemakers Patricia McCarthy, C.N.D. Sister Patricia McCarthy, C.N.D., may be addressed at Congregation of Notre Dame; 41 Cole Street; East Providence, Rhode Island 02914. Before much time in the field has elapsed, a worker for peace usually dis-covers, by need, the meaning behind Gandhi's claim that mute prayer was his greatest weapon. Fidelity to truth and perseverance in justice are fruits that can only be produced if prayer is the seed. Such prayer begins with a choice--a choice to respond to the call from God, a choice to take the first commandment seriously and to kneel before God. The choice is to hear and acknowledge the call to worship, to invest time, effort, and attention to this call. The choice is to be there listening day after day, to be there loving hour after hour, and to be there receiving love moment by moment. It is when we make that move from listening and loving to the realization of being loved that prayer becomes relationship. Out of this relationship, we no longer see ourselves as only workers for peace, we become united with Jesus Christ the one peace-maker. From union with his heart, we understand the work of peace to-day and embrace the call to share in it. If we have felt the call to enter into this prayer-love relationship with Christ, our first step is to turn to Mary. Our reasons for this are many. We come to Mary as to an intimate friend, we come asking to know her, to love her, and to realize her love for us. We come to Mary because she is the virgin Mother of God. We come to Mary because she was the most faithful disciple of Christ during her time on earth. We come to Mary because Christ gave her to us from the cross. We come to her be-cause we believe she is our loyal advocate from heaven. We come to Mary because she passionately offered herself to God for the sake of his 368 Mary, Woman for Peacemakers people at the Annunciation. God blessed and accepted that offering two thousand years ago, impregnated her with the seed of God so she could give birth in flesh and blood to Jesus. Finally, we come to Mary because she was faithfully present when Jesus abandoned himself to his Father. Mary was the Mother of God in Bethlehem when the Word of God became flesh to be among us; and Mary was the Mother of God on Calvary when the Word of God surren-dered his flesh to redeem us. Mary was mother and companion to the Son of Peace while he walked this fragile earth. Let us ask her to accompany us as we journey toward peace. For the sake of clarity, let us consider three specific as-pects of our life with her: prayer, mission, and prophecy. Prayer Why Mary with regard to prayer? Devotion to Mary does not come out of some private practice covered with sentimentality. Devotion to Mary comes from the heart of the mysteries of redemption and salvation. From the time angels chose not to worship God and refused to ac-knowledge God as God, evil has existed. It entered into humanity through our ancestors who also chose a created good over the Creator. Along with the existence of sin, however, was the promise of redemp-tion. God never left us without hope even when we did not know enough to care. For years, God formed covenants with us and reformed them af-ter we broke them. God spoke to us to admonish us, to encourage us, to instruct us; God spoke through generations of holy men and women. And, finally, when the fullness of time had arrived God chose to speak through Jesus Christ. With the greate.st risk, God let this divine intervention wait upon the word of a virgin daughter of Israel. Mary. had been chosen and prepared, kept free of any remnant of our ancestral tendency to sin. She had been formed in the covenants of Yahweh, desirous of the coming of the Mes-siah. She had learned to kneel before Yahweh, to worship, to find her joy and hope in her God. Mary understood the angels who were beings of praise, and she knew there were also angels who had chosen differ-ently. She knew the history of her people, the faithful and the unfaith-ful. Her whole being grew in anticipation for Yahweh to come again. Mary's receptivity to the Word of God was the essence of her virginity. She became the virgin Mother of.God because she allowed the power of God to overshadow her. This is also our model for virginity: To understand the yes Mary said at the Annunciation, we have to see her clearly as virgin. Before we can 370 / Review for Religious, May-June 1991 say yes, we have to see ourselves just as clearly as virgins. Virginity is a reality today that is poorly understood at best. Virginity, in its narrow-est sense, can be applied to a person, male or female, who has not had sexual intercourse. The virginity of Mary calls us to far more than that. In her virginity, Mary gives us the model for our own. Virginity is receptivity and openness to God's working with us and through us. It is total surrender to the loved one, the abandonment of all defenses and re-serves in the presence of the beloved. It is the willingness to take on a destiny utterly contrary to the culture of the day. It is the commitment to accept the seed of God in order to give the life of Christ to the world. Once we accept the seed we are committed to nourish it. The child will grow and be born of us and we will be responsible for him from that mo-ment on. This is the grace of virginity we received with our baptism, the grace to open ourselves to Christ, the grace that we can choose to coop-erate with whether we are male or female, married or single, religious or lay. This is the grace of virginity that calls us to a passionate chas-tity. This is the grace of virginity that Mary embraced. Mary has also shown us the call to motherhood, the call to bring Christ into the world. To the beauty of virginity God offered mother-hood, an inconceivable reality that Mary freely assented to. With that sin-gle yes, the Savior and Redeemer of the world was conceived. As no one else ever could, Mary in the ecstasy of her surrendered virginity em-bodied the Word of God. "The one whom the universe cannot contain is contained within your womb." She gave flesh to the good news, she brought forth the Prince of Peace. We owe Mary love, because it is through her tha

Introducción¿Es necesario apartar a Dios del debate público? ¿Cuál es el lugar de la religión y de las Iglesias en las esferas pública e institucional? ¿Cómo debemos concebir la relación entre Estado, sociedad y religión en el siglo XXI?Desde el 11 de setiembre, una lectura parcial del mundo (que sea política, académica o popular) parece presentar una división irreconciliable entre Occidente y Oriente (próximo, medio o muy lejano) sobre el fondo de guerras de religión. Esta tesis, propuesta algunas décadas atrás por Samuel Huntington -de manera casi profética dirán sus defensores-, ilustra la existencia de "líneas de fractura" entre civilizaciones o culturas en diferentes puntos del orbe, siendo la más explosiva la división entre el Occidente democrático y cristiano y el mundo musulmán, teocrático y autoritario. Habría entonces, supuestamente, un vínculo entre el Islam como religión y el Islam como vector de violencia política (Cesari, 2005: 39). Este vínculo, sin embargo, no sería proporcionalmente menos importante (o nocivo) que la influencia que poseen ciertos sectores conservadores protestantes en la determinación de la (belicosa) política exterior estadounidense. Más allá de estas consideraciones por demás maniqueas, fruto a menudo de la propaganda o de agendas particulares, resulta difícil negar el rebrote del debate religioso en la esfera pública e internacional. Luego de años durante los cuales el paradigma dominante se centró en el equilibrio de poder entre las dos superpotencias, el debate religioso parece querer estructurar una nueva visión del mundo.En este sentido, resulta interesante desarrollar dos conceptos que a menudo articulan el debate entre religión, Estado y esfera pública, pero que suelen ser pobremente explicados: laicidad y secularismo. Frecuentemente asociados o utilizados como términos intercambiables, representan una visión, que algunos calificarán de etnocéntrica y occidental, de un tipo de sociedad particular. Precisamente en la actualidad, cuando estos conceptos sufren las críticas provenientes de los círculos religiosos o pluralistas, es que conviene entonces interrogarse sobre su validez.Este trabajo se estructurará en 4 partes. La primera y segunda parte versarán sobre el desarrollo teórico y la distinción entre secularismo y laicidad y trataré más en detalle la concepción republicana y francesa de esta última. En tercer lugar se desarrollará la idea detrás del "mito de la laicidad o del secularismo" en las sociedades modernas. Por último, y a modo de conclusión, se presentará una visión alternativa a estas dos nociones, la de pluralismo.El secularismoEl secularismo pareció imponerse, a lo largo del siglo XX, como la nueva "religión" de las democracias liberales, apuntalando tanto la autonomía individual como la independencia del Estado frente a otra forma alternativa (y rival) de control, de organización y de lealtad social: la religión y la iglesia.En su acepción más simple, el término secular hace referencia a aquello que está desconectado de las cuestiones religiosas y espirituales. Derivado del latín "saeculum", que significa temporalidad, el secularismo sería entonces un proceso de distanciación entre las esferas religiosas y temporales. Esto no debe conducir, necesariamente, a una exclusión de la esfera religiosa del plano temporal, sino más bien a una valorización de las realidades humanas y sociales en una época determinada. El Hombre, centrado y anclado en su temporalidad, no es más una entidad ausente en su propia determinación. La secularización no rechaza obligatoriamente la religión, mas produce un cambio y un ajuste de la fe religiosa a las experiencias y realidades provocadas por el cambio histórico y temporal. Esta "temporalización" es conocida en nuestra época como modernización (Dallmayr, 1999: 720). El secularismo busca promover la libre elección y la autonomía individual. El hombre debe ser capaz de debatir con su conciencia, sin otra intervención que la suya propia. En este sentido, la creencia y la fe emanarían sencilla y únicamente de la libertad individual, y no de la sumisión a un poder terrenal.El origen del secularismo remonta a la transición entre la edad media y el renacimiento. Si el medioevo es antes que nada percibido como "l´age d´or" de la cristiandad, con la fe como motor y cimento de la sociedad, tanto en Oriente como en Occidente, los cuestionamientos que emergerán durante el renacimiento, amplificados posteriormente por los aportes filosóficos de la ilustración, provocarán el declive progresivo de la Iglesia en Occidente y el desarrollo de ideas y concepciones que posicionan al hombre en el centro del mundo y del universo, nociones en gran medida incompatibles con la subordinación del hombre a una potencia divina. Para Smith (2007:8), la Ilustración será responsable de socavar a lo religioso en sus fundamentos divinos y temporales, promoviendo un ateísmo y un anticlericalismo que emergerán como las nuevas referencias sociales y culturales. "L´age de la raison" cantonará progresivamente a la Iglesia al ámbito privado pero, argumenta el autor, la división entre Iglesia y sociedad, entre temporal y sagrado, será menos incuestionable que lo que los defensores de la tesis de la modernidad han pretendido. En efecto, las sociedades occidentales han construido sus sistemas de valores, sistemas que perduran hasta hoy en día, sobre los valores propios a la fe judeo-cristiana. Pero, podríamos argumentar, la valorización y aceptación de ciertos principios comunes, necesarios a la cohabitación pacífica, al respeto o al mantenimiento del orden social es una cosa, la creencia en una entidad superior, omnisciente y todo poderosa, es otra muy diferente. Ciertos teólogos argumentarán que la aceptación de los principios cristianos resulta indisociable de la creencia divina ya que los primeros carecen de sentido sin la última. Independientemente de dicha cuestión, los principios religiosos han fuertemente influenciado el sistema de valores de las sociedades modernas, sean estas seculares o, con más justa razón, religiosas.El siglo XIX reforzará la fractura entre religión y esfera pública, y bajo la égida de pensadores, positivistas en su gran mayoría, como Spencer, Comte, Durkheim, Webber o Marx, se promoverá la idea que las sociedades industriales debían quebrar sus cadenas y conducir al individuo hacia la libertad y la autonomía. En esta época nueva, que se abrirá a los albores del siglo XX "«…theological superstitions, symbolic liturgical rituals, and sacred practices are the product of the past that will be outgrown in the modern era. The death of religion was the conventional wisdom in the social sciences during most of the twentieth century." (Norris y Inglehart, 2004: 3). Esta idea de un vínculo casi mecánico entre progreso científico y secularización fue largamente defendida y articulada bajo la "tesis de la secularización".Uno de los primeros en explorar esta cuestión fue Peter Berger en The Sacred Canopy (1967), argumentando que la secularización y la modernización son dos fenómenos altamente correlacionados, uno no existe sin el otro, o más específicamente, la modernización conduce a la secularización de la sociedad (Berger renegará posteriormente, al menos en parte, este argumento). Para Berger, el racionalismo, así como el capitalismo, contribuyeron a la secularización a través de la diversificación productiva y el cuestionamiento de los dogmas y valores de la iglesia católica. En este sentido, la Reforma, como bien muestra Webber en su Ética Protestante, permitió limar progresivamente los límites de la libertad individual. Según la tesis de la secularización, el proceso evolutivo de las sociedades modernas transitaría desde un modelo holístico y tradicional, penetrado y dominado por la religión, hacia una sociedad con una creciente diversificación de las funciones sociales, provocando la marginalización y hasta la obsolescencia de la religión (Dallmayr, 1997: 718).Los defensores del liberalismo político consideran que la separación del Estado de la Iglesia es inevitable. La separación institucional entre estas dos entidades debe realizarse según tres principios liberales y democráticos (Audi, 1997: 38): un primer principio libertario, donde el Estado debe permitir el libre ejercicio de la religión; un segundo principio igualitario donde el Estado no debe permitir o expresar preferencia alguna de una religión sobre otra; por último, un principio de neutralidad donde el Estado no debe tampoco desfavorecer ninguna religión. Sin embargo, la aplicación de estos principios puede resultar más fácil en la teoría que en la práctica. Así lo expone Bader (1999: 599): "Liberal political philosophy excels in the construction of ideal models of well-ordered states and societies and ideally reasonable citizens ; it does not tell us how to judge or act under conditions of not so well ordered actual states and societies. Quite often, the link between the ideal world and the real one is missing, and yet the real world is treated as if it approximates or resembles the ideal world". Esta fractura entre un mundo teórico-ideal y el mundo real será aún más flagrante cuando tratemos de la laicidad, donde la rigidez y la generalidad de la ley se confrontan a las singularidades y complicaciones de una sociedad multicultural.En este esfuerzo de separación de las esferas pública y privada, conviene sin embargo aportar cierta precisión sobre dos términos cercanos y a menudo utilizados como sustitutos: secularismo y secularización. Algunas formas de secularización serían más tolerantes y abiertas que otras a la heterogeneidad religiosa. Para Mayer (1998: 33), la distinción entre secularismo y secularización reside en que el primero es un término con connotación negativa y doctrinaria mientras que el segundo sería un término más tolerante. La secularización implica una apertura al mundo y a su propia época (en detrimento de lo sobrenatural). El secularismo, por el contrario, perseguiría una agenda militante negando la existencia de cualquier elemento trascendental. La secularización sería entones un proceso natural, casi orgánico de cambio social y cultural, una evolución progresiva de las actitudes y de los valores dominantes en una sociedad, mientas que el secularismo se inscribiría dentro de una lucha por el poder terrenal entre dos entidades con agendas políticas discordantes: la Iglesia y el Estado. El secularismo sería así un arma política en el esfuerzo del naciente Estado de emanciparse de la tutela moral y política de la Iglesia. Si este debate puede quizá limitarse al rango de las disputas semánticas, no es menos cierto que subraya la importancia de la tolerancia, de la comprensión y la aceptación del otro en todo proceso de secularización, particularmente si ese otro es nada menos que lo divino o lo trascendental. Resulta claro entonces que el secularismo puede estar tentado de caer en las mismas derivas fanáticas que la más fundamentalista de las religiones, erigiendo sus propios principios al rango de dogmas sagrados (en particular si adoptamos la dicotomía negativa/positiva entre secularización y secularismo). Algunos estarían tentados de afirmar que el problema del racionalismo científico es su intransigencia frente a toda forma no racional de construcción del significado.La tesis de la secularización no se desarrolló sin generar un número importante de críticas y de visiones alternativas o contendientes. Algunas de estas tesis o teorías merecen un breve apartado (para un enfoque más detallado, ver Norris e Ingleheart, 2004, Sacred and Secular: Religion and Politics Worldwide, cap. 1). La tesis de la pérdida de fe propone la idea que el advenimiento de "l´age de la raison" y su enfoque empirista progresivamente minó los fundamentos dogmáticos y culturales de la religión, conduciendo a una erosión de la fe y de las prácticas religiosas en las sociedades más desarrolladas. Otra tesis, basada en un enfoque funcionalista e inspirada en los trabajos de Durkheim (Les formes élémentaires de la vie religieuse) es la de pérdida de significado o sentido social, donde la religión es entendida no únicamente como un sistema de valores, sino también como un conjunto coherente de ritos y acciones que regulan la actividad humana y aseguran la cohesión social. Según esta tesis, la diferenciación estructural de las sociedades modernas, generada a través de la creación de instituciones (de protección, de asistencia o de educación) estatales (al menos en sus inicios), conduciría a la pérdida del sentido social de las instituciones religiosas. El Estado desplazaría entonces a la Iglesia en su dominio terrenal, relegándola casi exclusivamente al ámbito espiritual y privado.Norris e Inglehart presentan, ellos, una tesis de la secularización revisitada (2004:13), basándose en la noción de seguridad existencial. Dos axiomas son fundamentales a esta teoría. El axioma de seguridad propone que las condiciones de seguridad (en el más lato sentido desde una perspectiva socio-económica y de desarrollo humano) varían en función de las sociedades y que las características dadas de cada sociedad impactarán sobre el nivel de religiosidad: "the experiences of growing up in less secure societies will heighten the importance of religious values, while conversely experience of more secure conditions will lessen it " (2004 :18). El segundo axioma, de las tradiciones culturales, considera que las diferentes visiones del mundo (world views) originalmente asociadas con la religión, moldearon los diferentes sistemas de valores sociales. En la actualidad, estos valores no serían transmitidos y vehiculados a través de la iglesia, sino que serían el sistema educativo y los medios de comunicación los encargados de transmitir los valores relevantes.Conviene resaltar que si en Europa el secularismo tiene tanta importancia, es sobre todo porque ha sido reconocido por la mayoría de los Estados como un principio fundacional. Según Ferrari (2005: 12), las características principales , tanto políticas como legales del secularismo en Europa son: la libertad individual de culto, que conduce a la no-discriminación y a la irrelevancia de la religión en el usufructo de los derechos cívicos y políticos; la distinción entre Estado e Iglesia, asegurando por un lado la autonomía de las organizaciones religiosas y la ausencia de intervención estatal en sus doctrinas y organizaciones, y por otro lado, la independencia del Estado de toda forma de legitimación religiosa del poder Estatal, fundado pura y exclusivamente en la voluntad ciudadana. Sin embargo, debemos interrogarnos sobre la perspectiva o idea que el secularismo pueda "exportarse" sencillamente. Hemos visto que el secularismo fue un proceso histórico y político que acompañó en la mayoría de los países europeos la creación del Estado y de la Nación. El secularismo "a la europea" no puede por lo tanto disociarse de esa lucha intestina por el poder entre, por un lado, las fuerzas centralizadoras (y normativas) del naciente poder político, y por el otro, las fuerzas eclesiásticas, divinas quizá, pero temporales con total certeza. La construcción y legitimación del poder estatal (y ciudadano a posteriori) debió realizarse "a expensas" de su competidor directo por el control de las almas (y los recursos) terrenales. El Estado y la Iglesia no podían coexistir en el mismo plano político, económico y jurídico, y esta no-cohabitación se saldó ya sea en la exclusión de la Iglesia de la esfera temporal (como en el caso de Francia) o en la subordinación del poder religioso al poder estatal (como en el caso de Inglaterra). ¿En qué medida este proceso tan específico a Europa no creó condiciones particulares difícilmente exportables a otros contextos. ¿Cómo explicar el secularismo en países donde Estado e Iglesia no son más que uno? Antes de intentar responder a esta pregunta, conviene desarrollar la noción de laicidad.La laicidad¿Es acaso necesario introducir una distinción entre secularismo y laicidad? La laicidad, ese concepto "tellement français" que pena a atravesar las fronteras latinas, es a menudo traducido en Inglés como secularismo (Laborde, 2002: 168), pero permanecerá por siempre fuertemente asociado al proceso republicano francés. Si es posible remontar su génesis hasta la revolución francesa y la separación radical entre la Iglesia católica y el nuevo poder civil revolucionario, habrá que esperar hasta el fin del siglo XIX para asistir a las primeras tentativas de definición y aplicación institucional (los "interludios" de la Restauración, de la Monarquía de Julio y del III Imperio no son del todo ajenos al freno de las fuerzas laicas y republicanas). Hacia 1880, Ferdinand Buisson -uno de los primeros en teorizar sobre la laicidad-, se rebelaba contra "cet état des choses qui consistait essentiellement dans la confusion de tous les pouvoirs et de tous les domaines et la subordination de toutes les autorités à une autorité unique, celle de la religion" (en Bauberot, 2004 :14). La laicización, a imagen del secularismo, se construye sobre la conquista progresiva de esferas de influencia en el ejército, en la función administrativa, en la justicia y, lugar de batalla estratégico entre Estado e Iglesia, en la escuela. Pero hasta aquí nada nuevo o radicalmente diferente con respecto al secularismo. Sin entrar en un pormenorizado detalle del recorrido histórico de la laicidad, destaquemos que transita un proceso similar al del secularismo, aunque es posterior en el tiempo, con el progreso y aumento de la influencia de las fuerzas anticlericales y libre-pensadoras. Jean Bauberot (2007:48) identifica tres características distintas de la laicización en sus inicios. La primera es la fractura institucional de la religión y el retroceso de su influencia social, conducente a la autonomía creciente de otras instituciones sociales. La segunda característica es que, no obstante su deterioro institucional, la religión mantiene una importante legitimidad social. La última característica de este proceso inicial de laicización sería la aceptación del pluralismo religioso.Podemos ahora introducir una primera distinción entre laicidad y secularización, basándonos en el aporte de Claude Langlois, que distingue entre una laicidad de combate y una laicidad de Estado (Langlois, 2005: 11). La primera, llamada laicidad de combate o de convicción, puede ser asimilada a la secularización en el sentido que se trata, para las fuerzas laicas, de ganar terreno y de afirmar la primacía de sus principios y de recuperar las esferas de influencias otrora dominadas por las fuerzas religiosas. La segunda forma de laicidad, de Estado, hace referencia a la incorporación de los principios laicos al orden constitucional. Esta forma es característica de Francia y de su República y consagrada en el primero artículo de su constitución (La laicidad del Estado en Francia quedó legalmente consagrada en la ley de 1905 de "Separación de las Iglesias y del Estado"): "La France est une République indivisible, laïque, démocratique et sociale. Elle assure l'égalité devant la loi de tous les citoyens sans distinction d'origine, de race ou de religion. Elle respecte toutes les croyances", y ha sido emulada por numerosos países, en particular los de tradición y convicción republicana, como el Uruguay1. La laicidad "a la francesa" articula dos principios, si bien no directamente antinómicos, a menuda problemáticamente conciliables, a saber la igualdad ante la ley y el reconocimiento de la libertad religiosa. La religión, o la pluralidad de religiones, no puede socavar el principio de igualdad de tratamiento ante la ley y no debe constituir una barrera a la igualdad de oportunidades. El segundo principio estipula que la república respeta todas las creencias. Como ha sido dicho, la cohabitación de estos principios puede ser problemática.Si el principio de igualdad ante la ley se opone a todo aquello que es singular o distintivo (siendo la religión parte de esa singularidad), el principio de libertad debe asegurar el respeto de todas las creencias y asegurarles la libertad de expresión. Esta cohabitación entre ambos principios es expresada por Langlois (2005: 14): "Con vistas a la igualdad, la religión no puede ser legítima, ya que no es más que una diferencia entre tantas otras, con vistas a la libertad, las religiones deben ser respetadas, con sus respectivas diferencias". Una de las críticas a esta forma particular de laicidad es justamente ese "tire y afloje" entre igualdad y libertad. Las tensiones comunitarias a menudo son el resultado de la incomprensión de este marco de aplicación de las libertades individuales. La laicidad implica que las libertades individuales son aseguradas en el ámbito privado, y que el Estado hará nula distinción, ni favorecerá una religión sobre otra, pero, desde el momento en que penetramos en el dominio público (ya sea en la escuela, en el juzgado e inclusive en una agitada calle comercial del centro Parisino), la libertad de creencias queda subordinada a la única "religión oficial", es decir a la aceptación y la lealtad hacia los principios republicanos y hacia la República, siendo la laicidad uno de sus puntos centrales. No puede existir, en una república laica, principio superior al de igualdad, ya que la igualdad de los ciudadanos es la razón de ser de todo gobierno republicano, fundado en la pertenencia de los ciudadanos a un proyecto común, único e indivisible (y democrático en el caso francés o uruguayo). Para asegurar este ideal, la religión, tal como la raza o el género, no puede ser tomada como un polo de diferenciación, ya que crearía diferentes categorías de ciudadanos. A riesgo de ser repetitivo, la laicidad no tiene sentido si la igualdad no se transforma en la base fundacional de la sociedad o, invirtiendo el orden de los factores, la laicidad es una condición necesaria para asegurar la igualdad ciudadana.Un enfoque innovador es propuesto por Cecile Laborde (2002), que no describe la laicidad únicamente como la separación entre Iglesia y Estado, sino que reconoce un fenómeno de naturaleza compleja, sujeto a interpretaciones alternativas y hasta por momentos contradictorias. La primera variante, llamada de neutralidad, hace referencia a la neutralidad entre la esfera política y la religiosa, a la separación de poderes y al compromiso por parte del Estado de no intervenir en el ámbito de las creencias privadas ni de privilegiar una forma de creencia sobre otra. La segunda variante presentada por el autor, calificada como de autonomía (2002: 171) requiere esta vez un rol activo por parte de las instituciones públicas como promotores de la laicidad como "filosofía de la emancipación humana". El Estado no sería ya el garante de la neutralidad, sino una fuerza liberal encargada de forjar y promover la autonomía (la libre elección) de sus ciudadanos. Esta lógica, inspirada del liberalismo político, choca contra las fuerzas conservadoras que ven en este esfuerzo de "conversión" una violación del principio de neutralidad del Estado e inclusive del principio de libertad ya que, argumentan, la promoción de la laicidad no es nada menos que la difusión ideológica de preceptos morales y políticos destinados a alienar y alejar al individuo de la religión. La misión activa de la instrucción pública de inculcar los principios laicos se asemejaría al catequismo religioso del siglo XIX. Una respuesta a favor de la tesis de la autonomía argumentaría que la laicidad contribuye a formar ciudadanos responsables y democráticos, ya que la autonomía alejaría al individuo de concepciones dogmáticas y arbitrarias y conduciría hacia procesos pluralistas donde la critica y los cuestionamientos racionales son perfectamente admitidos. No obstante, conviene resaltar que nada prueba que las democracias laicas sean mas pluralistas y abiertas al debate que las democracias no laicas.La tercera forma de laicidad propuesta por Laborde (2002: 176), que ya hemos evocado parcialmente, es la laicidad como comunidad, es decir la aceptación del principio laico como vector central y constitutivo de la identidad común de una sociedad. En Francia, entonces, ser republicano implica ser laico (lo que no significa que uno no pueda ser ferviente creyente), y ser laico es admitir la primacía de los principios republicanos sobre otras formas de construcción de significado, por lo menos en lo relacionado al funcionamiento político y social. Pero esto no hubiese sido posible sin la voluntad de las instituciones públicas de buscar suplantar la lealtad hacia la Iglesia y promover principios liberales. Esta cultura cívica republicana promueve antes que nada la fraternidad entre los miembros de la comunidad. Es, en ese sentido, ya que fomenta la fraternidad del grupo, discriminatoria con respecto al exterior, al extranjeroEstos tres enfoques son difícilmente reconciliables y cada uno intenta sintetizar uno de los tres puntos cardinales del republicanismo francés. La primera forma de laicidad (de neutralidad) intenta asegurar la igualdad a través de la neutralidad del Estado, mientras que la segunda busca promover la libertad del individuo gracias a su autonomía sobre otras formas de dominación ideológicas o espirituales. Por último, la tercer forma de laicidad refuerza la fraternidad de los individuos al interior de una comunidad. La crítica que podemos realizar a este enfoque es que sólo funciona en "circuito cerrado", en el sentido que estas formas de laicidad sólo son válidas si aceptamos los principios republicanos, y es en particular por esta razón que la laicidad a la francesa es difícilmente exportable y comprensible para otros sistemas políticos. La libertad y la fraternidad son antes que nada nociones intra-comunitarias subordinadas a la aceptación previa de los principios republicanos.Otro ataque contra la laicidad, bastante común entre los adversarios de esta idea, propone que la laicidad no sería más que un concepto negativo, ya que expresaría lo que no está permitido en el funcionamiento y la estructura de las instituciones públicas (en este caso la religión y la Iglesia), contrariamente a la secularización que sería un concepto positivo que determina lo que si está permitido2 (Kucuradi, 1998: 72). Esta visión refleja perfectamente la incomprensión o desconocimiento de la laicidad a la francesa, percibida más como parte de una agenda política propia al Estado Francés que como un movimiento de emancipación similar a la secularización presente en otros países.Resulta por lo tanto difícil diferenciar estas dos nociones y podemos justamente preguntarnos si no estamos ya en presencia de un debate más semántico que ontológico. En la medida en que la laicidad sea percibida como una excepción "francesa", un tanto revolucionaria y anticlerical, y sobre todo muy republicana, entonces sí contiene singularidades difícilmente asimilables a otros movimientos seculares. Sin embargo, Francia no es el único país a declararse constitucionalmente laico ni a realizar una clara demarcación entre esfera pública y privada. No obstante, no es menos cierto que la laicidad puede ser considerada como la "evolución definitiva" del secularismo ya que, en la práctica, el secularismo es más tolerante en la incorporación de la religión en la esfera pública, llegando hasta a reconocer una religión de Estado o a impartir cursos de religión en las escuelas públicas, como es el caso en Inglaterra o Dinamarca. Si la secularización es antes que nada un proceso cultural e histórico de emancipación con respecto a lo sagrado y divino, la laicización concierne a los arreglos institucionales y políticos con respecto a la relación entre Estado, religión y sociedad. Puede existir secularización sin laicización, pero no puede existir laicización sin secularización. 1- El artículo 5 de la Constitución de la República Oriental del Uruguay reconoce la laicidad de Estado "El Estado no sostiene religión alguna", así como el pluralismo y la tolerancia religiosa: "Todos los cultos religiosos son libres en el Uruguay", mientras que el artículo 8 reconoce la igualdad de los ciudadanos y la no- discriminación : "Todas las personas son iguales ante la ley no reconociéndose otra distinción entre ellas sino la de los talentos o las virtudes". La laicidad de Estado en el Uruguay fue introducida en la constitución de 1918. En la constitución de 1830 (vigente hasta la entrada en vigor de la constitución de 1918), se establecía como religión de Estado la Católica Apostólica Romana (art 5).2- Vimos previamente la distinción realizada por Mayer entre secularismo (negativo ya que provisto de una "agenda política") y secularización (positiva ya que sería un proceso de evolución social "orgánico"). Si aceptamos esta distinción, entonces en este caso la laicidad podría asemejarse a la secularización. *Este artículo fue presentado en la 5° sesión el Seminario Interno de Discusión Teórica 2014, organizado por el Departamento de Estudios Internacionales de la Universidad ORT Uruguay.Germán Clulow es Licenciado en Estudios Internacionales por la Universidad ORT –Uruguay, Master en Ciencia Política por la Université de Genève – Suiza, y Master en Estudios de Desarrollo por el Instituto de Altos Estudios Internacionales y de Desarrollo (IHEID-The Graduate Institute) Ginebra, Suiza

