Suchergebnisse

After the Opium War, ending in 1842, western trade, religion, and education began entering China. Seventh-day Adventists entered China in 1888 but made few converts until they established schools. China Training Institute was founded in 1910 by Dr. Harry W. Miller, who introduced a work-study program according to the Adventist philosophy of education advocated by Ellen White, a founder of the Church. When D. E. Rebok became president of the school in 1922, he further promoted this work-study program, moving the institution to a rural area at Chiao Tou Tseng in 1925. The Sino-Japanese Conflict in 1937-45 and the Civil War which followed forced the Institute to move several times. In 1951 it was taken over by the Communist government for an industrial training school. With the fall of China to Communism Seventh-day Adventist in 1950 voted to establish atraining school in Taiwan. Opened in 1952, this institution also established a vocational program. In 1954 the school was upgraded to a junior college and in 1964 to a senior college. In 1972 the college moved to a rural location in Yu Chi county. Ninety-five percent of denominational workers in Taiwan are graduates of the college. South China Union College developed from two mission schools in Canton which merged in 1922 to become the Sam Yuk Middle School, the name indicating work study program. The institution trained denominational workers for South China and provided students for ChinaTraining Institute. The Sino-Japanese War forced it to move to Hong Kong in 1937 where it established a permanent campus in 1939. The school became a junior college in 1953 and a senior college in 1969. Its work-study program declined after the 1950s because of social-economic change, management problems, and high technology demand. Through these institutions Seventh-day Adventist, have implemented their philosophy of intellectual, vocational, and spiritual training within Chinese culture. But political changes in China affected these institutions causing them to move frequently, change their names, and combine campuses. There is now interest in orientalizing the western system of education.

In anticipation of the formulation of a patent and trademark law by the legislative organs of the People's Republic of China ("PRC"), attention in Chinese legal literature has frequently focused in recent years on the function of patent and trademark laws in China's Marxist economy. To a large extent, these recent writings focus on the paradox of incorporating into a socialist legal system laws with grant to individuals exclusive ownership rights to intellectual property. The manner in in which this paradox is resolved will no doubt mold the future of industrial property law in China.

v. 750. V -- Vallejo L -- v. 751. Vallejo M -- Vans -- v. 752. Vänt -- Vážn -- v. 753. Vazo -- Venezuela Com -- v. 754. Venezuela Con -- Vereim -- v. 755. Verein -- Vers L -- v. 756. Vers M -- Victor M -- v. 757. Victor O -- Vigd -- v. 758. Vige -- Vinea -- v. 759. Vineb -- Vision R -- v. 760. Vision S -- Voice C -- v. 761. Voice D -- Voso -- v. 762. Vosp -- Vz -- v. 763. W -- Wagner, Richard A -- v. 764. Wagner, Richard B -- Walker, William F -- v. 765. Walker, William G -- Walz -- v. 766. Wam -- Ward A -- v. 767. Ward B -- Warsh -- v. 768. Warsi -- Waso -- v. 769. Wasp -- Water Supply Engineering B -- v. 770. Water Supply Engineering C -- Weak -- v. 771. Weal -- Wedk -- v. 772. Wedl -- Welc -- v. 773. Weld -- Wenzel R -- v. 774. Wenzel S -- West Virginia I -- v. 775. West Virginia J -- Whare -- v. 776. Wharf -- White E -- v. 777. White F -- Whittier L -- v. 778. Whittier M -- Wijg -- v. 779. Wijh -- William B -- v. 780. William C -- Willis S -- v. 781. Willis T -- Wimh -- v. 782. Wimi -- Winters G -- v. 783. Winters H -- Wit and Humor, American R -- v. 784. Wit and Humor, American S -- Woh -- v. 785. Woi -- Woman-Employment-U.S.T -- v. 786. Woman-Employment-U.S.U -- Wood G -- v. 787. Wood H -- Woold -- v. 788. Woole -- World Politics, 1919- T -- v. 789. World Politics, 1919- U -- World War, 1939-1945 EC -- v. 790. World War, 1939-1945 ED -- World War, 1939-1945 Ph -- v. 791. World War, 1939-1945 Pi -- World War, 1939-1945 Regional C -- v. 792. World War, 1939-1945 Regional D -- Wright G -- v. 793. Wright H -- Wz -- v. 794. X -- Yeast V -- v. 795. Yeast W -- Young C -- v. 796. Young D -- Yz -- v. 797. Z -- Zehn J -- v. 798. Zehn K -- Zimmerman C -- v. 799. Zimmerman D -- Zoology A -- v. 800. Zoology B -- Zy. ; v. 730. U -- Underdeveloped Areas A -- v. 731. Underdeveloped Areas B -- Union of South Africa So -- v. 732. Union of South Africa Sp -- United States Adu -- v. 733. United States Adv -- United States Army R -- v. 734. United States Army S -- United States Commerce C -- v. 735. United States Commerce D -- United States Division S -- v. 736. United States Division T -- United States Foreign Relations R -- v. 737. United States Relations S -- United States Historic -- v. 738. United States History -- United States History-Revolution-Poetry S -- v. 739. United States History-Revolution-Poetry T -- United States History-Civil War-Military-Regimental History L -- v. 740. United States History-Civil War-Military-Regimental History M -- United States History-Yearbooks -- v. 741. United States Ho -- United States Justice Department Ac -- v. 742. United States Justice Department Ad -- United States National Aeronautic and Space Administration R -- v. 743. United States National Aeronautic and Space Administration S -- United States Politics, 1865-1897 J -- v. 744. United States Politics, 1865-1897 K -- United States Rac -- v. 745. United States Rad -- United States State Department P -- v. 746. United States State Department Q -- United States War Information Office A -- v. 747. United States War Information Office B -- Université S -- v. 748. Université T -- Urban O -- v. 749. Urban P -- Uz. ; v. 703. T -- Tall -- v. 704. Talm -- Tariff I -- v. 705. Tariff J -- Taxation-Jurisprudence F -- v. 706. Taxation-Jurisprudence G -- Taylor Jer -- v. 707. Taylor Jes -- Tecn -- v. 708. Teco -- Television C -- v. 709. Television D -- Tena -- v. 710. Tenb -- Tess -- v. 711. Test -- Textile Machinery S -- v. 712. Textile Machinery T -- Their -- v. 713. Theis -- Thern -- v. 714. Thero -- Thomas V -- v. 715. Thomas W -- Thorpe B -- v. 716. Thorpe C -- Tidev -- v. 717. Tidew -- Tires -- v. 718. Tiret -- Tokio G -- v. 719. Tokio H -- Torl -- v. 720. Torm -- Towards E -- v. 721. Towards F -- Trade Unions G -- v. 722. Trade Unions H -- Transcendentalism B -- v. 723. Transcendentalism C -- Treason-Trials H -- v. 724. Treason-Trials I -- Trial -- v. 725. Triam -- Trotzky, Lev G -- v. 726. Trotzky, Lev H -- Tube R -- v. 727. Tube S -- Turin C -- v. 728. Turin D -- Tuw -- v. 729. Tux -- Tz. ; v. 636. S -- Safe -- v. 637. Saff -- Saint Louis G -- v. 638. Saint Louis H -- Saler -- v. 639. Sales -- Salvation Army R -- v. 640. Salvation Army S -- Sanchez L -- v. 641. Sanchez M -- Sans -- v. 642. Sant -- Sarl -- v. 643. Sarm -- Savar -- v. 644. Savas -- Schaa -- v. 645. Schab -- Schid -- v. 646. Schie -- Schmidt B -- v. 647. Schmidt C -- Scholl S -- v. 648. Scholl T -- Schopf E -- v. 649. Schopf F -- Schulze F -- v. 650. Schulze G -- Science Col -- v. 651. Science Com -- Scoa -- v. 652. Scob -- Scott -- v. 653. Scotu -- Seals and Seal Fisheries C -- v. 654. Seals and Seal Fisheries D -- Sedl -- v. 655. Sedm -- Sell -- v. 656. Selm -- Sericulture A -- v. 657. Sericulture B -- Sever G -- v. 658. Sever H -- Shakers L -- v. 659. Shakers M -- Shakespeare A -- v. 660. Shakespeare B -- Sheldon S -- v. 661. Sheldon T -- Shipping G -- v. 662. Shipping H -- Shórn -- v. 663. Shoro -- Shrub -- v. 664. Shruc -- Sigg -- v. 665. Sigh -- Simek -- v. 666. Simel -- Singing Q -- v. 667. Singing R -- Skinner B -- v. 668. Skinner C -- Slavs B -- v. 669. Slavs C -- Smith A -- v. 670. Smith B -- Smith, William A -- v. 671. Smith, William B -- Social D -- v. 672. Social E -- Socialism, 1923-1933 H -- v. 673. Socialism, 1923-1933 I -- Societe Al -- v. 674. Société AM -- Societies R -- v. 675. Societies S -- Sociology T -- v. 676. Sociology U -- Solís -- v. 677. Solit -- Sonh -- v. 678. Soni -- Sousa A -- v. 679. Sousa B -- Southgate V -- v. 680. Southgate W -- Spain-Foreign Relations F -- v. 681. Spain-Foreign Relations G -- Spanish America-History-to 1600 -- v. 682. Spanish America-History-after 1600 -- Speech O -- v. 683. Speech P -- Spirit F -- v. 684. Spirit G -- Spuc -- v. 685. Spud -- Stage-France O -- v. 686. Stage-France P -- Stanford R -- v. 687. Stanford S -- Statement F -- v. 688. Statement G -- Sted -- v. 689. Stee -- Stel -- v. 690. Stem -- Stevenson I -- v. 691. Stevenson J -- Stockholders F -- v. 692. Stockholders G -- Storg -- v. 693. Storh -- Straus D -- v. 694. Straus E -- Struc -- v. 695. Strud -- Stuer -- v. 696. Stues -- Sueb -- v. 697. Suec -- Summ -- v. 698. Sumn -- Surim -- v. 699. Surin -- Swan H -- v. 700. Swan I -- Swey -- v. 701. Swez -- Symbolism in Architecture R -- v. 702. Symbolism in Architecture S -- Sz. ; v. 603. Q -- Quek -- v. 604. Quel -- Qw -- v. 605. R -- Radio in Politics B -- v. 606. Radio in Politics C -- Railways Ab -- v. 607. Railways Ac -- Railways D -- v. 608. Railways E -- Rak -- v. 609. Ral -- Rape -- v. 610. Rapf -- Raymond V -- v. 611. Raymond W -- Recei -- v. 612. Récéj -- Reed V -- v. 613. Reed W -- Régim -- v. 614. Regin -- Reiner I -- v. 615. Reiner J -- Religion I -- v. 616. Religion J -- Rentm -- v. 617. Rentn -- Retail Trade R -- v. 618. Retail Trade S -- Revue S -- v. 619. Revue T -- Rhodesia, Northern L -- v. 620. Rhodesia, Northern M -- Richl -- v. 621. Richm -- Rihs -- v. 622. Riht -- Ritter C -- v. 623. Ritter D -- Roads-U.S.M -- v. 624. Roads-U.S.N -- Robinson J -- v. 625. Robinson K -- Rodrigues G -- v. 626. Rodrigues H -- Rolfe F -- v. 627. Rolfe G -- Rome (City)-P -- v. 628. Rome (City)-Q -- Rord -- v. 629. Rore -- Ross C -- v. 630. Ross D -- Rousseau L -- v. 631. Rousseau M -- Roźd -- v. 632. Roze -- Rul -- v. 633. Rum -- Russia Ar -- v. 634. Russia As -- Russia-Social Conditions, 1917 K -- v. 635. Russia-Social Conditions, 1917 L -- Rz. ; v. 548. P -- Pagg -- v. 549. Pagh -- Paintings-Collections R -- v. 550. Paintings-Collections S -- Paleography L -- v. 551. Paleography M -- Palmer K -- v. 552. Palmer L -- Pann -- v. 553. Pano -- Pap -- v. 554. Paq -- Paris E -- v. 555. Paris F -- Parkh -- v. 556. Parki -- Parties, Political D -- v. 557. Parties, Political E -- Patd -- v. 558. Paté -- Paul J -- v. 559. Paul K -- Pearce C -- v. 560. Pearce D -- Pei -- v. 561. Pej -- Pennsylvania F -- v. 562. Pennsylvania G -- Pén [i.e. Pénz] -- v. 563. Peo -- Periodicals C -- v. 564. Periodicals D -- Periodicals-U.S.I -- v. 565. Periodicals-U.S.J -- Persia C -- v. 566. Persia D -- Peru -- v. 567. Perv -- Petri R -- v. 568. Petri S -- Pfeiffer E -- v. 569. Pfeiffer F -- Philip G -- v. 570. Philip H -- Philology S -- v. 571. Philology T -- Phok -- v. 572. Phol -- Phrom -- v. 573. Phron -- Picb -- v. 574. Picc -- Pik -- v. 575. Pil -- Pioneer Life-U.S.V -- v. 576. Pioneer Life-U.S.W -- Pittsburgh S -- v. 577. Pittsburgh T -- Plas -- v. 578. Plat -- Plup -- v. 579. Pluq -- Poetry, American A -- v. 580. Poetry, American B -- Poetry, American Wis -- v. 581. Poetry, American, Wit -- Poetry, Dutch S -- v. 582. Poetry, Dutch T -- Poetry, English, Hist. & Crit., 20th Cent. C -- v. 583. Poetry, English, Hist. & Crit., 20th Cent. D -- Poetry, Hungarian A -- v. 584. Poetry, Hungarian, B -- Poetry, Spanish P -- v. 585. Poetry, Spanish Q -- Poland F -- v. 586. Poland G -- Polish Literature, Hist. & Crit. O -- v. 587. Polish Literature, Hist. & Crit. P -- Polska Akademja Umiejetnosci A -- v. 588. Polska Akademja Umiejetnosci B -- Popar -- v. 589. Popas -- Portrait S -- v. 590. Portrait T -- Postage Stamps R -- v. 591. Postage Stamps S -- Poula -- v. 592. Poulb -- Pram -- v. 593. Pran -- Press, Liberty of H -- v. 594. Press, Liberty of I -- Prier -- v. 595. Pries -- Printing G -- v. 596. Printing H -- Privies N -- v. 597. Privies O -- Proj -- v. 598. Prok -- Protection V -- v. 599. Protection W -- Prussia-History-Frederick II C -- v. 600. Prussia-History-Frederick II D -- Psyk -- v. 601. Psyl -- Puli -- v. 602. Pulj -- Pyz. ; v. 509. N -- Nan -- v. 510. Nao -- Nash -- v. 511. Nasi -- National C -- v. 512. National D -- National Sh -- v. 513. National Si -- Natural History R -- v. 514. Natural History S -- Naval E -- v. 515. Naval F -- Navy R -- v. 516. Navy S -- Ned -- v. 517. Nee -- Neh -- v. 518. Nei -- Netherlands (Kingdom, 1815- ) O -- v. 519. Netherlands (Kingdom, 1815- ) P -- Neud -- v. 520. Neue -- New England D -- v. 521. New England E -- New K -- v. 522. New L -- New York (city) B -- v. 523. New York (city) C -- New York (city) L -- v. 524. New York (city) M -- New York N -- v. 525. New York O -- New York (state) H -- v. 526. New York (state) I -- New Zealand C -- v. 527. New Zealand D -- Newspapers E -- v. 528. Newspapers F -- Nicol -- v. 529. Nicom -- Ninn -- v. 530. Nino -- Nole -- v. 531. Nolf -- North Am -- v. 532. North An -- Northwestern O -- v. 533. Northwestern P -- Noth -- v. 534. Notti -- Numismatics C -- v. 535. Numismatics D -- Nz -- v. 536. O -- Occupations C -- v. 537. Occupations D -- Oese -- v. 538. Oesf -- Ohio H -- v. 539. Ohio I -- Old L -- v. 540. Old M -- Omaha R -- v. 541. Omaha S -- Oor -- v. 542. Oos -- Oratory R -- v. 543. Oratory S -- Organic R -- v. 544. Organic S -- Orrego L -- v. 545. Orrego M -- Ostl -- v. 546. Ostm -- Outs -- v. 547. Outt -- Oz. ; v. 450. M -- Mccol -- v. 451. Mccom -- Mcgrad -- v. 452. Mcgrae -- Mackenzie G -- v. 453. Mackenzie H -- Macq -- v. 454. Macr -- Maga -- v. 455. Magb -- Maic -- v. 456. Maid -- Malat -- v. 457. Malau -- Maml -- v. 458. Mamm -- Mana -- v. 459. Manb -- Mannk -- v. 460. Mannl -- Many -- v. 461. Manz -- Marc -- v. 462. Mard -- Maris -- v. 463. Marit -- Marriage F -- v. 464. Marriage G -- Martens E -- v. 465. Martens F -- Martr -- v. 466. Marts -- Masc -- v. 467. Masd -- Massachusetts I -- v. 468. Massachusetts J -- Mathematics K -- v. 469. Mathematics L -- Matthews D -- v. 470. Matthews E -- Max -- v. 471. May -- Meb -- v. 472. Mec -- Medic -- v. 473. Medid -- Mej -- v. 474. Mek -- Memory R -- v. 475. Memory S -- Meq -- v. 476. Mer -- Merv -- v. 477. Merw -- Meteorology C -- v. 478. Meteorology D -- Metropolitan M -- v. 479. Metropolitan N -- Mexico G -- v. 480. Mexico H -- Meyk -- v. 481. Meyl -- Mich -- v. 482. Mici -- Mikn -- v. 483. Mikó -- Military L -- v. 484. Military M -- Milla -- v. 485. Millb -- Milton L -- v. 486. Milton M -- Mines and Mining G -- v. 487. Mines and Mining H -- Mirac -- v. 488. Mirad -- Missions, Foreign E -- v. 489. Missions, Foreign F -- Mitb -- v. 490. Mitc -- Modn -- v. 491. Modo -- Moll -- v. 492. Molm -- Money F -- v. 493. Money G -- Monof -- v. 494. Monog -- Monteiro L -- v. 495. Monteiro M -- Mónu -- v. 496. Monv -- Mord -- v. 497. More -- Morl -- v. 498. Morm -- Morse E -- v. 499. Morse F -- Motd -- v. 500. Mote -- Mountaineering M -- v. 501. Mountaineering N -- Moving Pictures R -- v. 502. Moving Pictures S -- Mufs -- v. 503. Muft -- Municipal C -- v. 504. Municipal D -- Murk -- v. 505. Murl -- Music B -- v. 506. Music C -- Music T -- v. 507. Music U -- Mutt -- v. 508. Mutu -- Mz. ; v. 414. L -- Labor G -- v. 415. Labor H -- Labour Party, Gt. Br. D -- v. 416. Labour Party, Gt. Br. E -- Lagd -- v. 417. Lage -- Lamm -- v. 418. Lamn -- Land, Public-U.S.N -- v. 419. Land, Public-U.S.O -- Lang O -- v. 420. Lang P -- Lapk -- v. 421. Lapl -- Latg -- v. 422. Lath -- Latth -- v. 423. Latti -- Law S -- v. 424. Law T -- Law, Maritime A -- v. 425. Law, Maritime B -- Leadh -- v. 426. Leadi -- Lebn -- v. 427. Lebo -- Lefk -- v. 428. Lefl -- Lehm -- v. 429. Lehn -- Lenc -- v. 430. Lend -- Leroy E -- v. 431. Leroy F -- Letters E -- v. 432. Letters F -- Levn -- v. 433. Levo -- Liberalism K -- v. 434. Liberalism L -- Libraries (Place) N -- v. 435. Libraries (Place) O -- Lich -- v. 436. Lici -- Lighthouses H -- v. 437. Lighthouses I -- Lincoln A -- v. 438. Lincoln B -- Lior -- v. 439. Lios -- Literature P -- v. 440. Literature Q -- Living Expenses G -- v. 441. Living Expenses H -- Locomotives A -- v. 442. Locomotives B -- Loll -- v. 443. Lolm -- London U -- v. 444. London V -- Lord R -- v. 445. Lord S -- Louis XVI -- v. 446. Louis XVII -- Lowe S -- v. 447. Lowe T -- Ludwig O -- v. 448. Ludwig P -- Lutg -- v. 449. Luth -- Lz. ; v. 363. I -- Idn -- v. 364. Ido -- Illumination of Books and Manuscripts S -- v. 365. Illumination of Books and Manuscripts T -- Impos -- v. 366. Impot -- Independence D -- v. 367. Independence E -- India, History E -- v. 368. India, History F -- Indians, Central America, Tribes L -- v. 369. Indians, Central America, Tribes M -- Indians, North America S -- v. 370. Indians, North America T -- Indib -- v. 371. Indić -- Industrial Arts (Place) E -- v. 372. Industrial Arts (Place) F -- Industries (Place) U -- v. 373. Industries (Place) V -- Inl -- v. 374. Inm -- Institut M -- v. 375. Institut N -- Insurance I -- v. 376. Insurance J -- Intellectuals (Place) F -- v. 377. Intellectuals (Place) G -- International Ch -- v. 378. International Ci -- International LaC -- v. 379. International Lad -- Internationalism B -- v. 380. Internationalism C -- Iowa R -- v. 381. Iowa S -- Irish L -- v. 382. Irish M -- Isa -- v. 383. Isb -- Italian Language H -- v. 384. Italian Language I -- Italy, History to 1815 -- v. 385. Italy, History-After 1815 -- Iz -- v. 386. J -- Jagem -- v. 387. Jagen -- Jansen T -- v. 388. Jansen U -- Jard -- v. 389. Jaré -- Jels -- v. 390. Jelt -- Jesuits and Jesuitism U -- v. 391. Jesuits and Jesuitism V -- Jews, Anti-Semitic Writings M -- v. 392. Jews, Anti-Semitic Writings N -- Jews So -- v. 393. Jews Sp -- Johnm -- v. 394. Johnn -- Jolk -- v. 395. Joll -- Jorg -- v. 396. Jorh -- Journey B -- v. 397. Journey C -- Juk -- v. 398. Jul -- Juvenile Literature, Drama, American C -- v. 399. Juvenile Literature, Drama, American D -- Jz -- v. 400. K -- Kampe -- v. 401. Kampf -- Karo -- v. 402. Karp -- Keem -- v. 403. Keen -- Kennedy J -- v. 404. Kennedy K -- Kets -- v. 405. Kett -- Kinf -- v. 406. King -- Kirr -- v. 407. Kirs -- Kloo -- v. 408. Klop -- Kobd -- v. 409. Kobe -- Kolor -- v. 410. Kolos -- Kor -- v. 411. Kos -- Kreus -- v. 412. Kreut -- Kuer -- v. 413. Kues -- Kz. ; v. 330. H -- Hahm -- v. 331. Hahn -- Hall J -- v. 332. Hall K -- Hamilton J -- v. 333. Hamilton K -- Handwriting R -- v. 334. Handwriting S -- Harbors M -- v. 335. Harbors N -- Harper V -- v. 336. Harper W -- Hartmann K -- v. 337. Hartmann L -- Hathaway E -- v. 338. Hathaway F -- Hawkins L -- v. 339. Hawkins M -- Heart's T -- v. 340. Hearts U -- Hegel H -- v. 341. Hegel I -- Heller J -- v. 342. Heller K -- Henry of K -- v. 343. Henry of L -- Heredity R -- v. 344. Heredity S -- Hertling O -- v. 345. Hertling P -- Hibben S -- v. 346. Hibben T -- Hiller F -- v. 347. Hiller G -- Historia A -- v. 348. Historia B -- History, General-18th Century Works B -- v. 349. History, General-18th Century Works C -- Hodge B -- v. 350. Hodge C -- Hog -- v. 351. Hoh -- Holr -- v. 352. Hols -- Hond -- v. 353. Hone -- Horn L -- v. 354. Horn M -- Hot R -- v. 355. Hot S -- Housing-Working Class H -- v. 356. Housing-Working Class I -- Howl -- v. 357. Howm -- Hughes F -- v. 358. Hughes G -- Humo -- v. 359. Hump -- Hunting N -- v. 360. Hunting O -- Hut -- v. 361. Huu -- Hygiene, Public L -- v. 362. Hygiene, Public M -- Hyz. ; v. 291. G -- Gall L -- v. 292. Gall M -- Gandía E -- v. 293. Gandía F -- Gardiner G -- v. 294. Gardiner H -- Gases A -- v. 295. Gases B -- Gazs -- v. 296. Gazt -- General E -- v. 297. General F -- Geography As -- v. 298. Geography At -- Geology O -- v. 299. Geology P -- Geometry S -- v. 300. Geometry T -- Gerk -- v. 301. Gerl -- German Literature S -- v. 302. German Literature T -- Germany C -- v. 303. Germany D -- Germany-History 1847 -- v. 304. German-History 1848 -- Gerom -- v. 305. Geron -- Giac -- v. 306. Giad -- Gilds G -- v. 307. Gilds H -- Girk -- v. 308. Girl -- Glay -- v. 309. Glaz -- Godf -- v. 310. Godg -- Gold Mines and Mining-Al -- v. 311. Gold Mines and Mining-Am -- Gol [i.e. Golz] -- v. 312. Gom -- Gook -- v. 313. Gool -- Goula -- v. 314. Goulb -- Grad -- v. 315. Grae -- Grang -- v. 316. Granh -- Great Britain I -- v. 317. Great Britain J -- Great Britain-Description and Travel,1800-1850 -- v. 318. Great Britain-Description and Travel, 1850-1900 -- Great Britain-Govt. B -- v. 319. Great Britain-Govt. C -- Great Britain-Hist., 19th cent. F -- v. 320. Great Britain-Hist.,19th cent. G -- Great Britain-Politics, 1660-1714 R -- v. 321. Great Britain-Politics, 1660-1714 S -- Great Britain-Trade, Board of U -- v. 322. Great Britain-Trade, Board of V -- Greece (Modern)-History, 1830 M -- v. 323. Greece (Modern)-History, 1830 N -- Greene H -- v. 324. Greene I -- Grey N -- v. 325. Grey O -- Grog -- v. 326. Groh -- Grunds -- v. 327. Grundt S -- Gueu -- v. 328. Guev -- Gumo -- v. 329. Gump -- Gzow. ; v. 249. F -- Fairs F -- v. 250. Fairs G -- Fans -- v. 251. Fant -- Fascism-Germany B -- v. 252. Fascism-Germany C -- Fearh -- v. 253. Feari -- Felln -- v. 254. Fello -- Ferrari -- v. 255. Ferrarj -- Fev -- v. 256. Few -- Fiction, American Ham -- v. 257. Fiction, American Han -- Fiction, American Will -- v. 258. Fiction, American Wilm -- Fiction, Dutch A -- v. 259. Fiction, Dutch B -- Fiction, English Kim -- v. 260. Fiction, English Kin -- Fiction, Flemish L -- v. 261. Fiction, Flemish M -- Fiction, German A -- v. 262. Fiction, German B -- Fiction, Lettish J -- v. 263. Fiction, Lettish K -- Fiction, Swiss-German B -- v. 264. Fiction, Swiss-German C -- Filmr -- v. 265. Films -- Finance, U.S., 1813 -- v. 266. Finance, U.S., 1814 -- Finland R -- v. 267. Finland S -- Fischa -- v. 268. Fischb -- Fishing A -- v. 269. Fishing B -- Flanders G -- v. 270. Flanders H -- Flora F -- v. 271. Flora G -- Flya -- v. 272. Flyb -- Folklore N -- v. 273. Folklore O -- Fond -- v. 274. Fone -- Før N -- v. 275. For O -- Forestry-Germany S -- v. 276. Forestry-Germany T -- Forter -- v. 277. Fortes -- Fourm -- v. 278. Fourn -- France Ar -- v. 279. France As -- France-Foreign Relations R -- v. 280. France-Foreign Relations S -- France-History-Revolution O -- v. 281. France-History-Revolution P -- France-Statistics M -- v. 282. France-Statistics N -- Frank E -- v. 283. Frank F -- Frederick I, King of Prussia -- v. 284. Frederick II, King of Prussia -- Freemasons P -- v. 285. Freemasons Q -- French Language-Dictionaries D -- v. 286. French Language-Dictionaries E -- Fresco Paintings B -- v. 287. Fresco Paintings C -- Friends, Society of. L -- v. 288. Friends, Society of. M -- Früh [i.e. Fruh] -- v. 289. Frui -- Funck J -- v. 290. Funck K -- Fyz. ; v. 214. E -- Eastern Col -- v. 215. Eastern Com -- Ecole B -- v. 216. Ecole C -- Economic History-Chile F -- v. 217. Economic History-Chile G -- Economic History I -- v. 218. Economic History J -- Economic History-U.S.F -- v. 219. Economic History-U.S.G -- Economics, 1848-1889 E -- v. 220. Economics, 1848-1889 F -- Edel -- v. 221. Edem -- Education E -- v. 222. Education F -- Education O -- v. 223. Education P -- Education-U.S.-N.J.T -- v. 224. Education-U.S.-N.J.U -- Egypt C -- v. 225. Egypt D -- Eisenstein I -- v. 226. Eisenstein J -- Electric M -- v. 227. Electric N -- Electrons B -- v. 228. Electrons C -- Ellis S -- v. 229. Ellis T -- Emigration, Canada N -- v. 230. Emigration, Canada O -- Enchanted R -- v. 231. Enchanted S -- Engineering Ch -- v. 232. Engineering Ci -- English Language-Dictionaries G -- v. 233. English Language-Dictionaries H -- English Literature S -- v. 234. English Literature T -- Epitaphs T -- v. 235. Epitaphs U -- Ero -- v. 236. Erp -- Espl -- v. 237. Espm -- Essays P -- v. 238. Essays R -- Ethics G -- v. 239. Ethics H -- Etr -- v. 240. Ets -- Europe-History H -- v. 241. Europe-History I -- European War, Aerial Operations M -- v. 242. European War, Aerial Operations N -- European War, Economic Aspects Germany K -- v. 243. European War, Economic Aspects Germany L -- European War, Neutrality R -- v. 244. European War, Neutrality S -- European War, Regimental History F -- v. 245. European War, Regimental History G -- European War, Great Britain G -- v. 246. European War, Great Britain H -- Evero -- v. 247. Everp -- Exhibitions C -- v. 248. Exhibitions D -- Ez. ; v. 177. D -- Dale C -- v. 178. Dale D -- Dancing F -- v. 179. Dancing G -- Danzig G -- v. 180. Danzig H -- Dauw -- v. 181. Daux -- Dawn -- v. 182. Dawo -- Debray -- v. 183. Debraz -- Defei -- v. 184. Defel -- Delaware C -- v. 185. Delaware D -- Democracy-U.S.B -- v. 186. Democracy-U.S.C -- Denton, Name [i.e. Denton (Name)] -- v. 187. Denton, County [i.e. Denton County] -- Desmares -- v. 188. Desmaret -- Deutsche J -- v. 189. Deutsche K -- Dewar M -- v. 190. Dewar N -- Dickens, Charles F -- v. 191. Dickens, Charles G -- Dikes H -- v. 192. Dikes I -- Disaster Relief B -- v. 193. Disaster Relief C -- Divo -- v. 194. Divr -- Dog L -- v. 195. Dog M -- Donato L -- v. 196. Donato M -- Douglas P -- v. 197. Douglas R -- Drama, American A -- v. 198. Drama, American B -- Drama, American Mi -- v. 199. Drama, American Mo -- Drama C -- v. 200. Drama D -- Drama, English Hol -- v. 201. Drama, English Hom -- Drama, English Translations From . R -- v. 202. Drama, English Translations From . S -- Drama, French J -- v. 203. Drama, French K -- Drama, German Bas -- v. 204. Drama, German Bat -- Drama, German, Low German D -- v. 205. Drama, German, Low German E -- Drama, L -- v. 206. Drama, M -- Drama, Spanish Ger -- v. 207. Drama, Spanish Ges -- Drama, Walloon W -- v. 208. Drama, Walloon X -- Dreu -- v. 209. Drev -- Dublin U -- v. 210. Dublin V -- Duke O -- v. 211. Duke P -- Duper -- v. 212. Dupes -- Dutch Language D -- v. 213. Dutch Language E -- Dz. ; v. 107. C -- Cah -- v. 108. Cai -- Cale -- v. 109. Calf -- California V -- v. 110. California W -- Cameron, I -- v. 111. Cameron, J -- Canada B -- v. 112. Canada C -- Canada Statistics Bureau M -- v. 113. Canada Statistics Bureau N -- Canaq -- v. 114. Canar -- Capeh -- v. 115. Capei -- Cardif -- v. 116. Cardig -- Carm -- v. 117. Carn -- Carrik -- v. 118. Carril -- Case A -- v. 119. Case B -- Castles R -- v. 120. Castles S -- Cathedrals S -- v. 121. Cathedrals T -- Catholic Church Roman L -- v. 122. Catholic Church Roman M -- Cauch -- v. 123. Cauci -- Cement and Concrete M -- v. 124. Cement and Concrete P -- Ceo -- v. 125. Cep -- Chah -- v. 126. Chai -- Chand -- v. 127. Chane -- Charities I -- v. 128. Charities J -- Charz -- v. 129. Chas -- Chemical Industries I -- v. 130. Chemical Industries J -- Chemm -- v. 131. Chemn -- Chicago B -- v. 132. Chicago C -- Children AC -- v. 133. Children AD -- Chile T -- v. 134. Chile U -- Chinese A -- v. 135. Chinese B -- Christ L -- v. 136. Christ M -- Christianity E -- v. 137. Christianity F -- Church Al -- v. 138. Church Am -- Church I -- v. 139. Church J -- Chyz -- v. 140. Ci -- Cities-Plans-D -- v. 141. Cities-Plans-E -- Civil R -- v. 142. Civil S -- Claq -- v. 143. Clar -- Classification K -- v. 144. Classification L -- Clergy F -- v. 145. Clergy G -- Club T -- v. 146. Club U -- Cobb -- v. 147. Cobd -- Coi -- v. 148. Coj -- Collection K -- v. 149. Collection L -- Collim -- v. 150. Collin -- Colonies and Colonization A -- v. 151. Colonies and Colonization B -- Columbia University Q -- v. 152. Columbia University R -- Coml -- v. 153. Comm -- Commerce Am -- v. 154. Commerce An -- Commerce-New York -- v. 155. Commerce-New Zealand -- Commis -- v. 156. Commit -- Competition-Unfair F -- v. 157. Competition-Unfair G -- Cone -- v. 158. Conf -- Congres H -- v. 159. Congres I -- Conr -- v. 160. Cons -- Continuation L -- v. 161. Continuation M -- Cookery B -- v. 162. Cookery C -- Cooperation S -- v. 163. Cooperation T -- Copyright M -- v. 164. Copyright N -- Coronations G -- v. 165. Coronations H -- Cortazar C -- v. 166. Cortazar D -- Cotner T -- v. 167. Cotner U -- Country Life-United States -- v. 168. Country Life-Uruguay -- Cowper W -- v. 169. Cowper Family -- Creation-Biblical Account-H -- v. 170. Creation-Biblical Account-I -- Criminal H -- v. 171. Criminal I -- Crip -- v. 172. Criq -- Crosby G -- v. 173. Crosby H -- Cua -- v. 174. Cub -- Cunningham A -- v. 175. Cunningham B -- Cux -- v. 176. Cuy -- Cz. ; v. 52. B -- Bader -- v. 53. Bades -- Baker, I -- v. 54. Baker, J -- Ballads, E -- v. 55. Ballads, F -- Banco P -- v. 56. Banco R -- Banks and Banking-Gt. Br. S -- v. 57. Banks and Banking-Gt. Br. T -- Baptists-U -- v. 58. Baptists-V -- Barlac -- v. 59. Barlad -- Barry, I -- v. 60. Barry, J -- Basr -- v. 61. Bass -- Baud -- v. 62. Baue -- Beac -- v. 63. Bead -- Beck -- v. 64. Becl -- Beh -- v. 65. Bei -- Belk -- v. 66. Bell -- Bend -- v. 67. Bene -- Benz -- v. 68. Beo -- Berlin F -- v. 69. Berlin G -- Berr -- v. 70. Bers -- Bet -- v. 71. Beu -- Bible. Zulu -- v. 72. Bible. Selections -- Bible. N.T.: Crit -- v. 73. Bible. N.T.-D -- Bible. O.T. Pr -- v. 74. Bible. O.T. Ps -- Bibliography-O -- v. 75. Bibliography-P -- Bibliotheca O -- v. 76. Bibliotheca P -- Bik -- v. 77. Bil -- Bio -- v. 78. Bip -- Bisl -- v. 79. Bism -- Blai -- v. 80. Blaj -- Blis -- v. 81. Blit -- Bob -- v. 82. Boc -- Bog -- v. 83. Boh -- Bolr -- v. 84. Bols -- Bolz -- v. 85. Bom -- Bon -- v. 86. Boo -- Bool -- v. 87. Boom -- Bor -- v. 88. Bos -- Botany-R -- v. 89. Botany-S -- Bouq -- v. 90. Bour -- Boyd -- v. 91. Boye -- Bram -- v. 92. Bran -- Brazil D -- v. 93. Brazil E -- Brer -- v. 94. Bres -- Brid -- v. 95. Brie -- British E -- v. 96. British F -- Brom -- v. 97. Bron -- Brov -- v. 98. Brow -- Brt -- v. 99. Bru -- Bryc -- v. 100. Bryd -- Budget-E -- v. 101. Budget F -- Building C -- v. 102. Building D -- Bulle -- v. 103. Bullf -- Burgf -- v. 104. Burgg -- Burrow, M -- v. 105. Burrow, N -- Buss -- v. 106. Bust -- Bz. ; v. 1. A -- Aben -- v. 2. Abeo -- Académie de F -- v. 3. Académie du G -- Achm -- v. 4. Achn -- Adams, D -- v. 5. Adams, E -- Ador -- v. 6. Adós -- Aeronautics-Ac -- v. 7. Aeronautics-Ad -- Aesoph -- v. 8. Aesopi -- Africa, So -- v. 9. Africa, Sp -- Agar -- v. 10. Agas -- Agriculture-Economics-F -- v. 11. Agriculture-Economics-G -- Agriculture-C [i.e. Agriculture (Place) C] -- v. 12. Agriculture-D [i.e. Agriculture (Place) D] -- Air-E -- v. 13. Air-F -- Alabam -- v. 14. Alaban -- Alcaraz, Em -- v. 15. Alcaraz, En -- Alexan, F -- v. 16. Alexan, G -- Aliens-H -- v. 17. Aliens-I -- Allied J -- v. 18. Allied K -- Alphabet, S -- v. 19. Alphabet, T -- Alz -- v. 20. Am -- America M -- v. 21. America-N -- American Fab -- v. 22. American Fac -- American Languages-Q -- v. 23. American Languages-R -- American Pio -- v. 24. American Pip -- Americans in L -- v. 25. Americans in M -- Amy -- v. 26. Amz -- Anderson, S -- v. 27. Anderson T -- Angle S -- v. 28. Angle T -- Annal -- v. 29. Annam -- Anthon -- v. 30. Anthoo -- Apar -- v. 31. Apas -- Aqueb -- v. 32. Aquec -- Arauco, C -- v. 33. Arauco D -- Architectural D -- v. 34. Architectural E -- Architecture, Ecclesiastical-F -- v. 35. Architecture, Ecclesiastical-G -- Arens -- v. 36. Arent -- Aristoc -- v. 37. Aristod -- Armitage, R -- v. 38. Armitage, S -- Army, R -- v. 39. Army, S -- Arres -- v. 40. Arret -- Art-Essays and Misc. G -- v. 41. Art-Essays and Misc. H -- Art Per [i.e. Art Pers]-- v. 42. Art, Peru -- Arz -- v. 43. As -- Assat -- v. 44. Assau -- Assz -- v. 45. Ast -- Athenaeum I -- v. 46. Athenaeum L -- Attention M -- v. 47. Attention N -- Auq -- v. 48. Aurauco D -- Austria B -- v. 49. Austria-C -- Authorship T -- v. 50. Authorship U -- Auy -- v. 51. Auz -- Az. ; Mode of access: Internet.