4. La perspectiva de los burócratas: el pensamiento de Octavio Morató sobre la autonomía del BROU y el estatuto de los funcionarios bancarios Octavio Morató fue Gerente del BROU desde 1921 sucediendo a Jorge West. Dejó su puesto de Gerente en 1937, pasando a desempeñarse como Asesor Técnico del Banco hasta su jubilación definitiva en 1940. Fue funcionario del Banco desde su fundación en 1896. Inicia su carrera como Jefe de la sección Responsabilidades, pasa por Teneduría de Libros, Sub-Contador, Contador General, Gerente, Sub-Gerente A, hasta llegar a la Gerencia de la institución en 1921. Morató no sólo fue, además, uno de los economistas más influyentes de su época, referente permanente en cuestiones bancarias y financieras y activo participante en múltiples actividades académicas, políticas y técnicas a nivel nacional e internacional (1). La síntesis del pensamiento de Morató proviene de dos fuentes: la compilación de su actuación en el BROU titulada "Al servicio del Banco de la República y la economía uruguaya" (MORATÓ, 1976) y la conferencia dictada en 1924 en la Caja Nacional de Ahorros y Descuentos. Esta última fue publicada en forma de libro a posteriori, "Los funcionarios de las industrias del Estado" (MORATÓ, 1943). Este material es necesariamente incompleto. Como se consigna en "Al servicio.", Morató conservaba en su archivo personal copia de toda su actuación en el BROU, llenando la misma unos 50 biblioratos formato oficio. De ese archivo se incluyeron en el mencionado libro 52 informes referentes a múltiples cuestiones bancarias, económicas, proyectos de cambio y cuestiones de gobierno de la institución. Por tanto, queda dentro de nuestra exploración aquella zona de la actuación de Morató que el recopilador de "Al servicio ." encontró razonable y pertinente publicar. Por suerte, dicho recopilador (2) fue seguramente alguien que conoció de cerca los temas de mayor importancia para Morató y de los 52 informes publicados, hay 9 que están dedicados precisamente a temas relativos a la defensa de la autonomía administrativa de la institución (3).Esta síntesis tiene dos objetivos:Mostrar el sentido que para Morató comportaba el concepto de autonomía, como una forma peculiar de administración alejada de lo que él llama el"régimen desquiciador de la administración pública" (MORATÓ, 1976: 370).Mostrar los argumentos que empleó Morató para defender las prerrogativas del BROU para administrarse a sí mismo (dentro de lo que establecía la constitución y la tradición administrativa del instituto).4.1. El concepto de autonomía y su sentido en la vida política nacional según Octavio Morató. El punto basal de la defensa que hace Morató de la autonomía administrativa del BROU es su visión histórica de la misma. Es decir, su idea de que la autonomía es un producto peculiar de la historia del país. Como ha sido señalado (SOLARI, FRANCO, 1983), el origen histórico de la descentralización por servicios es algo que progresivamente fue perdiendo peso en los debates sobre las empresas públicas. De ahí la importancia de los argumentos de Morató: su argumentación histórica es una prueba de que en las empresas públicas se estaba creando un estamento muy particular de burócratas. Hay tres grandes ejes en la visión de Morató sobre los entes industriales y su rol en la vida política y económica del país:Hay una "razón histórica y una razón científica" para la autonomía administrativa.La organización autonómica (o ente autónomo) no puede ser tratada como el resto de la administración pública.Un ente autónomo busca la eficiencia de una empresa privada, pero no es una empresa privada.4.1.1. Hay una "razón histórica y una razón científica" para la autonomía administrativaComenzaremos por la conferencia dictada en 1924 en la Caja Nacional de Ahorros y Descuentos sobre el estatuto de los "funcionarios industriales" del Estado. En la misma, Morató defiende la tesis de que los funcionarios de la banca estatal son funcionarios "especiales". El objetivo es refutar la tesis rival según la cual a los mismos debían ser clasificados como funcionarios públicos. En el lenguaje de Morató, las autonomías (que constituyen la forma de organizar la intervención del Estado en la economía) tienen una "razón histórica y una razón científica". Para Morató, la historia impuso nuevas funciones al Estado y en la asunción de las mismas fue necesario delegar ciertos aspectos en corporaciones especializadas con variables grados de libertad para decidir. En un principio hubo autonomía técnica, pero la misma no implicaba autonomía administrativa. En la Instrucción Pública, Facultades de Estudios Superiores, Caridad Pública, etc.; el Poder Ejecutivo era quien nombraba los empleados, fijaba los sueldos, etc. Con la evolución de estos institutos, algunos de ellos comienzan a adquirir grados más elevados de autonomía administrativa en la medida en que por razón de su función perciben algún tipo de renta independiente de los recursos del Estado. Sucesivamente se llega a la constitución de los entes con mayor grado de autonomía, siendo – en la visión de Morató- los bancos República e Hipotecario los únicos con autonomía"completa"."Todas las escalas de autonomía que he descrito, no han resultado de la concepción de un plan general, sino de la gravitación de hechos, en algunos casos, de la ratificación de situaciones especiales creadas por la participación del Estado en empresas de servicio general en otros y del instinto, más que de la visión clara de las conveniencias públicas, en las primeras autonomías creadas; luego, de una concepción superior perfectamente disciplinada, que presidió las confirmaciones que se hicieron, reafirmando la política económica, dentro del terreno práctico de las autonomías, al reorganizar ciertos institutos" (MORATÓ, 1943: 26).Destaca el éxito del modelo organizacional del BROU y cómo dicho éxito"constituyó el más grande y poderoso estímulo para que el Estado se propusiera, con seguridad de éxito, entrar de lleno a detentar la explotación de industrias que estaban en manos de particulares, ya creando privilegios, ya adquiriendo instituciones privilegiadas, u organizándolas sobre la base de monopolios o constituyéndolas en competencia con la industria privada" (MORATÓ, 1943: 14-15).La base de la razón científica estará en la división del trabajo y la especialización de funciones. "Todas estas corporaciones [los Consejos Directivos de los servicios descentralizados] se constituyeron con el fin de entregar una gran parte de la gestión o de las funciones del Estado, a elementos especializados o que se especializaran en ellas, aplicando así la conocida y provechosa fórmula de la división del trabajo. Los consejos o Comisiones tenían, y tienen todavía, autonomía en su función técnica, es decir: en la función primordial, que ha sido objeto o es de su constitución. Naturalmente, la autonomía técnica debía girar dentro de las líneas generales que sus leyes orgánicas habían delineado, pero dentro de ellas, autonomía al fin" (MORATÓ, 1943: 23).Para Morató, división y especialización de funciones encarnan la búsqueda de la"eficiencia" en la administración pública:"(…) del estudio del conjunto de todas esas leyes especiales [las Cartas Orgánicas]y de su comparación se descubre que los grados de autonomía han sido inspirados, en todo tiempo, por estas dos ideas directrices: división del trabajo y la especialización de funciones, como medio de obtener la 'eficiencia' en ciertos ramos de la administración pública; la autonomía es el modo de realizar esos propósitos" (MORATÓ, 1943: 26).Como consecuencia de esta manera de pensar, Morató reclama que la autonomía se considere en toda la extensión del vocablo una vez aprobado el artículo 100 de la Constitución (4): "autonomía de gestión; autonomía de administración, por lo menos dentro de las líneas generales que las leyes especiales que rigen cada instituto y que no han sido derogadas, les ha acordado" (MORATÓ, 1943: 21).4.1.2. La organización autonómica (o ente autónomo) no puede ser tratada como el resto de la administración públicaMorató identifica a la administración pública con el predominio del patronazgo político en el ingreso y en el desarrollo de la carrera administrativa. Esto involucra una forma de organización no científica, irracional, "desquiciada"fruto del manejo "político" de su estructura. Frente a este concepto contrapone el de organización autonómica como aquella en la que es posible poner en práctica la "disciplina científica de la administración". Esto último es producto del hecho de no estar vinculada orgánicamente "al virus disolutivo de la política" (MORATÓ, 1976: 370) y tener la posibilidad de experimentar libremente con diferentes métodos de organización tal como sucede en la empresa privada. Un claro indicador de esta diferenciación está en la contraposición del régimen del BROU (o de los entes autónomos en general) como excepcional frente al de la administración pública como "régimen vulgar". Otro indicador es la constante asimilación que hace Morató del régimen autonómico con el de la empresa privada. Hay dos amenazas que Morató intenta conjurar. Por un lado, el problema del status de los funcionarios de los entes autónomos. Si los funcionarios del BROU son considerados como funcionarios públicos dos problemas enfrentan los administradores del instituto. Primero, el problema de la inflexibilidad del régimen de funcionarios públicos (se pueden contratar libremente pero no despedir libremente). Segundo, el problema de la autoridad de los administradores frente a los funcionarios. Si el ingreso y la carrera están sujetos a la intermediación política, el instituto pierde autoridad frente a sus funcionarios. La otra amenaza que percibe Morató es la posibilidad de que se multipliquen los controles del gobierno sobre las decisiones de los directorios autónomos. Más posibilidad de control central implica, para Morató, enlentecer la toma de decisiones del instituto.En lo que respecta a los funcionarios de los entes industriales, defiende la"condición excepcional" de los funcionarios del Banco (lo cual implica que no pueden ser considerados funcionarios públicos). Justifica esta excepcionalidad en la idea de organización "científica", asimilable en su régimen de ingreso y carrera al de la empresa privada:"Los funcionarios de las industrias del Estado están regidos por reglamentos especiales, dictados por el Directorio de la institución a la cual sirven. Los Directorios resuelven inapelablemente, sobre la situación de los empleados sometidos a su autoridad. Los empleados públicos son agentes del Estado; como tales tienen su representación y autoridad dentro del puesto para el cual han sido nombrados. Los empleados de las industrias del Estado tienen carácter privado y, como las instituciones de que forman parte, están sometidos a las disposiciones del derecho común, como cualquier particular. Los funcionarios de los Bancos de Estado, se encuentran en una posición -de hecho y de derecho- más aproximada a la de los Bancos privados, que a la de los empleados civiles del Estado"(MORATÓ, 1943: 31).En lo que respecta a los controles centrales, Morató critica –durante los años de 1930- algunos institutos creados con el fin de aumentar dichos controles. Tal es el caso del Tribunal de Cuentas. Este organismo fue creado en 1934 con el fin de realizar la vigilancia y superintendencia en todo lo relativo a presupuestos y gestión de la Hacienda Pública (5). En dos ocasiones, Morató escribió acerca de las disposiciones que regían al Tribunal y cómo las mismas afectaban el normal desempeño de las funciones del Banco (octubre de 1934 y agosto de 1936). En noviembre de 1936 Morató redacta un Memorando en el cual reúne sus opiniones sobre el Tribunal y su actuación con relación al BROU. En los primeros dos años de funcionamiento del Tribunal habían surgido frecuentes discrepancias con el BROU en cuanto a la apreciación de problemas de orden técnico-contable y administrativos y sobre las maneras de resolverlos (MORATÓ, 1976: 524-525).4.1.3. Un ente autónomo busca la eficiencia de una empresa privada, pero no es una empresa privadaEn este punto, aparece el otro elemento central de la concepción de ente autónomo. Si bien hay una constante asimilación de la organización y administración a los preceptos seguidos en la empresa privada, un ente autónomo no es una empresa privada. Se orienta a la consecución del lucro, pero no exclusivamente. Y esto porque el ente autónomo es el lugar, por excelencia para Morató, del interés público, entendido como el interés nacional más allá de "la divisa". Cuando Morató trata la defensa de la autonomía presupuestaria del BROU hace especial énfasis en este aspecto:"El Banco de la República no es una institución únicamente comercial, es una institución de carácter público y de utilidad pública. Como institución comercial, consulta los resultados financieros de sus negocios, hasta donde le permite asegurar la permanente solvencia de la institución; como entidad de carácter público, es un formidable punto de apoyo de las finanzas nacionales, del crédito público, del servicio de la circulación monetaria y de la estabilidad de la moneda y del cambio internacional; y, en fin, en su función de servicio público, fomenta el ahorro nacional, organiza toda clase de facilidades que pone a disposición del Estado y de la población en las mejores condiciones de comodidad; atiende los intereses superiores de la producción, del comercio y de la industria, con la multiplicación y diversificación de los servicios administrativos, técnicos e informativos, con el propósito principal de servir esos intereses .[Por tanto] no puede decidirse sobre el peso de los gastos administrativos del Banco de la República, considerados desde el punto de vista comercial, exclusivamente". (MORATÓ, 1976: 121)Y, en tanto el BROU (como ente autónomo) es el locus del "interés público", Morató siempre tiende a identificar el interés del BROU con el "interés nacional".No sólo el Banco debe estar protegido –vía descentralización autonómica- del "virus disolutivo de la política", sino también de las"conveniencias financieras del Estado". Un texto que resume estos 3 aspectos clave de la concepción autonomista de Morató es "El pacto de los partidos tradicionales y sus consecuencias en el Banco de la República" (MORATÓ, 1976). En el mismo hay una dura crítica del autor sobre el "pacto del chinchulín" celebrado entre los representantes batllistas y blancos en el CNA (6. En dicho documento, Morató advierte que las consecuencias del pacto serán el comienzo del fin de la "esencia básica de la formación de los entes autónomos", y en particular el fin de un estilo de dirección a nivel del BROU:"La adhesión del Directorio a la fórmula del Consejo Nacional de Administración, significa:el renunciamiento a la autonomía administrativa, dejándola en manos del Consejo Nacional;la sumisión de los intereses del Banco y los del país, comprometidos también, a las conveniencias financieras del Estado, identificados ambos para hacer frente a las vicisitudes que el tiempo pueda depararle a éste;la destrucción de la organización administrativa, de fundamental importancia para instituciones como el Banco de la República, y su sustitución por el régimen vulgar de la administración pública, donde predominan, no las condiciones de preparación y capacidad, sino las ventajas de interés político. El ingreso a la institución y el ascenso, no serán ya concedidos al más apto; el mejor adaptado triunfará" (MORATÓ, 1976: 369-370).5. ConclusionesPara cerrar la reflexión planteada en la ponencia, quisiéramos destacar tres elementos referidos al pensamiento del actor burocrático en los años veinte y treinta del siglo pasado.En primer lugar, la fuerte compenetración entre el personal jerárquico de carrera de la institución y los Directorios del BROU en la defensa de los "fueros autonómicos" del instituto.En segundo lugar, la relevancia del actor burocrático al momento de asegurar la continuidad de los objetivos para los cuales fueron creados los entes autónomos. Un aspecto no menor cuando se piensa en continuidades a nivel institucional. Para Octavio Morató el problema que está detrás de los cuestionamientos a las libertades administrativas de los entes frente a la administración central, es el desconocimiento de las razones históricas por las cuales los entes fueron dotados de dichas libertades. Consciente de que el formato autonómico es una rareza tanto desde el punto de vista constitucional como de los valores de la sociedad uruguaya, justifica la autonomía por razones "científicas". Por eso, el lenguaje abstracto de la"correlación entre función, gestión y agente" debe interpretarse con cuidado. No se trata de retórica positivista. Es un recurso argumental esgrimido en un momento en el cual la discusión sobre la administración de los entes se producía en forma desconectada con el marco histórico en el cual surgieron los mismos. Por eso Morató describe primero el marco histórico para luego justificarlo en términos"científicos".Por último, la autopercepción del actor burocrático acerca de su rol en la administración. Morató veía al conjunto de los Entes Autónomos Industriales y Comerciales como un espacio privilegiado para la realización del interés público. La clave de esta posibilidad estaba en la autonomía administrativa ya que permitiría una administración independiente del interés partidario. En la visión de Morató un Directorio autónomo es un Directorio que decide en función de los intereses del BROU, a los cuales equipara con los intereses del país. Un Directorio"político", "con divisa", nombrado en base a razones políticas o acuerdos electorales tendría como consecuencia transformar al BROU en una "repartición del Estado, a la manera de una oficina pública, bajo un director que no tiene facultades, atribuciones, ni independencia ni otro criterio que aquel que le permite el pequeñísimo margen de los reglamentos administrativos dictados por el CNA" (MORATÓ, 1976: 371).(1) Carlos Quijano al revisar la actuación del Banco República en la política monetaria de los años veinte comenta: "En ese período de nuestra historia bancaria hay dos o tres presidentes del Banco que actúan con una gran autoridad moral, pero hay un hombre que actúa con gran autoridad técnica, no obstante la modestia de su vida, que es don Octavio Morató, a quien no se le ha hecho la justicia que merece". (QUIJANO, 1995: 266)(2) En el libro referido no se aclara quien fue el recopilador, pero con toda seguridad fue el hijo de Morató, el Dr. Octavio Morató Rodríguez. Fue éste quien desde 1971 se ocupó de realizar gestiones ante el Senado para la publicación de la obra (MORATÓ 1976: 5 – 8). Es razonable pensar que el hijo de Morató conocía de cerca las preocupaciones de su padre dado que nació en 1901, contando con 42 años a la muerte de su padre en 1943.(3) Ver Morató (1976), asuntos nº: 5, 8, 9, 24, 25, 30, 32, 46 y 48.(4) Esta misma postura defendió el directorio del BROU a lo largo de los años de 1920. También coincidieron hombres de los partidos políticos como Martín C. Martínez que veían en el excesivo celo "literalista" de algunos juristas una traba a la realización de todo el potencial de los entes autónomos.(5) El artículo 201 de la Constitución de 1934 prescribe: "La vigilancia en ejecución de los presupuestos y la función de contralor en toda gestión relativa a la Hacienda Pública, será de cargo del Tribunal de Cuentas de la República, que actuará con autonomía funcional, siendo de resorte de la ley que proyectará el mismo Tribunal, la reglamentación de su autonomía, así como la fijación de las atribuciones no especificadas en este capítulo".(6) Téngase presente al leer las críticas de Morató que él mismo era de extracción batllista. 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La tesis "El Derecho del Trabajo democrático en la República de Weimar" es, de una parte, una introducción contextualizadora a la historia político-social, sindical, del Derecho del Trabajo y de la obra de significados juristas demócratas comprometidos con el nacimiento de la nueva disciplina jurídica (y en parte responsables de su constitucionalización) y con su desarrollo en la República de Weimar, así como una consideración transversal y comparativa de varias instituciones fundamentales propias de este nuevo campo jurídico, constitucionalizado en la carta magna alemana de 1919: la constitución económica y del trabajo, la socialización de los medios privados de producción y el consejismo obrero, consideradas en su contexto histórico y desde diversas ópticas de la izquierda socialdemócrata y comunista . Contenido de la investigación: 1. El contexto histórico El inicio de la República weimariana coincide con una profunda crisis de un modelo socio-político alemán - imperial, liberal y burgués, a su vez con contradicciones inherentes a una modernización acelerada de la economía y de la sociedad conviviendo con estructuras cuasi feudales - que concluye abruptamente con el derrumbe del imperio y, en expresión personalizada y gráfica del mismo, con la huida del Káiser y la necesidad de asumir un poder que se halla abandonado en la calle para quien quiera, o pueda, hacerlo suyo. Dada la profunda bancarrota de quienes llevaron a Alemania al desastre - el establishment sobre todo prusiano de militares, terratenientes e industriales, aglutinado políticamente en partidos conservadores -, la posibilidad fáctica de asumir un nuevo liderazgo tan sólo la tienen los socialdemócratas (tanto los mayoritarios como el USPD, ala izquierda escindida por oposición a la aprobación por parte del SPD de los créditos que hicieron posible financiar la Primera Guerra Mundial, quizá por razones tácticas relativas a su inclusión definitiva en el sistema, quizá por genuino patriotismo, temiendo una invasión zarista), o los consejistas radicales que se han levantado y, en cierta medida, contribuido a dar fin a la guerra, negándose los marinos de Kiel, organizados en soviets rebeldes, a inmolarse en el Mar del Norte. Ambos - socialdemócratas mayoritarios y minoritarios, y movimiento de los consejos a su izquierda - proclaman repúblicas al mismo tiempo. El poder tradicional - el ejército, la gran industria - apoya secretamente a los socialdemócratas, ante el pavor de que se repita en Alemania lo que dos años antes ha acaecido en Rusia, devenida república popular soviética. La gran patronal reconoce a los sindicatos y pacta con sus líderes un nuevo statu quo de condiciones laborales y negociación colectiva (el Acuerdo Stinnes-Legien), sentando las bases de una comunidad del trabajo de la que también el futuro fascismo habrá de hacer uso. Las proclamaciones contradictorias de soberanía política se resuelven en una sangrienta y breve guerra civil, en la que los Freikorps siguen las órdenes del socialdemócrata Noske. Rosa Luxemburgo, Karl Liebknecht y miles de personas más son asesinados. Los líderes del movimiento consejista aceptan - no sin tensiones - ceder la soberanía que estiman ostentar a favor de un proceso democrático constituyente, al entender existente un compromiso de que la institución de los consejos será debidamente incluida en la nueva constitución. Cuando Hugo Preuss intente negarse a hacerlo, importantes manifestaciones y tensiones sociales le obligarán a reconsiderar su posición; y cuando la Ley de Consejos de Empresa de 1920 se vote, decenas de personas morirán acribilladas en las escaleras del Reichstag en expresión de la profunda discrepancia de los ya rescoldos del Rätebewegung respecto de su tímida positivización legal. Los diputados elegidos para llevar a cabo el proceso constituyente se refugian en la más segura y defendible ciudad de Weimar, quizá también buscando los ecos de la Alemania culturalmente gloriosa de Goethe y Schiller y, en pocos meses, culminan la reconstrucción política de lo que aún se llamará Reich a través de una nueva constitución. Los aspectos sociales y, muy especialmente, las cuestiones referentes a la socialización, a la participación de los trabajadores en la gestión de la economía y de la empresa, y al derecho de estos a la libertad sindical (y al de los sindicatos a existir y a cumplir con sus funciones socio-económicas) encuentran reflejo normativo en el texto constitucional. Hugo Sinzheimer formará parte como diputado de la comisión constitucional y de su pluma, al decir de todos, surgen, en esencia, los importantes y afamados artículos 159 - libertad de coalición - y 165 - constitución económica y constitución del trabajo, participación de los trabajadores en el gobierno económico y de la empresa - de la Constitución de 1919. Las tensiones de la época, resueltas en cada vez más frecuentes revoluciones comunistas, las propias circunstancias históricas de una Alemania en bancarrota social, política y económica e inmersa en una micro guerra civil - todo proceso constituyente es efecto de tensiones contradictorias, de equilibrios entre lo estructural y lo contingente - sin duda influyeron en un texto constitucional que aspiraba - temerariamente, según se ha escrito - a constitucionalizar y canalizar jurídica y civilizadamente la lucha de clases. 2. Sindicalismo y Derecho del Trabajo en la República de Weimar La temprana condición de clásico alcanzada por el Derecho del Trabajo de la República de Weimar, sin perjuicio de su carácter fundacional de la disciplina académica en las instituciones universitarias, es deudora, como apenas podría ser de otra manera, de una previa (¿pre?) historia sindical y jurídica. El sindicalismo autónomo, apoyado por el partido socialdemócrata, se había desarrollado notablemente en la Alemania de la segunda mitad del siglo XIX, con movimientos huelguísticos de gran influencia. Bismarck reaccionó ante la cuestión social prohibiendo los movimientos socialistas (Partido Socialdemócrata y sindicatos afines) y creando el primer sistema de Seguridad Social, con una intención de amortiguar los conflictos socioeconómicos que amenazaban la estabilidad del statu quo Reich. También la doctrina académica fue desarrollando una importante teorización sobre el Derecho del Trabajo, aún inexistente como disciplina autónoma. Juristas nacidos en la primera mitad del siglo XIX y conocidos como socialistas de cátedra fueron los pioneros: Schmoller, Brentano, Wagner, von Schönberg, Loening, Herkner, Schäffle… Otros juristas, estudiosos del Derecho Civil y del Derecho Romano, también contribuyeron a esta construcción dogmática: Gierke, Grünberg, Menger, Flesch, Lotmar. El más joven de todos ellos, y luego maestro y decano del Derecho del Trabajo weimariano, será Sinzheimer. Al inicio de la Primera Guerra Mundial, y a pesar de la fuerte resistencia del II Reich - hostil a cualquier desarrollo del derecho colectivo del trabajo y tan sólo dispuesto a conceder un mínimo de derechos laborales a título individual -, el movimiento sindical había conseguido consolidarse con más de dos millones de afiliados. La fuerza de los convenios colectivos reposaba en la capacidad de los contratantes para mantenerla. Y la mayoría de los líderes del propio movimiento sindical sostenían que esta radical autonomía, sostenida con su propia fuerza y al margen del Estado, era la mejor garantía de su eficacia. Tal concepción cambió tras la Revolución de Noviembre de 1918. El movimiento sindical evolucionó hacia una mayor confianza en el Estado, máxime tras la constitucionalización de la libertad de coalición y de los principios de participación de los trabajadores en el ámbito económico (incluido el centro de trabajo) y social. La relación entre los sindicatos y el Estado será cuestión compleja y no exenta de debate en el seno de la doctrina iuslaboralista. Como ejemplo relevante, la confianza de Sinzheimer en el Estado, tan propia de la tradición filosófica y jurídica alemana (expresándose en Hegel de forma tan conocida como notoria), quizá le impidiera considerar con la suficiente anticipación y clarividencia los riesgos de un corporativismo que sus discípulos - muy notablemente Kahn-Freund - sí supieron apreciar. El pecado de corporativismo - en contra de la hipótesis pluralista que quiso regularse en la Constitución de 1919 - se pagó en Weimar a muy alto precio, debilitando a los sindicatos - su poder declinó progresivamente desde que, en 1920, consiguieron impedir el éxito del Kapp Putsch -, impidiéndoles reaccionar con eficacia frente a la deriva antisindical y fascista de la República y abocándoles, finalmente, a su desaparición. Quizá sea una de las más importantes lecciones de la época. El Derecho del Trabajo, en todo caso, disfrutó de un importante desarrollo en los años weimarianos, hasta el punto de que Sinzheimer pudo llegar a afirmar que era una gran satisfacción haber vivido para verlo. El derecho colectivo del trabajo nació y fue jurídicamente regulado como tal, reconociéndose el derecho de coalición con sus libertades y garantías conexas, y primando el fruto de la negociación colectiva sobre el contrato individual. Se sustituyó el principio absolutista - Herr im Haus - por otro constitucional en la empresa, reconociéndose a los trabajadores el derecho a participar, a través de la institución de los consejos, en ciertas cuestiones económicas y sociales pertinentes a su centro de trabajo. Se reconoció e institucionalizó, asimismo, la función del Estado en la determinación de la forma y contenido de la relación laboral, de forma relevante en la imposición de arbitrajes obligatorios relativos a conflictos sociales, o en la posibilidad de extensión también obligatoria de convenios colectivos. Se regularon mediante estatutos relevantes derechos y obligaciones de los trabajadores, como la jornada laboral, los convenios colectivos, o prestaciones públicas de Seguridad Social, muy notablemente la pionera de seguro de desempleo. Alemania se unió, asimismo, a la OIT, y en 1927 ya habían sido ratificados cuatro tratados. Además, se creó una jurisdicción laboral y una ley procesal específica. Los graves problemas económicos de la República - y muy especialmente el Crack de 1929 - destruyeron muchas de las conquistas sindicales y de la fuerza del movimiento obrero. La afiliación se desmoronó y también la negociación colectiva. Hasta el Parlamento dejó de reunirse, cayendo la última coalición de gobierno weimariana por la negativa del SPD a desmantelar el sistema público de protección por desempleo. Pronto las relaciones laborales se vieron reguladas por decreto y a la baja. El desempleo creció exponencialmente. La República de Weimar nació con el movimiento consejista, estrechamente vinculada a cuestiones sociales y a su regulación jurídica. También naufragó junto con sus sindicatos y con su derecho social. El Derecho del Trabajo se hallaba en el corazón de la democracia weimariana, era su emblema, "el vínculo que conectaba a la República con la clase trabajadora", la herramienta mediante la que la Constitución de Weimar intentó organizar jurídicamente la lucha de clases y hacer de ella un elemento esencial de la evolución del derecho positivo. Promover y defender el Derecho Laboral era fundamental; atacarlo era atacar a la democracia y a la República. Como diría Kahn-Freund más de 40 años después, la "tragedia menor del Derecho del Trabajo reflejó la mayor tragedia de Alemania entre 1930 y 1933, y su colapso moral sin precedentes de los años siguientes". 3. Los juristas demócratas del trabajo Los juristas del Derecho del Trabajo democrático weimariano son manifestación de clasicismo y brillantez renovadora de una tradición nacida en el último tercio del siglo XIX - la de los Kathedersozialisten estudiosos de la relación entre economía y sociedad con una fuerte impronta marxista - y de otros juristas como Ihering, von Gierke - a su vez inspirado por la tradición jurídica de la Germania medieval objeto de sus estudios -, Ehrlich y Renner y, como antecedente inmediato, Philipp Lotmar. La cuestión social teorizada y expresada ya en un conflicto organizado durante la Alemania Guillermina, con importante participación de un movimiento obrero primero reprimido y luego apenas tolerado por el Reich alcanza, quizá prematuramente, un momento definitorio tras el terrible trauma de la Primera Guerra Mundial. Hugo Sinzheimer, quien había ya publicado - en la estela de Lotmar - importantes trabajos sobre la construcción jurídica del convenio colectivo y sobre el contrato de trabajo, tiene las condiciones adecuadas para ejercer una influencia decisiva en la creación de un (re) fundado, constitucionalizado y conceptualmente unificado Derecho del Trabajo alemán, que habría de tener una importante influencia en diversos sistemas jurídico-laborales más allá del ámbito germánico. Jurista del trabajo, sociólogo y antropólogo del derecho, político y experto en políticas legislativas, abogado e historiador, Hugo Sinzheimer sostiene una concepción humanista del derecho - el hombre y su emancipación como fin del derecho - que condiciona su concepción iuslaboralista, al rechazar (por falso, conforme a su concepción sociológica) cualquier formalismo negador la verdadera situación de desigualdad y dependencia propia de la relación laboral, tal como la venía conceptualizando la tradición romanista-liberal del libre contrato de trabajo, al que quiere desenmascarar. Ya no habrá de ser una relación entre "personas jurídicas", sino entre empleador y ser humano dependiente. El trabajo por cuenta ajena se desarrolla, además, en un entorno colectivo - la comunidad de trabajo, concepto a cuya problematicidad ya nos hemos referido - que requiere una también colectiva participación de todos sus integrantes. Los trabajadores han de participar, a través de órganos democráticos de representación colectiva, en la codecisión de un re-politizado ámbito de la empresa empresarial, con capacidad autonormativa. La política legislativa habría de ser el objetivo último de la teoría jurídica del Derecho del Trabajo, que no podría limitarse al análisis formal de la ley. Así lo practicó siempre Sinzheimer, generando nuevas propuestas regulatorias del ámbito iuslaboral, tanto sustantivas como procesales, influyendo en la creación de la jurisdicción social (y de su norma rituaria) en Alemania. En su evolución conceptual es resaltable el nuevo énfasis que, desde finales de los años 20, recupera la exigencia de democracia económica - y no solo política - como medio necesario para obtener una verdadera emancipación de los trabajadores. Ernst Fraenkel, Franz Neumann y Otto Kahn-Freund fueron todos ellos discípulos de Sinzheimer. De ellos, tan sólo Kahn-Freund fue jurista del trabajo a lo largo de toda su vida profesional y académica, con una importante influencia no sólo en el Derecho Laboral de la República weimariana sino también en el británico. Tanto Fraenkel como Neumann produjeron brillantes obras iuslaboralistas hasta su expulsión de Alemania por los nazis, deviniendo relevantes teóricos de la política desde entonces. Ernst Fraenkel sostuvo, con fundamento en el texto constitucional weimariano, el valor de una democracia colectiva en la que la pluralidad de los grupos sociales - incluidos los trabajadores organizados - habrían de participar de forma relevante, continua y con un alto grado de autonomía. Los trabajadores en cuanto tales - y los ciudadanos no investidos formalmente del poder público, no funcionarios - habrían de contribuir a conformar el orden económico y social, de una constitución no sólo política sino también económica. Durante toda su vida, Frankel fue un estudioso y defensor del pluralismo social como forma de organización política. La tutela de fuerza del trabajo era un elemento esencial de la constitución weimariana, y el Derecho del Trabajo (y muy especialmente el convenio colectivo) una manifestación esencial del mismo, como garante de una admisible distribución del producto social y de un reequilibrio del poder en la comunidad política, en la que se debe incluir el ámbito privado (o público) empleador; como depositario de las fuerzas de vanguardia progresista antes de transformarse en nuevas formas jurídicas. El Derecho del Trabajo tiene un especial significado político. Fraenkel criticó, como también lo harían Neumann y Kahn-Freund, la parcialidad interpretativa de la gran mayoría de unos jueces que durante la República se autoexcluyeron de su vinculación a la constitución y a las leyes en defensa subjetiva y parcial de una concepción social ajena a la autonomía de los agentes sociales que desembocaría en el totalitarismo fascista. Tras su emigración a EE.UU. publicó su obra clásica El Estado Dual, análisis y crítica del totalitarismo en la que expone la convivencia en Alemania de un parcial Estado normativo (ya que no de Derecho) no aplicable a quienes el régimen consideraba enemigos. Franz Neumann fue, en su faceta de académico del trabajo, un estudioso de los aspectos sociales de la Constitución de 1919 que, en su interpretación, intentó crear una democracia social basada en derechos tanto liberales y capitalistas, como socialistas: un compromiso entre ambos. Una interpretación sistemática del texto constitucional weimariano le hará concluir que el reconocimiento de los derechos de propiedad privada y de libertad contractual y de empresa están en última instancia sujetos al interés común, como efecto otros principios también constitucionales ( justicia - derecho a una existencia digna -, socialización, derecho de coalición, constitución/democratización del trabajo y de la economía). La libertad de asociación con propósito económico (la libertad de coalición) y la participación de los trabajadores en la codeterminación del ámbito productivo (la constitución del trabajo / constitución económica) y la protección por el Estado del interés de los trabajadores formarían parte esencial de los fundamentos sociales del nuevo orden constitucional. Su hipótesis, al igual que en Fraenkel, se basaba en la hipótesis pluralista, reconciliando al Estado con el movimiento obrero. Sin embargo, en la doctrina de Neumann tal pluralismo era inestable y destinado a quebrar por neutralización recíproca o hegemonía de alguno de los actores sociales. En su obra clásica Behemoth estudió la destrucción del pluralismo weimariano. Neumann estudió con rigor la libertad de coalición en la Constitución weimariana, deduciendo principios necesarios y conexos con la misma tras un análisis sistemático y finalista que ha devenido canónico. Fundamentó jurídicamente la condición de fundamentales de las libertades de asociación y coalición, no limitables por la exorbitante capacidad otorgada al poder ejecutivo por el artículo 48 de la carta magna, tras la conceptualización formal de los sindicatos como asociaciones con fin económico inmediato - que son las protegidas por el artículo 159 -, por más que en última instancia su fin sea también político. Las libertades de conflicto, de expresión, de prensa y de asociación entre ellas son derechos conexos de los sindicatos, que han de ser necesariamente reconocidos como efecto del propio derecho de coalición, así como el derecho de las coaliciones económicas (de los sindicatos) a suscribir acuerdos colectivos con eficacia normativa inderogable. Neumann fue muy crítico con la jurisprudencia social weimariana, criticando su alejamiento de la ley democrática y su parcialidad, fundamentando con detalle su opinión, y sosteniendo la necesidad en derecho de una interpretación jurisprudencial emancipatoria de los trabajadores, con base en la Constitución de la República. Kahn-Freund, abogado como Fraenkel y Neumann, juez en Berlín y, sobre todo, académico del trabajo, fue un decidido defensor de la necesaria independencia de sindicatos (y patronales) respecto del Estado, esencia de un colectivismo constitucionalmente garantizado en la República de Weimar y contrario al superado contractualismo individualista de origen romano. El sistema colectivista legaliza la lucha de clases y la convierte en un componente integral del desarrollo del sistema legal, en una tensión socialmente creativa. El alto tribunal social weimariano (el RAG) habría distorsionado ese pluralismo colectivista, convirtiéndolo en corporativismo fascista (defensa de la necesidad de la colaboración sindical en el superior interés de la empresa). Para Kahn-Freund, la función del Derecho del Trabajo weimariano habría evolucionado desde sus orígenes en 1919 y hasta la anulación de la autonomía colectiva mediante los decretos del final de la República. El colectivismo autónomo, capaz de autogeneración normativa - conforme a la intención del texto constitucional -, con respeto por parte del Estado a una lucha (no ilimitada) de clases, participando en la generación de normas legales para permitir una eficacia social y reequilibradora del conflicto social, fue quebrando progresivamente en Weimar, mediante una cada vez mayor intervención estatal en la regulación del conflicto social, una intervención sesgada y contraria al conflicto (e incluso a la tensión) social por parte de una judicatura conservadora e imbuida de una ideología de comunidad social estática y con intereses no contradictorios (las organizaciones de trabajadores y empresarios serían percibidos como una especie de órganos públicos al servicio del interés estatal) y una pérdida de autonomía sindical, acabando con la libertad de los sindicatos. El resultado final es de todos conocido. Karl Korsch fue un jurista del trabajo que evolucionó desde el fabianismo de su etapa formativa en Inglaterra hasta el comunismo ortodoxo y su ulterior expulsión del Partido por "ultraizquierdista", tras haber pasado también por la socialdemocracia, la mayoritaria y la escindida del USPD. Su biografía es una odisea en parte extraña, pero también sintomática de la izquierda de la época. Aunque Korsch nunca dejó de ser un outsider comprometido con el destino de la clase obrera desde una radical independencia personal, solo sujeta a su personal conciencia intelectual y política. A su tránsito por el arco ideológico de entreguerras une su condición de académico de Derecho del Trabajo, en cuya condición produjo una obra, bien conocida en castellano, de enorme fuerza e interés jurídico. En Korsch el marxismo no es mera influencia sino característica esencial de su obra (no en vano su Karl Marx sigue siendo un texto de referencia). El compromiso de Korsch con la democratización de las relaciones laborales y con la socialización fue inequívoco y radical a lo largo de su vida y obra. Su exposición y defensa de la constitución del trabajo es de notable capacidad analítica y fuerza expresiva. Su concepción del Derecho del Trabajo es la de un orden jurídico radicalmente opuesto al liberal burgués, en la misma y revolucionaria medida en que éste se opuso al ancien régime. Su naturaleza es, por ende, esencialmente conflictiva y revolucionaria. En consecuencia con tal concepción tal medida apoyó al movimiento consejista de 1918-19, participando activamente en el mismo (fue, al igual que Neumann, miembro de un consejo de obreros y soldados), y consideró - fundamentándolo en su obra - que la transposición legal de la institución de los consejos mediante en 1920 fue un fiasco contrario tanto al texto constitucional como a un movimiento revolucionario que estimaba de derecho irrenunciable. Su oposición al reformismo socialdemócrata - a su entender contradictorio con los principios socialistas y tendente a la corporativización de la clase obrera, y a la represión estatal - se manifestó en duros términos, muy críticos con Sinzheimer y con su escuela, a pesar de ser notoria la influencia de la obra de aquel en los fundamentos de su propia concepción de la constitución del trabajo, compartiendo una crítica común al sistema capitalista del relaciones de trabajo, pero no una alternativa común al mismo, o al menos no a corto plazo. Por ello también se enfrentó al sindicalismo socialdemócrata de la ADGB, apoyando al sindicalismo revolucionario de clase. Al margen de las diferencias entre unos y otros, todos los juristas estudiados mantuvieron una lucha conceptual contra el totalitarismo y a favor de la profundización democrática a lo largo de sus vidas y obras. 4. Constitución económica y constitución del trabajo Las nociones de constitución económica y constitución del trabajo son claves esenciales de la concepción jurídica de los juristas del trabajo de la izquierda demócrata weimariana, efecto de una creatividad basada en la fertilidad del método sociológico y marxista que critica los límites del liberalismo. Se hallan en el común nacimiento de un nuevo ámbito jurídico que supone la intersección entre la construcción democrática y el ámbito privado de las relaciones laborales, y se manifestarán singular y constitucionalmente en el artículo 165 de la carta magna de la República, por el que los trabajadores junto con sus organizaciones fueron llamados a regular en igualdad y de forma conjunta con los empresarios sus salarios y condiciones laborales, así como a cooperar conjuntamente en el desarrollo económico de las fuerzas productivas, con la finalidad del bien común. En las concepciones de constitución económica y del trabajo - conceptos asimilables - se manifiesta un característico alejamiento del formalismo jurídico contrario a una dogmática liberal opuesta con desdén a todo sociologismo. Se introduce - con efectos regulatorios e interpretativos - un elemento central en la contemplación del sistema normativo, a saber, la consideración de la asimetría de poder - basada en última instancia en la propiedad privada de los medios de producción - entre empleador y empleado, asimetría que se expresaría en una relación material de sometimiento y explotación, verdaderamente desigual a pesar de la máscara contractual, de la apariencia de suscripción de un acuerdo entre seres en abstracto y formalmente - conforme al derecho civil liberal - iguales y libres. Los iuslaboralistas demócratas weimarianos pretenden desenmascarar, subvertir, reequilibrar y democratizar con herramientas jurídicas una relación cuya inclusión en la forma del libre contrato de trabajo consideraban falsaria, abusiva y contraria a la dignidad humana. Frente a la constitución política, reino de la igualdad, se contrapondría la realidad de las relaciones laborales propias del derecho liberal, espacio de sumisión y desigualdad a pesar de una terminología engañosa. La constitución económica / constitución del trabajo habrían de reformar, compensar y liberar ese esencial espacio de la vida humana, repolitizando y democratizando el ámbito económico privado de producción, cómo ya lo había sido el Estado. Política y economía se han de recomponer en términos de poder. Los trabajadores dejan de ser objetos económicos - recursos humanos - y devienen sujetos corresponsables de la economía, ciudadanos y ya no súbditos; el derecho derivado de la propiedad privada abandona su condición de señor de la casa. La constitución del trabajo es el derecho que regula la comunidad entre capital y trabajo, con la tarea de asegurar la creación de una voluntad unitaria en su seno con la participación paritaria de las partes en conflicto. Este elemento conceptual esencial de la concepción democrática (no autoritaria, ni corporativa) del Derecho del Trabajo en la época estudiada es común a todo el ámbito de la izquierda de matriz socialista - desde Sinzheimer hasta Korsch - que, si bien mantuvo notorias diferencias respecto de sus propuestas alternativas al orden pre-weimariano regulador de las relaciones de producción - por lo menos (y aunque no exclusivamente) en cuanto a su implementación temporal -, sostuvo una crítica común y rotunda al concepto liberal de (falso) libre contrato de trabajo. 5. Socialización La reivindicación fundamental del pensamiento de matriz socialista en la época de la República de Weimar fue la transformación en jurídico-público del orden jurídico privado del trabajo y de la propiedad. La exigencia de socialización - contenida en la constitución weimariana, e incumplida en la práctica - fue su más claro componente de ruptura anti-liberal (aunque no soviética/estatalista) y ánimo colectivista, tras la profunda crisis de legitimidad de los valores económicos (capitalismo), jurídico-políticos (liberalismo) y socio-culturales (burgueses) hasta entonces imperantes. El nuevo basamento institucional había de ser plenamente democrático, colectivo, incluyendo el sistema económico- social en el que se integran las empresas. La socialización como proyecto era inescindible de su propia denominación. Conforme a esta posición - común a socialdemócratas y comunistas -, sólo considerando el orden del trabajo y de la economía como un interés público podría limitarse la arbitrariedad patronal, lo que cabría alcanzar mediante la intervención coactiva del Estado y por efecto de la acción colectiva. Las diferencias entre las izquierdas se manifestaron más entre los procesos - reforma o ruptura - que respecto de su fin colectivista último, si bien el proceso reformista respetuoso con la democracia liberal podía, por su propia naturaleza, condicionar el fin socializador pretendido. La propia constitución económica preveía - en su artículo 165 - un tránsito hacia la socialización de los medios privados de producción que muy pronto, tras los pobres resultados de la Comisión de Socialización (en la que participó Karl Korsch) y los diversos avatares sociopolíticos y económicos de la República, resultó abandonado. Ninguna industria ni empresa se socializó en Weimar. Los socialdemócratas - nunca Korsch - abandonaron su inicial énfasis en la necesidad socializadora hasta finales de los años veinte, cuando fue recuperado en el Congreso de Hamburgo de la ADGB de 1928, generando un proyecto de democracia económica hoy considerado como uno de los antecedentes más importantes del actual sistema de cogestión. En él participó Sinzheimer, cuya obra toda está enhebrada con un reflexión sobre la necesidad socializadora como efecto del nuevo Derecho del Trabajo, que exige un nuevo sentido económico. Karl Korsch, por su parte, sostuvo y expuso con gran énfasis la inmediata necesidad socializadora (que no estatalizadora) de los medios de producción a lo largo de su obra (sobre todo en los años 20), en sus dos fases de planificación y distribución de la producción, y de implantación de una democracia industrial garante de la ciudadanía obrera. La relación entre socialización y democracia económica es de gran problematicidad y ocupó a los iuslaboralistas demócratas estudiados, críticos con una propiedad privada de los medios de producción en la medida en que pudiera ser incompatible con la democratización de la empresa, con la constitución del trabajo. Parafraseando a Romagnoli, el Derecho Social - en la concepción de los juristas demócratas del trabajo - y la economía fueron dos hermanastras mal avenidas en la República alemana de entreguerras. 6. Consejismo El ideal socializador común a socialdemócratas y comunistas se pretendió materializar en la República de Weimar mediante la institución consejista regulada por el artículo 165 de la Constitución y, más adelante, por la Ley de Consejos de 1920. La positivización normativa de la representación de los trabajadores en los lugares de producción con ánimo de codeterminación (democratización) del poder en aquellos - tercera fase de superación del autoritarismo unilateral del propietario de los medios de producción, tras la intervención estatal y la negociación colectiva entre sindicatos y empresarios - careció del aliento revolucionario del movimiento consejista de finales de 1918 e inicios de 1919, y ni siquiera sus limitadas posibilidades formales de eficaz acción social en el ámbito empresarial pudieron materializarse ante una interpretación del alto tribunal laboral del Reich que le impuso a los consejos la necesidad de colaborar con el interés empresarial (visión organicista o fiduciaria), que en la práctica supuso la coincidencia sistemática de tal interés como el del empresario, colaboración que fue ajena a proyecto socializador alguno. Las diferencias respecto de la positivización del impulso consejista entre socialdemócratas y comunistas fueron notorias. La socialdemocracia se opuso a un posible dictadura consejista, mientras que el comunismo alemán de la época apoyó una alternativa consejista al parlamentarismo tradicional del liberalismo político. En el caso de Karl Korsch, su defensa del consejismo radical generó su expulsión de un partido comunista por desviacionismo ultraizquierdista. En todo caso, la crítica a la limitadora interpretación el RAG fue común a los juristas demócratas de uno y otro signo. Aunque en la práctica la experiencia concreta del consejismo weimariano fue ciertamente insuficiente respecto de las ambiciones del nuevo Derecho del Trabajo (aunque solo nos refiriéramos al positivizado), es indudable que sentó las bases de un mecanismo de participación vigente aún hasta hoy en una importante cantidad de sistemas productivos y de relaciones laborales. Al estudioso contemporáneo le sorprende el alto grado de similitud entre la regulación alemana de 1920 y nuestras actuales leyes reguladoras de la representación de los trabajadores en la empresa. 7. Relevancia del Derecho del Trabajo weimariano hoy Sin duda sigue siendo un extraordinario laboratorio seminal tanto teórico como de experimentación institucional en circunstancias difíciles, una novedosa (y difícil, fallida y exitosa en diversas medidas) concreción de nacientes instituciones en un vanguardista modelo (pobremente concretado) de constitucionalismo social y, en todo caso, la obra de juristas de una extraordinaria competencia (herederos de una importante tradición jurídica) y creatividad, de "incomparables maestros artesanos", en la feliz expresión de Umberto Romagnoli. Sigue siendo de interés teórico aún su crítica de la concepción del contrato libre de trabajo y, en general, de una concepción estrictamente liberal - basada en una consideración de la suficiencia de la igualdad formal entre personas físicas o jurídicas - de las relaciones laborales. El concepto de constitución del trabajo en Weimar es aún objeto de consideración por la academia, contraponiéndose a una influyente tendencia en los actuales trabajos académicos sobre el Derecho del Trabajo, más enfocados al mercado de trabajo como objeto principal de su estudio y que contribuyen a generar una aceptación de la lógica del mercado como principio organizador de este ámbito jurídico, en el que el mundo es asimilado a un mercado global y los Estados a actores unitarios de un mercado en el que buscan la maximización de la riqueza económica y de su competitividad, dejando poco margen a la argumentación a favor de los derechos sociales y laborales como bienes en sí mismos, vinculados a la igualdad, democracia y estabilidad en la vida de los trabajadores. En ese mismo sentido, se ha recordado que el proceso histórico inaugurado por el constitucionalismo social de la constitución weimariana ha inspirado y siguen inspirando diversos procesos de constitucionalización o re-constitucionalización a lo largo del s. XX, contribuyendo a la construcción del Derecho delTtrabajo como rama autónoma dotada de doctrina e instituciones propias, que interviniendo en el dominio contractual, desmercantiliza en mayor o menor grado las condiciones de compra y venta de la fuerza de trabajo. El debate se halla lejos de haber concluido y, en su esencia, incluye una discrepancia sobre los ámbitos de politización y, en entornos democráticos, de democratización; en concreto, de la politización y democratización del ámbito privado de producción, de la empresa privada (o pública, en la medida en que actúe como empleador privado). La idea de ciudadanía más allá de los muros de ladrillo de la fábrica, o de cristal de la oficina contemporánea sigue formando parte de un debate inacabado. En la práctica, elementos hoy relativamente corrientes en el iuslaboralismo democrático europeo son producto del laboratorio weimariano, habiendo sido transformados en instituciones positivas de diversas legislaciones, como la codeterminación en Alemania, los efectos normativos del convenio colectivo en países como España, la institución de los comités de empresa comités de empresa, o la existencia de jurisdicciones y procesos específicamente sociales. La bibliografía de este trabajo doctoral se basa fundamentalmente en diversos textos de la época (legales y doctrinales, incluyendo copiosa obra de los autores estudiados) y en posteriores estudios de diversa índole.

Abstract Aim: This study aimed to describe the change in surgical practice and the impact of SARS-CoV-2 on mortality after surgical resection of colorectal cancer during the initial phases of the SARS-CoV-2 pandemic. Methods: This was an international cohort study of patients undergoing elective resection of colon or rectal cancer without preoperative suspicion of SARS-CoV-2. Centres entered data from their first recorded case of COVID-19 until 19 April 2020. The primary outcome was 30-day mortality. Secondary outcomes included anastomotic leak, postoperative SARS-CoV-2 and a comparison with prepandemic European Society of Coloproctology cohort data. Results: From 2073 patients in 40 countries, 1.3% (27/2073) had a defunctioning stoma and 3.0% (63/2073) had an end stoma instead of an anastomosis only. Thirty-day mortality was 1.8% (38/2073), the incidence of postoperative SARS-CoV-2 was 3.8% (78/2073) and the anastomotic leak rate was 4.9% (86/1738). Mortality was lowest in patients without a leak or SARS-CoV-2 (14/1601, 0.9%) and highest in patients with both a leak and SARS-CoV-2 (5/13, 38.5%). Mortality was independently associated with anastomotic leak (adjusted odds ratio 6.01, 95% confidence interval 2.58–14.06), postoperative SARS-CoV-2 (16.90, 7.86–36.38), male sex (2.46, 1.01–5.93), age >70 years (2.87, 1.32–6.20) and advanced cancer stage (3.43, 1.16–10.21). Compared with prepandemic data, there were fewer anastomotic leaks (4.9% versus 7.7%) and an overall shorter length of stay (6 versus 7 days) but higher mortality (1.7% versus 1.1%). Conclusion: Surgeons need to further mitigate against both SARS-CoV-2 and anastomotic leak when offering surgery during current and future COVID-19 waves based on patient, operative and organizational risks. ; Appendix 1 Writing group (*denotes joint first authors) Elizabeth Li*, James C. Glasbey*, Dmitri Nepogodiev*, Joana F. F. Simoes*, Omar M. Omar, Mary L. Venn, Jonathan P. Evans, Kaori Futaba, Charles H. Knowles, Ana Minaya-Bravo, Helen Mohan, Manish Chand, Peter Pockney, Salomone Di Saverio, Neil Smart, Abigail Vallance, Dale Vimalachandran, Richard J. W. Wilkin, Aneel Bhangu (Overall guarantor). 2 Statistical analysis Omar M. Omar (Lead statistician), Elizabeth Li, James C. Glasbey, Aneel Bhangu. 3 CovidSurg Operations Committee Kwabena Siaw-Acheampong, Ruth A. Benson, Edward Bywater, Daoud Chaudhry, Brett E. Dawson, Jonathan P. Evans, James C. Glasbey, Rohan R. Gujjuri, Emily Heritage, Conor S. Jones, Sivesh K. Kamarajah, Chetan Khatri, Rachel A. Khaw, James M. Keatley, Andrew Knight, Samuel Lawday, Elizabeth Li, Harvinder S. Mann, Ella J. Marson, Kenneth A. McLean, Siobhan C. Mckay, Emily C. Mills, Dmitri Nepogodiev, Gianluca Pellino, Maria Picciochi, Elliott H. Taylor, Abhinav Tiwari, Joana F. F. Simoes, Isobel M. Trout, Mary L. Venn, Richard J. W. Wilkin, Aneel Bhangu. 4 International Cancer Leads (*denotes specialty principal Investigator) James C. Glasbey (Chair); Colorectal: Neil J. Smart*, Ana Minaya-Bravo*, Jonathan P. Evans, Gaetano Gallo, Susan Moug, Francesco Pata, Peter Pockney, Salomone Di Saverio, Abigail Vallance, Dale Vimalchandran. 5 Dissemination Committee Joana F. F. Simoes (Chair); Tom E. F. Abbott, Sadi Abukhalaf, Michel Adamina, Adesoji O. Ademuyiwa, Arnav Agarwal, Murat Akkulak, Ehab Alameer, Derek Alderson, Felix Alakaloko, Markus Albertsmeiers, Osaid Alser, Muhammad Alshaar, Sattar Alshryda, Alexis P. Arnaud, Knut Magne Augestad, Faris Ayasra, José Azevedo, Brittany K. Bankhead-Kendall, Emma Barlow, David Beard, Ruth A. Benson, Ruth Blanco-Colino, Amanpreet Brar, Ana Minaya-Bravo, Kerry A. Breen, Chris Bretherton, Igor Lima Buarque, Joshua Burke, Edward J. Caruana, Mohammad Chaar, Sohini Chakrabortee, Peter Christensen, Daniel Cox, Moises Cukier, Miguel F. Cunha, Giana H. Davidson, Anant Desai, Salomone Di Saverio, Thomas M. Drake, John G. Edwards, Muhammed Elhadi, Sameh Emile, Shebani Farik, Marco Fiore, J. Edward Fitzgerald, Samuel Ford, Tatiana Garmanova, Gaetano Gallo, Dhruv Ghosh, Gustavo Mendonça Ataíde Gomes, Gustavo Grecinos, Ewen A. Griffiths, Madalegna Gründl, Constantine Halkias, Ewen M. Harrison, Intisar Hisham, Peter J. Hutchinson, Shelley Hwang, Arda Isik, Michael D. Jenkinson, Pascal Jonker, Haytham M. A. Kaafarani, Debby Keller, Angelos Kolias, Schelto Kruijff, Ismail Lawani, Hans Lederhuber, Sezai Leventoglu, Andrey Litvin, Andrew Loehrer, Markus W. Löffler, Maria Aguilera Lorena, Maria Marta Madolo, Piotr Major, Janet Martin, Hassan N. Mashbari, Dennis Mazingi, Symeon Metallidis, Ana Minaya-Bravo, Helen M. Mohan, Rachel Moore, David Moszkowicz, Susan Moug, Joshua S. Ng-Kamstra, Mayaba Maimbo, Ionut Negoi, Milagros Niquen, Faustin Ntirenganya, Maricarmen Olivos, Kacimi Oussama, Oumaima Outani, Marie Dione Parreno-Sacdalanm, Francesco Pata, Carlos Jose Perez Rivera, Thomas D. Pinkney, Willemijn van der Plas, Peter Pockney, Ahmad Qureshi, Dejan Radenkovic, Antonio Ramos-De la Medina, Keith Roberts, April C. Roslani, Martin Rutegård, Irène Santos, Sohei Satoi, Raza Sayyed, Andrew Schache, Andreas A Schnitzbauer, Justina O. Seyi-Olajide, Neil Sharma, Richard Shaw, Sebastian Shu, Kjetil Soreide, Antonino Spinelli, Grant D Stewart, Malin Sund, Sudha Sundar, Stephen Tabiri, Philip Townend, Georgios Tsoulfas, Gabrielle H. van Ramshorst, Raghavan Vidya, Dale Vimalachandran, Oliver J. Warren, Duane Wedderburn, Naomi Wright, EuroSurg, European Society of Coloproctology (ESCP), Global Initiative for Children's Surgery (GICS), GlobalSurg, GlobalPaedSurg, ItSURG, PTSurg, SpainSurg, Italian Society of Colorectal Surgery (SICCR), Association of Surgeons in Training (ASiT), Irish Surgical Research Collaborative (ISRC), Transatlantic Australasian Retroperitoneal Sarcoma Working Group (TARPSWG), Italian Society of Surgical Oncology (SICO). 6 Collaboratoring authors (*denotes site principal investigators) Argentina: Alurralde C., Caram E. L., Eskinazi D* (Sanatorio 9 De Julio Sa); Badra R., García J.S., Lucchini S.M.* (Sanatorio Allende). Australia: Cecire J., Salindera S.*, Sutherland A. (Coffs Harbour Health Campus); Ahn J.H., Chen S., Gauri N., Jang S., Jia F., Mulligan C., Yang W., Ye G., Zhang H. (Concord Repatriation General Hospital); Moss J.*, Richards T., Thian A., Vo U. G. (Fiona Stanley Hospital); Bagraith K., Chan E., Ho D., Jeyarajan E., Jordan S., Nolan G. J., Von Papen M., Wullschleger M. (Gold Coast University Hospital); Egoroff N., Gani J., Lott N., Pockney P.* (John Hunter Hospital); Phan D., Townend D.* (Lismore Base Hospital); Bong C., Gundara J.* (Logan Hospital); Bowman S.*, Guerra G. R. (Queen Elizabeth II Jubilee Hospital); Dudi-Venkata N. N., Kroon H. M.*, Sammour T. (Royal Adelaide Hospital); Mitchell D.*, Swinson B. (Royal Brisbane and Women's Hospital). Austria: Messner F., Öfner D.* (Medical University of Innsbruck); Emmanuel K., Grechenig M., Gruber R., Harald M., Öhlberger L., Presl J.*, Wimmer A. (Paracelsus Medical University Salzburg). Barbados: Barker D., Boyce R., Doyle A., Eastmond A., Gill R., O'Shea M., Padmore G.*, Paquette N., Phillips E., St John S., Walkes K. (Queen Elizabeth Hospital). Belgium: Flamey N., Pattyn P.* (Az Delta); Oosterlinck W.*, Van den Eynde J., Van den Eynde R. (Uz Leuven). Bulgaria: Sokolov M.* (University Hospital Alexandrovska). Canada: Boutros M.*, Caminsky N. G., Ghitulescu G. (Jewish General Hospital); Boutros M.*, Demyttenaere S.*, Garfinkle R. (St Mary's Hospital); Nessim C.*, Stevenson J. (The Ottawa Hospital). Croatia: Bačić G., Karlović D., Kršul D., Zelić M.* (University Hospital Center Rijeka); Bakmaz B., Ćoza I., Dijan E., Katusic Z., Mihanovic J.*, Rakvin I. (Zadar General Hospital). Cyprus: Frantzeskou K., Gouvas N.*, Kokkinos G., Papatheodorou P., Pozotou I., Stavrinidou O., Yiallourou A.* (Nicosia General Hospital). Czechia: Martinek L., Skrovina M.*, Szubota I. (Hospital and Oncological Centre Novy Jicin). Denmark: Ebbehøj A. L., Krarup P., Schlesinger N., Smith H.* (Bispebjerg Hospital). Egypt: Al Sayed M., Ashoush F.*, Elazzazy E., Essam E., Eweda M., Hassan E., Metwalli M., Mourad M., Qatora M. S., Sabry A.*, Samih A., Samir Abdelaal A., Shehata S.*, Shenit K. (Alexandria Main University Hospital); Attia D., Kamal N., Osman N.* (Alexandria Medical Research Institute); Alaa S., Hamza H. M., M. elghazaly S., Mohammed M. M.*, Nageh M. A., Saad M. M.*, Yousof E. A. (Assiut University Hospital); Eldaly A. S.* (El-Menshawy Hospital); Amira G., Sallam I.*, Sherief M., Sherif A. (Misr Cancer Center); Ghaly G.*, Hamdy R., Morsi A., Salem H.*, Sherif G. (National Cancer Institute); Abdeldayem H., Abdelkader Salama I.*, Balabel M., Fayed Y., Sherif A. E.* (National Liver Institute, Menoufia University). Finland: Kauppila J. H.*, Sarjanoja E. (Länsi-Pohja Central Hospital); Helminen O., Huhta H., Kauppila J. H.* (Oulu University Hospital). France: Beyrne C., Jouffret L.*, Marie-Macron L. (Centre Hospitalier Avignon); Lakkis Z.*, Manfredelli S. (CHU Besançon); Chebaro A.*, El Amrani M., Lecolle K., Piessen G.*, Pruvot F. R., Zerbib P. (CHU Lille); Ballouhey Q.*, Barrat B., Taibi A. (Chu Limoges); Bergeat D., Merdrignac A. (CHU Rennes – General Surgery); Le Roy B., Perotto L. O., Scalabre A.* (Chu Saint Etienne); Aimé A., Ezanno A.*, Malgras B. (Hia Begin); Bouche P. A.*, Tzedakis S.* (Hôpital Cochin – APHP); Cotte E., Glehen O., Kepenekian V., Passot G. (Hopital Lyon Sud); D'Urso A., Mutter D., Seeliger B.* (Strasbourg University Hospitals/IHU-Strasbourg); Bonnet S., Denet C., Fuks D., Laforest A., Pourcher G., Seguin-Givelet A.*, Tribillon E. (Institut Mutualiste Montsouris); Duchalais E.* (Nantes University Hospital). Germany: Bork U.*, Fritzmann J., Praetorius C., Weitz J., Welsch T. (Carl-Gustav-Carus University Hospital, TU Dresden); Beyer K., Kamphues C.*, Lauscher J. C., Loch F. N., Schineis C. (Charité University Medicine, Campus Benjamin Franklin); Becker R.*, Jonescheit J. (Heilig-Geist Hospital Bensheim); Pergolini I., Reim D.* (Klinikum Rechts der Isar TUM School of Medicine); Boeker C., Hakami I.*, Mall J.* (KRH Nordstadt-Siloah Hospitals); Albertsmeier M.*, Kappenberger A., Schiergens T., Werner J. (LMU Klinikum Campus Innenstadt); Nowak K.*, Reinhard T.* (Romed Klinikum Rosenheim); Kleeff J., Michalski C., Ronellenfitsch U.* (University Hospital Halle (Saale)); Bertolani E., Königsrainer A.*, Löffler M. W., Quante M.*, Steidle C., Überrück L., Yurttas C. (University Hospital Tuebingen); Izbicki J., Nitschke C., Perez D., Uzunoglu F. G.* (University Medical Center Hamburg–Eppendorf). Greece: Antonakis P., Contis I., Dellaportas D., Gklavas A., Konstadoulakis M., Memos N.*, Papaconstantinou I.*, Polydorou A., Theodosopoulos T., Vezakis A. (Aretaieion Hospital); Antonopoulou M. I., Manatakis D. K.*, Tasis N. (Athens Naval and Veterans Hospital); Arkadopoulos N., Danias N., Economopoulou P., Frountzas M., Kokoropoulos P., Larentzakis A., Michalopoulos N.*, Parasyris S., Selmani J., Sidiropoulos T., Vassiliu P. (Attikon University General Hospital); Bouchagier K.*, Klimopoulos S., Paspaliari D., Stylianidis G. (Evaggelismos General Hospital); Baxevanidou K., Bouliaris K., Chatzikomnitsa P., Efthimiou M., Giaglaras A., Kalfountzos C.*, Koukoulis G., Ntziovara A. M., Petropoulos K., Soulikia K., Tsiamalou I., Zervas K., Zourntou S. (General Hospital of Larissa 'Koutlimpaneio and Triantafylleio'); Baloyiannis I., Diamantis A., Perivoliotis K., Tzovaras G.* (General University Hospital of Larissa); Christidis P., Ioannidis O.*, Loutzidou L. (George Papanikolaou General Hospital of Thessaloniki); Karaitianos I.*, Tsirlis T. (Henry Dunant Hospital Center); Charalabopoulos A., Liakakos T., Baili E., Schizas D.*, Spartalis E., Syllaios A., Zografos C. (Laiko University Hospital); Athanasakis E., Chrysos E., Tsiaoussis I., Xenaki S.*, Xynos E.* (University Hospital of Heraklion Crete and Interclinic Hospital of Crete). Hong Kong: Futaba K.*, Ho M. F., Hon S. F., Mak T. W. C., Ng S. S. M. (Prince of Wales Hospital); Foo C. C.* (Queen Mary Hospital). Hungary: Banky B.*, Suszták N. (Szent Borbála Kórház). India: Bhat G. A., Chowdri N. A., Mehraj A.*, Parray F., Shah Z. A., Wani R. (Sher-I-Kashmir Institute of Medical Sciences); Ahmed Z., Bali R., Bhat M. A., Laharwal A., Mahmood M., Mir I., Mohammad Z., Muzamil J., Rashid A.* (SMHS Hospital, Government Medical College). Ireland: Aremu M.*, Canas-Martinez A., Cullivan O., Murphy C., Owens P., Pickett L. (Connolly Hospital Blanchardstown); Corrigan M.*, Daly A., Fleming C.*, Jordan P., Killeen S., Lynch N., O'Brien S., Syed W. A. S., Vernon L. (Cork University Hospital); Fahey B. A., Larkin J. O.*, McCormick P., Mehigan B. J., Mohan H., Shokuhi P., Smith. J (St James's Hospital); Bashir Y., Bass G. A., Connelly T. M., Creavin B., Earley H., Elliott J. A.*, Gillis A. E., Kavanagh D. O., Neary P. C., O'Riordan J. M., Reynolds I. S., Rice D., Ridgway P. F., Umair M., Whelan M. (Tallaght University Hospital); Corless K., Finnegan L., Fowler A., Hogan A., Lowery A.*, McKevitt K.*, Ryan É. (University Hospital Galway); Coffey J. C., Cunningham R. M., Devine M., Nally D.*, Peirce C. (University Hospital Limerick); Hardy N. P., Neary P. M., O'Malley S.*, Ryan M. (University Hospital Waterford/University College Cork). Italy: Macina S.* (ASST Mantua); Mariani N. M.*, Opocher E., Pisani Ceretti A. (ASST Santi Paolo E. Carlo); Bianco F.* (ASST Papa Giovanni XXIII – Bergamo); Marino M. V.*, Mirabella A., Vaccarella G. (Azienda Ospedaliera Ospedali Riuniti Villa Sofia-Cervello); Agostini C., Alemanno G., Bartolini I., Bergamini C., Bruscino A., De Vincenti R., Di Bella A., Fortuna L., Maltinti G., Muiesan P.*, Prosperi P.*, Ringressi M. N., Risaliti M., Taddei A.*, Tucci R. (Azienda Ospedaliera Universitaria Careggi); Campagnaro T.*, Guglielmi A., Pedrazzani C., Rattizzato S., Ruzzenente A., Turri G. (Azienda Ospedaliera Universitaria Integrata di Verona); Bellora P., D'Aloisio G., Ferrari M., Francone E., Gentilli S.*, Nikaj H. (Azienda Ospedaliero Universitaria Maggiore della Carità); Bianchini M., Chiarugi M., Coccolini F., Di Franco G., Furbetta N., Gianardi D., Guadagni S., Morelli L.*, Palmeri M., Tartaglia D.* (Azienda Ospedaliero Universitaria Pisana); Anania G.*, Carcoforo P.*, Chiozza M., De Troia A., Koleva Radica M., Portinari M., Sibilla M. G., Urbani A. (Azienda Ospedaliero Universitaria San'anna); Fabbri N., Feo C. V.*, Gennari S., Parini S., Righini E. (Azienda Unità Sanitaria Locale di Ferrara, Università di Ferrara); Annessi V., Castro Ruiz C., Montella M. T., Zizzo M.* (Azienda Unità Sanitaria Locale – IRCCS di Reggio Emilia); Grossi U., Novello S., Romano M., Rossi S., Zanus G.* (Ca' Foncello Treviso – DISCOG – Università di Padova); Esposito G., Frongia F., Pisanu A., Podda M.* (Cagliari University Hospital); Belluco C., Lauretta A.*, Montori G., Moras L., Olivieri M.; Feo C. F., Perra T.*, Porcu A.*, Scanu A. M. (Cliniche San Pietro, Aou Sassari); Aversano A., Carbone F., Delrio P.*, Di Lauro K., Fares Bucci A., Rega D.*, Spiezio G. (Colorectal Surgical Oncology Unit – Istituto Nazionale Tumori Fondazione, Pascale IRCCS); Calabrò M.*, Farnesi F., Lunghi E. G., Muratore A.*, Pipitone Federico N. S. (Edoardo Agnelli); De Palma G. D., Luglio G.*, Pagano G., Tropeano F. P. (Federico II University Hospital); Baldari L.*, Boni L.*, Cassinotti E.* (Fondazione IRCCS Ca' Granda – Ospedale Maggiore Policlinico di Milano); Cosimelli M., Fiore M.*, Guaglio M.*, Sorrentino L. (Fondazione IRCCS Istituto Nazionale dei Tumori, Milano); Agnes A., Alfieri S., Belia F., Biondi A., Cozza V., D'Ugo D., De Simone V., Litta F., Lorenzon L., Marra A. A., Marzi F., Parello A., Persiani R., Ratto C., Rosa F., Scrima O., Sganga G. (Fondazione Policlinico Universitario Agostino Gemelli IRCCS); Belli A.*, Izzo F., Patrone R. (HPB Surgical Oncology Unit – Istituto Nazionale Tumori Fondazione, Pascale IRCCS); Carrano F. M., Carvello M. M., Di Candido F., Maroli A., Spinelli A.* (Humanitas Clinical and Research Center IRCCS, Rozzano (Mi) and Humanitas University, Department of Biomedical Sciences, Pieve Emanuele (Mi)); Aprile A., Batistotti P., Massobrio A., Pertile D., Scabini S.*, Soriero D. (IRCCS Ospedale Policlinico San Martino); De Manzoni Garberini A.* (Ospedale Civile Spirito Santo); Federico P., Maida P., Marra E., Marte G., Petrillo A., Tammaro P., Tufo A.* (Ospedale del Mare); Berselli M.*, Borroni G.*, Cocozza E., Conti L., Desio M., Rizzi A. (ASST Sette Laghi-Varese); Baldi C.*, Corbellini C., Sampietro G. M. (Ospedale di Rho – ASST Rhodense); Baldini E.*, Capelli P., Conti L., Isolani S. M., Ribolla M. (Ospedale Guglielmo da Saliceto Piacenza); Bondurri A., Colombo F.*, Ferrario L., Guerci C., Maffioli A. (Ospedale Luigi Sacco Milano); Armao T., Ballabio M.*, Bisagni P., Gagliano A., Longhi M., Madonini M., Pizzini P. (Ospedale Maggiore di Lodi); Mochet S.*, Usai A. (Ospedale Regionale Umberto Parini); Bianco F.*, Incollingo P. (Ospedale S. Leonardo – Asl Napoli 3 Sud, Castellammare di Stabia); Mancini S., Marino Cosentino L.*, Sagnotta A.* (Ospedale San Filippo Neri); Nespoli L. C., Tamini N.* (Ospedale San Gerardo); Anastasi A., Bartalucci B., Bellacci A., Canonico G.*, Capezzuoli L., Di Martino C., Ipponi P., Linari C., Montelatici M., Nelli T., Spagni G., Tirloni L., Vitali A. (Ospedale San Giovanni di Dio); Abate E., Casati M.*, Casiraghi T., Laface L., Schiavo M. (Ospedale Vittorio Emanuele III – Carate Brianza); Arminio A., Cotoia A., Lizzi V.*, Vovola F. (Ospedali Riuniti Azienda Ospedaliera Universitaria Foggia); Vergari R.* (Ospedali Riuniti di Ancona); D'Ugo S.*, Depalma N., Spampinato M. G. (Vito Fazzi, Leece); Brachini G., Chiappini A., Cicerchia P. M., Cirillo B., De Toma G., Fiori E., Fonsi G. B., Iannone I., La Torre F., Lapolla P.*, Meneghini S., Mingoli A., Sapienza P., Zambon M. (Policlinico Umberto I Sapienza University of Rome); Capolupo G. T.*, Mazzotta E. (Policlinico Universitario Campus Bio Medico of Rome); Gattolin A., Migliore M., Rimonda R., Sasia D.*, Travaglio E. (Regina Montis Regalis Hospital, Mondovì); Cervellera M., Gori A., Sartarelli L., Tonini V.* (S. Orsola-Malpighi Hospital); Chessa A.*, Fiorini A., Norcini C. (San Giovanni di Dio); Colletti G., Confalonieri M., Costanzi A.*, Frattaruolo C., Mari G., Monteleone M. (San Leopoldo Mandic); De Nardi P.*, Parise P., Vignali A. (San Raffaele Scientific Institute, Milan); Belvedere A., Bernante P., Jovine E., Neri J., Parlanti D., Pezzuto A. P., Poggioli G., Rottoli M.*, Tanzanu M., Violante T. (IRCCS Azienda Ospedaliero – Universitaria di Bologna; Alma Mater Studiorum University of Bologna); Borghi F., Cianflocca D., Di Maria Grimaldi S., Donati D., Gelarda E., Giraudo G., Giuffrida M. C., Marano A.*, Palagi S., Pellegrino L., Peluso C., Testa V.* (Santa Croce E. Carle Hospital, Cuneo); Agresta F.*, Prando D.*, Zese M.* (Santa Maria degli Angeli Hospital ULSS 5 – Adria); Armatura G.*, Frena A., Scotton G.* (St Moritz Hospital); Gallo G.*, Sammarco G., Vescio G. (University 'Magna Graecia' of Catanzaro); Di Marzo F.* (Valtiberina); Fontana T.* ('Vittorio Emanuele' – Gela). Japan: Kanemitsu Y.*, Moritani K. (National Cancer Center Hospital). Jordan: Al Abdallah M.*, Ayasra F., Ayasra Y., Qasem A. (Al-Basheer Hospital); Fahmawee T., Hmedat A., Obeidat K.* (King Abdullah University Hospital); Abou Chaar M. K., Al-Masri M.*, Al-Najjar H., Alawneh F. (King Hussein Cancer Center). Libya: Alkadeeki G.*, Al Maadany F. S. (Al-Jalaa Hospital); Aldokali N., Senossi O., Subhi M. T. (Alkhadra Hospital); Burgan D.*, Kamoka E., Kilani A. I. (National Cancer Institute, Sabratha); Ellojli I.*, Kredan A. (Tripoli University Hospital). Lithuania: Bradulskis S., Dainius E., Kubiliute E., Kutkevičius J., Parseliunas A., Subocius A., Venskutonis D.* (Lithuanian University of Health Sciences Kaunas Clinical Hospital). Madagascar: Rasoaherinomenjanahary F.*, Razafindrahita J. B., Samison L. H. (Joseph Ravoahangy Andrianavalona Hospital). Malaysia: Hamdan K. H., Ibrahim M. R., Tan J. A., Thanapal M. R.* (Hospital Kuala Lumpur); Amin Sahid N., Hayati F.*, Jayasilan J., Sriram R. K.*, Subramaniam S. (Queen Elizabeth Hospital and Universiti Malaysia Sabah, Kota Kinabalu, Sabah); Che Jusoh M. A., Hussain A. H., Mohamed Sidek A. S., Mohd Yunus M. F., Soh J. Y., Wong M., Zakaria A. D.*, Zakaria Z. (School of Medical Sciences and Hospital, Universiti Sains Malaysia); Fathi N. Q., Xavier R. G., Roslani A. C.* (University Malaya Medical Centre). Mexico: Buerba G. A., Mercado M. Á.*, Posadas-Trujillo O. E., Salgado-Nesme N., Sarre C. (Instituto Nacional de Ciencias Médicas y Nutrición 'Salvador Zubirán'). Morocco: Amrani L., El Ahmadi B., El Bouazizi Y., Majbar A. M., Benkabbou A., Mohsine R., Souadka A.* (Institut National d'Oncologie, Université Mohammed V Rabat). Netherlands: Hompes R.*, Meima-van Praag E. M., Pronk A. J. M., Sharabiany S. (Amsterdam UMC, University of Amsterdam); Grotenhuis B.*, Hartveld L. (Antoni Van Leeuwenhoek Ziekenhuis); Posma-Bouman L.* (Slingeland Ziekenhuis); Derksen T., Franken J., Oosterling S.* (Spaarne Gasthuis); Konsten J.*, Van Heinsbergen M. (Viecuri Medisch Centrum). Nigeria: Olaogun J.* (Ekiti State University Teaching Hospital); Abdur-Rahman L.*, Adeyeye A.*, Bello J., Olasehinde O., Popoola A. (University of Ilorin Teaching Hospital). Pakistan: Jamal A., Kerawala A. A.* (Cancer Foundation Hospital); Memon A. S.*, Nafees Ahmed R., Rai .L* (Dr Ruth K. M. Pfau Civil Hospital); Ayub B., Ramesh P., Sayyed R.* (Patel Hospital); Butt U. I.*, Kashif M., Qureshi A.*, Farooka M. W.*, Ayyaz M.* (Services Hospital Lahore); Ayubi A., Waqar S. H.* (Pakistan Institute of Medical Sciences). Poland: Major P. (Jagiellonian University Medical College). Portugal: Azevedo C., Machado D., Mendes F.* (Centro Hospitalar Cova da Beira); De Sousa X.* (Centro Hospitalar de Setúbal); Fernandes U., Ferreira C.*, Guidi G., Marçal A., Marques R., Martins D., Vaz Pereira R., Vieira B. (Centro Hospitalar de Trás-Os-Montes e Alto Douro, EPE); Afonso J., Almeida J. I., Almeida-Reis R.*, Correia de Sá T., Costa M. J. M. A., Fernandes V., Ferraz I., Lima da Silva C., Lopes L., Machado N., Marialva J., Nunes Coelho M., Pereira C., Ribeiro A., Ribeiro C. G., Santos R., Saraiva P., Silva R., Tavares F., Teixeira M. (Centro Hospitalar do Tamega e Sousa); Almeida A. C., Amaral M. J., Andrade R., Camacho C., Costa M., Lázaro A.*, Nogueira O., Oliveira A., Ruivo A., Silva M., Simões J. (Centro Hospitalar e Universitário de Coimbra); Devezas V., Jácome F., Nogueiro J., Pereira A., Santos-Sousa H.*, Vaz S. (Centro Hospitalar e Universitário de São João); Pinto J., Tojal A.* (Centro Hospitalar Tondela-Viseu); Cardoso P.*, Cardoso N., Domingos J. C., Henriques P., Manso M. I., Martins dos Santos G., Martins R., Morais H.*, Pereira R., Revez T., Ribeiro R., Ribeiro V. I., Soares A. P., Sousa S., Teixeira J. (Centro Hospitalar Universitário do Algarve – Unidade de Faro); Amorim E., Baptista V. H., Cunha M. F.*, Sampaio da Nóvoa Gomes Miguel I. I. (Centro Hospitalar Universitário do Algarve – Unidade de Portimão); Bandovas J. P., Borges N.*, Chumbinho B., Figueiredo de Barros I., Frade S., Gomes J., Kam da Silva Andrade A., Pereira Rodrigues A., Pina S., Silva N.*, Silveira Nunes I., Sousa R. (Centro Hospitalar Universitário Lisboa Central); Azevedo P., Costeira B., Cunha C., Garrido R.*, Miranda P., Peralta Ferreira M., Sousa Fernandes M. (Hospital Beatriz Angelo); Galvão D., Vieira A.* (Hospital de Santo Espirito da Ilha Terceira); Patrício B., Santos P. M. D. D.*, Vieira Paiva Lopes A. C. (Hospital de Torres Vedras – Centro Hospitalar do Oeste); Cunha R., Faustino A., Freitas A., Mendes J. R.*, Parreira R. (Hospital do Divino Espírito Santo); Abreu da Silva A.*, Claro M., Costa Santos D., Deus A. C., Grilo J. V. (Hospital do Litoral Alentejano); Borges F.*, Corte Real J., Henriques S., Lima M. J., Matos Costa P. (Hospital Garcia de Orta); Brito da Silva F., Caiado A.*, Fonseca F. (Instituto Português de Oncologia de Lisboa Francisco Gentil); Ângelo M., Baiao J. M., Martins Jordão D.*, Vieira Caroço T. (IPO Coimbra); Baía C., Canotilho R., Correia A. M., Ferreira Pinto A. P., Peyroteo M., Videira J. F.* (IPO Porto). Réunion: Kassir R.*, Sauvat F. (CHU Réunion). Romania: Bezede C., Chitul A., Ciofic E., Cristian D., Grama F.* (Coltea Clinical Hospital); Bonci E.*, Gata V.*, Titu S.* (Prof. Dr. Ion Chiricuta Institute of Oncology). Russia: Garmanova T., Kazachenko E., Markaryan D., Rodimov S., Tsarkov P.*, Tulina I. (Clinic of Coloproctology and Minimally Invasive Surgery, Sechenov Medical State University); Litvina Y., Provozina A. (Immanuel Kant Baltic Federal University, Regional Clinical Hospital); Agapov M.*, Galliamov E., Kakotkin V., Kubyshkin V., Kamalov A., Semina E. (Moscow Research and Educational Center, Lomonosov Moscow State University). Saudi Arabia: Alshahrani M.*, Alsharif F., Eskander M. (Aseer Central Hospital); Alharthi M., Aljiffry M., Basendowah M., Malibary N.*, Nassif M., Saleem A., Samkari A., Trabulsi N.* (King Abdulaziz University Hospital); Al Awwad S.*, Alghamdi M.*, Alnumani T.* (King Fahad General Hospital); Al Habes H., Alqannas M.*, Alyami M.*, Alzamanan M., Cortés Guiral D.*, Elawad A. (King Khalid Hospital); AlAamer O., Alselaim N.* (King Saud Bin Abdulaziz University for Health Sciences, King Abdullah International Medical Research Center, Ministry of National Guard, Health Affairs, General Surgery Department); Al-Khayal K., Alhassan N., Alobeed O., Alshammari S., Bin Nasser A.*, Bin Traiki T., Nouh T.*, Zubaidi A. M. (King Saud University). Serbia: Aleksić L., Antic A., Barisic G.*, Ceranic M., Grubač Ž., Jelenkovic J., Kecmanović D., Kmezić S., Knezevic D.*, Krivokapic Z.*, Latinčić S., Markovic V.*, Matić S.*, Miladinov M., Pavlov M.*, Pejovic I., Tadic B., Vasljević J., Velickovic D. (Clinic for Digestive Surgery, Clinical Centre of Serbia); Buta M., Cvetkovic A., Gacic S., Goran M., Jeftic N., Markovic I.*, Milanović M., Nikolic S., Pejnovic L., Savković N., Stevic D., Vucic N., Zegarac M. (Institute for Oncology and Radiology of Serbia); Karamarkovic A., Kenic M., Kovacevic B., Krdzic I.* (Zvezdara University Medical Center). Singapore: Lieske B.* (National University Hospital). South Africa: Almgla N.*, Boutall A., Herman A., Kloppers C.*, Nel D., Rayamajhi S. (Groote Schuur Hospital). Spain: Paniagua García Señorans M.*, Vigorita V. (Álvaro Cunqueiro Hospital); Acrich E., Baena Sanfeliu E., Barrios O., Golda T.*, Santanach C., Serrano-Navidad M., Sorribas Grifell M., Vives R. V. (Bellvitge University Hospital); Escolà D., Jiménez A.* (Comarcal Alt Penedés); Cayetano Paniagua L., Gómez Fernández L.* (Consorci Sanitari de Terrassa); Collera P., Diaz Del Gobbo R., Farre Font R., Flores Clotet R., Gómez Díaz C. J.*, Guàrdia N., Guariglia C. A., Osorio A., Sanchez Jimenez R., Sanchon L., Soto Montesinos C. (Fundació Althaia – Xarxa Assistencial Universitària de Manresa); Alonso-Lamberti L., García-Quijada J., Jimenez Miramón J., Jimenez V.*, Jover J. M., Leon R., Rodriguez J. L., Salazar A., Valle Rubio A. (Getafe University Hospital); Aguado H.* (Hellín Hospital); Bravo Infante R., De Lacy F. B., Lacy A. M.*, Otero A., Turrado-Rodriguez V.*, Valverde S. (Hospital Clinic Barcelona); Anula R., Cano-Valderrama O., Del Campo Martín M., Díez-Valladares L., Domínguez I., Dziakova J., García Alonso M., García Romero E., Gómez Latorre L., Muguerza J.M.*, Pizarro M. J., Saez Carlin P., Sánchez del Pueblo C., Sánchez-Pernaute A., Sanz Ortega G., Sanz-Lopez R., Torres A. (Hospital Clínico de Madrid); Garcés-Albir M.*, Lopez F.*, Martín-Arévalo J., Moro-Valdezate D.*, Pla Marti V. (Hospital Clínico Universitario de Valencia); Beltrán de Heredia J., De Andrés Asenjo B.*, Gómez Sanz T., Jezieniecki C., Nuñez del Barrio H., Ortiz de Solórzano Aurusa F. J., Romero de Diego A., Ruiz Soriano M., Trujillo Díaz J., Vázquez Fernández A. (Hospital Clínico Universitario de Valladolid); Lora-Cumplido P., Sosa M. V.* (Hospital de Cabueñes); Gonzalez-Gonzalez E., Minaya Bravo A. M.* (Hospital del Henares); Alonso de la Fuente N., Jimenez Toscano M.* (Hospital del Mar); Grau-Talens E. J., Martin-Perez B.* (Hospital Don Benito-Villanueva); Benavides Buleje J. A., Carrasco Prats M.*, Giménez Francés C.*, Muñoz Camarena J. M., Parra Baños P. A., Peña Ros E., Ramirez Faraco M., Ruiz-Marín M.*, Valero Soriano M. (Hospital General Reina Sofía); Estaire Gómez M.*, Fernández Camuñas Á., Garcia Santos E. P., Jimenez Higuera E., Martínez-Pinedo C., Muñoz-Atienza V., Padilla-Valverde D.*, Picón Rodríguez R., Sánchez-García S., Sanchez-Pelaez D. (Hospital General Universitario de Ciudad Real); Colombari R. C., del Valle E., Fernández M., Lozano Lominchar P.*, Martín L., Rey Valcarcel C., Zorrilla Ortúzar J. (Hospital General Universitario Gregorio Marañón); Alcaide Matas F., García Pérez J. M., Troncoso Pereira P.* (Hospital Mateu Orfila); Mora-Guzmán I.* (Hospital Santa Bárbara); Achalandabaso Boira M.*, Sales Mallafré R. (Hospital Universitari de Tarragona Joan XXIII); Marín H., Prieto Calvo M., Villalabeitia Ateca I.* (Hospital Universitario Cruces); De Andres Olabarria U., Durán Ballesteros M., Fernández Pablos F. J., Ibáñez-Aguirre F. J., Sanz Larrainzar A., Ugarte-Sierra B.* (Hospital Universitario de Galdakao); Correa Bonito A., Delgado Búrdalo L., Di Martino M.*, García Septiem J.*, Maqueda González R., Martin-Perez E. (Hospital Universitario de la Princesa); Calvo Espino P.*, Guillamot Ruano P. (Hospital Universitario de Móstoles); Colao García L., Díaz Pérez D.*, Esteban Agustí E., Galindo Jara P., Gutierrez Samaniego M.*, Hernandez Bartolome M. A.*, Serrano González J. (Hospital Universitario de Torrejón de Ardoz); Alonso Poza A., Diéguez B., García-Conde M., Hernández-García M., Losada M.* (Hospital Universitario del Sureste); Alvarez E., Chavarrias N., Gegúndez Simón A., Gortázar S., Guevara J., Prieto Nieto M. I., Ramos-Martín P., Rubio-Perez I.*, Saavedra J., Urbieta A. (Hospital Universitario la Paz); Cantalejo Diaz M., De Miguel Ardevines M. D. C., Duque-Mallén V.*, Gascon Ferrer I., González-Nicolás Trébol M. T., Gracia-Roche C., Herrero Lopez M., Martinez German A., Matute M., Sánchez Fuentes N., Sánchez-Rubio M., Santero-Ramirez M. S., Saudí S. (Hospital Universitario Miguel Servet); Blazquez Martin A., Diez Alonso M.*, Hernandez P., Mendoza-Moreno F., Ovejero Merino E., Vera Mansilla C. (Hospital Universitario Principe de Asturias); Acebes García F., Bailón M., Bueno Cañones A. D., Choolani Bhojwani E., Marcos-Santos P., Miguel T., Pacheco Sánchez D., Pérez-Saborido B., Sanchez Gonzalez J., Tejero-Pintor F. J.* (Hospital Universitario Río Hortega); Cano A., Capitan-Morales L., Cintas Catena J., Gomez-Rosado J.*, Oliva Mompean F., Pérez Sánchez M. A., Río Lafuente F. D., Torres Arcos C., Valdes-Hernandez J. (Hospital Universitario Virgen Macarena); Cholewa H., Frasson M., Martínez Chicote C., Sancho-Muriel J.* (Hospital Universitario Y Politécnico la Fe); Abad Gurumeta A., Abad-Motos A., Martínez-Hurtado E., Ripollés-Melchor J.*, Ruiz Escobar A. (Infanta Leonor University Hospital); Cuadrado-García A.*, Garcia-Sancho Tellez L.*, Heras Aznar J.*, Maté P., Ortega Vázquez I.*, Picardo A. L., Rojo López J. A., Sanchez Cabezudo Noguera F.*, Serralta de Colsa D.* (Infanta Sofía University Hospital); Cagigas Fernandez C., Caiña Ruiz R., Gomez Ruiz M., Martínez-Pérez P., Poch C., Santarrufina Martinez S.*, Valbuena Jabares V. (Marqués de Valdecilla University Hospital); Blas Laina J. L., Cros B., Escartin J.*, Garcia Egea J., Nogués A., Talal El-Abur I., Yánez C. (Royo Villanova); Cagigal Ortega E. P., Cervera I., Díaz Peña P., Gonzalez J., Marqueta De Salas M., Perez Gonzalez M.*, Ramos Bonilla A., Rodríguez Gómez L. (Severo Ochoa University Hospital); Blanco-Colino R., Espin-Basany E.*, Pellino G. (Vall d'Hebron University Hospital). Sri Lanka: Arulanantham A., Bandara G. B. K. D., Jayarajah U.*, Ravindrakumar S., Rodrigo V. S. D. (District General Hospital Chilaw); Srishankar S.* (Teaching Hospital Anuradhapura). Sudan Ali Adil A. K. (Al-Rajhi). Sweden: Älgå A.*, Heinius G., Nordberg M., Pieniowski E. (Stockholm South General Hospital); Löfgren N., Rutegård M.* (Umea University Hospital). Switzerland: Arigoni M., Bernasconi M., Christoforidis D.*, Di Giuseppe M., La Regina D., Mongelli F. (Ente Ospedaliero Cantonale); Chevallay M., Dwidar O., Gialamas E., Sauvain M. (Pourtales Neuchatel Hospital); Adamina M.*, Crugnale A. S., Guglielmetti L., Peros G. (Kantonsspital Winterthur). Turkey: Aghayeva A.*, Hamzaoglu I., Sahin I. (Acibadem Altunizade Hospital); Akaydin E., Aliyeva Z., Aytac E., Baca B., Ozben V.*, Ozmen B. B. (Acibadem Atakent Hospital); Arikan A. E.*, Bilgin I. A.*, Kara H., Karahasanoğlu T., Uras C. (Acibadem Maslak Hospital); Dincer H. A., Erol T. (Hacettepe University Hospital); Alhamed A., Ergün S.*, Özçelık M. F., Sanli A. N., Uludağ S. S.*, Velidedeoglu M.*, Zengin A. K. (Istanbul Universty – Cerrahpaşa Medical Faculty); Bozkurt M. A., Kara Y.*, Kocataş A. (Kanuni Sultan Suleyman Training and Research Hospital); Azamat İ. F., Balik E.*, Buğra D., Kulle C. B. (Koç University Medical School); Gözal K., Güler S. A., Köken H., Tatar O. C.*, Utkan N. Z., Yıldırım A., Yüksel E. (Kocaeli University Teaching Hospital); Akin E., Altintoprak F.*, Cakmak G., Çelebi F., Demir H., Dikicier E., Firat N., Gönüllü E., Kamburoğlu M. B., Küçük I. F., Mantoglu B. (Sakarya University Faculty of Medicine); Çolak E.*, Kucuk G. O., Uyanik M. S. (Samsun Training and Research Hospital); Göksoy B.* (Sehit Prof. Dr. İlhan Varank Training and Research Hospital); Bozkurt E., Mihmanli M., Tanal M.*, Yetkin S. G. (Sisli Hamidiye Etfal Training and Research Hospital); Akalin M., Arican C., Avci E. K., Aydin C., Demirli Atıcı S.*, Emiroglu M., Kaya T.*, Kebabçı E., Kilinc G., Kirmizi Y., Öğücü H., Salimoğlu S., Sert İ., Tugmen C., Tuncer K., Uslu G., Yeşilyurt D. (University of Health Sciences Tepecik Training and Research Hospital); Yildiz A.* (Yildirim Beyazit University Yenimahalle Training and Research Hospital). Uganda: Lule H.*, Oguttu B.* (Kampala International University Teaching Hospital). UK: Agilinko J., Ahmeidat A., Bekheit M.*, Cheung L. K., Kamera B. S., Mignot G., Shaikh S.*, Sharma P. (Aberdeen Royal Infirmary); Al-Mohammad A., Ali S., Ashcroft J., Baker O., Coughlin P., Davies R. J.*, Kyriacou H., Mitrofan C. G., Morris A., Raby-Smith W., Rooney S., Singh A., Tan X. S., Townson A., Tweedle E. (Addenbrooke's Hospital); Angelou D., Choynowski M., McAree B.*, McCanny A., Neely D. (Antrim Area Hospital – Northern Health and Social Care Trust); Mosley F.* (Bradford Royal Infirmary); Arrowsmith L.*, Campbell W.* (Causeway Hospital); Grove T., Kontovounisios C., Warren O.* (Chelsea and Westminster Hospital); Clifford R., Eardley N., Krishnan E., Manu N., Martin E., Roy Mahapatra S., Serevina O. L., Smith C., Vimalachandran D.* (Countess of Chester Hospital); Emslie K.*, Labib P.*, Minto G., Natale J., Panahi P., Rogers L.* (Derriford Hospital); Abubakar A.*, Akhter Rahman M. M., Chan E., O'Brien H., Sasapu K.* (Diana Princess of Wales Hospital Grimsby); Ng H. J.* (Dumfries and Galloway Royal Infirmary); Day A.* (East Surrey Hospital); Hunt A., Laskar N.* (East Sussex Healthcare (Conquest Hospital and Eastbourne District General Hospital)); Gupta A.*, Steinke J., Thrumurthy S. (Epsom and St Helier University Hospitals NHS Trust); Massie E., McGivern K., Rutherford D., Wilson M.* (Forth Valley Royal Hospital); Handa S., Kaushal M., Kler A., Patel P.*, Redfern J., Tezas S. (Furness General Hospital); Aawsaj Y., Barry C., Blackwell L., Emerson H., Fisher A.*, Katory M., Mustafa A. (Gateshead Health NHS Foundation Trust); Kretzmer L.*, Lalou L., Manku B., Parwaiz I., Stafford J. (George Eliot Hospital); Abdelkarim M., Asqalan A., Gala T., Ibrahim S., Maw A.*, Mithany R., Morgan R.*, Sundaram Venkatesan G. (Glan Clwyd Hospital); Boulton A. J. (Good Hope Hospital); Hardie C., McNaught C.* (Harrogate District Hospital); Karandikar S.*, Naumann D. (Heartlands Hospital); Ayorinde J., Chase T., Cuming T., Ghanbari A., Humphreys L., Tayeh S.* (Homerton University Hospital); Aboelkassem Ibrahim A., Evans C., Ikram H., Loubani M.*, Nazir S., Robinson A., Sehgal T., Wilkins A. (Hull University Teaching Hospitals NHS Trust); Dixon J.*, Jha M., Thulasiraman S. V., Viswanath Y. K. S.* (James Cook University Hospital); Curl-Roper T., Delimpalta C., Liao C. C. L.*, Velchuru V., Westwood E. (James Paget University NHS Foundation Trust Hospital); Bond-Smith G.*, Mastoridis S., Tebala G. D., Verberne C. (John Radcliffe Hospital); Bhatti M. I., Boyd-Carson H., Elsey E., Gemmill E., Herrod P.*, Jibreel M., Lenzi E., Saafan T., Sapre D., Sian T., Watson N. (King's Mill Hospital); Athanasiou A.*, Burke J., Costigan F., Elkadi H., Johnstone J., Nahm C. (Leeds Teaching Hospitals Trust); Annamalai S., Ashmore C., Kourdouli A. (Leicester Royal Infirmary); Askari A., Cirocchi N., Kudchadkar S., Patel K., Sagar J.*, Talwar R.* (Luton and Dunstable University Hospital); Abdalla M., Ismail O., Newton K., Stylianides N.* (Manchester Royal Infirmary); Aderombi A., Bajomo O., Beatson K., Garrett W.*, Ng V. (Medway Hospital); Al-Habsi R., Divya G S., Keeler B.* (Milton Keynes University Hospital); Egan R., Fabre I., Harries R.*, Li Z., Parkins K., Spencer N., Thompson D. (Morriston Hospital Swansea); Gemmell C., Grieco C., Hunt L.* (Musgrove Park Hospital); Mahmoud Ali F. (Newcastle Upon Tyne Hospitals NHS Foundation Trust.); Seebah K., Shaikh I.*, Sreedharan L., Youssef M.* (Norfolk and Norwich University Hospital); Shah J.* (North Manchester General Hospital); McLarty N., Mills S.*, Shenfine A. (Northumbria NHS Hospital Trust); Sahnan K. (Northwick Park Hospital); Michel M., Patil S., Ravindran S., Sarveswaran J.*, Scott L. (Pinderfields Hospital); Bhangu A.*, Cato L. D., Kamal M., Kulkarni R., Parente A., Saeed S., Vijayan D. (Queen Elizabeth Hospital Birmingham); Kaul S., Khan A. H., Khan F., Mukherjee S.*, Patel M., Sarigul M., Singh S. (Queen's Hospital Romford); Adiamah A., Brewer H., Chowdhury A.*, Evans J., Humes D.*, Jackman J., Koh A., Lewis-Lloyd C., Oyende O., Reilly J., Worku D. (Queens Medical Centre); Bisset C., Moug S. J.* (Royal Alexandra Hospital); Math S., Sarantitis I., Timbrell S., Vitone L.* (Royal Blackburn Hospital); Faulkner G.* (Royal Bolton Hospital); Brixton G., Findlay L., Majkowska A., Manson J.*, Potter R. (Royal Bournemouth Hospital); Bhalla A.*, Chia Z., Daliya P., Grimley E., Malcolm F. L., Theophilidou E. (Royal Derby Hospital); Daniels I. R., Fowler G., Massey L., McDermott F.*, Rajaretnam N. (Royal Devon and Exeter Hospital); Beamish A., Magowan D., Nassa H., Price C., Smith L., Solari F., Tang A. M., Williams G.* (Royal Gwent Hospital); Davies E.*, Hawkin P., Raymond T., Ryska O. (Royal Lancaster Infirmary); Baron R. D.*, Gahunia S., McNicol F.*, Russ J., Szatmary P., Thomas A. (Royal Liverpool University Hospital); Jayasinghe J. D., Knowles C., Ledesma F. S., Minicozzi A.*, Navaratne L., Ramamoorthy R., Sohrabi C., Thaha M.*, Venn M. (Royal London Hospital); Atherton R.*, Brocklehurst M., McAleer J., Parkin E.* (Royal Preston Hospital); Aladeojebi A., Ali M., Gaunt A.* (Royal Stoke University Hospital); Hammer C., Stebbing J. (Royal Surrey County Hospital); Bhasin S., Bodla A. S., Burahee A., Crichton A., Fossett R., Yassin N.* (Royal Wolverhampton NHS Trust); Brown S.*, Lee M., Newman T., Steele C. (Sheffield Teaching Hospital NHS Foundation Trust); Baker A., Konstantinou C., Ramcharan S.*, Wilkin R. J. W. (South Warwickshire NHS Foundation Trust); Lawday S., Lyons A.* (Southmead Hospital); Chung E., Hagger R., Hainsworth A., Karim A., Owen H., Ramwell A., Williams K.* (St George's Hospital); Hall J. (Stepping Hill Hospital); Harris G., Royle T.*, Watson L. J. (Sunderland Royal Hospital); Asaad P., Brown B., Duff S.*, Khan A., Moura F., Wadham B. (The University Hospital of South Manchester); McCluney S., Parmar C.*, Shah S. (The Whittington Hospital); Babar M. S., Goodrum S., Whitmore H. (Torbay and South Devon NHS Trust); Balasubramaniam D.*, Jayasankar B.*, Kapoor S., Ramachandran A. (Tunbridge Wells Hospital); Beech N., Chand M.*, Green L., Kiconco H., McEwen R. (University College London Hospital); Pereca J.* (University Hospital Ayr); Gash K.*, Gourbault L., MacCabe T., Newton C.* (University Hospitals Bristol NHS Foundation Trust); Baig M., Bates H., Dunne N., Khajuria A., Ng V., Sarma D. R., Shortland T., Tewari N.* (University Hospitals Coventry and Warwickshire NHS Trusts); Akhtar M. A.*, Brunt A., McIntyre J., Milne K., Rashid M. M., Sgrò A., Stewart K. E., Turnbull A. (Victoria Hospital Kirkcaldy); Aguilar Gonzalez M.*, Talukder S.* (West Suffolk Hospital); Eskander P., Hanna M., Olivier J.* (Weston General Hospital); Magee C.*, Powell S.* (Wirral University Teaching Hospital); Flindall I., Hanson A., Mahendran V. (Worcestershire Royal Hospital); Green S., Lim M., MacDonald L., Miu V., Onos L., Sheridan K., Young R.* (York Teaching Hospitals NHS Trust); Alam F., Griffiths O., Houlden C., Kolli V. S., Lala A. K., Seymour Z.* (Ysbyty Gwynedd). USA: Haynes A.*, Hill C., Leede E., McElhinney K., Olson K. A., Riley C., Thornhill M. (Dell Seton Medical Center at the University of Texas); Etchill E., Gabre-Kidan A.*, Jenny H., Kent A., Ladd M. R., Long C., Malapati H., Margalit A., Rapaport S., Rose J., Stevens K., Tsai L., Vervoort D., Yesantharao P., Bigelow B. (Johns Hopkins Hospital); Klaristenfeld D.* (Kaiser Permanente San Diego Medical Center); Huynh K. (Kaiser Permanente West Los Angeles); Azam M., Choudhry A.*, Marx W. (SUNY Upstate University Hospital); Abel M. K., Boeck M., Chern H., Kornblith L.*, Nunez-Garcia B., Ozgediz D., Glencer A., Sarin A., Varma M. (University of California, San Francisco (UCSF)); Abbott D., Acher A., Aiken T., Barrett J., Foley E., Schwartz P., Zafar S. N.* (University of Wisconsin); Hawkins A.*, Maiga A. (Vanderbilt University Medical Center).