Issue 31.1 of the Review for Religious, 1972. ; ASSOCIATE EDI'I.'O R Everett A. Diederich, S.J. QUESTIONS ANI) ANS\VERS EDITOR Joseph F. Gallen, S.J. Correspondence with the editor, the associate editor, and the assistant editor, as well as books for review, should be sent to I~EVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS; 612 Humboldt Build-ins; 539 North Grand Boulevard; St. Louis, Missouri 63103. Questions for answering should be sent to Joseph F. Gallen, SJ.; St. Joseph's Church; 321 Willings Alley; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19106. + + + REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS Edited with ccclcsiastical approval by faculty mcnlbers of tile School of Divinity of St. Louis UniversJly. the edilorhll otfices beii~g located at 612 Ilumboldt Bnilding~ 539 North (.;rand Boulevard; St. Louis, Missouri 63103. Owned b.v the Missouri Province Educational Institute. Published bimonthly and copyright © 1972 by REVIEW I:OR RELIGIOUS. Printed in U.S.A. Second class postage paid at St. l.ouis, Missouri. Single copies: $1.25. Subscription U.S.A. and Canada: $6.00 a year, $11.00 for two years: other counlries: $7.00 a year, $13.00 for two years. Orders should indicate whether they are for Ilew or renewal subscriptions and should bc accompanied by check or money order payable to REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS in U.S.A. cur-rency only. Pay no money to persons claiming to represent I~EVIEW I:OR ~ELIGIOUS. Clmnge of address requests should include former address. Renewals and new subscriptions should be sent I)ululh, Minnesota 55802. Manuscripts, editori-al correspondence, and books for review ~bould bc scat 1o REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS: 612 [lumboldt Building: 539 North Grand Boule-yard; SI. Louis, Missouri 63103. Questions for answering should be sent to tile address of tile Questions and Ans\vcrs editor. JANUARY 1972 VOLUME 31 NUMBER 1 REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS Volume 31l 1972 EDITORIAL OFFICE 539 North Grand Boulevard St. Louis, Missouri 63103 BUSINESS OFFICE P.O. Box 1110 Dululh, Minnesota 55802 EDITOR R. F. Smith, S.J. ASSOCIATE EDITOR Everett A. Diederich, S.J. QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS EDITOR Joseph F. Gallen, Published in January, March, May, July, September, No-vember on the fifteenth of the month. Review for Religious is indexed in the Catholic Periodi-cal Index and in Book Review Index. Microfilm edition of REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS is available from University Micro-films; Ann Arbor, Michigan 48106. HELEN CONDON, R.S.C.J. The Prayer Question [Helen Condon, R.S.C.J., is a member of the administrative team of the International Union of Superiors General; Piazza di Ponte S. Angelo, 28; 00186 Rome, Italy.] One sign that religious men and women are experiencing renewal and not just making adaptations is the surfacing of a deep current, the desire for prayer. Within the past two or three years there has been a stronger interest in prayer, in new forms and approaches, in books by Lutheran, Anglican, and Orthodox mystics and in Eastern spiritualities. That this interest is more than academic is evident from the efforts being made to experience prayer -the workshops and live-in institutes, directed retreats, the spreading house of prayer movement, the contacts being sought with various masters of contemplation. The Spirit breathing through the Second Vatican Council is surely responsible for this direction of renewal. One strong influence has been the Biblical renaissance of our time, affecting both communal and personal prayer. Among young religious in particular there is often a truly Scripture-centered praying. Another impetus has come from the new freedom given by the chapter decrees of numerous apostolic congregations, doing away with outmoded and excessive devotions and offering wide latitude for individual needs and attractions. What is this contemplative prayer? However we may try to analyze or describe it, in the end it is perhaps least badly expressed as an experience of God. Desire for this experience goes far beyond religious and Christian life, for the same dynamism is active in contemporary society. A'quest for religious experience is a marked characteristic of the counter-culture, however misdirected it may become in esoteric dilettantism and drug addiction. In many places criticism of religious institutions is strongest among those who sense what religion should be. Celebration of the death of God is not an attack on Him but in our misrepresentations, and it can lead to a search for Him. The awareness of God's absence and the widespread crisis of faith and hope may well be social phenomena akin to the mystical dark night. Is it surprising that religious men and women may be similarly affected? Our problems are often the same problems that others have. Realization of this fact can lead to meaningful solidarity with them. It can also be a tremendous apostolic challenge. In this context we come to understand that, although prayer as a human experience has certain constants through the centuries, it must also be real today. Action and contemplation are not antithetical, any more than are body and soul or other so-called dichotomies. All the condemnation of old attitudes and structures that enforced parallel lives of individualistic prayer and work and even the recent criticism of mere horizontalism are now subsiding. What is left is at bedrock level, a hunger and thirst for the living God. The modalities of this experience are many, defying definition and classification. Age-old awarenesses still hold - man's sense of the wholly Other, man's need for a human God - but these are intensified and Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 re-expressed in our heightened consciousness of present realities. Prayer is experience of God's dynamic presence; it is also search for this God. Sometimes it is experience of His absence. Prayer is awareness of His saving action in the world, challenging our integral response. Prayer can be both cause and effect of serving the real needs of men. Yet, without denying the present thrust toward prayer, a crucial question is justified: given the present conditions and circumstances, can many religious men and women engaged in active apostolates really have contemplative prayer? Never have pressures been greater than they are today in Catholic education, the area in which most religious devote themselves. The burden of the future weighs heavily on teachers and administrators: how to assess apostolic need and effective response; how to become more involved in the wider community; how to achieve academic excellence and, of course; how to make ends meet while increasing faculty salaries and benefits, improving instructional programs, and extending scholarships; whether to keep open or to close a school or college. Shortage of personnel presents critical financial problems and sometimes affects morale, especially if teaching sisters, brothers, and priests interpret the questioning of schools and universities and the undertaking of new apostolates by members of their congregations as a lack of support and confidence. Added to all these circumstances is another factor, the grave problems of high school and college students which have also spiraled within a few years and which cry out for help, time, and emotional expenditure on the part of those who teach and guide them. In view of all these pressures - and similar pressures in other kinds of apostolic work - some religious men and women are driven to settle for very little prayer. In addition, the changes within religious life have had an effect - more direct responsibility for one's own "prayer life," greater personal freedom, a wider variety of leisure activities. No longer does a rule or superior "safeguard" times of prayer. Self-discipline is rightly intended to replace other structures, but this kind of self-discipline is not easy, even after years of fidelity to meditation. Other changes have caused malaise and polarization within congregations and local communities. After hectic days in the classroom or office, religious men and women sometimes come home to tensions that are even more difficult to bear. Then there are the heaviest pressures of all, questions that are being asked not just in theological speculation but in personal anguish: ls religious life itself a valid and viable way any more? What meaning has permanent commitment? Is such commitment possible? What really is a relationship with God? Is there such a thing as being "called"? Who is Christ? Where is He? What is the Church? It is not surprising that some find prayer very difficult or meaningless. If it is true that the Holy Spirit is seeking to pray more within us and among us, how can we help one another respond, in spite and because of the problems that burden us? Some of these problems are outside us and some are within. Basic to any effort is a view of religious life itself. It is more and other than professional service, however sympathetic and unselfish. Religious life is a way of realizing the baptismal commitment. It is a faith relationship with the Lord lived out in apostolic community. It is a shared experience of Jesus Christ. A religious congregation is a community of persons committed to, an evangelical life and mission, which is the saving work of Christ among people today. Some such vision reflecting the charism and spirit of the founder is at the head of the book of new decrees or interim documents of ourcongregations. Ultimately this vision is a conviction of faith, with an overriding logic of its own. And this Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 conviction must become the point of reference and basic principle determining our priorities and policies. As a matter of fact, many congregations are acting according to their vision and basic principle in making courageous decisions about reorganizing institutional apostolates and opening up new forms of evangelical service and ministry. Convictions about the individual's'needs and apostolic call are leading to new types of community life and more diversified professional training. The experiments in initial formation and the move toward continuing education and retirement programs result from a realistic application of fundamental aims. Yet are we equally realistic in implementing the prayer-imperative intrinsic to our vision and faith conviction? If in actuality many or even some apostolic religious are so overburdened and pressured that prayer becomes impossible, then priorities demand an honest facing of the problem by everyone concerned. This confronta-tion is the responsibility of a whole congregation or an entire province as well as those in authority, since we now participate in some way in our own government. We have been willing to cut back on institutional commitments because of new apostolic demands, because of the need for further professional preparation, the shortage of personnel and finances. Are we willing to make similar decisions to help one another grow in the faith relationship with God, live the apostolic religious life more humanly and freely? This is not a pious ideal but a pragmatic conclusion. Apostolate is bigger than work, as the person is more than a function. People have to be given time and psychic space to breathe and be. Practically speaking, we need to provide more help for overworked administrators, to lighten class loads of teachers whose day also includes hours of informal counseling or evening activities in the parish. And speaking just as practically, we must begin to give time-off to individuals - spiritual sabbaticals - not just time to acquire a degree in theology, but time and help to seek the living God. Summer renewals of a month or so are helpful. Yet what seems to be needed is a prolonged period, a semester or more, with courses in Scripture and theology and other disciplines integrated into a community experience, and the opportunity for real spiritual direction. The ARC program held in Rome during 1970-71 offered such an experience and might serve as one model for similar ventures elsewhere.1 This kind of spiritual sabbatical might well give the distancing that some seem able to find only in a leave of absence. For most others it would be a time of growth and re-integration after years of self-expenditure. Congregations - which is to say, we - owe their members continuing spiritual help and most especially help in praying - not just talks on prayer, though these can be valuable, but personal guidance and circumstances that favor growth. Good directors are hard to come by; this field of ministry is crying out for sisters and brothers as well as priests. We need prayerful men and women with learning, experience, and sensitivity to the contemporary, who can enlighten and encourage others, enabling them to discern God's leading and to go forward in faith. Besides the congregation, local communities are "responsible" for the quality of 1 ARC - Apostolate of Religious Community - was a program first offered for religious women in 1970-1971 in Rome. Courses in Scripture and theology were taught in English by such persons as Barnabas Ahem, Luis Alonso Sch6kel, Robert L. Faricy, Paul Kennedy, Edward Malatesta, Juan Mateos, Paul Molinari, David M. Stanley, and James Walsh. The 28 participants of varying ages belonged to 17 congregations. They developed their own community life, integrating course content, and communal prayer.'The ARC program,is being repeated during 1971-1972. Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 prayer of their members. It is in the living situation that a person's overwork and exhaustion will become most evident. If a community is really a home, then already other pressures lessen and we get strength from one another. If it is not home, a person may tend to withdraw, to center his life outside, to work compulsively. Even if an individual will not or cannot work out of his overextension, his friends can help, like the four men in the gospel~ by laying him at Christ's feet in their own prayer. Since we have chosen to live out our commitment in community, community becomes the context of our discovery of Christ, as it was for His Apostles. As they supported Thomas, we can sustain the faith of one another. Our faith is in need of such help. Perhaps more of us than we could ever guess are going through the same kind of thing - asking ourselves who Christ is and where He is, what our own lives mean and how we can live them today. Another's questioning and searching can help us immeasurably more than facile theoretic solutions. Some are doubting if there is such a thing as a personal call by God. Ultimately the only answer is people's experience. In the long story of salvation history some individuals have known a personal call, and in the more tangible present of our own communities others may be able to share their own moment of meeting with the Lord. Perhaps we can dare to walk in the strength of another's vision, or he in ours, or the hidden Christ may join the two of us as we speak of no longer finding Him. The prayer of the Christian community has special efficacy because the Lord has promised His presence there. Whatever form communal prayer may take, it must make room for this presence, with all its implications of conversion and forgiveness. Through the centuries religious men and women have edified each other by their ardor and fidelity. Today, when we are particularly vulnerable to one another, the quality of community life has a tremendous impact. Perhaps more than anything else, the best help to personal prayer is to be with praying people. What about the individual religious who finds prayer impossible or meaningless? When we cannot pray, when we are bogged down, utterly weary, drained, dried up, when we may already also feel guilty, advice is the last thing we want from Job's comforters, perhaps even from our closest friends. But maybe we can quietly recognize that much of our impotence may come from exterior circumstances and our own human condition. The response is what we are capable of at any given moment. Maybe the only response possible is a desperate cry to God for help. And maybe there will be no answer, only silence. If we can remember words about knocking over and over again, we can try to keep on asking, begging especially for faith: Save me, God! The water is already up to my neck! I am sinking in the deepest swamp, there is no foothold; I have stepped into deep water, and the waves are rushing over me, Worn out with calling, my throat is hoarse, my eyes are strained, looking for my God (Ps 69:1-3). God's power that raised Christ from the dead is working in us (Ep 1:19-20). In prayer the initiatives are His: "Is anything too wonderful for Yahweh?" (Gn 18:14). The response we are capable of may mean a courageous honesty, admitting our own carelessness or compromising or sinfulness. It may mean a willingness to take small steps, perhaps just a recognition of the problem of personal prayer, perhaps letting ourselves be helped. At some point priorities can be sorted out. If the problem is overinvolvement, something has ~to give. Nobody but God can be all things to all men. In its acute form this condition is like a heart attack, when a Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 doctor would say to us: "If you want to live, you've got to let up." Now our very life is just as truly at stake. Do we want to live, and live more abundantly? For all of us, moving into this more abundant life means discovering a rhythm and realizing an integration of prayer into our very existence. The Spirit's action leads to life, not frustration. His invitation to apostolic religious must be possible of acceptance. Given the complexities of today, obstacles around us and within us are immense, but with personal and communal effort they must be surmountable. The new decrees of congregations which altered prayer obligations were intended to open do6rs and windows, not create a vacuum. Contemplative prayer does not need to be defended. Time taken for it does not require apologies to anyone. For the problem of prayer will always be partly a question of time because of the human condition. The modes of prayer are multiple and unique: God can and does give Himself anywhere at any moment. To recognize and assimilate this encounter takes reflection, time, some solitude. Prayer is a human experience, caused and conditioned by and inseparable from human living; prayer is also a gift of the immanent and transcendent God. Apostolic religious are praying people who happen to be teachers or adminis-trators or other professionals, not workers who happen to pray. If we mean what we have so often said - that is what we are rather than what we do that matters - then nowhere is this more true than in our being in Christ. The integration of our lives comes about through the quality of our prayer. The deepening desire for prayer is surely a sign and fruit of renewal. And God's gifts are given not just for ourselves but for others, for the building up of Christ's Body. Religious men and women who are praying people can help others to pray, those who are searching for God without knowing Him, those who have lost Him, those who are revolting against the sterile materialism of technocracy. The religious person is also meant to be a prophet, to condemn injustice and hatred and violence by his words and his life, to proclaim the kingdom of justice and love and peace. One who speaks God's message to mefi must all along be a listener: The Lord Yahweh has given ,me a disciple's tongue. So that 1 may know how to reply to the wearied he provides me with speech. Each morning he wakes me to hear, to listen like a disciple. The Lord Yahweh has opened my ear (Is 50:4-5). M. BASIL PENNINGTON, 0.C.S.0. Contemplative Community lM. Basil Pennington, O.C.S;O., is a Cistercian monk of St. Joseph's Abbey; Spencer, Massachusetts O1562.] The Third Cistercian Symposium (August 30 - September 6, 1971) held at the Abbey of Notre Dame du Lac (near Montreal, Canada) brought together some fifty participants from various nations and continents, including such notables as Jean Leclercq, O.S.B., Armand Veilleux, O.C.S.O., Chrysogonus Waddell, O.C,S.O., Valentine Walgrave, O.P., Ghislain Lafont, O.S.B., and many others. The theme of this Third Symposium was "Contemplative Community." Like the previous Cistercian Symposiums, a team of experts, in this case fifteen, were asked to prepare papers which were circulated in advance. Like the Second Symposium this one also was interdisciplinary and included papers from the fields of Sacred Scripture, patristics, monastic spirituality and history, liturgy, theology, sociology, anthropology, and psychology. A paper reflecting the Anglican perspective was also presented. Unlike previous Symposiums the papers were not read at the meeting. All had been asked to study them carefully prior to the meeting. Or/the first day each expert made a very brief presentation and time was allotted for questions. Such a plan was proposed to allow the greatest amount of time possible for discussion in the hopes that the group might in this way penetrate more deeply hato the question. In practice it proved quite successful. The twelve papers presented were: Scripture Monastic Community and the Summary Statements in Acts Francis Martin Monastic Tradition and History The De Instituto Christiano: Reflections on Contemplative Community Sr. Michael Connor, O.C.S.O. St. Bernard of Clairvaux and the Contemplative Community Jean Leclercq, O.S.B. Seeking God in Community according to St. Aelred Charles Dumont, O.C.S.O. Together unto God: Contemplative Community in the Sermons of Guerric of Igny M. Basil Pennington, O.C.S.O. A Challenge for Today: The Problem of the Contemplative Community at the End of the Eighteenth Century Cyprian Davis, O.S.B. Contemplation and Community: An Anglican Perspective Sr. Benedicta Ward, S.L.G. Liturgy Liturgy and Contemplative Community: Random Reflections and Notes for Discussion Chrysogonus Waddell, O.C.S.O. Theology The Theology of Contemplative Community Tarcisius Conner, O.C.S.O. Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 Sociology The Theology of Social Dynamics with an Application to Contemplative Life Valentine Walgrave, O.P. Anthropology Contemplative Community David F. K. Steindl-Rast, O.SoB. Psychology Some Psychological Dimensions of the Contemplative Community D. H. Salman, O.P. Experts present who did not present papers were: Armand Veilleux, O.C.S.O., abbot of Mistassini and editor ofLiturgie, Ghislain Lafont, O.S.B., of Pierre-qui-vire andJohn Eudes Bamberger, O.C.S.O., Secretary General of the Cistercian Order, psychiatrist and patristic scholar. In addition to the team of experts there was a good cross section 'among the participants of those concerned with the contemplative community. There were abbots and abbesses, novice masters and novice mistresses, monks, nuns and novices; there were Cistercians, Benedictines, and Dominicans; there were those from experimental communities, secular institutes, and the lay state. With such a large group there was always the danger that the Symposium might evolve into a colloquium. In actual fact 6ne evening session was devoted to sharing the experiences of the various communities represented. However, for the most part, the meeting remained a very serious study, yet one constantly challenged by practical pastoral concern. On the first day after the brief presentations and a question period, the meeting divided into five small groups, three English-speaking and two French. These groups, in the light of the presentations, formulated questions which represented areas of concern: the essential nature of the Christian contemplative community, sharing at the level of contemplative experience, integration of the vertical and horizontal dimensions. Fidelity to the evolving community and entrance into the contemplative community were also to be discui;sed. On the second day discussion was largely restricted to the panel of experts. The Biblical type of the Christian community, especially in the light of the summary statements in Acts (2:42-7, 4:32-5, 5:11-6) was explored. And then the wider human phenomenon was considered. It was felt that the specifically Christian dimension which transfinalized and elevated the human could best be understood if it was seen precisely in this light. Thus the concluding statement first considered the human phenomenon and then the Christian: CHRISTIAN CONTEMPLATIVE COMMUNITY In order to live human life to the full, man must transcend his empirical self and so realize his True Self. This implies an openness to the Transcendent. Attention to his openness for the Transcendent makes man aware of his contemplative dimension. Contemplative life as a form of life expresses and fosters in every detail of daily living mindfulness of the Transcendent. Contemplative community is a gathering of brethren who support one another in contemplative life through a giving and receiving that is at once spontaneous and responsible. For the Christian to live the human life to the full means a dying to selfishness to enter into the life of the risen Christ. This is the conversion that leads to transformation into the New Man and to the realization of the Self as Cosmic Christ. This transfiguration is realized as the Spirit opens us to the revelation of the Father in His Word. Loving awareness./of this revelation in all its dimensions is contemplative prayer. Since Christian contemplative life focuses on the Word, it is a form of life which expresses and fosters in every detail of daily living a listening to God and a living by the Word. Some Christians called to the contemplative life gather in love and experience God by sharing solitude in common life, supporting one another as brothers. In doing so, they mediate to each other the revelation of God and they manifest the mystery of the Church as open to God in prayer. 10 Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 The full significance of this statement can this schema: CONTEMPLATIVE HUMAN (1) FULLNESS In order to live human life to the full, man must transcend his empirical self and so realize his True Self. be better perceived if it is considered in COMMUNITY CHRISTIAN OF LIFE For the Christian, to live the human life to the full means a dying to selfishness to enter into the life of the risen Christ. This is the conversion that leads to transformation into the New Man and to the realization of the Self as Cosmic Christ. This implies cendent. (2) OPENNESS TO THE TRANSCENDENT an openness to the Trans- This transfiguration is realized as the Spirit opens us to the revelation of the Father in His Word. (3) CONTEMPLATIVE DIMENSION Attention to his openness for the Trans- Loving awareness to this revelation in all its cendent makes man aware of his contempla- dimensions is contemplative prayer. tire dimension. (4) CONTEMPLATIVE LIFE Contemplative life as a form of life ex- Since Christian contemplative life focuses presses and fosters in every detail of daily on the Word (Logos), it is a form of life living mindfulness of the Transcendent. which expresses and fosters in every detail of daily living a listening to God and a living by the Word. (5) CONTEMPLATIVE COMMUNITY Contemplative community is a gathering of brethren who support one another in con-templative life through a giving and receiv-ing that is at once spontaneous and respon-sible. Some Christians called to the contemplative life gather in love and experience God by sharing solitude in common life, supporting one another as brothers. In doing so, they mediate to each other the revelation of God and they manifest the mystery of the Church as open to God in prayer. This extremely rich statement summarizes a great deal of discussion and shared insight, the fruit of the labor of the experts working in panels, small group discussions, general sessions, and long night sessibns of the conclusion committee with various experts. Pages and even volumes could be written on it. The committee did offer a brief explanation or development of some of its aspects but these themselves open the way to further areas of exploration and reflection: Fullness of Life The empirical self is the self experienced as acting, reasoning, managing, controlling; not only the self as egotistical or selfish. To mistake this functional self for one's True Self is an illusion. To h~eak out of this illusion means to realize life in fullness. (We are using "tea|ize" throughout in its double sense of becoming aware and making real.) The realization of this universal Self constitutes the ultimate achievement in various spiritual traditions. In Christian tradition this breakthrough into fullness of life is our entering into the Paschal Mystery. What it means to enter into the Cosmic Christ becomes clear when we take seriously St. Paul's "I live now no longer I but Christ lives in me," and keep in mind that this is the Christ in whom, through whom, for whom all things have been created - the Cosmic Christ of Col 1 : 12-20, "Christ is the visible likeness of the invisible God. He is the firstborn Son superior to every creature, for by him God created everything . and through the Son God decided to bring the whole universe back to himself." Tradition expresses this mystery in the language of image and likeness with reference to Genesis 1:36. Community plays an essential role throughout the process in which the image is restored to its likeness (cf. Eph 1:23). Openness to the Transcendent It should be noted that we are dealing with a process, a path. Traditionally this path has been Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 11 seen as leading from knowledge of self which is humility, through knowledge of others which is compassion, to knowledge of God which is contemplation. This process cuhninates in that purity of heart which is man's transparehcy.to the deifying light, of which St. Benedict speaks, and this is true transfiguration. Contemplative Dimension The contemplative attitude is a matter of love, a matter of an intense continuous desire for God. When we speak about contemplative prayer we mean prayerfulness, not only prayers. The man of prayers strives to "pray without ceasing." In arriving at this, the "intention," that dynamic directiveness toward God explicated in a loving attitude of listening, draws the whole heart after it as the needle draws the thread. We refer to all the dimensions of re~,elation because revelation of the Triune God is in itself as it were three-dimensional. God reveals hiinself to us through his Son, the Word, through whom he created and saved everything (Heb 1:3). Thus God speaks to us through all things. We may call this the theophanic dimension of revelation. But it is only in the Spirit that we can understand God's Word, because "the things of God no one knows but the Spirit of God. Now we have received., the Spirit of God that we may know the things that have been given by God" (1 Cor 2:10-12). We may call this the pneumatic dimension. Even this revelation leaves intact the mystery of God the Father who "dwells in light inaccessible, whom no man sees or can see" (1 Tim 6:16). We may call this the apophatic dimension. Contemplative Life When we say that Christian contemplative life "focuses on the Word" we mean that it is through the Word that we come to know the Father in the Spirit. This is why Christian contemplative practice strives for an ever greater sensitivity to the Word (Ausculta) and, through the Word, to God. The clause "expresses and fosters in everyday living," refers to asceticism as practiced in monastic communities. In Cistercian monasteries, for instance, this is done by a deep commitment to the Rule of St. Benedict as interpreted by the living Cistercian tradition. Contemplative Community All Christian life includes an element of contemplation, and all Christian life implies communion. Some Christians, however, live a community life specifically dedicated to contemplative prayer. Their goal is to realize kohtonia in its full Biblical sense: personal communion with the living God and sharing in communion with brothers (cf. 1 Jn 1:3). This is contemplative community, one way of realizing concretely the mystery of the Church. We are poor men, sinners, needing help, not only God's but one another's. For this reason also we need to share a common commitment within a common life. Deep inner sharing of purpose has brought us to a community where, by mutual love and concern, respect and correction, we search, we grow, we experience God. ("Experience" here is not limited to its merely psychological sense but means a deep personal encounter with God in faith.) We support one another in this experience by praising God together, reflecting and learning, living and suffering together to be reborn together. And yet in this life together each brother is the guardian of the other's solitude, protecting it both against infringement and against deteriora-tion into loneliness. Some people need more solitude and others need more togetherness. This implies a true pluralism among communities and in community. The practical question which had inaugurated the Third Symposium had been formulated thus: To see more clearly the problems inherent in the life-situation when men freely gather together and commit themselves to live together in a Christian community for the precise purpose of obtaining for each one the maximal freedom to respond to God in prayer and contemplation (and) of fostering each one's growth in this (and) to seek out, as best we can, genui~tely practical responses to these problems. 12 Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 In more concrete terms: I am a Cistercian. 1 live in community. 1 am trying to be a man of prayer. I want to be fully responsive to my community, each man in it and the community as a whole. At the same time 1 want to live an intense prayer life and attain to the deepest possible union with God and experience of Him. In view of this twofold concern what are the difficulties and tensions i am running into and how practically can we best resolve them? Its answer is found in two related insights: an understanding of what might be called incarnational;contemplative prayer, and of unity in pluralism. As the statement above brings out, contemplative prayer, the contemplative attitude, lies in openness to God, responsiveness to God, God who has revealed Himself to us. We know that this God, our God - indeed the only God - is always beyond all His revelations and manifestations; yet He is known and contacted in and through them. His revelation of Himself is to be found not only in the Sacred Books or in the depths of one's own soul, but in all creation, His work which He ever keeps in being, sharing His being, and above all, in the creature He made to His own image and likeness: man. If one approaches creation and especially his fellow man with the Christian contemplative attitude, then this is contemplative prayer. He contacts God and responds to Him as He is revealing Himself. But a man can not do this unless he does have in his life, besides times of communion with creation and with his brethren, periods of silence and solitude wherein he can become aware of his own contemplative dimension and learn to live and respond at this level. Thus it is necessary for the contemplative community to structure itself to some extent at least so that each member can be assured of the time and leisure (which is something more than just time) he needs for this. The other practices of the traditional Christian ascesis are also presupposed. Even when the legitimacy of the incarnational approach to contemplative living is fully established, it remains that this is not the primary attraction or call of all contemplatives. And thus it does not provide the only or wholly adequate answer to our question. There must be within the contemplative community a healthy pluralism which responds to the members' diverse ways of perceiving God and consequently their diverse ways of seeking Him. The official report of the Symposium summed up the conclusions of the Symposium on this point in this way: Unity and Pluralism The contemplative community finds its unity in its common basic orientation toward listening to God and living by the Word. It experiences this unity insofar as the members are able to communicate to one another that they do share this common orientation. Some of the ways in which this is done are through common prayer, praise and Eucharist, through sharing a common spirituality, through accepting the common leadership of an abbot, through example, through participation in common exercises, mutual service and community support, through the charity of fraternal correction, through a common sharing of the responsibility to work toward unity, and through interpersonal encounter in which the brethren share deeply what God is accomplishing in their lives. Their very oneness in Christ makes them essentially sharers. There can be true pluralism only insofar as there is true unity in this basic orientation because pluralism is the expression and realization of the same ideals or orientation in different ways. Psychologically a community can peacefully accept pluralism and not experience it as threatening to its unity if there is among the brethren sufficient knowledge of each other's sharing in the common goal to allow each to have confidence that his brothers are with him in this. Within the ambiance of this common basic orientation each one, according to his own proper attraction, will seek God in different ways placing more emphasis on one approach or another. Some will more readily seek and find him in the depths of their own being, others in their brothers, in creation, in all the details of everyday life. The former will mediate God to their brothers more by example or "image," the others more by "word," interpersonal relations and shared activities. Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 13 Within a truly united community there can be a very extensive spectrum of diversity, a very rich pluralism. Such pluralism manifests the great vitality of a united community. Guidelines as norms which set certain limits to pluralism can help a community to be faithful to its basic orientation and invite it to a deeper awareness of it. But ideally such guidelines should merely reflect values which are personally possessed and cherished by all the members of the community. Finally the report of the meeting added a few brief considerations on the present situation vis-,~-vis the contemplative community: Dynamism of the Present Situation Contemplative life today is an adventure, a risk demanding acceptance in faith of difficult situations, a realistic living of the Mystery of Christ, all the while open to the Spirit so that he may move us. In our present situation it is necessary not only to be aware of our past but also of a future that is unfolding with ever greater rapidity. To be a member of a contemplative community is to accept and embrace with joy the death and rebirth into new life that continually mark a vital community life. Love has to express itself in patience, trust and hope in the face of insecurity in the situations that we encounter today. In periods of transition we experience a certain polarization. In the midst of this we can find u~nity in working together toward a fuller unity to be achieved in the future. There is a new form of asceticism in accepting change in a spirit of detachment and in not forcing change on others. Some unusual situations can demand decisions. In regard to fidelity to one's community, only when it becomes clear that the community's evolving orientation blocks the realization of an essential dimension of one's response to God should a person consider separating himself. Honest recognition of community problems is a first step toward building the future. In formulating solutions the community, head and members, listen to one another, always keeping their basic values and orientations in view. We have to love one another. We need to be healed. There is much pain in the perfecting of a contemplative community but this very pain can be the means of bringing forth life and growth. We live in a new age and must find new solutions for problems, some old and some never before encountered. All who took part in the Symposium felt it was a very enriching experience. A report can hardly do justice to the immense wealth brought to the discussions by the large and most capable panel of experts. But perhaps far more important was the strengthening witness shared by all there, a witness given not only by the participants, one to another, but that of the wonderful contemplative community which hosted the meeting. The large and flourishing community of Notre Dame du Lac with its most generous and open hospitality, its vital celebration of the daily liturgy, and its very evident commitment to contemplative living provided the most ideal context for a symposium on contemplative community. The papers and conclusions of the Third Cistercian Symposium will be published shortly by Cistercian Publications in Volume Twenty-one of the "Cistercian Studies Series": Contemplative Community: A n Interdisciplinary Symposium. GEORGE A. ASCHENBRENNER, S.J. Consciousness Examen [George A. Aschenbrenner, S.J.,is the director of novices in the Maryland Province of the Society of Jesus; Novitiate of St. Isaac Jogues; Wernersville, Pennsylvania 19565.] Examen is usually the first practice to disappear from the daily life of the religious. This occurs for many reasons; but all the reasons amount to the admission (rarely explicit) that it is not of immediate practical value in a busy day. My point in this article is that all these reasons and their false conclusion spring from a basic misunderstanding of the examen as practiced in religious life. Examen must be seen in relationship to discernment of spirits. It is a daily intensive exercise of discernment in a person's life. Examen of Consciousness For many youth today life is spontaneity if anything. If spontaneity is crushed or aborted, then life itself is stillborn. In this view examen is living life once removed from the spontaneity of life. It is a reflective, dehydrated approach which dries all the spontaneity out of life. These people today disagree with Socrates' claim that the unexamined life is not worth living. For these people the Spirit is in the spontaneous and so anything that militates against spontaneity is un-Spirit-ual. This view overlooks the fact that welling up in the consciousness and experience of each of us are two spontaneities, one good and for God, another evil and not for God. These two types of spontaneous urges and movements happen to all of us. So often the quick-witted, loose-tongued person who can be so entertaining and the center of attention and who is always characterized as being so spontaneous is not certainly being moved by and giving expression to the good spontaneity. For one eager to love God with his or her whole being, the challenge is not simply to let the spontaneous happen but rather to be able to sift'out these various spontaneous urges and give full existential ratification to those spontaneous feelings that are from and for God. We do this by allowing the truly Spirited-spontaneity to happen in our daily lives. But we must learn the feel of this true Spirited-spontaneity. Examen has a very central role in this learning. When examen is related to discernment, it becomes examen of consciousness rather than of conscience. Examen of conscience has narrow moralistic overtones. Though we were always told that examen of conscience in religious life was not the same as a preparation for confession, it was actually explained and treated as though it were much the same. The prime concern was with what good or bad actions we had done each day. In discernment the prime concern is not with the morality of good or bad actions; rather the concern is how the Lord is affecting and moving us (often quite spontaneously!) deep in our own affective consciousness. What is happening in our consciousness is prior to and more important than our actions which can be delineated as ju~'idically good or evil. How we are experiencing the "drawing" of the Father (Jn 6:44) in our own existential consciousness and how our sinful nature is quietly tempting us and luring us away from our Father in Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 15 subtle dispositions of our consciousness - this is what the daily examen is concerned with prior to a concern for our response in our actions. So it is examen of consciousness that we are concerned with here, so that we can cooperate with and let happen that beautiful, spontaneity in Our hearts which is the touch of our Father and the urging of the Spirit. Examen and Religious Identity The examen we are talking about here is not a Ben Franklin-like striving for self-perfection. We are talking about an experience in faith of growing sensitivity to the unique, intimately special ways that the Lord's Spirit has of approaching and calling us. Obviously it takes time for this growth. But in this sense examen is a daily renewal and growth in our religious identity - this unique flesh-spirit person being loved by God and called by Him deep in his personal affective world. It is not possible for me to make an examen without confronting my own identity in Christ before the Father - my own religious identity as poor, celibate, and obedient in imitation of Christ as experienced in the charism of my religious vocation. And yet so often our daily examen becomes so general and vague and unspecific that our religious identity (Jesuit, Dominican, Franciscan, and so forth) does not seem to make any difference. Examen assumes real value when it becomes a daily experience of confrontation and renewal of our unique religious identity and how the Lord is subtly inviting us to deepen and develop this identity. We should make examen each time with as precise a grasp as we have now on our religious identity. We do not make it just as any Christian but as this specific Christian person with a unique vocation and grace in faith. Examen and Prayer The examen is a time of prayer. The dangers of an empty self-reflection or an unhealthy self-centered introspection are very real. On the other hand, a lack of effort at examen and the approach of living according to what comes naturally keeps us quite superficial and insensitive to the subtle and profound ways of the Lord deep in our hearts. The prayerful quality and effectiveness of the examen itself depends upon its relationship to the continuing contemplative prayer of the person. Without this relationship examen slips to the level of self-reflection for self-perfection, if it perdures at all. In daily contemplative prayer the Father reveals to us at His own pace the order of the mystery of all reality in Christ - as Paul says to the Colossians: ". those to whom God has planned to give a vision of the full wonder and splendor of his secret plan for the nations" (Col 1:27). The contemplator experiences in many subtle, chiefly non-verbal, ways this revelation of the Father in Christ. The presence of the Spirit of the risen Jesus in the heart of the believer makes it possible to sense and "hear" this invitation (challenge!) to order ourselves to this revelation. Contempla-tion is empty without this "ordering" response. This kind of reverent, docile (the "obedience of faith" Paul speaks of in Rom 16:26), and non-moralistic ordering is the work of the daily examen - to sense and recognize those interior invitations of the Lord that guide and deepen this ordering from day to day and not to cooperate with those subtle insinuations opposed to that ordering. Without that contemplative contact with the Father's revelation of reality in Christ, both in formal prayer and informal prayerfulness, the daily practice of examen becomes empty; it shrivels up and dies. Without this "listening" to the Father's revelation of His ways which are so different from our own (Is 55:8-9), examen again becomes that shaping up of ourselves which is 16 Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 human and natural self-perfection or, even worse, it can become that selfish ordering of ourselves to our own ways. Examen without regular contemplation is futile. A failure at regular contempla-tion emaciates the beautifully rich experience of response-ible ordering which the contemplative is continually invited to by the Lord. It is true, on the other hand, that contemplation without regular examen becomes compartmentalized and superficial and stunted in a person's life. The time of formal prayer can become a very sacrosanct period in a person's day but so isolated from the rest of his life that he is not prayerful (finding God in all things) at that level where he really lives. The examen gives our daily contemplative experience of God real bite into all our daily living; it is an important means to finding God in everything and not just in the time of formal prayer, as we will explain at the end of this article. ADiscerning Vision of Heart When we first learned about the examen in religious life, it was a specific exercise of prayer for about a quarter of an hour. And at first it seemed quite stylized and almost artificial. This problem was not in the examen-prayer but in ourselves; we were beginners and had not yet worked out that integration in ourselves of a process of personal discernment to be expressed in daily examens. For the beginner, before he has achieved much of a personalized integration, an exercise or process can be very valuable and yet seem formal and stylized. This should not put us off. It will be the inevitable experience in religious life for the novice and for the "oldtimer" who is beginning again at examen. But examen will fundamentally be misunderstood if the goal of this exercise is not grasped. The specific exercise of examen is ultimately aimed at developing a heart with a discerning vision to be active not only for one or two quarter-hour periods in a day but continually. This is a gift from the Lord -- a most important one as Solomon realized (1 Kings 3:9-12). So we must constantly pray for this gift, but we must also be receptive to its development within our hearts. A daily practice of examen is essential to this development. Hence the five steps of the exercise of examen as presented in the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius Loyola (# 43) are to be seen, and gradually experienced in faith, as dimensions of the Christian consciousness, formed by God and His work in the heart as it confronts and grows within this world and all of reality. If we allow the Father gradually to transform our mind and heart into that of His Son, to become truly Christian, through our living experience in this world, then the examen, with its separate elements now seen as integrated dimensions of our own consciousness looking out on the world, is much more organic to our outlook and will seem much less contrived. So there is no ideal time allocation for the five elements of the examen each time but rather a daily organic expression of the spiritual mood of the heart. At one time we are drawn to one element longer than the others and at another time to another element over the others. The mature Ignatius near the end of his life was always examining every movement and inclination of his heart which means he was discerning the congruence of everything with his true Christ-centered self. This was the overflow of those regular intensive prayer-exercises of examen every day. The novice or "oldtimer" must be aware both of the point of the one or two quarter-hour exercises of examen each day, namely, a continually discerning heart, and of the necessary gradual adaptation of his practice of examen to his stage of development and the situation in the world in which he finds himself. And yet we are all aware Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 17 of the subtle rationalization of giving up formal examen each day because we have "arrived at" that continually discerning heart. This kind of rationalization will prevent further growth in faith sensitivity to the Spirit and His ways in our daily lives. Let us now take a look at the format of the examen as presented by St. Ignatius in the Spiritual Exercises, #43 but in light of these previous comments on examen as discerning consciousness within the world. Prayer for Enlightenment In the Exercises Ignatius has an act of thanksgiving as the first part of the examen. The first two parts could be interchanged without too much difference. In fact, I would suggest the prayer for enlightenment as a fitting introduction to the examen. The examen is not simply a matter of a person's natural power of memory and analysis going back over a part of the day. It is a matter of Spirit-guided insight into my life and courageously responsive sensitivity to God's call in my heart. What we are seeking here is that gradually growing appreciative insight into the mystery which I am. Without the Father's revealing grace this kind of insight is not possible. The Christian must be careful not to get locked into the world of his own human natural powers. Our technological world can pose as a special danger in this regard. Founded on a deep appreciation of the humanly interpersonal, the Christian in faith transcends the boundaries of the here-and-now with its limited natural causality and discovers a Father who loves and works in and through and beyond all., For this reason we begin the examen with an explicit petition for that enlightenment which will occur in and through our own powers but which our own natural powers could never be capable of all by themselves. That the Spirit may help me to see myself a bit more as He sees me Himself! Reflective Thanksgiving The stance of a Christian in the midst of the world is that of a poor person, possessing nothing, not even himself, and yet being gifted at every instant in and through everything. When we become too affluently involved with ourselves and deny our inherent poverty, then we lose the gifts and either begin to make demands for what we think we deserve (often leading to angry frustration) or we blandly take for granted all that comes our way. Only the truly poor person can appreciate the slightest gift and feel genuine gratitude. The more deeply we live in faith the poorer we are and the more gifted; life itself becomes humble, joyful thanksgiving. This should gradually become an element of our abiding consciousness. After the introductory prayer for enlightenment our hearts should rest in genuine faith-filled gratitude to our Father for His gifts in this most recent part of the day. Perhaps in the spontaneity of the happening we were not aware of the gift and now in this exercise of reflective prayer we see the events in a very different perspective. Our sudden gratitude - now the act of a humble selfless pauper - helps make us ready to discover the gift more clearly in a future sudden spontaneity. Our gratitude should center on the concrete, uniquely personal gifts that each of us was blessed with, whether large and obviously important or tiny and apparently insignificant. There is much in our lives that we take for granted; gradually He will lead us to a deep realization that all isgift. It is right to give Him praise and thanks! Practical Survey of Actions In this third element of the examen ordinarily we rush to review, in some specific 18 Review for Religious, Volume .31, 1972/1 detail, our actions of that part of the day just finished so we can catalogue them as good or bad. Just what we shouldn't do! Our prime concern here in faith is what has been happening to and in us since the last exa.men. The operative questions are: what has been happening in us, how has the Lord been working in us, what has He been asking us. And only secondarily are our own actions to be considered. This part of the examen presumes that we have become sensitive to our interior feelings, moods, and slightest urgings and that we are not frightened by them but have learned to take them very seriously. It is here in~ the depths of our affectivity, so spontaneous, strong, and shadowy at times, that God moves us and deals with us most intimately. These interior moods, feelings, urges, and movements are the "spirits" that must be sifted out, discerned, so we can recognize the Lord's call to us at this intimate core of our being. As we have; said above, the examen is a chief means to this discerning of our interior consciousness. This presumes a real faith approach to life - that life is first listening, then acting in response: The fundamental attitude of the believer is of one who listens. It is to the Lord's utterances that he gives ear. In as many different ways and on as many varied levels as the listener can d"iosbceedrnie tnhcee wofo rfdai tahn.d" .w. iIltl oisf tthhee Laottridtu mdaen oiffe srteecde tpot ihvinit~y, ,h pe amsussitv rietsypoIn adn wdi tpho avlel rthtye oPfa uolninee who is always in need, radically dependent, conscious of his creaturehood. Hence the great need for interior quiet, peace, and a passionate receptivity that attunes us to listening to God's word at every instant and in every situation and then responding in our own activity. Again in a world that is founded more on activity (becoming activism), productivity, and efficiency (whereas efficacity is a norm for the kingdom of God!) this faith view is implicitly, if not explicitly, challenged at every turn in the road. And so our first concern here is with these subtle.intimate, affective ways in which the Lord has been dealing with us during these past few hours. Perhaps we did not recognize Him calling in that past moment, but now our vision is clear and direct. Secondarily our concern is with our actions insofar as they were responses to His calling. So often our activity becomes primary to hs and all sense of response in our activity is lost. We become self-moved and mbtivated rather than moved and motivated by the Spirit (Rom 8:14). This is a subtle lack of faith and failure to live as a son or daughter of our Father. In the light of faith it is the quality (of responsive-ness) of the activity, more than the activity itself, which makes the difference for the kingdom of God. , In this general review there is no strain to reproduce every second since the last examen; rather our concern is with specific details and incidents as they reveal patterns and bring some clarity and insight. This brings us to a consideration of what Ignatius calls the particular examen. This element of the examen, perhaps more than any other, has been misunder-stood. It has often become an effort to divide and conquer by moving down the list of vices or up the list of virtues in a mechanically planned approach to self-perfection. A certain amount of time was spent on each vice or virtue one by one, and then we moved on to the next one on the list. Rather than a practical programmed approach to perfection, the parti'cular examen is meant to be a reverently honest, personal meeting with the Lordfin our own hearts. I David Asselin, S.J., "Christian Maturity and Spiritual Discernment," Review for Religious, v. 27 (1968), p. 594. Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 19 When we become sensitive and serious enough about loving God, we begin to realize some changes must be made. We are deficient in so many areas and so many defects must be done away with. But the Lord does not want all of them to be handled at once. Usually there is one area of our hearts where He is especially calling for conversion which is always the beginning of new life. He is interiorly nudging us in one area and reminding us that if we are really serious about Him this one aspect of ourselves must be changed. This is often precisely the one area we want to forget and (maybe!) work on later. We do not want to let His word condemn us in this one area and so we try to forget it and distract ourselves by working on some other safer area which does require conversion but not with the same urgent sting of consciousness that is true of the former area. It is in this first area of our hearts, if we will be honest and open with the Lord, where we are very personally experiencing the Lord in the burning fire of His Word as He confronts us here and now. So often we fail to recognize this guilt for what it really is or we try to blunt it by working hard on something else that we may want to correct whereas the Lord wants something else here and now. For beginners it takes time to become interiorly sensitive to God before they gradually come to recognize the Lord's cidl to conversion (maybe involving a very painful struggle!) in some area of their lives. It is better for beginners to take this time to learn what the Lord wants their particular examen now to be rather than just taking some assigned imperfection to get started on. And so the particular examen is very personal, honest, and at times a very subtle experience of the Lord calling in our hearts for deeper conversion to Himself. The matter of the conversion may remain the same for a long period of time, but the important thing is our sense of His personal challenge to us. Often this experience of the Lord calling for conversion in one small part of our hearts takes the expression of good healthy guilt which should be carefully interpreted and responded to if there is to be progress in holiness. When the particular examen is seen as this personal experience of the Lord's love for us, then we can understand why St. Ignatius suggests that we turn our whole consciousness to this experience of the Lord (whatever it be in all practicality, for example, more subtle humility or readiness to get involved with people on their terms, etc.) at those two very important moments in our day, when we begin our day and when we close it, besides the formal examen times. In this third dimension of the formal examen the growing faith sense of our sinfulness is very central. This is more of a spiritual faith reality as revealed by the Father in our experience than a heavily moralistic and guilt-laden reality. A deep sense of sinfulness depends on our growth in faith and is a dynamic realization which always ends in thanksgiving - the song of a "saved sinner." In his book Growth in the Spirit, Francgis Roustang, in the second chapter, speaks very profoundly about sinfulness and thanksgiving. This can provide enormous insight into the relationship of these second and third elements of the formal examen, especially as dimensions of our abiding Christian consciousness. Contrition and Sorrow The Christian heart is always a heart in song - a song of deep joy and gratitude. But the Alleluia can be quite superficial and without body and depth unless it is genuinely touched with sorrow. This is the song of a sinner constantly aware of being prey to his sinful tendencies and yet being converted into the newness which is guaranteed in the victory of Jesus Christ. Hence, we never grow out of a sense of wonder-ful sorrow in the presence of our Savior. 