This paper describes the data acquisition and high level trigger system of the ATLAS experiment at the Large Hadron Collider at CERN, as deployed during Run 1. Data flow as well as control, configuration and monitoring aspects are addressed. An overview of the functionality of the system and of its performance is presented and design choices are discussed. ; Funding: We acknowledge the support of ANPCyT, Argentina; YerPhI, Armenia; ARC, Australia; BMWFW and FWF, Austria; ANAS, Azerbaijan; SSTC, Belarus; CNPq and FAPESP, Brazil; NSERC, NRC and CFI, Canada; CERN; CONICYT, Chile; CAS, MOST and NSFC, China; COLCIENCIAS, Colombia; MSMT CR, MPO CR and VSC CR, Czech Republic; DNRF, DNSRC and Lundbeck Foundation, Denmark; IN2P3-CNRS, CEA-DSM/IRFU, France; GNSF, Georgia; BMBF, HGF, and MPG, Germany; GSRT, Greece; RGC, Hong Kong SAR, China; ISF, I-CORE and Benoziyo Center, Israel; INFN, Italy; MEXT and JSPS, Japan; CNRST, Morocco; FOM and NWO, Netherlands; RCN, Norway; MNiSW and NCN, Poland; FCT, Portugal; MNE/IFA, Romania; MES of Russia and NRC KI, Russian Federation; JINR; MESTD, Serbia; MSSR, Slovakia; ARRS and MIZS, Slovenia; DST/NRF, South Africa; MINECO, Spain; SRC and Wallenberg Foundation, Sweden; SERI, SNSF and Cantons of Bern and Geneva, Switzerland; MOST, Taiwan; TAEK, Turkey; STFC, United Kingdom; DOE and NSF, United States of America. In addition, individual groups and members have received support from BCKDF, the Canada Council, CANARIE, CRC, Compute Canada, FQRNT, and the Ontario Innovation Trust, Canada; EPLANET, ERC, FP7, Horizon 2020 and Marie Sklodowska-Curie Actions, European Union; Investissements d'Avenir Labex and Idex, ANR, Region Auvergne and Fondation Partager le Savoir, France; DFG and AvH Foundation, Germany; Herakleitos, Thales and Aristeia programmes co-financed by EU-ESF and the Greek NSRF; BSF, GIF and Minerva, Israel; BRF, Norway; the Royal Society and Leverhulme Trust, United Kingdom.

We present a search for gravitational waves from 116 known millisecond and young pulsars using data from the fifth science run of the LIGO detectors. For this search, ephemerides overlapping the run period were obtained for all pulsars using radio and X-ray observations. We demonstrate an updated search method that allows for small uncertainties in the pulsar phase parameters to be included in the search. We report no signal detection from any of the targets and therefore interpret our results as upper limits on the gravitational wave signal strength. The most interesting limits are those for young pulsars. We present updated limits on gravitational radiation from the Crab pulsar, where the measured limit is now a factor of 7 below the spin-down limit. This limits the power radiated via gravitational waves to be less than similar to 2% of the available spin-down power. For the X-ray pulsar J0537-6910 we reach the spin-down limit under the assumption that any gravitational wave signal from it stays phase locked to the X-ray pulses over timing glitches, and for pulsars J1913+1011 and J1952+3252 we are only a factor of a few above the spin-down limit. Of the recycled millisecond pulsars, several of themeasured upper limits are only about an order of magnitude above their spin-down limits. For these our best (lowest) upper limit on gravitational wave amplitude is 2.3 x 10(-26) for J1603-7202 and our best (lowest) limit on the inferred pulsar ellipticity is 7.0 x 10(-8) for J2124-3358. ; Australian Research Council ; Council of Scientific and Industrial Research of India ; Istituto Nazionale di Fisica Nucleare of Italy ; Spanish Ministerio de Educacion y Ciencia ; Conselleria d'Economia Hisenda i Innovacio of the Govern de les Illes Balears ; Netherlands Organisation for Scientific Research ; Royal Society ; Scottish Funding Council ; Polish Ministry of Science and Higher Education ; Foundation for Polish Science ; Scottish Universities Physics Alliance ; National Aeronautics and Space Administration ; Carnegie Trust ; Leverhulme Trust ; David and Lucile Packard Foundation ; Research Corporation ; Alfred P. Sloan Foundation ; Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada ; Commonwealth Government ; Astronomy

Daniel Levine on Hidden Hands, Vocation and Sustainable Critique in International Relations











Daniel Levine is part of a new generation
of IR scholars that takes a more pluralist approach to addressing the hard and
important questions generated by international politics. While many of those
interviewed here display a fairly consistent commitment to a certain position
within what is often referred to as 'the debate' in IR, Levine straddles the boundaries
of a diverse range of positions and understandings. Time to ask for
elaboration.














Print version of this Talk (pdf)




What is, according
to you, the biggest challenge / principal debate in current IR? What is your
position or answer to this challenge / in this debate?






The
question I'd like us to be asking more clearly than we are is, 'are we a
vocation and, if so, what kind of vocation are we'? This points to a varied set
of questions that we, as scholars, gesture to but spend relatively little
theoretical time developing or unpacking. There's an assumption that the
knowledge we produce is supposed to be put good for something, practical in
light of some praiseworthy purpose. Even theorists who perceive themselves to
be epistemologically value-free hope, I think, at least on an intuitive level, that
some practical good will emerge from what they do. They hope that they are doing
'good work' in the sense that some Christians use this term. But, there is not
really a sustained project of thinking through how those works work: how our notions of vocation might
be different or even mutually exclusive, and how the differences in our notions
of vocation might be bound up in non-obvious ways to our epistemological,
methodological, and theoretical choices.







Moreover,
except for a few very important and quite heroic (and minoritarian) efforts, we
don't really have a way to think systematically about the structure of the
profession: how it influences or intervenes or otherwise acts on particular
ideas as they percolate through it, and how those ideas get 'taken up' into
policy. Brian Schmidt has
done work like that, so has Inanna Hamati-Ataya,
Ole Waever, Ido Oren,
Oded Löwenheim, Elizabeth Dauphinee, Naeem Inayatullah,
and Piki Ish-Shalom; and it's good work, but
they are doing what they are doing with limited resources, and I think without due
appreciation from a big chunk of the field as to why that work is important and
what it means.







When
I started writing Recovering
International Relations, I had wanted to recover the 'view from nowhere'
that many social scientists idealize. You know, that methodological conceit
where we imagine we are standing on Mars, watching the earth through a
telescope, or we're Archimedes standing outside of the world, leveraging it
with distance and dispassion. I had worked on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict
for a long time, was living in Tel Aviv, working for a think tank, and was—am—an
Israeli citizen and an American citizen. I had this somewhat shocking discovery
right after the Second Intifada broke
out. Most of my senior colleagues were deploying their expertise in what seemed
to me to be a very tendentious way: to show why the second Intifada was Yassar
Arafat's fault or the Palestinian Authority's fault—or, in a few cases, the
Israelis' fault. There were some very simplistic political agendas that were
driving this research. People were watching the evening news, coming into work
the next morning, and then running Ehud Yaari's commentary through their respective fact-values-methods mill. Or if they were
well-connected, they were talking to their friends on the 'inside', and doing
the same thing.







It
was hard to admit this for a long time, but I was very naïve. I found that very
unsettling and quite disillusioning. That's why the view from nowhere was so
appealing. I wanted to be able to talk about
Israel and Palestine without taking a position on Israel and Palestine—but without eschewing the expertise I had
acquired along the way, in part because I was
a party to this conflict, and cared about its outcome. I was young,
inexperienced, and slightly arrogant to boot—neither yet a scholar, nor an 'expert,'
nor really aware of the game I was playing. So my objections were not well
received, nor did I pose them especially coherently. To their credit, my senior
colleagues did recognize something worthwhile in my diatribes, and they did
their best to help me get into graduate school.







As the
project developed, and as I started engaging with my mentors in grad school, it
appeared that the view from nowhere was essentially impossible to recover. With
Hegel and with the poststructuralists, we can't really think from nowhere; the
idea of it is this kind of intellectual optical illusion, as though thinking
simply happens, without a mind that is conditioned by being in the world. Therefore,
there needs to be a process by which we give account of ourselves.







There
are a variety of different ways to consider how one might do that. There's what
we might call the agentic approach, in which we think through the structure of
thought itself: its limitations, our dependence on a certain image of thinking
notwithstanding those limits—thought's work on us, on our minds. This is closest
to what I do, drawing on Adorno and Kant, and Adorno's account of how concepts
work in the mind; how they pull us away from the things we mean to understand
even as they give us the words to understand them. And drawing on Jane Bennett, William Connolly,
Hannah Arendt, Cornel West, JoanTronto, and JudithButler to think through how one
conditions oneself to accept those limitations from a space of love, humility
and service. Patrick Jackson's (TheoryTalk #44) Conduct of Research in IR is quite
similar to this approach; and so is Colin Wight's Agents, Structures and International
Relations; though they use more philosophy of science than I do.







One
could also do this more 'structurally.' One could say 'this is how the academy
works and this is how the academy interconnects with the larger political
community' and then try to trace out those links: I mentioned Hamati-Ataya,
Oren, and Ish-Shalom, or you could think of Isaac Kamola,
Helen Kinsella, or
Srdjan Vucetic.








Any of
those approaches—or really, some admixture of them—would be pieces of that
project. I would like us to be doing more of that—alongside, not instead of,
all the other things we are already doing, from historical institutionalism to formal
modeling, to large-N and quantitative approaches, and normative, feminist and
critical ones. I would like such self-accounting to be one of the things
scholars do, that they take it as seriously as they take methods, epistemology,
data, etc. Driving that claim home in our field, as it's presently constituted,
is our biggest challenge.






How did you arrive at where you currently are in IR?






I'm 42,
so the Cold War was a big deal. I'm American-born, and I was raised in a pretty
typical suburb. John Stewart from the Daily
Show is probably the most famous product of my hometown, though I didn't
know him. My view of history was a liberal and progressive in the Michael
Waltzer/Ulrich Beck/Anthony Giddens, vein, but I was definitely influenced by
the global circumstances of the time, and by the 'End of History' discourse
that was in the air. I thought that the US was a force of good in the world. I
was a nice Jewish boy from New Jersey. I really wanted to live in Israel for
personal reasons, and the moral challenge of living in Israel after the
Intifada seemed to go away with the peace process. So, it seemed to me that it
was a kind of golden moment: you could 'render unto Caesar what was due to Caesar',
and do the same for the Lord. I could actually be a Jewish-Israeli national and
also a political progressive. (That phrase is, of course, drawn from the Gospels,
and that may give you some sense of how my stated religious affiliations might
have differed from the conceptual and theological structures upon which they actually
rested—score one for the necessity of reflexivity. But in any case, those
events were important.)







I moved
to Israel when I was 22 and was drafted into the military after I took
citizenship there. In the IDF, I was a low-level functionary/general laborer—a
'jobnik', someone who probably produces less in utility than they consume in
rations. Our job was to provide support for the combatants that patrolled a
certain chunk of the West Bank near Nablus—Shechem, as we called it, after the
biblical name. I was not a particularly distinguished soldier. But we were cogs
in a very large military occupation, and being inside a machine like that, you
can see how the gears and pieces of it meshed together, and I started taking
notice of this. Sometimes I'd help keep the diary in the operations room. You
saw how it all worked, or didn't work; or rather, for whom it worked and for
whom it didn't. All that was very sobering and quite fascinating.







I once
attended a lecture given by the African politics scholar Scott Straus, and he
said the thing about being present right after genocide is that you come across
these pits full of dead bodies. It's really shocking and horrific—there they
are, just as plain as day. Nothing I saw in the sheer level of violence compares
to that in any way—I should stress this. But that sense of it all just being out there, as plain as day, and being
shocked by this—that resonated with me. Everyone who cared to look could
understand how the occupation worked, or at least how chunks of it worked. So I
would say in terms of events, those things were the big pieces that structured
my thinking.







Here's two
anecdotal examples. Since I was a grade of soldier with very limited skills, I
was on guard duty a lot. We had a radio. I could hear the Prime Minister on the
radio saying we are going to strike so-and-so in response to an attack on such-and-such,
and then I could see helicopters pass overhead to Nablus, and then I could see
smoke. Then I could see soldiers come back from going out to do whatever it was
the helicopter had provided air support for. I'd see ambulances with red
crescents or red Stars of David rush down the main road. It began to occur to
me that there was a certain economy of violence in speech and performance. I
didn't think about it in specifically theoretical terms before I went back to
graduate school, but Israelis had been killed, political outrage had been
generated. There was a kind of affective deficit in Israeli politics that
demanded a response, and some amount of suffering had to be returned—so the
government could say it was doing its job. I found this very depressing. My odd
way of experiencing this—neither fully inside nor outside—is certainly not the
most important or authentic, and I'm not trying to set myself up as an expert
on this basis. I'm only trying to account for how it made me think at the time
and how that shows up in what and how I write now.







Later,
when I was in the reserves, I was in the same unit with the same guys every
year. One year, we were lacing our boots and getting our equipment for our
three weeks of duty in a sector of the West Bank near Hebron, I think it was. I
remember one guy, one of the more hawkish guys, said 'we'll show 'em this time,
we'll show them what's what'. Three weeks later, that same guy said 'Jeez, it's
like we're like a thorn in their backside; no wonder they hate us so much.' (He
actually used some colorful imagery that I can't share with you.) I remember
thinking, 'well, ok, he'll go home and he'll tell his family and his friends;
some good will come of this.' The next year, I saw the same guy saying the same
thing at the start, 'we'll show those SOBs.' And then three weeks later, 'oh my
God, this is so pointless, no wonder they hate us…' So after a few years of
this I finally said to him, 'tagid, ma
yihiyeh itcha?'—Like, dude, what's your deal? 'We've had this conversation every year! What happens to you in
the 48 weeks that you're not here that you forget this?' And I think he looked
at me like, 'what are you talking about?'







I
thought about that afterwards: we have these moments of experience when we're
out of our everyday environment and discourse, the diet of news and fear, PR
and political nonsense—that's when these insights become possible. So, when
this guy comes in and says 'ok, we'll get those SOBs,' he's carrying with him this
discourse that he has from home, from the news and TV, from his 'parliament'
with his friends where they get together and talk about politics and war and
economics and whatever else—and then a few weeks of occupation duty disrupts
all that, makes him see it in a different light, and he has these kinds of
fugitive experiences which give him a weirdly acute critical insight. Suddenly,
he's this mini-Foucault.







In a
few weeks, though, he goes back to his life, there's no space or niche into
which that uncomfortable, fugitive insight can really grow, so it just sort of
disappears or withers on the vine, its power is dissipated. This is a very
real, direct experience of violence and it's covered over by all of this
jibber-jabber. So there's a moment where you start to wonder: what exactly
happens there? What happens in those 48 weeks? What happens to me during those weeks? You can see how a
kind of ongoing critical self-interrogation would evolve out of that. Again,
none of those things are exactly what my book's about, but it gives you a sense
of how you might find Adorno's kind of critical relentlessness and negativity vital
and important and really useful and necessary. You can see how that might
inform my thinking.







In
terms of books, as an undergraduate, I had read, not very attentively, Said and
Foucault, and all of the stuff at the University of Chicago we had to take in
what they called the 'Scosh Sequence,' from sociologists like Elijah Anderson
and William Julius Wilson to Charles Lindblom and Mancur Olsen: texts from the
positive and the interpretive to the post-structural. I had courses with some
very smart Israeli and Palestinian profs—Ephraim Yaar, Salim Tamari, Ariela
Finkelstein. And of course Rashid Khalidi was there at that time. Once I was in
the military, the Foucault and Said suddenly started popping around in my head.
Suddenly, this sort of lived experience of being on guard duty made the
Panopticon and the notion of discipline go from being a rather complicated,
obscure concept to something concrete. 'Oh! That's
what discipline is!'







When I
went back to graduate school, I was given a pretty steady diet of Waltz,
rational deterrence theory, Barry Posen, Stephen Walt (Theory Talk #33), and Robert Jervis (Theory Talk #12). Shai
Feldman was a remarkable teacher, so were Ilai Alon in philosophy, Shlomo
Shoham in sociology and Aharon Shai in History. Additionally I had colleagues
at work who were PhD students at the Hebrew University working with Emanuel Adler;
they gave me Wendt (Theory Talk #3), Katzenstein's (TheoryTalk # 15) Culture of National Security, Adler and
Barnett, and Jutta Weldes' early article on 'Constructing National Interests'
in the EJIR (PDF here).
My job was to help them publish their monographs, so I got really into the guts
of their arguments, which were fascinating. I am not really an agency-centered
theory guy anymore and I am not really a constructivist anymore, but that stuff
was fantastic. I saw that one could write from a wholly different viewpoint,
perspective, and voice. This is all very mainstream in IR now, but at the time,
it felt quite edgy, very novel. Part of the reason why the middle chapters of Recovering IR has these long discussions
about different kinds of constructivism is that I wouldn't have had two
thoughts to rub together if it was not for those books. I do disagree with them
now and strongly, but they were very important to me all the same.






What would a student need to become a specialist in IR or understand the
world in a global way?






I'd be
more comfortable answering that question as someone who was, until relatively
recently, a grad student. I've not been productive long enough to say 'Well,
here's how to succeed in this business and be a theorist of enduring substance
or importance' with any authority. But I can say, 'here's how I'm trying to be
one.' There's a famous article by Albert O. Hirschman called 'The Principle of
the Hiding Hand,' (PDF here)
and in it he says that frequently, the only way one can get through really
large or complicated projects is to delude oneself as to how hard the project
is actually going to be. He takes as an example these ambitious, massively
complicated post-colonial economic projects of the Aswan High Dam variety. The
only way such enormous projects ever get off the ground, he says, is if one
either denies their true complexity or deludes oneself. Otherwise you despair
and you never get it done. From the first day of seminar to dissertation
proposal to job—thank God I had no idea what I was in for, or I might have
quit.







Also,
the job market being what it was, we had to be very, very passionate scholars who
wrote and argued for the sheer intellectual rush and love of writing. And yet,
we also had to be very practical and almost cynical about the way in which the
academic market builds on the prestige of publications and the way in which
prestige becomes shorthand for your commodity value. At least in the US, the
decline of tenure and the emergence of a kind of new class of academics whose
realm of responsibility is specifically to engage in uncomfortable kinds of
political and moral critique—but without tenure, and at the mercy of a sometimes
feckless dean, an overburdened department chair or fickle colleagues—that's very scary. If you're doing 'normal
science', it's a different game and the challenges are different. But if your
job is to do critique, in the last ten years, it's a very big deal. Very
difficult. I'm very fortunate in that regard; at Alabama I've had great support
from my department, my chair, and my college.







I was a
Johns Hopkins PhD, and my department was fantastic in terms of giving me
support, encouragement, getting out of my way while throwing interesting books
at me, reading drafts that were bad and helping me make them good—or at least
telling me why they were bad. We did
not get particularly good professional training, because I think they did not
want us to get professionalized before we found our own voice. I'm really
grateful for that, truly. But then there's this period in which you have to
figure out how to make your voice into a commodity. That's really tough, it's a
little bit disheartening—even to discover that you must be a commodity is dismaying; didn't we go into the academy to avoid
this sort of logic? But just like Marx says, commodities have a double life, and
so do you. The use-value of your scholarship and its exchange-value do not
interlock automatically and without friction. So you spend all this time on the
use-value of it—writing a cool, smart, interesting dissertation—thinking that
will translate into exchange-value, and it turns out that it sort of does, but
a lot of other things translate into exchange-value too that aren't really about
how good your work is necessarily. And many of your colleagues, if what you're
doing is original, won't really understand what you're doing; the value or the
creativity of it won't be apparent to them unless they spend a lot of time sifting
through your bad drafts of it, which only a few—but God bless those—will do. So
how you create exchange-value for yourself is important. So is finding people
who will care about you, your project, your future—and learning when to take
their advice, when to ignore it, and how to do so tactfully.







If all that's
hard, you're probably doing it right. It's unfortunate that that's how it is,
but at all events, that's how it was for me.











Would you elaborate on the concept of
vocation and why this is so important to the view from nowhere? It is important
to say that the view from nowhere is perhaps difficult. So is vocation, or a
kind of Weberian approach, a way to articulate that for you?







There's
a quote in a book from a Brazilian novelist named Machado de Assis. His
protagonist is this fellow Bras Cubas, who's writing a posthumous memoir of his
own life. He's writing from beyond the grave. From there, he can view his whole
life and his entire society from outside; he's finally achieved positivism's
view from nowhere. But the thing about this view—and the book means to be a
sendup of the Comtean positivism that was fashionable in Brazil in those
days—is that it gives him no comfort. He now knows why he lived his life the
way he did; how he failed and what was—and what was not—his fault. The
absurdity of it all makes sense. But it changes nothing: he has died
unfulfilled, unloved, and essentially alone: a minor poet and back-bench politician
who was ultimately of little use to anyone nor of much to himself. All he knows
is how that happened.







In the
end, if we're all playing a role in how a world comes into being and it's in
some sense our job simply to accept this, and our job as scholars merely to
explain it, this gives us no comfort in the face of suffering, in the face of
violence and evil. To some extent as scholars, and to some extent as a
discipline, we exist as a response to evil, to suffering, to foolishness, to
folly; it's not a coincidence that the first professorship of IR is created in
Britain in the wake of WWI, and that it's given to someone like E. H. Carr.







If we
don't have a view from nowhere because we've given up anything like a moral
sense that can't be reduced to fractional, material, or ideological
sensibilities, and if we know that sometimes those 'views from somewhere' can
provide cover for terrible kinds of evil or justify awful kinds of suffering,
then the notion of vocation seems to come in at that point and say well,
'here's what I hope I'm doing', or 'here's what I wish to be doing', or 'here's
what I'd like to think I'm doing', and then allowing others to weigh in and
give their two cents. Vocation, in the sense of Weber's lectures, comes out of
that. It's Kant for social scientists: What can I know? What should I do? For
what may I hope? In other words, what the necessity and obligation of thinking
is on the one hand, and on the other what its limitations are.







This is
a way to save International Relations from two things: one, from relativism and
perspectivism, and the other, from a descent into the technocratic or the
managerial. I am trying to stand between the two. My own intellectual
background was in security studies at Tel Aviv University in the 1990s: the
period immediately after Maastricht, in the period of the Oslo Process, the end
of Apartheid. My hope back in the days when the peace process seemed to me to
be going well was that I'd be able to have a kind of technocratic job in
Israel's Ministry of Foreign Affairs or Defense. Counting tanks, or something
similar. I thought that would be a pretty good job. I would be doing my part to
maintain a society that had constructed a stable, long-term deterrent by which
to meaningfully address the problem of Jewish statelessness and vulnerability,
but without the disenfranchisement of another people. I could sit down and
count my tanks with a clear conscience, because the specter of evil was being
removed from that work. The problem of the occupation was being be solved.
Again, it's somewhat embarrassing to admit this now.







I would
say in the US academy, there is definitely a balance in favor of the
technocrats. We have enormous machines for the production and consumption of
PhDs in this country. The defense establishment is an enormous player. Groups
like the Institute for Defense Analysis need a lot of PhDs, the NSF funds a lot
of PhDs (for now, at least), and that tips the balance of the profession in a
certain way. My ability to use ideas compellingly at ISA won't change that fact
all by itself, there's a base-superstructure issue in play there.







In
Europe, it's a different story, for a bunch of reasons. The defense
establishments of the EU member states aren't as onerous a presence. And, there
are more of them; so there's a kind of diversity there and a need to think
culturally about how these various institutions interlock and how people learn
to talk to each other: the Martha Finnemore-to-Vincent Pouliot-to-Iver Neumann (Theory Talk #52) study of ideas and institutions and
officials. Plus, you have universities like the EUI and the CEU, which are not
reducible to any particular national interest or education system; creating
knowledge, but for a political/state form that's still emergent. No one knows
exactly what it is, what its institutions and interests will ultimately be.
Because of that, it's hard to imagine the EUI producing scholars with obviously
nationally-inflected research programs, like Halford Mackinder,
Mahan, Ratzel from a century
ago. There will still be reifications and ideologies, but there's more 'give'
since the institutions are still in play. And there's fantastically interesting
stuff happening in Australia, and in Singapore—think of people like Janice
Bialley-Mattern, Tony Burke and Roland Bleiker.