2O Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 This basic dimension of our heart's vision which the Father desires to deepen in us as He converts us from sinners to His sons and daughters, if we allow Him, is here applied to the specifics of our actions since the lhst examen, especially insofar as they were selfishly inadequate responses to the Lord's work in our hearts. This sorrow will especially spring from the lack of honesty and courage in responding to the Lord's call in the particular examen. This contrition and sorrow is not a shame nor a depression at our weakness but a faith experience as we grow in our realization of our Father's awesome desire that we love Him with every ounce of our being. After this description, the value of pausing each day in formal examen and giving concrete expression to this abiding sense of sorrow in our hearts should be quite obvious and should flow naturally from the third element of practical survey of our actions. Hopeful Resolution for Future This final element of the formal daily examen grows very naturally out of the previous elements. The organic development leads us to face the future which is now rising to encounter us and become integrated into our lives. In the light of our present discernment of the immediate past how do we look to the future? Are we discouraged or despondent or fearful of the future? If this is the atmosphere of our hearts now, we must wonder why and try to interpret this atmosphere; we must be honest in acknowledging our feeling for the future, and not repress it by hoping it will go away. The precise expression of this final element will be determined by the organic flow of this precise examen now. Accordingly, this element of resolution for the immediate future will never happen the same way each time. If it did happen in the same expression each time, it would be a sure sign that we were not really entering into the previous four elements of the examen. At this point in the examen there should be a great desire to face the future with renewed vision and sensitivity as we pray both t~ recognize even more the subtle ways in which the Lord will greet us and to hear His Word call us in the existential situation of the future and to respond to His call with more faith, humility, and courage. This should be especially true of that intimate abiding experience of the Lord calling for painful conversion in some area of our heart - what we have called the particular examen. A great hope should be the atmosphere of our hearts at this point - a hope not founded on our own deserts, or our own powers for the future, but rather founded much more fully in our Father whose glorious victory in Jesus Christ we share through the life of Their Spirit in our hearts. The more we will trust God and allow Him to lead in our lives, the more we will experience true supernatural hope in God painfully in and through, but quite beyond, our own weak powers - an experience at times frightening and emptying but ultimately joyfully exhilarating. St. Paul in this whole passage from the Letter to the Philippians (3:7-14) expresses well the spirit of this conclusion of the formal examen: ". I leave the past behind and with hands outstretched to whatever lies ahead I go straight for the goal" (3:13). Examen and Discernment We will close this article with some summary remarks about the examen, as here described, and disceinment of spirits. When examen is understood in this light and so practiced each day, then it becomes so much more than just a brief exercise performed once or twice ~ day and which is quite secondary to our formal prayer Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 21 and active living of God's love in our daily situation. Rather it becomes an exercise which so focuses and renews our specific faith identity that we should be even more reluctant to omit our examen than our formal contemplative prayer each day. This seems to have been St. Ignatius' view of the practice of the examen. He never talks of omitting it though he does talk of adapting and abbreviating the daily meditation for various reasons. For him it seems the examen was central and quite inviolate. This strikes us as strange until we revamp our understanding of the examen. Then perhaps we begin to see the examen as so intimately connected to our growing identity and so important to our finding God in all things at all times that it becomes our central daily experience of prayer. For Ignatius finding God in all things is what life is all about. Near the end of his life he said that "whenever he wished, at whatever hour, he could find God" (Autobiography, # 99). This is the mature Ignatius who had so fully allowed God to possess every ounce of his being through a clear YES to the Father that radiated from the very core of his being, that he could be conscious at any moment he wanted of the deep peace, joy, and contentment (consolation, see the Exercises, # 316) which was the experience of God at the center of his heart. Ignatius' identity, at this point in his life, was quite fully and clearly "in Christ" as Paul says: "For now my place is in him, and I am not dependent upon any of the self-achieved righteousness of the Law" (Phil 3:9); Ignatius knew and was his true self in Christ. Being able to find God whenever he wanted, Ignatius was now able to find Him in all things through a test for congruenc~ of any interior impulse, mood, or feeling with his true self. Whenever he found interior consonance within himself (which registers as peace, joy, contentment again) from the immediate interior movement and felt himself being his true congruent self, then he knew he had heard God's word to him at that instant. And he responded with that fullness of humble courage so typical of Ignatius. If he discovered interior dissonance, agitation, and disturb-ance "at the bottom of the heart" (to be carefully distinguished from repugnance "at the top of the head''2) and could not find his true congruent self in Christ, then he recognized the interior impulse as an "evil spirit" and he experienced God by "going against" the desolate impulse (cf. Exercises, # 319). In this way he was able to find God in all things by carefully discerning all his interior experiences ("spirits"). Thus discernment of spirits became a daily very practical living of the art of loving God with his whole heart, whole body, and whole strength. Every moment of life was loving (finding) God in the existential situation in a deep quiet, peace, and joy. For Ignatius, this finding God in the prese.nt interior movement, feeling, or option was almost instantaneous in his mature years because the central "feel" or "bent" of his being had so been grasped by God. For the beginner, what was almost instantaneous for the mature Ignatius may require the effort of a prayerful process of a few hours or days depending on the importance of the movement-impulse to be discerned. In some of his writings, Ignatius uses examen to refer to this almost instantaneous test for congruence with his true self - something he could do a number of times every hour of the day. But he also speaks of examen in the formal restricted sense of two quarter-hour exercises of prayer a day. The intimate and essential relationship between these two senses of examen has been the point of this whole article. 2john Carroll Futrell, S.J., Ignatian Discernment (St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1970), p. 64. IEDWABD CARTIER, S.J. Pluralism in Christian Life [ Edward Carter, S.J., author of Response in Christ (1969) and Spirituality for Modern Man (197 I), is associate professor of theology at Xavier University ; Cincinnati, Ohio 4520"/.] There has always been a certain diversity which has characterized the history of Christian life or spirituality. There have been different schools of spirituality, different trends, different emphases; but all of these, in so far as they have been authentic, have been rooted in the same gospel message. They have, each in their own manner, been reflections of the one mystery of Christ. Today's Church is marked by an accentuation of this diversity in spirituality or Christian living. But before fastening our gaze upon the contemporary scene, let us first reflect upon some of the theological principles which give rise to this diversity or pluralism. The first of these principles concerns the mystery of Christ as relived by Church and Christian. The People of God, individually and collectively, are meant to continue the redemptive Incarnation in space and time by reliving the life, death, and resurrection of Christ - the mystery of Christ. The mystery of Christ, however, is richly d.iversified. Jesus in His life, death, and resurrection has left us many different truths and examples to be incorporated into our own Christian existence. Historically, this rich variation of the mystery of Christ has given rise to different schools of spirituality. Each of these gives a special witness to this or that aspect of the Christ-event, to its own particular harmonization and implementation of the various facets which comprise this event - the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. For instance, Carmelite spirituality has always stressed prayer, as it gives a special witness to the Christ who often went aside and prayed to His heavenly Father. Benedictine spirituality gives a special attention to liturgy, and, consequently, emphasizes the priestly activity of Christ. Dominican spirituality has traditionally stressed the pursuit of truth as it points in its own special manner to the prophetic or teaching office of Christ. Franciscan spirituality, among other things, has emphasized the material simplicity of Jesus' life. Ignatian spirituality has stressed as one of its leading characteristics the union of a~tion and contemplation - both of which were marvelously blended in the life of Jesus. In more recent times, in the effort to apply in a special way the mystery of Christ to the diocesan priesthood and to the laity, there have been writings dealing with the spiritualities appropriate to these two vocations. The mystery of Christ, then, possessing at one and the same time a varied richness and a profound unity, makes possible different spiritual movements which, however, ultimately comprise but one Christian spirituality. Consequently, we must preserve a balanced view. We must admit the legitimacy of varied spiritual movements and schools of spirituality with their own particular nuances in the following of Christ, while at the same time realizing that all Christian spiritualities are essentially the same. They have very much in common since they are rooted in the one Christ, in one and the same total Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 23 gospel, in one and the same liturgy. We have established what is a very basic theological reason for diversity in spirituality - the diversity which is contained in the very mystery of Christ. There are two more principles we would now like "to discuss which help us to see' the utility and even necessity of diversity or pluralism in the Christian life. These second and third principles are connected with what we might term the theology of personal uniqueness, and the theology of time and culture. The theology of personal uniqueness tells us that each human person is an eternal imitation of God. Any one individual can truthfully say that there never has been, is not now, nor ever will be, any other person like himself. Each person is a eternal uniqueness. As we are elevated to supernatural life through our incorporation into Christ, this personal uniqueness is .deepened. This is simply an application of the theological principle that grace does not destroy nor lessen nature, but perfects it, gives it a deepened capacity to actuate more deeply all its authentic dimensions. One of these dimensions is personal uniqueness. Our life in Christ, then, far from destroying or lessening our uniqueness, respects and develops it. There are various implications and ramifications flowing out of this theology of personal uniqueness relative to diversity or pluralism in spirituality. We have said that there are various spiritual movements and schools of spirituality because of the possibility of reliving the richly diversified .mystery of Christ with different emphases and nuances. As this diversity is possible between schools of spirituality, so is it possible in reference to individuals. Not only is it possible, but it is actually necessary because of the concept of personal uniqueness. No two Christians will put on Christ in exactly the same manner; for they put on Christ according to what each is. Although obviously each Christian is to assimilate Christ in essentially the same manner, he will also do it in a manner which cannot be duplicated. He will offer Christ his own unique person with his unique temperament, personality, capacities, and talents. Through the uniqueness of this Christian, Christ continues His redemptive Incarnation in a particular way, a way which cannot be duplicated. Consequently, even though two individuals are following the same spirituality - Dominican, Franciscan, Ignatian, or any other - there will be a difference or a diversity manifested as they live out this common spirituality. Sometimes this diversity will be quite striking. This does not mean that one or the other has wavered from the spiritual tradition to which each has committed himself or herself. Of course, such a diversity could be so explained in certain instances. But a diversity, and again even a striking one, could be present as each is authentically living out the one spiritual tradition which they profess in common. In such cases the diversity is to be explained by the principle of personal uniqueness. Furthermore, pluralism or diversity in the Christian life is found not only between the different spiritualities, not only between individuals, but also within the extended existence of the same individual. Contemporary thought has empha-sized that man and his world must be considered according to a framework which has a dynamic, progressive, evolutionary dimension. We now realize that we must not view man as being a static creature. While it is obviously important to realize that man is always essential!y the same throughout the ages, it is also very important to remember that man has a thrust toward change, toward evolving into what he is yet to become,.toward authentically adapting to the signs of the times. If such truths are applicable to mankind in general, they are also proportionately pertinent to each individual. Because each individual has an evolutionary dimen-. sion, a thrust toward that which has not yet been achieved, an innate desire to 24 Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 become more what his uniqueness is destined to be, he is simultaneously always the same individual and always a dynamically different individual. One's personal uniqueness, then, has both an unchangeable and a changeable dimension. We can see the implications of this for one's Christian existence. Because the Christian is meant to change dynamically and evolve into a greater assimilation to Christ, his needs are not always the same. While he must always strive to maintain a proper balance of the Christian essentials according to his present spiritual condition and development, his needs may vary.'At a certain time he may be attracted to giving a considerable amount of time to formal prayer. At another time, while not neglecting set times of prayer, he may feel called to a greater external involvement for the cause of Christ. At certain periods of his life he may feel a need for frequent spiritual direction, while at other times the intervals of this direction will be greatly lengthened. A person can feel a graced attraction for the renunciation of certain created goods and values at one time, while at another he is drawn rather to use and relate to them in a proper fashion. While always striving to have a proper balance in his imitation of Christ, he can differ in his desire to focus his attention now on this, now on that event of Jesus' life, now on this truth of Christ, now on another. Spiritual diversity or pluralism, consequently, is present within the one and same Christian individual. Having seen how diversity is present in the Christian life because of the principle of pluralism contained in the very mystery of Christ, and because of the principle of personal uniqueness, we now come to our third and final principle which helps provide a basis for such diversity or pluralism. This principle deals with ideas contained in what can be called the theology of time and culture. In God's dealings with mankind, the concepts of time, or of historical situation, and culture, have played a very important role. In saving man, God works within time, history, and culture. His salvific action is not unnaturally superimposed upon man's historical and cultural situation. Rather, God's salvific process works within time, history, and culture. Consequently, His saving will throughout the continued course of salvation history manifests itself differently - diversely or pluralistically. This diversity or pluralism of God's salvific activity can in part be explained by the factor of historical and cultural exigency. A .classic example of this is the comparison between the old and new covenants. God's dealings with the people of the Mosaic covenant were conditioned both by the point of time in salvation history that was then actually operative, and the culture of the Jewish people. With the enfleshment of His Son and the ensuing formation of the new covenant, God communicated Himself in a manner partially different from that Self-communica-tion which prevailed during the time of the Mosaic covenant. If God's salvific activity has a pluralism or diversity attached to it because He respects the time-conditioned and culture-conditioned life situation of man, so must there be a similarly caused pluralism in Christian life. For the Christian life is radically a response to God's salvific activity, a response to His loving initiative which always precedes us. God's activity, respecting the differences which time and culture insert into human history, will exact differentiated responses from the Christian community. This differentiation or pluralism can exist between the various ages of the Church, and, therefore, we legitimately speak of the pre-dominant spirituality of the sixteenth century or of a certain period within the eighteenth century. This pluralism can also exist within the same age because of cultural differences. God respects the African culture, the Chinese culture, the American culture, and so forth. As Christians within these various cultures respond Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/I 25 to God's continued Self-communication, they will do so in a manner which is partly determined by their particular cultures. Because there are differences in their cultures, we will find a Christian pluralism arising out of these cultural differences. An African spirituality will differ somewhat from an American spirituality, and they both will differ from a Spanish spirituality. Up to this point we have been discussing basic truths and principles which offer a sound theological basis for pluralism in Christian spirituality. This pluralism, while obviously having a place in any age of Christianity, is an especially important dimension of contemporary Christian life; for today's Church offers a particularly advantageous climate for the development of authentic pluralism in Christian living. This favorable climate has developed because of the greater spirit of freedom which is present in today's Church. True, this greater freedom has been abused in many instances, but this fact cannot deny that God seems to intend this climate of expanded freedom in today's Church, for this freedom has emanated from the very truths and principles of Vatican II. The connection between pluralism and a Church which allows a greater freedom of thought and life style expression is obvious. In such a Church various thrusts of pluralism and diversity are bound to fructify more often than in a Church which is heavily monolithic, a Church which has its thought and life style too much imposed from the top down. The hierarchy will always have the leading role in directing the Christian thought and life style of the People of God, but it must do so according to the principle of collegiality. This principle allows for all members of the People of God to help shape the life of the Church. However, in order to flourish, collegiality needs a spirit of freedom, some elbow room in which to maneuver - and, yes, even in which to make some mistakes. Consequently, even though some are tempted to think at times that the greater freedom of today's Church has resulted in more harm than good, fundamentally this is not true. In the last analysis such a Church will be a healthier and more mature Church - and one characterized by a greater pluralism in her Christian life. There are already various examples of an increased pluralism in today's Christian life. For instance, the liturgical aspect of today's spirituality is greatly diversified when compared to the liturgical situation of ten years ago. As for the apostolic dimension of contemporary Christian life, there has been considerable discussion and implementation relative to pluralism in Christian ministry. Also, Christian life style is considerably more pluralistic today than previously. This greater diversity of life style can be found even within the one and same religious order or congregation. There has also been a much greater pluralism in theological thought, a pluralism which often filters down and makes its impact on spirituality, on Christian living. New and diversified forms of prayer have appeared to take their places alongside the traditional ones. These, then, are some indications that today's Christian life is marked by an increased diversity. There are three special qualities which are necessary to live properly in today's Christian community with its increased pluralism. These qualities are not mutually exclusive. There is an overlap between them, but each has its own particular nuance. First of all, there is the need for an increased awareness of the necessity of spiritual discernment. Among the diverse movements in today's Church, which are really Spirit-led? And after I satisfy myself as to which are Spirit-inspired and which are not, which one does the Spirit intend for me personally? Regardless of any particular age of the Church, the Spirit does not intend any one person to incorporate within his own Christian existence all authentic thought styles and life 26 Review for Religious, Volume 3 I, 1972/i styles. But in an age when authentic possibilities have been greatly increased and diversified, the necessity for spiritual discernment becomes more obvious. To cope properly with today's pluralism we also especially need the quality of Christian maturity. Increased diversity within the Church demands increased maturity. In the more tightly structured and monolithic Church of pre-Vatican II days, we had things spelled out for us in much greater detail compared to the situation which prevails today. The Church of today is asking us to exercise a greater maturity, a more mature use of our freedom, as we are called upon to live responsibly in a more pluralistic Church. The Church is asking us to use our greater freedom properly, not to abuse it, but to direct it, among other ways, at the development of an authentic pluralism. Finally, besides an increased sense of Christian discernment and maturity, there is a special need today for the spirit of Chrisitan tolerance - a tolerance of the views and life styles which do not agree with my own. The need for this spirit of tolerance is indeed evident if only we look at what each of us has experienced in recent years. One of the great pains of the post-Vatican I1 Church is precisely that caused by the numerous and diverse viewpoints which have arisen in the contem-porary Church. This spirit of tolerance, of course, does not mean we condone what we think is wrong. It does mean, though, an increased effort at being open to the views of others, an admission that a more greatly diversified Church is intended by the signs of the times, a realization that we are all more likely to make mistakes in such a situation as we grope for the lead of the Spirit, a lead which at times is much more hidden than we would like because of the confusion of a Church and world experiencing a radical transition. A more diversified Church and a more pluralistic Christian life are what we are all experiencing. We can say, as perhaps all of us have been tempted to say at one time or another during recent years, that it is too difficult to cope consistently with the situation. We have all, no doubt, been tempted to withdraw from the struggle which an increasingly pluralistic Church demands. We have been tempted to carve out our own little niche of Christian existence and there lead an unperturbed life and let all the confusion of a Church striving for authentic renewal and pluralism pass us by. If we surrendered to such a temptation, we would avoid a certain kind of pain and suffering. But we would also be missing the joy and sense of accomplishment which result from contributing our share to the shaping of a contemporary Christian life - one characterized, among other things, by an increased pluralism. DAVID K. 0'ROURKE, 0.P. Three Models for Viewing Religious Life [David K.O'Rourke, O.P:, is the prior of the Berkeley Priory; 1730 Arch Street; Berkeley, California 94709; he is also associate professor of pastoral theology in St. Albert's College and in the Graduate Theological Onion of Berkeley and is associate director of the Western Dominican Province's Pastoral Training Program. I The purpose of this article is to give a structured view of some of the reasons why a man may choose to enter religious life. More specifically, it is an attempt to understand in a schematic and rationalized way, with three different and distinct models, what there is in the religious life that brings a potential member to view it as a viable alternative to the several possibilities in the lay life. Obviously, this means that I see the religious life as a viable alternative, and such is the case. There is always the possibility that an analysis of religious motivations and structures can come from, or be seen as, an attempt to undercut religious life. The fact that analyses of this sort have been known to have the heavy-handedness of an autopsy supports these fears. Such is not my purpose. I presuppose that religious life is livable and worthwhile, and I presuppose this because I have seen it to be so for myself and others. Of course, there are pathological reasons why one may choose to enter a religious community. These have been analyzed with ability and insight. My purpose here is to apply the same analytic approach to the valid and healthy reasons that enter into a sound vocation. This latter comment is significant because it points out the pragmatic and experiential quality of the approach I will follow in this article. There are other approaches, ones which would begin on a more absolute and theocentric note, or ones which could begin in a less concrete and more "spiritual" way. I have no argument with them. I presuppose all they might say. Here I limit myself to the more human and concrete elements which enter into an individual's decision. It will also be noted that I am speaking here of male religious. This does not mean that the ideas presented here are not applicable to women religious. However, the ideas in this article are drawn from experience with male religious and in fact might not be applicable to women. My experience with women religious has been limited primarily to counseling those in the process of leaving their communities. Obviously this would give me a one-sided view, so I will leave the question of applicability to the ladies themselves. To begin with, and again noting that my view is of healthy reasons, I see people entering religious life in order to make sense of their lives. With the approach of adulthood a young man is faced with the need of stating for himself who he is, the better to enter into the tasks and relationships that face him. The answer to the question "Who am I?" is critical for his future life. Now it is fairly certain, I imagine, that very few men, save in the hands of TV script writers, actually pose the question "Who am I?" in so many words. Yet, faced with choosing their education, their type and place of employment, their friends, and the need to 28 Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 establish a different, more independent relationship with their families, they are in fact faced with the question "Who am 17" And the answers that each makes to these questions, the decisions he maizes about his education, employment, and human relationships will bring into play and firm up the values that will give the ethical dimension to his self-view. It is my experience that the choice for a life within the context of a religious community can be understood in this light. To make this understanding more concrete 1 propose to speak about three models of religious life which have occurred to me, and which bespeak three rather functionally significant aspects of life. They are functionally significant, as I put it, in that by their individual and interwoven appeal they can be seen to account for a major portion of our religious vocations. These three models are the service model, the life style model and the intellectual model. I will speak of each in turn. The service model entails the desire to help, and the process of being helpful to, others. It means a self-view in which the helping process looms large. Asked the question "Who am I?" the answer would be "I am a person who helps others." Obviously, this desire to help and the actual fact of serving can take many forms. In fact it has taken many forms in the course of the Church's history. The many religious groups dedicated to education, to caring for the sick and old, and in general to meeting the needs of those in need, bear eloquent witness to the institutionalization of the service model. Viewing this model further within the context of self-identity, we can single out the following additional elements. By definition it is other-oriented. There is a relational quality which predominates. The individual's energies turn outward from himself to another person or persons. Furthermore, the medium by which the individual religious relates to others is the work he performs for them. This bespeaks a certain type of personality. 1 might add here that the notion of a "personality type" does not imply some sort of pathology. Rather, it is no more than the recognition that the abilities, interests, likes, and dislikes of any individual will lead him to interact with the world around him in such a way that we can note patterns of similarity between certain individuals. The second of the models is the life style model. This is really quite different from the service model. Again using the question of identity, the individual attracted by this model would identify himself by referring to the way he goes about the details of his life. Its scheduling and disciplines, its structures such as the patterns of collective prayer, communality in housing, dress, and table all point to a definite and institutionalized way of life. And it is a style of life to which the individual adapts himself. Again, this life style model has had a long history in the Church. It typifies all those groups which we call monastic and can be seen as the most notable element in monasticism. The relational quality in the life style model is also quite different from that in the service model. Here the relationship is in large part with the individual himself. This might seem strange since there are so many external acts and tangible elements that go into the daily life of a monastic community and to which the individual is called on to relate and respond. But they are things whereby he can give to himself a shape and forming consonant with the values embodied in this style of life. It might seem that this life style model is not only different from but runs counter to the service model. In many ways this is true. It is difficult to say that a way of life that is oriented to helping others is basically the same as a way of life that is oriented toward helping one's self. I do not claim that they are basically the Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 29 same but quite the contrary. My purpose here is, once again, to state that these models are real, that they are articulated in these ways, and that they function in the lives of those in religious life. The third model of religious life 1 wish to go into is the intellectual model. This differs from the above two in that it denotes an approach that is typified not as much by action as by a state of mind. The individual who is attracted by this approach is an individual who enters situations head first. He is interested in knowing the reason why.Faced with the question of self-identity he answers "I am a person who must make sense of things, and to do so I must know why they are the way they are." Does this really differ from the other two? I find that it definitely does, that it is not just an aspect of either of the first two models. The individual drawn by the service model is not about to question the value of serving others. Its value is self-evident. The individual drawn by the life style model is content with the fact that to him this way of life feels right. The individual characterized by the intellectual model is by nature a questioner. Whatever the emotional or other causes, the result is an approach typified by a series of probing questions. Furthermore, his questioning will often be directed toward the other two models. Is this the person we should help? Is this the way to help? What are our priorities here, and are they correct? Is this monastic life appropriate? Why do you like it? Is it worthwhile, does it make sense? In relating to others he does so with a question on his lips. This question stems from his need to make intellectual sense of his world. He confronts, he challenges, he probes, often in a way offensive to those who do not understand his way of doing things. There is an analytic and evaluative process at work, one which can lead to a further integration into the religious life, but which can also appear to be negative and destructive. It can be argued that the individual drawn into religious life by the intellectual model is basically looking into someone else's way of doing things. What are his own supports and values? To answer perhaps oversimply, his chief support is the process itself of analyzing. As long as he is able to continue trying to make sense of things he will be sufficiently at home with himself to survive with some comfort. In addition, there is the more important question of this person's utility t6 the community around him. Does his probing and examining of his community's emotional, theological, financial, and mythological supports serve any purpose? I think it does. The Church in its history, at least in its more self-reflective periods, has tried to build in mechanisms for self-criticism. Granted, this has been with mixed success at best. But we do hold our own critics in some real esteem, at least in hindsight. In addition, we have institutionalized this critical process in those areas of moral theology which deal with concrete issues. The Church and the religious life, at least on the theoretical level, havealways had a place for the analyser, and the capacity of the institution to tolerate its critics is a sign of its maturity. It might also be helpful to point out, finally, that the questioning by this individual does not come necessarily from an opposition to those things he questions. It is analysis, it is not attack. It might well be hard to put up with, but it is primarily this person's way of relating to the world around him. At this point 1 would again like to point out that each of these models is a partial view, and each one does typify real people. Any one of these models is sufficiently capable of absorbing the energies of an individual to provide for him a rather complete view of his vocation. The fact that the model might bespeak a limited 30 Review for Religious, Volume 3 I, 1972/1 approach, in fact does bespeak a limited approach, is both true and irrelevant. The energies and interests of any one individual are always limited. What I am here maintaining is that this limitation has a recoghizable shape to. it, and that in my experience the diversity in these shapes can be viewed in the light of these three models without notable distortion. The fact of limitation can also have aspects to it which are not quite as neutral as might seem to be the case from the above statements. I would like to single out the types of difficulties that can and do arise with each of these models. The service model, as noted above, will be attractive to the person whose identity receives outward expression in helping others. Obviously, this means that this individual will be oriented toward work, since service reqhires work. In certain situations the outlet for helping others is rather severely cut off. This is the case in many novitiates, and especially during academic studies. Here the student is expected to channel his energies in ways which are different from those to which he is accustomed, and this does not come easy. I would suspect that much of the criticism directed against seminary studies has this at its root. The students are not so much opposed to study as they are frustrated in their desire, indeed their need, to expend their energies in the way that comes most easily to them. A basic pattern of relating is frustrated, and this frustration is going to make itself felt. In addition we can expect that any notable frustration in the attempt to be of service is going to cause stress for this individual. Whether the frustration comes from competing requirements, such as studies, or from official interference, or from the rejection of the services offered, the result will be the same - a sense of disorientation that the individual will be hard pressed to cope with. Of all these possibilities probably the most troubling is the rejection of help offered because it is so final and does not admit of alternatives. When the rejected help is the product of considerable effort and the result of a great in~,estment on the part of the individual, the effect can be devastating. Religious who place great stock in their work and are told at some point th::t what they have been preparing for or what they have already been doing is no longer needed are prime examples of this. Their crisis is not a minor one but one that can shake them to the roots of their personality. There is also the danger that the individual attracted by this model - or any of these three, for that matter - will not be a particularly self-reflective person. In this case he is not apt to see that his way of doing things - the particular model that attracts him, or his way of putting it to work - has some subjective and personal need-fulfilling sources to it. His way becomes absolutized, his way becomes the way, and other ways are to be adapted and refashioned in support of his. Furthermore, explaining to the non-reflective person, presenting him with an intelligible rationale which tells him why his view is too narrow, is a waste of time. By definition, by virtue of the fact that he is non-reflective, he will be unable to grasp tiffs. It is asking him to use a weak or undeveloped faculty. It is much better to present him with the conclusion, that is, that others are not going to adapt to suit him, and help him cope with it as best he can. With the person attracted by the life style model, the limitations are of quite another sort. We can pinpoint them by observing that monastic practices have considerable similarities in Christian and non-Christian traditions. It is possible to be a good monk, as the Buddhist monastic tradition bears witness, without being a Christian. There is thus nothing basically Christian about monasticism; it is one of the ways man has invented for living a human life. Also, monasticism can have an Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 31 absolute character to it; it can engage all the time and energies of the monk in a pattern of meditative, penitential, and ritual practices. In addition there is a certain absolutism in Christianity. The life and teachings of Jesus, our knowledge of the early Church from the Acts and St. Paul, and the subsequent development of both these in the life of the Church and in its theology, point out that the half-hearted and lukewarm Christian life is to be shunned in favor of greater commitment. The danger here is to make the mistake of equating monastic absolutism with Christian absolutism. 1 believe that when this happens it does so because monastic absolutism presents an articulated, structured, and circumscribed channel for the Christian's desire to get in touch with what is absolute. In its most extreme form this would be to equate becoming one with the monastic absolute, that is, becoming absorbed, as it were, by the monastic life st~,le, with being one with God. It seems more exact to say that what has happened here is the substitution of a collective human structure for the individual personality, a process of quite questionable morality. But this is an extreme. Our focus here is the garden variety of problem that' comes from the life style model. The one I see to be common and troubling is the equation of religious life as a whole with the life style model. It is easy to see how this happens. Since it is the life style model that deals most directly with externals, especially with those externals which differentiate religious life from lay life, it is easy to equate these tangible and visible elements with religious life. This is a beginner's problem, and except in one area we seem to outgrow it. The exception has to do with the process of introducing new members. They are frequently placed under the direction of someone who is rather committed to the life style model. In large part I think this is due to the expectations of the incoming members, whose focus on visible and external elements is quite normal. It is also due, I suspect, to the guilt of work-oriented superiors about the lack of this model in their own lives, and for which they compensate in the choice of formation superiors. Be the cause what it may, it stacks the deck against a broader and more complete view of the opportunities present in the religious life. The problems in the intellectual model come, as with the others, from the very heart of the model. The intellectually oriented person is probably more developed in the thinking than in the feeling area. He will have less appreciation for the areas of religious life that utilize the feeling side, such as the symbolic and liturgical. This lack can become a real problem, for it can lead to an intolerance of any areas and elements which do not admit of the clear-cut, sharp-edged, and logical approach that is possible in the mind. Having viewed these three models there remains only one major comment I wish to make about them. It is fairly common to recognize that religious, like other people, will be oriented in one direction rather than another, that they have definite personalities, likes, dislikes, abilities, and weaknesses. And having recog-nized this, it is also common to forget it, to hope and expect that the individual will work out a personal balance including significant elements from each of these models. This is often raised to the level of an ideal, the religious equivalent of the well-rounded individual. This expectation is unrealistic, and it can be disastrous. A person who is drawn into religious life by the service model, and for whom the service model represents an important expression of his personal makeup, is quite apt not to be attracted by the life style model. If he is not, then any attempt to make him respond as though he were attracted by it probably won't work. If this is an importarit element in the 32 Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 life of the group he is entering, then he should not enter it. If the religious group requires only some token observance of the life style model, recognized as token, then he can be expected to put up with it in the way any mature person can be expected to put up with things he doesn't like. But if the life style model, in fact, be important in the life of this community, then he shouldn't be there in the first place. There is no way, short of self-delusion, to get around the simple but difficult fact that he is in the wrong place. The hopes that he will change, that he will develop an appreciation for this view, are as futile as they are potentially destructive. The probable result will be complaining, fault-finding, and after considerable turmoil, departure for some situation where he can be of service to others and where he should probably have been in the first place. The same is true of the other models. The individual who comes to religious community because he wants and needs the structured, orderly life that comes from the life style model cannot realistically be expected to work and function well where these do not exist. If the life style model is part of the whole pattern of life there will be no problem. If, as is often the case, it is part of the seminary structure, after which the individual is expected to shift to a service model and provide his own working and personal structures, then there is going to be a dangerous situation, possibly involving a personal collapse. Similarly~ the individual drawn to religious life in order to make sense of his life, where making sense bespeaks an intellectual approach, cannot be expected to make a shift from this approach to another one. The fact that the particular style of life which he is asked to enter, and which he can't intellectually organize, might "feel right" to others will mean nothing to him and will probably antagonize him. The same applies to a work situation. "This is the way we do things here," or "This has always been our system" may be satisfying answers to some people. They will not satisfy this individual. He will be disturbed and disturbing until he is given a reason why. If none is to be forthcoming then it is better that he not work in that context. Some religious groups, such as my own Dominican Order, do combine these different models. But the combination is one of tension. We recognize that the tension is there, and we expect our members to tolerate it. We do not expect to be able to resolve it and thus demand that our members pay the price for maintaining the several elements which we see to be of value. There should be no question, however, but that there is a price to be paid. In summary, then, 1 see these models as expressions of personality patterns which do exist in reality. Whatever be the cultural or psychological causes here, experience seems to point out that we can speak of people who live their lives using the service of others, a structured life style, and an intellectual understanding of far-reaching reasons as means for ordering their lives. Furthermore, these patterns are often firm and definite. And, they are incorporated to differing degrees in the makeup of different religious groups. It seems crucial to me that, for everyone's benefit, religious groups should determine their own basic orientation and recruit their members accordingly. NICHOLAS AYO, C.S.C. Variance in the Religious Vows: What Poverty, Why Chaste, Who Obey? [Nicholas Ayo, C.S.C., is a member of the Department of English at the University of Portland ; Portland, Oregon 97203. ] No observer can fail to notice that the religious life under the three vows is undergoing considerable reinterpretation and change. Part of the explanation lies with the sweeping changes revising social and religious institutions throughout the world. What remains in doubt is how far-reaching these reinterpretations have become, and whether they should be viewed substantially as renewal or more as a distortion. The purpose of this essay is not primarily to evaluate the changes in religious life, although to an extent that kind of judgment is inevitable in the very selecting aud ordering of materials, but rather to describe the alternative vow styles that can be observed and to some degree categorized. After the ground has been as accurately mapped as possible, I shall offer some tentative conclusions concerning the progress and direction of the religious life in these days of not only "monasteries without walls," but also "monasteries for sale." In the history of the religious life, the three vows of poverty (goods of the hands and the earth), chastity (goods of body and the heart), and obedience (goods of the mind and the will) are late developments. From the very beginnings of the following of the Gospels in a radical form, there has always been, of course, some kind of interior dedication, if nothing more than a promise made to God alone in one's heart. For those living in comnmnity, a single vow of obedience, or stability, or poverty, or not to tnarry was often considered sufficiently embracive of all the areas of property, family, and discipline required to maintain the well being of a Christian community. What the three vows accomplished did not amount to additional demands upon a total dedication to following the gospel in a radical way, which even the hermit understood welt enough before God, but rather a more explicit determination of a "way of life" that the Church could specify and direct attention to as evangelical by profession and recognized publicly as such by the People of God through their bishops. Poverty Let us look at the three vows separately. Poverty usually is considered first, although apparently for no intrinsic reason. The advantageous effects of poverty depend upon some minimum ownership and use of goods and property. One may retain enough, of course, for life's needs. Destitution distorts poverty. The benefits of poverty, however, were not discovered by Christians. Property of its nature tends to encumber a person, saps his attention, and devours his freedom. The posses-sions- own-you syndro~ne has been with the world a long time. Auyone who owns an expensive yacht, or whatever, may well feel obligated to make use of it, whether 34 Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 any longer inclined to or not. Moreover, it takes time, effort, and supervision to maintain an estate, to cultivate, guard, protect, insure, and in all respects properly manage property. Without this effort, the property is sooner or later lost or ruined. The more the wealth, the more the management; and even if managers are hired, the owner has to manage the managers. Property, therefore, unless carefully chosen and curtailed according to one's real needs, easily becomes a burden and actually impedes freedom instead of enhancing it. The pagans knew this, and modern man suspects all too often his convenience machines run him. They must be maintained according to their schedule, not his. Only the man who travels light moves without care. Historically, the ancient monasteries sooner or later acquired great wealth, and contemporary religious orders have amounted to multi-million-dollar operations. Someone has to manage the concerns as well as the property of these institutions. To help preserve the virtue of poverty in those Christians, whether in vows or not, whose task in life demanded the use of the power and goods of the rich, the concept of "stewardship" was evolved. Accordingly, one's labors as manager of millions of dollars were not directed to one's power and prestige, but rather to the commonweal. The steward was merely a servant.whose job was to invest and order goods and services for others. Many. contemporary religious see their vow of poverty in this light. United Air Lines credit cards and new Chevrolets are merely tools, necessary in a modern and affluent world, to get a job done. The heart of th.e religious vowed to poverty ought to remain free of the contamination of wealth, even while he or she has free access to the benefits that only the at least moderately rich enjoy. Poverty of Spirit, a sense of detachment, thus assumes the essence of the vow of poverty. How one uses property, not the quantity and kind of property, becomes the key question. However, from this position, too, a counterinsight arises. The argument goes like this. Granted stewardship is necessary and can be sanctified, it still falls short of the spiritual advantages of actual material poverty. Not everyone need share the poverty of the poor, of course, but those who wish to might vow to do so in an actual and explicit way. Francis of Assisi led a vanguard of those who sold everything, and in sandals alone followed the gospel. In modern times, the carefree poverty of a Francis is difficult to achieve literally - leather sandals can be very expensive. But some groups of religious monks, like the Little Brothers of Charles de Foucauld, do live a simple, inexpensive life, as do their secular monkish counterpart, the sleeping-bag, thumb-riding "hippies" of the 'back-to-the-earth counterculture. This phenomenon demonstrates once more that the advantages of material poverty are not recognized solely by those who follow Jesus Christ alone, although for the believer, identification with the man .of Nazareth, who had nowhere to lay his head, adds a significant core motive. The insight that validates material poverty as such amounts to this. The steward of wealth, while he may well keep his heart unattached, still enjoys the benefits of wealth. He is well cared for and comfortable, and so much the worse for him. Only those who know real want know life in a depth that becomes readily and spontaneously religious. Those who know not where tomorrow's food is coming from have a capacity to appreciate a piece of bread and a cup of cold water as the well-fed can never imagine. The poor know what creaturehood means - to be finite and finally powerless to hold onto one's life and keep everything within one's control. Actually, the rich man does not hold his life securely in his hands either, for accident and microbe strike without distinction of bank account; but the rich Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 35 man can surround himself with apparent defenses, fences, and doctors, who lend him the illusion that he is not finally in fact vulnerable, as the poor man well knows from his own experience. In the living out of actual poverty, virtues such as gratitude for the help of others, heartfelt thanks to God, and sharing alike with others flourish. Faced with helplessness and forced back on basic needs - food, shelter, and friends - it seems far simpler to discover the truth about one's self, that is, one is only a man, naked at birth and destined to dust; masks, poses, the power that corrupts, illusions of bright lights, and life without tragedy, cannot survive the facts. While the rich can hide from the human condition, the poor man knows that to be human is to be vulnerable, even while remaining appreciative, wondering, deeply aware of others, and alive with the radical truth that God alone suffices: "That is why I tell you, don't worry about life, wondering what you are going to eat. And stop bothering about what clothes you will need. Life is much more important than food, and the body more important than clothes. Think of the ravens. They neither sow nor reap, and they have neither store nor barn, but God feeds them. And how much more valuable do you think you are than birds?" (Lk 12:22-5). One further interpretation of poverty deserves mention, because some religious hold to this style, although many point out its fallacy. The position argues that although the group may be wealthy, the individual lives under a spirit of Christian communism - to each according to his need. Needs vary according to status and job, and so does the use of wealth. Actually this p, osition is a variety of the stewardship position, except that it removes the responsibility for management from the individual conscience and invests it in the hierarchical leadership of the group. The individual can thus use any amount of property in peace of conscience provided the group authority has given its approval. The critics of this position, of course, reply that no individual with the vow of poverty can abdicate his responsibility to remain poor, any more than a citizen can automatically wage war simply because his government approves the conflict. Celibacy At first consideration, celibacy seems a necessary concomitant of group living, and group living in a Christian community seems a continuation of the sharing of goods and life outlined in Acts, a sharing which foreshadows the coming of the kingdom. Why groups of families historically have not been able to maintain community living is not easily determined. Through the centuries there have been numerous attempts to do so, from the Brook Farm experiment of our American origins to the communes of 1970, but none have been long lived. Monasteries with single people and strict discipline managed to stay together, but familial groupings have not. No intrinsic reason seems evident to me why Christian community life could not incorporate families, but in practice celibates have a better record of success. The "efficiency model" for the vow of chastity (or celibacy as it might more fairly and accurately be called) emerges from just this insight. For, either it is argued that community life, that is, shared goods and shared inner life, demands celibacy, or even more persuasively it is maintained that a greater freedom for apostolic work becomes available to the single man or woman. Despite the counterarguments of successful and busy married doctors and politicians, it is claimed that a fulltime apostolate often needs a mobility that the person with a family can hardly enjoy without imposing on his family, especially on his children, 36 Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 who unlike his wife, did not know in advance what they were getting into. The celibate can work for less money, move locations quickly, and risk his life and health with less fear of the consequences t'o others to whom he is committed and responsible. The input that a generous and inspirational wife might add to a married man's apostolic work is often parried with the negative effects of an unhappy home life in the case of many married "apostles." In short, the argument states that the layman may enlist in the army of Christ, but the celibates will always make up the marines. Besides the "community life" and the "apostolic efficiency" justifications, an appeal for embracing the celibate life may include the "legal status quo." For example, to be a priest, at least today, includes celibacy as part of the package, and when the motivation for the priesthood is high, it can and does override the desire to marry. Actually many men and women remain in celibate vows because by age or inclination they no longer want marriage or children; no't a small number of middle-aged celibates fail to see what overwhelming competition the married state offers the celibate, if children are not a primary consideration. What this reluctance to marry may mean, however, is that many now in celibate vows would have married and raised a family at an earlier age, had the climate of acceptance for such vocational decisions been as good twenty years ago as it is today. Late marriages, of course, will always seem less attractive. If all practical reasons of whatever kind are set aside, whet today might motivate the vow of celibacy? A keen sense of vocation, of being chosen and being called, seems uppermost in many celibate vocational decisions. There is a sense of the mystery behind the destiny of any person, whether to marriage or to single life for the sake of the kingdom: "You have not chosen me, but I have chosen you," and "Everyman who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or land for my sake will receive it all back many times over, and will inherit eternal life" (Mt 19:29). The celibate vocation remains very much on the defensive today. If formerly marriage was considered a second-rate vocation, it is clear that the atmosphere of sexual fulfillment as a necessary ingredient for maturity and personality growth has left the celibate vocation almost in need of a "single's lib" movement. Those who thrive within the celibate vocation seem to have developed a profotind awareness that no man can run the entire gamut of human experience. One life style cancels out another; there are advantages to restraint as well as to delight. Those who are married have a set of pluses and minuses, which while they differ from the pros and the cons of the celibate, may indeed total out to an equivalent sum. Robert Frost's lines "I have chosen the road less travelled by / And it has made all the difference," or Thomas More's apologia in A Man for All Seasons, namely, I choose to believe this because I choose, may finally be the ultimate explanation for a vocation. There is no adequate reason that can be formulated and presented convincingly to any other open-minded person that he should go and do likewise. One is dealing with the kind of radical freedom exercised in choosing a spouse. I marry Susan because I choose Susan, not for any catalog of virtues that would automatically persuade every other reasonable man to marry Susan. Finally, many celibates do experience a discovery in the expanded opportunities for well-developed and often protracted friendships with someone of the opposite sex. Such friendships often enrich their life and yet confirm their vocation to celibacy. The insight that emerges is this. Any deep bisexual friendship demands cultivation, ingenuity, time, effort, emotional energy, imagination, and thoughtful- Review for Religious, Volume 31, 1972/1 37 ness. One may conclude that there can be only one dominant psychological center in one's life for any length of time; and if a deep cultivated life of prayer and practi

Issue 35.4 of the Review for Religious, 1976. ; REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS IS edtted by faculty members of St Louis University, the edttorlal offices being located at 612 Humboldt Building, 539 North Grand Boule-vard; St. Louis, Missouri 63103. It is owned by the Missouri Province Educational Institute; St. Louis, Missouri. Published bimonthly and copyright © 1976 by REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS. Composed, printed, and manufactured in U.S.A. Second class postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri. Single copies: $2.00. Subscription U.S.A. and Canada: $7.00 a year; $13.00 for two years; other countries, $8.00 a year, $1.5.00 for two years. Orders should indicate whether they are for new or renewal subscriptions and should be accompanied by check or money order payable to REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS in U.S.A. currency only. Pay no money to persons claiming to represent REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS. Change of address requests should include former address. Daniel F. X. Meenan, S.J. Everett A. Diederich, S.J. Joseph F. Gallen, S.J. Robert Williams, S.J. Jean Read Editor Associate Editor Questions and Answers Editor Book Editor Assistant Editor July 1976 Volume 35 Number 4 Renewals, new subscriptions, and changes of .address should be sent to REvx~w FOR RELmiOVS; P.O. Box 6070; Duluth, Minnesota 55802. Correspondence with the editor and the associate editor together with manuscripts and books for review should be sent to REviEw vOa RELmIOUS; 612 Humboldt Building; 539 North Grand Boule-vard; St. Louis, Missouri 63103. Questions for answering should be sent to Joseph F. Gailen, S.J.; St. Joseph's College; City Avenue at 54th Street; .Phil'adelphia, Pennsyl-vania 19131. "Jesuits Today" Horacio de la Costa, S.J. Father de la Costa wrote the March contribution to'our series on the 32nd General Congregation of the Society of Jesus, "A More Authentic Poverty." He resides at Xavier House; P. O. Box 2722; Manila 2801; Phil!ppines. ' Just. before it adjourned, the 32nd General ~Congregation of the Society o[ Jesus arrived at a clear and distinct,idea of why it had met. This realiza-tion is expressed.in its In~troductory Dec.rce,~ which, being introductory, ~was of course taken up last. The decree makes several points. First, that the congregation immedi-ately, preceding, the 31st, sought toadapt Jesuit life to the directives of the Second Vatican Council. Second, that it did so in documents which '~ccuraiely and faithfully.~ express the genuine spirit and tradition of the Society." Third, that during the decade that followed, "significant" success attended the effort to reduce these documents to practice. Fourth, that that success Was circumscribed by "two exaggerations, each tending in an op-posite direction," the one a resistance, to renewal as being "somehow a de-parture from the genuine Ignatian spirit," ~the other an adaptation of Jesuits and their work to the needs of the world w.hich is excessix, e,,,and in fact "runs counter tom the .Gospel message." Fifth, that these conflicting tend-encie~ not only "threatened unity within the Society," but gave "cause for concern" both to the superior general of. the order and to the Pope. And hence, sixth, that the aim of the 32nd General Congregation was, by recog-nizing and removing these exaggerations, to achieve "a balanced renewal of 0religious life and a discerning re-dedication to apostolic service." A~ congregation delegate put it more imaginatively by saying that the 31st General Congregation had launched a satellite, to which the 32nd then 481 4a2 / Review for Religious, l/olume 35, 1976/4 proceeded to transmit certain course corrections, its intention being not to modify, much less to reverse its trajectory, but rather to focus it more ac-curately on its moving target. And that, while engaged in this exercise, the said congregation received a fairly strong input from the Vatican com-puters. The focus which the congregation decided to give the 'Society today centers on the concept of mission. More than ever before, mission--the act or state of being sent--must be a key element of the Jesuit's self-iden-tity. "A Jesuit . . . is essentially a man on a mission: a mission which he receives immediately from the Holy Father and from his own religious su-periors, but ultimately from Christ himself, the one sent by the Father. It is by being sent that the Jesuit becomes a companion ot~ Jesus.''1 Well, then, what is the mission on which Jesuits are being sent today? Considering only the multiplicity of works in which Jesuits are actually en-gaged, and leaving aside the multiplicity of works in which they think they should be engaged, it covers a very wide range indeed. But are these works merely a miscellany chosen at .random, a collection without internal co-hesion? Or is there some unifying, some integrating factor-pulling them together in a convergent thrust? The congregation decided that if there isn't there should be, and that it should be the service of faith and the pro-motion of justice considered as complementary facets of an undivided whole. "The mission of the Society of Jesus today is the service of faith, of which the promotion of justice is an absolute requirement.'''~ This is the "basic choice," the "priority of priorities" for the Society at which the congregation arrived. How did it arrive at it? It may be well to consider this briefly, to consider not only the product, but the process by which it was produced. The product is this handful of documents which .~esuits are supposed to translate from words to action; to bring to iife in their lives. Well and good. The trouble is that they are texts, and legisla-tive texts at that. Paragraphs On parade, marching down page after page in neatly numbered companies, footnotes following after like a baggage train; all spick-and-span, i's dotted and t's crossed, treadling the measured tread of ecclesiastical Latin. Parade-ground texts, remot~ely reminding us of a battle, butobearing only a faint resemblance to a battlefield. ~ How can we make these texts come alive? Would it help to have re-course to one of Saint Ignatius' little devices for making things come alive? "First prelude, the history of what I am about to contemplate. Second pre-lude, a composition of place. Here it will be to see with the eyes of the imagination . '"~ Very well; and what will it be here? Perhaps, to try to see these texts as people; the people who produced them; the congregati 1GC 32, "Jesuits .Today," n. 14. :GC 32, "Our Mission Today," n. 2. 3Spi~ritual Exercises, n. 102. "Jesuits Today" / 4113 whom the Society sent to Rome to discern what its response should be to the call of Christ. See them there in that hall on Holy Spirit Street--Borgo Santo Spirito --men from widely different national, cultural, occupational, experiential backgrounds, who, in trying to fulfill their brothers' commission, strove strenuously not only with each other but with themselves, and in the pro-cess got confused, enlightened, dismayed,_ heartened, disheartened; lost courage and regained it; got bored, doodled, dreamed of home; went to the Gesfi to celebrate the Eucharist; got an insight; tried it out on a couple of companions over a plate of pasta and a flagon of Frascati; and finally ar-rived at the consensus congealed in these texts. We must not, then, be deceived by the asceptic neatness of these docu-ments. They are the fai'r cop, y of whai:at first looked like an illegible scrawl, but; in the end,. surprisingly, made sense. If God writes straight with crooked lines, then the g.roping and searching, the backing and filling, the findin.g and losing, the consolations and desolations which filled the house on Holy Spirit Stri~et with tongues of fire disguised as will-o'-the-wisps were the crooked lines with which God wrote straight for Jesuits; and it may help to see how straight God has written if we have some idea of how crooked were the lines. I am not, of course, suggesting that the congregati thought crooked. QO the contrary; the~y were straight-thinking, straight-shooting men. The trouble was that the targets they were shooting at seemed to weave wantonly from side to side, and sometimes to disappear altogether. I think most of them will agree that there was hardly a moment during the congregation when they were not in one way or another confused: confused by the ap-palling diversity of the Society's apostolic initiatives and commitments; con-fused by the added complication that Jesuits are inserted {hus variously in a world iri process of rapid change; confused by tensions old and new, in the Society and outside it, between generations, between the backward-looking and the forward-looking, between innovation and tradition, be-tween development and liberation, between ideology and praxis, between capita!ism and socialism, between the two sides of the Iron Curtain, between East and West. A confusion so great that if a consensus emerged--as it did --it is more than likely that that straight line was drawn not by the hand of man.but by the finger of God. The consensus is what is embodied in our text~; and what I am really trying t'o say, I suppose, is that to appreciate the consensus it is necessary to have some idea of the confusion that preceded it. The Introductory Decree speaks of "two exaggerations, each tending in an opposite direction," which "have threatened the unity of the Society.''~ 4n. 4. 41~4 / Review ]or Religious, Volume 35, 1976/4 One cannot say that the exaggerations themselve~ ~vere present at the con-gregation., but one might suggest that the tendencies they exaggerat~ were. The congregation seems to have brought into confrontation two radically different ways of thinking about the Society ~nd its mission, so different as to seem irreconcilable. One approach was conservative, traditional, back-ward- looking; the other was radical, inno.vati~;e, forward-looking. In Commission I on the Norms of the ApoStolate, Commission II on the Missiofi of the Society, and Commission IV on the Promotion of Jus-tice, what the "radicals" seemed to be saying was this: "Let's start from the facts'. Let's" look at what has to be done in th~ world and let's do that. What kind of work? Never mind what kind o,f work, as long as it works! We must do only 'Jesuit' works? There are no 'Jesuit' works! What does Pedro Arrup~e say? 'Jesuit identity ~s to have no identity!' " To which the "conservatives" seemed to r~eply: "Now, wait. You can't possibly mean that. ~'ou can't possibly mean that there is no specifically Jesuit apostolate. There must be something 'Jesuit' a Jesuit is supposed to do. Start with the facts? What facts? Real facts, or what are alleged to be facts by those who have already de,ideal ffhat they want to do? Let's not start with such facts. Let's start with something more certain and secure: the Formula of the Institute, the Constitutions, the Spiritual Exercises, the directives of Paul VI. Let's reflect on what the~, say we should be doing, and let's do that. There are others in the Church ahd in the world ~;~o c/an do the rest, and do it better. What does John Janssens say? 'We can-not be Divine Providence.' " Two approaches to the apostolate. Two "niind-sets," each convinc6d that"it was i'ight and the other wrong. And so there was debate. No need to pl~y down the fact that there was debate: a cl~ish of argument' on a corn= mon ground of discourse. It will not do to give ttiis congregation the image of a group of gi-6wn men politely bowing to each other and saying, "Ah, so? That is what you think? How nice! Thank y.ou very much!" And each or~e going off, as the poet says, "eonvinced against~ his will, but of the same opinion still." A "confrontation, then, conducted for the. most. part with sweet reason-ableness, but not without sound and fury. Such at least was the impression given by couriers to the staff officers of the Deputatio ad Secernenda Pos-tulata (the commission to validate initiatives taken by Jesuits, individually or corporately, for consideration of the co.ngi'egation), standing on.their rise o~ ground ab.o~ve the smoke of battle: Committee Room P, fourth floor. But when the smoke of battle cleared, and the field glasses went up to sur-vey the sh~m. bles, it became visible even to the naked eye that,what began a's a confrontati6n had turned out to be a convergence. What happened? Some would say that debate had given way to discern-ment, It may well be. 1 do not know enough about discernment to be cer-tain. My personal observation is that as the~congregation progressed people "Jesuits Today" / 485 were listening more to each other, and were more inclined to question not only those from whom they differed, but themselves. Thus: We must promote justice. That is the conclusion imposed by the facts. Yes; but what is justice? What do I really mean by it? Or rather, what does the Gospel say it is? , Or again: The. Formula of the Institute says that we are a society founded for the .defense and propagation of the faith, Yes; but how do you defend and propagate the faith? By word alone? Also by wit'ness? What kind of witness? What kind of witness in a divided' world? And further: Jesuits in the developed world must be chiefly concerned with secularism, with the~ marginalization of Christianity in societies an-ciently Christian. Jesuits in the underdev.eloped world, on the other hand, must be chiefly concerned with underdevelopment, with' the marginalization of the powerless in unjust societies. Certainly; but are these two phenomena completely distinct? Or are they somehow related? How related? And finally: Take a look at the Constitutions, Part VII, where Saint Ignatius lays down his norms for the selection of ministries: the more uni-versal good, the more lasting good;,.help to those most in need of help, works that have a "multiplier" effect, spiritual works by preference, but corporal works if more urgent. Apply these norms to our moment of his-tory, and what do you corne up with? ~ . It was by some such process of shared reflection that the two mind-sets we have described discovered, initially to their discomfiture, increas~ ingle, to their delight, that they were saying the same thing. More precisely, that they were in the same boat; rowing, ,bailing, or busily polishing brass, but in the same boat, with Diakonia Fidei (Service of Faith) stenciled on the port side and' Promotio lustitiae on the starboard side. ,A pretty rocky boat, to be' sure; not quite,rigged and already slightly battered; with cracks to be sealed, sails to be set, a course to be charted; but one boat, not two planks from a shipwreck. And not completely at .sea, either; for we now have, by this callida.iunctura of faith and justice, a focus to our apostolate, a destination for our mission. The convergence can be more clearly seen by juxtaposing nn. 4 and 10 of the document "Jesuits Today" and nn. 2 and 3 of the document "Our Mission Today." We arrive at this basic choice' from several different points of departure. The postulata received from the provinces, the panorama of the state of the Society presented at the congregation, and the suggestions given us .by the PoPe, ~all direct our .attention to the vast expanse, and circuit of this globe and the great multitude and diversity of peoples therein . We are con-firmed in this basic choice by being led to it from another point of departure, namely; the original inspiration of the Society as set ~forth in the Formula of the Institute hnd the Constitutions . 486 / Review]or Religious, Volume 35, 1976/4 The mission of the Society of Jesus today is the service of faith~ of which the promotion of justice is an absolute requirement . In one form or another, this has always been the mission of the Society; but it gains new meaning and urgency in the light of the needs and aspirations of the men of our time, and it is in that light that we embrace it anew. Put that way, it sounds pretty obvious. The point, however, is that when the congregation began it was by no means obvious; that it became obvious by a convergence of two different approaches in a process of interaction; and that this convergence was, for many in the congregation, a discovery. Closely allied to the problem of what Jesuits do is the problem of what Jesuits are. There was a far greater number of postulata from the provinces concerning the first problem than concerning the second. However, there were enough for the Deputatio ad Secernenda Postulata to decide to form an Intercommission on Jesuit Identity. Why an "intercommission"? For two reasons, First, because its members were recruited from the regular commissions which had already been formed. Second, because the Deputatio's instructions were that this group should be a link between the other commissions; or rather, a listening post, lis-tening in on all of them to pick up and put together what they were saying that could have a bearing on Jesuit identity. But why did the question of identity come up at all? What gave rise to the postulata on the subject? One reason might have been the feeling that many of those who leave the Society do so because they no longer have, perhaps never had, a clear idea of what it is to be a Jesuit, or why they should be Jesuits rather than something else. Or else, the concern that we are engaging in all sorts of development work, justice promotion, political action, and other efforts to build up a more human world, but doing so according to the norms, ideals, and procedures of secular agencies or move-ments engaged in the same enterprise; in effect, that we are identifying our-selves with them instead of making the' original, the unique contribution we are called upon to make as an apostolic, religious, sacerdotal body. Which, incidentally, is what the.more reflective among the secular humanists them-selves expect us to make. They don't expect us to do0what they are already doing: They expect us to do "our thing." But what is "our thing"? We do not seem to be quite clear on that. This intercommission, then, was told to do something about the problem, but it was also very distinctly told that it was not to make up "Jesuit iden-tity" oui of its own head. It was by all means to avoid being creative. Its job was simply to find out what the congregation itself was saying about Jesuit identity, explicitly or imlSlicitly, in the course of its deliberations on mission, formation, poverty, government, community lift; and if it succeeded in drafting a statement on the subject, to sub/nit the draft to the congrega-tion for approv~il. The result is the document entitled "Jesuits Today." An earlier title, "Jesuit Identity," was rejected by the congregation, and "Jesuits Today" / 4117 rightly so. This document is in no sense a formal definition of the Society or of the Jesuit. It is simply a descriptive summary of some of the attributes that may serve to identify Jesuits both to themselves and to others. Even as a description it is certainly not definitive, for Jesuit identity, like that of any other personality, is, first of all, elusive; it cannot be pinned down or exhaustively catalogued in any statement. And it is elusive chiefly because it is in [ieri, in process of becoming: the identity of a living and growing thing which keeps changing while remaining itself. Some future congrega-tion will doubtless find it necessary to draw up another statement of Jesuit identity. That is why it was finally decided to call this document simply "Jesuits Today." As the effort at self-understanding of persons who do not take them-selves too seriously, it was given, inevitably, other, less formal titles. "Cari-dent: the toothpaste with Formula 32, a special blend of charism and iden-tity, guaranteed to enhance that dazzling, distinctive Jesuit smile." "ldenti-kit." the police portrait of the mystery man going around holding up people and asking them, 'Who am I?' " But "identikit" is not just a gibe. It contains a thought of Father Arrupe's which he expressed to the Intercommission on Identity~ I hope I may be forgiven for paraphrasing it here. A photograph of Jesuit identity is not possible, only an approximate likeness, as in an identikit. Why? Interiorly, spiritually, we do have an iden-tity:, the Ignatian spirit, insofar as we live it. But exteriorly, apostolically, what is Jesuit identity? It is to have no identity. We have no specifically Jesuit ministries, as other religious institutes might have: not education, not social action, not parishes, not this or that form of action or contemplation, 'but only what here and now God wants done. The document begins with the first and most obvious clue to a Jesuit's identity: his name: Jesuitbsomeone who pertains to, who belongs to, Jesus. Everyone knows how tenaciously Saint Ignatius clung to that name. Nothing could induce him to change it, This complete certitude that he and his company are something that belong to Jesus seems to be based on the spiritual experience Ignatius had at La Storta, a.wayside chapel just outside Rome. He was making his way to Rome from the north on foot, and all the way he was praying to Our Lady that he might be "placed with the Son." Arrived at La Storta, he had this vision, or enlightenment, or insight, in which the Eternal Father asks Jesus carrying his cross to take this pil-grim into his company. And Jesus accepts him. It is interesting that in all this the Lord is not called Christ but Jesus. Jesus, his personal name. Which suggests that for Ignatius being "placed with the Son" meant entering into a personal relationship with him, a rela-tionship of personal love. This is confirmed by the fact that when his com-panions asked him what our Lord's words to him ("I shall be propitious to you at Rome") meant, Ignatius replied with great joy, "I don't know. Maybe it means we shall b~ crucified with him in Rome!" A love relation- 488 / Review ]or Religious, Volume 35, 1976/4 ship, then, not just between servant and master, not just between soldier and cat~tain, but between sinner and Savior. This brings us to what the document sees as another clue to Jesuit iden-tity. The Jesuit is a man who has come to a vivid realization not only of his sinful acts but of his isinfulness; and with equal vividness has come to realize that his conversion, his turning back to God, began not with him but with Jesus: the saving love of Jesus reaching out to him, in his sinful-ness. "You did not choose me; no, I chose ~,ou.'''~ If, then, the Jesuit is' one who, following Ignatius, asks to be placed with Jesus, it is because he is responding to love: the love of Jesus which, beyond,all expectation, antici-pates and seeks his love. His response is that of the converted sinner. These are the two related thoughts with which the document begins: "What is it to be a Jesuit? It is to know that one is a sinner, yet called to be a companion of Jesus.''G There was some objection at the congregation~'to beginning the docu-ment with" this confession of sinfulness, this "beating, of breasts." It was thought to be overacting~ or over-reacting to the alleged Jesuit.propensity to arrogant ~triumphalism. Does this show.of humility really counteract that impression--if, indeed, it is the impression Jesuits give? Is it not, in fact, a kind of triumphalism in reverse? Why not simply ~and immediately focus on the central element of Jesuit. identity, that of being socius lesu: the com-panion of Jesus, the man who has answered the call of the Eternal King? Perhaps. But the point is that that is not how~Ignatius began. And that is not how the Spiritual Exercises begin. Ignatius the Jesuit begins with what James Brodrick calls the "pilgrim years," when this wandering penitent signed his letters "Ignacio pecador": Ignatius, sinner. And the Exercises begin not with 'the Meditation on the Kingdom but with the First Week: with the effort to realize thfit the love of Jesus has reached out to me in my sinfulness. They begin, in fact, even before that. They .begin with the First Principle and Foundation: with the love of Jesus reaching out to me in my nothingness; by the act of creation choosing me out of nothing. That in the. mind of Ignatius it is-Jesus who does this, is suggested by the fact that both in the Exercises and the Con-stitutions there is constant attribution to the Second Person incarnate not only the title of Savior but of tfiat of Creator. The next few paragraphs of the document: bring out what seems to be another essential i~ngredient of Jesuit identity. It is outward-looking more than it is inward-looking. After his conversion, the Jesuit fixes his gaze not so much on what goes on in tlie soul within him ~at on what goes on in the world around him. We are all familiar with the popular (and, one hopes, .~Jn 15.16. G"Jesuits Today," n. Ol. 7nh. 4-9. "Jesuits Today" / 4119 distorted) image of the Jesuit as a worldling, inclined to involve himself in mundane affairs which are none of his business; conducting himself in a manner far removed from the popular (and equally distorted) image of the "man of the cloth" as so completely wrapped up in, things divine that he cannot even change a blown fuse when the lights go out. Well; let's face it. There is an element of truth in this. We will find it in the initial response of the converted sinner as expressed in the key colloquy of the First Week of' the Exercises: "What have I done for Christ? What am I doing for Christ?. What must I do for Christ?" What to do. What, and where, is the action. This is not the initial response of other types or schools of spirituality. By way of contrast, we might paraphrase a passage from the Chinese phi: losopher Mencius, of which', surely, there are echoes in the Western world: Yoti wish to find God? God is in the heavens, .the infinite heavens. But the infinite heavens are reflected in a small pool deep.in a,well-~-the well of your soul. Plunge, then, into your soul, and there find God. But that is not what the Jesuit does.~ What the Jesuit does.is go into the Second Week of the.Exercises. There he hears Christ calling for-com-panions to go with him to conquer the~world,s There ~he looks up to God in his .Trinity of persons and finds their gaze also, fixed on the world, whose salvation they are d~ciding to accomplish? There,.he, sees Christ choosing mento send into the world to proclaim his sacred tehching,to persons ot~ every class and calling.~° From which it appears that the Jesuit instinct (or charism) is not to withdraw from the world to be~alone with God, but rather to turn to the world and ask himself, "Wh~t~ can Io do for God. in this world in whose midst I am, and to which I am sent?" This would seem to be the force of Saint Ignatius; assertion that the grace,by which the Jesuit is driven to serve men is identical with the grace by which he achieves his pe~:sonal salvation.1~ Or, as our document puts,it: "The grace of Christ that enables ~nd impels us to seeko'the salvation~and perfection.of souls' or what might be called in contemporary terms the integral liberation of man, leading to participation in the life, of God himself is the same grace by which we are enabled and impelled to seek 'our own salvation and perfection.' ,,1~ It was suggested earlier that "Jesu.its Today." is an "echo" document, echoing in the key of identity what the other documents of the congregation say about mission, compa~nionsh]p, freedoha, dis~ernment,~ and love. The emphasis ,on mission: that the Jesuit is essentially a man who is sent by Christ through the mediation ot~ those who hold Christ's authority, is clearly an echo of the document "Our Mission Today." 8Spir. Ex., n. 95. .~lbid., nn. 106-107. aOlbid., n. 145. a~General Examen, n. 3. ~-~"Jesuits Today," n. 1~1. 490 / Review for Religious, °l~'olume 35, 1976/4 The emphasis on companionship: that the Jesuit is essentially a com-panion, a companion of Christ first, but in Christ also of those whom he has called to the same companionship, is similarly an echo of the document on "Union of Minds and Hearts." The emphasis on freedom: that the Jesuit is essentially a man who is free, or rather, a man who has been set free, and this, paradoxically, by the vows that bind him, is an echo, at least in part, of the document on Poverty. The attitude towards the vows here brought out as characteristi-cally Jesuit is that they are not meant to enclose a man, to protect him from the world, to pluck him from the madding crowd and wall him up in some pleasance of peaceful contemplation--in the matchless phrase of Fray Luis de Le6n~ ~'la escondida senda por donde han ido/los pocos sabios que en el ~mundo hart sido"---but to detach him; to hack away from him all en-cumbering armor, and thus to free him from the constraints that may hold him back from any service in the world that Christ working in the world may require of him. The emphasis on discernment: that obedience for the Jesuit not only permits but demands discretion, is an echo, again, ,both of "Our Mission Today" and "Union of Minds and Hearts." It recalls Ignacio Iparraguirre's dictum that the Constitutions are not so much law-book as guide-book, and Pedro Arrupe's oft-repeated saying that being told what to do does not exempt us from the necessity of discerning how to do. In thi~ connection, it is surely significant that the command "to water a dry stick, or "to bring a lioness unto him (the superior)" of the Ignatius/Polanco Letter on Obedi-ence does not include detailed instructions on where to get the water or how to persuade the lioness. And, finally, the emphasis on love: that the Jesuit is essentially a man moved by a personal love for the personal Christ, is an echo not of any particular document but of what might be called the La Storta insight, which seems to have been recaptured, to a greater or less degree, by so many of the delegates to this congregation. As Father General Arrupe, bouncing up the back stairs of the house on Holy Spirit Street after breakfast one morning, put it to one of them, sleepily drifting down: "We proclaim the Gospel in poverty and humility-- fine. But perhaps to add: in love. There is much concern today about loving the Mystical Christ, seeing and serving him in our fellow men, espe-cially the poor; and that is good. But if we do this, is it not because we love Christ in himself, in his Person? Is it not because each of us, pilgrims with Ignatius, prays to the Father 'ponerme con el Hijo' (place me with the Son)?" Which obiter dictumomay serve to explain why our document says: "In love: a personal love for Jesus, whom we seek to know with an ever more inward knowledge that we may the better love and follow him; Jesus, whom "Jesuits Today" / 491 we seek, as Saint Ignatius Sought, to experience; Jesus, Son ot~ God, sent to serve, sent to set free, put to death, and risen from the dead.''~3 There is a lack of definition in what the document says about the So-ciety as a priestly body.TM It strongly asserts the elements which make up this attribute: that the core, as it were, of our membership is a group of brdained priests; that the vocation .to the Society is one; that it is the whole body of the Society that is priestly; and, consequently, that all its members share in that priestly attribute, even those who are not ordained ministers" of the Gospel. But as to the precise nature of that participation the document says nothing. This reflects pretty much the state of the question as the con-gregation left it. The general sentiment was that further theological reflec-tion was needed to say anything more on the subject, and it was hoped that this reflection would form a vital part of our ongoing renewal of spirit. If we now take a look at the document as a whole, we will notice that it has a certain quality of movement: this movement being, basically, that of the Spiritual Exercises. In other words, Jesuit identity is conceived not as state but as process. Companionship with Jesus begins with conversion: the realization that having been called to life by God Creator, then estranged from him by sin, I have been recalled to life by God Redeemer. This realization draws me to stand before (~hrist crucified and make my first oblation: What will I do for Christ? The First Week. Hard upon this conversion comes the call of Christ the King: "I want you to b~come my companion, and the companion of these Others whom I have also called." To do what, Lord? "To be sent, as I was sent. Into the world; not away from it. This world, your world; in all its diversity, agony, tragedy, hope: Sent to share with people the saving faith I have shared with you, and in my justice to reconcile men to God and men with each other." My response to which is my second oblation, the~Kingdom obla-tion: to bring Christ to men not by the witness of word alone but by the witness of life: in poverty, humility, and love. The Second Week. What is 'the range of this oblation? It involves all that the apostolate involves--for Jesus as well as those Who have asked to be'placed with him. Some' experience of success, certainly, and an abiding serenity; but also frustration, b~trayal, defeat, nakedness to p~in. An oblation to failure. An oblation t6 the CrosS. The Third Week. But out of the depths of failure, joy. The joy of total and mutual self-giving: Jesus to me, myself to Jesus. Day by day joyfully going to ttie work site with God the Workingman--habet se ad modum laborantis to build a world at once more human and more divine. My third oblation. Take and receive. 131bid., n. 27. 14Cf. ibid., nn. 21-22. The Freedom and Detachment of Submission Sister Mary Catherine Barron, C.S.J. Sister Mary Catherine last published in our pages in the March, 1976 isstie of Review for Religious. She resides at 808 Cypres.s St.; Rome, NY 13440. ' In his Asian-Journal, under a November 19 entry, Thomas Merton speaks of three doors which he posits as desirable for the eschatological pilgrim to enter: "the door of emptiness, the door without sign, the door without wish."' And in an earlier work of his, C~ontemplation in d Worl~l~of Action, Merton tells of the internal spiritual liberation which such surrender of self brings: ". a kind of permanent vacation in the original sense of 'emptying.' ''~ Perhaps it would be fitting for each of us in our individual lives to pon-der the possibility of taking a "vacation" through these three rather unin-viting doors. ~ Father JohnoQ. Haughey, S.J., in his most recent.book Should Anyone Say Forever? recounts a pos~sible interpretation of the statement of Jesus in Matthew 7:13-14 where he tells his disciples to "enter by the narrow gate" since this alone "leads to life." Father Haughey says: "The narrow gate Jesus was alluding to probably refers to the gate in Jerusalem which could only ~accommodate people unaccompanied by their possessions and camels and donkeys.''3 If we are to become such a people "v~cationing" through 1Thomas Merton. "The Himalayas/November 1-25." The Asian Journal ot Thomas Merton (New York: New Directions Paperback, 1973), p. 154. '-'Thomas Merton, "Problems and Prospects," Contemplation in a World o] A'ction (New York: Image Books, 1973), p. 36. aJohn C. Haughey, S.J., "The Underpinnings," Should Anyone Say Forever? (New York: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1975), p. 21. ,~ 492 The Freedom and Detachment o[ Submission / 493 ngaargreo-w-t ghaetne si ta nsed. te_~rr.ar.inss"p athreant tw doe omrsu, sutn benecguinm tbheere jdo ubyrn eexyc ewssit the mtwpoor raal tbhaegr- im-portant spiritual qu~ilities: freedom and detachment. And since Jesus never exhorted his foil6wers to any endeavor that he himself would not surpas, singly complete, qt would be well to follow in. his footsteps on the roadway to and through t_,hese beckoning (but sometimes, frightening) entrance-ways to the Kingdom. " The Free Christ '-Jesus was' a free man, able ~o commit himself to a way of life which in-evitably and irrev6.cab.!y would end in ignominious agony. Because he wa's free,,,he was also. supremely detached froin the picayune compromises Of life by which we' s6 ~asi!y bind ourselves to ~he transient. Categorically'~l~eaking, it seems that Jesus was free enough to:°sub-ject himself to 6th~rS (in his case, always his inferiors); subject himself to the law (re, ligi~'s and civil); subjeCt~ himself to the Transcendent (his Faiher). And ~e.c.a.u.s.e he was' unafraid of that type of subjection which we, in ~so utterly a human stance, avoid, C'firist becomes the detach.ed and liber-ated man, par ~exi~ellenc¢--i.nfi.nitely able to detach and .liberate us for him-self. Submission to Others ~,, In all. of hi,s relationships with others . (his creatures).,~ Jesus is able to submit{ His first profound submissibh in the womb of Mary initiates the patter.n of "nm:row gate" and "doors ,w, ithout signs" that he follows through-out 'his. life. Frbm the early Temple .expe.rience: "And he then~.went down with them . .;.'~and lived under their au, thority" (Mary and,. Joseph.), to Ca~a: "They have no wine" (whe~ he lberforms his first miracle through the intercession Of his mother), thro~ugh .his public, life: "Lord, that I may see~gain" (miracle after miracle upon request), to Calvary:" . ~h et y¯, . ,~,.led him awfiy to crucify, him,'! Jesus fi~lfills~ th6 will of others. Had he .done so out b.f mere fiuman weakness, or .the inability to assert himself and dominate, or through the petty hop~ of gaining prestige and popularity, wealth and'status, his final submission atGolgotha would be but the ~pathetic end,to an :already. doomed demi,gOd. But Jesus submits freely--in total self, surrender--comPletely in control o~ his own life and that of his corn temporaries. Knowingly, willingly, in complete gix;enness, he yields to others. Why? Why such a profound stooping into emptiness, into human obliterr ation, into the undesired door of death to self? "I have come that they may have life and have. it to the full,"-.J'~.sus answers (Jn 10:10). The words are haunting because they imply that fullness of life commensurately grows as we become more liberated and detached for others. If this is the pat-tern for Christ, can it be any,different for his followers? ~ 494 / Review [or Religioux, ~'olume 35, 1976/4 Submission to the Law Jesus also demonstrates throughout his earthly, existence that interior freedom enables one to become so detached from self that adherence to imposed human statutes becomes possible. He is born according to the law of the Scriptures, in fulfillment of the prophetic words and visions trumpeted through the ages of Salvation His-. tory, in complete accordance with all the signs and symbols which mani-fest his coming. And he dies in the same manner, as derided and rejected as Isaiah had seen that he would be, "lifted up" as he himself proclaimed, under Jewish rejection and Roman assent. And situated between those two n~atural, human laws of birth and death remain the countless daily submis-sions to civil and religious law which Christ fully and freely accepts. He announces in the Temple that "this day the Scriptures are fulfilled in your midst" (and in his person) while at the same time having scrupu-lously adhered to the proscribed religious rites. In response to the legalistic baiting by which the Pharisees hop,e to entrap him: "Master, is it permissi-ble for us to pay taxes to Caesar or not?" (Lk 20:22) Jesus judiciously replies: "Give to Caesar the things that are Caesar's; to God the things that are God's," thus delineating the parameters of civil and religious obedience. Ironically, it is his fulfillment of religious law (the feast of the Passover) which brings him to Jerusalem--to Annas, Caiaphas, and Pilate who sen-tence him to death. In the presence of these designated earthly authorities, Jesus, detached, submissive, and free, recalls the only reason for anyone's submission to human law: "You would have no power over me if it had not been given you from above" (Jn 19:11). Knowing this and authorizing it, Christ, freely gives himself over to these misguided, conniving, fearful, self-centered representatives of the Law, who wash their hands of him and conclude that "it is better for one man to die than that the whole nation perish" (Jn ~11:50). Again we are tempted to ask the question "why"--why this submission to human laws and human beings by one who is their Source and Origin? Perhaps the better question would be "how"? How do we become liberated and detached enough to do the same? Submission to the, Transcendent Once again Jesus provides us with the answer: "The world must be brought to know that I love the Father and that I am"doing exactly what the Father told me" (Jn 14:31). In other words, he tells us that we will only be able to submit ourselves to temporal rules and temporal persons if we have first submitted to the Eternal Rule and the Eternal Person: "Love the Lord, your God with your whole heart and soul and mind" (Lk 10:27). Christ did; Totally, constantly, unswervingly, he submitted to his Father: "I come not to do my own will but the will of the one who sent me" (Jn 5:30). And it is this~awareness of the Father's will and the Father's The Fr'eedom and Detachment of Submission / 495 love that is the motivating force of all of Christ's other submissions: "No one has ever seen God; it is the only Son who is nearest to the Father's heart, who has made him known" (Jn 1:18). Christ makes the Father known through his execution of the Father's will In the name of his Father, he cleanses the Tempir, restoring it as a place of worship, proclaiming it his Father's hous~e, and thus establishing, in one dramatic act, the power of his filial submission. In all his conversations with men, Christ consciously mentions the Father. To Nicodemus, he confides the reason that he has been commis-sioned by his Father: "God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not be lost but may have eternal life" (Jn 3: 17). To the Samaritan woman, he outlines the "kind of wor-. shipper the Father wants" (Jn 4:23). To the Jews, he openly acknowledges his dependence on the Father: "The Son can do nothing by himself; he can 0nly do what he sees the Father.doing" (Jn 5:19). And when his disciples ask him to "show us how to pray," .Christ refers them to the Father. Even when he teaches, Christ does so in the name of the Father. And the only authority he possesses for his teaching derives from his submis-sion to the Father: "The works my Father has given me to carry out, these same works of mine testify that the Father hasjsent me" (Jn 5:36); His final great submission to the Father coincides with Christ's final great submission to religious and civil law as dispensed through the hands of his human subjects. In perfect freedom, detachment, and submission, Christ foretells and then completes his passion and death. When you have lifted up the Son of Man, then you will know that I am he and that I do nothing of myself: what the Father has taught me is what I preach; He who sent me is with me, and has not left me to myself, for I always do what pleases him (Jn 8:28-29). Having uttered these profrundly simple words, Jesus stoops through the "narrow gate" of death, passes through the ."door of emptiness, the dorr without a sign, the door without desire"--the Cross. The Father loves me because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me; I lay it down of my own free will, And as it is in my power to lay it down, so it is in my power to take it up again; and this is the command I have been given by my Father (Jn 10:17-18). What liberation and detachment infuse these submissive words! 496 / Review for Religious, Volume 35, 1976/4 The Paradox Merton would be among the first to assent to the paradox inherent in freedom, detachment, and liberation. He states: "Obedience [submission] is, paradoxically, the one guarantee of . . . charismatic, inner liberty" ~Contemplation, p. 34). And Christ himself was the first to demonstrate the paradoxical dimension inherent in following him: "Anyone who loves his life loses it; anyone ~vho hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life" i, Jn 12:25). The choice~is ours to mal~e. Haughey cogently reminds us that b~, our choices we are irrevocably defined (Should Anyone ¯ . . , p. 32). And Christ urgently.prods us to make his own irrevocable ~hoice. ours, when he claims:~ Eternal life is this; to know you, " the only true God ~" ~'~ ~ and Jesus Christ whom you have sent (Jn 17:4). In such knowledge, indeed, resides the foUndatiori arid reward for all the liberation, detachment~ and Submissidn of thepi!grim heart. ~ t'The three doors (they are one door) . .' Christ said: '!~am the door. I am the op~er~ing, the. '.shewing,' the revelation'" (Asian-Journal, pp. 154- 155). "Come follow m6"--through the "narrow gate~" through the "'un-marked, undesired doors;" into thd liberation and detachment of submis-sion- the Chri~tic "vacation" of love. The ,,'Active-Contemplative" Problem in Religious Life David M. Knight Father Knight is a member of the House o! the Lord community which staffs a "house of prayer" established in Memphis under the jurisdiction of Bishop Dozier. His present work is mostly in the. area of priests' retreats and team approaches to parish missions. He has published" before in 6ur page~, his latest title concerning religious government and obe~lience (July, i97]). His address: Nazarettl 'House of the Lord; 1306 Dellwood Ave.; Memphis, TN 38127. Can we still use the terminolbgy: "active-cQntemplative-mixed" to char-acterize religious life today? Aiad if we do use these tdims, ar, e we really using them in the way St. Thomas understood them--a way that carries oo the aut.horit3~ of his own tSrestige? Father Ladislas Orsy, S.J., suggests:that we abandon this terminology with its threefold division 9f religious life:" The arguments against the division are manifold. First,, all religious institutes are called to .be con~templative. Then, there cannot be true apostolic action in the ,full sense without its being rooted in the inspiration and strength of the Spirit which is contemplation." Finoally, tl~e express!on "mixed life" does not make s+nse. Action has to grow fi'om contemplation; they are 6rganically united, not mixed. ¯ . . "~here~'ore, so far as the distinction has a foundation, it must lie in the external way of life of these communities; in the specific approach to the realization of contemplation and action. TO avoid confusion, it might be better to describe this differentiation among religious by spe~king about fully enclosed life. moderately enclosed life, and fully open way of life. (Open to the Spirit, Washington (Corpus Books), 1968, pp. 271-272). 497 4911 / Review for Religious, l/'olume 35, 1976/4 Fathers Thomas M. Gannon, S.J., and George W. Traub, S.J. present St. Thomas's division as a distinction between "the contemplative life, the active life, and the apostolic life" (The Desert and the City, New York: Macmillan, 1969, p. 142). So far as I have been able to discover, St. Thomas does not use the term "apostolic" any more than he uses the term "mixed'" to describe a category of religious life (see George E. Ganss, S.J., " 'Active Life' or 'Contemplative Life'" in REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS 22 (1963) pp. 53-66, esp. p. 61). He teaches that human life in general is divided simply into "active life" and "contemplative life" (Summa Theo-logica, II-II, Q. 179, art. 1) and that, in itself, the contemplative life is "more excellent" than the active (ibid., Q. 182, art. 1). But he adds that a man might be "called away from the contemplative life to the works of the active life on account of some necessity of the present life, yet not so as to be compelled to forsake contemplation altogether. Hence it is clear" that when a person is called from the contemplative to the active life, this is done by way not o] subtraction but o] addition" (ibid., ad 3, emphasis added). There is much evidence in St. Thomas's treatment of this subject to conclude that Thomas would consider all religious as belonging essentially to the category of contemplative life. Some reasons for this are: 1. The religious state is directed to the perfection of charity, which extends to the love of God and of 6ur neighbor (Q. 188, aLt. 2). But to direct one's whole life to growing in loving knowledge of God without which the perfection of charitY is impossible is to embrace the goal of the contemplative life. 2. The active life has two senses for St. Thomas: a) a life directed to the practice of the moral virtues as con-trasted with the theological virtues. The moral virtues (pru-dence, justice, temperance, fortitude) aim at the correctness of man,s external actions toward persons and things in this world (Q. 181, art. 1 and Q. 180, art. 2, Sed contra). The theological virtues (faith, hope, charity)aim at knowledge and love of God himself, as object. It is obvious that no one striving for the "perfection of charity" can make th~ moral virtues the goa.1 of his life. And Thomas teaches explicitly that if a person is practicing the moral virtues in order to arrive at contemplation, he is in the contemplative rather than in the active life (Q. 181, art. 1 and 2). And this is what religious do. b) In a second meaning, the active life is one which is taken up with external activities, such as active works of service to the neighbor. When Thomas argues in favor of this for religious he always seems to be working on the assump-tion that the religious in question is in the contemplative life, The "Active-Contemplative" Problem / 499 but that he accepts to leave contemplation partly or tempo-rarily and add works of the active life "in order that God's will may be done and for His glory's sake" (Q. 182,~ arts. 1 .~ and 2). That he assumes this to be the case when religious engage in active works is indicated by his answer to the question "Whether a religious order should be established for the works of the active life?" One objection against the proposition is that' every religious order belongs to the state of perfection, but the perfection of the religious state consists in the contemplation of divine things (Q. 188, art. 2, obj. 1). Thomas doesn't contradict this. He ~imply answers, "Since religious occupy themselves with' the works of the ' " active life for God's,sake, it follows that their action-results~ ]rom their contemplation o] divine things. Hence, they are not entirely deprived of the fruit of the contemplative life." (Emphasis added.) St. Thomas recognizes; however, that active work may result from contemplation in two ways. It may be that the work results from the full-ness of contemplation. A man contemplates God until"he is filled with a wisdom, an insight into the mind and heart of God, a graced understand-ing of the Scriptures, that overflows his heart and is shared with the neigh-bor 'in preaching or teaching. For St. Thomas, obviously, preaching and teaching are not something°'a .man .is prepared to do by academic study. The intellectual who is not a contemplative cannot teach or preach in St. Thomas's sense of the words, which refer precisely to a sharing with others of the fruits of one's contemplation. The merely academic teacher of theology, the eloquent intellectual in the pulpit, are nothing but sounding brass' and tinkling cymbal; their activity does not even enter into this dis-cussion. There are other works of the active life which do not presuppose the fullness of~contemplation: active works of service for the neighbor, such as taking care of guests, nursing the sick,., and so forth. And yet, if they are engaged in such works out of love for God and a desire to serve him perfectly in his Body on earth, they do proceed at least from a beginning of contemplation; from a prayerful response to the Scriptures. (If, such work should, in any given person, proceed from a merely humanitarian concern for others, it ~would not.be~ a Christian act, and again would not even enter into our discussion here. )" Also, St. Thomas presumes that, in religious, such activity is directed to the end of religious life, which is the '~perfection of charity." And since, as we have seen, this perfection cannot be conceived apart from contemplation which attains God directly in faith, hope and love, we must conclude that this activity, in a religious, is directed to the end of the contemplative life. In other words, a religious engaging in such active labors is; in 'fact, a contemplative.A given religious may not 500 / Review lot Religious, Volume 35, 1976/4 be a contemplative in the sense of having already attained that degree of spiritual deepening and prayer., which enables him or her actually to con-template in the full sense of this word, or to share with others the fruits of contemplative insight into the mysteries of God. But the religious is still a contemplative by reason of the.end to which his or her life is directed. Thus a postulant or candidate in a religious house who has not yet begun to pray seriously, who perhaps has little or no spiritual ~xperience to share with his neighbor~ and who spends his day washing dishes in the kitchen or teaching some secular shbject in a school--that person is, nevertheless, already in the "contemplative life." He is a contemplative in the same sense that a fetus in the womb is a human being: he is not yet sufficiently developed to function fully as a contemplative, but he is already intrinsically ordered, by a free choice of his destiny, to the "perfection of charity," to loving knowledge of God answered by a total gift of oneself. We should also apply to this qtiestion St. Thomas's reasoning about the pursuit of moral virtues belonging to the contemplative rather than to the active life if contemplation is its ultimate end (Q. 181, art. 1 and 2). If a man engages in :active works, but with the intention that through these he will rise to a more and more loving knowledge of God (contempla-,, tion), then this man, too, is inthe contemplative life, although .he.is occu-pied in the ,w~orks of the active life. We should remember here that even a monk in the most enclosed contemplative monastery is still engaged :in the works of the '.'active life"---even though he.is called a contemplative~ so long as he is at that stage of spiritual growth in which his main concern is acquiring moral virtues, and his prayer life is sti'il on the level of active meditation, spiritual reading, and such (see John of the Cross, Ascent of Mount Carmel, Book II, ch. 17, par. 4). To be engaged in the "works of~ the active life" not only means doing what we popularly refer to as "active work"--teaching, nursing, repairing houses, keeping books, etc. In its most fundamental sense this expression means actively using one's human powers to bring about, a change, whether in oneself or in outside reality, whether one does this through carpentry or through meditation on the. gospels. Contemplation, on the other hand, is resting in what one has~ already learned, already come to love, letting oneself be transformed without labor (not without pain) into what one sees. Where meditation is studying,~,think-ing, deciding, contemplation is looking, listening, loving. Thus we conclude that religious, even though entirely taken up with° external activity, truly belong in the category of "coritemplative life" so long as their works-- whether of moral virtue or of service to others--are not, for them, ter-minal activities in themselves, but means to arrive at a more loving knowP-edge of and union with God. As St. Thomas puts it: "When a man makes use of~ things pertaining to the active life, merely as dispositions to con-templation, such things are comprised under theocontemplative life" (Q. 181, art. 1; and see Q. 180, art. 4). We might have to. question ~ind The "Activ~e-Contemplative'" Problem / 501 qualify the word "merely" in this sentence, but the main point is clear: so long as a religious is aiming at the perfection of faith, hope and love, which is inseparable from contemplation, he is in the "contemplative Aife." What we call. the "active life" for religious, then, is one of two things: first, it~might be an overflow of contemplation. This might take the form of an overflow of love as well as of knowledge. That is, it might take the form,~not just of preaching and teaching, the two examples St. Thomas gives, but of heroic service in nursing, counseling, social action, or the like. In this first sense, then, a religious might be an "active" contemplative through any form of activity which is, .in this individual, so impregnated with grace and love that it~ results, in the given case~ from the "fullness of contemplation." In a second sense, the "works of the actiVe, life" might be a stage of growth toward contemplation--not towa~:d spending long hours in formal prayer, necessarily, but toward habitual contemplation, toward such intimacy with God in faith, hope and love, that° one is always, in a sense, seeing the face of God, and reflecting it (see Q. 182, art. 3). In the words of Gannon and Traub (The Desert and the City, p, 148), ¯ . . In Thomas' understanding as well as in the usage of other ascetical writer~ ~ ofthe time, the active life and the contemplative life designate successive but interacting stages of growth.ifi the interiorqife of a Christian' seeking "spiritual .growth, whether he be a religious or a layman. The active life is the earlier , stage where, seriously 'beginning his pursuit of living spiritually, he struggles ~ against sin and imperfections in himself and both learns and practices the moral virtues and the exterior acts @hich spring from them. Activity thus comprises the'Ltwo stages of spiritual growth which were later named "~he pur- ~. ~gative way of the beginners" and "the illuminative way of th6 advancing:" The :contemplative life, on the other hand, is a higher stage where the Chris, , tian practices c,.hiefly the theological virtues, especially charity, and under its inspiration works of love that witness to it. Among these manifestations of charity one often finds a growing desire to withdraw into solitude in order to achieve undistracted contemplation of God°. We are now better able to understand St. Thomas's comparison of the three kinds of religious orders. (Q. 188, art. 6): .° . The work of the'~active life (that is, the work that religious can do) is of two kinds. One proceeds from the fulness of contemplation, such as teaching and preaching . And this work is more excellent than simple contempla, tion. For even .as it is better to enlighten than merely to shine, so it is better to give to others the fruit of one's contemplation than merely to Contem-plate. The other work of the active life consists entirely in. outward occupa-tion, for instance, almsgiving, receiving guests, aiad the like, Which are less excellent than the works of contemplation, except in cases of necessity, as stated above.'. Accordingly, the highest place in religious orders is held by those which are, directed to teaching and preaching . The second place belongs to those Which are directed 10 contemplation, and the third to those which are occupied ~vith external acii0ns. J Tl~e lowest 'place among religious orders is held by those "which are 502 / Review ]or Religious, Volume 35, 1976/4 occupied with external actions." Understand here that these actions are not such that they must proceed from the "fullness of contemplation," such as authentic--that is, spiritually effective--preaching and theological teach-ing must be, but actions which achieve their proper end equally well whether the one performing them is a beginner in the spiritual life or a mystic. A candidate of one day in a religious order, if she is a skilled nurse, can nurse as well as another who has twenty years of contemplative prayer behind her. However, we must also understand that these actions can pro-ceed from the fullness of contemplation, in which case more will be taking place than just the action itself. A nurse who is a mystic will communicate the love of God, to her patient as well as she communica'tes all the human concern implied in good nursing care. If a given religibus order is set up in such a way that it effectively fosters in the members a contemplative spirit that will make all the external actions come from the fullness of con-templation, then that order belongs in the first, and highest, category .of religious ordersEnot in the third one. Likewise, an order established for teaching and preaching, if it is no longer such that it effectively fosters contemplation in the members, does not belong in the first category of religious life, but in this third, and lowest one. What we call here an "ac-tive" order, then, is one which is basically in the contemplative life, because it has loving knowledge of God as its end, but which is not really organized to produce this loving knowledge of God very effectively. An individual religious here and there might attain it, but the order as such does not concentrate on the attainment of. contemplative union with God, but just on the active work to be done. In such an order contemplative union with God will not be excluded as an end, of course; in fact, it will be specifically proposed (in words) as an end, and there will even be some prayer, or other spiritual exercises, prescribed or suggested to help the members attain union with God. But it will be obvious from the real structures and policies of the community that what the order as such is bent on is active service, with or without much progress in loving knowledge of God. If the com-munity's particular mixture--harmony, balance, formula--of prayer and service are such that they do, in fact, lead one to ri~e through the active stage of growth (active methods of prayer and emphasis on moral virtues as well as active service) to the loving knowledge of God that belongs to developed faith, hope and love, i.e. to the plane of developed contempla-tive life, then in that measure the order does not. belong in this third category of "active" .religious c6mmunities. We might ask here whether any "active" orders as we have just de-scribed them really exist. Here we have to distinguish between existing in ]act or existing juridically; i.e., existing as active orders because they have degenerated into mere service organizations or because that is what they were founded and accepted by the Church to be. ~It may be that in ]act, the majority of the orders we call "active" in the popular sense today The "'Active-Contemplative" Problem / 503 (meaning not strictly contemplative) have become ~tctive as described above. Juridically, however, many, perhaps most, were not founded to be this, as is clear in the history and constitutions of such communities as the Jesuits, Franciscans, Dominicans, and so forth. If, though, there are orders actually founded to be active in the sense we have described, then they were probably founded on a double principle of practical realism: first, some active task had to be performed, and dedicated hands were needed to perform it. Secondly, it was assumed that the persons who would be called to such a life would not be, as a general rule, apt material for a way of life that aimed at much more than solid moral virtue and a sound, con-sistent piety that kept one living and functioning as a dependable worker in the vineyard of the Lord. God might, of course, raise one to the highest contemplation and mysticism in such a way of life; but the life as such did not presume to aim so high. Let us be frank in admitting the possibility of a certain class distinction in this. Just as St. Ignatius hesitates to give to rudes (the crude, uninstructed, ignorant) more than the "First Week" of the SpiritualExercises (namely, the part that aims at conversion from, sin and systematic practice of the moral virtues: see Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius Loyola, Annotation 18: Louis J. Puhl, editor, Loyola Uni-versity Press, Chicago, 1951, pp. 7-8) so the founders of some religious communities seem to have assumed that their recruits would be mostly uneducated peasant girls, whose interior life would be adequately nourished by a few simple exercises of piety and a strongly structured community life. I do not know if this was the case, any more than I know if any "ac-tive, .order as we have described it was ever approved or founded to be such in the Church. But if such an order exists, it is easy to see why St. Thomas would give it the lowest place in his hierarchy of religious com-munities. It is also easy to see why the Church so ~asily grants permission to transfer from an active order to a contemplative order, if even part of the description of active orders as we have presented it above should be true. The second place on the scale of religious orders belongs to those "which are directed to contemplation." Since all orders are ordered to con-templation indirectly, at .least, this category obviously applies to those orders which occupy themselves primarily and directly in-exercises which by their very nature tend to foster contemplative prayer. We must recall that many of these exercises may belong, of themselves, to the "active life"; the practice of moral virtue, active methods of meditation and prayer, etc. To be a member of a contemplative order does not mean that one has already attained to contemplative prayer, or that one's life is actually char-acterized by a deep and habitual awareness of God in faith, hope and love. But it means that one's life is organized directly to foster this spiritual growth. Obviously this is a "higher" form of religious life than the active life described above. It is not yet the highest form of religious life, in St. 504 / Review [or Religious, Volume 35, 1976/4 Thomas's opinion, 'becausethe aim of the community is just the interior development°of its own members., The community is like a tree whose energies are all bent towards growth, but which is not yet mature enough~ to produce fruit. It,is better to aim at full developme]at than to be content with giving lesser fruit on a lower level, A developing fruit tree is a "higher" form of life than" a bush already serving to prevent erosion. So the orders we call "contemplative" are in themselves on a higher,plane than those we have described ~here as "active." The contemplative at least aims directly at~ spiritual growth towards contemplation, while the active qife seems to be designed for beginners who are going to remain on a non-contemplative plane of spiritual activity. St. Thomas assigns the "highest place" among religious orders to those "which are directed to teaching and preaching,"' but with the understand-ing that "preaching and teaching" presuppose contemplation: that what is preached'and taught is precisely the fruit of a contemplative life. He is not referring to those who teach secular subjects, or even to those who teach academic theology unless what they teach proceeds from the fullness of their contemplative prayer. We might add to St. Thomas's teaching' here-and pr~opose that "teaching and preaching" as the fruit of contemplation might be equally the work of a cloistered, contemplative commianity or of a community of Social activists busily reforming social structures in the political ~arena. What is r~quired for ,"teaching °and preaching" is not presence in the classroom or pulpit, but simply the fact ,of communicating to others the truth of God as this proceeds from that loving sureness of vision 'which is a mark of authentic contemplative prayer, It may well be that in" our day no teaching and preaching are more eloquent, or more needed, than the silent, inescapable witness of the,,monasie~ on the moun-tain top. Still another way to teach and preach has been brought very much before.~our consciousness these days. The Synod of Bishops, 41974, spoke of the "intimate connection" between the Church's work and concern for social justice and her task of evangelization. An earlier synod, 1971, went so far as to say that "action on behalf of justice and participation, in the transformation of the world fully appear to us as a constitutive dimension of the preaching of the Gospel." (Both texts available from U.S. Catholic Conference,Publications Office, passages cited fr6m p. 1'8 and p. 34, respectively.) By0 this principle any"outward occupation, even the very active one of political struggle for social justice, is. a form of Christian teaching and preaching--and 'in the sense that St. Thomas. uses the terms --provided that it truly proceeds from the fullness of contemplation and is done in such a way that what clearly appears to the world is the truth 'of Christ's own mind and heart~ embodied in unambiguous action. St. Thomas's argument for this hierarchy of religious orders is based on' two principles. The first concerns the value of the end that is aimed at; the second concerns the effectiveness of the means employed, to achieve The !'Active-Contemplative" Problem / 505 the end. Orders which share the r+sults of their contemplation with others are more excellent than those whic~h just, contemplate, because these orders aim at the end of all religious life, the perfection of charity, in a way that includes more of the end, more of[the good that "charity" embraces. They organize their lives in a way design,'ed both to bring them to a more loving knowledge of God,in contemplati,~n, and to be of service in love to the neighbor (Q. 188, art. 6). Remember that, as we have explained this, any .I religious order, from the most clo~.stered contemplatives to the most active workers in the Church, can belon~g to this third and highest category of rehg~ous life provided that the commumty truly has a. formula for living that combines prayer and service in such a way that the community "speaks" to the Church out of tl~e fullness of contemplative insight into God. The superiority of such an order is based on the fact that the end to which it is directly ordered includes, both the good of contemplation and the good ,of active service to the! neighbor. It is obviously this kind of community St. Thomas has in mi~d when he argues that a religious order i . can be founded for works of the acuve life because their activity "results from the contemplation of divine ihings" (Q. 188, art. 2) and that~ a per-son who is in the contemplative life can .be called away from exercises of contemplation to works of the active life without losing anything bec~ause his engagement in active works is idone "by way not of subtraction but of addition" (Q. 182, art. 1 ). In suctl a case one does not forsake contempla- . tion entirely, but only partly or te~mporardy in order to add works of the active life (ibid. and art. 2). Thus such a community is "better" because "its end is a greater good." I Hence a religious order is preferable to another if it be directed to an end that is abso.lutely more excellent eit,her because it is directed to a greater goo~!,~ or. to more goods (A. 188, art. 6). This is the first principle by ~vhich St. Thomas rates religi6us orders, the principle that looks to the goo~d or end they are directly structu.red to attain. The second principle looks ito the suitability of the means emplpyed to achieve the end: !. If, however, the end be the same, 'ithe excellence of one religious order over another depends secondarily, not o~ the amount of exercise, but on the pro-portion of the exercise to the end in view. Wherefore, in the Conferences of The Fathers (Coll. ji, 2), Blessed Anthony is quoted~.as preferring discretion, wherebY, a man moderates all his at c¯ tions, to fastings, watchings, and all such observances ( ibid). I In evaluating a religious community we should look to its structures. The question is not really how austere the community is, or how strict its life appears to be. Nor is the question how human the community is, or how free its members, seem to be. The real question is: how well are its structures adapted to helping the members attain the goal of religious lile? 506 / Review Jor Religious, Volume 35, 1976/4 A tight ~community is no better than a loose one--and no worse. Whatever leads persons to the perfection of charity--towards God and neighborm is the ideal of religious community policy. St. Thomas warns that a religious order is not better because it has more penitential practices than another, more prayer than another. But in our day we may be failing into the same error he warns against under a different form. In our reaction against some of the rigidities and distorted practices of the past, we have perhaps apotheosized another set of values, made idols out of some other very particular and limited ideals. We have refocused our attention on-freedom and personalism, discernment and dialogue, community life and social involvement. And because these values are good,~we are under the illusion that in pursuing them we are renewing religious life. The truth of the matter is that religious life is not renewed by .any community exercise as such, whether it be dialoguing or taking the dis-cipline together. Religious life is renewed by discovering, in prayer and surrender to the Holy Spirit, an integral and harmonious set of structures that correspond to the complete goal of the community. If growth in con-templation, for example, understood as loving knowledge of God, is an integral part of the community's aim in life, then the community must in-corporate into its life-style specific and effective structures that really promote this growth. To affirm the ideal in words in the Constitutions is not enough. Communities should be evaluated, not by the orthodoxy of their statements, but by the effectiveness of their structures. What a com-munity really is should be judged, not by the goals it proposes to itself, but by the means it is willing to commit itself to in order to achieve these goals: and commit itself to realistically by building them into its life-style. We might ask what point there is in comparing religious orders. After all, the "best" order for any individual is the one which is most suited to his own temperament, stage of growth, and particular call from God. What point is there in comparing'religious orders in the abstract? I think that the precise point of all this is that the three categories we find in St. Thomas are not meant to be--or at least cannot be taken today to refer to---three different patterns for authentic life. We are not really offered three different choices of what a religious order can aim at. I believe that in St. Thomas's sense every religious order must be founded for "~teaching and preaching" if it is to be Christian. For the teaching and preaching that we intend here is nothing more specific or less spiritually profound than Christian witness. A religious vocation is a gift from God. But it ig a gift like those St. Paul speaks of in 1 .Corinthians, chapters 11- 14: manifestations of the Spirit given for the common good. A purely active religious order that really did not provide within the structures and policies of its communal living, means effectively to promote spiritual growth--growth towards deeper and deeper contemplation (under- The "Active,Contemplative" Problem / 507 stood not as longer hours of forma!, contemplative prayer, but as an ever more constant loving awareness of God and of all other things in the authenticity of their being as relation to God) would hardly be a legitimate form of life in the Church. At the most it would be legitimate as a com-munity that understood and accepted itself, with frank humility, as a com-munity for persons incapable of ~rogressing beyond the level of moral virtue in the spiritual life. But can.