Critique has a long and controversial
history in our discipline. Could you perhaps elaborate, as a kind of background
or setting, how critique can be used in IR and why you've placed it at the
center of your approach to IR theory?







Critique
as term of art comes into the profession through Robert Cox (Theory Talk #37) and through the folks that were writing
after him in the '90s, including Neufeld, Booth, Wyn-Jones, Rengger, Linklater and
Ashley—though pieces of the reflexive practice of critique are present in the
field well before. For Cox, the famous line is that theory is always 'for
something and for someone.' The question is, if that's true how far down does
that problem go? Is it a problem of epistemology and method, or is it a problem
of being as such, a problem of ontology? Is it fundamental to the nature of
politics?







If the
set of processes to which we refer when we speak of 'thinking' is inherently
for someone and for something, and that problem harkens back to the idea that
all thinking is grounded in one's interests and perspectives, i.e., that all
practical or systematic attempts to understand politics are 'virtuous' in the
Machiavellian sense (they serve princely interests) but not necessarily in the Christian
sense (deriving from transcendent values), then we have a real problem in keeping
those two things separate in our minds. Think of Linklater's book Men and Citizens in International Relations
as a key node in that argument, though Linklater ultimately believes (at least
in that book) that a reconciliation between the two is possible. I'm less
convinced.







Now
recall the vocation point we discussed before. IR as a discipline has a deep
sense of moral calling which goes beyond princely interest. And the traditions
on which it draws are as much transcendently normative as anything else. So
encoded in our ostensibly practical-Machiavellian analyses is going to be
something like a sense of Christian virtue; we'll believe we're not merely
correct in our analyses, but really and
truly right in some otherworldly, transcendent way. True or not, that sense
of conviction will attach itself to our thinking, to the political forces and
agendas that we're serving. We'll come to believe that we are citing
Machiavelli in the service of something greater: whether that's 'scientific
truth' or the national interest, or what have you. Nothing could be more
dangerous than that. Critique, as an intervention, comes here: to dispel or
chasten those beliefs. Harry Gould, Brent Steele, and especially Ned Lebow (Theory Talk #53) write about prudence and a sense of
finitude: these are the close cousins of this kind of critique.







If we
take seriously the notion that people sometimes fight and kill in the service
of really awful causes while believing they are doing right, and that scholars
sometimes help them sustain those convictions rather than disabuse them of them—even
if they do not intend this—then critique becomes an awfully big problem and it
really threatens to undermine the profession as such. It opens up a whole new
level of obligation and responsibility, and it magnifies what might otherwise
be staid 'inside baseball'—Intramural scholarly or methodological debates. Part
of the reason why the 'great debates' were so great—so hotly fought—had to do
with this: our scholarly debates were, in fact, ideological ones.







It
undermines the field in another way as well. If we take critique seriously,
there's got to be a lot of moral reflection by scholars. That will make it hard
to produce scholarship quickly, to be an all-purpose intellectual that can
quickly produce thought-product in a policy-appropriate way, because I will
want to be thinking from another space, and of course precisely what
policy-makers want is that you don't
think from some other space; that you present them with 'shovel ready' policy
that solves problems without creating new ones.







So you
now have not just a kind of theoretical or methodological interruption in the
discussion of, say, absolute or relative gains. You now have to give an account
of yourself. And for me, that's what critique in IR means. To unpack the
definition I gave above, it's the attempt to give an account of what the duties
and limits of one's thinking are in the context of politics, given the nature
of politics as we understand it. Because IR comes out of the Second World War,
we're bound to take the most capacious notions of what political evil and
contingency can be; if we are not always in the midst of genocide and ruin,
then we are at least potentially so. And so contingency and complexity and all
the stuff that we're talking about must face that. I want to hold out that Carl
Schmitt and Hans Morgenthau might be
right—in ways which neither they, nor I, can completely fathom. Then I have
to give accounts of thinking that take a level of responsibility commensurate
with that possibility.







In that
vein, when I look at accounts of thinking in the context of the political, when
I look at what concepts are and how they work and how they do work on the world
so that it can be rendered tractable to thought, I realize that what we come up
with when we're done doesn't look very much like politics anymore. We have
tools which, when applied to politics, change it quite dramatically; they reify
or denature it. To be critical in the face of that, you're going to be obliged
to an extensive degree of self-interrogation and self-checking, which I call chastening.







That process
of chastening reason, is, in effect, what remains of the enlightenment obligation
to use practical reason to improve what Bacon called the human estate. What's
left of that obligation is to think in terms of the betterment of other human beings
as best as you can, knowing you can't do that very well, but that you may still
be obliged to try.







That's
really hard to do and it's an odd form of silence and non-silence. After all,
if I were to look at the Shoah while it was happening, or look at what happened
in Rwanda, and say 'well, I don't really have a foundational position on which
to stand so I can't analyze or condemn that'—that would not be a morally
acceptable position. Price and Reus-Smit (TheoryTalk #27) say this
in their 1998 article and they are absolutely right. But then there's the fact
that I don't quite know what to say beyond 'stop murdering people!' The world
is so easy to break with words, and so hard to put back together with them—assuming
anyone cares at all about anything we say. So I am obliged to respond to those
kinds of events when I see them, and I am also obliged to acknowledge that I
can't respond to them well, because my authority comes from the conceptual tools
I have, and they aren't really very good. Essentially, what I'm doing as
scholar of IR is the equivalent is using the heel of my shoe to hammer in a nail.
(That's a nice line, no? I wish it was mine, but it's Hannah Arendt.) It will
probably work, but it will take a while, and the nail won't go in so straight. To
chasten one's thinking is to remind oneself that the heel of one's shoe is not
yet a hammer; that all we're doing is muddling through—even when we do our work
with absolute seriousness and strict attention to detail, context and method—as
of course we should.











You discuss IR theory in terms of different
reifications. In which was does that also lead you to take a stand against a Weberian
understanding of IR?







I think
where I depart from Weber is that he has more faith than I do that, at some
point, disenchantment produces something better. There is faith or hope on
their part that the iron cage that we experience as a result of disenchantment
and as a result of the transformation from earlier forms of charismatic and
traditional authority to contemporary rational ones won't always be oppressive,
not forever. New forms and ways of being will emerge, in which those
disenchanted modes actually will fulfill their promise for a kind of
improvement in the human estate. If it's a long, complicated process—hence the
image of slow boring into hard wood—but faith is still justified, good things
can still happen.







For me,
the question is how would you manage a society that is liable to go insane or
to descend into moments of madness because of the side-effects or intervening
effects of disenchantment and modernization, while holding fast to the notion
that at some point, this is going to get better for most people? I'm a bit less
certain about that than I read Patrick and Weber being. I think that even if
they're right, it makes sense morally as scholars, not necessarily as citizens
or individuals or people, to dwell in the loss of those who fall along the way.








I find
myself thinking about the people who are gone a lot. My ex-wife teaches on
slavery, and I think a lot about this terrible thing she once told me. On slave
ships, when there was not enough food they would throw the people overboard
because ship masters got insurance money if their property went overboard, but
not if human beings succumbed on-ship. There's a scene depicting this in
Spielberg's film Amistad and it
haunts me. I find myself thinking about those people, dragged under with their
chains. I wonder what they looked like, what they had to say. I wonder what
they might have created or how their great-great grandchildren children would
have played with my child. I wonder if my best friend or true love was never
born because her or his ancestor died in this way. An enormous number of people
perished. I can't quite believe this, even if I know it's true.







Yoram
Kaniuk, the recently deceased Israeli novelist, wrote that the Israeli state was
built on the ground-up bones of the Jews who couldn't get there because it was
founded too late. I wonder about them too. And when I taught course modules on
Cambodia, I would find myself looking at the photographs made of the people in
Tuol Sleng before they were killed, the photo archives which the prison kept
for itself. There is a mother, daughter, father, brother, son, and I find
myself drawn into their eyes and faces. I don't want those people to disappear
into zeros or statistics. I want somehow to give them some of their dignity
back, and I want to dwell in the tragic nature my own feeling because it bears
remembering that I cannot ever really do that. If I remember that, I will have
some sense of what life's worth is, and I won't speak crassly about
interventions or bombings or wars—wherever I might come down on them. I would
say that it's almost a religious obligation to attend to the memory of those
people. My desire to abide with them makes me very, very suspicious of hope or
progress. I want this practice of a kind of mourning or grief to chasten such
hope.







There's
a problem with that position. Some will point out to me that this will turn
into its own kind of Manichean counter-movement, a kind of Nietzschean ressentiment. Or else that dwelling in
mourning has a self-congratulatory quality to it. And there are certainly
problems with this position at the level of popular or mass politics. We do see
a lot of ressentiment in our
politics. On the left, there's a lot of angry, self-aggrandizing moral
superiority. And you can think about someone like Sarah Palin in the US as a
kind of populist rejection of guilt and responsibility from the right.







But as social
scientists, we might have space to be the voice for that kind of grief, to take
it on and disseminate the ethics that follow from it; to give that grief a
voice. That kind of relentless self-chastening is what I'm all about. I think
it opens you up to new agendas and possibilities. I think it's a much deeper
way to be 'policy relevant' than most of my colleagues understand this term. If
we are relentlessly self-critical as scholars, and if we relentlessly resist
the appropriation of scholarly narratives to simplistic moral or political ends
and if we, as a society, help to build an intolerance of that and a sense of
the mourning that comes out of that, we also open our society up to say things
like, 'ok, well what's left?'







And
then, well, maybe a lot of things are left, and some of them are not so bad. Maybe
we start to imagine something better. That's where I'd rejoin Jackson and
Weber; after that set of ethical/emotional/spiritual moves. I think, by the
way, that Patrick mostly agrees with me; it's only a question of what his work
emphasizes and what mine has emphasized. On this point, consider Ned Lebow's
notion of tragedy. He and I disagree on some of the details of that notion. But
on top of his remarkable erudition, he's a survivor of the Shoah. I suspect he has thought very deeply about grief and
mourning, and in ways that might not be open to me.











The final question I want to pose to you is
a substantive one: Your understanding of critique somehow does relate to
sustaining progress, in a way. Perhaps on the one hand, you are not so
optimistic as Weber was, but on the other hand, your work conveys the sense
that it is possible to bridge the gap between concepts and things. I'm not sure
if it's possible, but perhaps you can relate it to the substantive example of
how your work relates to concrete political situations. I think the example of
Israel-Palestine comes to mind best.







Again,
I don't think I am as optimistic as that. In my heart of hearts, I desperately
wish this to be the case. To think of the people who were most influential on
my intellectual development—my cohort of fellow grad students at Johns Hopkins
and our teachers, to whom as a group I owe, really, everything in intellectual
terms—I was certainly in the minority view. Most of them were, I think, working
in the Deleuzian vein of making 'theory worthy of the event.' I just don't
believe that's possible; or anyway I think it's really, really, really hard, the work of a generation to tell that
story well and have it percolate out into our discipline and our culture. In
the meantime, we must muddle through. I hope I'm wrong and I hope they're
right. I'm rooting for them, even as I try to give them a hard time—just as I
give Keohane (Theory Talk #9)
and Waltz and Wendt and everyone else I write about a hard time. But I'd be happy, very happy, to
be wrong.







What I
do think can be done is that you can sustain an awareness of the space between
things-in-themselves and concepts, and by extension some sense of the fragility
and the tenuousness of the things that you think and their links to the things
that you do. Out of this emerges a kind of chastened political praxis.







You mentioned
Israel and Palestine, which I care a great deal about and am trying to address
more squarely in the work I'm doing now, partly on my own and partly in pieces I've
worked on with my colleague Daniel Monk. What we observe is that though the diplomatic
negotiations failed pretty badly twelve and a half years ago, we're still
looking at the same people running the show: the same principal advisers and
discussants and interlocutors: in the US and Israel and in the Palestinian Authority.
The same concepts and assumptions too. Just a few days ago, Dennis Ross
published a long op-ed about how we get the peace process back on track, and
you might think that you're reading something from another time—as though the
conflict were a technical challenge rather than a political one. You know that
Prince song about 'partying like it's 1999'?







I don't
know what a peaceful, enriching, meaningful Israeli-Jewish-Arab-Palestinian-Muslim-Christian
collective co-existence or sharing of space or world looks like, but I know
that this pseudo-politics ain't that. When I see something that's just a
re-hashing, I can say, 'come on guys, that is not thinking, that's recycling
the old stuff and swapping out dates, proper nouns and a few of the verbs.' Nor
is it listening to other voices who might inspire us in different ways, or
might help us rethink our interests, categories and beliefs. Lately, I've been
listening to a band called System Ali, hip-hop guys from Jaffa's Ajami quarter,
who sing in four languages. What they say matters less to me than the fact that
they really seem to like another, they trust each other, they let each voice
sing its song and use its words. They have something to teach me about
listening, thinking, acting and feeling—because it's music after all—and that
can produce its own political openings.







Of course,
there are pressure groups, from industry and AIPAC to
whatever else in the US, and those groups merit discussion and debate, but I'm
also wary of the counter-assumption which follows from folks who talk about
this too reductively: that there actually is an American interest, or a
European or Arab or Israeli one, which somehow transcends partisan interest—one
that can be recovered once the diaspora Jews, the oil moguls, the arms dealers
or the Christian 'Left Behind' people are taken out of the picture. That feels
like the same heady brew that Treitschke and Meinecke and the German realpolitik scholars poured and drank:
that the national state has some transcendent purpose to which we gain access
by rising above or tuning out the voices of the polity or its chattering
classes. Only with a light liberal-internationalist gloss: Meinecke meets David
Lake (Theory Talk # 46),
Anne-Marie Slaughter or John Ikenberry.







I can
also go meet starry-eyed idealists who want to hold hands and sing John Lennon,
I can say to them yes, I want to hold your hand and sing John Lennon, but I am
also enough of a social scientist to know that if a policy does not respond to
real and pressing problems—water, land, borders etc.—that any approach that
does not respond to those things will be hopelessly idealist. It will be what
my granny called luftmentsch-nachess—the
silly imaginings of men with their heads in the clouds, like the parable about Thales
and the Thracian maiden. I am not interested in being either a luftmentsch nor a technocrat. So what
does that leave with you with? You need to balance.







You can
look at groups at the margins of political culture to see what they can tell
you. In Israel and Palestine, it's groups like Ta'ayush, Breaking the Silence and Zochrot, and this settler
leader who recently died, Rabbi Frohman, who was going out and meeting every
Palestinian leader he could because for him, being a Jew in the land was not,
in the first instance about his Israeli passport. There were and are
possibilities for discussion that feel really pregnant and feel very different
from the conversation we are sustaining now; which reveal its shallowness and
its limitations and its pretentiousness. These other voices are of course not
ideal either, they are going to have their own problems and limitations, their
own descent into power and exclusion and so on, but they reveal some of the lie
of what we're doing now.







I guess
in the end, social scientists make a living imagining the future on the basis
of the past. I also spend a lot of time reading novels and watching books and
films. Partly because I am lazy and I like them. Partly because I'm looking for
those novels and films to help me imagine other possibilities of being that
aren't drawn from the past. Art, Dewey tells us in The Public and its Problems,
is the real bearer of newness. Maybe then, I get to grab onto those things and
say ok, what if we made those them responsive to an expansive materialist
analysis of what an Israeli-Palestinian peace would need to survive? What if we
held the luftmentsch's feet to the
materialist/pragmatic fire, even as we held the wonk's feet to the luftmentsch's fire? Let them both squeal
for a while. There's possibility there.







Daniel J. Levine is assistant professor at the University of Alabama. Among his recent publications (see below) stands out his book Recovering International Relations.



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Related links








Faculty Profile at U-Alabama
Read the first chapter of Levine's Recovering IR (2012) here (pdf)
Read Barder and Levine's The World is Too Much (Millennium, 2012) here (pdf)
Read Levine's Why Morgenthau was not a Critical Theorist (International Relations, 2013) here (pdf)
Read Monk and Levine's The Resounding Silence here (pdf)




Print version of this Talk (pdf)

The Mercury October, 1908 HEW THOSE WHO HELP US. The Intercollegiate Bureau of Academic Costume. Cotrell & Leonard, ALBANY, N. Y. Makers of CAPS AND GOWNS i'o Gettysburg College, Lafayette, Lehigh, Dickinson, State College, Univ. of Penn B.i Ivnnia, Harvard, Yale, Princeton, "Wellesley, Bryn Mawr and the others. Class Contracts a Specialty. Correct Hoods ^ Degrees. Right Now is not too soon for the senior, the college man, to let us know whether he would be interested in any sort of an office, sales, tech-nical or teaching position. Your choice of location and lines of business. Twelve offices covering the entire country, each operat-ing a department for college men. Write stating line of education and location desired. Hp.pGrB©B THE MERCUKY. extent brought under the influence of a force over which he has little or no control. So great is the power of tradition, that many are wondering what really is the attitude of the present undergraduates in ques-lions of truth and falsehood, than which nothing can be of greater importance, if the practical end of a college course is to be "training good members of society." Do our students have any dominating sense of honor, or are they predominantly gov-erned by the stray survivals of an impalpable and damaging tra-dition ? Behold, says the world to the college, you have received our choicest young men, you are training those who are to be the iiower of our citizenship, the leaders of men, yet you surround them with an atmosphere smirched with the vestiges of a past which knew neither the glory nor the honor of our democracy. The skeptic sees in the little college world only a false and de-cisive transcript of the larger world. He wonders when students will cease their imitation of the small boy, who one minute reads the riot-act of manly independence, and the next pleads the baby-act of thoughtless irresponsibility. He wonders when fac-ulties will cease their skipping about from "in loco parentis" to '.he "on honor" theory. Those best able to learn the attitude of students toward ques-tions of truth and falsehood find much that is encouraging. None set for college officers a standard of honor so sensitively' high. Disingemiousness in a professor the students find intol-erable, and once discovered it may mean the permanent blasting of his usefulness. A man may lack extraordinary personal .•harm, he may yet gain and keep the confidence of the students by scrupulous candor in all his intercourse with them, but lack of this element of frankness is sure to call forth their condem-nation. In no department of life can you find a loftier standard than the one which students have set for themselves in their athletic "iiaining. If athletics were not accomplishing anything else that is worth while, the fact that they get and keep a lot of young men "in training," renders justifiable their demand for con-tinued support. To the extent of rigidity has the standard of honor in .atliletic training been elevated. A student has no J THE MERCURY. purer means of branding himself than the breaking of training. And what body of more mature men has a finer sense of what constitutes leadership? No one, therefore, need seriously fear that undergraduates are without a keen ethical perception. And yet, in spite of these healthy signs, we cannot disregard 'he discouraging observations of a scrutinizing world. It sees in the average undergraduate such little sense of proportion: open and gentlemanly as he is, he appears honest and honorable only in spots. A manufacturer requires that into the product of his plant his workmen shall put honest material and honest toil,—his success depends upon that requirement. Need we wonder that he should grow impatient with our institutions of learning, which claim to enroll the choice youth of an enlightened country, when so much of the work turned out by them has the ear-marks of dishonesty, —not to speak of the vast amount of work that is never done at all? Can the college rightly expect much sympathy from the man of business, when he observes so many annually leaving col-lege walls who have never learned the real meaning of work, never practiced strenuous industry or appreciated the value of iime? The community would not feel so keenly disappointed with the growing numbers who go to college more for the social life than for learning, if that social life were invigorated to a greater extent by the moralities which govern society at large, :md if it had at least a more certain tendency to promote the greatest of all arts, the art of living. Is the judgment of the world too harsh ? Is it not too exact-ing to demand that youthful immaturity be subjected to the ligid standards which logic and the community at large seem to approve ? Only those yet under the charm of tradition—be they slumni, faculty or undergraduates—look with complacency upon the happy-go-lucky codes the extravagances and distortions of our colleges. But happily the number of these is decreasing, and never before, we believe, has the time been so propituous for the obliteration of this damaging tradition. This is true even among the undergraduates themselves. They ma}' not be desir-ing increased supervision or more stringent regulation, but a great majority of them stand ready to be released from false-standards and to adopt sound and sane ones in their stead. C THE MERCURY. Is it just that the picked young men of America should any longer be brought into and permitted to perpetuate a delusive-atmosphere? An atmosphere in which acts of obvious dis-honesty and vice and inhumanity are socially elevated and put into good repute, when the perpetrators should be put into bad repute, certainly deserves no place in an enlightened country 'ike our own. Undergraduates are free to confess that in their excesses quite frequently they are but following custom and can oiler no other excuse; and by their very manner many of them indicate that a higher standard is struggling to gain ascendency. Who shall assist them in completely throwing off the cruel rhackles of tradition, or must they effect their own deliverance? If the purifying and the uplifting of college honor is to pro-gress, along sane and invigorating lines, what greater service can be rendered the undergraduates than to place among them a vigorous, guiding personality,—not a college officer, but one who, sympathizing with the students' own point of view, can liberate Ihem and act as their interpreter and guide. THREE SENSES, BUT A COMPLETE SOUL. MARY HAY HIMES, 'OS. JELEN KELLEB'S name is already too familiar to each of you to need a special introduction. The world of to-day knows it well and has accorded to its owner not a little fame because of her attainments. Though Miss Keller has to do without both hearing and sight she has achieved a position among her fellowmen which we must, in the circum-stances, recognize as surprising. She is now twenty-seven years old and her education has served to make her a writer of no mean ability. She is a college girl, having been graduated from Radeliff with the degree of A.B., in 1904, and she is now entering upon a career of service io bo wrought both by her own hands and through influencing ••(hers to favor and aid beneficent undertakings. But whatever THE MJ5RCURY. rhe does she will not neglect the task of improving her mind and she will continue to write. She has had the unusual privilege of knowing intimately many of the great men of her day such as Phillips Brooks who was her main instructor in things religious, Henry Drummond the mem-ory of whose strong warm handclasp she likened to a benediction, Oliver Wendell Holmes whom she called her beloved poet, John (Treanleal' Whitticr in whose home she visited the summer before he died, Edward Everett Hale whose friendship helped her over many of the rough places, Mark Twain from whose lips she read one or two of his good stories, and Joseph Jefferson who acted for her in private the most striking parts of a number of his plays ro that her education even in this line is not so defective as one might naturally suppose. Of these, her friends, she has written: "In a thousand ways they have turned my limitations into beau- : if ill privileges and enabled me to walk serene and happy in the shadow cast by my deprivation." Books have meant much more in Helen Keller's education than in that of others for they serve to bring knowledge to her which comes to an ordinary person through his eyes and ears. She has read widely and is thoroughly familiar with a large num- .,er of the best works in prose and poetry. She says literature is her "Utopia for no barrier of sense shuts her out from the dis-course of her book-friends. All these things have broadened and enriched Helen Keller's mind so that she is well fitted to exercise her natural bent to writing which lias won for her the excellent place that she oc-cupies in the literary world. She has written for many of this country's best periodicals and has been asked to speak in state legislatures and at hospital dedications in the cause of the deaf and blind! Her book called "The Story of My Life," has been sold by the thousands, and her articles which have lately been oublished in the "Century" are of unique merit. It seems nowise unfit ihat Miss Keller should be regarded as one of the most wonderful women that have ever lived when we note that she has attained this high position in spite of the fact that she has been deprived of the two of the five senses which are of such paramount importance to each one of us that we depend on them almost entirely, paying hardly any attention to the cul- 10 THE MERCURY. tivation or use of the three upon which she must depend alto-gether. Some of the knowledge which would generally come to one through his eyes and ears is brought to Helen Keller by taste, touch, and smell. Through these three senses sounds and shapes penetrate her consciousness and by certain mental processes of adding, multiplying, comparing what these senses bring her she gets definite ideas of whole objects, distance, degree and differ-mce. But there are concepts whose getting belongs to hearing or sight so particularly that we would think it impossible for a deaf-blind person to obtain them, no matter how high might be the cultivation of his three remaining senses. A great gulf here opens dividing the deaf-blind person from the hearing and seeing world. Yet in the case of Miss Keller we find no gulf there, for her soul in its activity and completeness reaches out and fills up the void. She makes use of the analogy between the material and the soul worlds and from the very fulness of her inner life is able to "mploy that whicli in her case has no correspondent without, to give her knowledge of that which her senses can never reveal. So far as the appreciation of music is concerned, she may have far better understanding of its nature than many a person with bearing ears but without any soul-intelligence to interpret what, through them, comes to him. We are made to feel this from her own account: "Sweet, beautiful vibrations exist for my touch even though they travel through other substances than air to i-each me. So I imagine sweet, delightful sounds and the artis-tic arrangement of them which is called music, and T remember '.hat they travel through the air to the ear conveying impressions somewhat like mine. I also know what tones are since they are perceptible factually in a voice." Her ideas of things which are revealed to us through our eyes are not lacking in clearness. She thus describes the way she gets her concept of color: "I have talked so much and read so much about colors that through no will of my own I attach mean-ings to them just as all people attach certain meanings to ab-stract terms like hope, idealism, monotheism, intellect, which cannot be represented truly by visual objects." Again she says: "The flash of thought and its swiftness explain the lightening's THE MEUCLTRY. H flash and the sweep of a comet through the heavens. My mental .-ky opens to me the vast celestial spaces and I proceed to £11 them with the images of my spiritual stars. I recognize truth by the clearness and the guidance that it gives my thought, and knowing what that clearness is I can imagine what light is to the eye. The utmost bound to which my thought will go is the horizon of my mind. From this horizon I imagine the one which the eye marks." It is only when we awake to self-consciousness that we begin to think. The awakening of the soul must come before we can know how to use the knowledge which reaches us through our reuses. There are persons who, having all five senses yet walk blind in the midst of the beauty which can only be seen through • lie windows of the soul. "Our blindness," says Helen Keller^ '•'changes not a whit the course of inner realities. Of us it is as true as it is of the seeing that the most beautiful world is always entering through the imagination. Faith is a mockery if it Reaches us not that we may construct a world unspeakably more complete and beautiful than the material world. And I, too, may construct my better world, for I am a child of God, an in-heritor of a fragment of the Mind that created all worlds." Indeed as we read the works of Helen Keller we often be-come conscious of the flutter of the spirit wings and we feel that in her flights of soul we axe somehow uplifted and refined. All this tells a wonderful story about the real nature of the soul, its dignity, energy, and power. It puts to route those phi-losophers who would hold this wonderful part of man subject to the petty rule of flesh, who claim that the possession of all five senses is necessary for a full and complete knowledge,—that the soul is dependent upon sense for its full life. It shows the soul to be something separate and apart from the body in which it dwells and utterly independent of it. The loss of any of the senses affects one's soul as little as the loss of a hand or foot would affect his personality. The soul has wonderful capabilities of growth and action which nothing but its own will need limit. Nothing need be a prison-house to the spirit, such power does it possess. It has KIeh unexplainable and wonderful qualities as man has always been drawn by his nature to reverence and worship—truly he 12 TUB MERCURY. bas been made a little lower than the angels. It is the soul which each man must respect within himself. Of what significance, then, is this in disclosing the nature of" the life of the sonl? If the soul is not affected by the small changes as they occur in the body, will the final destruction of the body by death lay chains upon the spirit and drag it down to nothingness? If man were a merely natural being, Nature's des-tiny would be his also; but we have seen that the soul is super-natural, able to mount over the barriers imposed upon the na-tural, and therefore deserving a different fate. What then do we face but immortality ? If eternity be not for the soul, man's very greatness, his capacity for thought and action and for ideals were direst mockery! Is it not rather that the soul sojourns-here for a time in the physical body as in a prison from which death will set it free to dwell forever in that unseen world where its real interests are and where it will remain after all earthly end material things have passed away? Having the great gift of eternity and a soul active and power-ful to do what it will, does not one's destiny rest in his own hands? If he learns to enjoy the soul-world by thinking of it here and earning a place in it surely happiness will await him in the future. We have seen that Helen Keller is making wonderful use of" her powers and know that she is building firm and strong. Her wonderfully courageous fight stands a firm rebuke to our sloth-ful spirits, and her victories in overcoming the obstacles in her way hold great encouragement for those on the verge of despair. THE MERCURY. 13.-. A CLEAR AND A GLOOMY DAY AT COLLEGE. L. W. TAYLOR, '08. HE day dawns gloomily, and at the last possible moment the heavy-eyed student rolls out of bed and gazes through a streaming window into the dense fog which has settled over all the campus, hiding from view every beautiful feature of the place. No vigorous heart-beats stir his torpid blood as he buttons his raincoat about him in anticipa-tion of the weary trip to breakfast and the not-altogether enjoy-able chapel service following. But such a day must be endured, and the only remedy is to dispel the gloom and forget the rain—if possible. The college student is an adept at this and although all is dismal without. the dormitories seem filled with merriment. The pipes are pro-duced, and dense clouds of smoke soon arise and fill the atmos-phere as though in opposition to the clouds of mist outside. Here and there groups of students settle down to a friendly game of cards, while others, perhaps, coil upon a pile of cushions to enjoy an interesting book. From various quarters comes the tinkling of mandolins and guitars, sometimes accompanied by snatches of song. But despite all this assumed gayety, everyone feels a spirit of' depression which he cannot well shake off. It follows him about, hinders him in his work, making all seem drudgery, and lurks nearby in his pastime although it may be forgotten for a short while. And as evening approaches, this feeling of confinement becomes worse and worse until it is well nigh unbearable, and darkness 'settles down over a restless and disconcerted person who feels that the day has gone for naught. But bow different the clay which dawns brightly upon a fresh, green world. The student arises early, wakened by the gay ••hatter of birds, and the bright sunbeams which stream in through his window. He springs up with energy and feels the-oright red blood coursing through his veins and filling his whole being with the joy of life He faces the day with eagerness, and the spirit of achievement is strong within him. Chapel appears .ess odious, and he looks forward to recitatior«^kl^teas^£?«'**^^ | GETTYSBURG COLLEGE | i Gettysburg, Pa, - LIBRARY - 14 THE MERCDET. Such a clay fills the whole place with gayety and college seems u veritable paradise in which youth and energy abound. The pastimes are now out in the open where no walks confine, and where fresh breezes bring health and vitality to all. The tennis courts -are filled with white-garbed figures, while from Nixon irield resounds the crack of the bat as it sends the leather sphere out to some expectant hand. The brawny arms of clean-limbed f.thletes of the more classic sort,can be seen flashing in the sun-light as they circle the track with strong strides. Others indulge their freedom by strolling out over the battle-field, some in quest of botany specimens, some in the interests of geology, and many simply for the invigoration afforded by the pure air and sunshine. When darkness falls, the students are still loath to confine themselves within four walls, and so they stroll along the streets of the historical college town, and perchance when the moon .•ioods the campus with soft light, they gather on the steps of '•Old Dorm" and sing, or enjoy the peace of evening in medita-tive silence, thus ending n day filled with many joys and rich in life for all. j* SHOULD THE SCHOOL TERM IN THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS BE REDUCED TO EIGHT MONTHS? L. VAN DOREN,. '09. 8HE question of reducing the school, term in the public-schools from nine to eight months has been uppermost among the questions that have been troubling the minds of the men who have to attend to the welfare of our schools. The school term should not be reduced to eight months, be-cause the general age of the pupil in the public schools is under twelve years, and they are at the very age when they are learn-ing the rudiments of the different branches and getting the foun-dation upon which to build their lives; also they are at that age when they most easily forget what they are being taught, for THE MEKCURY. 15 their past experiences are few and they are continually passing through new experiences, which tend to drive out the training they are receiving from day to day in the school room. There-fore, to reduce the school term to eight months would be giving ;Jiese forces one extra month in which to work, and it would take twice that time to replace what would be lost, so instead of gain-ing a month it would be losing three. Also when the child is out of school he is free from the disci-pline which there exists. Some may say, he is under the home-rule. That is very true but the home-rule is in very few cases as strict as the discipline of the school room, and it can not be as stringent, for every one knows that in the school room the child ■s continually under the eye of his teacher, whereas at home, if he were there, for nine times out of ten after school hours he is roaming around with his comrades and is under no discipline at all—his parents have their domestic duties to attend to and are unable to keep a close watch upon him. So to give the child one month more of freedom from school-room discipline would not be to his advantage, but rather it would be detrimental to his childhood training. It is undoubtedly true that the children become very tired of being shut up in the school room during the spring and long to be free to roam wherever they may choose, and this very long- 'ng suggests a reason for not reducing the school term to eight months. The fact that a large number of the children loiter around after school hours with their companions is no reason for not reducing the school term, but the fact that they do not loiter inerely with their child companions but instead, around the street corners and other places is an argument against it. Here they come in contact with all kinds of people and see what those, some years older than they, are doing, such as smoking and chew-ing, and hear obscene language which is extremely disadvanta-geous to the training of the moral elements in the child. When the child sees or hears these things what does he do? Does he run away? No, he docs the exact opposite; he remains longer than he would otherwise have done, he is not satisfied with what hehasscenor heard but he wishes to see and hear more, and it docs not stop with the mere seeing and hearing; the child wishes to be like those who do these things, and thinks he is elevated to a 1G THE MERCURY. Uglier plane if he takes a smoke or uses curse words. He is sadly mistaken, for instead of being elevated, he is being de-graded. Therefore if the school term were reduced to eight months, he would be given one month more in which to mingle with this element, which works against his moral character. Thus there are three reasons, and very essential reasons too. why the school term in the public schools should not be reduced to eight months. In the first place the child would be deprived of a month's training in the fundamentals when it is the most opportune time; secondly, he would be free from the school-room discipline an extra month, and lastly, he would be given one more month in which to associate with that class of persons who stand on the street corners and in other public places. SIMILARITY OF PURSUITS THE BASIS OF FELLOWSHIP. G. L. KIEFFER, '09. XDIVIDUALS in this world are all prone to seek com-panions. The kind of companions sought varies in proportion to the degree of development of the indi-vidual. These individuals that mutually agree to en-joy each other's fellowship must certainly have as their posses-sion some common ground, where all differences disappear. This r-ommon ground quite frequently proves to be a similarity of pur-suit. In harmony with this fact is the old saying: "Birds of a feather flock together." Who has not seen, or read about, the old country store gathering. Here the farmer is wont to meet his neighbor for an evening's fellowship, mutually desired and en-joyed. This fact of similarity of pursuits being the basis of fellow-ship is not alone true of the laboring class. It is also true of the cultured class. The coffee house in the days of Ben Johnson was the fellowship club of the literary lights of that age. Here they met and enjoyed each other's wit and humor as well as shared each other's troubles. THE MERCURY. 17 The fact that similarity of pursuits is the basis of fellowship is ; hewn in the manner in which those who are following the same line of work are banded together. We, to-day, have the great labor unions' as an outgrowth of this among the laboring class. In higher walks of life are found this association and that asso-ciation. Banded together for each other's protection and develop-ment, these unions and associations are quite a factor, working for the betterment of humanity's condition of life. The strong characters thus intimately associated with the weak possess a great opportunity for living a life according to their Master's com-mands. Granted these associations carry with them evils, never-theless the benefits outweigh them. Therefore, in time past as well as at the present time, indi- \iduals who have had the common ground of similarity of pur-suits have banded themselves together in order that they might enjoy each other's fellowship. In all walks of life this has been true. It is likewise true that the benefits to the individuals of these bonds of fellowship can hardly be estimated. THE INEXORABLE IN THE WORLD. HESSE, '09. JWENTY and one half centuries ago, there lived, in beau-tiful Greece, a childlike and simple hearted people, but endowed with intellects that shone as the stars in their own wonderful heavens. Of experimental science they had none, but their intuition and reason led them to experience the loftiest thought and the profoundest emotions that fill the imman breast. They attained the heights of intellect we must strive in vain •■ompletely to comprehend, and they laid the foundation for modern culture in its length and breadth. They reveled in meta-physical speculations, they looked through the stars and through the multitudinous phenomena of earth, and saw within the com-plexity of all a oneness which they called the universe. Nor is there a theory of modern science or philosophy which in its 18 THE MERCURY. broad outlines they had not conceived. In the sixtli century before Christ there was taught the doctrine of creation by evolu-tion, the nebular hypothesis, the indestructibility of matter and the conservation of energy, the sphericity of the earth, the fact of sex in plants, as well as in animals, and their theory of music has never been changed. They recognized order, plan, and design in this cosmos of theirs, and so affirmed mind as its author. As those old Greeks had grasped the fundamental conceptions which are necessary to understand natural law in the material universe, so, too, by a native insight they grasped the ethical principles of the world. They felt themselves to be free-willed personalities, but they saw with crystaline vision that man, in order to find safety and perfect freedom, must have a will sub-servient to the laws set in order by the Divine Creative Mind, and that a will out of harmony with these laws incurs peril, tem-poral and external. During those early days the laws in physics, optics, chemistry. ,«md biology were unknown, and will was recognized as the only force capable of initiating motion. Accordingly, those old 'Greeks created, by their vivid imagination, gods invested with power to rule over certain definite spheres of human activity. Nevertheless, they were conscious that back of even Father Zeus liimself, there was a mysterious, an inexorable something, to which, with their most vivid imagination, they could not assign a personal existence in the home of the gods on high Olympus. The Greek philosopher was struck with awe, as he contemplated this mystery underlying his fanciful explanation of the move-ments in nature. He realized the presence of a force which lie oould not attribute to the capricious gods. He felt the cold hand of stern necessity, of unbending compulsion, that inexorable Power, which is no respector of persons, and to which all crea-tion is obedient, the great cause of the perpetuity of the world. He saw it manifested in (lie composition of the elements and represented graphically by the starry heavens. To him it was Ihe soul of all natural phenomena and the absolute authority over the hearts of men. The Greeks, in their thought were striving to represent this inexorable Power, and to that end, created a word. They spoke of it as avayKrj and to it they resigned self. Sopocles, in THE MERCURY. 19 that magnificent tragedy, "Oedippus Bex," says, "Not even the gods fight against amy/c^. And Aeschylus, in the Promotheus Bound, tell how, in the beginning, poor pitiable mortals were crashed through their ignorance of natural laws and forces, hav-ing no power of development, and that at length rejected and given over to destruction by the Olymphic Zeus. He tells how, in their blindness to the means of development which avayK^ afforded, they suffered untold pain and woe. They failed to re-alize that existence is a struggle in which the victory is not to tiie strong but to those whose souls are atune with the eternal plan of progress. Mortals seemingly were helpless, but upon re-ceiving fire, "the teacher of every useful art," there was opened to them illimitable resources. Science was born, and by learning. dowly and painfully, the workings of the universe, man was raised to a higher plane of living. Centuries have rolled by, and man himself has become a god. AVe have advanced until we are conscious that all natural forces invite us to rise higher in material development by cdping with opposition. The idea of limitation and the laws of nature that stand seemingly in opposition to our physical, mental, and moral development may be considered as the dark avay/o? of the ancient Greeks, and yet in reality it is merely the necessary op-position by which action is made possible. There could be no flight of birds, if it were not for the change-less law of gravitation and the defiance of ethereal space. Our fouls could not soar to higher worlds, and, in our intellectual and • loral struggles we should fail, but for the very defiance we meet. 't is the order of things yet to some, it is so dark and fearful. But why should it be? It is but rational to accept the limita-tions which He who made the world has set as the boundaries of-human activity. Endowed with an immortal soul and placed in, a vast theatre of struggle, a man so often surrenders to the evils, that he meets. His confidence in the All Wise fails, he rebells,. and succumbs to fate. The purpose of the Infinite remains obscure, but the wisdom of' ihe plan which he has adopted is being revealed and its justice, •indicated, as age after age pushes back the horizon of knowl-edge. We are now standing in the morning twilight of a new era of thought, and, as we read the message of the past, we see 20 'J'KE MERCURY. the problems which perplexed the ancient mind, in a measure ceing solved. As solution follows solution, there opens to our view mysteries of wider scope. Human interests are essentially the same, but humanity drinks from a larger cup of bliss than ever before. As dark shadows disappear and the boundaries of Ignorance recede, we enlarge our horizon. The periphery of the universe expands, and in realms growing still more vast avoy/07 the inexorable, appears, as a legion of mysterious forces and influences, drawing out and showing human aspira-tions in an intricacy of thought and action. No longer do we. as did the children of Mars, march to certain death upon the field of battle and call it fate. But, while understanding so much of the mystery of existence from the starry heavens to the microscopic world, while recognizing the reign of law as inexora-ble, we know comparatively nothing of the problems that re-main. There are principles we can not fathom for they grow darker as we seek their significance. These are appalling fea-tures that bind and hold the race in their iron grasp. Society hems us in on every side. There are boundaries im-movable. The individual, born to act within his sphere, the physical, mental, and spiritual limitations of which there is ab-solutely no hope of crossing, is as really hound by the hand of fate, as was Promotheus of old. We are doomed to play our role in the drama of life within a certain narrow sphere. The law of heredity and our personal contact with the outer world bind and keep us closer than would the eye of a jealous Grecian deity. We are under the law, and violation of natural laws brings about unnatural conditions. Perpetration of deeds, unnatu-ral, breeds in humanity tendencies to repeat crime even to the fifth generation. This, indeed, is determinism. It is the avayKrj of the nncient Greeks. They whom such fate overtakes are of mortal ones most to be pitied. The old Grecian idea of avay/oj comprehends all such, yet the principle is that of eternal justice which is enthroned high above the limitations of man's understanding. Stern necessity, the inexorable bond which obtains in this uni-verse of law and order must be considered as the hand board di-recting man. It points out a perilous way, but it will lead, Rventually, to more perfect human relations. ITIJS MERCURY. The harmonious stream of existence follows inexorable law. .All is harmony, yet unintelligible to the passing multitudes, who-through selfishness and by acts of rebellious will toll a sad knelL and depart forever. But, the imperishable stream flows on. He who would be wise embarks and.acts according to the light he has. Outside of the light, or in realms unexplored, there is abso-hitely no mercy for him who seeks to break the limitations set by law. The ancient Greeks with their partial insight bowed in sub-mission before the inexorable; not only they, but their Olympian gods as well. Dim and hazy, felt rather than seen, and having no habitation as did Zeus, this illimitable power never became anthropomorphic. It was never a Father into whose face they amid look- and say, "Thy will be done." Rather they surren-dered to an unknown, impersonal necessity whose decree was in-evitable We recognize the same power manifesting itself in the physical world, and we call it natural law; and in the world of humanity, we call it, in the fine phrase of Matthew Arnold, "The power in history, not ourselves, which makes for righteous-ness." FEUDS IN OUR RURAL COMMUNITIES, bo|raa^!'*' [ GEfTYSBURG tc__ Gettysburg, Pa. LIBRARY - - 26 THE MERCURY. and the principal works dealing with the Confessions of the Church. In practical theology we have the complete works of Luther, devotional books, sermons and treatises, some in pamph-let form, others in the original manuscript. Some of the authors represented in Systematic Theology are, Dorner, Martensen, Miiller, Beck, Sprecher, Schleiermacher and JSTitzsch. Commentaries are by Meyer, Keil, Bretheau, Hengs-tenberg, Tholuck and others. Philosophy is also extensively represented both in histories and complete works on the subject. It contains the works of nearly all the great German philosophers, such as Kant, Fichte, Hegel, Shopenhauer, Lotze, V. Harman, Wundt, and others. Besides these comprehensive works thre are many German and Englisl treatises and dissertations on philosophical subjects. Another and doubtless the most exhaustive department is So-ciology. In this department the productions of Dr. Stucken-berg form an important and valuable feature. Along with his works are found all the most noted German contributions to the science as well as many other historical and systematic pro-ductions of authors of different nationalities. Some of the au- Ihors represented are Marx, Lange, Wagner, Schaffle and Blunt-schli. Among the many works on History are found the following: Macauley's, "History of England," Humes', "History of Eng-land," Tierre's, "History of the Consulate and Empire of Na-poleon," Gibbons' Complete AYorks, Fronde's, "History of Eng-land." Also a large number of works dealing especially with Church History, such as. Millman's, "Latin Christianity," His-tories of Protestant Theology and works dealing with the Ameri-can Church. Some of the authors represented are jNTeandet'. Jleppe, Bohringer, Schaff and Planck. Tn the collection of biographies are those of all the great re-ligious, intellectual and political leaders, such as St. Augustine, Melanchthon, Schleiermacher, Martensen, Henhofer, Humbold, Tholuck,Webster, Beecher, Burke, Scott, Garrison, Garrick, Mar-tineau and others. The encyclopaedias and dictionaries form an important fea-ture of the library, especially along the lines of Theology and Sociology. Although some of these works are not the latest and THE MERCURY. 27 most up-to-date editions, the majority of them are still recog-nized as authority in their particular departments. Such is Herzog's "Theologische Beal-Encyklopadie." Besides this partially classified material there is of course a large amount of miscellaneous material, such as works and trea-tise on Natural History and Geography. There is also some fic-tion and high class English and German literature. The works of Goethe, Schiller, Lessing, Heine, Jean Paul Bitter, Shakes-peare, Milton and others are found complete. AT SUNSET. BY ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON. How pure, how spare the hues that lie O'er these wide plains, from sky to sky! . As tho some brush, of airy skill, Had washed, had tinted, field and hill. Soon falls the change; the daylight dies; The dusk o'erbrims her boundaries; The sun flares westward, fiercely rolled 'Mid purple islets ridged with gold. Air me, ah me! alike they fade— Brief space of sun, swift lapse of shade; The wistful eye, that saw and loved, The heart so strangely, sweetly moved. Yet, tho the creeping dusk enfold My faint-hued hopes, my dreams of gold, At last, her patient journey trod. This trembling soul shall leap to God. —Prom the Daily Mail (London). I H E ERCURV Entered al the Posloffice at Gettysburg as second-class Matter. VOL. XVI GETTYSBURG, PA., OCTOBER, 1908 No. 5 Editor in-Chief P. F. BLOOMHARDT, '09 Exchange Editor H. REY WOLF, '09 Business Manager CHARLES L. KOPP, '09 Ass't Bus. Managers G. C. KNIPPLE, '10 PAULS. AIILLER, '10 Assistant Editor CHARLES F. V. HESSE, '09 Associate Editors SAMUEL FAUSOLD, '10 EDWARD N. FRYE, '10 Advisory Board PROF. C. F. SANDERS, A. M. PROF. P. M. BIKLE, PH.D. PROF. C. J. GRIMM, PH. D. Published each month, from October to June inclusive, by the joint literary societies of Pennsylvania (Gettysburg) College. Subscription price, one dollar a year in advance ; single copies 15 cents. Notice to discontinue sending THE MERCURY to any address must be accompanied by all arrearages. Students, Professors and Alumni are cordially invited to contri-bute. All subscriptions and business matter should be addressed to the Business Manager. Articles for publication should be addressed to the Editor. Address THE MERCURY, GETTYSBURG, PA. EDITORIALS. The words of welcome to the new students, as published in the Gettysburgian pleased us very much. We are pleased even more on account of the enthusiasm, which, if possible, is greater than that manifested during previous years. It is the spirit of "Greater Gettysburg" entering into every phase of college life. The vari-ous activities of our college have been well presented to the new men, and they, in turn, have re- THE MERCURY. 29 spondecl with that well known heartiness requisite to the well-being of a new man. A Gettysburg man will be impelled to branch, out, taking in all possible advantages, or elese he will be (ompelled to plod his more narrow path with ever increasing difficulty. This is as it should be. It is not merely a rule gov-erning college activities, but is a universal law. It seems, in-deed, needless to devote further discussion to this topic. We would rather compliment the new men as being able to see readily what we mean to suggest. We would therefore say to all new men, faithful class work joined with good faith, as shown by the way you take up the subsidary features of college life, will lead to the summum bonum. Literary attainment is the most valuable asset in a liberal education. By its means we learn of a man's physical, mental, and heart-life all at once. Each professor under whom you have literary work will take special interest in you, especially when you aim to produce something worthy of recognition in the MERCURY. And besides, all the professors and students will ; rd your trivial imperfections with increased charity, when you show by your effort that you mean to succeed. Let each man busy himself, not alone to gain these advantages, but let him go in for all there is in the performance of duty, and other things will come to him in due time. Join one of the literary societies and aim to have your work there be of a high stand-ard. The MERCURY is watching for the best from the best men. Number yourself with the best. If you are willing to do these Things, Gettysburg has great pleasures in store for you. Year after year, the importance of joining a literary society and of taking an active interest in such work has been much, dis-cussed. But in recent years this importance has not been real-ized as it should be. It is merely talked about. It has not been so very long ago that literary work occupied a high place in the sphere of college activities whilst our successes in athletics were not so marked. Of late, however, we are inclined to believe chat the reverse of this has been true. We would in no wise discourage the great interest in athletics which has meant so much to Gettysburg's teams, but we would also claim for liter- .30 THE MF.BCURY. ary work the proper attention and interest due to its real im-portance in college life. Few men who go through college are ignorant of this importance for it is a real necessity in the mak- :rjg of a cultured man, but the attention of most men is so en-grossed in other ways that the society work is neglected to their own disadvantage as well as to the injury of the respective so-cieties. In our opinion, everyone who enters college should strive to become as well-rounded a man as possible,—by this we mean that he should take advantage of as many varied lines of work as he can; for instance,—he is as much at fault who be-comes a grind in his regular work required by the faculty as the man whose attention is entirely held by other things to the detri-ment of his class standing. He whose interest is limited to ath-letics alone will fail of becoming a broadly cultured man just as easily as the literary "shark" who has no time for athletics. So. for this reason, we would urge every new man, not to fail to join one or the other of our literary societies, and, once having joined, not to let his interest wane. The result of his labors will surely be evident before his graduation. BOOR REVIEVS. \BE Social Secretary, David Graham Philips, Philo 11, 5. Among the many books of present day American life written by this author, this volume is the most captivating. We hear much of the struggles of the newly-rich to enter the social circles at Washington and the con-trast of the social life of America's capital with the customs of foreign courts. "The Social Secretary" presents such pictures of present-day Washington society life that all the best Ameri-can traits are revealed and compared favorably with the polished :nanners of foreigners. The book is written very attractively in the form of a diary. It is not a very large book nor is it dif-ficult reading. What would otherwise be but a dull description is enlivened by several real love incidents which are superin-tended by a natural, sensible American mother of the right sort. ■I'l-TB afERCURY. 31 It also shows to what extent the affairs of the nation are affected by the influence of the social circles at the capital. The Bar Sinister, Richard Harding Davis, Philo 11, 7. This bhort story of dog life is one that will appeal to all lovers of ani-mals. It belongs to that class of recent fiction in which dumb brutes are given the position usually accorded to the hero or heroine. In this book, a bull terrier named "Kid" is given the place of honor. It is a delightful story of how "Kid's" noble blood showed up in spite of the disadvantages which were met until at last he carries off all the prizes in the kennels. The: little book is written in a peculiarly tough dialect which suits I lie nature of the dog very well and shows a noble heart within the dumb breast. The tale is made more attractive by the fact (as stated by the author) that',it is founded on truth. There is a real original dog as well as the other character in the story. It makes pleasant reading for a half hour's recreation. The House of Fulfillment, by George Martin Madden, Philo 11, 7, is a book of much interest to the reader, who loves char-acter sketches. In it the two extremes of human nature are set forth, the romantic and the stern, the light and free-going nature of the Southerner, and cold rigid Presbyterian of the North. Alexina Blair, the product of these two extremes, is of special interest. She is to be admired for the stand which she takes in relation to her uncle, Austen Blair, and her care for her weak charactered mother. There is a thread of love story running "hrough the latter part. The reader will find the book very agreeable and will be very much inspired by the spirit displayed in some of the characters. The Blaclc Bag, by Louis Joseph Vance, Philo 11, S. This novel gives an account of some very exciting adventures of a voung man in London. Philip Kirkwood, while pursuing his studies in painting, receives the news that he is made penniless by the San Francisco disaster. Hence he prepares to return to-the United States and help his partner. Almost at the moment of his departure, his services are solicited by a man of doubtful appearance, to take charge of his daughter, a young lady of about eighteen. Upon doing this, he misses his steamer and has some very thrilling experiences. The author thoroughly under- 32 THE MERCURY. ttands the different phases of life in London and depicts his fharacters well. The reader's interest is aroused at once and never lags. He follows every detail, reading every part with the closest attention, even though it is drawn out in many places to the point of attenuation. This fact shows the author's skill as a writer Another fascinating point in the novel is, that one is in doubt as to how he feels toward the young man; sometimes he is ready to condemn, and again to admire him. The book is full of action from beginning to end and can be read with rapidity. The Orphan, by Clarence E. Mulford. Philo 11, 8. Clarence E. Mulford does not give his readers a story of "domestic inter-est" notwithstanding its title, The- Orphan. On the contrary the orphan of the story is a cowboy and something of a "bad man.'" The scenes are laid in the arid Southwest. Above all things this is a story of dramatic and exciting incidents. In the beginning the or-phan has become an outlaw. Under unexpected circumstances, the Sheriff and he come face to face. In the sequel the man of lavr learns that the orphan, whom he has been pursuing relentlessly. is probably not so black as he is painted. Further dramatic de-velopments ensue on the introduction of the Sheriff's sister. The orphan rescues her from Apaches. But why go on? Mr. Mul-ford has written an exceptionally good story of action, repro-ducing the atmosphere of the alkali country, ami portraying the characters with sufficient clearness and care to make them stand out. The Orphan is to be read for the thrills and excitement, of which there is an abundance. Need it be said that the Sheriff's sister pays back her debt to the orphan by converting him from the evil courses of his life ? Mr. Mulford has written a worthy successor to "Bar-20," and this is the same kind of a breezy, outdoor, vivid stoiy of incident and action. PATRONIZE OUR ADVERTISERS. THE BEST PEN F03 GUIEGE ME There's no pen that gives such all-round satisfaction as Conklin's Self-Filling Fountain Pen. It's the best pen for College Men. When an ordinary fountain pen runs dry in the middle of a word, it means you've got to stop right there, hunt up a rubber squirt gun, fill your pen to overflowing, clean both pen and dropper, wash your hands, and then endeavor as best you can to collect your lost CrescentJI train of thought It's different with CONKLIN'S JSSh FOUNTAIN PEN "THE PEN WITH THE CRESCENT-FILLER" To fill, just dip it in any ink, press the Crescent-Filler, and the Conklin is filled and ready to write instantly. 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United States National Science Foundation (NSF) ; Science and Technology Facilities Council (STFC) of the United Kingdom ; Max-Planck-Society (MPS) ; State of Niedersachsen/Germany ; Australian Research Council ; International Science Linkages program of the Commonwealth of Australia ; Council of Scientific and Industrial Research of India ; Department of Science and Technology, India ; Science & Engineering Research Board (SERB), India ; Ministry of Human Resource Development, India ; Spanish Ministerio de Economia y Competitividad ; Conselleria d'Economia i Competitivitat and Conselleria d'Educaci, Cultura i Universitats of the Govern de les Illes Balears ; Foundation for Fundamental Research on Matter - Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research ; Polish Ministry of Science and Higher Education ; FOCUS Programme of Foundation for Polish Science ; European Union ; Royal Society ; Scottish Funding Council ; Scottish Universities Physics Alliance ; National Aeronautics and Space Administration ; Hungarian Scientific Research Fund (OTKA) ; Lyon Institute of Origins (LIO) ; National Research Foundation of Korea ; Industry Canada ; Province of Ontario through the Ministry of Economic Development and Innovation ; National Science and Engineering Research Council Canada ; Brazilian Ministry of Science, Technology, and Innovation ; Carnegie Trust ; Leverhulme Trust ; David and Lucile Packard Foundation ; Research Corporation ; Alfred P. Sloan Foundation ; NSF ; STFC ; MPS ; INFN ; CNRS ; Science and Technology Facilities Council ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/L000938/1 ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/I006285/1 ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/I006269/1 ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/L000946/1 ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/L000962/1 ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/L003465/1 ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/K000845/1 ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/J00166X/1 ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/L000911/1 Gravitational Waves ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: Gravitational Waves ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: PPA/G/S/2002/00652 ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/I006269/1 Gravitational Waves ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/L000911/1 ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: 1362895 ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/I006277/1 ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/H002359/1 ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/K005014/1 ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/K00137X/1 ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/M006735/1 ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/M000931/1 ; Science and Technology Facilities Council: ST/L000938/1 Gravitational Waves ; We describe directed searches for continuous gravitational waves (GWs) in data from the sixth Laser Interferometer Gravitational-wave Observatory (LIGO) science data run. The targets were nine young supernova remnants not associated with pulsars; eight of the remnants are associated with non-pulsing suspected neutron stars. One target ' s parameters are uncertain enough to warrant two searches, for a total of 10. Each search covered a broad band of frequencies and first and second frequency derivatives for a fixed sky direction. The searches coherently integrated data from the two LIGO interferometers over time spans from 5.3-25.3 days using the matched-filtering. -statistic. We found no evidence of GW signals. We set 95% confidence upper limits as strong (low) as 4 x 10(-25) on intrinsic strain, 2 x 10(-7) on fiducial ellipticity, and 4 x 10(-5) on r-mode amplitude. These beat the indirect limits from energy conservation and are within the range of theoretical predictions for neutron-star ellipticities and r-mode amplitudes.