[we believe that any such category ac-tually exists? And would such a community really be viable? Would its apostolate really be valid? Yet I think we have around us in the present day examples of communities which have become in fact, if not in desire, purely "active" communities. The level of prayer is very low. Deep under-standing of the life of grace is praciically non-existent. This is not in every individual, of course, but it is embodied in the communal expression of the community as a whole. In these, communities does an authentic "apos-tolate" really exist? We may run sc,hools or hospitals, may engage in social service or social action with enthusiasm, and labor to the point of exhaus-tion. But by our fruits we must be judged. Are our schools producing peo-ple who have been touched by an ,encounter with Jesus Christ as a person --real in himself and active in his ,Body on earth today? Are our hospitals symbols and witnesses to the whol~ world of Christ's healing concern for the poor, the suffering, the afflict~ed? Is our reform of social structures permeated with the spirit of the beatitudes. Where the labor and service of an "active" order does not reail3} "teach and preach" the truth of Christ and the gospel, is that labor reall~ an apostolate? And can one's activity express the truth of the gospel if it! does not rise from a loving con.templa-tion of that truth within one's own!, heart,° a contemplation that makes one alike in one's being to, what one sees? Let us suppose, on the other h~nd, a more contemplative order, either a cloistered community or a veryI explicitly prayerful, active commumty. And let .us. suppose that it is so turned in-on itself, so defensive against all that is going on in the Church, sd protective of its own traditional struc-tures in their last, rigid detail, thatlthe community as a whole is not a wit-ness to anyone in the Church. Or w.orse: let us say the community ',speaks" to a diehard minority of crustacean Catholics who are clamped like barnacles onto anything in the ChUrch that~has the appearance of a rock. Suppose the community really exists to encourage a faction in the Church to believe, in opposition to the main body of the hierarchy, that Vatican II is only a passing wave:~that will soon get over us, leaving things exactly as they were before? It would be hard to accredit such a community as truly contemplative, of course, no matter how much time they spent in silence and stances of prayer. But one clear reason why the community would be invalid even as a contemplative community is that the com-munity would have no truly apostohc d~mens~on. They would not .be preaching and teaching--not in ~the name of the Church and for the 508 / Review lor Religious, Volume 35, 1976/4 Church--but in the name of a factional spirit that is resisting the life of the People of God. Sucti communities are teaching a spiritual archeology and calling it biology:' holding up fossils to the world as the living Body of Christ. Let us suppose another.contemplative order, one still in its beginning stages. Let us say it is set up to be ~a community of solitaries. In its first efforts to really achieve solitude and a true spirit of prayer this community may have to defend itself to some extent even from contacts with the main body .of the Church. "It may ~have to. withdraw far into' the wilderness, far from the paths of men, and jealously guard its privacy for a while. To this extent it'can appear, momentarily at least, as a "counterwitness" to the ~solidarity of the whole Church's sharing in the charismatic .gifts of ~every member and group. But soon, if the community's charism is authentic, the flow of life back into the Church in the form of "teaching and preach-in~" .must begin anew. The monastery will begin to shine as a 4ight in the world--and most visibly to. the Church--through its manner of life and prayer. More than lik.ely pilgrims and pray~ers will begin to come, and they will be welcomed in the spirit of open faith traditional to monastic communities: a spirit of hospitality which receives each guest as possibly sent from God to receive or to give a blessing only God foresees in its details. On a level that is deeper yet than hospitality, and theologically more fundamental, the community must always understand itself, very con-sciously, as called and gifted for the benefit of the whole Church: The community must be aware of, and concerned about, what its life is "saying" to the Church, and what the Church's life is saying to it: how its self-understanding matches and fits into the ~ Church's contemporary under-standing of herself. The enclosed life must not" be a seIJ-enclosed life. There is no self-enclosed life in the living Church, the organically-inter-dependent mystical Body .of Christ. The reactionary community, be it monastic or non-monastic, is a non-apostolic community. Whether it spends twenty-four hours a day behind monastic wails or eighteen hours a day exhausting itself in the inner city, the community that has ceased to inter, act vitallywith tile Church is a non-apostolic community. How can a group that has sealed itself off from the Church's life claim in spite of this to be "sent" by the Church or to the Church? It is not possible, therefore, for a contemplative (or any other kind of) community to be authentically Christian. if it opts 'to live solely in its own little ~world of private tradi-tions, and practices, oblivious to all that is taking place in the life of the worldand the Church around it. To be truly contemplative, 'then, is to be apostolic by that very fact. And to be authentically ~apostolic one must be contemplative. And to be either, or both, in .the Church one must be in vital, responsive contact with. the. rest of the Body of Christ on earth. This contact crosses denominational The "~4ctive-Contemplative~' Problem. / 509 . lines: an authentically prayerful com, munlty of Protestant Christians (Taiz6, for example) speaks very eloquent!y to Catholics, and vice-versa. But a community that has set itself up as[ a standard for the Church, in opposi, tion to the movement of the Holy Spirit in the Church, speaks to no one. If the community is factional in a ]reactionary sense, clinging, to the past while the (~hurch moves into the future with God, its teaching becomes a "spiritual necrophilia," a fascinatioo with what is dead and controllable, based on fear of responsible encouhter with the Living God. °If the com-munity is factional in a progressive '~ sense, caught up in the .current of this world:rather than moved by the v~inds of the Spirit, then its teaching is idolatry: 'it receives man-made images from the pagans, or shapes them: from its contemplation of the worla, and presents them to the People of God as a ~graven image, a reflectioh of man's own contemporary face, to Worship as the new face of God. What, then, should We say in conclusion about the traditional threefold division of religious orders into "active," "contemplative" and "mixed"? First we should recognize that the word "mixed" may not legitimately claim a place in our tradition aldngside the categories of "active" and "contemplative." To describe the th'ird category as !'apostolic" rather than mixed (as G;innon arid Traub do) is misleading,~ because it implies that' the other, two categories, are non-i~postolic. This could be justified,° per-haps, if we_use "apostolic" t,o :refer~ in a very strict sense to precisely the kind of life the twelve Apostles' le, d,.as Father Orsy does (Open to the Spirit, pp. 273ff.). But', this is not thee meaning the word "apostolic" evokes when we ,:use it. In current usage~ "apostolic" means bringing grace to others as Christ's instrument, contributing by~(~ne's life' to the redemptive work, of the Church. Father Orsy"p0ints out this distinction very succifctly when .'he~ Says of rehg~ous, All are ,apostles but not all apostles follow the~ apostles', way of iife" (ibid.):ii, St. Thomas seems to recognizeIonly two categories of life for human beings, the contemplative and the active. He seems to assume that all re-ligious are in the contemplative li~fe by °virtue of the fact that they are striving for the "perfection of charit:y," which cannot be conceived of apart from that loving knowledge ~of God which is c'ontem~lation. Likewise all religious must be apostolic, 'became love of neighbor is included in the perfection of charity., . In the organization; the~structufing of religious life, however, one com-munity differs from another. Some ~ommunities organize their lives almost entirely toward actiVe works of sergice: Contemplation is still a recognized goal (asit is of every fully Christian life), but the community as such does not directly aim at it in any signifidant way through communal policies or structures. So far as the communl!y as a whole is concerned, its visible stance, embodied in structures, points it: only toward active service, and toward the active stage of spiritual "growth. Spiritually the community is 510 / Review [or Religious, Volume 35, 1976/4 geared to the level of moral virtue. Each member is expected to labor generously in the vineyard of the Lord, and to live peacefully and coopera-tively in community. The vows as such are not stressed except as a basic and not particularly elevated platform on which to live and work. Mem-bers are called upon to live celibately and purely, to make simplicity and sharing the characteristics of their relationship to material things, and to subordinate personal preferences to the decisions and goals of the com-munity where the common good requires this. This life of "reasonable service" is nourished by workshops, discus-sions, and reading; by some sustaining prayer, and methods of personal and communal evaluation and accountability. Good liturgies and theological input are welcomed where available. Spiritual direction is encouraged for those who feel the need of it and can find a director. Everyone is expected to find time to make an annual retreat of five to eight days, and allowed to make it usually, on whatever level of depth the individual desires. If a person lives a morally virtuous life within this framework, causes no trouble in community, and does his or her work well, the community will ask nothing more: This describes the kind of religious community we have called "single-mindedly active," and it may correspond to the reality St. Thomas defines in his comparison of religious orders as a community "occupied with external actions." There is a direct concern for the spiritual life in these communities, but the level of spiritual life aimed at is that which will sustain the members in their active work for the Church and in their inter-action with one another in community life. For anything beyond this the individual must seek means and support on his own. Other communities are singlemindedly contemplative. They embrace structures and organize their lives in such a way that the way of life itself is a constant impetus toward growth in specifically Christian faith, hope and love. In these communities the life is so designed that anyone who is simply leading a life, of good moral virtue and pei'forming well in com-munity and in his work will have it brought home to him with increasing conviction that he is nothing but a "useless servant" (Lk 17:10). The whole manner of ~living is specifically designed not to. make sense except as an expression of the mystery of Christian. faith. And therefore a person must be constantly aware of this mystery to find the life even bearable. The key here is not austerity as such, but simply the absence of any rea-son within this world for living as one does. This "faith or foolishness" quality, stands out with dramatic clarity in the cloistered contemplative life, where not even work can be used as a justification for the way one lives. The active religious might be able to tell himself in moments of waver-ing faith that even if there is no God it is worth the sacrifice of family and possessions just to devote oneself to one's fellow man in his poverty, his sickness, his ignorance. It is certain that many active religious and priests The "~4ctive-Contemplative" Problem / 511 pour themselves out in work in order not to have to face the deeper ques-tions of their relationship to God in fi~ith. It is more difficult for the cloist6red contemplative to do this. He ~ight try, but everything in the life-style he is submerged in will cry out to him what he is doing. The cloistered orders give a place to prayer that is obviously not intended just to support a life of moral virtue or keep people generous in their work. The poverty, pursued by these communities is, as a rule, a level of deliberately-sougllt deprivation not imposed by circum-stances or embraced just out of a s~nse of solidarity with the poor, a style ~of life designed to be congruous. Religious obedience is recognized, not just as a means to harmonious, cooperative living, but as a form of kenosis and a way of surrendering to the Holy Spirit in the Mystical Body of Christ. And the structures of com-munity life embody this understanding of religious obedience and of the government that corresponds to it. ~Within such a context celibacy is both understood and expressed as a poSitive way of relating to God through Christ in a relationship of growing lintimacy, mutual comprehension--and gift, ' Communities designed to express and to lead to' the fullness of Chris-tian knowledge and love of God and of all other things in the light of God are obviously, in St. Thomas' opinion, preferable in themselves to communities that do not aim at this. If it came to a choice between one or. the other--an either-or alternatave Thomas would say the second kind of community is the better choice in itself. It is better, in the abstract, to be a singieminded contemplativ~ than to be singiemindedly active. It might be, however, that for a givenl individual, or in a given set of circum-stances~ it would be a better thing in the concrete case tO choose the more active form of life. But are we really faced, in theory at least, with an either/or alterna-tive. Granted that the choice betw,een an enclosed, a cloistered life and a non-enclosed life is an either/or alternative. Granted again that the choice between a life of solitude and continuous contemplation in the sense of an undistracted intellectual preoccupation with God is an either/or alternative to a life of active, absorbing labor.' Still, "actively' and "contemplative" do not have to be either/or alternatives. Contemplation need not be restricted in its meaning to the absorption of the intellect in God during periods of formal prayer, Contemplation can be, and ought to be, a total and con-tinuous attitude of mind and heart; an ~rientation toward God and an awareness of relationship with God in all that one does and encounters (see Gannon and Traub's seventh ]chapter, "Finding God in AllThings," op. cit., p. 152ff.). This awarenes~l of God in all things is fostered both by periods of formal prayer (experience teaches that. these are normally indispensable) and by a total life~-style that expresses emphatically and 512 / Review for Religious, l/olume 35, 1976/4 unambiguously the faith, hope and love of which one wishes to remain aware. For St. Ignatius of Loyola the key to continuous contemplation is an ever-growing abnegation of self and a continuous stance of renunciation towards this world embodied in concrete choice (see Gannon and Traub, op. cit., chapters seven and eight: "Finding God in All Things" and "The Logic of Christian Discernment," esp. pp. 158- 172). For St. Thomas Aquinas the choice presented by the active and con-templative life-options is not an either/or choice but a triple one: either the active life, or the contemplative life, or both. In the third option one chooses to live in a way that leads to contemplation and in additio.n to this to share with one's neighbor i.n service the results of one's contemplative life. It may be--this We neither defend or dispute--that St. Thomas made too much of a distinction between contemplation and action, conceiving of contemplation too narrowly in terms' of an explicitly intellectual absorp-tion in formal prayer. It may also be, as I believe the case, that he did not understand, or at least develop, how many kinds of activity could be included under the term "teaching and preaching" that for him designates the kind,.of work in which th~ fruits of contemplation are shared. But if we follow the principles of St. Thomas's doctrine, I believe we arrive at an ideal of, religious life towardwhich every community can aim. This is re-ligious life characterized by a double end: that of growing explicitly in loving knowledge of God in faith, hope, and love while explicitly ordering one,s life to the spiritual benefit of the neighbor. Such a life must not only be explicit about its end. It must also incorporate effective means to produce the contemplative spirit and apostolic effectiveness sought. In the measure that a given form of religious living really does produce contemplative peo-ple and really does "speak" to the Church in a solid and effective way, that life corresponds to St. Thomas's ideal. This ideal of St. Thomas~was expressed in,Vatican Council II as the ideal, not of one particular category of religious order, but of religious life itself: ", ¯ . . As they seek God before all things and only Him, the members of each community should combine, contemplation with apostolic love. By the former they adhere to God in mind and heart; by the latter they strive to associate themselves with the work of redemption and to spread the Kingdom of God. (Decree on the Renewal o] Religious Li]e, part 5, Abbott p. 47~0. See also Orsy, op. cit., chapter seven, "Filled with Grace and Power: Contemplation," esp. pp. 209, 254). The "mixed" life, in other words, is not really an option in religious life:if we use the term in the sense developed here, it has tobe an aim. To'~be practical we should suggest in conclusion that every religious take a good, hard look at.the concrete reality of his or her community's life. What concrete structures, policies, activities, or provisions: of com- The "Active-Contemplative" Problem / 513 munity life are specifically designed ~to foster the contemplative spirit? How effective are they? What real priod~ty are they given in the actual life of the community? How much do they influence community decisions? In what visible ways do they determiqe the community life-~style. Secondly, what is the life of the community saying to the Church? What are the real effects of the c~mmunity's work? What are the fruits of its apostolate? Is the communityiin reality working for the Kingdom of God, or just working and offering ~hat work in some general way for the Kingdom .of God? Is the .community corporately ~fiware of the difference between a life of moral virtue and a life of theolbgical virtue? Is there an insistence, in visible, concrete ways, that each member keep growing to the level of perfect faith, hope, and love? Or d~es the community in its actual policies insist only on a good day's work and a cooperative spirit in community? To be a "good religious," an acceptable member of the community, how much contemplative spirit is required? Are prudence,~justice, temperan.ce, and fortitude enough? o. ~ It is certainly legitimate for an individual to live the "active" life during certain periods of his spiritual growth. But this is only legitimate if th~ active life is seen as a phase of growth ordered toward achieving contem-plation. Or the active life can be added to the contemplative as a way of sharing its fruits with others. But ithe active life as such cannot be the final goal or total plan of any serious;Christian's life. What is legitimate for individual~ is legitimate for communities. That is, a community can structure its corp9rate; its communal life to be "active" for some members or for a certain~ time. But this is legitimate only if the community situates its active life-s~tyle within the broader context of an identifiably contemplative life-style~. The community must .be able to identify the explicit elements in its overall style of living--its structures and policies--that present the contemplative life to its members and foster its growth. The community must be able to show that it is concretely geared --and not just abstractly committed~to bring its members to the "per-fection of charity," the fullness of the loving knowledge of God. If a community is not willing or able to do this, it should take the responsibility of redefining itself. It should present itself to its members and to the ~world as a singlemin~ledly "active" community, a "service orgamzatlon in the Church. This ,;vould be,' in St. Thomas's explanation, a third class religious order. A second-class religious order ~would be one that is committed and geared toward achieving contemplation, but which frankly acknowledges that it is not strong enough in itsl contemplative life to take on an ex-plicitly apostolic dimension. By "apostolic dimension" I do not mean, of course, just active work. A comm.hnity of solitaries strictly cloistered in the desert can have a fully-developed apostolic dimension. By "apostolic 514 / Review ]or Religious, Volume 35, 1976/4 dimension" I mean an explicit concern about what one's life is "saying" to the Church. (This is, I believe, a legitimate interpretation of what St. Thomas means by "teaching and preaching.") Any community can put this concern aside temporarily. A novitiate house, for example, or a new religious older in its first beginnings; might have to forget for a while about what it is saying to the Church in order to concentrate exclusively on what God is saying to it. But a community which did not see itself as ever having any concern~except the growth and sanctification of its own members would have to acknowledge itself as a second-class religious order--a sort of spiritual hospital for people who are never expected to become strong enough to share the burden of the Church's mission. I seriously question whether either of' these first two choices~ are legitimate options in religious life. If religious life (like every,.valid Christian life) has the per[ection of charity as its goal, it seems a contradiction in terms that one would accept to be a second- or third-class religious. Realistically, I think ,the value of St. Thomas's distinctions lies in the help they give us in recognizing situations that ought to be temporary in the life of religious communities; situations we might be tempted to accept as permanent. We have mentioned a legitimately' exclusive preoccupation with one's own spiritual growth, provided it is temporary. We see in the life of the active orders around us a-similar preoccupation at this moment in history, but which might not be recognized for what it is. After Vatican II, when religious renewal began in a massive way, one religious com-munity after another awoke to the distortions that had crept into our understanding of religious life. We realized that in our efforts to become spiritual we had lost s~ight of ,what it was to be human. Words like "ful-fillment" and "interpersonal relationships" began to punctuate our con-versations. We threw ourselves into the rediscovery of our emotional and affective lives. We made acceptance of ourselves h religious goal, and embraced as a duty the grateful enjoyment of this world as God's gift. Words like "renunciation" and "abnegation" became "trigger" words, sym-bols of a repressive' and distorted spirituality that blanketed human values and suffocated human personality under an all-covering mystique of self-sacrifice. Religious began to pursue courses and workshopg for their own intellectual and psychological development. Individuals began to take responsibility for their own decisions and to speak up like adults in com-munity discussions. We went in for group decision-making and discern-ment. The emphasis was placed on personal responsibility. Bells were abolished, the time and place for prayer left up to each individual. Supe-riors were abolished, too, in many cases and group accountability substi-tuted for personal, spiritual ,government. People began to furnish their rooms in ways that expressed acceptance of the world rather than austerity. Convents went in for bright curtains, pink bed spreads and teddy bears. A rich variety of food and drink became available twenty-four hours' a day. The "Acttve-Contemplative" Problem / 515 Smoking and drinking ceased to be tabu to nuns. The ancient practice of the "peculium" so constantly condemned in religious tradition, came back in the form of personal budgets. Nuns and priests started dressing to ex-press their individual personalities as well as their maleness or their womanhood. Sisters experienced what it was to "feel like a woman again," for better or for worse. Priests and seminarians fell in love with sisters,~ and sisters fell in love with them. Some left religious life and got married. Those who remained began to speculate on the "complementarity of tlie sexes," and to ask how one's human sexuality could be integrated into a celibate life without compromise to chastity. Experiments were acted out, mistakes were made. Growth resulted, tragedy resulted; there was good and evil! In all of this there has been in religious community life an absorbing corporate preoccupation with "self." Religious communities have turned their gaze inwards, trying to straighten out their own house. For the time beirig many communities have become more concerned with what religious life is saying to them than they are with what their religious life is saying to the Church. In many specific instances, communities have defied alike the prejudices of the laity and the precepts of Rome. In their intense ef-fort to listen authentically to what God is saying to them, it would seem that some religious have become less attentive to the voice of the wider Church, whether this comes from the ranks of the People of God or from the official representatives of that People. A temporary preoccupation with self is legitimate and good, even on the community level. But no real discernment.or renewal of religious life can take place in the long run in isolation from the People of God. Re-ligious cannot ignore what their life is saying to the rest of the Church. As long as a community is doing this, or has to do it, it is engaged more in spiritual therapy for its own members than in making its contribution to God's people. It may well be that for a certain time a religious community may have to direct all its efforts toward "becoming human." Perhaps the human values of responsibility, affectivity, self-acceptance, and interper-sonal relationship have been lost through a distorted way of living in the past. These values may have to be recovered. But if a religious community accepts as its permanent goal in life, and as its normal guideline for community policy, the ideal of "becoming human," that community must inquire into its place in the overall community Of the People of God. So long as a community is mainly preoccupied with the healing of its own self-inflicted wounds it falls, I believe, into St. Thomas's second cate-gory of religious life. Whether the community is exclusively preoccupied with becoming divine through contemplation, or with becoming human through sensitivity sessions and the use of creatures that reinforce people's sense of personal ~worth, it is not yet strong and mature enough to share with others the fruits of a healthy and developed spiritual life. We should 516 / Review for Religious, Volume 35, 1976/4 recognize this and make sure that we do not accept a temporary, therapeu-tic situation as normal policy for religious life. We can set up spiritual hos-pitals for oursel~,es on a temporary basis. But .if the raison d'etre of our lives is just to constitute a healing milieu of humanness, our expectations for the future should be that no healthy human'beings will apply. Religious life is intended to lead people through active and contempla-tive stages of growth to that developed maturity of life, both human and divine, which allows each person to become a word of grace made flesh; a word of light, of life, and of love spoken tothe People of God. Religious life structured to this goal is the first, the highest, and I believe: the only authentic form of religious life. St. Thomas's distinctions invite us to look at three levels of value in religious life and tO ask" ourselves if our own communities are concretely and effectively geared to achieve them all. To a Young Sister on Her Final Profession Day You .,ask me for a poem, Sister, in honor of this day on which you place for all eternity, your life. your total self~ within the Heart of Him who called you, drew you, in a thousand subtle ways to 'love Him for Himself alone. But how can words of human speech express what is forever inexpressible, what can be only numbly felt :by hearts too grossly fles!! Even the Psalmist's flame-tipped words that ride ~he winds and pierce the clouds fall, helpless, to the ground. The only poem I can give you, Sister, is a prayer, whispered in the depths of nay own heart, to Him who dwells there too, as in Your own. And even that prayer says less in words than in desire. Love Him---trust Him--always, Sister, until that day when there will be no need of poems or words but only of that Word who is all love that ever was or is ° or can be. He is your poem, Sister! Sister Mar~c'Luke, c~S.]. 3556 Rocky River Drive Cleveland, OH 44111 The Incomplete Conversion J. 'Rankin, King~ . Mrs. Kin"g graduated from St. Louis University in 1973. She has pfiblished poetry in The Haiku Anthology, Poet atid~,C~itic arid elsewhere. She 'is presently engaged in research fin the .field of comparative re!igious,experience. Her address:. Nativity Hermi-tage;. Taos, NM 87571. We are b~ now, as participant observers,, nearly used to~ the revived in-terest in spirituality which has characterized the seventies, jStudies .and ex-periments inthe practices of Eastern Orthodox and Asian traditions oc-cupy~. a small but well educated and serious° number of cgntemplative re-ligious: Monumental tasks of research and translation by monastic scholars pr_o_mise considerable assurance that the monastic renewal will be both sound, and profound. A. reawakened interest at. the popular level in the role of .the, Holy Spirit in Christian life heightens mass awareness of God's saving ,pr.e~sence. ,Chri_stocent~ic~,incarnationalism, more intellectual than the popular movement, less comprehensive than the monastic effort, pro.- vides a vehicle for renewed devotion to th.~:, humanity of Christ among many priests and religious. These tendencies exist beside, and tend to color th_e spiritualities o.f, the religio_us orders which are more and more coming to be seen as mutations of and variants upon the one-basic spiritually of ~the Church Universal, simple ,and whole, the spirituality of the ages. Of all these, this essay .will °attempt to deal 0nly with the contemporary popular tendency. It, will stress its weaknesses rather than its strengths, its situation of risk rather than its posture of promise, because it is, among the trends developing at pres_ent, at once the most massive and the most fragile. It. is my hope that this approach will contribute more at the pres-ent moment to the ongoing recovery of spiritual discipline among us than the positive one which has been the more common over the past few years. 517 518 / Review ]or Religious, F'olume 35, 1976/4 While the popular spiritualities of the prayer group and the pentecostal meeting discover their sources in traditions outside the Church, they may also be accurately described as reactions to the conventional spirituality that preceded them. That earlier spirituality stressed rule and form, this proposes the Spirit and the spontaneous. That spirituality was rooted in the prescriptions of the spiritual manuals, this adventures without them. If that spirituality had nearly forgotten the Illuminative Way, this is ignorant of the Purgative. That spirituality put affectivity to its bow and aimed it upward, often so austerely as to be accused of being cold. This is charac-terized by a diffuse and volatile emotion. Conventional spirituality was a spirituality of reserve, interiority. Popular spirituality celebrates the mani-fest, effuses. Their differences are sufficiently radical to render them remote and, in a very profound way, both antipathetic and antithetical to one another. ~ And yet both have this in common, that the first had forgotten and the second has yet to learn the meaning of metanoia~f metanoia not as moment but as process. It is ironic that popular spirituality, in setting out to recapture the Spirit and the Life, should bear within itself, also, that precise element the want of which drained the previous spirituality of ex-actly those things. For it was certainly °its failure to grasp and implement the mechanics of the Purgative Way--that radical reaction to the discovery of one's own sinfulness--which stripped the previous spirituality of its vitality and left it, intact in all its structures but resoundingly,empty, a prey to that kind of renewing which obliterates altogether. It is characteristic of reactionff to~ over-react and, sometimes, to miss the point, Iri this case the.point was not that there was something wrong with the spirituality of the manuals: it was, hfter all, the Catholic spiritual-ity, the spirituality of the ages; but that there was something dreadfully wrong with those .who professed it. Specifically, they were not half sorry enough for their sins. On the contrary, they often thought themselves very good folk°'indeed. It is not perhaps surprising that their ~lateral~descendants should harbor a similar misapprehension, and that it. should produce, spon~ taneity to 'the contrary, a similar chill of ';righteousness"; a characteristic which proclaims as clearly as any antinomianism; the Spirit's absence. Genuine metanoia is a process. It begins, to be sure, with a haoment: "I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear: but now mine eye seeth thee: Wherefore I abhor.myself, and repent in dust and ashes,''1 I abhor myself~ an abhorrence that generate~ an ongoing and ever deepening reaction. We have called that reaction the Way of Beginners, the Purgative Way. We have identified with precision its stages; its characteristic rhythms of prayer, its temptations, its joys and sorrows, its goals and the interior technology which must be employed if they are to be attained. And we know its term: aJb. xlii, 5:6~ The Incomplete Conversion / 519 a sincere and complete conversion; .and'its consequence: a man sufficiently iiast to bear experimental cbntact with the Spirit of God in illumined faith-- a man who has the justice, the prudence, the temperance and the fortitude to worShip in Spirit and Truth under the influence of infused prayer. ¯ At the present time 'the popular movement recognizes the moment but is unaware'0f the process. Its characteristic exercises--shared and peti-ti0riaty prayer and Scripture reading--are not primary metanoiac agents. It is difficult to see how the movement is to proceed, if it does not assim, ilate a technology" of interior change. Popular spirituality's mistaken guess that the first gift of the Spirit is joy prevents it from cultivating that sorrow, with its concommitant hatred of sin and the filial fear of the Lord which dreads' to lose him, which are, in fact, the Spirit's choicest gifts to the youngest of his Chosen. ~'Its apprehension of a fullness of some kind, when overly encouraged, acts as a bar to its experiencing its own poverty. A dollar may indeed look like a great deal to a man who has known only'plugged nickels all his life but. it remains, nevertheless, a dollar, with a dollar's purchasing power. There seems tO be some danger of the popular renewal's forgetting that the ish seddqdh~ the just man, is ?a member of the an~wim, God's afflicted ones: the poor, the weak, the humble, the meek, the oppressed . the needy, the broken hearted, the crUshed in spirit.''-~ In its search for signs of the Spirit's presence, it is prone to overlook the "Sign of'Jonah" proposed to a previous unbelieving generationhthe death, burial and resurrection of the Lord and i.s, in consequence, diverted from living any coherent program of its own daily dying which is, after all, the Christian's only entrde to the higher life. "There is an apophthegm of Pambos," writes Andre Louf,'a "that is all the more pointed for its brevity: 'Acquire a heart and you can be saved.' 'Acquire a heart': this implies that we do not yet have that spiritual sensi-tivity, that alertness of heart, that can discern and understand the things of the Spirit." The popular, spirituality is of~theopinion that it can. There is perhaps no greater bar to the acquisition oL a heart than the persuasion that one has one. "Better just to smeil a~ flower in the garden or something like that," wrote Thomas M~rton,4 "than to have an unauthentic experience of a much higher value." * A concept of change nearly defines traditional spirituality. Life in Christ is metamorphosis. Its dynamism is the life of God in Trinity which enters the soul 'at the time of its baptism or through the"second and "labo-rious" baptism of penance. Conversion, then, i.s not an arrival :but a de- 2David Holly, The Quest ]or Biblical Living; Cistercian Studies,~ Vol. X, Nos. 3 and 4, p. 235. aAndre Louf, Spiritual Experience, Cistercian Studies, Vol. X, no. 2, p. 128. 4Patrick. Hart, ed., Thomas Merton, Monk (New York: Sheed & Ward; 1974), p. 190. Review. ]or Religious, Volume 35, 1976/4 parture.: To delay upon the platform, cheering the trains as they come in, is nearly always fatal. The Kingdom of Heaven withers when .it finds~a pos.t-conversion ?'level". and is staticized there. Transformation is'the primary work of the Holy Spirit. ,It is' to this--a definitive delivery~ffrom sin--that" his chief inspirations tend, for he is indeed the very SpiriL.of Christ, he who came to ~.set free the captive, to deliver those Iying in prison, To un. derestimate the extent of,the captivity, the depth of the dungeon, is to miss entirely the pointoof the Mission of the Spirit. . We often hear~it said today that because God loves us he accepts us. That is, of course, the one thing he will never do-,-because he loves us. "When he said 'Be perfect,' he meant it. He meant that we must go in for the full treatment. It is hard; but the sort of compromise we are all hanker-ing after is harder--in fact, it is impossible. It may be hard4or an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to, fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you.cannot go on. in-definitely being just an ordinary, decent,;egg. Wg must be hatched or go bad.''~ , Perhaps we could say that contemporary popular spirituality is in a situation of vulnerability at the moment because it does not dream that~it is an egg. It would seem to be a fatal diversion to cultivate joy if "real spiritual joy is one of the rarest fruits of the., spirit, to be attained only near the summit of the way, after all evil ,habits and thoughts are overcome, all passions conquered, and reconciliation with God is reached?'~ If "the true signs of sincere penitence .are the taming of the beast of anger and absti-nence from all condemnation.of others''~ and if only sincere pen.itence can open the way to any kind of consistent experience of God, then it would seem to be the better .part of enlightenment to .work at those hydra-headed passions. That, at any rate, seems to be what the Spirit.has always bee.n saying to t.he Churches. ; It wbuld not,.perhaps, be necessary to notice the belief clusters and attitudes in popular spirituality which .hinder its. developing genuine in-teriority if it had not attained a very rapid and, indeed, massive growth and were not now showing a decided disposition to impose .itself wherever possible on the rest of theoChurch. Now it is, of course, highly d~e~irable that we should all be more committed Christians, but it may be4hat a good many of us do not desire to be imposed upon, nevertheless. ~Especially by those whose light does not exceed our own. The prospect of spending the rest, of one's spiritual life occupied in "praise"~ and intercessory prayer, punctuated by predictable prophecies will not appeal to everyone . While enthusiastic neo conversi may be able to speak winningly and cohvincingly of their ~newly discovered life in Christ, it is the Church's ex- ;'C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (New York: Macmillan, 1974), p. 169. ~-~ "Iulia de Beausobre, ed., Russian Letters b] Direction, 1834-1860, beiiig the l~tter~ of Staritz Macarius of Optino.(St. Vladimirs Seminary Press, 1975), p. 106. rlbid., p. 169. The Incomplete ~onversion / 521 perience that fruitful apostolates are the result of a mature Christian life. And it is, besides, the spiritual doctrine of Catholicism that too great an eagerness to teach others is, in beginners, a sign of sp!r!tual pride.i, Although it is typical of evangelical Christianity to send its converts immediately into the field, it has not been the apostolic Church's custom. Following the example of her Lord, who spent thirty years in obscurity be-fore undertaking his public mission, she has preferred that her children nurture the life of grace in humble penance, in mortification and in prayer before sending them "as sheep among wolves." ". when we are fully grown men," writes Tauler in full fidelity to the tradition, "we may come and live in the land of Judah. 'Judah' means 'to confess God.' Then you can teach and admonish in Jerusalem . You can cross over into Galilee which means 'overcoming all things'. ,,8 The facility with which the technique for inducing a Pentecostal type conversion experience can, apparently, be acquired, makes it tempting to the popular movement to adopt evangelical traditions of proselytization. The maturer fruits of conversion oin terms of authentic interior cleansing will not be likely to develop, however, under condition~ 6f forc6d acti~on. Th6 spirit of "results" apparent among the'fastest paced evang'el!qa~l,16rom0i~r~ today should give us pause. For that spirit is not the meek Spirit, the Holy ~pir!t, thee Spirit of repentance which the popular spiritua!ity ~has claimed for its own. "I realize," wrote Andre Louf in a rece6t ar~ic, le, that repentance is not o_nly~ a difficult theme to touch on today, but is also~ g~ven the .complexes of our times--one of the most. difficult to pin down and live authentically. And yet it remains essential. In general, repentance is:'re-fused today. We live at the turning point between th~ obsessive neurosis (if ~ - I may call it that) characterizing the pe~:iod immediately before our own, and °~ the adolescent effervescence add aggressivity of a period that is now freeing ~ itself;of~ that neurosis. ProoL~that he has sinned can only create unbearable ~, ~anguish in one ~ho is already eate.~ up with anguish. Sin was intolerable for the l~eriod immediately before our own, and people tried to free them-selves from it by what the Fathers used to call dikaioma, the pretension to ° justice. Sin-is unbearable, so one claims to be just by an outward observance of law, or rather, of a certain n~n~ber of r~gulations; in r~hlity one is fleeing from me~tanoia. Today instead we hav~ an adolesc,eni effervescer~ce and aggreg- '~sivi~y which is~just as~ neurotic and ~'for which sin is just as uhbea'rable; the solution now, however, is to say there is no such thingP " ~ '" -~or to bury it under the cliches Of "love" and "joy" and "community" and "perice." ~' " The question for the next few years or s6, so far as the popular spirithal-itY goes, is whether ~it ~ill be able radically, to assimilate to its present spirit the basic spirituality of the Church and its metan~iac techniques. Or will the conversion remain incomplete? ¯ - SJohn Tauler, O.P., Spiritual Con]erences (St. Louis: B. Herder, 1961), p. 38. aAndre Louf, Spiritual Experience, Cistercian Studies, Vol. X, no. 2, p. 132. Ministry, Grace and the Process of Humanization Rev. Stephen J. Duffy Father Duffy is Associate ProfessOr and Chairmarl of the Department of Religious Stud.ies; L6yolaUr~iversity; New Orleans, LA 70118. My" subject ~is ttie very topical "theology of liberation.''a Before we plunge into the subject, however, there are some contextual questions that demand an answer. Why should w~ be concerned with grounding Christian pastoral or social ministry in theology at all? In this connection, is talk about a theology of liberation just a pep-talk or a sales pitch to send enthusiasm soaring? Are institutes and courses on pastoral ministry some kind bf inter-lude before we all get back to our real work? Do they amount to little more than abstract and theoretical discussions designed to titillate, the more intellectually inclined? My strong conviction is that a theology of liberation and discussions of pastoral ministry in that context should be far more than any of these. ZGustavo Guti6rrez, A Theology o] Liberation (Maryknoll: Orbis B~oks, 1973)." See also his "Notes for a Theology of Liberation," Theological Studies 31 (1970), pp. 243-261. Guti6rrez is prob~b~ly the most widely read and mo~t influential single theologian of liberation. For a good overview accompanied by a rather, complete bibliography, see Phillip Berryman, "Latin American Liberation Theology," Theolog-ical Studies 34 i(1973,), pp. 357-395. A variety of liberation theologies has been flourishing outside the Latin American situation. Cf. e.g., James H. Cone, A Black Theology o! Liberation (Philadlephia: J. B. Lippincott, 1970); R. Lauren.tin, Libera-tion, Development and Sa/v~ttion (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1972); J. B. Metz, Theology o] the World" (New York: Seabury Press, 1973); R. Reuther, Liberation Theology (New York: Paulist Press, 1972);~F. Herzog, Liberation Theology (New ¯ York: Seabury Press, 1972). 522 Ministry, Grace and Humanization / 5~23 '~ I am convinced first of all that there is a deep theological meaning to pastoral ministry. One of the most important contributions of Vatican II's Constitution on the Church is' the notion of Church as mystery. According to Vatican II, the. Church is first and foremost a mystery, a "kind of. sign of intimate union with God," and of the unity of all mankind." The Church is ,an outward sign and instrument, at once concealing and dis-closing the invisible action of God in the world. But if the Church is a mystery, then all its activity in the world is mysterious too, sharing in the very mystery of God. And if0'the Church is not solely the hierarchy or a voice speaking infallibly, or some vague entity.floating serenely above the chaos of this world, but is rather a community of persons, then our ac-tivities, too, share in the mysterious character of the,Church's action. As individual Christians, and as persons engaged in a work more or less clearly identified in some way as the Church's, there is no esCaping the fact ,that our activities will not be merely social or economic or educational or political .or psychological, but will bear a dimension that is Christian, and therefore mysterious. In the second place i believe'it is highly important for us to understand theologically this Christian dimension of our work, to grasp something in our own lives of this mysterious sign simultaneously revealing and con-cealing the. mystery of God. It is crucialfor us to understand what w~ are doing, for it is difficult to do a task well or enthusiastically without under-standing its purpose and meaning. Crucial, I say, because the meaning of Christian ministry cannot be exhausted by political~ sociological, economic, educational, or psychological interpretations. As sharers of the Chris'tian vision we affirm, in fact, that all such human acti'~ities, abstracted from their Christian dimension, would be ultimately meaningless. Thirdly, as students of theology, or :at least as persons with something of a professional interest in the Work of the Church, we must learn to think in theological terms about our ministry in the world. One of the emphases of liberation theology is that if theology has any meaning at all, it .must be applicable to real-life~ situations. Theoria .and praxis must be wed. I think that here our Christian education is :often lacking. We go through hours of religious instruction, even theology, without a hint that sometiow this must have practical implications. Few attempts are made to show the student how to relate what he has learned in °the classroom with what he is meeting in the s~reets. When Thomas Aquinas faced the prob-lem, at the very beginning of his Summa~ whether theology is a practical or a speculative science; he answered that it is both. From our~practice think we would have to deduce that we consider it to be purely speculative. The popular image of the priest closing his theology books on ordination, never to reopen ttirm again, is, unfortunately, close to the truth. Now I do not in the least want to downgrade theoretical or specuiative theology. I do not want it thrown out in favor of pastoral or even biblical Review ]or Religious, Volume 35; 1976/4 theology, I. feel it should.be even more emphasized, in the sense thaf each one should be trained, not merely to accept passively the theology he. or she is taught, .but rather to be able to reflect actively, creatively, theologi-cally, not only about classroom matter, but about the whole spectrura o1~ Christian :life in the world. If that is not done the pastoral gimmicks taught today will be obsolete in ten years, Critical theological reflection, by rel-ativi

Issue 33.2 of the Review for Religious, 1974. ; Review ]or Religious is edited by faculty members of the School of Divinity of St. Louis University, the editorial offices being located at 612 Humboldt Building; 539 North Grand Boulevard; St. Louis, Missouri 63103. It is owned by the Missouri Province Educational Institute; St. Louis, Missouri. Published bimonthly and copy-right (~) 1974 by Review ]or Religious. Composed, printed, and manufactured in U.S.A. Second class postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri. Single copies: $1.75. Sub-scription U.S.A. and Canada: $6.00 a year; $11.00 for two years; other countries, $7.00 a year, $13.00 for two years. Orders should indicate whether they are for new or renewal subscriptions and should be accompanied by check or money order payable to Review ]or Religious in U.S.A. currency only. Pay no money to persons claiming to represent Review Jor Religious. Change of address requests should include former address. R. F. Smith, S.J. Everett A. Diederich, S.J. Joseph F. Gallen, S.J. Editor Associate Editor Questions and Answers Editor March 1974 Volume 33 Number 2 Renewals, new subscriptions, and changes of address should be sent to Review for Religious; P.O. Box 6070; Duluth, Minnesota 55802. Correspondence with the editor and the associate editor together with manuscripts, books for review, and materials for "Subject Bibliography for Religious" should be sent to Review for Religious; 612 Humboldt Building; 539 North Grand Boulevard; St. Louis, Missouri 63103. Questions for answering should be sent to Joseph F. Gallen, S.J.; St. Joseph's Church; 321 Willings Alley; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19106. Directed Prayer and the Founding Charism Norbert Brockman, S.M. Father Norbert Brockman is a staff member of the Marianist Center; 4435 East Patterson Road; Dayton, Ohio 45430. Among the growing movements among American religious in the past few years has been the directed retreat. In increasing numbers, religious have placed themselves under a director who has guided their meditation for periods as long as thirty days.1 The movement owes much to the Jesuits, who have taken leadership throughout the countr~ in reviving an approach to the retreat that is closely linked with their own renewal and spirituality.2 There have been spinooffs from the directed retreat movement that sug-gest that directed retreats are much more than a passing fad, although for some they will take on that character. The first of the side benefits of the directed retreat movement has been that religious of a number of congregations, especially women, are being trained in the method and approach of directing prayer. The Jesuits have established centers for this purpose, and programs for training, using the Ignatian retreat, are well patronized. A congequence of this is the flowering of directed retreats among women religious,, and the better training of for-mation personnel capable of working with mature nuns. Secondly, the directed retreat seems to bring many religious to long-term spiritual direction. Foi" the first time, for many religious, ~it has been possible--in a directed retreat--to consider spiritual direction as some- 1See, for example, Margaret Baker, H.V.M., "My Experience of a Directed Retreat," Review for Religious, v. 31 (1972), pp. 573-7; Sister Christine Freed, R.G.S., "I Feel like Singing Forever," Review ]or Religious, v. 32 (1973), pp. 1379-1384. '-'Thomas E. Clarke, SJ., "The Ignatian Exercises---Contemplation and Discernment," Review ]or Religious, v. 31 (1972), pp. 62-9. 257 258 / Review ]or Religious, Volume 33, 1974/2 thing other than crisis intervention. While one can comment only impres-sionistically, it seems that a real phenomenon of the past three years has been the increased desire among religious for spiritual direction.:' While the pattern is not so clear as to the expectations.of the religious seeking direction, the question of growth in prayer is always a serious considera-tion. The direction of prayer itself has an ancient and honorable tradition in the Church. From the earliest days of Christianity, the spiritual novice submitted himself or herself to a spiritual guide under whose direction growth in the life of prayer was undertaken. The stories of the fathers of the desert reinforce this strongly, and direction in prayer was for them an all-important issue in the relationship between novice and adept Chris-tian. The origins of this are obscure, but it would seem that the earliest forms of direction in prayer come from the baptismal catechesis, where the person responsible for the conversion of a neophyte not only helped in the education of the candidate for baptism, but particularly assumed the task of.teaching them the spiritual life. Together the two shared a period of prayer and 'fasting before the administration of the sacrament." In modern times, with the structure of the annual or other periodic retreat, various forms or styles of retreats came to the fore. The Ignatian r~treat has always had, in this period, a special place. It has been widely used b~, religious whose congregations are not Ignatian in spirituality, and its very basic Christian themes have made it equally.popular among lay-people. Although the preached retreat had become the predominant form, the notion of the directed retreat never died out, and its revival on such a large scale is in reality a return to an earlier Ignatian tradition. The Notion of the Directed Retreat The focus in the directed retreat is on the notion of "directed." It is a retreat in which the pfirticipant works with the retreat master in the man-ner of a s~iritual director. There is normally an hour-long interview each day, during which the retreatant's prayer is evaluated, directions and themes are~ given for further meditations, and the quality of the retreatant's prayer' is developed? As indicated above, although the nature of the directed retreat has ancient roots in the Church, it has been most characteristic o~ Jesuit re-aSee Sandra Marie Schneiders, I.H.M., "The 'Return' to Spiritual Direction," Spiritual Lile, v. 18 (1972), pp. 263-78. 4Michel Dujarier, Le parrainage des adultes aux trois premiers siO(les de l'Eglise (Paris: 1962), p. 377. 5Herbert F. Smith, S.J., "The Nature and Value of a Directed Retreat," Review ]or Religious;,v. 32 (1973), pp. 490-7. This article is available from Review ]or Religious as a separate reprint. Directed Prayer and the Founding Charism / ~259 treats in recent years. The point needs to be made that the nature of this retreat is simply the direction of prayer itself, adapted to the peculiar de-sign of a retreat, a period of time in which a person withdraws from ordi-nary pursuits to develop more consciously and deliberately in the spiritual life. Admittedly, among American religious other values have also entered in,, but this has always been understood as the essential purpose of retreat. For, a religious working far from the center of his province~ in a small community, the value of fellowship is a real one, for example. Some province retreats resemble a tribal gathering in this regard, and others use a workshop model rather than the traditional one of withdrawal for prayer. The comments that follow will be placed in the context of directed re-treats, but they might as easily apply to much of the real work of spiritual direction. Direction in prayer, even the special, concentrated form of di-rected meditation used in directed retreats, is the heart of spiritual direc-tion. An aspect of regular ~direction, even if relatively infrequent, is sug-gestions for prayer, the joint evaluation of movements in prayer, the dis-cernment of these movements, and help in heeding the call to new levels of prayer. The purpose of this article, however, is not to explore the nature and values, of the directed retreat, but to discuss its use to inculcate the values from the founding charism of a particular ~religious congregation. The question of the nature of th~ directed retreat has been explored in depth elsewhere." What has not been investigated at any point is how the tech-nique of the directed retreat can contribute to the deepening of the ~ommit-ment of a religious to his/her °founding charism. Because non-Ignatian development of the directed retreat has been so°limited, the paucity of in-formation on the topic is understandable. What follows here is based on the author's study within the documents of his own order, as well as at-tempts to work with sisters of two other,groups attempting to find better means for developing their own spirituality within their members. The Founding Charism .In recent attempts among religious to heed the directives of Vatican II that they renew .themselves in the spirit of'their founders and foundresses, the emphasis has been placed upon research and the question of teaching the proper spirit of the order to cb.ndidates,r Along with this has gone the concern for finding newer expressions for the origina! teaching of the founder, while remaining faithful to his/her intent. This has produced some valuable materials in some groups, some false starts in others; there ~William A. Barry, ~S.J., "The Experience of the First and Second Weeks of the Spiritual Exercises," Review ]or Religious, v. 32 (1973), pp. 102'-9. See also the same author's "Silence and tl~e Directed Retreat," Review ]or Religious, v. 32 (1973), pp. 347-51; and Smith, "The Nature and Value of a Directed Retreat." rVatican Council II, The Renewal o/Religious LiIe, no. 2. Review [or Religious, Volume 33, 1974/2 have been elements of both renewal and deception in the experience of getting in touch with one's roots. In the directed retreat, the issue changes somewhat. The purpose of the retreat is not to analyze, speculate, or study. It is to experience the meaning of the life of the Lord in a renewed sense. It is to deepen one's prayer, and to deal with issues that affect the spiritual life. When we speak of a directed retreat designed to inculcate the values of the spirituality of a religious congregation, therefore, the point is that the important elements of that spirituality must be assembled in what may be new ways, intended to move the soul through prayer more than grouped in perfectly logical structures. The experiential dimension, and the very goal of the directed re-treat according to one's own charism, is to bring the retreatant to the ex-perience that the founder had in founding the congregation. One must experience the foundation within oneself as a truly authentic, congruent integration of the spiritual life. It should make sense, bring an interior peace, and strongly confirm one's commitment to this congregation at this time in history. Few religious have taken themselves, or been taken, through the experience of the founder or foundress.'By this is not meant that the privations or sufferings of the founder--the more dramatic ele-ments of his/her life--need be reproduced in some sort of role playing. Indeed, the point is the reproduction of the insight and inspiration of the founding charism itself. What elements of the Christian experience brought about the development that the religious knows as his/her spiritual legacy? How were the evangelical counsels and the gospel message ex-perienced by the founder in such a way that the foundation of this group became a means of incarnating these values? If the congregation is the incarnation of the values of the founder--an extension of his/her charism into history--how is it to be experienced, personally by the members and corporately by the community as a whole? The questions above zero in on the issues that the directed retreat can deal with, in terms of the founding charism of a congregation. What is ob-vious, then, is that the design of the retreat must be developmental, and that might well be, as stated above, quite different from the design used to teach the ideas of the charism, or to study them. Critical Elements of a Founding Charism What, then, are the elements of a founding charism that must be con-sidered in designing such a retreat experience? The Spiritual Exercises are a brilliant example and deserve to be studied, even by those whose spiritual tradition differs sharply from that of the Jesuits. The themes, from the "Two Standards" to the last consideration, are highly developmental. Each builds on what precedes, not so much intellectually, but in the context of faith. It is possible to find all the elements of the Christian life from conversion Directed Prayer and the Founding Charism / 261 to union with God. In short, a spiritual path is described. At the same time, the style of the retreat is congruent with the highly personal emphasis on decision and discernment. The Ignatian directed retreat is characterized (usually, although there are exceptions) by lone meditation, usually at some length, by minimal communal aspects, and by minimal liturgical life. The focus is on the individual coming to grips with his/her personal relationships with the Lord, with an acceptance of that Lordship in one's life, and in the development of a prayer life that nourishes and defines that relationship. What then are the elements of a founding charism that are critical to the development of directed prayer in this ~evelopmental sense? Four ele-ments surface in any investigation of this question: method of prayer, ascetical and/or devotional practices, a spiritual system, and theological concepts. These are the elements that the designer of the retreat prayer experiences needs to coordinate. The study that makes this possible should be on the part of the retreat director, and the retreatant should not be called o'n to do other than move immediately into the prayer experience. .Let us, then, briefly look at each of these elements of the founding charism in turn. Method of Prayer The first critical question is whether the founder taught a method of prayer, particularly a method of meditation. In many cases, what will be discovered is that the founder/foundress did .use a currently popular method of meditation, but that it was a matter of convenience in instruct-ing novices, and not an important element of the spirituality of the con-gregation. Here some communal discernment is necessary. In reading the founder's letters of direction, for example, or instructions on prayer, it is necessary to discover the significance of any proper method to the totality of his/her founding charism. If a distinct approach, emphasis, or technique is present, it should be integrated in the directed prayer of the retreat experience, For instance, a congregation consecrated to Mary might well have developed a receptive approach to prayer based on an understanding of Our Lady's fiat, a disposition of total availabi!ity to the Lord. It would hardly be congruent in such a case to suggest.an aggressive, intellectual type of mental prayer. It would surely conflict with many of the themes that the founding charism will c6ntain. Ascetical and/or Devotional Practices This area, like the last, deserves careful work to determine the con-tinuing value of the ascetical and/.or devotional practices of the founder. Things which are merely characteristic of the nationality or culture of the founder may be safely set aside, and tangential devotions may also be ex-cluded. After all, even founders and foundresses are entitled to devotional 262 / Review 1or Religious, Volume 33, 1974/2 expressions which are uniquely personal, and without having these pro-jected onto their religious foundations! In what sense is the devotion in-volved in the direction that the founder gave his/her early members? What is its theological content? A founder or foundress with a great de-votion to the cross, who writes and speaks of the cross in such a way that it permeates the spirituality of the order, is teaching something of greater import than a founder with a great personal devotion to a. patron saint or to a shrine. Similarly, the practice of taking names in religion may have been merely the religious convention of the time of foundation, or it may have had specific meaning~ Other ascetical practices are.to be similarly evalu-ated. In one tradition, the regulations of the founder about the diet may have been a simple indication of poverty within his .cultural context; in another tradition, the manner in which the question is treated might indi-cate that the retreat should include some fasting, if possible, and with cerr tain goals in mind. A Spiritual System The most obvious element is the spiritual system of the foundation. Did the founder have an approach to spirituality which he taught to the early members? What virtues did he consider important, especially, what aspects of the Christian life did he consider characteristic of his founda-tion? What were his interpretation and understanding of evangelical chastity, poverty, and obedience, and did this differ from the prevailing understand-ings of his time? Did the foundation include any other vows besides the three traditional ones, even though these may no longer exist in the con-gregation? What was the value that the founder/foundress was stressing by having additional vows? What was his/her notion of common life and community experience? What is the role of the apostolate in fostering the spiritual life? All these are part of the questions that must be asked in the process of constructing the spiritual system of the founder or foundress, as, usually in most cases, active founders have not written out the spiritual system in clear fashion. Besides exploring the documents of the congregation, however, the living experience of the early foundation is itself of importance. The story of the life of the founder is often of great value in determining what he meant by a certain teaching. Religious orders are, after all, not only com-munities, but a special modality of community--witness communities that show forth the transcendent dimension of Christian life. The witness of the early foundation, therefore, is of great importance as a form of teach-ing. Theological Concepts Usually, theological concepts do not appear in a founding charism as Directed Prayer and the Founding Charism / 263 such. Founders and foundresses are rarely interested in theology except as it reveals the person :of Jesus Or underlies a religious value. Nevertheless, founders are usually very concerned about fidelity to the deposit of faith. A renewed understanding of theological concepts in recent years may make it possible to enrich the understanding of the founder. The founding charism does not really change, but the religious order is called to fidelity to it, not to literal acceptance in the language, cultural norms, and symbols of the early society. As the Church grows in its understanding, of herself and her divine mission, so 'a religious congregation should show signs of growth in its self-understanding.'To utilize a theological concept such as the Eucharist without integrating the better insights coming from a renewed liturgy of celebration would be more than unfortunate. It would be .a denial of the fidelity'of the founder to the Church's teaching, because as he was faithful to ~the Church's expression of eternal truth in his time and culture, so the congregation, today must reproduce that fidelity. Again, renewed Biblical scholarship has made possible far greater sophistication in understanding the gospel message than heretofore. That cannot be ignored in studying the founding charism, merely because it has happened since the founder died! The °emphasis laid upon the experiential above is not to be interpreted as demeaning the importance of the intellectual as preparation for prayer. Anti-intellectualism is not a mark of the Christian, Quite the contrary, and the directed prayer experience will be the richer for the .hours spent by both ~director and retreatant in studying the basic teaching ,of the Church, especially in those areas that touch upon the founding charism. ~Fhe Retreat ~s Reflection of the Founding Charism The first of the elements of a founding charism was stated as the method of meditation or mental prayer. The idea of the importance of the ,congruence of this with~the total spirituality of the founder or foundress was stressed, but this idea can also be expanded~. The entire style of the directed retreat should reflect the founding.charism. The import/race of this cannot easily be exaggerated because of ~he'experiential nature of:the directed retreat. There" is a profound difference between the directed re-treat., as desert experien.ce (silence, lone meditation at great length, and so forth) and the directed retreat as communal',experience (common liturgi-cal celebrations,' some group discussion, and so forth). In among these contrasts are many modalities of directed retreat, of course. The point is that it is important to include those aspects which will most effectively help the retreatant to gro~w into the values which are the subjects of the prayer experiences. The spirituality that emphasizes a deeply communitarian-or service value will not come through successfully in a desert experience. This i~ not to say that the desert experience is not of value for religious f~'om adtive commui~ities~(far from it!), but only that a limited aspect of their spirituality is likqly to emerge in such a context. Review for Religious, Volume 33, 1974/2 Similarly, methods of discernment should be congruent with the found-ing charism itself. What was the method for discerning the will of God used by the founder or foundress? Was it a communal means, or one based on authority? Discernment itself has become an issue, both within the directed retreat movement and in other contexts? It is an integral part of the Spiritual Exercises, and would seem to be an integral part of the work of the director of prayer. Within a given tradition, the method of dis-cernment might well be prophetic or charismatic. More likely it will reflect an authoritarian tone, which would translate into the directed retreat as a form of obedience to the spiritual guide. This type of obedience itself needs to be understood, as it isnot the same as the obedience owed a superior under the evangelical vow. In some traditions, the means of discernment might be very communal, in such a way that group direction might be a compatible style for certain congregations using the directed retreat. This would be alongside the pri-vate interview, which is essential to the directed retreat. A final word should be added on the place of resolutions. Many re-ligious feel strongly that they should come home from retreat with clear resolutions for the future--a battle plan, so to speak. The presumption is so strong with many that it is an issue that should be frankly discussed with the director. It is certainly not necessary for the directed retreat; it is enough that there be an interior renewal and deepened commitment to the spirit of the foundation. Whether there are "results" or decisions on con-crete action for the future should flow from the needs of the person him-self/ herself. Too often it is merely another expression of a workaholic personality. Conclusion This has been a simple and sketchy view of the development of a directed retreat from the point of view of the goal of growth in the spirit of one's own order. As such, directed prayer is a powerful means of growth toward incarnating in oneself the values of the founding charism. It is a means of renewal that not only affirms one's commitment to religious life, but also goes far toward building and renewing the community through renewed religious, standing firmly in the tradition of the one who brought the order into being under God's grace. 