Issue 69.4 of the Review for Religious, 2010. ; Holy Models Religious Growth Lighting the Way QUARTERLY 69.4 2010 Review for Religious fosters dialogue with God, dialogue with ourselves, and dialogue with one another about the holiness we try to live according to charisms of Catholic religious life. As Pope Paul Vl said, our way of being church is today the way of dialogue. Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published quarterly at Saint Louis University by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393 Telephone: 314-633-4610 ¯ Fax: 314-633-4611 E-Mail: reviewrfr@gmail.com ¯ Web site: www.reviewforreligious.org Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, MO 63108-3393 POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ¯ P.O. Box 6070 ¯ Duluth, MN 55806. Periodical postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. See inside back cover for information on subscription rates. ©2010 Review for Religious Permission is herewith granted to copy any material (articles, poems, reviews) contained in this issue of Review for Religious for personal or internfil use, or for the personal or internal use of specific library clients within the limits oudined in Sections 107 and/or 108 of the United States Copyright Law. All copies made under this pernfission must bear notice of the source, date, and copyright owner on the first page. This permission is NOT extended to copying for commercial distribution, advertising, institutional promotion, or for the creation of new collective works or anthologies. Such permission will only be considered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. ~ gournalof Catholic ~piri~uali~y eview for religious Editor Book Review Editor Scripture Scope Editorial Staff Advisory Board David L. Fleming SJ Rosemary Jermann Eugene Hensell OSB Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm Judy Sharp Paul Coutinho SJ Martin Erspamer OSB Margaret Guider OSF KathleEn Hughes RSCJ Louis and Angela Menard Bishop Terry Steib SVD QUARTERLY 69.4 2010 contents 340 prisms Prisms 342 357 holy models The Spirituality of Francis Libermann: A Man Beyond His Time David L. Smith CSSP presents the embodied spirit of Francis Libermann's spirituality, underlining many instances of how his thought and action is very contemporary. The Love Mysticism of Bernard of Clairvaux and Julian of Norwich Marian Maskulak CPS shows how Bernard and Julian provide valuable material to ponder for contemporary readers who wish to explore the relationship of love between God and human beings. Personal Reflection / Group Discussion 377 religious growth Cultivating Mature Relationships in Religious Formation Chinyeaka C. Ezeani MSHR outlines how religious formao tors can model mature interpersonal relationships and respectful ways of communications that can better prepare candidates for a Christlike way of living and relating. Review for Religious 390 Operatic Discernment of a Vocation Daniel J. Heisey OSB suggests that opera, especially Gian Carlo Menotti's The Saint of Bleecker Street and Amahl and the Night Visitors, can help someone discern a religious vocation. Personal Reflection / Group Discussion 4O5 42O lighting the way Searching for Jesus at Christmas James H. Kroeger MM treats the nature and purpose of the Gospels, the role of the evangelists, questions of the "historical Jesus," the infancy narratives, and the need for an "adult" faith. Edith Stein, Woman of Light Carolyn Humphreys~ OCDS demonstrates that the themes most apparen.t throughout Edith Stein's life are her integrity, her search for truth, and her complete trust in God. departments 434 Scripture Scope: Meeting the Prophet Isaiah Again for the First Time 439 Book Reviews 444 2010 Indexes 69.4 2010 prisms 340] I seems appropriate in this final issue of Volume 69 that I acknowledge and pay tribute to Father Philip Fischer SJ who has served this journal for some twenty years. Father Fischer died quickly after being diagnosed with liver cancer just as we were sending the previous issue to the printer. For the staff and for me personally his death has left us with an aching loss as a companion in the workplace and a notable hole in our edito-rial process. Philip Fischer had amazing editorial skills. He was the one that I depended on for doing the first edits on all our manuscripts. He took real care in preserving a writer's style and expression while trying to bring a better clarity and a sharpening conciseness in eliminating repetitions. He double-checked all references, sometimes correcting misinformation and at other times adding the proper data. He made our various writers look good', and I say this from my own experience since he made me in my own writing look better than I ever would have through my original draft. In these latter years, Father Fischer made his own special contribution to our journal through his review of books summed up in what he ritled "book shelf life." From all the various books that we receive from the publishing houses, Father Fischer would quickly scan through each Review for Religious book, take notes on a number of them, and then begin to group books into similar themes or subject-matter. Within the weeks more immediate to our publishing schedule, he would construct his own essay on some twenty-five to thirty-five books, relating them in their strengths, referencing occasionally previous works, and adding sometimes his own personal preferences. Over the years, many people have taken the time to express their appreciation of his efforts in book reviews. Philip Fischer died shortly before his eightieth birth-day. He would have been celebrating his sixtieth year as a Jesuit. He was a quiet and unassuming man with great intellectual gifts. He generously offered his services as advisor and editor to many foreign Jesuits studying at Saint Louis University in their writing of class essays and term papers. He also was consulted by a good number of people writing books. He seemed to put no restrictions on the time he would spend in helping others beyond his own editorial responsibilities. Over the past twenty years, Father Philip Fischer has brought the Review for Religious to the kind of excellence in style and correctness that our readers have come to expect. In expressing our own debt of gratitude to him, I and the rest of the staff will do our best to continue the legacy which he has left us. Please join us in our own continuing prayers, that Father Philip Fischer, a wordsmith, can be enjoying companionship with the Word forever. David L. Fleming SJ P.S. Review for Religious staff and advisory board wish all our readers a most blessed Advent season and Christmas season. 341 69.4 2010 DAVID L. SMITH personal witness The Spirituality of Francis Libermann: A Man Beyond His Time ¯ . . the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings. --Gerard Manley Hopkins Since the mid 19th century, Francis Libermann's spiritual teachings have inspired the Congregation of the Holy Spirit. To appre-ciate his unique spiritual doctrine fully, one must know about the congregation's original cradle. Born the son of the Rabbi of Saverne and reared in the study of Torah, the Law, and the Talmud, Libermann was immunized against the philosophical anthropology of his day, the dichotomized worldview of Ren~ Descartes. David L. Smith cssP has taught for thirty-five years in Duquesne University's department of psychology and has also been executive director of its Phenomenology Center. His address is Duquesne University; 600 Forbes Avenue; Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 15282. Review for Religious His philosophy had tainted Western thought-categories since the early 17th century. Under the pervasive influ-ence of this philosophy, all things spiritual--mind, soul, and spirit--had become disembodied. The separation of mind and body, spirit and matter, natural and super-natural, and secular and sacred became the coin of the religious and spiritual realms. In many ways, human spirituality had turned into an angelic perfectionism. Libermann in large part escaped this pernicious Cartesian influence, thanks to his early education. Under his father's tutelage, he would have learned that . the Hebrew language had no word for body, the human body. The closest Hebrew word is basar, sometimes trans-lated as body, but its essential meaning .is flesh. Robinson informs us that in the ancient Hebrew worldview the flesh-body did not make us separate individuals, but rather connected us in a web or tissue of life to all other human beings. This flesh-body--this animated flesh--is the total human being and the basis for our corporate identity, our solidarity with one another, and especially our common bonding with God. Robinson emphasizes that the ancient Hebrews were interested, not in the body for its own sake, but in its vertical dimension, in that the flesh-body binds us together and binds us Godward. Basar, our animated human flesh, emphasizes our coexistence with others, our bodily To understand Libermann's uniquely existential and incarnational spirituality, we must keep this Hebrew meaning of the human body in mind. 343 69.4 2010 Smith ¯ The Spirituality of Francis Libermann togetherness with them in the world, and our openness to the Holy Spirit of God. To understand Libermann's uniquely existential and incarnational spirituality, we must keep this Hebrew meaning of the human body in mind. It will sharpen our insight into his passion for social and racial jus-tice, human solidarity, democratic values, and the free-dom and dignity of every human being. Pope Pius XII described Libermann as an "outstanding master of the spiritual life." Henry Koren CSSP, after studying his writings intensively for many yeays, did not hesitate to claim that in the sphere of spiritual doctrine he proved himself an authentic pioneer. Koren attributed the originality, universality, and timelessness of Libermann's spiritual doctrine to his ability to transcend the narrow confines of his native France's romanticism and the self-absorbed bodily mortifications of 19th-century spirit-u-ality (1958, p. 157). With his deep convictions about our common human flesh and our God-given solidarity, Libermann was ahead of his time in many ways and in many arenas. He under-stood that the mission of the Christian community and of the missionary is identical with Jesus' mission, namely, the proclamation of the power of God's unconditional grace to restore all of creation--persons, bodies, and relationships--to wholeness (Volf & Lee; p. 389). Libermann's .spiritual doctrine, always rooted in basar, points us toward the Holy Spirit's action in the world of our daily life. Koren never tires of reminding us that it is not enough just to listen to the words or read the texts to discover what truly animates an indi-vidual or an organization. We must pay heed to what the French phenomenologist Maurice Merleau-Ponty has called "operational intentionality," the lived and living Review for Religious motivation of a person or an organization. Koren asks of his fellow Spiritans, what has been and what is the driv-ing force of their founders and of their members? In his unequivocal and oft repeated response, he replies that the Spiritans' lived spirituality can best be described as an Evangelical Availability, attentive to the Holy Spirit, manifested in the "concrete situations of life." Libermann's spirituality is contemporary in many ways, precisely because he roots it always in the exis-tential situation. In his insistence upon the "concrete situations of life," we detect echoes of Gestalt Therapy's focus on the Here and Now of human experience. The authors of Gestalt Therapy: Excitement and Growth in Human Personality (Perls et al.) encourage this exercise: "Try for a few minutes to make sentences starting with what you are at this moment aware of. Begin with the words 'now' or 'at this moment' or 'here and now.'" After presenting this technique for attending to the environ-ment more vividly, they make this comment: "V~rhatever is actual is, as regards time, always in the present. Hence the stress, if we wish to develop the sense of actuality, on words such as 'now' and 'at this moment'" (p. 31). Libermann's constant advice to seek the Holy Spirit "in the concrete situation of our lives" cradles the "here and now" of Gestalt therapy. It grounds the individual's spiritual life in the actual here and now of the existential dialogue of a personal past-present-future. In this con-text, Libermann reminds us that openness to experience demands detachment from the past. A Man of His Time Libermann seems to .have been richly endowed with the gift of "reading the signs of the time." For this rea-son he could consider the clergy's failure to keep up 69.4 2010 Smith * The Spirituality of Francis Libermann with the times to be their greatest fault. During the French revolution of 1848 and the subsequent demo-cratic elections, Libermann, unlike many of his reli-gious contemporaries and superiors at home and even in Rome, did not pine for some mythical golden age. He was prompt to let go of the traditional church devotion to the ancien rggime. He encouraged his men to get out to vote at the dawning of the democratic state in France. On 22 February, thousands of Parisians had taken to the streets to demand suffrage reform. King Louis Philippe lost his nerve and abdicated. After months of chaos and confusion in the parliament and throughout the nation, Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, nephew of the exiled great emperor Napoleon Bonaparte, was elected president of the Second RetJublic on 10 December 1848 by an overwhelming majority, 5.5 million votes to his closest contender's 1.5 million. No matter that Louis Napoleon had the reputation of a "cretin" and licentious playboy, the people had spo-ken and Louis's election held out promise of a more just order for the poor of France. Libermann honored the people's decision. His sentiments must have reso-nated also with the goals of the American Declaration of Independence of 1776, "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." In a letter to a friend in 1848, he wrote that he welcomed the revolution, for the royalist govern-ment in his judgment was not genuinely concerned for "the happiness of the people." Ahead of his time in the political arena, he took pains to make clear that he saw the downfall of the old regimes as a sign of God's justice against the autocratic rulers that abused the rights of the common people. These sentiments prompted him to opine that someday the autocratic rulers of Russia would also fall. Even in the life of vowed religious com- Review for Religious munities, he expressed his inclination toward democratic values when he reminded his members that the congre-gation's highest authority rested in the consensus of its membership and not in the Rule or the superiors (letter to Father Gamon, 1848, cited in Koren, 1990, p. 18). In the arena of social and racial justice, Libermann also proved himself to be far ahead of his time. At least 125 years before the Catholic Church adopted its "pref-erential option - for the poor," ' Libermann had made this con-cern the keystone of his life and his work. When a Carthusian monk in France wrote to ask about the purpose of his new congrega-tion, Libermann replied that its general purpose was to preach the good news to the poor, in particular the poor blacks of the mis-sions (letter to Dom Salier, cited by Gilbert, p. 106). Koren points out certain sympathies between the doctrines of Karl Marx and Libermann. In their com-mon concern for the poor and oppressed of society, they in their own ways arrived, at the conviction that individ-ual acts of charity would never suffice to ameliorate the social conditions that spawned poverty and oppression. They both grasped the necessity for the structural and systemic change of social conditions. What was needed to reform society was not a handout but a hand-up. In Libermann's opinion it was not sufficient to teach the At least 125 years before the Catholic Church adopted its "preferential option for the poor," Libermann had made this concern the keystone of his life and his work. 347 69.4 2010 Smith ¯ The Spirituality of Francis Libermann 481 poor in Africa "how to operate things," but "how things operate" (1983, p.105). Marx equally promoted an inti-mate link between education and work. Koren tells us that he advocated an "early combination of progressive labor with education" as "one of the most potent means for the transformation of the existing society into the new society of universal brotherhood" (Selected Works, 2, 38, cited in Koren, 1990, p. 106). In some ways, Libermann's values so closely matched some of Marx's that today he might well be condemned as an enemy of capitalism, or besmirched with the tag of socialist, promoting class warfare¯ Koren tells us that Libermann experienced a profound gratitude over the downfall of the privileged classes of the rich, "that bourgeois aris-tocracy" which he calls "the legal establishment . . . which worships money and tramples on the interests of the poor . God has overthrown their idol" (cited in Koren, 1990, p. 107). Libermann is not speaking here in the voice of a political or economic reformer; he echoes the Hebrew prophets of old. "Hear this, you who tram-ple the needy to do away with the humble of the land. ¯ . The Lord has sworn by the pride of Jacob, indeed, I will never forget any of their deeds" .(Amos 8:4,6-7). In the realm of personal spiritual direction, Libermann's principles far transcended the common orientation of his contemporaries. As we shall soon see, his style of spiritual direction closely resembled in many ways the nondirective and client-centered approach of the 20th-century American psychotherapist Carl Rogers. But Libermann was not just a man ahead of his time. He was a man beyond his time: he had no desire to be first in anything, except for. love of God and service to others. He was beyond his time because his message and his approach rested solely upon the action of the Holy Review for Religious Spirit. He taught us to be like a feather in the wind or the sail of a ship responding to the breath of the Holy Spirit. It is in a pervasive docility to the Holy Spirit that we find the source of Libennann's flexibility and notable lack of rigidity in his spiritual doctrine. His natural dis-position to allow others to be themselves anticipated and prefigured Carl Rogers's client-centered counseling by at least a hundred years. A Hundred Years before Rogers For instance, empathy plays a central role in Rogerian psychotherapy. It also played a major role in Libermann's life and in his spiritual doctrine. Rogers tries to describe what occurs in the most satisfactory therapeutic relationships. He writes: "It is the counsel-or's function to assume, insofar as he is able, the internal frame of reference of the client, to perceive the world as the client sees it, to perceive the client himself as he is seen by himself" (1965, p. 29). The effective thera-pist must suspend all personal assumptions about the interior life of clients and refrain from imposing any external frame of reference upon them, while trying to convey to them an empathic understanding. It would appear that Libermann's personality was richly endowed with this gift of empathy. Boniface Hanley OFM indicated this special talent when he wrote that "Libermann was a negotiator par excellence. One of the things that contributed to his success in any transaction was his delicate courtesy" (p. 24). One of Libermann's closest collaborators, Father LeVavasseur, often remarked on his keen and delicate sensitivity toward others. He recalled his extraordinary ability in his dealings with others to imagine how he would feel if he were treated as he planned to treat them. 1349 69.4 2010 Smith ¯ The Spirituality of Francis Libermann It is amazing how this ability to mentally exchange places with other people reflects basic Rogerian princi-ples. For example, Rogers postulates that "every individ-ual exists in a continually changing world of experience of which he is the center" (1965, p. 483). This postulate closely mirrors the central role that "the concrete situ-ation of the individual" plays in Libermann's spiritual doctrine. A Rogerian corollary of the previous postu-late states, "The best vantage point for understanding behavior is from the internal frame of reference of the individual himself" (1965, p. 494). In his own life and teachings, Libermann fully embraced this axiom. This gift of empathy, Libermann's extraordinary capacity to understand the other person by entering the personally experienced world, is intimately linked with another concept of Rogerian psychotherapy, uncondi-tional positive regard. Rogers describes this condition of therapeutic change as follows: "When the therapist is experiencing a warm, positive, and acceptant attitude toward., the client, this facilitates change. It involves the therapist's genuine willingness for the client to be whatever feeling is going on in him at that moment" (1961, p. 62). Relating to the client within this attitude, the therapist allows the client to be. It is an attitude of total acceptance of the client's experiential world, with-out any condemnation of what the client may be expe-riencing. For Rogers this attitude means "an outgoing positive feeling without reservation, without evaluation" (1961, p. 62). Unconditional Positive Regard Keeping in mind this description of unconditional pos-itive regard, we canonly stand in awe before Libermann's spiritual genius when we read these words of his: Review for Religious The uncomfortable feeling we can have when we are with people who think and judge differently from ourselves, who despise us and have no time for us, can easily make us stiff and timid, with the result that we are gloomy, evasive, and awkward when we are with them. This can give a very bad impression and put people off our religion. We must love everybody, whatever they feel about us or our religion. (letter to LeBerre, 1847, cited in de Mare, p. 376) Libermann's attention to his "uncomfortable feelings" reminds us of Rogers's focus upon the essential impor-tance of accepting all our competing and conflicting feel-ings if we wish to attain to a wholesome state of bodily (organismic) congruence. Intimately bound to Roge~-s's therapeutic principle of unconditional regard for the client is his principle of acceptance. He defines acceptance as "a warm regard for him asa person of unconditional self-worth--of value no matter what his condition, his behavior, or his feel- ¯ ings. It means a respect and liking for him as a separate person, a willingness for him to possess his own feelings in his own way" (1961, p. 34). Libermann's writings abound in examples like this Rogerian attitude of acceptance. His close associates commented on feeling at home and at ease in his com-pany. Without doubt his generous capacity to accept oth-ers as they were, to let them be themselves, contributed greatly to the healing power of his spiritual direction. He encouraged self-acceptance and acceptance of oth-ers. He always advised individuals who were anguishing over their faults and imperfections in words like these: "Bear gently, patiently, and most peacefully--as best you can--your needs and your infidelities. Etch deeply in your heart that Jesus and Mary tolerate them with 69.4 2010 Smith ¯ The Spirituality of Francis Libermann sweetness and kindness, and that their love for you is always the same" (Libermann, pp. 5-6). He alwhys advised people who sought his advice to strive for tranquillity and serenity in their spiritual lives, and he recommended as a general rule that all harsh-ness and rigidity toward oneself should be rejected as a temptation. Some religious people have been suspicious of "self-acceptance," rejecting it as an invention of secu-lar humanistic psychology. Vitz, for example, parodies humanistic psychology and blames its "selfist" theories for the narcissism of our age. Unlike Rogers and Libermann, who believe in the essential goodness of human beings, Vitz stands more in the Calvinist tra-dition of gloom and doom, and does not so believe. It is obvious from Libermann's advice that self-acceptance is central to his doctrine of spirituality. Over and over he urges us and encourages us in the strongest terms to treat ourselves always in a calm, gentle, peaceful, and self-accepting fashion. His language is never hard, harsh, severe, judgmental, or condemnatory. All self-rejection or self-hatred is foreign to his spirit. Only in the heart that is at peace with itself can the Holy Spirit be free to do its work. The acceptance of others is a correlate of this self-acceptance. When the gentle angel of self-acceptance swoops down to slay the dragon of self-negation, it simultaneously opens its arms to embrace and affirm He always advised people who sought his a~vice to strive for tranquillity and serenity in their spiritual lives. Review for Religious others. Rogers stated that, close to an openness to our own inner and outer experience, there emerges an open-ness and acceptance of others. To make his point, he quotes from Maslow about self-actualizing individuals: "As the child looks upon the world with wide, uncriti-cal, and innocent eyes, simply noting and observing what is the case,., so does the self-actualizing person look upon human nature both in himself and in others" (cited in Rogers, 1961, p. 174). Gracious Acceptance of Others Expressions of this gracious acceptance of others, just as they are, abound in Libermann's spiritual writings. He vigorously insists: "Put down as a fundamental principle in the matters of direction: one must not constrain or cramp the one being directed. Refrain from prescribing too many rules" (pp. 13-14). In his spiritual direction he approached others with great flexibility and rejected all legalistic attitudes. He took great pains not to impose his own will or personal preferences upon others, but inclined rather to respect individual differences. We can say that Libermann's spiritual doctrine of unconditional acceptance spared him from all tenden-cies toward an idealized perfectionism. Once again, he was at least a hundred years ahead of his time. In the 1940s and 1950s, the renowned neo-Freudian Karen Horney developed the concept of the "idealized self." She describes this "idealized self" as "what we are in our irrational imaginations, or what we should be according to the dictates of neurotic pride" (p. 158). This idealized self is impossible of attainment, for it is based upon the illusion that a finite being can be perfectly complete. Libermann had anticipated this psychoanalytic insight in 1846 when he warned against "ideal perfection." For 69.4 2010 Smith ¯ The Spirituality of Francis Libermann the success of our endeavors, he urged that we learn to modify our views and to flow with the circumstances of the actual situation: otherwise we are always stumbling over obstacles and opposition (Libermann, pp. 51-52). A Man Beyond His Time The record indicates that Libermann was a man with a message ahead of his time. His vision did, indeed, transcend his own constricted time and place. While most of the Western world gloried in its own cultural imperialism, he wrote to his missionaries in Africa that they should "forget about Europe and its customs, its ways of thinking" (cited in de Mare, p. 351). He wanted his missionaries to identify with "the Blacks" and not form them in the European model. A good century before the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act of the 1960s in the United States, Libermann expressed his conviction that black people are in every sense equal to the white and that they are equally children of God "with the same nobility of soul . In short, color does not in any way denote inferiority" (letter to M. Percin, 1845, cited in de Mare, p. 377). We may recall the words of a powerful curial cardinal at the time of Vatican Council II when the Declaration on Religious Liberty was being debated: "Error has no rights." With this bon mot, he hoped to squelch the church's belated recognition of religious liberty for all. In light of current church teaching, Libermann's posi-tion was certainly more prophetic than the cardinal's. In 1846 he wrote: "It is difficult to appreciate how impor-tant this tolerance is. There is no way in which people will always agree" (letter to Lossedat, 13 April, cited in de Mare, p. 367). Most striking are the words from one of Libermann's letters quoted earlier. In 1847, he wrote Review for Religious that people "must be given complete freedom to think and act as they want. No man on this earth is capable of forcing the will, the conscience, or the intellect of others (letter to LeBerre, 8 September 1847, cited in de Mare, p. 376). Libermann's vision embraced many of the values we hold close to our hearts today. He cherished and advocated for religious tolerance, racial justice, human dignity, liberty, and solidarity with all the poor and oppressed of the world. He could see far because of his total availability to the Holy Spirit. It may be a little hagiographical to say so, but he was not only ahead of his time, but a man with a message beyond time, His spiritual wisdom constantly reminds us that we never labor alone in some ideal situation in some perfect world. It is only under the brooding of the Holy Spirit that the groaning of creation is stilled and the wounded heart of the world healed. With Libermann we pray, "Come, Holy Spirit, and renew the face of the earth." References Bierman, J. (1988). Napoleon III and His Carnival Empire. New York: St. Martin's Press. De Mare, C. (ed.). (2002). Spiritan anniversary diary (1703-2003): An historical overview published by the Generalate of the Congregation of the Holy Spirit as part of the celebrations of the Spiritan year (February 2002-Pentecost 2003). Rome: Congregazione dello Spirito Santo. Donnelly, D, (2003). A Universal Call. [Review of the book Housing Heaven's Fire: The Challenge of Holiness]. America, 188 (7), 32-33. Gilbert, A. (1983). You have laid your hand on me: A message from Francis Libermann for our time (M.L. Fay, trans.). Rome: Spiritan Research and Animation Centre. Hanley, B. (n.d.). TO the ends of the earth: Francis Libermann. [Brochure reprinted from The Antonian]. Pittsburgh: Holy Ghost Fathers. Horney, K. (1950). Neurosis and Human Growth: The Struggle Toward Self-Realization. New York: bV.W. Norton. 69.4 2010 Smith ¯ The Spirituality of Frands Libermann Koren, H. (1958)¯ The Spiritans: A History of the Congregation of the Holy Ghost. Louvain: Editions E. Nauwelaerts. ¯ (1990). F~says on the Spiritan charisnt and on Spiritan history. Bethel Park, Pennsylvania: Spiriths Press. Libermann, F. (n.d). Simplified advice¯ (EX. Malinowski, trans. & ed.). (Available from the Holy Spirit Provincialate, 6230 Brush Run Rd., Bethel Park, Pennsylvania 15102). Unpublished booldet. Perls, E, R. Heffenline, & P. Goodman (1951). Gestalt Therapy: Excitement and Growth in the Human Personality. New York: Dell. Malinowski, F.X. (n.d.). The Holy Spirit in Francis Libermann. Unpublished manuscript. Robinson, J. (1952). The Body: A Study in Pauline Theology. Philadelphia: Westminster Press. Rogers, C. (1942). Counseling and Psychotherapy: Newer Concepts in Practice. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. ¯ (1961). On Becoming a Person: A Therapist's View of Psychotherapy. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. ¯ (I 965). Client-Centered Therapy: Its Current Practice, hnplications, and Theory. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. Vitz, P. (1977). P~ychology as Religion: The Cult of Self-Worship. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Wm. B. Eerdmans. Volf, M., and M. Lee (2001). The spirit and the church. In B. Hinze & D.L. Dabney (eds.), Advents of the Spirit: An Introduction to the Current Study of Pneumatology. Milwaukee: Marquette University Press. Forerunner If even He Was made perfect By what He suffered, Why do we expect To be exempt? This is no easy path We have begun But, ah, the Trailblazer We have in Him. Teresa Burleson Review for Religious MARIAN MASKULAK The Love Mysticism of Bernard of Clairvaux and Julian of Norwich ~f~lian of Norwich (1342-c.1416) has been recognized r her Trinitarian and Christocentric mysticism as well as for her maternal imagery for God. While these placements are certainly accurate, I believe that more attention needs to be paid to the love mysticism in her spirituality. After all, Julian herself came to understand that love was precisely the meaning of her revelations,l As Joan Nuth writes, "If Julian's teaching can be summed up in one word, that word is love.''2 I find it instructive to examine how her treatment of love compares with that of someone who is considered a "classic guide" for love mysticism--Bernard of Clairvaux3 (1090-1153). Scholars of mysticism generally agree that Bernard stands out among Christian writers of his time as one who cul-tivated a spirituality of love and affective mysticism. Marian Maskulak CPS, assistant professor of Theology and Religious Studies, writes again from St. John's University; 8000 Utopia Parkway; Queens, New York 11439. 68.4 2009 Maskulak ¯ The Love Mysticism In fact, Louis Dupr~ credits Bernard with defining, in the West, contemplation as love.4 In their introduction to Julian's Showings, Edmund Colledge and James Walsh identify two connections between Julian and Bernard: understanding contempla-tion as "the working of mercy and grace, desire and fulfillment," and focusing on God's desire for human beings,s This article demonstrates that a number of other love-related themes in Julian's Sbo~vings can be linked with several of Bernard's writings, namely, On Loving God and selected sermons on the Song of Songs. Both authors speak with great abandon in describing God's first, gratuitous, and universal love, and both use strong imagery to portray the love and mutual desire between God and the human being. Both also charac-terize true love as including self-knowledge and absence of fear. I believe that the correlations are sufficient to rank Julian's love mysticism with Bernard's. This is not to say that the love spirituality they advocate is the same or that there is any simple corre-spondence to be found. Nor is their manner of expres-sion the same. While Bernard's thoughts are often clearly punctuated with scriptural verses or references, there are very few of these in Julian's Sbozvings. This lack seems attributable to Julian's time and place, for in 1409 the archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Arundel, placed regulations on preaching and theological teaching, and forbade written copies of English translations of the Scriptures. Julian, however, does incorporate several scriptural themes, often by way of allusion, and refers to events like the annunciation and Jesus' passion and death. After examining both authors, I maintain that that the quality of Julian's love mysticism is no less than Bernard's. Review for Religious Brief Historical Context Bernard and Julian were two extremely diverse persons living in vastly different times. It will help to situate them historically. Well educated, Bernard lived as a Cistercian monk from the time he was twenty-one until his death at sixty-three. He advocated monastic reform, founded sixty-eight monasteries, was engaged in political, church, and theo-logical disputes, supported the Second Crusade, and left some 3,500 pages of let-ters, treatises, and sermons.6 Interestingly, the 12th century witnessed a proliferation of literature dealing with love, not only in the secular West, but also in the world's religions.7 Two centuries later, Europe was smitten with the Black Plague, the Hundred Years' War, and numer-ous other state and ecclesiastical conflicts. From this very different sociohistorical world comes the voice of Julian, about whom there is very little biographical information. At the age of thirty she had sixteen rev-elations, which included bodily visions of the crucified Lord, words formed in her understanding, and spiri-tual visions (ST 7, LT 9). As an anchoress, she spent the next twenty years reflecting on these revelations, which she recorded in a short and long text of her single work, Showings (LT 51). Although she refers to herself as "a woman, ignorant, weak, and frail" (ST 6), Julian demonstrates knowledge of the Latin Vulgate and the classical spiritual writings. It is not known where she received her education or where she had access to such Bernard and Julian were two extremely diverse persons living in Vastly different times. 69.4 2010 Maskulak ¯ The Love Mysticism 601 writings, but the possibilities are not lacking. There was an Augustinian friary on the same street as her anchor-hold adjoining the Church of St. Julian. Norwich also had a Dominican, a Franciscan, and a Carmelite friary as well as a Benedictine cathedral priory.8 A Cistercian abbey, Sibton, about thirty-seven miles outside the city, was within the diocese of Norwich and held estates in about ten parishes in Norwich. The Experience of God Although their mystical experiences of God greatly differ, the first correlation between these two authors is precisely the importance of experience for both of them. Although Bernard engages in some speculative thought, Jean Leclercq points out that "for Bernard, everything begins and ends with experience and, in between, experience is the object of reflection.''9 From a specifically mystical perspective, Grace Jantzen also notes the importance of experience for Bernard. She writes that "the mystical is no longer confined to the meaning of Scripture. nor to an intellectual progress, but is extended to experience . We have in Bernard a clear recognition of the mystical as experiential: it is a shift in meaning whose resonances are with us still.''~° Julian also engages in speculative thought, but all her reflection is on the experience of God's sixteen rev-elations to her. She repeatedly notes that this was what she saw or heard, or this was what was shown to her or what came to her understanding. A look at the mystical experience of each shows that, ironically, the well-known, charismatic, highly active, prolific Cistercian writer expe-rienced God's presence almost imperceptibly, while the fairly obscure English woman experienced God's presence quite dramatically. Both, however, were convinced of Review for Religious having experienced the divine presence. Moreover, rather than placing emphasis on themselves, both Bernard and Julian focus on the God of their experience. In one of his sermons, Bernard describes his mys-tical experience as follows: "I tell you that the Word has come even to me. and that he has come more than once. Yet, however often he has come, I have never been aware of the moment of his coming. I have known he was there; I have remembered his presence after-ward; sometimes I had an inkling that he was coming. But I never felt it, nor his leaving me.''1~ Bernard has no explanation as to the how of the Word's coming or going, but knows that, when present, the Word stirs his sleeping soul and moves, soothes, and pierces his heart. The warmth of Bernard's heart indicated the Word's presence, and as proof of the Word's power he states that his faults were purged and he experienced the good-ness of God's mercy. These affects became dim and cold when the Word left him, and Bernard describes his soul as being sorrowful until his heart would warm again, signaling the Word's presence. In the Word's absence, Bernard longed for his return.~2 While secondary mystical phenomena such as visions seem to be absent in Bernard's experience, their startling prevalence characterizes Julian's. Julian herself remarks on the lifelike vividness of her visions, especially those of the crucified Christ (LT 12, 16, 17). Although she never received any more visions after the sixteen revela-tions (certainly, these would last anyone for a lifetime!), Julian gives proof of having at least one more experi-ence of a spiritual understanding given to her some fif-teen years later while pondering the Lord's meaning in the revelations. She was told, "Know it well, love was his, meaning. Who reveals it to you? Love. What did t361 69.4 2010 Maskulak ¯ The Love Mysticism he reveal to you? Love. Why does he reveal it to you? For love" (LT 86). In the years that followed her revela-tions, Julian most likely felt God's presence or absence much the same as other Christians. In fact, God's felt presence or absence was the subject of her seventh revelation, where in quick, repeated succession Julian alternately experienced the comfort of God's presence followed by the heaviness of God's absence. In this way God taught her that it is God who keeps one whether in sorrow or joy (LT 15). As noted above, Bernard also recognizes the distinction between feeling God's pres-ence and absence, but provides no rationale as to why this happens. He comments, however, that one cannot attribute the desire to seek God to God's absence since God is always present.13 God as the Source of Loving God Despite the contrasts in their mystical experience, both Bernard and Julian recognize that God desires to be loved by human beings. Echoing 1 John 4:10, Bernard succinctly states that God is the cause of loving God, and ought to be loved beyond measure.