8Criticism has been recently expressed by W. Peters, S.J., "Discernment: Doubts," Review ]or Religious, v. 32 (1973), pp. 814-7. See also James V. Gau, S.J., "Dis-cernment and the Vow of Obedience," Review for Religious, v. 32 (1973), pp. 569-74; David T. Asselin, S.J., "Christian Maturity and Spiritual Discernment," Review ]or Religious, v. 27 (1968), pp. 581-95; and John R. Sheets, S.J., "Profile of the Spirit: A Theology of the Discernment of Spirits," Review ]or Religious, v. 30 (1971), pp. 363-76. The last article (that of Father Sheets) is available from Review ]or Religious as a separate reprint. Prayer: The Context of Discernment Charles J. Healey, S.J. Father Charles J. Healey, S.J., is a faculty member of the Department of Theology; Boston College; Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts 02167. Discernment Today In our attempts to seek and find God in our lives and to live out our Chris-tian lives of faith, hope, and love, we are often involved in a process of rediscovery. There is not that much that is new for us in the sense of dis-covering something for the first time. But often the conditions of the times in which we live and our own felt needs combine to lead us to focus on a particular aspect of the spiritual life. Such, I would suggest, is the case in the area of discernment. It is certainly a term that has deep roots in the history of Christian spirituality. But ours is a period that has seized upon the process of discernment--perhaps too quickly and too glibly at times-- in the hopes that it might aid us in our efforts to love and serve God both as individuals and as communities, and to seek and respond more gener-ously to His will in our lives. This renewed interest in discernment should come as no surprise. First of all, there is the very visible desire of many to deepen their own union with God, to establish or reestablish what they consider the essentials and priorities in their lives, and to make any required decisions in a context of faith and prayer. In a time of great change, many are seeking to find strength and unity within themselves not only to cope effectively with their lives and all their responsibilities, but also. to maintain themselves as lov-ing and productive persons. Secondly, many communities are turning to the process of discernment as a method of helping them in their attempts at renewal as a community and as a basis for group decisions. But whether 265 266 / Review for Religious, ~olume 33, 197.4/2 it is a case of individual discernment or corporate discernment, it is impor-tant to stress over and over that the basis of any discernment has to be the deep and intense prayer of the persons involved in the process. The context of any true discernment is prayer. The purpose of this article, then, is to offer some reflections on discernment, using the word in the broadest sense here and focusing on the intimate connection between discernment and prayer. ontex! Is Prayer Discernment really makes sense only when it is situated in the context of prayer. Unless there is a corresponding desire to seek and find God continually in our lives and to deepen our awareness of His reality and presence, discernment can end up just being talk. The seeking and yearn-ing attitude of the Psalmist must penetrate our own lives deeply: "To you, my heart speaks; you my glance seeks, your presence, O Lord, I seek. Hide not your face from me" (Ps 27:8-9). There is, of course, a renewed in-terest and even a hunger on the part of many today in the area of per-sonal prayer; and this accounts in part for the renewed interest in the area of discernment. There are many indications of this all around us at the present time; and many are definitely expressing a desire for praye~r which springs from a felt human need and the presence of the Spirit in our midst, ever renewing, ever arousing. Recently I was listening to a taped conference on prayer by Thomas Merton in which he mentioned at the beginning that he ~did not like to talk a great deal about prayer. This was certainly not from any disinterest, for if there is any constant preoccupation and interest that emerges in his life and writings, it would be with the value and priority he constantly gives to prayer. But he wanted to stress the point that pr~yer for us should be something simple and natural, something as simple and natiaral as breath-ing. It is hard for us to talk about breathing since it is such a normal process of our lives and one wfiich we can easily take for granted. So, too, he feels should be the case with prayer. At times we can complicate it and make an issue or a cause out of it. But usually when we make a~ca~]se or an issue out of something, we oppose it to something else: "This is.prayer, this isn't. This is something sacred, this isn't." The f~us could then shift to the issue rather than the reality, and prayer could then be viewed as something complicated and artificial. Perhaps we can best consider prayer as the simple, natural, continual response of one who is,. convinced he be-longs to God and seeks to grow in union with Him, and the response of one who realizes he is a person possessed by a loving God. And it is in this climate, this atmosphere of prayer tl~at the whole process of discern-ment should be placed. The context is a very normal, full, and serious seek-ing after God. Pray'~r." The Context o[ Discernment / 267 The Process of Discernment ' Discernment, then, should not be considered a cause or an issue nor ev~en' a method in itself. It is a process in prayer by which one seeks seri-ously to know and follow God's will, to hear His call and faithfully and generously respond in the very real life situation of the person concerned. If l~ra~er should be a very human and ordinary experience, so too should b6 discernment. In this sense, it is a very simple process; and yet, on the other hand, it can be difficult in the sense that it presupposes constant efforts at'a deep and continuous union with God through prayer. This re-quires perseverance, patience, and willingness to expend time and energy. It' cannot be turned off and on like a water faucet if it is to be effective; it presupposes a firm basis of faith and the continuous seeking of the presence of the Lord. ~Alth0ugh discernment is a word that can come easily to the lips, it can still remain a rather elusive concept. Perhaps this is because it pre-soppos~ so much else. At any rate, we might recall Father Futrellrs defi-nition that discernment "involves choosing the way of the light of Christ instead of the way of the darkness of the Evil One and living out the con-sequences of this choice through discerning what specific decisions and ac-tions a~e, demanded to follow Christ here and now.''1 Thus discernment focuses on the ongoing attempts to clarify and ascertain God's will in our lives and seeks to specify what actions and decisions are required in the life of "on'e who wishes to follow Christ tothlly. The process presupposes an int'eflse desire, hunger, and willingness to seek God's will and to embrace it generously once one has come to a reasonable certitude regarding it. W~ might say it all comes down to our attempts to hear and respond to:the wo~'d of God in our own unique lives. But. if we are to be sensitive t~lGod speaking to us in the many ways He does.in our liv6s, we must first hear His call; we must listen quietly and give Him frequent opportuni-ties to speak to us. If we fire to b~ sensitive to God's presence and attentive to His touch, there must be an element of stillness and listening. Since this listening~aspect is so important for discernment, we should not be surprised to find this aspect of prayer being re-e~mphasized today.2 Many are ex-periencing the need today to. take time out from all their activities in order to turn within and seek God's presence within, to contemplate Him and to listen to Him in the stillness of their hearts. It is a kind of active receptivity as we let the radical truth of God shine forth with its own life within us. We seek to make the words of the P~almist our own: "In your light we see light." It is in this atmosphere .of stillness and presence that one can best determine God's call, God's touch, God's will. ~John C. Futrell, S.J., "Ignatian Discernment," Studies in the Spirituality o] Jesuits, v. 2, no. 2, p. 47. '-'See, for example, W. Norris Clarke, S.J., "Be Still and Contemplate,"~ New Catholic World, November-December 1972, pp. 246 ft. 2611 / Review [or Religious, l/'olume 33, 1974/2 Building on the Past As we seek to see clearly where God is touching us at a given time and where He is leading us and asking us to respond and follow, it is very help-ful to grow in the awareness of where God has touched us and nourished us0 in the past. Each of us has his or her own unique history in the hands of a loving God, that is, significant events, persons, books, Scripture pas-sages, and so forth, that have been a source of great strength and help. All of this constitutes our own faith experience of God; and the more it is brought to our conscious awareness, the more it becomes our own. Often in discernment workshops or faith sharing experiences, methods and oppor-tunities are presented to help individuals grasp more explicitly what they uniquely possess of God in their lives. One can call this by various names: one's core experience of God, one's beauty within, one's name of grace, and so forth. But it all comes down to the same reality: we seek to realize what we already possess, what is uniquely ours, and where God has touched us and loved us significantly. Once we are more aware of how God has acted in our lives in the past, we can more easily return in a spirit of prayer to be nourished and strengthened and sustained. What has sustained us in ~the past and what has touched us before, can sustain us and touch us again. This conscious awareness also helps us to be more responsive and sensitive to where God is touching us now, where He is leading us. We can begin to see a pattern and a continuity in our lives of faith. Above all, we be-come more aware of the profoundest reality of our lives, namely that which we possess of the power and love of God that has worked within us in the past and continues to be operative in the present. Discernment in prayer, then, is an ongoing process that seeks to find God and His will in our lives; it involves a constant seeking of God and an awaren(ss of His presence in our lives. Through discernment one seeks to hear God's continuous call, to recognize it as clearly as possible in order to follow it as faithfully and generously as possible. It seeks to answer the question: How can I best love and serve God in the present circumstances of my life. It is an ongoing process because our lives, our experience, our work, our relationship with God is an ongoing process. His Word does not come to us in a vacuum but in the concrete circumstances of our everyday lives. As Thomas Merton says in one of my favorite passages from his writings: Every moment and every event of every man's life on earth plants some-thing in his soul. For just as the wind carries thousands of winged seeds, so each moment brings with it germs of spiritual vitality that come to rest im-perceptibly in the minds and wills of men. Most of these unnumbered seeds perish and are lost, because men are not prepared to receive them; for such seeds as these cannot spring up anywhere except in the good soil of freedom and love.3 aThomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation (New York: New Directions, 1961), p. 14. Prayer: The Context of Discernment / 269 In a very true sense, it is only the faith-filled person, the contemplating person that is acutely sensitive to these seeds of God in his or her life. And for the soil of freedom and love to flourish in our own lives, we must con-stantly open ourselves to the Spirit of God through an abiding spirit of prayer. Not only must we seek to grow sensitive to God's speaking to us in the external events of our lives, but we must seek to grow in an awareness and sensitivity to the movements within ourselves as we react personally to the signs of His will and presence. How do my present reactions corre-spond to the felt experience of God that has been so much a part of my life in the past? Are my present movements in resonance with that source of peace, that sense of oneness and wholeness before God that I have ex-perienced before, that sense of belonging to God that has been so nourish-ing and sustaining in my life? Are they consistent with the normal signs of the Spirit working within us, the signs of "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, humility and self-control" (Gal. 5:22-3)? These are some of the questions one seeks to clarify in order to fulfill the desire to seek and find the Lord and His will. The spiritual director can play an important role in assisting here, for at times we can be too close to ourselves to have the needed objectivity. The director can aid us in clarifying and objectifying our own experiences and interior movements and aid us to see where God is touching us, loving us, and indicating His presence and His will. A Sense of Freedom In addition to a deep and constant spirit of prayer, discernment also requires an attitude of freedom and detachment. The attitude of freedom I refer to is that which allows a person to give to God and His will the central place in one's life;, it is a freedom and detachment from all other things that would either prevent or hinder one's striving to focus On God. It is the sense of freedom that allows God to become and remain the cen-tral reality in one's life. The Psalmist speaks of this centrality with the words: "As the eyes of the servant are on the hands of the Master, so my eyes are on you, O Lord." It is the freedom that allows one to respond generously to Jesus' invitation to Matthew, "Come, follow me," and His words to the disciples of John the Baptist, "Come and see." Come and see and taste the goodness of the Lord. It is the freedom expressed in the words of the prophet Samuel, "Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening" (1 Sam 3:10), and the words of the Psalmist, "Here am I, Lord, I come to do your will" (Ps 40:7-8). We might note in passing that there can be an intimate connection between this spirit of freedom and a lifestyle that is marked by a spirit of simplicity. How does one grow in this spirit of freedom? Ultimately it is through a cooperation with the power of God's grace and love working within us. 270 / Review for Religious, Volume 33, 1974/2 But one important way is through a deepening realization that one is a loved sinner, that one has been touched and healed. A profound convic-tion of God's steadfast love and fidelity can be a very liberating force that enables one to turn to God and seek Him alone and His service in a spirit of simplicity and joy. This freedom grows in a context of lively faith and is nourished in prayerful reflection on God's goodness, mercy, love, and providence. Conclusion In general, discernment in prayer is an inward looking process; the focus is mainly on the movements and experiences of God within us. But the process must never stop here for there should also be an outward dimension of discernment. First of all, as in so many areas of the spiritual life of man, a healthy norm is: "By their fruits you shall know them." There is a confirmatory aspect of all discernment in the external fruits that are in evidence and the good works that are produced. Secondly, the great commandment,of love must always be kept in perspective, and a deepening union with God should lead to a deepening union with one's fellow man. An increasing sense of compassion for one's fellow man and his needs should flow from one's union with God. Finally, the process should lead to an increasing sensitivity to life and all its mysteries, to an increasing awareness of.God's presence in all things, and to our own growth as-con-templatives in action. A Norwegian Outpost: Maria Einscete M. Basil Pennington, O.C.S.O. Father M. Basil Pennington, O.C.S.O., is a Cistercian monk of St. Joseph's Abbey; Spencer, Massachusetts 01562. Our plane put down at Oslo and I soon bungled my way through customs, only .to find--no one. Communications had gotten a bit confus(d and now there was no one there. But everyone I asked seemed t6 know of him: "Brother Robert, yes, the hermit. He lives up in the mountains near Lake Tinn." And so I began my pilgrimage. Ten o'clock the next night I stepped down from a bus in the pouring rain and made bold to ask the young lady who alighted with me the oft repeated question: "Where is Brother Robert? . That way," she answered with a bold sweep of the arm as her hand pointed up a dark rise of conifers. I turned in the opposite direction to the friendly lights of an inn. It was a good choice. There among the youths gathered around the blazing fire was Jan. A couple years earlier he had been up to see the hermit with his pastor. He offered to be my guide. Good to his word, Jan arrived early the next morning with his little Volkswagen which took us as far as it could. Then we began to climb on foot. I was a bit embarrassed when Jan took my bag, but soon I was very grateful that he had--for otherwise I probably would never have made it. We must have climbed steadily, along an old logging trail, for forty-five minutes or more when Jan sudde.nly stopped and pointed back into the woods. We had actually passed our goal: Maria Einscete--Mary's Hermit-age. Maria Einscete was just a simple log cabin, one just like so many others in those forests. Larid in Norway belongs to the owner by hereditary right. It cannot be "definitively alienated. Most families living in the villages or on the lowland farms own stretches of woodland up on the mountains. 272 / Review ]or Religious, l,'olume 33, 197/.'-/2 In better times they kept men up there ,to care for the woods, but now most of these lumberjack's cabins are empty. One of these landlords, a kindly man, let Brother Robert use his abandoned cabin, plant some vege-tables, and dig a well. From the United States to Chile and to Norway Brother Robert, Father Robert Kevin Anderson, is a monk of St. Joseph's Abbey, Spencer, Massachusetts. He entered the Cistercian Order at the Abbey of Our Lady of the Valley back in 1949 when he was 17. He was one of the first choir novices professed after the community trans-ferred to Spencer. Frater Kevin, as he was called in those days, cared for the newly planted orchards and, after his ordination to the priesthood, for the newly planted brothers--as father master of the lay novices. But he had always experienced an attraction toward a more simple and radical form of monasticism. He went on to pursue this, first at St. Benedict's Monastery in the Colorado Rockies, then at the Monastery of Las Condes in the Chilean Andes. It was at the latter monastery that he first embarked on the eremitical life which he found to be his true calling. Later Father Robert sought deeper solitude in southern Chile; but the bishop there had some ideas of his own about how Father was to lead the eremitical life. So Father moved on to the land of his family's origins, Sweden. Here again, a hard-pressed bishop with few priests had his own ideas how a hermit-priest should live. And again Father moved, this time across the border to the diocese of the sympathetic and understanding Cistercian bishop, John Gran of Oslo. Until he could find a suitable site, Father Robert lived in a distant parish. Soon he found what seemed like an ideal place for a hermit: an island on Lake Tinn. But appearances can be deceiving. Living on an island meant dependence on others for all supplies, or keeping a boat for summer and an ice sleigh for winter. Then, too, the fine summer weather brought traffic to the lake. Father lifted up his eyes to the mountains, and soon ascended to Maria Einscete. The Hermit Life o| Father Robert Although feature articles and TV presentations have made Father Robert known throughout Norway and even throughout Scandinavia, he yet receives few visitors. The Norwegians respect and are inspired by his life of prayer and presence to God. They do not want to intrude. Besides, the ascent is difficult and the way known to few. The Catholic pastor, whose parish extends for several hundred miles, calls in from time to time. And of course, the good sisters find their way there at times; also, the search-ing young--from as far away as south France or America. Priests have occasionally come for retreat. And a pious convert lives not far from Father's mailbox and enjoys having him in to say Mass in her front room. A Norwegian Outpost: Maria Einscete / 273 But usually Bror Robert (as the Norwegians call him) is alone with his goats and his God. He goes down to the road to the mailbox every few days--and the owner of the neighboring box watches to see that the mail is collected, a sign that all is well with their hermit. Once a week or so, on skis in winter and a motor bike in summer, Father will go to the village for supplies. All the villagers know and love their hermit. They expressed real joy when "Brother Robert's brother" came to visit him. From time to time Father goes to Oslo to speak to the Dominican nuns, the only con-templative community in Norway. And once a year he goes south to the French Abbey of Mont-des-Cats to see his spiritual father. This was one of the conditions the bishop placed on his presence in the diocese as a hermit: that once a year he would spend some time in a monastery. Father Robert's life is very simple. He prays the hours quite as they always have been celebrated in the monastery, and offers Mass for all man-kind. He does some wood carving, mounts ikons, and practices the ancient Norwegian craft of weaving baskets from birch roots. He also translates books. He is a gifted linguist and has mastered both new and old Nor-wegian, as well as the local dialect. These occupations, along with Mass stipends, help him to keep body and soul together. At the time of my first visit Father Robert had been living in his log cabin for about a year. The only facilities were the woods. He had dug a well nearby and so had plenty of good water. But he confessed to me that he spent most of his time during that first winter chopping firewood--for his cabin had no inner walls and was very difficult to heat. The Spencer community helped him then to get a logger's caravan, which is not only much more snug and easier to heat, but which Father was able to locate higher up on the mountain where he can benefit from much more sunshine. The view from the new location, looking out across Lake Tinn to Mount Gaustaf, one of the highest peaks in southern Norway, is simply magnifi-cent. As the rays of the sun play on clouds, mountains, lake, and forest one is ceaselessly awed. This is indeed a Godly place--an ideal place for a hermit. The Monastic Presence of Father Robert This extension of Spencer Abbey and of the American Cistercian Re--' gion, this foothold of Cistercian life in Norway, is certainly something for which we should be most grateful and praise the Lord. The effectiveness of Father's monastic presence cannot be fully evalu-ated but it is certainly significant. This is rather surprising in a country where most are at best nominal members of a state church, and the few, very scattered Catholics tax the handful of devouted priests and religious who seek to minister to them. The latter, without exception, seemed to ad-mire and respect Father and find inspiration in his fidelity to his particular calling. But the Lutherans, too, revere him and seem to be grateful and 274 / Review for Religious, Volume 33, 1974/2 happy .that this man of God is in their midst. They relate stories of her-mits and monks who lived in this land before the Reformation and the Danish oppression, even of a particular hermit in the area of Lake Tinn. Even for these apparently religiously indifferent, ,the man of prayer living alone on the mountain is a sign of hope, of something better, higher, tran-scendent. And when the final option comes, hopefully, with perhaps only a vague and confused idea of what he stands for in their minds, and the grace flowing from his prayer in their hearts, they will reach out for that Transcendent Reality. Blessed be the Lord God . . . he has raised up a horn of salvation for Norway. Now that there is a Cistercian bishop and hermit, in Norway may we not soon have a regular cenobitic foundation? It is time the Cistercians returned. The Cistercians first directed their steps to Norway back in the twelfth century, in the Golden Age of the Order. And there are still significant remains ~of their presence. On the Island of HoevedCya in the Oslo Fjord, just a short ferryboat ride from the capital, are the ruins of an abbey founded in 1147 from Kirkstall,. The whole outiine of the regular build-ings is there. The walls of .the church reach up ten and fifteen feet, and higher at the comer tower. Through the insisterice of 'Bishop Gran the government now preserves this site as a national monument. It is a very beautiful site indeed. But historical sites, no matter how beautiful, are not enough. The Church of Norway, like every other, needs for its fullness the presence of living and thriving contemplative communities. Guided by the Lord, Brother Robert has made a beginning. May the Lord prosper what he has begun. Reflections on Bangalore Sister Mary-John Mananzan, O.S.B. From October 14-22, 1973, the Second Asian Monastic Congress was held in Banga-lore, India. Sister Mary-John Mananzan, O.S.B., attended the meeting and gives here her impressions of the Congress. Sister Mary-John is Dean; St. Scholastica's College; P.O. Box 3153; Manila, Philippines. This will not be a report on the Bangalore Congress in the usual sense, but rather a reliving of significant experiences and a sharing of insights gained. No amount of faithful reporting can capture the atmosphere of such a meeting. But .perhaps the sharing of one's impressions can give a glimpse into the dynamics of the ievent much more than a complete but detached description 9f the proceedings. Personalities Let me begin with the significant people who made an impression on me. Among the observers to the Congress were two Tibetan monks who rePr, ds.ehted thee Dalai Lama. They were Lama Sherpa Tulku and Lama Samdong Tulku. The one word that ke'eps coming to my mind to describe them is "genuine." I was struck by their authenticity, their trueness to them-selves, their utter lack of pretense. They went about with serene dignity, quiet friendliness~ and unfailing self-mast6ry. They talked with perfect frankness about the problems of their people in exile with feeling but with-out the slightest rancor againsl~ the invading Chinese. And with disarming simplicity, one of them asked in our small group discussions: "Please ex-plain to us what you mean by a personal God." The theological jar~gon did not seem to satisfy them, so during the coffee break I ventured an explana-tion which ran something like this: "Lama Sherpa, do you sometimes talk to the Absolute Reality?" 275 276 / Review [or Religious, Volume 33, 1974/2 "Yes," he replied. "Do you think he understands you?" "Yes." "Well, that is more or less what we mean when we say that God is a person." He seemed to be more satisfied with this explanation. The lamas had a way of expressing their ideas in an unusually effective way. During the discussion on prayer Lama Samdong Tulku made the following remark: "I.got the impression that when you pray, you send your words to the Absolute Reality. We, we push ourselves to It." Another personality which, for me, stood out, was Abbot Primate Rem-bert Weakland himself. He was a most excellent presiding officer; more-over, his introductory and concluding talks showed his keen intelligence, his versatile scholarship, and his sobriety of judgment. He was most human. He joked with the seminarians of the Kristu Jyoti College where we stayed as though he were one of them but without losing his dignity. In fact I ob-served in him something I seldom observe in many superiors today--an unembarrassdd awareness of his authority and an unapologetic reference to it when he considered it useful to do so. Among the non-Asians who had adopted the Eastern way of monastic life, the one I considered most credible was Father Bede Griffiths. He went about in a most unobtrusive, unostentatious way without the slightest effort to edify or to preach. I find this significant because I felt that there can be a tendency among non-Asians who have insights about the indigenization of monastic life and liturgy which are in themselves authentic, to be over-zealous and therefore tactless in their efforts to conscienticize the people whose culture they have studied and adopted. I believe that there can be a very naive, uncritical adaptation to indigenous culture which, if cohpled with a lack of delicacy in strategy, could alienate the people because it ap-pears to them to be another and a subtler form of paternalism. When this is further accompanied by efforts to edify, then the people are positively repelled. Then one provokes reactions which may sound extreme and de-fensive, but are not wholly unjustified like: "Why do they give themselves to be more Eastern than the Easterns?" The adaptation of the Eastern forms of monasticism by monks and nuns in Asia is an important venture; but this must be undertaken with utmost delicacy, tactful strategy, and with what perhaps for Westerners will amount to an almost intolerable amount of patience. I was enriched by the friendship with Vietnamese monks and nuns who shared with me their spiritual adventures. They have left their b!g monas-teries in the hillsides and have come to live among the poor in the center of the city of Saigon. The nuns take in laundry and typing work to support themselves and the monks take turns in tricycle driving. Reflections on Bangalore / 277 The Theme of the Congress The theme of the Congress was: "The Experience of God." This was divided into subtopics .such as: Monastic Experience of God in Christianity and Other Religions; The Experience of God: Methods of Realization; The Experience of God in Community Life; The Influence of Asiatic Religious on Monastic Structure; The Experience of God and Social Responsibility; and The Contribution of Christian Monasticism of Asia to the Universal Church. These were discussed in small groups as well as in the general assemblies. Again I will not make an effort to summarize the discussions but rather pick out those which had an impact on me. First of all, I regained my respect for the word "monastic." Due to certain historical factors, the word "monastic" in certain circles had come to mean deportment, a pattern of behavior and a fuga mundi attitude. In the Congress, the main emphasis was on the single-minded search for God. There is a monastic dimension to every human being. For those who have come to an awareness orbit and who wish to fulfill this dimension of their being, there should be monastic communities whose structures are flexible enough to share their way of life even on a temporary basis. At this point, it is good to mention.what Bishop D'Souza expressed as the petition of the Indian hierarchy. The Indian hierarchy, he said, is asking the monastic communities to be: 1. eschatological signs (monks and nuns should primarily be men and women of God) 2. centers of liturgy 3. havens of serenity 4. examples Of simplicity of life and refinement 5. model communities for Christian living 6. houses of undiscriminating hospitality One thing that was realized in the Congress was the contribution that the non-Christian form of monasticism can give to the traditional Christian monastic" life. There are several elements of the Eastern form of monasti-cism which have been forgotten or not emphasized enough in the Western tradition. There is, for example, the importance of the techniques and meth-ods in the search for the Absolute. The role of the body in prayer that is very much emphasized in Yoga and Zen could'be given the same impor-tance by Christian monks and nuns. The existential view of the Absolute and the unified view of reality of the East could balance the more con-ceptual and dualistic view of the West. The importance of the guru in Eastern spirituality can likewise revitalize the role of the spiritual director. Father Raymond Pannikar summarizes the unique role of the East thus: "Just as Africa's contribution to the Church is sensitivity to creation and that of the West,. the discovery of the value of history; so the unique con-tribution of the Asian is to develop the dimension o] the spirit." 278 / Review ]or Religious, Volume 33, 1974/2 Shared Prayer The Congress was not just a series of intellectual discugsions on the experience of God: It was for many participants something of a spiritual experience in itself. Contributing tO these was, first, the shared liturgy which the different regional groups prepared, giving the ~vhole community an ex-perience of a variety of. indigenous liturgy "Indian, Vietnamese, Korean, Chinese. There were likewise opportunities to meditate in the, Zen' way, the Yoga way, the Tibetan Buddhist way, and in Christian shared prayers. Amid the variety of methods, ceremonies, symbols, °and gestures there was the unity of hearts in worship.~And then there were the interpersonal en-counters which occasioned the sharing of spiritual experiences, the creating oLbonds which gave the promise of lasting friendships.~There was thus the wonder of discovery of the other in each other. There were no resolutions, conclusions, or statements at the end of the Congress. As Father Abbot Primate said, Bangalore was more humble in its tone than the Bangkok Congress. Its open-endedness is a challenge to further reflection and to further action. And this challenge was expressed in the delegates' message to their communities which reads as follows: Message to Our Communities Together with Father Abbot Primate, Rembert Weakland, we, , gathered here at Bangalore for the Second Asian Monastic Congress, salute you with an Indian greeting:which echoes in our liturgy, SHANTI, PEACEF ,~ We would like to share with you the atmosphere of joy, openness and fraternity that prevails in this community, which grow out of peoples of dif-ferent backgrounds, not only of race and culture, but also of religious tradi-tion. We are fortunate to have at our meeting Cl~ri~tia'n monks and sisters of various countries, Tibetan lamas, Buddhist and Jain mdnks and Hindu swamis and sanyasis. We lived together, 'praying and discussing in mutual enrichment. We are amazed to realize that, amid very real differences of opinions and experiences, there is an overwhelming convergence of concern: THE SINGLEMINDED SEARCH FOR GOD. It is in this conce.rn ~that we experience a strong bond of unity. We consider it our task as monks to commit ourselves wholehea.rtedly to this search, and it is in this context that we accept the world around us and feel h sense o.f sol!darity with it. We have a role in bt~iiding up the city of man. This consigts in pointing out to man the path to God. In particular, we are to share with the poor in theii-°striving for human dignity and liberty. It has become clear to us that to realise these goals i.n our times calls for a radical openness.and flexibility in our religious life and structures. We are in a moment of challenge. If we fail to respond, we lose our right to exigt as monasteries. Your delegates will bring home to:you reports of the proceedihgs of the Congress. Understandably, these will kive but a glimpse into what really happened here. But, for many of us, this Congress has been a: real spiritual experience. ,.Your delegates can communicate this experience more effectively than any written .report. It is our earnest prayer that all the communities scattered throughout Asia will put into effect the insights gained during this Congress. Tliis may mean breaking away from fixed patterns, settink out like Abraham ihto ff new land. Reflecffon~ on Bangalore / 279 We strongly recommend openness to our brothers of other religious traditions who, as we have experienced here, have so much to offer us. We urge the rethinking of our way of life so that as many people as possible may have the opportunity of sharing with us our experience of God within the content of living and vital communities. Let us maintain the bonds of unity which have been established among us through our delegates. During these days we have thought of you and prayed for you. May our continued unity in prayer be fostered by renewed contacts with one another. Toward a More Authentic Sharing in Community Laurent Boisvert, O.F.M. Father Laurent Boisvert, O.F.M., is the editor of the excellent Canadian magazine for religious, La vie des corntnunaut~s religieuses and lives at 5750, boulevard Rose-mont; Montreal 410, Quebec; Canada. The article originally appeared in the March 1973 issue of La vie des communaut~s religieuses and is printed in translation here with the authorization of that magazine. The translation was made by Sister Clarisse Marie, S.N.J.M.; General Administration of the Sisters of the Holy Names of Jesus and Mary; 187 Chemin de Cap-St.-Jacques; Pierrefonds 940, P.Q.; Canada. The sharing of material goods, based on the needs of each individual or moral person, tends to express and intensify the fraternal bond which unites us as religious. However, in everyday living this sharing meets with ob-stacles which compromise, in varying degrees, its fraternal character. A review of them will help us to become more conscious of them and so favor, I hope, the building of that community of justice, peace, and love which all of us desire and which alone can tnaly be called "fraternal." It is not rare to hear religious ask themselves: How does it happen that our lives are so little changed by the many conferences, sessions, and work-shops in which we participate? These same religious insist that we present them not so much the fundamental values of religious life which they say they already know, but rather a way of integrating them into their lives. The reflections which follow relate to this first step: the "how" of living a more genuine fraternal community life, a step which consists in over-coming in oneself the chief obstacles to its realization. False Mental Attitudes When we insist, before community groups, that a distribution of goods 2110 Authentic Sharing in Community / 2111 be made according to the needs of each, some religious express amazement. It seems useless to them that we should come back to so fundamental an issue, and one that everyone accepts. No one can deny, however, that in spite .of acceptance in theory, certain religio.us, and a number sufficiently large to warrant the mentioning of it again, demand for themselves the use of all kinds of things, basing these requests, not on real need, but rather on the fact that other religious have and enjoy the use of. them. If someone has such and such a thing for his work, goes out so many times during the week, or wears clothing of such and such a quality, etc., others use the example of such religious to justify having the same things and acting in like manner. If one group needs two cars, another group made up of the same number of people will perhaps demand one, just because the first group has two, How can we explain this dichotomy between the theory of sharing goods according to need, and the contrary practice illustrated by the examples just given? The reason is, it seems to me, that the criterion for the distribution of goods, recognized at the intellectual level, has not yet penetrated the mentality of all religious nor modified their attitudes and their conduct. Certain religious accept the idea of pluralism in the forms of sharing, but their reactions are those of people accustomed to a uniform type of sharing. They still lack that which, for all of us, is most difficult to realize, namely a change of attitude. No modification of structures, how-ever radical, can dispense a religious from the effort required to bring.about this conversion. It is easier and faster to set up pluralistic structures for sharing than it is to transform a person accustomed to uniformity so that he becomes capable of understanding, of respecting and of favoring diversity on the level of persons and their needs, and of making the necessary applications. All of which helps us to understand that if, in our congregations, the adaptation of structures has in large measure been accomplished, the con-version of our ways of thinking has not. Some years of effort will still be necessary, years of patience and of tolerance, before the transformation of mental attitudes and of conduct becomes a reality. In spite of everything, some people will never know such a transformation, because they believe that such a change is an evil and not a benefit to be pursued. Charity re-quires that we respect them, and that we learn to live with them, in the wis-dom and great-heartedness of compromise which, under its° positive forms, is love. Inability to Estimate One's Needs Accurately It is not sufficient to want to share a community of goods according to the real needs of each one. For the actual realization of this principle one must be able to evaluate tfiese needs honestly and accurately. Some religious are more or less incapable of making such an evaluation. For some, the reason lies in the formation they received as young religious and the long 2112 / Review ]or Religious, Volume 33, 1974/2 practice of a poverty based on dependence. They had only to ask and to leave ,to ,authority to judge the legitimacy of their request. Once the su-perior had given an affirmative answer, they never questioned themselves again about their use of the things granted. -This dependence,, judged in our day excessive, has atrophied the sense of responsibility"of some and made them quite unable to determine their own needs: Today, when au-thority leaves them free to choose such and such a thing,, to do or not do such and such an. action, to go or not to go to such and such a place, they prefer no action at all rather then assume responsibility for it. Long and difficult will be,the liberating process which will one day enable them to judge their own needs, if~ such will ever be possible. ~ C-Certain religious, coming from poor families and having, lacked some of the basic necessities during their childhood, make up,for lost time and accumulate without reason a surplus of goods. They:even admit that they ask for things to make up for the lack of them experienced in the past.And so they fill their closets with items.for, which they have,no real need, but which give them a sort of psychological security. In this Way they com-pensate for the time when they sutIeredreal want. ~ ,, For other religious, the practice of a poverty consisting of going with-out, of detailed restriction for use; of meticulous control and uniformity, has brought ab6ut another ,excessive reaction in that they,are constantly asking .for things they don't really need and of which they never .seem to have enough. At the other extreme are those who considered this former practice of poverty the ideal one, and so refuse to accept any form of com-munal sharing based on a pluralism of real needs. Using False Criteria Again, for some religious, the relative incapacity of identifying their real needs results from the use of false criteria. They will say, in, order to justify a trip: all my brothers and,sisters went to such aoplace, though an-other might say~ with just as much truth: I cannot make that .trip since none of my brothers and sisters have ever been there. Can the single fact :that one's relatives have visited Europe constitute a ,valid reason for asking for a trip overseas? Or again, can the simple fact that one's parents have never taken:~some scenic trip within the province or state:~be sufficient reason for denying oneself ,such an outing? In both cases, the use .of the "family" norm, instead of helping, hinders the discovery of real needs. That one consider the situation of one's family is certainly not wrong, but to use it as the sole means of defining orie's Own needs and the ~type of relaxation one has a right to seek is certainly without justification. These .conclusions apply .likewise .to one's social and professional posi-tion. There are people who count on the life style of ~this double milieu to determine personal needs. If they: live inca neighborhood where~each family averages one or two color-television~, sets, a summer cottage', a snowmobile Authentic Sharing in Community / 2113 or~ two, etc., they think that they too have a right to these same things and wi!l use them, under the illusion that they are living their commitment to po~verty.,lf th~ey work in the.~schools or hospitals and if the majority~of their companions go to Florida every year, wear a new outfit every day, etc., they come to believe that such is Lequired of them too, and in their minds these things become necessities that must be satisfied. The fallacy .of such ~rea.soning comes,from the setting up of one's .social or professional sur-roundings as an absolute ~in determining personal needs. It ought to be evi-dent that even if all the teachers of the school have a car, and if all the families in the area have two television sets, I do not necessarily need the same things. It also ha.ppens that this met.hod of evaluating needs ac.cord-ing to a social or professi0nal milieu soon involves various forms of dis-crimination, ail.harmf.ul to .the ,building of a fraternal community. Let us add that economy, valid as it may be, often prejudices one?s judgment of personal needs. To know how to economize is a quality that most people of average means acquire through° force of circumstances, That religious should possess, it is nother surprising nor embarrassing.;Waste-fulness and .extravagance, as well as carelessness, have always been,.con-sidered faults. The error, in the case of the religious, is to purchase things, not because ~one may need them, but because they are on sale and that per-haps one day they will be useful. It is also true that this intention of econo-mizing has a way of multiplying needs. The Influence of Numbers ,, In visiting a number of local commu~nities I ~have ~liscovered that re-ligious in small groups have their real needs satisfied much more easily than do religious in.larger gr.oups: Although not universal, this situation is repre-sentativ, e of a number of congregations. Of course, there are many cases in which it is reasonable and necessary ¯ to take numbers, into consideration. For example, if the local authority in a community of one hundred persons is planning an outing which includes transportation and lunch~ it is obvious that one must consider the number of those who wish to participate. The influence of numbers can, however, become harmful to community sharing when., a particular type .of logic prevails as sometimes happens in larg~ groups, though it. may also be found in more restricted ones, too. For example, two or three religious.desire to obtain skis in order to satisfy.a real need for relaxation, so they go to the local authority with their req.uest only to receive this answer: I cannot authorize such an expenditure; just think of the money involved if the sixty religious of the house were to come asking for skis! This reasoning characterizes a mentality which cerl~ainly is not pluralistic ,'and which fails to respect personal needs. That two or three religious desire some skis in no way implies that all the others need or even wish them. The falseness of this reasoning is even more evident Review ]or Religious, Volume 33, 1974/2 when we realize that the community is made up for the most part of older people or of those who are ill. On pushing this kind of logic to the extreme, one ought to refuse a wheelchair to a sick person who really needs one because everyone else might want one too. This type of reasoning may also exist among some members of the community group. They refrain from asking for what they really need be-cause they say: If everybody were to ask for such a thing, the community could not afford it. However, it is nowhere written that all the religious of a house must have the same needs at the same time, and that to satisfy them one must buy sixty canes or sixty wigs at the same time! Why, then, should we suppose this uniformity and always act in view of the total num-ber? Wherever this kind of logic dominates, whether on the part of the superior or of the members of the group matters little, it makes impossible the practice of community sharing according to need. The Moral Weight of Salaries The religious earning a high salary seems to have a special facility for getting what he needs and often more than he needs, while the one who makes no financial contribution is sometimes too embarrassed to make known real needs. Other variants of this phenomenon are these: The re-ligious in a salaried service who works overtime may think it his right to keep and to use as he pleases at least a part of the extra money so earned; the one who has won a grant or money award will not fail to exploit his chance of obtaining favors; the religious who receives an "old-age pension" and the one who regularly draws some form of income may also use these to obtain personal advantages. The moral weight of money earned by a religious' likewise risks in-fluencing the decisions of the superior. Does he feel as free and no more obligated in evaluating the requests of the one who hands in a substantial check than he does in judging those requests made by members who make no such contribution? It would not be surprising if, in the first case, he finds a particular facility in saying "yes" at once and with a smile, while in the second case, he has a tendency to ask questions about the necessity of the items requested and to multiply his reflections on the observance of poverty. In allowing a lapse of time between turning in one's check and making a request for what one judges useful or necessary, the religious can help those in authority to avoid showing favor and granting to him as to the others only what he really needs. At the provincial level we occasionally see this tendency in operation in those cases in which authority tends to discriminate between local groups of varying incomes. Groups with significant revenues sometimes receive more easily the authorization for extra expenditures than another poorer group, though the actual needs of the two groups may be identical. If such is the case, it is evident that discrimination is practiced in dealing with local Authentic Sharing in Community / 285 groups, a situation very detrimental in the realization of a truly fraternal community. The Matter o~ Gi~ts It also happens that the reception of gifts sometimes prevents sharing according to need. The religious, benefiting from the generosity of family or friends, is often better provided for than the one who must depend solely on the community. In order to justify the keeping or the use of things received, the religious reasons that he got them gratuitously when he ought rather to be motivated by real need. If our poverty permits us to accept gifts, they must nevertheless be used for all without discrimina-tion. This means that the religious may not have more because he receives more, but that all needs be judged by the same standard and that all be treated in the same manner. Whether the .goods to satisfy our needs comes from within or from outside the community is of lesser consequence. Two other observations must be made here in regard to gifts. Certain religious still declare that the refusal of anything offered to them by their parents, friends, or others, always constitutes a failure against poverty, indeed an injustice to the congregation. As it stands, this statement is inaccurate. The refusal of certain goods offered is sometimes required by our commitment to poverty. Such is the case when an individual or moral person does not need that which is offered, and in addition, the donor re-fuses any transfer of his gift. Such is likewise the case when, in response to a real need, a religious is offered something which can in no way be justified by the norms of simplicity. The second observation bears on the "intention of the donor." The intention clearly expressed by the donor does not suppress or replace the authorization required for the keeping and the use of goods. A religious cannot go to Europe simply because his parents have given him~the money for the trip. If competent authority refuses him" the permission and if the intention of the parents about the destination of their gift remains fixed, there is nothing left for the religious to do but to refuse or to return the money. However, in the majority of cases, it is not necessary to be scrupulous about respecting the intention of the donor. Many people offer us small gifts (the notion of "small" varies considerably, of course) and say to us: This is for you, for your personal needs, clothing, recreation, etc. If we took the time to explain our way of life to them as a community sharing a common fund, they would probably be quite happy to allow one of our companions to benefit from their generosity.Though we rarely explain this to them, we can ordinarily, without any qualms of conscience, pre-sume their understanding acceptance and put in the common fund what-ever we receive. 