~4 Bernard supports this position by distinguishing between four degrees of human love. The first degree entails loving oneself for one's own sake, or what Bernard calls bodily love. Bodily love can be extended to love of neighbor in the community. When people learn that God is the author of their existence, they start to seek God's help out of need and thus begin to love God, marking the second degree of love. As they approach God repeatedly out of need, God's self is gradually revealed through their prayer, reflection, reading, and obedience. In this familiarity, they begin to experience God's sweetness and pass to the third degree, Review for Religious loving God for God's sake. In addition they freely love their neighbor as belonging to God. Bernard believes that the fourth degree of love, marked by loving one-self for God's sake and willing only what God wills, is very rare on earth. He writes, "To lose your-self as though you did not exist and to have no sense of yourself, to be emptied out of yourself and almost annihilated, belongs to heavenly not to human love.''~5 ' Should people be admitted to such a union with God, they are soon called back by the distractions and cares of life, and by love for their neighbor. To love in the manner of the fourth degree is to become like God. Bernard uses beautiful imagery to describe how human love that is free of self-will "dissolves" and is poured into God's will. His analogies include a drop of water in wine which seems to disappear while taking on the wine's flavor and color, a red-hot iron that cannot be distin-guished from the fire, and air suffused with sunlight so that it seems to be light itself. In all three analogies, the substance itself seems to disappear, yet it remains in another form. Bernard submits that something similar takes place in the human being in becoming more like God. Although martyrs partly received this grace, as seen by their being unmoved in their great love of God in the midst of bodily torment, he believes that this kind of love is only possible in a spiritual and immortal body, subject to the spirit in all things. It cannot be obtained by human effort, but is in God's power to give as God pleases.~6 As for the greatness of God's love, Bernard Both Bernard and Julian recognize that God desires to be loved by human beings. 363 69.4 2010 Maskulak ¯ The Love Mysticism affirms that even those who are weighed down in sin can turn back to God, not just in the hope of mercy, but with the aspiration to be the Word's bride,my Although Julian is fond of "numbering" some of her insights in list style, she does not do so with love. Rather, she repeatedly emphasizes that God greatly loves even when humans sin (LT 40, 61, 82), and that God desires human love. The extent of God's love is perhaps best portrayed when she states that, if Jesus could suffer more, he would do so--because of his great love. From this perspective, Julian concludes that there is nothing that God would not do for humans out of love (LT 22, 24). Also, God holds the same love for the least soul to be saved as for the soul of Christ (LT 54). As with Bernard, she recognizes that God is the cause of loving God. She speaks of this in terms of God being the ground or foundation of human seeking of God (LT 41; 86). Julian delineates three longings in God: God longs to teach people to know and love God, longs for their personal presence, and longs to fill them with bliss (LT 75, 31). God rejoices in human beings and desires that human beings also take joy in God (LT 11, 30, 36). While Bernard asserts that it is easier to love in return when one knows that one is loved,ms Julian stresses that knowing how greatly the Trinity rejoices in human beings will cause them to likewise rejoice in God (LT 68). 364 Human Desire Not only do Bernard and Julian discuss God's desire for human love, but both take into consideration the role of human desire. Bernard writes that the greatest good is that of seeking God, and that "God is sought not on foot but by desire." 19 Furthermore, finding what one desires R~view for Religious only enhances desire. He illustrates this by noting how desire continually prompts people to seek material things and positions that are finer, higher, or better. Rather than enjoying what they have, they anxiously want something more or else fear losing what they already have. This is a never ending process since no discuss God's desire for material posses-sions ever fully sat-isfy them. Bernard states that, after attaining every-thing attainable and still finding themselves dissatisfied, people who desire the greatest good would ultimately seek what they still lack, God. He realizes, however, that, because of the shortness of life, temptations, and insufficient strength, this sce-nario is impossible. For this reason he wishes that people would be satisfied with reaching their desires in thought alone rather than in actual experience, for the mind is quicker than the senses. In this way they would learn more quickly that God causes human desire and God alone satisfies that desire.2° But this desire will be fulfilled only when they attain their glorious body in heaven. Here it is helpful to note that Bernard delineates three phases for the body. The earthly body helps the soul to love God, the dead body brings peace, and the glorious body brings completeness. Bernard views the body as a good companion to the good spirit and main-tains that the soul would not want to be perfected with-out the body that has served it well. Those who have Not only do Bernard and Julian human love, but both take into consideration the role of human desire. 69.4 2010 Maskulak * The Love Mysticism 366 assumed their glorious bodies burn fiercely with love for God for God's sake alone. Nothing holds them back. These are forever intoxicated with love, immortal life, and the torrent of God's delight "in the most passionate and most chaste embrace of Bridegroom and Bride.''21 Using the language of Augustine, Julian states that the soul will find rest only in God (LT 5, 26, 68). Along with Bernard, she counsels that created things are too small to satisfy people's desire, and that everything that falls short of God will never satisfy human beings. She agrees that God is the source and fulfillment of desire, for God reveals to her: "I am he who makes you to love; I am he who makes you to long; I am he, the endless fulfilling of all true desires" (LT 59, 36, 41). Julian adds that, in itself, seeking God also pleases God and is as good as beholding God, if this is God's will (LT 10). Exemplifying Bernard's statement that finding what one desires does not end but only increases desire, Julian admits that she saw God and yet sought God; that she had God, and yet still wanted God. From her own expe-rience she recounts that the more the soul sees of God, the more it desires God (LT 10). Julian believes that this desire will be fulfilled in heaven, and like Bernard she uses strong imagery to describe this culmination of desire. At that time we will know ourselves clearly and wholly possess God, and "endlessly hidden in God, truly seeing and wholly feeling, and hearing him spiritually and delec-tably smelling him and sweetly tasting him., we shall see God face to face, familiarly and wholly" (LT 43). Universality of God's Love and Self-Knowledge Both writers indicate, to an extent, God's universal love. In his treatise On Loving God, Bernard extends his discussion of love to include unbelievers who are able Review for Religious to witness God's generous love in such gifts as food, sun, and air as well as in the gifts of human dignity, knowledge, and virtue, all of which work together to confess God's glory. For Bernard it is inconceivable that unbelievers should not recognize that all the above-mentioned gifts come from God. Indeed, he asserts that it is inexcusable for unbelievers not to love God with all their heart, mind, and strength, which for Bernard means loving God with all one is, knows, and does. It is inexcusable because unbelievers know themselves, and such knowledge results in their recognition that they owe God everything, including their own dignity, knowledge, and virtue. This, in turn, leads them to con-cliade that God is the author of everything.22 This seems a rather strong assertion in today's world, where atheism abounds, but Bernard was most likely thinking of Jews, Muslims, and pagans, all of whom accepted belief in God or gods. Bernard extends his understanding of the universality of God's love to all creation when he states that love is the eternal law that creates and governs the universe.23 In her writing, Julian stresses that the revelations were given to her in order to make the comfort of God's love known to all. At times she uses phrases such as "fel-low Christians," "all mankind which will be saved," or "all mankind" for whom Jesus was sent, or "all the souls which will be saved in heaven" (LT 8, 40, 51, 53). Yet at other times she clearly says that God desires to draw home by love all humankind in general, and that God's merciful comfort is plentiful enough for all (LT 75, 79). Like Bernard, Julian points out the goodness of all creation, which God made out of love (LT 5, 11, 57). Both authors also speak of self-knowledge. For Bernard, self-knowledge is clearly people's first step '367 69.4 2010 Maskulak * The Love Mysticism towards recognizing their own dignity, and their sin-fulness as well: it makes humility and conversion possi-ble. 24 Julian directly relates knowing oneself to knowing God. In fact, because the soul is so deeply grounded in God, she believes that people come to know God before knowing their own soul. Yet they must also desire to know their own soul and to seek it where it is, that is, in God. Whether they are seeking to know God or themselves, the Holy Spirit leads them to know both God and their own soul in one (LT 56). 368 Creation and Re-Creation Another strong correlation between both writers is their emphasis on the immensity of God's love for human beings, shown not only in their creation but also in their re-creation through Jesus' self-giving on the cross. Bernard asks how, in one's smallness, one can love God who loves so generously. No one can really perceive iust how .much God deserves to be loved, and people owe their whole self in return for their creation. And Bernard holds they were not only "made" in cre-ation, but also "remade" through redemption. They owe their whole selves twice over. As already noted, Bernard counsels loving God without measure, but recognizes that even this is God's gift and persons can love God only according to their capacity. To love God more requires God's help.25 Julian also stresses that human beings were first made in the likeness of the Trinity and then remade through Jesus' passion and death (LT 10). Emphasizing that God has loved humankind from eternity, Julian elaborates on the mutual love and indwelling of God in the soul and the soul in God (LT 53). The soul is so united to the Creator that' there can be nothing between the soul Review for Religious and God. The soul is kept whole in the endless love of God, who loves even the least soul as much as the soul of Christ. In his translation of Sbozvings, John Skinner highlights the unity between the soul and the Creator by speaking of it as being "oned with the Maker.''26 In this mutual indwelling, Julian sees no difference between God and human substance (that is, that which is of God). She distinguishes between substance and sensuality (that which relates to being human), noting that human sub-stance is in God and God is in human sensuality (LT 53, 54). It seems that Sbo~vings presents a more holistic approach to the human person than Bernard's writings, or, as Grace Jantzen states, Julian integrates the body into her spirituality.27 She views the soul as "a created trinity," united to the Creator, and known and loved from eternity. In this unity, both body and soul help each other until the person reaches full stature (LT 55). Intimate Love This notion of union or "oneing" between the soul and its Creator leads to a consideration of the imagery which these writers use regarding the love .relationship between God and the individual. Bernard uses the erotic language of the bride and bridegroom found in the Song of Songs. His sermons on this book are replete with images of human love and intimacy. Insisting that God loves for no other purpose than to be loved, he states that the bridegroom is love and asks for love, and only in love can created persons respond to their Creator. All is given when one loves with all one's heart. With overtones of Julian's description of the soul united to the Creator, Bernard writes that such love "is nothing other than holy and chaste love, love sweet and tender, love as tranquil as it is true, mutual, close, deep love, 69.4 2010 Maskulak * The Love Mysticism 3701 which is not in one flesh, but which joins two in one spirit, making two no longer two but one.''28 Julian never explicitly refers to the Song of Songs, but she does use language that evokes the love and intimacy found in that text. For example, she point-edly states that God rejoices to be Father, Mother, and Spouse of the soul, which is God's beloved wife. "And in the joining and the union he is our very true spouse and we his beloved wife and his fair maiden., for he says: I love you and you love me, and our love will never divide in two" (LT 58). She also refers to God as the lover who desires that persons see themselves bound to God in love as though all that God has accomplished was done for themselves alone. Julian concludes that, when everyone looks at God as their lover, a strong bond of unity is created among people (LT 65). Other words that might indicate the influence of the Song of Songs are Julian's statement that God is pleased when a soul approaches "naked, openly, and familiarly" (LT 5). It can be noted that Bernard also counsels approaching God confidently, as a friend,29 but Julian emphasizes God's courtesy and familiarity rather than that of the human being (ST 16, 24; LT 5, 7, 40, 48, 52, 53, 58, 61, 73, 77). An echo of the poetic descriptions in the Song of Songs may be detected also in Julian's statement "Glad and merry and sweet is the blessed and lovely demeanor of our Lord towards our souls, for he saw us always liv-ing in love-longing, and he wants our souls to be gladly disposed towards him, to repay him his reward" (LT 71). Like Bernard, Julian uses the metaphor of embrace, but she does so with reference to clothing, describing Jesus as wrapping himself about human beings and never leaving them (LT 5). Review for Religious Maternal Imagery Far more than spousal imagery, Julian uses the image of a loving, caring, compassionate, and nurtur-ing mother to depict God's love. She frequently applies the image of motherhood to Jesus as one who loves his children, bears them to endless life, feeds them with himself, leads them into his breast through his wounded side, watches over them, and washes and heals them with his blood (LT 58, 59, 60, 61). Without giving any indication of purposely doing so, Julian provides us with an excellent example of how language about God is analogical. While she notes a number of similarities between Jesus and human mothers, she clearly identifies how Jesus as mother goes beyond the ordinary human conceptions of motherhood. For Julian, the word mother can be applied truly only to Jesus (LT 60). Even if she is not trying to provide a lesson on analogical language about God, perhaps she is indeed making her case for using maternal imagery for God by showing how it exceeds human categories. It is known that maternal imagery to describe God and Christ was popular among 12th-century Cistercian monks. In his Sermon 9 on the Song of Songs, Bernard quotes its first verse as saying "your breasts are bet-ter than wine." Noting that the speaker is not iden-tified, ¯ Bernard consecutively attributes these words to the bridegroom, the bride, and the groom's compan-ions. Associating the bridegroom with Jesus, Bernard speaks of the grace, joy, sweetness, and milk of conso-lation that flow from the bridegroom's breasts.3° In a letter Bernard writes: "Do not let the roughness of our life frighten your tender years. If you feel the stings of temptation., suck not so much the wounds as the breasts of the Crucified. He will be your mother, and 371 69.4 2010 Maskulak ¯ The Love Mysticism you will be his son." Interestingly, Bernard also applies the image of mother to "Moses, Peter, Paul, prelates in general, abbots in general, and more frequently himself as abbot,''3~ but he does not develop the mother image for Jesus as fully as Julian does. Perhaps it is because, in this analogy for love, his focus is on the child more than on the mother. He writes that, although children ought to love their parents, they are more inclined to honor them; in fact, some only love their parents out of concern for their inheritance. Unquestionably, Bernard sees the bond of bride and bridegroom as the epitome of love, stronger than the bond between parents and children.32 No Place for Fear Attesting to the greatness of God's love, Bernard asserts that one who loves God has nothing to fear, even if one has been an unfaithful lover. Every soul, no mat-ter what its condition, whether filled with anxieties or trapped in sin and error, can turn back to God to find not only mercy and forgiveness, but even hope to be the bride of the Word. The fact that one is created in God's image should allay any fear. Confidence and freedom accompany a love which, in the words of 1 John 4:18, casts out fear.33 Although Julian does not speak directly about the sense of freedom enjoyed by those who love without fear, she often implies it. She writes of God's pleasure when a person approaches unafraid, in simplicity and trust. Sinners need not fear, for much to her amaze-ment Julian discovers that in God there is neither anger nor blame (LT 13, 45, 46, 49, 50). Except for "reverent fear," which causes us to flee from harm and to seek God, Julian asserts that fears are not from God and R~view for Religious should be avoided. Her overriding message is that God is so good, merciful, and compassionate that, like a child confidently running to its mother's arms, one need not have any fear in approaching God (LT 48, 61, 74). Reward The notion of reward as related to love is also found in each author's writings. Bernard states that God ought to be loved without seeking reward, for true love finds reward in what it loves. Therefore, one who asks for any reward other than God does not love God. God's love rewards human love, and God is our eternal reward.34 Agreeing that God is our eternal reward (ST 16, 20; LT 41, 81, 82), Julian elaborates on the concept of reward. In an unexpected twist, she asserts that human beings are Jesus' reward for his acts of salvation (ST 12, LT 22, 31). In an even bolder declaration, she maintains that human beings will be rewarded for the pain they suffered from sin. When speaking of - those who are sorry for their sins, confess them, and perform the required penance, she writes, "And as sin is punished here with sorrow and penance, in contrary fashion it will be rewarded in heaven by the courteous love of our Lord God almighty, who does not wish any-one who comes there to lose his labors" (ST 17, LT 38, 39). God also rewards human beings for their patient waiting until they are able to leave behind the pains and woes of this life (LT 64). God's love rewards human love, and God is ,our eternal reward. 373 69.4 2010 Maskulak ¯ The Love Mystidsm Summary Comparisons While classifying mystics might hold some advan-tages, it also has the drawback of focusing attention in certain directions. Julian of Norwich, known for her Trinitarian and Christocentric mysticism, as well as her referring to God as mother, provides a case in point. Since Bernard of Clairvaux is known for the pri-macy of love in his mysticism, I have used several of his writings as a standard, so to speak, against which to measure Julian's love-texts and show how central love is in Julian's mysticism. While Julian and Bernard both present their own experiences and perceptions, their treatments of the love of God also display much in common. Despite diverse styles, they both speak of this love with great abandon. In strong and compelling language, both describe God's immense love as given first, and gratuitously, to all. They give firm assurance that God loves human beings and seeks their love. They portray the love between God and the human being in strong and beautiful imagery, pointing out the mutuality of desire that this involves. Both Bernard and Julian show that people's self-knowledge is important for their knowledge of God, and that absence of fear characterizes true love. Bernard certainly deserves his position of prominence in the church and his title of "doctor mellifluus" for his achievements in expressing a mysticism of love, but Julian, too, displays an expe-rienced teacher's mastery of love mysticism. From the depths of their own experience, prayer, and reflection, these spiritual writers offer much to those who wish a better understanding of the love relationship between God and human beings. Review for Religio~s Notes l Julian of Norwich, Showings, trans. Edmund Colledge and James Walsh (New York: Paulist Press, 1978), Long Text 86. Hereafter, in parent.heses, Long Text will be designated as LT, and Short Text as ST. 2 Joan M. Nuth, Wisdom's Daughter: The Theology of Julian of Norwich (New York: Crossroad, 1991), p. 169. 3 Bernard of Clairvaux: Selected Works, trans. G.R. Evans (New York: Paulist Press, 1987), Preface by Ewert Cousins, p. 5. 4 Light from Light: An Anthology of Christian Mysticism, 2nd ed., ed. Louis Duprfi and James Wiseman (New York: Paulist Press, 2001), General Introduction, pp. 7, 10. s Colledge and Walsh, Showings, Introduction, pp. 26, 107. They also find her dependent on Bernard's fellow Cistercian William of St. Thierry, in her discussion of the godly will and God as mother. 6 Evans, Bernard, Introduction by Jean Leclercq, pp. 16-17, 30. Y Evans, Bernard, Preface by Cousins, in pp. 5-7. 8 Norman P. Tanner, The Church in Late Medieval Norwich, 1370- IY32 (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1984), p. 19. 9 Evans, Bernard, Introduction by Leclercq, p. 31. 10 Grace Jantzen, Power, Gender, and Christian Mysticism (United Kingdom: Cambridge University Press, 1995), p. 126. n Evans, Bernard, "Sermons [on the Song of Songs]," Sermon 74, pp. 254-255. 12 Evans, Bernard, Sermon 74, pp. 255-256. is Evans, Bernard, Sermon 84, pp. 274-275. 14 Evans, Bernard, "On Loving God," 1.1, 6.16, 6.22; "Sermons," Sermon 83, p. 274; Sermon 84, 275-276. is Bernard, "On Loving God," 8.23-10.27, 14.38, 15.39. 16 Bernard, "On Loving God," 10.27-11.30. i~ Bernard, Sermon 83, pp. 270-271. 18 Bernard, "On Loving God," 3.7. 19 Bernard, Sermon 84, p. 274. 20 Bernard, "On Loving God," 6.18-6.21. 21 Bernard, "On Loving God," 11.30-11.33; see also Bernard, Sermon 83, p. 271. 22 Bernard, "On Loving God," 2.6, 5.14. 23 Bernard, "On Loving God," 12.35. 69.4 2010 Maskulak ¯ The Love Mystidsm 24 Bernard McGinn, "The Human Person as Image of God: II. Western Christianity," in Christian Spirituality: Origins to the Twelfth Century, ed. Bernard McGinn and John Meyendorff (New York: Crossroad, 1985), p. 324; Bernard, "On Loving God," 2.3-2.4. z~ Bernard, "On Loving God," 4.5-6.16. 26 Julian of Norwich, Revelation of Love, trans. John Skinner (New York: Doubleday Image Books, 1996), p. 55. 27Jantzen, Power, p. 156. 2s Bernard, Sermon 83, p. 274. 29 Bernard, Sermon 83, p. 271. 3o Bernard of Clairvaux: On the Song of Songs, vol. 1, trans. Kilian Walsh, The Works of Bernard of Clairvaux (Spencer: Cistercian Publications, 1971), pp. 55-58. 3~ Caroline Walker Bynum, Jesus as Mother: Studies in the Spirituality of the High Middle Ages (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982), pp. 117, 115. 32 Bernard, Sermon 83, p. 273. 33 Bernard, Sermon 83, pp. 270-271; Sermon 84, pp. 276-278; Bernard, "On Loving God," 14.38; Sermon 7, p. 232. 34 Bernard, "On Loving God," 6.17, 6.22, 11.33; Bernard, Sermon 83, p. 272. Personal Reflection [ Group Discussion 1. What is your favorite image to describe your own love-relationship with God? 2. Both Bernard and Julian use a number of love images for God and our human relationship. What images have I found most helpful? Review for Religious CHINYEAKAC. EZEANI Cultivating Mature Relationships in Religious Formation It is rightly said that "no one is an island." Human beings like to live in relationships. Social psychologists have noted that people usually prefer living with others, in families and communal groups, to living alone.~ Even amid relationships, however, there is yet in the human heart a certain hesitancy and fear at the possibility of losing oneself in others. Hence, naturally, diverse factors have significant influ-ence in interpersonal relations. Difficulties and conflicts can spring up while a person tries to relate with others in an authentic way. This helps us understand why formators struggle in their day-to-day relations with one another and with those in formation. Individuals in for-marion experience similar struggles as they try to relate not just with their formators but also Chinyeaka C. Ezeani MSHR served as a formator in Nigeria and is now a member of her congregation's leadership in Dublin: 23 Cross Avenue; Blackrock, Co. Dublin; Ireland. r lioious 68.4 2009 Ezeani ¯ Cultivating Mature Relationships with their peers coming from different backgrounds. In this article, we will examine some of the chal-lenges to good communication and relationships in for-marion. People cannot claim to love God, whom they cannot see, while they have no love for their neighbor. And so we will explore some skills that can facilitate mature human relations in the formation ministry. We will make some suggestions on how to offer helpful feed-back to persons in formation in ways that respect their integrity and enhance their personal growth. Learning this will no doubt flow into one's relationship with the Creator and make it flourish. Obstacles to Mature Relationship in Formation Intimacy versus isolation. As indicated above, human beings have a basic need for intimacy with other human beings, and consequently they desire to be close to oth-ers. There is a corresponding need for isolation, a need to be alone. Erik Erikson,2 in his analysis of psychosocial development, identified the polarities of desire for union with or closeness to another (intimacy) and desire for aloneness (isolation). We experience a tension between wanting to be close to another and a fear of being too close. When you come closer to another person, or when you allow another to come close to you, sooner or later that closeness begins to make demands on you, on your time, your personal space, your freedom. This provokes a dilemma: Should I keep this person at arm's length, or should I create some space for him or her in my life? Usually, interpersonal relational ambivalence emerges because of the primary "striving for related-ness to other human beings" and the simultaneous striv-ing for "a sense of personal identity.''3 Because of these seemingly contradictory longings, persons who enter Review for Religiotts a community or group go through different stages as they get integrated into it.4 The first stage is inclusion, in which individuals' primary preoccupation is whether they are loved and accepted. The next stage is power, in which people wonder about their autonomy and their capacity to challenge, in this case, both the formator and their peers. The third and final stage is intimacy or affection, in which the primary concern is equality with others, the readiness of all to give rather than to receive. These stages involve confusion and uncertainty regarding one's status and position in a group. Hence, before one can get fully involved in the give-and-take of interpersonal relations and communal life, one goes through these stages. And, naturally, these stages can involve personal difficulties. Communication deficiency. When it comes to mature interpersonal relations, communication is vital. To be helpful, however, communication must be healthy and mature; if not, any authentic relating with the other at any level will be almost impossible. Can you imagine a religious formation community where people com-municate only by slipping little pieces of paper under one another's door? "Unhealthy communication can be a block to healthy intimacy and affective maturity. Communication helps foster greater connection, and communication is fundamentally a learned set of skills and behaviors.''5 Arrogance and a superior attitude. Whenever some-one approaches another with an attitude of arrogance When it comes to mature interpersonal relations, communication is vital. 69.4 2010 Ezeani ¯ Cultivating Mature Relationships and superiority, the other may respond with either anger, self-defense, or resistance. Alternatively, the per-son could cower in fear, feeling like a "lesser being." When this happens, for example, between a formator and someone in formation, the formative environment becomes tense, and the one in formation may try to cope by external conforming. As a result, there could be apparent peace and tranquillity in the formation house, because such persons would seem to have no difficulty with answering "Yes, Brother," "Yes, Sister," or "Yes, Father." In the long term, however, the result may be groups of young priests and religious who bully others because that was what was modeled for them in their own formation. Aggression. The environments in which we are raised usually have an influence on us. In some cultures, shout-ing at one another seems to be an acceptable way of relating. Such scenes abound even in public places such as post offices, government offices, and marketplaces. To sell wares in the market or to get passengers into public buses, people have been conditioned to shout in order to draw attention. It appears to have become normal to shout to get some attention or make a point subjectively considered to be important. A sister once confessed that, when she was a postulant, whenever the directress gave her feedback gently without shouting, she did not take it seriously. She thought the matter was not serious because she had been socialized to believe that, if an issue was serious enough, the directress would have shouted at her to indicate the seriousness of the matter. Aggression usually attracts aggression. Suppose someone approaches you to express his or her disap-proval or ill feeling over how you handled an issue. What can happen if the person begins to speak to Review for Religious you with strong and accusing words? You are likely to respond or react in the same way or with self-defense. The meaningful dialogue that could have taken place is thus aborted. Low self-esteem and negative self-image. Just like an attitude of superiority towards others, low self-esteem is a great enemy of mature human relations. If people have a good sense of self, they are better disposed to relate with other adults as equals. Where this does not hap-pen, an individual either too easily defers to others even in matters that need assertiveness, or reacts aggressively in subtle passive ways instead of clear self-expression. Low self-esteem also leads to feelings of envy, which can constitute a real obstacle to genuine caring regard and goodwill towards other people. Prejudice, misinterpreting deeds and intentions. Prejudice is a negative prejudgment of individuals or a whole group. It can lead one to irrational and hostile behavior towards them. When people's way of seeing things is prejudiced or biased, they view other people and their intentions in a distorted way, and can hardly avoid relating to them distortedly. The flow of commu-nication becomes blocked. A similar dynamic is opera-tive in tribalism, ethnocentrism, and other forms of discrimination. One perceives others in a negative way and treats ,them in like manner. Unrealistic expectations. The well-known Indian Jesuit spiritual writer Anthony de Mello6 maintained that to be truly happy in life you should "have no expectation of anyone." This might sound weird or exaggerated. Some might be wondering, "How can I live without having expectations of people with whom I live?" I have come to value De Mello's advice. A great source of difficulty in interpersonal relationships is that we tend to have too '381 69.4 2010 Ezeani ¯ Cultivating Mature Relationships Formators are challenged to take on the responsibility of dealing with their own issues first. high and often unrealistic expectations of other people. While it is good to have ideals and norms of expected behavior, our attitude towards persons in this regard is equally important. The Scriptures remind those who are strong to bear with the failings of the weak (Rm 15:1). But the question arises "Which of us is really strong?" Although we need to carry out our ministry diligently, the manner in which we do it is vital. It is better to be effective forma- . tors than just "efficient machines" that end up producing battered individuals for the Lord's vineyards. We shall come back to this point below, where we look at how to give feedback in a helpful way. Some psychological baggage. Each of us is a "strug-gling human being." Sometimes we struggle with unre-solved personality issues from our childhood and our families of origin. Some battle with a self-centeredness that unmindfully uses others for self-gratification, some have addictive behaviors, and some have difficulty feel-ing empathy for others. Others tend toward anxiety, harbor resentment of authority, or have deep-seated anger. Some have deficient social skills or problematic psychosexual issues. These difficulties can and do inter-fere in interpersonal relationships to various degrees. Formators are challenged to take on the responsibility of dealing with their own issues first. This will facilitate their relationship patterns in ministry so that they can functon more effectively and lovingly. Review for Religious Skills for Mature Relationships in Formation Growth in interpersonal relationships tends to point to maturity. It is equally a good indicator of openness to a good relationship with God. For instance, no one can say he or she loves God if the person detests fellow human beings. The following are some of the skills required for such mature human relations in formation: A prayerful and reflective way of life. "An unexamined life is not worth living," as Socrates said. It goes without saying that a reflective and discerning lifestyle is neces-saW for healthy living and good human relationships. People then are able to respond to others and to various situations instead of reacting to them. Self-awareness and acceptance. There is also the important value of self-awareness in interpersonal rela-tionships. Appropriate self-awareness helps much in cultivating good communication and relational skills. When people are more self-aware, the greater inner freedom they have to respond positively and maturely to people in various situations. Misunderstandings that often occur during conflicts can be more maturely dealt with. Recognizing and admitting their own motivations and personal struggles facilitates good relationships with others. It is not enough for formators to be commit-ted to the faith and to Christian discipleship and ready to give both spiritual and human assistance to others. They must also have begun vigorously their own jour-ney of self-understanding. They must be dealing with the major issues in their own life. Self-care. A healthy and integrated formation environ-ment is possible only with formators who are committed to fostering cordial relationships between themselves and those in their care. To be effective in their ministry, formators must also be taking care of their own physi- 69.4 2010 Ezeani * Cultivating Mature Relationships Mature interpersonal relations do require a degree of "dying toself.," 384 cal and spiritual needs. Such self-care should include days off for rest and reflection, along with friendship and companionship with others not under their care. "Many religious and clergy have discovered the hard way through burnout and various overdependencies that not attending to self-cai'e can have disastrous con-sequences.'' 7 From time to time, formators need some form of supervision and spiritual direction. Interaction with other formators can help them sustain the capac-ity to relate, with compassion and genuine interest, to those who are in formation. Trust and ability to be and work together. Interpersonal relations, whatever the context, always pose challenges. The work of formation includes training for trust and effective interpersonal communication. No matter the amount of expertise brought into the formation program, if we do not have social skills and the disposition to col-laborate with others, our efforts might bear very little fruit. Good relationships are not just about "assembling" and "being together." That is too simplis-tic. A .good "team" spirit and mutual respect are what is really needed. Mature people can safely count on each other in appropriate interdependence. They can dis-agree or differ in certain issues in a nonaggressive way, without undermining their respect for one another. Self-discipline. The .religious and priestly vocations are based on self-transcendence as the path to real self-fulfillment. Although, before Vatican II, forget.ring self Review for Religious to the point of near self-effacement was advocated, the pendulum swinging in the opposite direction can have an equally negative impact. Mature interpersonal rela-tions do require a degree of "dying to self." A measure of self-renunciation and discipline for the common good is important. Nonviolent communication. Good communication skills are indispensable in the work of accompanying others in their religious lives. This accompaniment consists in more than verbal teaching of values. To be effective, teaching is to be done by example. In teaching people to be respectful of others, teachers must model respect for others in their very manner of communica-tion. In his book Non-violent Communication, Marshall B. Rosenberg8 offers some tips on how to deal with others in harmonious, nonviolent, and nonthreatening ways. He does this under several headings. 1) What we are seeing/observing: First we need to be aware of what we are seeing or observing in another and to communicate that instead of offering our own judgment, our own interpretation of other persons' actions. Keeping observed facts separate from our judg-ments helps towards clear communication. Describing what we have observed, rather than judging it, respects others in our interpersonal relationships. Judgments can easily be wrong. An example of confusing observation with judgment is the following: Saying "Nigerians are proud" instead of saying "I met a Nigerian sister taking the same course who did not talk much to me." 2) What we are feeling: According to Rosenberg, our feelings are the door to our inner world. They tell us whether what is happening is wh~ t we desire or not. To be in touch with our feelings is to be in touch with our inner world. Alienated from our feelings, we 69.4 2010 Ezeani ¯ Cultivating Mature Relationships 386 are alienated from our values. For example, if I simply express how I feel about what I have observed instead of expressing a judgment, others respond to me better. We need to be present to our real feelings and express them clearly to others. People sometimes avoid awareness of their real feelings by merely using the word "feel" and then following it with more of a thought than a feeling. They say: "I feel I am right," words that speak more of what I think than how I feel. Other such thought-filled "feelings" are "I feel inadequate" or "I feel misunder-stood." As judgments, they may be right or wrong, but they express thought more than feeling. 3) What we are thinking or what we value: What we value contributes to our feeling and may affect com-munication. Our feelings may result less from what we observe than from the meaning we attribute to it. When I fail to be aware of the meaning that contributes to my feeling, I may be blind to the cultural programming I bring into communication situations. Then, instead of constructively saying "I felt hurt when you did not ask me to go along with you," I might say, unhelpfully, "When you did not ask me to go along with you, I felt hurt because it showed your rejection of me." 4) What we are requesting: When we make our requests to others in positive-action language, we have a better chance of a good response. It is not enough to be sure of what you do not want; you should know what you want. When you make a request, ask specifically for what you desire the person to do for you. Avoid vague requests like these: "I want you to accept me as I am," "I want you to respect my rights," "I want some understanding," "I want you to be more cooperative." Instead, make specific requests in more positive words: "I like it when you call me, but once a day is enough" Review for Religious instead of "I don't want you phoning me every day"; or "Please keep the knife in the kitchen" instead of "Is this the place to keep the knife?" Learning to communicate with one another in these ways can greatly enhance the quality of relationships. Giving Helpful Feedback to Those in Formation There is no doubt that good communication pat-terns are the heartbeat of human relationships. Hence the manner in which feedback is done is crucial. Feedback, not correction. Many readers may be famil-iar with the Johari window. It indicates, among other things, that there are aspects of ourselves known to oth-ers but not to us. It suggests that every human being needs some form of feedback or "reflecting back" from others in order to grow. Formation programs seek to provide such feedback regularly for those in training for the priestly and religious life. How this is done is important. First in importance is to have deep respect for people. Second is attentive listening. The purpose of the feedback given to persons in formation is to foster in them an awareness that will help them to truly inter-nalize Christ's values. Formators need to be fully aware of that purpose. In addition, they need to be in touch with their own motives for giving the feedback. A variety of motives may be operating. Here are some: (1) care, concern, and love. (2) respect. (3) empathy for the other person's perspective. (4) intimidation, to instill fear. (5) a sense of "duty." (6) a sense of superiority ("I know it all" or "I know better"). (7) a sense of power. Feedback achieves its aim when it comes from motives 1, 2, and 3 above. It does not achieve its aim if it comes from any motive from 4 through 7. Our manner of giving feedback ought to be mod- 69.4 2010 Ezeani ¯ Cultivating Mature Relationships 38'8 eled on the values of Christ, and it should illilstrate them. Otherwise it could do damage rather than help. The capacity to offer and receive good feedback greatly enhances relationships. It helps people to care for one another and enlighten one another. What does it profit if feedback only puts out the light in other persons or makes them think they are no good? Feedback should help others find and tap the positive resources that are already within them. I shall end this article with a story of an old rabbi and his disciple. One day the disciple called on the Master confessing, "Master, when I study or join oth-ers in great feasts, I feel a strong sense of light and life. But when it's over, it's all gone. Everything dies in me." After some moments of thoughtfulness, the old rabbi raised his head and, looking lovingly at the youth, replied: "Ah, yes, of course. 'It is just this feeling that happens when people walk alone through a wood at night. If another comes along with a lantern, they can walk safely and joyfully together. But, if they come to a crossroad and the one with the lantern departs, then the other must go on alone, carrying the light inside." This is what mature relationships can help people do. Notes 1 D.G. Myers, Social Psychology, 7th ed. (Boston: McGraw-Hill College, 1999), p. 168. 2 E. Erikson, Childhood and Society. (New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 1950), 1963, pp. 263-265. 3 L.C. Wynne, "The Epigenesis of Relational Systems: A Model for Understanding Family Development," Family Process 23, no. 3 (1984): 298. 4 E. Fried, "Basic Concepts in Group Psychotherapy," in H. Kaplan and B. Sadock (eds.), Comprehensive Group Psychotherapy (Baltimore: Williams & Wilkins, 1971), pp. 55-56. Review for Religious s Kevin McClone, "Intimacy and Healthy Affective Maturity- Guidelines for Formation," Human Development 30, no. 4 (Winter 2009): 5-13. 6 Anthony de Mello, Awareness (London: HarperCollins, 1990), pp. 6-8, 31-32, 50-55. In his writings he often said we should not put such burdens of expectation and dependence on them, for it results in stifling both them and us. 7 McClone, "Intimacy," p. I0. 8 M.B. Rosenberg, Non-violent Communication: A Language of Life (Encinitas, California: PuddleDancer Press, 2003), pp. 25-102. Word Made Flesh At the tnidnight hour when the world is asleep, you are born in a hovel for donkey and sheep. We wander in from hills of unaware, valleys of apathy, deserts of despair to gaze on you in dulnbstruck awe - Lamb of God sleeping on borrowed straw. Irene Zimmerman OSF 69.4 2010 DANIEL J. HEISEY Operatic Discernment of a Vocation Ion September 2009, the Metropolitan Opera pened its season with a controversial production of Giacomo Puccini's Tosca. When it was first staged, in January 1900, Puccini had sought realistic detail in set and costume, part of what is known in opera as verismo. A little over a century later, the Met's new version took liberties that drove the audience to boo.1 Whatever vision the director follows when staging this opera, there will be in act 2 a moving aria sung by Floria Tosca herself, "Vissi d'arte," in which she prays to God and begs to know why her faith is rewarded with suffering. It is a perennial plea, well known to or awaiting every Christian. For fellow believers, not only is Tosca's pain familiar, but also, perhaps, the weakened will and darkened intellect that complicate her spiritual life. Unfortunately, sharing in Tosca's anguished prayer tends to be beyond the ordinary routine of English- Daniel J. Heisey OSB is a monk of Saint Vincent Archabbey, where he is known as Brother Bruno and where the address is 300 Fraser Purchase Road; Latrobe, Pennsylvania 15650. Review for Religious speaking Christians. Moreover, Tosca is often classified as "anticlerical," especially in contrast to Puccini's more obviously religious opera Suor Angelica.2 In what fol-lows, staying basically within the Puccini style, we will look at two operatic works by Gian Carlo Menotti, The Saint of Bleecker Street and Amahl and the Night Visitors, to explore ways that opera in English can help with the discernment of a religious vocation. Menotti's use of English makes more accessible the religious themes of these two operas, especially when one contemplates what place opera can have in voca-tional discernment. The Saint of Bleecker Street won the Pulitzer Prize and has been called "strong and realist, yet plainly on the side of the angels,''3 and Amahl and the Night Visitors, meant to be staged at Christmas, retains its warm place in Christian hearts. Moreover, opera has its roots in the baroque world of 17th-century western Europe, the world of the cultural efflorescence known as the Counter-Reformation. A magnificent baroque opera house, with the florid emotions it stages, welcomes spec-tators much as a vast Gothic cathedral engulfs worship-ers. Both, as one historian has observed, enshrine "the only splendor in their lives.''4 Whereas the celebration of the Eucharist is the central "drama," so to speak, in a cathedral, in opera--in Menotti's operas at least--one may find signs pointing one to a renewed appreciation of the Priest, Victim, and Host of that sacrificial ban-quet. We will look at The Saint of Bleecker Street and Amahl and the Night Visitors together, as if they were antiphonal choirs forming a composite work. Menotti's "The Saint" Despite his prodigious and prolific work, Menotti is sometimes dismissed as secondhand and second-rate ,391 69.4 2010 Heisey ¯ Operatic Discernment of a Vocation During a career spanning seven decades, Menotti seems to have reached his creative and popular height in the 1950s. Puccini, but he is worthy of study in his own right,s Born in northern Italy in 1911, he studied music in Milan and there met Arturo Toscanini, who advised Menotti's parents to send the boy to the United States for further training in composition. After studying at Philadelphia's Curtis Institute, Menotti moved to New York City. A resdess and energetic man, he traveled widely, establish-ing the Festival of Two Worlds, operatic centers at Spoleto, Italy, and Charleston, South Carolina. In 1974 he bought an estate in Scotland; in early 2007 he died in Monaco. His operas, as with any good opera, convey their message by means of the music, and so they must be at least heard if not seen. Here on the printed page, we must content ourselves with verbal description and passages from the libretti. During a career spanning seven decades, Menotti seems to have reached his creative and popular height in the 1950s. By 1955 he had appeared on the cover of Time magazine, had received two Pulitzer prizes, and was celebrated in London, Milan, and Paris. Although he preferred not to use the term, he wrote verismo operas in English, the first to concern us here being his Saint of Bleecker Street (1954). Its plot is simple. A young woman in New York's "Litde Italy" neighborhood wants to become a nun, and her brother tries to stop her. She has the support of friends and her parish priest, Don Review for Religious Marco, who faces much of the brother's wrath. In the end she makes her vows as a religious, but at a price. It must be said that the young woman, Annina, is not the usual candidate for religious life. She is chronically and, as it happens, terminally ill. She has a deep prayer life, each Good Friday having visions of the Passion and receiving the stigmata. As with more usual candidates, her attraction to religious life has consequences familiar to many who are discerning such a vocation. Her broth-er's opposition, impetuous and irrational to the point of physical violence, carries verisimilitude. Likewise, Don Marco's role as gentle yet firm shepherd rings true. He must comfort and console her, and he must confront and contradict the brother, Michele. He is an angry young man, his life shown to be at odds with most of the virtues, and he demands the priest tell him if he believes in Annina's visions. At this point Don Marco tells Michele, "A priest is not a judge but only a guide.''6 Of course, nothing anyone can say makes Michele see a point of view other than his own. Michele and Annina are adult orphans and share an apartment, from which he is frequently absent for work or for his girlfriend. When Annina receives her annual stigmata, neighbors flock to the apartment, causing in Michele an explosion of jealousy. As he furiously drives them from the flat, the scene is an inversion of Jesus driving the money-changers from the temple. When, at the wedding reception of friends, Michele ends up shedding blood, it is a grotesque distortion of the wed-ding at Cana. As Annina moves closer to God, her life fills with these stumbling blocks, twisted 'scenes from the life of Christ. Her brother becomes a hindrance in a more literal sense. Act 2 of the opera ends with a religious proces- 69.4 2010 Heisey ¯ Operatic Discernment of a Vocation sion, thus providing a parallel with the end of the act 1 of Tosca. But, whereas the main characters in Tosca reverently let it pass, Michele tries to stop Annina from participating in the procession. This already frustrated man finds himself restrained by the faithful, who then accompany Annina and join the procession. Again, persons discerning a religious vocation will recognize that sometimes they have more support from folks they scarcely know than from their own family. Part of Annina's cross is thus her brother's boorish and self-absorbed behavior. He challenges her search for God and her desire to become a spouse of Christ. Michele rails against a decision he deems abnormal and reduces her sense of religious vocation to the delusions brought on by illness. He pleads that he needs her and must not lose her to her God. Annina tries in vain to show him how she sees the situation. She tells him, "No one can ever be lost who wanders, searching for God.''7 In her argument with her brother, she explains why she wants to take the veil, putting it in terms of love, the exclusive love of man and woman in a sacramental bond. Michele dismisses her explanation as that of a simple-minded child, and he asks her why God would choose her out of the whole human race. "Perhaps because I love Him," she answers. When he counters that she is speaking as though she loved a human being, she replies, "How else can I love Him since I am human?''8 For Michele, whose approach to love is to use another's body for his own indulgence, such explanations are out-side his experience and therefore meaningless. One lesson any Christian must learn is that in Christ one loves a person, not an idea. Michele can see Annina's desire for union with Christ only as a rejection of him-self. For him, her love for Christ has made God his rival; Review for Religious Michele's own love for Annina bursts forth as hatred for God. Within their neighborhood, which might as well be a village or small town, these impassioned disputes between brother and sister, and between brother and priest, make this opera a story about relationships--and in the end a religious vocation is about one's relationship with family and friends as well as with God. While not referring to The Saint of Bleecker Street by name, Dame Kiri Te Kanawa could well have been describing it when she said that opera explores and illustrates "love, duty, temptation, moral-ity, and strength of character in a closely confined society.''9 In that restricted environment, a small family in an old-fash-ioned ethnic neigh-borhood, Annina falls in love with God and desires to dedicate her life to Him. Menotti's opera shows us a moral struggle, strength of character set amidst ques-tions of duty and love. In short, here we see the basic ingredients of any man or woman's story of discerning a call to religious life. One lesson any Christian must learn is that in Christ one loves a person, not an idea. Menotti's "Amahl" Although Annina does not reveal her vision of the Lord she loves, Menotti gives us a glimpse of Him in another opera, Amahl and the Night Visitors. It has the distinction of being the first opera written for televi-sion, first airing live on Christmas Eve, 1951, on NBC. Whereas the setting for The Saint is the austere inte-rior of a poor apartment building in 1950s Manhattan, 69.4 2010 Heisey ¯ Operatic Discernment of a Vocation 396 Amahl gets its setting from a painting, Hieronymus Bosch's Adoration of the Magi. Menotti had seen it in the Metropolitan Museum of Art and decided that Amahl, a lame shepherd boy, and his widowed mother would live in a decrepit hut somewhere on the way to Bethlehem at the time of Christ, but the stage set and the costumes would be anachronistic, capturing the Renaissance styles of the 15th century. Defying historical accuracy in this way suggests the magical realm of the fairy tale, a level of universal ideals that transcend recorded time. On a cold starry night a poor boy and his mother receive into their home three enigmatic kings and through selfless generosity are graced with a miracle. When it was first produced, Amahl was highly acclaimed, its popularity with critics and audiences assur-ing its repetition each Christmas for ten years. Amahl "isn't sacred music," one recent critic has written, but it is "the modern equivalent of a medieval mystery play.''1° Whether on television or on stage, there have been many other productions of this opera, leading an evangelical magazine to call it "a moving piece of modern American mythology, unfailingly powerful.''11 Let us reflect upon the power of that myth for vocational discernment. One winter's evening Amahl and his mother become unprepared hosts of the Magi as they follow the star to Bethlehem. Menotti draws upon his boyhood memories of the Italian custom at Christmas of men dressed as the Three Kings going round one's town or village and visiting homes in order to bring gifts to the children.!2 Amahl, attracted by Kaspar's caged pet parrot, has an exchange with that King, a duet meant to be comic, but in these days, after the priest scandals with teenage boys, it becomes creepy. After more than fifty years, the opera's innocence has been tarnished. Still, the viewer Review for Religious must try to see it in the spirit of its time and from that perspective learn from its intended message. When Amahl is out of earshot, Melchior carries on a dialogue with the mother. Melchior, a baritone, embodies solemnity, and in that conversation one sees from two angles the object of the Magi's search (and so also of Annina's love). In response to the mother's ques-tions about the mission of the Magi, Melchior asks her, "Have you seen a child the color of wheat, the color of dawn? His eyes are mild, his hands are those of a king, as king he was born," and then asks her, "Have you seen a child the color of earth, the color of thorn? His eyes are sad, his hands are those of the poor, as poor he was born." 13 These contrasting descriptions of the One sought by the Magi reflect the ineffable facets of Christ, and yet the mother recognizes Him. She sees Him first in her own son, but at last, when the Magi depart, she sends Amahl along with them to seek the Child. Once he finds the. Child, Amahl is to give Him thanks and praise for the miracle granted to the crippled boy. Here again the man or woman discerning a religious vocation may see parallels, a parent bravely yet tearfully letting go of a beloved son or daughter who wants to join strangers in the search for God. Catholic critics had accolades for Amahl and for The Saint. Interestingly, none of them considered the place either could have in encouraging vocations to religious life. For example, The Saint of Bleecker Street's "poetic truth," according to Commonweal, "is large and profound," bridging "the alien worlds of pure faith and destructive reason.''~4 Another Catholic magazine noted that the opera had the "stark realism of the Old Testament," with violent obsessions, open religious fer- 69.4 2010 Heisey ¯ Operatic Discernment of a Vocation vor, and sexuality barely beneath the surface, yet these extremes of emotion "are more than balanced by scenes of reverence, even exaltation, and instances of touching human affection.''i5 In the secular press, contemporary critical reactions to The Saint ranged from dismissing it with words like "nonsense" and "bogus,''16 to apprecia-tive appraisals, one quoting Menotti saying, "Whatever you believe, all men know that the love of God is incor-ruptible.''~ 7 Here a word may be in order regarding Menotti's own struggle with belief. Menotti and Belief As a boy Menotti was lame, and he was taken to a Marian shrine, Madonna del Monte, where he received a blessing and was cured.18 As a result, throughout his life he remained fascinated by saints and miracles. Even when he fell away from the church, he believed in God and wrestled with questions of faith. In the early 1950s, when he was mulling over The Saint of Bleecker Street, he decided he needed to meet a saint, so he went to Italy to see Padre Pio. He. attended a morning Mass offered by Padre Pio and then was allowed to meet with him in the friary. After having heard about the priest's uncanny insights and deep spiritual gifts, Menotti was deflated when Padre Pio's counsel amounted to what any priest anywhere could have advised: "God gives you a gift, and you must compose the right music in honor of God." 19 Menotti's disappointment at the seemingly banal words from the holy man echoes that of Naaman the Syrian (2 K 5). The leprous Syrian is told by the prophet Elisha to wash seven times in the River Jordan, a rem-edy that strikes the afflicted man as being too simple and something he could have done back home. It can Review for Religious happen that someone discerning a call to religious life will visit a monastery or religious house and find the daily routine devoid of the heroic penances the idealistic inquirer sometimes imagines necessary. A wise direc-tor, a Don Marco, perhaps, will point out that the daily routine of community life, with its Eucharistic liturgy and the Liturgy of the Hours, will provide sufficient penances. As an adult, Menotti seems not to have partaken often of any of the sacraments of the church, and his ongoing doubts about his faith found expression in his operas, most clearly in The Saint.2° At ninety he spoke about his long interior dialogue with the God whose creed he found difficult to believe in. Musing upon the questions God asked him, he said, "That's the trouble, . . . because I don't know what to answer.''2~ One would be hard put to find a more concise summary of the inner turbulence faced by some men and women discerning a religious calling. Of course, artists working with religious subjects need not be religious people themselves, but often their work arises'from "a collaboration" between the artist and "the religious community of which he is a participating member.''2z Menotti, like Puccini, grew up immersed in the Catholic culture of northern Italy, and both men grappled with that culture when creating their operatic worlds. Part of their struggle derived from their lives within the secular culture of fame and fortune. Puccini, though, unlike Menotti, was close friends with his par- "God gives you a gift, and you must compose the right music in honor of God." 399 69.4 2010 Heisey ¯ Operatic Discernment of a Vocation 4oo.1 ish priest, a former army chaplain who loved music.23 As this essay has argued, noble music and revealed religion can complement one another, in particular when a man or woman is discerning a religious vocation. Liberated Imagination--and Faith Charles Moore has hailed opera's ability to "liberate the imagination," and he rejoiced in its "discerning. the basic rhythms of human hopes, fears, and desires.''z4 The value of opera for vocational discernment is in its ability to show us another dimension to the human experience. As with other performances in the theater or on film, one must willingly suspend disbelief when watching an opera; that suspension is even greater in opera, for what would otherwise be spoken dialogue or soliloquies are sung. Such suspending of disbelief leaves behind the normal routines we accept as ordinary real-ity and exposes us to distilled human passions. Whether those passions are those of a Tosca or an Annina, an Amahl or a Melchior, they may transport us to a height from which we may see more clearly the way to respond to the call to holiness. Let us look again at Tosca in contrast to Annina. Meant to be larger than life, Puccini's character of Floria Tosca is a famous opera singer in Rome, and the opera bearing her name opens in June of 1800 in a side chapel of Rome's baroque church of Sant' Andrea della Valle. Tosca's beloved, an artist who reads Voltaire, is painting an image of St. Mary Magdalene, and nearby is a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Tosca, a pious narcissist, makes a grand entrance and lays a bouquet at the feet of the Virgin. When she realizes that the model for the Magdalene is the sister of a Napoleonic revolu-tionary, her jealousy flares up. Such radical associations Review for Religious snare Tosca and her lover in a nightmarish entangle-ment with a corrupt police force. Both are arrested and found guilty without a trial. When interrogated and tormented by Baron Scarpia, the lecherous and sadistic chief of police, Tosca sings of her.faith being rewarded with suffering, but part of her suffering is self-inflicted. She has been devout and gen-erous, it is true, but she has a rationalist for a boyfriend and expects deference because of her fame as a singer. Her heart is divided, always a path to tragedy. Tosca, unlike Mary Magdalene, has not had her demons cast out; rather, they pursue her to a fatal end. In stark contrast to the vain and worldly Tosca, Annina appears as a model of humility. Her faith opens her to suffering, which she bears for her Beloved. Menotti shows Annina wholly dedicated to seeking God and being united to Him, and she must face a brother whose unexamined fear and carnal desires become masks for the false god of the self. Tosca offers flowers to the Virgin, but Annina shares the Virgin Mary's openness to God's call. Like Mary Magdalene, Annina would be willing to sit by the empty tomb, staring into the abyss where He had been. A :nan or woman facing the possibility of a religious vocation must be aware of the Tosca within each of us, while desiring to grow into something of an Annina. The call to be a religious is the Holy Spirit first beckoning and then giving the grace to yearn to see that there is more to life than creature comforts and the cheers of the crowd. Menotff shows Annina wholly dedicated to seeking God and being united to Him 69.4 2010 Heisey ¯ Operatic Discernment of a Vocation One way of understanding the verismo genre used by Puccini and Menotti is to see it as "concerned with common people and their preoccupations, rather than the trials and passions of aristocrats.''25 On one level, Tosca is about two lovers caught in the middle of politi-cal turmoil; on another, as we have seen, it is about a woman of faith in profound crisis. Menotti's operas discussed here are about simple people caught off guard by the arrival in their lives of the Son of God. From studying the history of the church, one learns that such complications occur in the lives of aristocrats and com-mon people as well. Opera, likewise the realm of all who are open to its riches, can help an aspiring religious see anew the gospel call to seek the One who is dawn and earth, wheat and thorn, poverty and royalty, all in all. Notes ' Daniel J. Wakin, "For Opening Night at the Metropolitan, a New Sound: Booing," New York Times (23 September 2009), p. C- 5; David Patrick Stearns, "Boos for the Met's New 'Tosca' Weren't Off-base," Philadelphia Inquirer (24 September 2009), p. D-l; see also Alex Ross, "Fiasco," New Yorker (5 October 2009): 84-85. 2 See John Anthony Davis, "The Political and Cultural Worlds of Puccini's Tosca," in Tosca's Prism: Three Moments in Western Cultural History, ed. Deborah Burton et al. (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 2005), pp. 135-144; Susan Vandiver Nicassio, "The Eternal Politics of Tosca," in Tosca's Prism, pp. 249-252; H. Wendell Howard, "Suor Angelica: Puccini's Catholic Opera," Logos 1 (Fall 1998): 94- 103. 3 Charles Reid, "Gian-Carlo Menotti," Tablet (20 October 1956): 319. 4 John Lukacs, "A Night at the Dresden Opera," New Yorker (17 March, 1986): 100; reprinted in Remembered Past, ed. Mark G. Malvasi and Jeffrey O. Nelson (Wilmington: ISI Books, 2005), p. 457. s See John Gruen, Menotti: A Biography (New York: Macmillan, 1978); of the numerous obituaries, see E Paul Driscoll, "Gian Carlo Menotti," Opera News (April 2007): 88. For The Saint of Bleecker Review for Religious Street and Tosca, see Barry Singer, "Changing Fortunes," Opera News 0uly 2007): 50. 6 Gian Carlo Menotti, The Saint of Bleecker Street (New York: G. Schirmer, 1954), act 1, scene 1, p. 14. 7 Menotti, The Saint, act 1, scene 2, p. 23. 8 Menotti, The Saint, p. 22. 9 Kiri Te Kanawa, with Conrad Wilson, Opera for Lovers (London: Headline, 1996), pp. 140-141. ,0 Steve Smith, "A Young Shepherd's Ageless Trek," New York Times (17 December 2007), p. E-5. ~ "Christmas Music," Christian Century (4-17 December 2002): 37. ~2 John Gruen, Menotti, p. 108. ~3 Gian Carlo Menotti, Amahl and the Night Visitors (New York: G. Schirmer, 1951), pp. 20-21. ~4 Richard Hayes, "The Saint of Bleecker Street," Commonweal (4 February 1955): 477. ~s Theophilus Lewis, "Theatre," America (22 January 1955): 434. ~6 Harold Clurman, "Theater," Nation (22 January 1955): 83- 84. ,7 "Successful Saint," Time (10 January 1955): 42; see Irving Kolodin, "Menotti's 'The Saint of Bleecker Street,'" Saturday Review (8 January 1955): 28; Winthrop Sargeant, "Menotti's New Opera," New Yorker (8 January 1955): 74-76; "A Saint Sings in Menotti's Best," Life (14 February 1955): 62-63. 's John Gruen, Menotti, p. 109; see Robert R. Reilly, "Gian Carlo Menotti's Heavenly Muse," Crisis (May 2001): 38. 19 Reilly, "Heavenly Muse," Crisis (May 2001): 39; see Gruen, Menotti, pp. 120-122 and 131. 20 See Gruen, Menotti, p. 166. 2~ Reilly, "Heavenly Muse," Crisis (May 2001): 38. 22 Michael Linton, "Moses at the Met," First Things 98 (December 1999): 15. 23 See Dante Del Fiorentino, Immortal Bohemian: An Intimate Memoir of Giacomo Puccini (New York: Prentice-Hall, 1952); Jane Phillips, "Puccini and the Priest," Opera News (12 March 1951): 26-28; Mary Jane Phillips-Matz, Puccini: A Biography (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 2002), pp. 258-259. 403 69.4 2010 Heisey ¯ Operatic Discernment of a Vocation 24 Charles Moore, "The Fantastic Power of Opera to Fly Free," Daily Telegraph (21 July 2009): 19. 25 Johanna Fiedler, Molto Agitato: The Mayhem Behind the Music at the Metropolitan Opera (New York: Doubleday, 2001), p. 79; see Joseph Volpe, with Charles Michener, The Toughest Show on Earth: My Rise and Reign at the Metropolitan Opera (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2006), p. 167: "The characters aren't gods or monsters, they're people caught up in the moral and political issues of their time." Personal Reflection [ Group Discussion 1. What are the ways or method that I have used in making a discerned decision? 2. How has Heisey in using opera as a help in discerning given me new ways of entering into discernment? 404] Review for Religious JAMES H. KROEGER Searching for Jesus at Christmas Once or twice a year, usually around the season of Christmas or Easter, many news-papers and popular newsmagazines (Time or Newsweek) present an article on some aspect of Jesus or the Judaeo-Christian faith. Often these features try to pique readers' interest by using attention-grabbing headlines. They ask: What is the true Christmas Story? Why did Jesus have to die? How do Jews, Muslims, and Buddhists view Jesus? Who was the real Jesus? Often the articles claim to provide new and recent discoveries into the person and identity of Jesus. Believing Christians can read these presen-tations with interest, but they should realize lighting the way James H. Kroeger MM, a Maryknoll missioner, has served in Asia (Philippines and Bangladesh), since his 1970 arrival in the Orient. Currently he teaches at the Pontifical Faculty of Theology at Loyola School of Theology of the Ateneo de Manila University as well as at the Mother of Life Catechetical Center. He can be reached at: 68.4 2009 Kroeger ¯ Searcbing for Jesus at Christmas that such popular portrayals of Jesus will probably add little insight into their knowledge and practice of the faith. One need not be alarmed by these magazine arti-cles. Actually, the popularity of such material shows the continuing interest on a broad public scale in the person and mission of Jesus. Also, as adult believers, we admit that we do have many recurring questions about Jesus and his meaning for our lives and for the life of the world. Where can we and should we look for answers to our questions? Where should we search? At this point, I offer a word of disclosure, telling you who I am. Thus, what I write in this presentation, which will explore some difficult questions, will be anchored into a solid foundation. I am a man of faith, a Catholic priest, serving in the Philippines for four decades. I have taught Christology [theology of the person and mission of Jesus Christ] for over thirty years in several schools of theology, major seminaries, and catechetical centers. My personal library contains well over one hundred books on Christology, and I have published numerous articles and books on the subject. In short, I write as a believer, a man of the church. Beginning the Search For Christians, the primary written source of faith in the person of Jesus is sacred scripture, the Gospels in particular. We rely on four books included in the New Testament: the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Just about everything that the Christian church teaches about J~sus comes through the Gospels. These Gospels, in turn, serve as a criterion of truth and authenticity for the church's teaching about Jesus. Because the Gospels are the central sources for understanding Jesus, one has to ask: What is a Gospel? Review for Religious Parenthetically, readers will note that before addressing specific questions about Jesus, it is necessary to exam-ine some general foundations upon which our faith is based. "Gospel" derives from Old English meaning "good spell/news"; this translates the Greek eu (good) and angelion (news, announcement). As "good news" the Gospels communicate the message of God's saving action in Christ and the accounts of Jesus' activity pro-duced by the early church. A Gospel is a very unique kind of written literature; it is a genre of writing that is different from other liter-ary forms. Thus, a Gospel is not simply a "biography" in the modern sense of that term (a detailed account of someone's life); it is also not "history" in the sense of a chronological presen-tation of a series of events. Yet, the Gospels contain both bio-graphical and historical elements. However, Gospels are written from another perspective and with another motive in mind. Simply, a Gospel can be described as a "faith sum-mary." Gospels contain material that will lead readers to know and love--in faith--the person of Jesus. This means that biographical and historical materials are at the service of the primary purpose of the Gospels: com- ¯ ing to a loving knowledge and experience of Jesus. The Gospels aim to help us in knowing and encountering Jesus personally, not just knowing many factual details about him. Another simple way to express the nature of the Gospels is to accept that they were written "from faith to faith." The Gospels emerged from the living faith of Simply, a Gospel can, be described as a "faith summary. " 407 69.4 2010 Kroeger * Searching for Jesus at Christmas 408 the evangelists and the early church. They were written to faith, to engender and strengthen the faith of believers. The evangelists (Gospel writers) did not intend to sup-ply every detail about the life of Jesus; rather, they chose to include those stories which would best serve the "promotion of the faith." At heart, Gospels are "proc-lamation not biography or history." This insight is well expressed, by:John the Evangelist: "There were many other signs that Jesus worked and the disciples saw, but they are not recorded in this book. These are recorded so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing this you may have life through his name" On 20:30-31). Composing Gospels Related to the nature and purpose of the Gospels, questions may arise about how and when the Gospels were written. Here the Catholic Church has provided solid guidance on the actual "writing process," explaining the "coming-to-be" of the four Gospels that we accept as the inspired Word of God. Again, this background material will serve to anchor our many "Christmas-time questions" about the person of Jesus, questions which will be addressed in the later part of this presentation. Christians believe that the authors of the Bible (both Old and New Testaments) were inspired, or guided, by the Holy Spirit. According to Roman Catholic theol-ogy, this does not mean that God spoke to the bib-lical authors directly, as one might dictate a letter to a secretary. Neither did the evangelists have modern equipment such as a tape recorder to capture the verba-tim words of Jesus. Rather, our church holds that these inspired texts are writings whose authors, prompted by the Holy Spirit, convey God's revealed truth using their Review for Religious own abilities, words, and styles. This is clearly evident in each of the four Gospels; for example, John's literary style differs from that of Matthew, Mark, and Luke. In short, scripture contains "God's Word in human words." God is the ultimate author of the scriptures; the truth that God conveys in and through them is reliable; we can securely build our faith upon these written scrip-tures as they are interpreted within the faith community of the church. It is this same Catholic Church that encourages the use of historical-critical scholarship to better pen-etrate the full meani.ng . of God's Word. Since ' ~ the 1943 magna carta of Catholic biblical schol-arship (Divino Afflante Spiritu), scripture stud-ies have flourished in the church--all to the benefit of believers. The church encourages . its biblical scholars and theologians to employ "scien-tific" approaches to delve deeper into the full meaning of God's revealed message in the scriptures. The church accepts that the Gospels are, in fact, not literal, chronological accounts of the words and deeds of Jesus. Our Gospels are the products of a faith-devel-opment !n early Christianity. They emerged through a three-stage process that moves (a) from the ministry and oral preaching of Jesus, (b) through the oral preaching of the apostles, and (c) finally to the actual writing of the Gospels as we know them. This understanding is echoed in the revelation document coming from the Second Vatican Council. This fact does not imply in any Our Gospels are the products of a faith-development in early Christianity. 69.4 2010 Kroeger ¯ Searcbing for ~esus at Christmas sense that the Gospels are not reliable sources. Today it is generally accepted that the Gospels were written in this order: Mark (60s), Matthew and Luke (70s-80s), and John (90s). Are Gospels Historical? Although there are difficult questions that do not admit of easy, brief answers, we must, in order to pro-mote our faith, struggle to respond to them. On the question of the historical nature of the Gospels [this will directly affect our understanding of the Christmas stories], we can get help by using two German words that give us insight into the nature of history. History can validly be understood through two dif-ferent, yet interrelated, perspectives. Historisch (his-torical) designates the facts of the past that can be demonstrated by documents and critically analyzed by the methods of scientific history. Geschichtlich (historic) refers to the same event(s) but focuses on the signifi-cance and importance of that fact for a certain group of people. In simpler language, historisch focuses on the plain historical data [what happened], whereas geschicht-lich seeks its deeper significance [what meaning does it have]. Some simple examples may prove helpful. As a mis-sionary in the Philippines for forty years, there are sev-eral dates that are important for me (and all Filipinos), but they would have no significance--even for. my own siblings who live in the United States. For Filipinos, 30 December 1896, is significant; it is the death of Jose Rizal, our national hero. The proclamation of Martial Law happened on 21 September 1972--with grave con-sequences for Filipinos. Ninoy Aquino was assassinated on 21 August 1983; the EDSA (Epifanio de Los Santos Review for Religious Avenue, Quezon City, Manila) "people-power" revolu-tion unfolded in 22-25 February 1986; Cory Aquino died on 1 August 2009. Most Filipinos know these dates almost instinctively. Yet, these same events would not be remembered by someone from Italy, Canada, or Indonesia. Here we see the importance and difference between historisch and geschichtlich. The historical facts and dates I have just mentioned are true, factual history. However, they have special meaning and importance only for Filipinos; they are seared into the consciousness of the Filipino peo-ple. While true facts of history, they mean little or nothing to non-Filipinos. Similarly, the Gospels have significant meaning--but only for believing Christians. Evangelists: Pastoral Theologians Moving back to our discussion of the Gospels, we come to appreciate that the evangelists were not pri-marily interested in presenting a detailed historical chronology of Jesus' life; nor were they interested in providing a comprehensive biography of Jesus and his family. The Gospel writers focused primarily on pre-senting the importance and meaning of Jesus for believ-ing Christians. Thus, while not denying or falsifying the historisch (historical data and facts), the main interest of the Gospels is to show the geschichtlich (significance) of this man Jesus for us and for our salvation. The Gospel writers focused primarily on promoting faith in Jesus; that is why the Gospels are not primarily history or biography. They are "faith summaries"; they are written based on the evangelists' faith with the purpose that we too would come to faith in Jesus. To achieve this goal of "faith promotion," each evan-gelist shaped his Gospel differently. Matthew, writing for 411 69.4 2010 Kroeger * Searching for Jesus at Cbristmas Jewish Christians, often demonstrates by the use of Old Testament quotations that the scriptures are fulfilled in the person and work of Jesus. Mark seeks to emphasize that Jesus is manifested as the crucified Messiah, fre-quently rejected by the people. Luke's Gospel is shaped by his religious mentality; he is a faithful recorder of Jesus' loving-kindness. The whole of John's thought is dominated by the mystery of the Incarnation. Each of the Gospels is unique and adopts varied theological emphases, while remaining focused on the person of Jesus. This was done so that the mes-sage of Jesus would bet- Each of theGospels is unique and adopts varied theological emphases, while remaining focused on the person of ]egus. ter reach the intended audience. In this sense, I call the evangelists "pastoral theologians,'~ because they pastorally shaped and focused their theological mes-sage with their audience in mind. Matthew, for example, quoted the Old Testament frequently so that his Jewish Christian audience would more easily come to faith in Jesus. Although we have four canoni-cal Gospels, they all coalesce to produce an integrated Gospel portrait of the person of Jesus. 412]