2116 / Revie.w for Religious, Volume 33, 1974/2 On the contrary, the intention of the °donor must be respected when the gift is made in the form of an inheritance or legacy. Let us make clear, however, that the religious to whom these goods have been offered alway~ has the right to refuse them. He even has the duty to do so in a case in which the, acceptance of an inheritance or legacy, involves obligations ~otaily or partially in violation of his religious 9ommitments. We must also understand that. authority does sometimes have a word to say in our ac-ceptance or refusal of such goods. The Moral Weight of Competence, Position, and Conduct In this matter of sharing, the professional status of religious some-times operates in his favor. Experience shows that in certain cases the religious~ ,possessing special qualifications obtains what he needs more easily than does his confrere who lacks such competence; he may even receive a ~urplu~ while the other is deprived of basic necessities. We have no intention of condemning competence; but under pain of closing our eyes to reality, we must acknowledge that this competence does sometimes exercise a moral influence on those presenting their needs, inclining them to ask for more than they really need. It may also influence those whose role is to insure .a just distribution of material resources in their application of the principle of real need. Experience0shows us that a past office may become another pretext for keeping and us_ing certain goods. The religious whose work required a specialized library, for example, may have a strong inclina.tion to keep it even after he no longer occupies the position which once required it. The one who needed a car for his work will be tempted to continue to keep it even after he is transferred to another office which in no way requires its use. Certain personal itnd marginal benefits connected with having a car make it very .painful for him to give it up. Again it may happen that one's present position Fay serve as an oc-casion for the granting or obtaining.of favors either for self or for others. Thus a superior, as soon as he is named,.,may ask for a ~'oom with a bath attached. Is this to help him fulfill his office"moi'e efffctively? Is such an installation really needed for his work? If not, how can he justify requesting it for himself while refusing it to others. It is no more justifiabl~ for a superior to use the pretext of his office to receive and to keep as long as he wishes all the magazines that come to the house. How can one approve such action? If he were in charge of formation and if, with the consent of the community or of authority, he had a prior right or even exclusive right to the use of a magazine published for formation personnel, nobody would complain. But no one can accept, and with reason, that an individual in virtue of his office, keep for himself as long as he likes the newspapers and magazines :meant for the use of all. Such practice is an obstacle to fraternal sharing. The one whose function Authentic Sharing in Community is to build community ought to be the first to ~remove from his own life anything that might compromise it. Let me add as a last moral influence a particular type of conduct in which a few religious indulge when making a request to authority. Their tone, gestures, and manner in general can be so high-handed that it be-comes almost impossible for the superior to refuse, even when he judges superfluous the object requested. When dealing with such persons he per-haps says to himself: It is easier to grant them what they want at once than to put up with the endless scenes and references to the matter that they will make if it is denied them. The superior may even justify his action by saying that he consented in "order to avoid a greater evil. All the same, that will not prevent those in the community from believing that at times a dif-ficult disposition does get results. While we understand the delicate posi-tion of authority in these instances, we must also recognize that such con-duct on the part of a member of the group can be an obstacle to fraternal sharing as it prevents the application of the principle: each according to need. The Influence of Social Convention According to current styles and in varying degrees, social convention may also influence both the religious in determining his needs, and the su-perior whose role is to assure that fraternal dimension of communal shar-ing proper to a religious household. Ordinarily we find it easier to ask for those things~ accepted by social convention than for those outside it. The superior in turn has a tendency to authorize more quickly those things it approves than those which are indifferent or contrary, to it. In this way social convention sometimes exerts a destructive influence on the charitable quality which ought to characterize our sharing from a common fund ac-cording to individual needs. . In considering the influence of social convention on religious, it cer-tainly explains at least in. part their attitude toward smoking, for example. The religious who smokes normally receives the necessary tobacco even though the expense occasioned ma~, be as high as two or three hundred dollars a year. The need to smoke, createdand developed by him, no longer requires critical evaluation but is taken for granted; and when the com-munity budget is prepared, there is no hesitation about'setting aside im-portant sums for it. ~ : It is not at all,certain, on the other h~nd, that the philatelist would so easily be allotted a similar sum for the purchas.e of new stamps. How does it happen that we consent so easily to satisfy the needs of the one who smokes but refuse those of the stamp collector? The pressure of social con-vention would seem to be the exp!anation. Under pain of being considered out of step with the times, religious cannot ignore social convention completelyi but by conforming to it with- 2811 / Review for Religious, Volume 33, 1974/2 out discrimination they can create needs the satisfaction of which amounts to real slavery and causes surprise and even scandal to others. Religious ought to be free enough, for example, in the matter of dress to avoid mak-ing an absolute of an outmoded costume and to consider relative those fashions which social convention seeks to impose on them everyday. This relativity can be expressed in one's choice of classic styles, simple and few in number, and much less subject to frequent and costly change than those passing fads which are here today and forgotten tomorrow. If it is normal for religious to be aware of social usage and to observe it when in their exterior relations they judge it necessary or useful, they must make the necessary effort to prevent it from entering so deeply into their lives as to create an endless chain of new needs. Let it suffice to men-tion the use of alcoholic drinks. Rare are those social functions, meals, and evenings from Which these are absent. If the religious is not on his guard, in multiplying his social relationships, he risks developing an acute need for alcohol. In this case, satisfaction can never be regarded as liberation, but rather a most insidious form of personal slavery. A Lack of Empathy Lack of empathy is particularly noticeable on those occasions when a religious must submit to a superior or to other members of his group his personal needs in view of an evaluation or control. It may happen that one's first reaction is to make comparisons with one's own needs, forgetting that each one is unique and therefore different; And so the superior says: I don't understand why you want to buy this secular outfit; I don'~ wear one and I've never suffered from not doing so. Or again: I never went to hear such and such a singer; I don't see what advantage you can get out of an evening so spent. Such a person never tries to put himself in the position of the one asking in order to be better able to understand his needs. He seeks rather to impose his own values on the other person or again to convince him that he does not have such a need because as superior he himself never experienced it. Without exactly realizing it, the superior may set himself up as a sort of prototype whom the others would profit by imitating. In following this sort of logic, ought he not require others to be hungry at the same time he is and with the same intensity, to be sleepy when he is, and to require the same number of hours of sleep? People incapable of this empathy are quite unable to evaluate the needs of others. We might as well say at the same time that they do not know how to exercise the service of authority, since they will never be able to understand those whom they are supposed to help. They may think they understand others, but as a matter of fact they understand only that which they can project on others. In general the person with little empathy is intolerant, not through ill will, but through his inability to put himself Authentic Sharing in Community / 2119 in the position of others. In wishing them well, he may even impose on them things that may cause them serious harm. Exclusive or Prior Right to Use The use of certain equipment may be necessary for a religious in the fulfillment of his office. It is considered essential for his work and he could not give it up without compromising the task confided to him. Such usage is valid and his confreres readily accept his use of what is neces-sary; but if they see that he has reserved for his exclusive use things for which he has no real need, at least at certain times, feelings of discontent-ment and a sense of injustice are not slow in surfacing. An example will help to make my point clear. Let us suppose that my work requires the use of a car quite regularly. On the days when I don't have to make any trips, those times when I travel by plane, am I going to lock up the car when I could just as well let others use it? If I put the car in the garage and the keys in my pocket, and if I force my com-panions to take the bus for their trips when the use of a car would be much appreciated and a real convenience for them, can I say sincerely that I am living the principle of fraternal sharing? In order to justify my conduct, I can no doubt find many reasons: A car is something one doesn't lend to just anybody; I must keep the things I need for my work in good condition; no one knows how to take care of them as I do; it is often a costly business to lend one's equipment; thb community has other cars for general use; etc. Underneath these reasons, all of which contain some element of truth, there is perhaps another which I won't admit: an undue attachment which makes me a slave of this thing. Deep down I prefer its safekeeping to communion with my brothers. In fact, my refusal to put the car at their disposition, far from favoring inter-personal relations, risks destroying them altogether and setting up barriers which are difficult to break down. If, after such conduct, I dare to repeat that goods should be oriented toward the well-being of the group and the strengthening of mutual relations, I must admit that in practice I sub-ordinate persons to things. If in my work, instead of this exclusive right to the use of equipment, I exercise what may be called a prior right to its use, I will quickly come to realize to what degree this type of use and the mentality which it de-velops favor fraternal union. Nobody denies that there are certain incon-veniences in this kind of sharing, that one risks finding one's things out of order, not in the same condition as one left them, etc. However, be-fore committing myself to sharing, ought I wait until no such risks are involved? If so, I mi~ght just as well say categorically that I refuse to share. Of course, everyone recognizes the existence of an occasional case when it would be better to keep one's tools exclusively for personal use. Such exceptions, however, do not modify the general rule according to 290 / Review ]or Religious, Volume 33, 1974/2 which the religious ought to exercise a prior right rather than an exclusive one to the use of those things necessary for the accomplishment of his duties. The first recognizes and favors fraternal sharing, while the second usually cuts it off abruptly. The Proprietor's Mentality Every religious making use of community goods can say, and he has reason: This property belongs to me; it has been put at my disposition by a moral person called the "province" or "institute." He may be inclined per-haps, in ~order to justify his poverty before those who do not believe in it anymore, to exaggerate the inconveniences of such a situation and to keep silent about the advantages which it affords. Sometimes he will even cover up his possessive attitude with regard to certain things saying that they do not belong to him and therefore he cannot lend them. Under pain of deny-ing the evidence, we must admit that some religious seem to have a pro-prietor's mentality with regard to goods belonging to the province or in-stitute. Such a mentality is an obstacle to fraternal sharing. If, in order to illustrate my idea, I use the community treasurer as an example, it is not that this mentality is more widespread among them than among other religious, but because frequent reference is made to them when this topic is discussed. In fact, it often happens that the treasurer acts as if he were the proprietor of the community's goods. He feels free to ask ques-tions, even indiscreet ones, about the sums of money requested, while actu-ally it is his business simply to hand over what has been authorized. He scolds others for expenditures which he has no right to judge. He may even insist on an itemized account which normally is given to the superior. When he gives out money, his gesture is marked by a pained expression as if part-ing with it hurt him physicallly. If we describe it at its worst, we might say that in keeping the purse-strings, he seems to keep the whole community on a,.leash. This caricature, although rough!y drawn, is not entirely the fruit of the imagination. If I have exaggerated some situations, I have reproduced others with an accuracy that no one can deny. It is not surprising if religious, subjected to caprices of this kind, no longer dare ask the community even for what is necessary, but arrange to obtain it outside, or keep a part of their salary or gifts received, in order to satisfy their needs. The changing of the name "procurator" to "economist," "treasurer," "controller," or whatever, does not remedy the evil. The real problem is not one of vocabulary, but of one's way of thinking, and it is this that must be changed. The bursar must recognize, in theory and in practice, that the property confided to his administration belongs to the community., that his task consists in managing it with competence, and in distributing it amiably to religious whose needs have been approved by authority. His office must not be the scene of daily contention, but rather a place where love operates under the guise of both gift and welcome. Authentic Sharing in Commitnity / Let me express sincere appreciation to all those religious who fill their post as treasurer with competency, interior detachment, and in a spirit of service. Everyone knows that theirs is often a thankless task, and one we could not do without. In accomplishing it with that joy and tact which love knows how to exercise, they can do much towards the realization of the ideal of fraternal sharing according to the real needs of each one. Fear, Embarrassment, Shame, Scruples in Regard to Asking Strange as it may appear, there are still some religious who are unable to express their real needs, who prefer to deprive themselves of what they need rather than ask for it. These religious, either by temperament or for-mation, have developed in themselves a fear, an embarrassment, shame, or even scruples about asking. Among them are those who are not earning, and on this account dare not mention their needs. Some of them think of themselves as a burden to the community. While helping these religious to free themselves from whatever prevents them" from asking for what they need, authority must take the initiative, offering them and even giving them whatever they may need. If this is considered an exaggeration, it is better to fail on the side of kindness and attention than on that of indifference and privation. It is always easier to notice the people who abuse than those whom we abuse. There also exists on the part of some a certain shame and embarrass-ment about asking which may be the result of our manner of community living and sharing in the past. I understand the uneasiness of those of thirty, forty, fifty, and more who still ask local authority or the treasurer for stamps, letter-paper, tooth-paste, soap, etc., but such a practice of com, munity sharing can no longer be justified in the name of poverty. Though long since outmoded, it has not yet totally disappeared. In my opinion it would be so much simpler, so much more adult and reas6nable, to put all these things for common use in a place where each one could take what he needs as he needs it. It is useless to complain of possible abuse in order to refuse such an elementary practice. The existence of such abuse is inevitable, whatever the manner of living the principle of common sharing. Would it not be better that the abuses accompany an adult practice of sharing instead of a childish and embarrassing one? In conclusion on this point let me say that one of the gravest abuses of the practice of religious poverty is that form of dependence which encourages and even develops personal irresponsi-bility. The Application of Various Formulas for Sharing Though there are several formulas for the sharing of go~ds, I do not in-tend here to present the advantages and inconveniences of each. I wish only to point out that the manner of applying any valid formula is able to trans-form it into an obstacle to fraternal sharing. Take for example the individual 292 / Review ]or Religious, F'olume 33, 1974/2 budget. It is, for religious in general, a practical manner for determining needs and when approved, of receiving whatever is necessary to meet them. This does not mean, however, that such a formula is best for all the religious of an institute, or of a province, or of a local community. There are some people who find a personal budget more of a useless bother than a help in practicing religious poverty. Why impose it on them then? On the other hand, why forbid it to the rest of the community just because some do not find it helpful? In ~. word, fraternal sharing is not free when the individual budget is refused or imposed on all alike. In those communities in which, in order to respect personal needs, the community budget is made obligatory and the individual budget optional, uniformity may compromise the quality of fraternal sharing. As regards the community budget it is rare, thanks be to God, to hear people use the argu-ment of uniformity to obtain more, to grant or to refuse permission. Wherever uniformity is the sole criterion for making requests or granting authorization, fraternal charity in the treatment of local groups is often ignored. Though two communities may be made up of the same number of persons, it does not follow that the needs of one be identical to the needs of the other. To respect each group in its uniqueness requires ordinarily both diversity and plurality in the manner of treatment. It is the same for individuals. How can anyone justify uniformity in the amount of money granted annually to religious who make use of a budget? Let us take the matter of clothing, for example. The one who is small and well-built will surely have an advantage over another less well-proportioned, with bulges here and there, not to mention fiat feet! Some would remedy this situation by asking that the first person hand in what he has left over, and that the second ask for what he still needs. However, one must admit that the latter remains in an awkward position as it is always harder to ex-tend the hand to receive than to turn in a surplus. In the end, would it not be simpler and more charitable to leave each one free to evaluate his cloth-ing needs and to ask for the money necessary to take care of them. The individual budget plan by which a uniform lump sum is given to all religious also presents, in actual practice, certain facets detrimental to fraternal sharing. Let us suppose that each religious of a local community receives $2500 annually, and that it is left to him to allocate this sum as he sees fit. Such procedure risks creating unjustifiable inequality. Religious whose parents live a few miles away will spend very little to goto see them regularly, while another having parents living at a distance, can visit them only rarely and under pain of seriously jeopardizing his budget. Isn't this a form of discrimination? Another weakness inherent in this plan is that the religious who can economize will manage to procure all sorts of valuable objects (record-play-ers, tape-recorders, etc.) and will have the clear impression, even the con- Authentic Sharing in Community / 293 viction, that these belong to h, im. Of course, he will feel free to take them with him on changing residenc~. As a last obstacle to fraternal sharing, let me add the refusal a priori of approving several different plains and allowing them to be used within the local community as the memlSers judge best. One would respect individual needs more surely if some wer~ permitted to use an individual budget, while others were given an allowan+e for expenses, and still others received the money necessary as the need arose. There are some very deserving religious who do not have any use for a~ individual budget or for a regular allowance and who desire to continue to~ practice poverty by asking for things as they need them. We violate the fraternal quality of our sharing if we impose on them a plan which burdens rather than frees them in their service of God. Conclusion The practice of fraternal sfiaring to which we are bound bestows on our I . community of goods its evangehcal and religious significance. Indeed, it is in order to strengthen the fraiernal bond which unites us and to express it before the world that we have chosen to put all our possessions into a com-mon fund, and to share them according to the real needs of each one. The obstacles that this sharing mebts in practice prove that it is difficult for all of us, because of our sinful condition, to observe perfectly that which we desire with all our hearts. However, the rehg~ous who recognizes the diffi-culties and makes an effort to leliminate them from his life, demonstrates his faith in those values for whic~ the fraternal community stands and his de-sire to collaborate construct~ve, ly in building it, depending on the support of Jesus Christ, thecenter of oui" lives, for a more perfect realization of it. The General Chapter of Affairs Joseph F. Gallen, S.J. Joseph F. Gallen, S.J., a specialist !n canon law for religious, writes from St. Joseph'.s Church: 321 Willing's Alley; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19106. Pre-chapter Preparation : Pre-chapter preparation, despite its evident need, was almost univer-sally unknown before post-Vatican II general and provincial chapters. The delegates'to the general chapter should be elected hbout a year before the assehably of the chapter. This will make it possible to have the pre-chapter committees constituted predominantly of chapter members from the begin-ning. The superior general and his council, or a committee appointed by him, could have already inaugurated the work by securing the proposals from the members of the institute and having them arranged according to subject matter. These could be given almost immediately to the pre-chapter committees. The delegates may be elected earlier than a date determined in the constitutions, e.g., six months before the assembly of the chapter. This determination of time is a very accidental aspect of the law, and a rea-sonable cause excuses from it. The more fundamental content of such a law is to elect the delegates at a time that will give the best possible preparation for the chapter. I think myself that a committee of more than five is gener-ally less efficient. If the quantity of the work so demands, several parallel or sub-committees can be designated. As many as possible of those on a com-mittee should be competent in the field of the committee. Each institute should know from its experience of recent chapters and from the problems now facing it just what committees are needed. There should be a steering or co-ordinating committee. Other committees have been on the religious life, vows, constitutions, government, liturgy, formation, apostolate, finances, 294 The General Chapter o] Affairs / 295 retirement, and habit. Canon law has no legislation on committees. There-fore, it depends on the particular institute to determine the committees and their work; the members and chairpersons may be elected or appointed or be designated partially by both election and appointment; the chairpersons may be elected by the members of the particular committee. Manner of Pre-chapter Committee Preparation The one directing the pre-chapter preparation gives the proposals or chapter matter to the chairpersons of the pertinent committees, who in turn distribute them to the individual members of the committees to ~work up, dividing the matter as evenly as possible. Let us suppose that the following proposal has been assigned to an individual of the government committee: the term of office of the superior general should be reduced from six to five (four) years, with only one immediate re-election permitted. The committee member is to work up a report on this proposal in the manner of a secretary, an objective researcher, not as a supporter or antag-onist of the proposal or as a policy maker. The chapter makes the decision on enactments and policy, not the committee. The first thing the committee member does is to write down the number of the proposal, if these are num-bered. Identical and almost identical proposals are to be treated together on the same report. The committee member therefore next notes on the report the number that submitted it, for:example: 36 handed in this proposal for a five and 15 for a four year term. He then expresses the proposal in one statement or in parts but both in such a way as to permit a yes-no discussion and a yes-no decision. He next, under the heading~of sense, gives any ex-planations of the proposal, always being complete throughout the report but as ~clear and brief as possible. Submitted proposals, are almost, always wordier and more obscure than the example given above, but the term "im-mediate" in the example above could be briefly explained. He could well conclude the section on sense by a statement such as the following: The pi'oposal contains two ideas, a five (four) instead o1~ a"six year term andonly one immediate re-election. The heart of his report is in the following sec-tion, in which he gives all~ the reasons for and then all the reasons against the proposal, noting when any of these reasons has greater weight for or against the four than the five year term. He ends the report with his recom-mended decision: to be accepted, to be rejected, to be accepted with modi-fications. It is evident that the reasons for the acceptance or rejection are the favorable or unfavorable reasons he has already listed. He should add his reasons for suggesting modifications. Copies of this report are distributed to all the committee members. They are to be given adequate time for its study. When a sufficient number of reports are ready, they are to be dis-cussed in a committee meeting. The committee confirms, rejects in whole or in part, and corrects the report of the individual member, which thus becomes the committee report. The committee vote on the report and its :296 / Review for Religious, Volume 33, 1974/2 distinct parts should be included on it, e.g., 3 for, 2 against. Reports for all the proposals to be discussed in any period of sessions should be ready be-fore that period begins. These should be distributed to the capitulars at least on their arrival so that they can be properly studied. The failure to have such reports is a primary cause for the many unreflecting, inefficient, and slow general chapters we have had in the post-Vatican II years. Any religious experienced in chapters should see the need of reports of the type described above. They are demanded by evident facts. The primary such fact is that a chapter should make its decisions from convictions based on solid reasons. This will certainly not be attained unless there is a thorough investigation and study of the facts and reasons. It is also a sufficiently evident and most pertinent fact that many of the capitulars will not study the proposals beforehand. The reports will help to lessen their uninformed voting. Many capitulars will not be able to understand some proposals with-out such a report, for example, those who have had no experience in han-dling large sums of money can find financial proposals difficult to understand, and a religious who has not been in the novitiate since he left it thirty years ago will find. many ideas on formation most difficult to grasp. Proposals handed in by chapter members during the chapter should be processed through the pertinent committee in the manner described above. Subject Matter of the General Chapter of Affairs The norm of the practice of the Holy See for this has been the more im-portant matters that concern the entire institute. If the matter is not more important or does not concern the entire institute, it appertains to the ordi-nary government of the general, provincial, or local superiors. In the con-crete this matter has consisted of the proposals submitted by the members, provincial chapters, and the general capitulars during the time of the general chapter. The first observation is that the proposals under one aspect can readily be insufficient. Almost universally the proposals on a particular matter do not touch, at least adequately, all the more important aspects, difficulties, and problems of the particular field. Quite often they are concerned only with its accidental and lesser aspects. Very frequently also the admittance of a proposal will demand as a consequence or antecedently presume another proposal which has not been submitted. In all such cases, the pertinent com-mittee should add the required proposals, noting on each its committee source and the reasons why it was submitted by the committee. It is not very intelligent to have the submitted proposals as the subject matter, with-out designating anyone to point out and supply for the omissions and the lack of balance. In such a system, it can be almost a mere accident that the general chapter faces all the real problems of the institute. There has to be a way of rejecting very expeditiously the proposals that are less important and general or otherwise evidently inadmissible. Each The General Chapter of Affairs / 297 committee should list all such proposals submitted to it, and very early sub-mit this list to the co-ordinating committee. The latter should go over the lists and have them duplicated and distributed to the chapter members. Sufficient time should be granted for the proper study of the lists, and the chapter is then to be asked to reject all of them in the one vote. The per-mitted recourse against rejection should be of the following type. If a capitu-lar, not the one who submitted the proposal as such, believes that any such rejected proposal is worthy of a committee report and chapter discussion, he should hand in this proposal with his reasons for its repeated presenta-tion. The verdict on confirming or rescinding the rejection should not be made by the original rejecting committee but by the co-ordinating com-mittee. This will avoid having the same committee as both judge and de-fendant in the recourse. Greater Reduction of Matter Is Necessary The reduction of the work of the general chapter has to be much greater than the mere immediate rejection of proposals considered less important, less general, or otherwise evidently inadmissible in the past. No general chapter can s.atisfactorily handle a thousand or two thousand proposals. This is true even if the pre-chapter prepa.ration is most thorough and com-plete, The number of proposals that confronted very many post-Vatican II general chapters was prostrating. Nor is it sensible to think of more fre-quent general chapters; we have too many now. Not a great number of them have been religiously effective, and there is nothing in multiplication that augurs greater effectiveness. Perhaps the remedy is to cut down very severely the work of the general chapter to the particular matters that are very highly important and urgent and to give much greater attention to policies than to enactments and changes of enactments and laws in particular matters. Present Mentality Few will now even question the statement that we are faced by a crisis of authority. Pope Paul VI has often spoken~ of this crisis, for example: To mention another: there is the excessive emphasis on the right of the indi-vidual to do as he pleases, which leads to the rejection of any and all limits imposed from without and of any and all authority, however legitimate it may be (May 25, 1968, The Pope Speaks, 13 [1968], 222). In this way a mentality is spread which would like to claim that dis-obedience is legitimate and justified in order to protect the freedom that the sons of God should enjoy (January 29, 1970, ibid., 15 [1970], 54). Since therefore it is a visible society, the Church must necessarily have the power and function of making laws and seeing to it that they are obeyed. The Church's members in turn are obliged in conscience to observe these laws (December 13, 1972, ibid., 17 [1973], 376). This mentality of hostility tO authority and law is one of the very im-portant and urgent matters that a general chapter must face and strive to 2911 / Review ]or Religious, Volume 33, 1974/2 change, but it is also a fact that makes one question the enactment of many laws at present. Matters Excluded from the Competence of General Chapters Possessing Experimental Authority These chapters obviously cannot change ( 1 ) divine law, whether natural or revealed; (2) and without the previous appro'~al of the Sacred Congrega-tion for Religious and Secular Institutes these chapters may not put into effect anything that is contrary to the common law (canonical prescriptions, laws of Vatican II, and other laws and decrees of the Holy See); nor (3) make any change in the purpose, nature, and characteristics of any institute or in the Rule of an institute (Ecclesiae sanctae, n6. 6). Proposals These are made by the members of the institute and by provincial chap-ters. All are to be encouraged to make proposals; all are equally to be counseled to make only good proposals, and this means good for the entire institute. A proposal is to be judged by its content, but an obscure and un-duly long proposal is a certain indication of insufficient thought. The insuffi-ciency in this: case frequently extends to the content of the proposal. To find l~roposals a religious, should go over the life of the individual members and of,the community immediately with God, the community life, and the life of work. He should go through all pertinent books, e.g., the constitutions. He is to evaluate and to find ways to correct and improve the life of sanc-tity, the apostolate, the present policies and trends of the institute, its public image in the Church and in.general. He should evaluate, all innovations of the post-Vatican II years. Have they succeeded, failed, and in each case to what extent? Have the members of the institute become better religious, better participants in the community life, better apostles? What are the big problems facing the institute today? What is their solution? What is the re-ligious' effectiveness of superiors, their councilors, those in charge of forma-tion, of the works of the al:iOstolate? Is the tenor and style of life in the houses conducive to the religious life, the apostolate, a religiously satisfy-ing community life? Are your proposals solid, progressive without being im-prudent? Do they all propose freedom from something that is difficult and demands sacrifice? Proposals must be signed only and to the extent that this is com-manded by the law of the institute. A final day, well ahead of the opening of the general chapter, must be determined for the handing in of proposals. All, including general capitulars, should hand in their proposals during this tim& The general capitulars retain the right of making proposals during the chapter: Toward the close of the chapter, a date is to be determined be-yond which no proposal will be accepted. All of these provisions are to enable the committees to process the proposals properly and in due time. The General Chapter o/ Affairs / 299. The right to make proposals is determined by the law or practice of the particular institute. Those who do not have this right may suggest proposals, preferably in writing, to ~those who do enjoy the right. The latter may but are .not obliged to accept merely suggested proposals (see Review ]or Re-ligious, 23 [1964], 359-64). Position Papers and Questionnaires These were the high hurdle and wide stream obstacles in the procedure of. so many special general chapters, and few of these chapters landed fully on the opposite bank. Position papers were also at times a means on the part of committees of appropriating to themselves the policy making func-tion of the chapter. Questionnaires were frequently the substitution of a none too reasonable head count for a vote given because of convincing reasons. A background paper or questionnaire is only rarely necessary or advisable, e.g, an intelligent vote, for or against a particular proposal can demand a brief historical description. If so, the background paper should be prepared.~ Authority of the Superior General in Pre-chapter Preparation The superior general, assisted by his council, has authority over the entire pre-chapter preparation. This is evident from the fact that, outside of the general chapter, there is no one else on the general level of authority and from canon 502, which places the institute under his authority (see Ecclesiae sanctae, no. 4). Frequently at least a superior general gives ample delegation to. another religious to direct and supervise this preparation, e.g., to the Chairperson, of the steering or co-ordinating committee. However, the superior general can always lessen or~'withdraw such authority, lie may also always step in to correct and guide particular matters, individuals, or committees. Post-Vatican II general and provinc, ial chapters have often been vanquished in the pre-chapter preparation. The game was lost before it began. The superior general is not arbitrarily to interfere in or hamper the, work of the committees, but he should be completely aware of what is going on in all committees. He should be very sensitive to a too conservative or a too leftist~ approach and, even more practically, ~to a group that is unduly and wrongly influencing the pre-chapter preparation. ' Attaining a:Universal Voice in Chapters Especially since about 1965 we have had a constant clamor that the religious of temporary vows or other commitment be permitted to be dele-gates to the general and provincial chapters. This has been an outstandingly unreal issue of recent years.The clear fact has been that the young were talking in the chapters and pre-chapter preparation. The voice that was not being heard was that of the older and of many middle-aged religious and chapter members. This has been true also in other discussion groups, for example, local community discussions. Our need and problem of the-mo- 300 / Review ]or Religious, Volume 33, 1974/2 ment is to hear the older and the middle-aged religious. I doubt that this can be attained at this time except by having the chapter discussions start with small discussion groups. Each group should be composed of religious of all ages. This system would demand a sufficiently competent chairperson and secretary in each group, the report by the secretary of the group, and the distribution of copies of the reports of each group and of the composite report of all the groups before the common discussion of the matter in the whole chapter. The attainment of the most accurate and efficient procedure in this matter demands a very thorough study. Discussion groups are a time consuming means. They could be employed only for the more serious mat-ters. My own sincere judgment, based on the observation of chapters, is that such a means is necessary to hear the voice of the older and of many mid-dle- aged religious, especially of sisters. Part of the factual basis of this judg-ment is the lack of the older and middle-aged voice manifested very gen-erally in post-Vatican II chapters, that is, the effects that.revealed an inex-perienced, imprudent, and exaggerated origin. As far back as 1901, the Roman Congregations governing religious have refused to approve those of temporary vows or other commitment as dele-gates in the general and provincial chapters. Chapter Principles The preceding section on proposals lists fairly adequately the aspects and fields that can give rise to proposals. Proposals can also be drawn from the principles that should guide chapters, communities, and individuals, which we shall give in this section. The supreme principle is that all should seek the greater good of the Church and of the whole institute, not merely of some part of it or of some group in it. Seek the good not merely of the young, but also of the middle-aged and the aged. A high degree of differ-ence in some aspect of life that is verified in any particular country or re-gion should receive its proper consideration. This is to be true not merely of the United States but of any other country, of Germany, France, Italy, England, Japan. Differences do not exist in all aspects of life. The American has no less need of prayer and mortification than the Italian. Obviously no nation is to give the impression of being superior to all other nations. All should retain all the good of the past and be willing to accept all good ideas of the present and of the future. It is equally the duty of all to oppose anything that is useless or harmful to the institute or its members. Any false principle such as disobedience, especially if public, to the govern-ing or teaching authority of the Church should be immediately rejected. The goal in prayer is not freedom but a more universal life of constant prayer. The Holy Spirit guides practically all of us by the ordinary way, and this implies that our problems, difficulties and their solution are at least gen-erally ordinary. Little will be gained from a study of oriental mysticism or concentration or from emphasizing the charismatic. Much will be gained to The General Chapter o] Affairs / 301 the extent that it is realized that the difficulties in prayer are the very ordi-nary things of the lack of desire for sanctity of life, the unwillingness to make the sacrifices that such a life demands, the lack of a realization that prayer demands a constant effort, an impersonal spirituality, a poor introduction to mental prayer, a complicated system or machinery of mental prayer, a neglect of spiritual reading, a life that is merely activist, natural, secular, and similar ordinary things. If a chapter accepts open placement, how can the institute staff missions, colleges, hospitals, schools, homes for the aged? Can there be a generally satisfying community life when there is unlimited home visiting and unlimited going out for diversion? W.hy always leap to the new, the youthful, the leftist? Certainly sometimes the old, the moderate, the conservative is the true, the relevant, the practical. Why run to manage-ment consultants before you have tried a thorough investigation, study, and planning on your own? If any advisers gave false and imprudent advice, this advice can be the perfect mirror of what was wanted. List everything that your institute has adopted in renewal and adaptation. How many of these have helped the members to become better religious, better apostles, better Catholics? It is certainly not easy to start all over; neither is it any too comfortable to be on a plane that is speeding to certain extinction. The dominant thought of any chapter has to be the spiritual, the su-pernatural, the eternal not only with regard to the personal lives of the in-dividual religious but also to the apostolate and community life. Natural development and fulfillment and social work are important but not primary, nor are they the soul of the religious life or of its apostolate. Reject ideas and proposals that are disproportionately expensive. All experimentation in the Church and much more its worship should be carried out in a manner that is adult, mature, dignified, restrained rather than undisciplined and reckless, and not marred by the extremes of either the right or the left. The common saying is that religious dress is not an important question. This is true of religious dress in the abstract and considered merely in itself. In its effects and ramifications, religious dress, especially of women, is certainly an important question. In the past the error was to identify the old with the true, the good, and the relevant; the same error is verified now with regard to the new. Re-evaluate every post-Vatican II experiment and change. In-vestigate every question and adopt the solution that the facts demand or counsel; do not start off with a new structure or theory. The goal is only secondarily to renew and adapt the institute; the primary purpose must be to influence the religious to renew and adapt themselves. The thrust is pri-marily personal, not institutional. There is one essential test of past, present, and future experimentation. Does it produce greater sanctity of life, a deeper and wider community life, a greater spiritual effect in the apostolate? One of the most important qualities demanded in superiors and chapters today is the courage to stand with the wise and oppose the foolish. How many of your schools, colleges, and other institutions are very secular? Can you 302 / Review ]or Religious, Volume 33, 1974/2 justifiably allow this to continue and progress? Take anything and every-thing that is good and helpful from psychology and sociology, but never forget that they are no substitute for revelation, morality, or spiritual theol-ogy. How many factual studies were made that proved the later difficulties and defections of religious were found especially in those who entered im-mediately after high school? Honestly face the vocation problem and any of its causes that may exist in the individual and collective lives of your re-ligious. It is possible to emphasize the dignity of the married life without denigrating the religious life. Is the life style of your religious in conformity with the deep totality of the religious consecration? Do all things conduce to greater sanctity, better community life, and a more spiritual apostolate? Are we complaining about the lack of inspiration in the religious life after we buried it in selfishness, materialism, and naturalism? Adopt only what gives at least solid probability of success; otherwise your conduct is at least ordinarily imprudent or even rash. Procedure in lhe Chapter The chapter procedure should be kept as simple and uncomplicated as possible. The need of recourse to parliamentary procedure should be infre-quent, and each institute is now in a position to list the few parliamentary rules that are practical. The secretary of the chapter is to post the agenda for the sessions of a day at least on the preceding evening. It can be the understanding that the proposals or matters are to be taken in the order of the reports distributed to

Issue 38.1 of the Review for Religious, 1979. ; REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS (ISSN 0034-639X) is edited in collaboration with faculty members of the Department of Theology of St. Louis University. The editorial offices are located at Room 428; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108. It is owned by the Missouri Province Educational Institute; St. Louis, Missouri. © 1979 by REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS. Composed, printed and manufactured in U.S.A. Second class postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri. Single copies: $2.00. Subscription U.S.A.: $8.00 a year; $15,00 for two years. Other countries: $9.00 a year, $17.00 for two years. For subscription orders or change of address, write REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS; P.O. Box 6070; Duluth, Minnesota 55802. Daniel F. X. Meenan, S.J. Robert Williams, S.J. Dolores Greeley, R.S.M. Joseph F. Gallen, S.J. Jean Read Editor Associate Editor Associate Editor Questions and Answers Editor Assistant Editor January, 1979 Volume 38 Number 1 Correspondence with the editor and the associate editors, manuscripts and books for review should be sent to REVIEW Fort R~LICIOUS; Room 428; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108. Questions for answering should be sent to Joseph F. Gailen, S.J.; Jesuit Community; St. Joseph's College; City Avenue at 54th Street; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19131. "Out of print" issues and articles not re-issued as reprints are available from University Microfilms International; 300 North Zeeb Road; Ann Arbor, Michigan 48106. Review for Religious Volume 38, 1979 Editorial Offices 3601 Lindell Boulevard, Room 428 Saint Louis, Missouri 63108" Daniel F. X. Meenan, S.J. Robert Williams, S.J. Dolores Greeley, R.S.M. Joseph F. Gallen, SJ. Miss Jean Read Editor Associate Editor Associate Editor Questions and Answers Editor Assistant Editor REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS is published in January, March, May, July, Sep-tember, and November on the fifteenth of the month. It is indexed in the Catholic Periodical and Literature Index and in Book Review Index. A microfilm edition of REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS is available from University Microfilms International; Ann Arbor, Michigan 48106. Copyright © 1979 by REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS. Stewardship, Justice and the Religious Purpose in Education William J. Byron, S.J. Father Byron is President'of Scranton Univergity; Scranton, PA 18510. ere are three ideas°ar'ound which I would like toor, ganize this essay. The first two., stewardship and justice, will be relat~ ely brief. The tfiird notion concerns ou~" religious purpose in edu'cation. I holSe to develop it'in~ a way that will make a case for the educ~itional apostolate as'an +xercise of stewardship arid an instrument of justice. Stewardship It has been interesting to obser~ve in the 15as! several°years a renewed' interest in the notion of s~eWardshil5°in the Catholic 'community. We are discove'ring (or rediscoverifig) that"riOt ~0nly is stewardship a simple term, it is also an uncbmplicated~solutioh to significant portions "of some major s~ciai prolSlems. In practice, stewardship is an instrument of social justice. Reflo~ztiOn°ofi'ste~a~dghil~ might begin with the first verse of the Twdfity-fourth Ps~l~a: '"The earth is the Lord's iind"the fulhess thereof." All of material 6reation, as Well as all wealth flowing from it, b~longs to God. Wealth possessed ~r~produced by human persons is owne~ by' God. We own nothing abs0iut~ly; all We have we hold in trust. Thi~ is the ffiith foundation of th6 stewardship perspective. As composites c~f body and soul, we include our intellectual and spiritual resources as part, of the basic endowment which belongs ~to the Lord: Our use of both ~nateri~l and immaterial r~sources is intended to be an exercise of ste,.wafdshio.~ , .~ 4 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/1 All we have we hold in trust for other~for those who inhabit this planet with us.now, and for those who will live here in the future. Stewardship has inescapable societal obligations. Why do I say all we have is held in trust for others? Why not owned by God and held by me for my personal use? Why the social dimension? Possession of a particular share of created resources may be private, but that private share cannot be used without regard for others. There are two considerations here: one of equity, the other of responsibility. On the equity side I have to ask, "Is my share a fair one relative to the needs and claims of others?" Put another way, does my share represent an unfair gain taken at the expense of others?" The equity issue quite obvi-ously relates more immediately to the possession and use of material re-sources rather than to those that are spiritual and intellectual. It is not necessary for someone to .know less mathematics so that I might know more. My food supply, however, may be held at the expense of someone less fortunate than I. Broadening the equity consideration from the individhal person to a larger group (as, for instance, one's race or nation) one can ask the equity question this way: does my group's share represent an unfair gain taken at the expense of other groups-? The responsibility consideration looks to the future. Are resources being used now in a way that will provide for future generations a secure basis for their existence? Again, this is easier to see with respect to material re-sources. If we depli~e our oil supplies, will they have an alternative source of-energy? If we pollute our lakes and streams, will they have ffater to drink? If we fail to sustain our soil, will they have bread to sustain their lives? What we refer to as "our" resources are also theirs, for they, like us, are sons and daughters of the sole owner, the Lord, who has entrusted his creation to our care and for our use. We are stewards. We own nothing absolutely. All we have we hold in trust. As inhabitants of this earth at this time, we religious educators, like our feilow~ on this planet, have stewardship responsibilities. As members of a religious community, moreover, we possess a tradition, a history, a style, some physical assets and an impressive array of spiritual and intellectual resources. We own none of these absolutely; all of these we hold in trust. We are stewards of this collective religious-community endowment. We face, therefore, considerations of equity and responsibility as we manage our collective endowment. The equity donsideration relates directly to justice and will be discussed in the next part of this article when we have to ask ourselves whether our share of these resources represents an unfair gain taken ai the expense of others. The responsibility consideration looks, as I suggested earlier, to the future. Are we using our resources, particularly our intellec.tual and spir-itual resources, in a way that is likely to enrich the lives of future inhabitants Stewardship, Justice and Purpose in Education of this planet?°The steward is in charge ofla household he does not.own. Is that ho, usehold being maintained by us in a state of apostolic readiness for effective service now and in the future? The story in ,Luke 16:1-8 of the "unjust steward" or "dishonest manager" serqi~s as a reminder that we can miSlase or misapply our heri-tage; we can indeed violate the trust that is ours. Failure to meet our responsibilities as stewards would mean failure to preserve a heritage that the Lord, the dominus, the owner of the householdmay well intend to have available for the service of future generations. To take my own Jesuit household as an example, I would include in my list of the central elements of the heritage that is now ours tb use and to preserve for the future these four: (1) The Spiritual Exercises, (2) development of the intellect, (3) service to the Holy See, and (4) apostolic flexibility. These four elements suggest that the Society of Jesus intends to foster in itself an embodiment of(1) holiness, (2)learning, (3) service to the Church, and (4)availability for necessary service ~an. ywhere in the world. ,~ Further specification of these elements rais'es four disturbing questions and one simple observation. The questions are these: 1. Does the prefer-ence .for poverty which characterizes The Spiritual Exercises also charac-terize the holiness of the Society today? 2. Does the emphasis on learning, present at the origins of the Society, remain an active emphasis in thisstage of the Society's growth and in all stages of the individual Jesuit's growth? 3. Does service to the Church of Christ and to the Vicar of Christ charac-terize our labors now as in the days of our origins? 4. Are we individually and collectively free to move our heritage and our resources in the direction of the greatest need, wherever that may be? The one observation I ~ould want to make in connection with the stewardship of the Jesuit heritage is this: formal education through the operation of schools, although part of the Jesuit tradition, is neither essen-tial to the heritage nor identifiable as an element that characterizes, the origins of the Society of Jesus. Similar reflection~, questions and observations can be directed toward the heritage and "household management" of any other religious commu-nity. " .~ o,~ 7 Justice Justice is symbolized by trays in balance on a scale. We speak of the "scale~ of justice." ~Vhen one tray yields weight to the other and imbalance occurs, the weights have to be adjusted to restore the balance. Imbalance symbolizes injustice; compen.sation makes adjustment (ad-just-ment), '~the achievement of justice, possible. Three years ago it was my privilege to address the New Orleans (Jesu'it) Province Assembly on th~ justice dimension of our apostolates~ In that paper I asked, "is ~our corporate apostolic service compensatory; are we 6 /ReviewforReligious; Volum~e 38, 197911. throwing our weight ~onto .the side of the oppressed?" I went on to say Symbolidally, justice is ~+l~resented by trays in balance on a scale.- The unbaladce of social injustice, where one group's advantage (th 'down tray) is taken at the expense .of another group (the up tray) calls for compensatory action.As a social group, we Jesuits should sh~ft our weight over to the weak stde. We see gaps between r, ch and poor, powerful and powerless, advantaged and disadvantaged. In exercising our min- " istry of justice, by whatever apostolic instruments, we sl~duld, it seems to me. trans- "' late the ideal of the Third Mode of humility into practice by choosing to be with Christ and as Christ---on the short side of all those gaps. Where do we throw our weight? Where do we throw our wealth, our income, our apostolic energy? One of the delegat6s to that assembly was the talented young lawyer-activist Alfred C. Kammer, S.J. In the question peribd following my talk, he expressed his personal view that the Society, as a group, occupier solidly and squarely the down tray in most" of the gap-comparisons that come to mind. In his recent contribution to Studies in the' Spirituality of Jesuitst Fr. Kammer~returns to my question, "Where d6 we throw our weight? Where do we throw our wealth, our income; our apostolic ener-gy?" and addresses it in these words: Th~ activist answers Father Byi'on's question by saying that the Society largely casts ' its weight with the "haves.'"with those who at best "don't care" and at worst are'the oppressors. He sees the institutional and personal weight of the Society lined up with the "haves" in such popular dichotomies as .these: white vs. black white vs. brown male vs. female U.S. vs. Third;World powerful vs. , powerless rich vs. poor . suburban vs. urban well-educated vs. poorly educated And, Fr. Kammer continues, "the,activist concludes that no matter how much Jesuits 'tinker' with their present .institutional commitments to facilitate the entry of some minority composed of the poor or disadvan, taged, th~e,.Society's weight is stii! .cgs.t overwhelmingly on the side of the well-off" (p~p. 10-11). I think Fred Kammer locates us Jesuits correctly. Weigh'ted do~v~ with the advantages of education, nutrition, health care, secure housing and all the other physical things necessary for our work, as well as those things less necessary but useful and convenient, we are on the down. tray, on the side of the well-off. Now_this raises many quegtions. What is the relatedness or relati0nship-between us and those who are less well off, those on the up tray, the disadvantaged. Are we Wher~we are because they are where they are? Has our gain been taken at their expense? With whom do we side when the issue ~" 'Burn-out' Contemporary Dilemma for the Jesuit Social Activist." Vol. X. No. 1, January 1978. Stewardship~ Justice and Purpos~e in Education is ,raised of redressing the balance? Without attempting to answer these difficult questions, I raise another that resurrects the,notion of stewardship. What are we do~ing ._with what we have? Do we manage it responsibly, share its, apply it,to the i,mprovement of life for others now and in the future? The Religious, CommUnity's Purpose in Education Many if,not most of us religious in America are stewarding our resources in an institutional educational environment. Will our stewardship-have anything .significant to contribute to .the promotion of justice? It may well be true that ~tinkering with our institutional arrangements will not shift our weight completely and existentially to the side of the poor and powerless. One need not conclude, however, that we must abandon our advantages. Nor does it follow that the down tray is necessarily the wrong place for' many religious to be. If we de=institutionalized our works, if wee gave away every physical asset we igossess ~nd went to live with the poor, poverty wo(dd be fieither relieved nor ~r~duced. We ar~ ~lo~t,lbcked 'into an adversary rel~ti6h~hip on the side ofth( rich againstth6 po6÷, 0n the side of whites against the blacks, on the side of a@ dominantgroup agaii~st any oppressed minoi'ity. We are in a position to'convert the "versus" linkages into hyphens find to forge connecting links of ~:econciliation between rich and poor, black and white, and other- di~,ided ~roups. A~dmittedly, many if not :most of us, a?e on the down tray. Admittedly, all occupants of the down tray will have to give somethingup if some semblance of balance is to b~.realized, and'most are unwilling to give up anything. And admittedly, the effort tO~'fi'chieve a balance between the trays is uphill and long range. But that is ttie.hatu're of the work we are called to do. Are we'free enough to do l~h~at i,v~b{k well? Central to an~ educational ~ork isthe develop~ment 0f"tiun~a~] potential. Human potential stretches into eternity;~the positive~side toward union with the Creatoi"bf that human p0t.e0[i-hl; the negative side points to the possibil: ity of eterh~i! alienation. , Formai education's inte{ests are coextensive with the entire range of positi~,e p~ssibiliti~s for human development. Recognition of this fact came early in Jesuit historY,. For more th~n four centuries now, we have been choosing formal education as an extr~brdinarily v~luable instrument for our work in the development of hum~.n potential. Many other religious in-sii'tutes have made'the same decision. ,:~ ,,~ ¯ At.this moment in our history, we Jesuits of the United States are faced with a.decline in numbers,'a fairly widespread loss.of nerve, some uneasi-ness ,about the appropriateness of our life-style and our ability, to live harmoniously and work effectively in companionship, and we are also faced with nagging doubts about.the apostolic value of what we are doing in,our schools. Our experience is.not uriique. In addition, we Jesuits have~lSeen challenged to redefifi~ ourselves~.and our mission.in terms of the service of 8 /Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/1 faith and the promotion of justice: Can this redefinition and concommitant rededication happen without abandonment:of our commitment.to formal educatiori? I think it can. Our Jesuit purpose in education is a logical extension of our stewardship and justice responsibilities.~And the same is true for many other religious. Formal education's interests are coextensive with the entire range of positive possibilities for human development. That is why religious communities choose formal education for their members, and choose to offer formal education to others. Higher education touches that ra.nge" of positive possibilities in a priv-ileged way. Wisdom is areal possibility at the stage of human development associated with higher education. At this level it is the privilege of educa-tors to group themselves into communities of inquiry which may become or beget wisdom communities,. The religious purpose in higher education is to move the minds and hearts of developing persons. The direction of this movement is Godward. The norm is truth. The outcome, it is to be hoped, is wisdom. And wisdom, we would all agree, is a gift from God. As the religious is a faith-committed person, so religious education is intended to be faith-commjttedactivity. If, as faith directs, everything depends on God, then wisdom would suggest that every'thing must be entrusted to God. If such wisdom is present with us at the beginning of religiously sponsored education, it may well be expected to reside with our students at the end of the edpcati0nal experi-ence. Any religious experience involves a search for God's will. This search, in the vocabulary of spirituality, goes b.y the name of discernment. And discernment, as we all know, is a wisdom characteristic. As any Jesuit knows, the Igna.tian way of discernment cannot be learned, from books. It can only be exp,grienced under the direction of a sensitive gpide. Hence, a special task, a privileged opportunity for Jesuits in higher education is to offer the e,xperience' of The Spiritual Exercises to those in .the learning community who want to grow spiritually. In the context o'f the Exercises, as in the classroom, learning should be directed by a motivator-organizer and assimilated by an active participant in the process. As a classroom educator or spiritual guide, the Jesuit, as an instrument of God's grace, is expected to assist the Spirit in moving the minds and hearts of those who want to grow. -' In the domain of higher education, there are many with the potential for wisdom. That is why Jesuits gather there to work. Their task is not only to teach and search for truth in all its forms, but also to share their founder's special grace with those who want to grow the Ignatian way. The Ignatian way toward wisdom is part of the heritage, the endowment over which every Jesuit exercises a stew~irdship responsibility. His antecedent respon-sibility; of course, is to have internalized the Ignatian way. His educational methods :will; not surprisingly, reflect it. Normally, his desire will be to live and work in companionship with others who are familiar with the Ignatian Stewardship, Justice and Purpose in Education way. And the Jesuit's hope, wherever he works, will be to share this way Or see it shared with others. That is responsible stewardship. It is also part of the Jesuit purpose in education. Parallel purposes, hopes and apostolic approaches characterize the work of other religious who are educators. There is much of a practical nature that (ould be said of education-for-justice efforts now underway in Catholic educational institutions. A lot of experience is accumulating. Rather than listing courses, projects and field experiences of demonstrated value, I would prefer to mention only one program that is designed to assist all educators in addressing the world hunger issue. Atthe 1974 World Food Conference in Rome, Secretary of State Henry Kissinger pledged the cooperation of the United States to work with other nations so that "within a decade no child will go to bed hungry" anywhere in the world. In hopes of facilitating contributions from educational institu-tions toward this goal, Bread for the World Educational Fund launched in 1976 a Decade of Commitment on World Hunger (DCWH). The program is designed for institutions of higher education. It provides conference oppor-tunities for administrators, faculty, campus ministers, career guidance counselors and students to share ways of placing and keeping hunger on the academic agenda. Emphasis is placed on four areas within which colleges ~:an deal with the hunger issue: curriculum, research, campus ministry and career choices made by students ("In the face of the world hunger problem, what are.you going to do with your life?").?~ Som~ of.the best work in justice-education is happening in secondary schools. Again I refrain from listing the specifics. I would, however, like to say a word about the person of the secondary educator. To put it more pr.ecisely, I would like to repeat a great theologian's reflections on the value of the person and importance of the work of the religious who is a high school_teacher. The Jesuit secondary educator is the man John Courtney Murray, de-scribed with admiration and affection as "The Schoolmaster." He spoke of the schoolmaster as the grammarian, the person who is knowledgeable in the elements of his subject, whose knowledge is, in this sense, elementary but certainly not superficial. The schoolmaster is devoted to the communi-cation of these elements as a lifetime work. Being a schoolmaster, said Fr. Murray to a Jesuit audience at Woodstock in 1961, is '~being on the growing edge of things, beca.use the growing edge is youth." "We are supposed to be Jesuit ministers of growth," he added, "'ad profectum animarum." "We are supposed to be men of tomorrow. One of "~The Educational Fund, which can also provide worship aids and high school course-materials on hunger, is a separate corporation closely related to the Christian citi~.ens lobby known simply as Bread for the World (207 East 16th Street, New York City 10003). Membership in Bread for the World (annual dues $10) will keep one informed, by means of a monthly newsletter and background papers, about the hunger issue. "10 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/1 our earliest undertakings was to become schoolmasters, schoolmen. Doc-trina exacta et solida is first the tradition of the Church; it is also the tradition of reason. We are committed to an intellectual apostolate--a min-istry of and io intelligence." The schoolmaster imparts the skills and guides the maturation process. The more fully the religious schoolmaster or schoolmistress has assimilated the basic elements of his or her religious, heritage, the more valuable is he or she as a role model in the 'midst of the young. The classroom teacher's task is largely one of method and motivation; the object is to move both minds and hearts. Inevitably, the response the teacher stimulates will be a response to himself or herself. This is a privileged relationship. If the sct~oolmaster (or the scholar, for that matter) is a person of justice, a sense of justice will be communicated to the students. If the institution-alized set of arrangements known as a school embodies in its procedures relationships of justice, then those who teach and learn there will, in vary-ing degrees, embody in themselves the principles of justice. The religious schoolmaster has, of course, a life outside the classroom. There are pastoral opportunities and citizenship responsibilities. The apostolic base, the school, can and should.be a place from which the religious reaches out to the Christian and civic communities for the service of faith and promotion.of justice. That outreach will, it might be expected, involve both witness and advocacy roles in 'the cause of justice as an expression of faith. Education for justice is a challenge we religious are capable of meeting. We should have no doubt about that. Whether we will. meet it or not is another matter. But we can, if we choose. The educational outcomes, the results of our efforts to educate for justice, depend on powers beyond our own. There is no reason to believe that the Lord will not raise up men and women of justice in our midst and in our times. I recognize that there is no bne method known now to be the most effective in educating for justice. The argument over method goes back to the Aristotelian notion that the one who does justice will come to under-stand justice; and back as well to Plato's view that the one who first understands justice will then act justly. In this important matter of educat-ing for justice, we Catholic educators have a laboratory system in our American schools and colleges. We can try different methods in different situations and compare results. The findings of our experiments in educa-tion for justice can be shared with other educators in other systems. We can make a difference here. As we do it our way, in the intellectual-educational mode, unjust, ex-pioitative, discriminatory and oppressive situations will remain in our world. But in direct proportion to our success in educating fqr justice, future world situations will have a reduced share of injustice. It is a Chris-tian characteristic not to give up on the future. Stewardship, Justice and Purpose in Education / 11 Father BenWren, a New Orleans Province Jesuit whose scholarly inter-ests include Eastern mysticism, tells me that there is a Chinese saying to0the effect that one who is concerned with planning for a year should plant rice; the person interested in planning for a decade should plant trees. But one who wants to plan for a century will surely want to educate people. There.is a religious purpose in education. That purpose is consistent, for example, with our contemporary Jesuit focus on the service of faith and the specification of that service in the promotion ofjustice. The activist impulse suggested by the word promotion is quite congenial with our purpose and style of education. Through education; we can touch both trays on the scalEs of justice. When we work with the advantaged, we should have the disadvantaged in mind. We can challenge ourselves and all others who occupy the down tray to dedicate ourselves in conscience to making life livable for the poorest of the poor. When we work directly with the e~onom-ically disadvantaged, we can assist them in developing the competencies that can help them move toward a better life. The earliest Jesuit schools were free. But never, so far as I can deter-mine, were Jesuit schools exclusively for the poor or exclusively for the rich. Today, we are with the rich,much more than we are with the poor in our educational work. Who can say that we cannot somehow, somewhere in the decades ahead bring our educational energies into more direct contact with the poor? Who can say that we will not, in the meantime, find new and effective ways of bringing the "haves" with wtiom we work to an accept~ ance of their obligations injustice toward the "have nots"? And who woul~l want to take responsibility for disengaging ourselves from the apostolate that makes either option possible? That last question, in my view, highlights the importance of personal and community life-style for those who work in the educational apostolate. We religious in America are perfectly capable of going soft. We can indeed insulate and isolate ourselves from the condition of the disadvantaged masses. We are capable of-violating our stewardship. If that should happen, justice will not be served and the religious purpose in education will have lost its salt. In The American Mind (Yale, 1950), Henry Steele Commager remarks that for Willa Cather, the past was significant for its moral qualities. Her long literary life was, according to Commager, an elaborate remembrance of things past--the past of the pioneers who had built the West, of the immigrants who had carried with them into the New World their sense of beauty and art, of those earlier spiritual pathfinders, the Franciscans and Jesuits, who had served their fellowmen and their God so selflessly. And all her novels and stories., were animated by a single great theme as they w.ere graced by a single felicitous style, the theme was that of the supremacy of moral and spiritual over material values, the ever recurrent but inexhaustible theme of gaining the whole world and losing one's soul (p. 150). Dealing, as she did, with the frontier as the setting for many of her 12 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/1 stories, Miss Cather apparently found inspiration in the frontier idea and saw it as a setting for clarification, and dramatization of moral issues. Hence, as Commager points out, the passing of the pioneer generation meant, to Miss Cather, the passing of all the old virtues, "and she was incapable of believing that there could be different virtues in a civilization whose standards were those of the countinghouse, whose habits were predatory, and whose rewards were social and ostentatious rather than spiritual and private" (p. 154). Commager cites a tribute to Nebraska writ-ten by Willa Cather in the early 1920's: We must face the fact that the splendid story of the pioneers is finished and that no new story worthy to take its place has yet begun . The generation now in the driver's seat hates to make anything, wants to live and die in an automobile, scudding past those acres where the old man used to follow the corn rows up and down. They want to buy everything ready-made: clothes, food., education, music, pleasure; Will the third generation--the full-blooded joyous ones just coming over the hill--be fooled? Will it believe that to live easily is to live happily.'? (p. 154). Two generations have passed since those words were written. Religious at work in Nebraska and elsewhere in America are prepared to admit that many of us in many different driver's seats have been fooled. Regrettably, some of us, by witness and word, have foolishly encouraged others to believe that to live easily is to live happily. The "new story" thatoWilla Cather was looking for in Nebraska,can be written anywhere in America by contemporary religious educators, if they choose to. I suspect that "the full-blooded joyous ones just coming over the hill" are not now being fooled; they recognize that if we want to live happily, we will want to do what we can to make life livable for the poorest of the poor. Schools alone cannot do it and they certainly cannot do it right away. But without the schools, it will not be done at all:. Discipleship and Loneliness: A Marcan Meditation Michael T. Winstanley, S.D.B. Father Winstanley lectures in New Testament Studies at Ushaw College, the Senior Seminary for the Northern Dioceses of Eng_l, and. He lives in the Salesian community attached to Ushaw College; Durham DH7 9RH; England. His last article, "'Jesus, Poverty and the Kingdom," appeared in the July, 1977 issue. Your vow to remain unmarried for the sake of God's kingdom will draw you into the loneliness of the cross of Jesus and reveal the basic loneliness of every man.1 In his,book The Calvary Christ Gerald O'Collins writes: "Too often a cloud of stale words covers Calvary. Theologians and exegetes can use a language remote from anything we feel. Conventional-religious art asks for our conventional reaction. Tendencies .towards evasion in all of us allow this art to continue and the dull language to grind on. We accept the old fo.rmulas, the familiar crucifixes and the ponderous pronouncements of scholars with a mixture of loyalty and mystification. We need to find and fashi6n ways of reflecting on the crucifixion which can let it speak to us again with. new power.'' How far this statement mirrors our feelings and experience, each indi-viduai must judge. I should like to suggest that one way of reflecting on the crucifixion which can indeed let it speak to us again with new power is to tRulefor a New Brother (London; Darton, Longman & Todd, 1973), p. 16. 2G. O'Collins, The Calvary Christ (London, SCM, 1977), p. ix. 13 14 / Review for Religious, Volume 38,~ 1979/1 take one evangelist's presentation of the passion of Jesus, to meditate on it, and to allow its impact to challenge our lives. For each of the evangelists narrates the story in his own way, with his own particular emphases, highlighting different aspects of the drama, f~cusing different facets of the person of Jesus,.communicating his own theological vision and understand-ing of the significance of the event. Unfortunately, the originality of each approach is often blurred, and the sharpness blunted by the comfortably generalized picture which most of us have. In this article I shall concentrate on one of the motifs which dominates the passion according to Mark, namely the loneliness of Jesus.3 It is this which constitutes his greatest suffering, far more than any physical pain. In fact, Mark, as indeed the other three evangelists, evinces little interest in the physical torments of the Master, laying little stress upon them. Mark's Gospel has been called a passion narrative with a long introduction. This reminds us to view the passion within the framework of the whole Gospel; consequently, in our consideration of some of the elements of the narrative, it will be necessary to refer back to earlier sections of the Gospel. The earliest passion narratives probably began with the arrest scene. "Suddenly, while he was still speaking, Judas, one of the twelve, appeared, and with him was a crowd armed with swords and ~cudgels; sent by the chief priests, lawyers and elders." The man responsi.ble .for the success of the arrest is not one of those whose constant opposition had dogged Jesus' tracks, but "one of the twelve," one of his friends. Our minds flash back to an earlier scene in which Jesus "then went up into the hill country and called the men he wanted: and they went and joined him. He appointed twelve to be with him, to be sent out to proclaim the gospel, with a commis-sion to drive out devils. So he appointed the twelve .-." (3,13-16). Discipleship is primarily a personal call to the intimacy of friendship, a being "singled out" in order to "be with." It is one of these chosen ones who had shared his fellowship who is the traitor; and the sign of his treach, ery is the normal sign of respect and friendship: "When he reached the spot, he stepped forward at once and said to Jesus, 'Rabbi,' and kissed him. Then they seized him and held him fast." The verb Mark uses here means a particularly ~iffectionate kiss, a firm embrace. After a futile act of token resist~ince which served only to emphasize Jesus' defenselessness, "they deserted him and fled, every one of them," including the~youthful follower who narrowly evaded capture. , Mark recounts this Scene with a laconic matter-of-factness that is chill-ingly disconcerting. Earlier that evening, as they walked together from the supper room to the garden, Jesus had predicted their flight: "You will all fall from .your faith; for it stands written: 'I will strike the shepherd down and the sheep will be scattered.'" And Peter, not untypically, had insisted that he would die even, rather than disown Jesus. "And they all said the same" 3cf. Hendrickx, The Passian Narratives (Manila, East Asian Pastoral Institute, 1977). Discipleship and Loneliness: A Marcan Meditation / 15 (14, 26-31). Yet they were not Slow to seek their own safety and leave Jesus to face his fate alone. This flight and abandonment, the memory of which haunted the early Christians, was in fact the culmination of that failure on the part of the disciples both to understand and to accept the messiahship of Jesus which Mark traces throughout this Gospel, especially after Caesarea Philippi in Chapter Eight. On that occasion, in answer to Jesus' questioning concerning people's opinions about him~ and his further probing as to the views of the disciples, Peter, as their spokesman, professed Jesus' messiahship. Jesus responded by speaking openly about his passion for the first time, which provoked a bewildered attempt to dissuade him. At this time Jesus rebuked Peter in ~strong terms for his thinking as men think rather than as God thinks, and proceeded to outline the nature of discipleship: "~nyone who wishes to be a follower of mine must leave self behind, he must take up his cross and come with me" (8,34). A little later in the narrative, as they journeyed through Galilee, Jesus again spoke of his passion, "but they did not understand what he said and were afraid to ask" (9,32). And on their way they argued about seniority and importance and greatness. Jesus predicted his passion for the third, time on the road going up to Jerusalem in terms which were unmistakably clear. The failure of the disciples to understand is illustrated by the next incident, in which the two sons of Zebedee made a bid for the top jobs in the Kingdom. The rest were naturally indignant about this, a row broke, out, and Jesus, in patient frustra-tion, attempted to open their minds to the nature of his messiahship and of his kingdom, and to the real meaning of discipleship in terms of service (10,44-45). It is this inability or unwillingness to grasp and to accept what messiah-ship meant for Jesus when this proved to be different from what the twelve were expecting and hopiag for; this inability or unwillingness to embrace in vision and in lifestyle the kind of discipleship such a messiah demanded, which expressed itself so decisively in their garden choice not to be "with him," to care for their own safety (8,35), to forsake him and flee. The next scene in the passion drama, comprises Jesus' trial before the Sanhedrin and the denials of Peter; the~e two incidents are closely inter-locked in Mark's account. '~Then they led Jesus away to the High Priest's. house, where the chief priests, elders and doctors of the law were all assembling." Already Mark has clearly designated the Jewish leaders as the ones responsible for Jesus' arrest (14,43), and he indicates each section that made up the San.hedrin, the supreme religious and legislative body. For Mark, these are his real enemies. From the early stages of the public ¯ ministry they have consistently opposed him. In Chapter Two, when the paralytic is brought to Jesus, the doctors of the law consider his talk about 16 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/1 forgiving sins quite blasphemous, and Jesus vainly attempts to open their eyes as he cures the poor man. A little while la.ter, after the call of Levi, when Jesus is at table with tax-gatherers and sinners, the Pharisees com-plain~ to his disciples about the types he"mixes with; Jesus, on hearing this, retorts, not without a touch of irony: "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick; I did not come to invite virtuous people, but sinners" (2,17). Mark now records the Pharisees' criticism of the disciples for plucking corn on the Sabbath, a complaint which stung Jesus to challenge their basic tenets in enunciating the principle that people mattered more than sabbath regulations. This incident is followed by an episode which underlines the mounting hostility, the failure of Jesus to win acceptance of the religious ~lite. It is a sabbath and Jesus goes to the synagogue, where there is a man with a withered arm. "And they were watching to see whether Jesus would cure him on the sabbath, so that they could bring a charge against him." Aware of their malicious intentions, Jesus tries to draw them, to make them aware of the perversion of religion, the distortion of the image of God, that adherence to legalistic casuistry entailed. He encountered an obstinate and ominous silence, saddening and frustrating. "But the Pharisees, on leaving the synagogue, began plotting against him with the partisans of Herod to see how they could make away with hirh." Thereafter Jesus is obliged to live and to work under the shadow of this threat. The rift widens as the ministry continues, and eventually, as the conflict approaches its climax, Jesus takes the game into their own court, openly challenging them by expelling the money-lenders and merchants from the temple .precincts. On hearing of this, the chief priests and doctors of the Law "sought some means of making away with him, for they were afraid of him, because the whole crowd was spellbound by his teaching" (11,18). Not long afterwards Jesus spoke that indictment-parable of the wicked husbandmen. The inevitable result was that -they began to look for a way to arrest him, for they saw that the parable was aimed at them; but they were afraid of the people, so they left him alone and went away" (12,12). As that fateful final week progresses we hear of the attempts by the Phari-sees and Herod's party to entrap him in regard to the Caesar tribute (12,13), and by the Sadducees in regard to the resurrection (12,18-27); and we hear Jesus word-lash the doctors of the Law (12,38-40). And so, finally, as the Passover feast approaches, "the chief priests and doctors of the Law were trying to devise some cunning plan to seize him and put him to death" (14,1). Now these men have Jesus in their power at last. From the commence-ment of the so-called trial or enquiry, their intentions are firm and limpid; with cynical singlemindedness "they sought testimony against Jesus to put .him to death" (14,.56). Mark paints the scene in a few, bold, vivid strokes: the balking incompetence of the false witnesses; the silent, dignified, isolated figure of Jesus; his foes bent unanimously on his destruction. Discipleship and Loneliness: A Marcan Meditation Swiftly the evangelist brings the matter to a head, as the high priest asks Jesus whether he is in fact the Christ. At Jesus' open affirmation, the high priest, with an elaborate dlsplay of passionate horror, accuses him of blas-phemy; and the gathering ends as planned: "they all condemned him as deserving death' '--again Mark emphasizes the unanimity of the opposition, and the utter aloneness of Jesus. Whilst, in an atmosphe.re of frenzied hate and delighted success, Jesus is beaten and mockbd and humiliated, Mark shifts our attention to the courtyard where Peter stands by the fire warming himself in the chill night air. We are familiar with the painful description of Peter's triple denial of the Master. Mark skiifully orders them in a crescendo pattern so that the third denial is the most intense, accompanied by curses and a solemn oath. Some scholars suggest that Peter, still under fire in spite of his first two denials, resorts to the strongest possible manner of dissociating himself from Jesus by actually cursing him; this is the force to be given to that staggering disavowal: "I do not know this man you speak of"--an even more emphatic restatement of his earlier rejection of Jesus' messianic way at Caesarea Philippi. Peter, singled out to be with him, decisively opts in public not to be with him. Mark heightens the effect of this by juxtaposing the incident with the trial .scene: Jesus, true to himself and his mission, affirms what he cannot deny, his messiahship; and he is rejected by the religious leaders of his own people and by his closest follower. Alone and in chains, he is led away and handed over to pagan power (15,1). The rejection and isolation of Jesus is further accentuated in the subse-quent scene when the ordinary people shout for his death. The fickleness of crowds, the fragility of public opinion, is a commonly recognized phe-nomenon. From the statements of the Pharisees cited earlier, it would seem that Jesus continued to enjoy a considerable amount of popularity with the masses. Yet their acclaim was always suspect. Quite early in the Gospel, Mark describes the wave of enthusiasm and excitement sparked by Jesus' miracles and teaching; the people flocked to him with their sick, and hung on his words. But their response went little deeper. For the most part, they misunderstood the nature of his kingdom, the,genre of his peculiar messia-nism. They were not won to faith; they were prone to disappointment and disillusionment, with the resentful antagonism that this engenders. Now, when Pilate in a desperate effort to release him, offered the mob the option of choosing "Jesus Barabbas," as he was probably called, a freedom fighter convicted of murder, or Jesus of Nazareth, the crowd, incited by the chief priests, clamored for the insurrectionist, and screamed for Jesus to be committed to the hideous torture-death of crucifixion. We should not allow our familiarity with the story to dull our sensitivity to the poignant pain of that scene, the dreadful irony as the nation whose whole history pointed to this moment, the nation chosen out of all peoples on the face of the earth to be God's own people (Dt 7,6ff.), disowned their 11~ / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/1 Emmanuel. Jesus stands there in the open, alone, the impassioned cries of the people that was his people ringing in his ears, as they chant his rejection. His bitter desolation is intensified by a sense of injustice. Even Pilate was convinced of his innocence: "Why, what harm has he done?" Thus he is abandoned tothe Roman soldiery. In his economic description of the crucifixion and death of Jesus, Mark emphasizes the solitude of Jesus by mentioning details which, because of our acquaintance with the versions of Luke and John, we are apt to over-look. After the passers-by had hurled abuse at him and mocked him in his helpless anguish, and the lawyers had jested and gibed, "even those who were crucified with him taunted him" (15,32). At the end the robbers, too, renounce his companionship; Jesus does not belong even with his fellow-sufferers. Similarly, it is only after the death of Jesus that mention is made of the women who had followed him from Galilee, and who "were watching from a distance" (15,40). At the foot of the cross there is no mother, no beloved disciple; Jesus died utterly alone. The searing anguish of his pain and loneliness arid failure is focused and captured in the loud cry from the cross: "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" But he died "without a word or a wink from God to reassure him that, whatever the gawking crowd might think, he knew that Jesus was not only innocent, but valid where it mattered.''4 Jesus' sense of total rejection by men is compounded and intensified by his feeling abandoned by the Father,.by his experience of estrangement and alienation that be-longs to our sinfulness. The psalm that Jesus is citing is a psalm of uncon-ditional trust in God's love and ultimate vindication. The last words of Jesus are a radical expresSion of his loneliness, and a "radical expression of a devotion to God which endures in every adverse experience--a devotion which continues to claim God as 'my' God and will not let him go although he can be experienced only as the absent One who has'forsaken the peti-tioner.''~ It is this surrender in love and trust that is our window into the mystery of his personality, for it is the human expression of what.we have come to call divine sonship; it is this surrender in the brokenness of death which, like the buried grain, is the source of our life.6 It is, I believe, true that Mark's way of presenting the passion of Jesus can allow it to "speak to us again with new power," speak to us with hope and with challenge in the center of our experience. All of us know at first hand the meaning of loneliness. I still vividly remember my feelings of desolate helplessness on the occasion of my first day at school as mother walked out of the playground beyond the iron fence. Or years later, when, having spent three years in enclosed quasi-monastic surroundings, I went to sit my finals in London, sporting a large 4L. E. Keck, A Future for the Historical Jesus (London, SCM, 1972), p. 229. ~E. Schweizer, The Good News according to Mark (London, SPCK, 1971), p. 353. ncf. my article "Trust--the Life-Attitude of Jesus" in Doctrine and Life, Nov. "76, pp. 803 ft. Discipleship and Loneliness: A Marcan Meditation Roman collar at twenty-one; everything and everyone seemed to be telling me that I did not belong~°I recall also the numbing sense'of lostness that came over me as' the train hissed noisily to a halt in Wigan station the evening 'my father died. Loneliness has many forms: the jarring sadness of bereavement, the corrosive listlessness of loss and separation, the anguished alienation and shame.of guilt and sin, thedisappointment of failure, the isolation of intense physigal suffering or imprisonment; the d(structive discouragement and paralysis of non-acceptance and rejection, the pain of misunderstanding and estrangement, the gnawing emptiness of unfulfilled longing for intimacy and genuine cbmpanionship, the absence of~God. Loneliness is thic.kly woven into the fabric of our lives, it.is a facet of our human poverty, our poverty of being. But Mark assures us that it is an aspect of being human that Jesus-fully shared throughout his ministry and especially in hi~ final hours. Most of us are anxious to avoid pain, physical pain; our medical and pharmaceutical experts have mercifully developed many varieties of anal-gesic. Most of us, likewise, sedulously attempt to avoid the pain of loneli-ness; and our society has developed a wide range of would-be anaesthetics--from discos to little dog~--to soften the abrasive harshness of our experience. I, for one, am very grateful for the refuge and comfort afforded by the telephone! And yet I wonder whether Mark is challenging us as disciples of Jesus to Cope with our loneliness m. ore creatively. Whilst recognizing with thanks the extent to which he made the experience of loneliness his own, perhaps we are reluctant to recognize that he did what most of us, most of the time, seek to .shun. In spite of gripping fear and instinctive repugnance, he did not run away from it; and his steadfastness transformed it into a life-giving element of redemption. Perhaps it is here that Mark is speaking to us again with new power; perhaps the challenge for disciples of Jesus consists in transforming the pain of loneliness into a source of personal growth and of life for others. It is very important that instead of taking one of the numerous escape roads open to us, we learn to come to terms with our loneliness and listen to our own feelings and struggles, our aspirations and questions, and live themacceptingly. It is here in the unique my.stery'of our personal selfhood, in the depths of our being, that we must have the courage to allow God to find us. It is here that his call is to be heard: "Do not be afraid, for I am with you . " So often God seems absent for the simple reason that we are fearfully evading his loving presence. Loneliness is paradoxically a poten-tial source of enrichment, for it can teach us the meaning of poverty of spirit, which opens us to the gift of God's kingly rule through the Spirit poured into our hearts, that surrender in loving and trusting obedience which is the hallmark of the Master.7 rI'his is developed by Henri J. M. Nouwen, Reaching Out (London, Collins, 1976), pp. 25-101. 90 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/1 In learning to come to terms with our loneliness, we may learn like Jesus, to love more genuinely, more compassionately. Our going out to others will be legs oriented to answering our own needs for companionship and fulfillment, and will become an expression of authentic service which can liberate and heal and enliven. At Caesarea Philippi, Jesus asked Peter and the other eleven: ~' And you, who do you say I am?" He reiterates this question to each Christian daily. Peter was able to acknowledge J~esus as Messiah, but his response was inadequate, it did not involve a willingness to follow in his way; he jibbed at the implications of discipleship. Loneliness, failure, misunderstanding, rejection are always painful, very painful, and are a constant in our human experience; a constant, however, shot through with hope because of the paschal mystery of Christ. Our answer as disciples to the challenging ques-tion of Jesus must be expressed in our willingness to take up this cross and go "with him." A Lamb Looks Through the Fence (Where the grass appears to be greener) The grass is greener on the other side: At least, it seems that way. Shepherd, give me a heart content To praise, to server to stay. This is the pasture of Your choice, And lessons here await: Calm the longings of my heart And bid the storms abate. For fences also keep us safe, Hedged in with loving care, Provided for and protected from The lion and the bear. Teach me to trust--this humble prayer Removes the restless yen: Some day we'll see from a higher view How green our side has been. Vi~la Jacobson Berg 5 Roosevelt Ave. Malverne, NY 11565 Reflections of a Bishop on Religious Communities Leonard J. Crowley Leonard J. Crowley, Titular Bishop of Mons in Numedia, is Auxiliary Bishop of Montreal. He is Director Of the Office for English Language Affairs in the archdiocese; 2000 Sherbrooke St. West; Montreal, Que. H3H IG4; Canada. n the very fitting context of the Feast of Pentecost last year, two Roman Congregations (The Congregation for Bishops and the Congregation for Religious and for Secular Institutes) promulgated a very significant docu-ment on Directives for the Mutual Relations Between Bishops and Reli-gious in the Church. The statement is significant, for its very existence admits that there is room for growth in understanding between the episcopal office and religious communities. For far too long within the Church's often turbulent history there has been too little fruitful communication between the overseers of the faith and those specialists who have a particular and time-honored gift to share with the faithful. Th~ warning of John Cassian to his monks in the fourth century seems, even today, to express a deep-seated mistrust: "The two groups you must avoid at all times are women and the bishops." The Diocesan/Religious Rivalry This basic antipathy often shows itself as well in the ranks of those from whom the residential bishop is normally chosen in North America--the diocesan clergy. What some may naively call a healthy rivalry between religious and diocesan groups is often~ at root, a basic distrust of one another's real motives and abilities in the exercise of the apostolate. 21 22 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/1 This recent document addresses itself directly to this sorry condition where it exhorts that "efforts should be made to renew the bonds of fratero nity and cooperation between the diocesan clergy and communities of religious." It even suggests the context of "simple and informal" gather-ings "which serve to increase mutual trust, apostolic solidarity, and fra-ternal harmony" (37). The duty for seeing to it that such fraternal gattierings take place and grow in significance and depth is placed squarely, as it should be, on the shoulders of the bishop. Furthermore, it is the duty of the bishop to so blend the services of diocesan and religious groups that each recognize members of outstanding talent and together support their promotion to positions of service commensurate with their capabilities; for "the bishop should . . . exhort the diocesan priests to recognize gratefully the fruitful contribution made by religious to their Church and to approve willingly their nomination to positions of greater responsibility which are consbnant with their vocation and competency" (55). In basic fact, if we truly are to witness to the mystery of the Lord Jesus in our midst, then there should be no rivalry but only harmony in the service we render. The bishop and his diocesan assistants should rejoice in the presence of specialists who bring a particular talent to minister ina certain area to the People of God. In such a context, "bishops, along with their clergy, should be convinced advo-cates of the consecrated life, defenders of religious communities, promoters of vocations, firm guardians of the specific character of each religious family both in the spiritual and in ihe apostolic field" (28). As a matter of fact, it is the bishop's "specific office to defend consecrated life, to foster and animate the fidelity and authenticity of religious and .~o, help them become part of the communion and of the evangelizing action of his church, acc.ording to their distinctive nature" (52). ~ Difficulties of Identification But herein lies the crux of the problem. Many a bishop would be hard pressed to identify the "distinctive nature" of the religious groups en-trusted to his watchful overseeing. In many instances there seems to have ¯ been a loss of clear identity on the part of religious communities. The bishop i~ fully aware, in most instances, that "the very nature of apostolic action requires that [he] give precedence to interior recollection and to the life of prayer;" but he is also frustrated by the realization that some religious apparently have not taken to heart the realization that they must, "in conformity with their distinctive nature, renew themselves in depth and be assiduous in prayer" (23a). What a bishop must be seeking from religious who reside in or enter his diocese is a specific dedication and consecration to a form of spirituality and to an apostolic witness that is as clear and as vital as it was when the Ruleo that embodies that life was first written. The bishop must be concerned with the future of his flock; but he wants that future founded solidly in the values that have come out of the past. Therefore he must be in search of"religious Reflections of a Bishop on Religious Communities [who], even while showing a particular spirit of enterprise and foresight for the future, [are] intensely loyal to the intention and spirit of their insti-tute." (34). However, the simple fact appears to be that many religious groups have maintained a loyalty to their institute but have lost sight of both its intention and its spirit. The Second, Vatican Council has urged. The Adaptation and Renewal of Religious Life to begin with a sincere return to the spirit and the mind of the Founder and from that unique font to build anew a personal and communal zeal for the spread of the Gospel, in all its richness. It is obvious that many, if not all, religious communities have adapted themselves, their customs, their habits, to the contemporary condition--not without a great deal of soul-searching, painful compromise, and interminable meetings. But adaptation was the easier half of the challenge and directive laid down by Perfectae Caritatis. How many communities have gone on to embrace a radical renewal of their original spirit? For it is in the light of that question that one can honestly ask about the future relevance of religious life. Ignorance of Specific Spirit In many instances, individual religious find it all but impossible to dis-tinguish the uniqueness of their charism from that of other religious commu-nities. Beyond a loyal chauvinism for their own institute, many admit that their vision, their mission, their methodology is essentially the same as evi~ryone else's. The historical reasons that called: the original foundation into existence often are gone now, the needs alleviated, the witness fulfi!led, the expectations satisfied. The more specific the historical reason for the foundation, the more difficult becomes the task of pinpointing its relevance now in the latter part of the twentieth century. This quandary has caused much frustration on the part of dedicated and deeply concerned men and women who recognize the values of their traditions, see a need for apostolic zeal within the mission of the Church, but find it difficult to wed the two into an effective and realistic union within the contemporary con-text. What has happened in the minds of many young religious is to say, "Forget the past. Deal with the present and prepare for the future." But such an outlook definitely isolates one frbmthe ~rich traditions that give reason for the continuing existence of the particular institute. It truly ap-pears that too many religious today are ignorant of the spirit that enkindled the foundation of their community. They may know its historical back-ground; but they have done little to identify with .the charismatic zeal that gives them a uniqueness and an individuality so necessary in building up the full experience that is Church. For there appears today to be little difference between one religious community and another except in terms of an accident of history or geography. Beyond the clear distinctions offered by the stric~tly contemplative and monastic communities, religious orders and societies seem to have Ihid aside those distinctions that called them into 24 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/1 existence. Many individuals apparently responded to a vocational urging as personified in a particular individual: a teacher, a pastor, a chaplain, a family friend. The specific community to which that individual belonged meant little, except that it was the obvious context within which the indi-vidual was to pursue his vocation if he intended to follow the lead of his childhood hero. Thus many young men have gone in pursuit of the priest-hood, not as a diocesan priest or as a member of a religious community, but as a priest like Father Racine, or Father Joe, or Father O'Brien. Many young ladies simply continued their religious quest in the same context as the academy or the convent school to which they were sent by parents desirous of the best education possible for their offspring and knowing that the "good sisters" would provide just that. Symbol of Identity Of course, as the individual comes to identify with the community to which he has gone, to learn of its traditions and history during his years of postulancy and novitiate, he doubtless grows in love for and identification with the order or the congregation. That identity used to be symbolized .very powerfully in the reception of the religious habit. More than anything else, the habit had been the external symbol of an internal commitment. For many communities of religious women, the bishop was called upon to participate in this very important step in identification with the spirit of the Founder and the vision of the order. But, for many communities today, the habit stands as a symbol of the past. And the search for a clear, contempo-rary sign of identification whereby new members might feel a sense of oneness with the community has been a very frustrating one. Yet, in the beginning, it was not the habit that gave identity; it was the spirit and zeal of the Founder, as these drives inspired the community, giving a clear sense of purpose and single-mindedness to all who embraced the Holy Rule. It is that spirit which must be renewed in religious communities today if the symbols of religious life are to have any role to fulfill within the Church. The Problem of Stability Because many religious communities have been established for the ministry of the Universal Church and not for the local church alone, many within a diocese, often the bishop himself, tend to resent the fluidity of a religious community's commitment to a particular apostolic endeavor. For such persons, whose commitment to the local church is total, there is a very deep-seated hesitancy to entrust the fulfillment of a ministry to a group whose commitment often seems to be as long as its superior's vision is far-reaching. Such an anxiety seems natural and even fortified by the gospel parable about the hireling and the good shepherd. However, what many, whose commitment to the local church is so intense, fail to recognize or to acknowledge is that the purpose of religious exemption is "so that institutes Reflections of a Bishop on Religious Communities carl express their identity more adequately and devote themselves~to ,the common good with special generosity and on a wider scale" (22). If all who work together within the diocesan community have a proper appreciation of the exempt status as "a certain expression of that pastoral concern which unites them intimately with the Roman Pontiff for the universal care of all people," such an awareness "will promote greatly increased apostolic' ini-tiative and missionary zeal in every particular church" (22). ' Of course, every religious community that comes to ~erve the local church, even if it does beloia~ to an institute of pontifical right, "should feel themselves truly a part of the diocesan family" (18b). Therefore their com-mitment should be as deep find their solicitude as pervasive as every other apostolic witness within thediocese. However, in those situations where an institution finds itself "unable to carry on a given undertaking, its superiors should, in good time andwith~confidence; make known the factors hinder-ing its continuance at least in its actual form, especially if this lack is due to personnel. For~his part, ti~e local ordinary should consider sympatheti-cally the re~luest to withdraw from the undertaking and in common accord with the superiors seek a suitable solu'tion" (47). in other words, every local Church must always see itself as a vital organ of the universal People of God under the guidance of the Holy F~ther. None of us can afford to allow our apostolic vision to become so myopic as to blind us to the needs beyond our own backyard. Bishops~ especially, must realize that the zealous service of religious in his pastoral domain is always carried on'with a sense-of ministry to the Universal Church. Such a presence, then, is a blessing as it broadens the horizons of our apostolic perspective and helps us to appreciate more deeply the total concern of the Father for all his children. Thus as religious come and go within a diocese, neither the ordinary nor his diocesan assistants should resent their fluidity but shoiald see, in their willingriess to move as the Spirit calls them, a vivid reminder that we all are a pilgrim people on the move to the home that we can ohly begin to build toward in this world. The Church is larger and more loving than any of us. We must always st.rive to be of humble service to her needs and to free those who feel the ardent call to another vineyard, to another manifestation of the Spirit's solicitude in the midst of the people of God. Future Expectations Religious ~ommunities are ~:alled today to "devote themselves with full awareness and zeal to the task 0f incarnating and manife.sting in the diocese the specific witness and the genuine mission of their institute" (22). This is the value and the service that the bishops, are going to be searching for in the future, all the more so ,as they realize quite clearly that they "are entrusted with the duty of caring for religious charisms . [For] in this way;" by fostering religious life and protecting it in conformity with its own Review for Religious, Volume 38,~!~979/1 definite characteristics, bishops fulfill a real. pastoral duty" (9c). Thus the bi~hopJs going to be in search of and solicitous for those communities that. are responding in the modem day to the needs of the Church after the spirit and .with the zeal of their founders. Quite obviously, then, "religious supe-i- iors have a grave duty, their foremost responsibility in fact, to assure'the fidelity of the members to the charism of the Founder, by fostering :the renewal prescribed by the Council and required by the.times" (14c). The future of religious life will lie in the oab!ljty that each religious community has to move away from the mentali~ty of being an embattled camp; of~asse~ting, by quality of performanceoand depth of, solicitude, the recognition that "every institute exists.for the Church and must enrich her with its.~distinctive characteristics, according~to a particular spirit,and a specific mission" (14b). Eacho!n,stitute-is a shepherd, not a hireling-~.,~but only, ifoit speaks with the voice of its Founder who echoes the voice of the Good Shepherd. "The very charism of the founders appears a_s "an experi-ence of the Spirit' transmitted to their ,disciples to be lived, safeguarded, deepened and constantly developed by them, in harm~gny with the Body of Christ, continually in the process oLgrowth" (11). o. The future of the religious life de, pends, then, on a renewal that will be as much new as it will be re-. Besides a deep appreciation of the~historical origin and vision of one's community, each one,must se, ek innovative and creative ways w~ith which to bringthe wisdom an~t°~technology of contempo-rary society to bear upon the timeless values articulated, by the Lord Jesus and specifi.cally~ pursued within a particular religious context. The more clearly and more wholesomely we can make those value~"'li.~,e in our own day, the more relevant and essential becohaes the role we intend to.fulfillS' That is one reason why the renewal of the religio~us life remains ~such a crucial issue. However, that renewal is feasible only if each in~stitiate ,and every member is clearly aware that"it is necessary to preserve the identity of each institute so securely, that the danger of an ill-defined situation be avoide.d, le§t0religi,ous, failing to give .due consideration to the .particular mode of action proper to their character, become part of the ]if~"of the Ch.urch.in~a vague and ambiguous way" (11). ~_ Personal Reflection' As a bishop, I have been renewed by this document from the two ¯ Congregations, with a sense of the very serious responsibility that I have for the religious communities who minister to the people .I w.atgh o.ver.~I have always hoped that the religious who come into our midst would bring their special gifts and talents to' bea~- however or wherever thei.r apostolic pre~s-ence took them. Now I realize more clearlyothat, together wit.h my brother bishops, !' have a duty to help.directly and distinctly the religious commu~ nities in our midst to remain true to their founders' ideals and to fulfill ~their, specific mission in th.e w_ay that they alone °can do. In other words, 9s bishop, it is my duty to see to it that the apostolic commitment of each ~ ~ ~ ., ~ Refie~ctions.-bf a Bishop on Religigus Communities / 27 community is in keeping with and true to the spirit of their Rule. I must be available to help each religious entrusted to my pastoral care--and that includes every one in the diocese where I ministeruto be true to the specific charism of his or her community. It is my deep hope and confident prayer that religious, for their part, will serve each diocese in which they labor, not as general practitioners of gospel values (nor will: they accept ministries which would expect such an approach), but rather will share the fruits of their own foundations with the whole people of God in the particular and unique way that they are able. Admittedly such an approach demands a restructuring on the part of young and old alike. But that revamping is essential to the future flowering of the religious life and the future fulfillment of the Church. Unity Through Diversity In conclusion, the renewal of every religious community is eventually going to bring each congregation to the realization that we are all struggling toward the day when Jesus will be "'all in all," where there will be no distinct communities because the vision of every founder will finally be focused together in~ the one reality of the Lord Jesus. And there will be'no more religious communities because there will be only one religious Com-munity in the City of Goti; there will be, in the-~0rds of St.'Aug~astine, "one Christ loving himself." Yet, as we move toward that day of fulfillment, we musl move in the paradoxical fashion of human naturemfor~we move toward unity through .diversity. It is that great diversity of religious ingight and,~xp~erience which must be shared.with the Christian Community'in order that its unity might be achieved mor~ effectively and all-inclusively. In order to accomplish that objective; y,oung religious must take gr~at pride in the"tradition to which they ~ commit themselves, a pride that will make them zealous sharers, with all'God's people, of:the girls entrusted by the Spirit to their care. For ,those girls shall be, preserved only if they are generously commu-nicated to and'for the Church. And religious must learn to see in the bishop ,a source of support and solicitude, no longer the "'enemy,''-~but a loving brother, deeply concerned for their well-being and their growth. For the bishop clearly should understand that the future of religiousfife is the future life of the Church. - ~0 As the~Spirit shared the great diversity of his charisms on. that first Pentecost, magi the message that Mother Church has given to her ministers on this past Pentecost Sunday fill all of us ~4ith deep respect and concern for the building up of the girls entrusted to each of us for the life of the Church. Th, en.the grace of the Ho!y ,Spirit will fio~d fulfillment in us all as we bec~me truly one in Christ to the glory of God "the Father. From.""Ministry'' tO"Church Work" The.Fate of Tired Souls Paul Marceau, C.S.C.' " Father Marceau is a doctoral candidate in spirituality at the Graduate Theological Union, .Berkeley, CA. Presently he is on the staff of Moreau Seminary; Notre Dame, IN 46556. n the aftermath of the recen~ papal election a news commentator referred to one of Pope John Paul's distant predecessors who, after assuming the office, said that he spent so much time tending to the needs of others that he was in danger of becoming a stranger to himself. The problem of the threat of'being consumed by the demands of ministry is not a new one. Jesus himself seemed to recognize this danger and from time to,time would draw the disciples aside to rest (Mt 14:13f.). In this articl6 I~will sketch what 1 believe ~to be a particular form which that problem' takes 'in apostolic religious life today: the phenomenon of the over-burdened, under-cared-for religious who is being consumed by apostolic and community work and who, in the process, may be dying a slow and painful death as a human being, a minister, and a religious. As the life of such a person gets frag-mented by the constant demands of apostolic ministry there is a danger of losing one's personal center, and one's relationship with God becomes threatened in the process. Whenthat happens in the life of any minister in the Church I would suggest'that the apostolic activity of such an individual ceases to be "ministry" °and becomes only "church work." Most reiigious in apostolic communities have found (and continue to find) the early years of ministry an intoxicating experience. The apostolic life which they enter after their years in formation is challenging and de-manding. There seems to be so much to be done, so many needs to be 28 From ,"Ministry" to '~Church Work" attended. Within a short time the religious begins to feel needed and ap-preciated in ways that were unknown and perhaps impossible in the years of formation? There. develops a greater sense of self-worth as the person begins to do what he or she could only reflect upon or do only in a controlled and well-regulated way in the years of formation. There is a sense that one is finally fully immersed in ministry and with that comes the sense that one isat last doing something with his or her life, and not simply preparing to do so. A.new dimension of the personality develops and becomes more cen-tral: that of the hainister and apostle. The focus shifts from what ~was, in the years of fOrmation, substantially pr.eparatory, receptive, and to a large degre,e inner-directed and reflective to the active, the outward, the full immersion in ministry. The apostplate in these early years after formation makes heavy de-mands on self and time but most individuals are excited by this and would not want it to be otherwise. With the constant need and cpnstant demand of the apo.stolate, however, there come problems with the m.anagement of one's time and, ,indeed, of one's life. There is less and less time (and perhaps even desire) for leisure, for one's own concerns, for reflection upon one's life. Given the choice between the needs of others and one's "free time"0 (and there doe~ not alw.ays seem to be a choice), the religious often sacrific~es w.tlat .is the e~siest to sacrifice: personal time and space. Prior to the Changes in religious iife'which took place following Vatican I1, time for prayer and reflection was protected, at least in theory,2 by being built into~ the schedule. Such tim(for private ~'ea.ding, prayer, and refl+ction, how-ever, isnow no longer "given"; it has to be found and it seems ~ncreasingly difficult.to find it. Personal prayer and reflection gradually have come to be nudged out of the lives of many by the hectic ~nd busy pace of their apostolic.life. Indeed, there was a time in the past decade when such times aside f(om'ministry were rl.o.t only considered luxuries but were Iobked upon as 'selfish luxuries, as time stolen from the service of others in need. Perso'n~l prayer beco~n"e~, problematic, even for those with the best of intentions. Few, if any.~,fiaiike a conscious decision to give UP personal prayer; it gimply gets~ pushed out by the "more important" and more immediate concerns of Io~,e and service to others. It is a gradual process by which people's lives simply become so overwhelmed by the 9postolic and. qn the past. of course, apostolic involvement during the years of formation w~s minimal. Young religious were protected from such "outside" distractions. As a result, for people trained in such a context, immersion into full-time ministry,provided a shocking change from . their years of formation, The change is less abrupt today since significant apostolic involve-ment is seen as a critical part of formation. Nevertheless, the "full-time" ministry has a dynamic of its own which can really be experienced only in the doing of it, no matter how well one is prepared for it. zWhile time for meditation, spiritual ~'eading, examination of conscience, and so forth, may have been provided in previous schedules, there is certainly enough evidence to wonder to what extent such schedules were ac~tually honored--other than by those in formation. 30 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/1 community demands that there is simply no time "left over" for oneself., Finding time for' personal prayer becomes a terrible.struggle, the wagingof, ahopeless, losing war. For some, the loss of,,that dimension of their re-ligious life is easily justified by their appeal .to the demands of ministry; for others Such loss is--the Source of much shame and guilt.~ Foi" many, prayer has bedome a time squeezed into'fi hectic and already' cluttered day. It is ~so~ething to be fitted in between Walter Crorikite ahd'~ an evenin~g meeting, or between a dis~tressing hous~ meeting arid the celebration of the Eticharist.:These patterns of prayer-time tend to reflect their livegt prayer time itselfis'9 hectic and bdsy,°'often cluttered, time. Even when the time is fotindfor it, prayer is'filled with the concerns of 0ne's~ day. It is a time full of distractions, a very busy and unfocused time, filled~ with the hundreds of stimuli that the individual brings off ~he street with him: The time which one struggles to have alone'with God becomes a time to do a lot Of religious "business," a trine for pra~,ing for the concerns ministry, .for commending to ~he Lord all the. wounded who ha~d tbuched one's life that day. The time "aside" is really no time aside at'fill but simply a 'diffei-erit'fOi'um for doing what"one had been doing all'day long. " " For"others, the dynamic of personal prayer shiftg from "time aside" to prayer-on-the-i'un, a kind of "are you running ~vith me~, 'Jesus" format. There is sirrligly no 'time to tend to the'personal reli~gidoiums e"n °s i~o'n~ "o:f ~ o' n~e* :s~ ' life, and God is put on "hofoldr "~ n'"creas"~ °ngly lon"g ~er. "p~e ,r i.~ods of time. Not infrequently i'eligious m~ke little bargains with God, prom'ising to return to him at a latCr date when there is more time available: "I'm g?ing tO be very busy this s~'ineste~ and I reall3i won't have mucl~time for prayer ' but I'll get back t'~3ibu at Chris~tmasvacation or during the~summer when things let up a liitle." But Chrqst~n°~s o~:summer vacation corhes along, and when there ts finally t~me for prayer, such individuals find that they can no longer pray as they once d~d because they have fallen out of the habit of personal prayer. The closeness and the ~nt~macy ~s no longer there; God seems to be further away. The more personal, direct and intimat~'relationship~vith God that one might have known in quieter and mor~ peaceful ti~e~ is gone. There is a dis-ea'se about one's relationship to God, and the times alone with him are f0un'd~{o be somewhat strained and uncomfortable. The struggle to fi'nd some t~me aside does not, aftei- all, seem to' be quite worth it because thOre does not seem to be much pbint to it. " ~ Iwshort, given the difficulty of finding times for prayer,~ and the busy and hectic pace we experience,e.ven when they fire found, prayer time becomes~ more and more minimalT"and what there is becomes increasingly lesg satisfying. As a.result,, m~ore and more weight for the spiritual life comes to be put on community, or on "apostolic prayer." Liturgy and'common prayer become the focus and substance of the prayer life .of many to the exclusion of~all other forms. But with that, .there is often felt an, uncom-fortable dissonance between what one says in his~ministry and'what one' From "Ministry" ,to "Church Work" d0es.-,Thus~, although he may preach eloquently; celebrate reverently, discuss the gospel enthusiastically and be complimented and affirmed by his parishioners, students, and fellow community members as being a good priest andreligious, the spiritual dimension of apostolic and community I.ife seems to have no echO;in his ownolife: He believes the message and is sincere when he tblls others about it, but at times it seems very far frorfi what he himselffis experiencing. Neverthe!ess, sharing sacraments,and common prayer~with others is at least a lifeline for many. When there is a dis-ease and a discomfort about being too alone with oneself and with°G0d, one can often find solace in participating in the more formal, more .struc-ttired ,forms of prayer, such as the sacraments and Office, since slach f/arms allow 'one to approach God without being too alone before him. Just as p~ople must build up habits of pr.aYer with time and practice, so it is that they fall out of the habits of personal prayer. Thps, ~hen a pe,rson's life become~ overwhelmed and fragmented by a busy and hectic apostolic ministry, personal prayer becomes difficult not only because of time con-siderations but because the doing of it becomes an uns~itigfying thing. For one who has fallen out of the practice .of personal prayer, moments o~f aloneness can become very frightening, and so instead of struggling tofind such times of alonene'gs and of the oppo~:tunity to foc~us within, the religio0,s may eventually fipd h~mself strugghng to avotd focusing w~th~n for fear of seeing too deeply, with to6"~uch clarity, ~hat may be happening to his fraghaehted life. When tli~it' h~ppens, the 'i~dividual spends an enor~mous amount of time and psychic energy fleeing such moments, protecting him: self from God. P~rsons sensing this dis-ease a, bout the'Jr relationship with God may read about God, talk al~out God, may do'the works of the Church and~ma~ even°hpproach G~d. in the company of othersobut they are often unable to bear facing God' in their aloneness, to be ~ilent before him. If such.is.the fate of n.ot a few apostolic religious in the past decade (and I believe it has b, een), then the task for them, again, becomes one of the struggle t9 av.oid, such moments. The apostolate, itself a contributory cause to this state of affairs, becomes a welcome and easily legitimized.distraction from facing oneself. Religious can throw themselves into their_work and give themselves over to be consumed by the apostqlic need which, as a matter of fact, is always ~,aiting there to be cared for. But this is not the zeal of those early y~ears of their ministry; it is, in fact, just the oppqsite. The work, what one does, is now.no longer ,a way of sharing what is inside, but a way of avoiding it. Instead of zeal andenthusiasm driving one from within to sha~e what.~e .has pers.onally experienced and discovered about'life and about God,,there is flightto the work for its own sake, a flight away from the i,nterior self. ~with diminishing personal energies and resources.tq ~driye and sustain himself, he becomes willingly carried along by the demands of the apostolat~e, .and~ lifebecomes one busy apostolic distraction. When ihat .happen,s, when,a person becomes emptied inside and can live .only on'the 32 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/1 outside, then he is:no longer engaged in the doing of ministry but.is simply busy about doing what I would call simply "church work." The irony of all this is that a person may be, and very frequently is at this same time in life, just h!tting his professional stride, doing the kinds of things that he always wanted to do in ministry,~with all the requisite pro-fessional training, and receiving very reassuring feedback from others about his ministry--and yet the.re seems to be something terribly missing, and he cannot understand why~ He may be doing very good work, pro-fessionally satisfying, assisting others in. living their lives and yet feel that he.is not doing a very good job of living his own. He might say to himself: "I should be happy but I am not. What is the matter with me?" As one person expressed it to me: "I am good and successful at what I am doing. ! enjPy it and find satisfaction in it--but why do I feel like I am dying?" The constant concerns and needs of others (and the constaht need to be focusing outside oneself), the very things .which used to energize and sus-tain the person in the early years of ministry, now only drain energies and makes the indiviidpal feel th~it his whole life', by choice"or by abdication, is being consumed by the apostolate. The apostolate has become for him a thousand-tentacled monster, constantly making demands, never letting up, constantly draining him of diminished or even exhausted personal energies. For the weary church worker the apostolate becomes a.two-edged sword: it is a welcome distraction protectin.g him from looking too closely within and, at the same time, a drain upon his personal energies even to the point of exhaustion. There is a variation to the above theme ~f the one who allows his life to become c~onsumed by the apostolate~ in order to avoid what may be dying inside, and this variation is marked by the opposite of involvement: with-drawal. For this person the apostolate becomes an eight-hour-a-day (or less)job and he is quite capable of walking away from it in order, as he sees it, to preserve his own necessary personal time and space; Having created sixteen hours of personal time and space of the twenty-four, however, the task he faces then becomes One Of filling up his space and time so that he will dot be left alone with it. In order to defend himself from se6ing the void within, the individual will do anything to fill up that time, to be distracted. He will read novels and magazines for hours (this may be his'version of "'being alone"). He may spend evening after evening watching television without really knowing or caring what is on the screen. He may arrange a heavy social schedule.'He will do anything rather than face the emptiness and discomfort that is within him. The weary church worker's life has become overwhelmed and frag-mented by the consuming demands of today's apostolate. He may be a victim of the work but. in the end; he knows that b,~ ,.'s a willing victim. He m'ay even see himself in the role of a martyr, giving his all that the world rr]ay be saved (or at least a little'more saved). But underneath the hectic and clu~ttered life of today's church worker, there is the danger of building up F¢om "Ministry" to "Church Work" /,33 increasing levels of resentment against those whom he serves. The de-mands never let up and nobody will leave hi~n alone. He may be tired. There may be a lot of suppressed anger and resentment. But worse than either of these, as long as he seems-to be good and successful in his work, is the fact that nobody seems to care about what is dying inside him and how he feels about himself and his ministry. The problem, in fact, is that no one can see what is dying inside him. All the outward signs appear to be good. The iridividual is busy, involved, committed to the apostolate, and actually doing good work there. He is sociable and affable in community, relating well there. No one can see what is happening inside him because no one is allowed to see it. The individual may have a difficult time even bringing himself tO see it and there may be too much shame and guilt to allow anyone else to see it. All the while the person may be saying: "they (superiors, fellow religious, fellow ministers) are themselves too busy ministering to others and I cannot burden them with my problems; I know what I~feel like when one more problem comes my way and I don't want to be just one more problem for' them." There is a final, cruel irony in the situation of the apostolic religious who, by the process described above, has been turned into a busy church WorkeL There is a rehewed interest and concern for spirituality and praye~ in the Church today--and that is w~lcomed. Religious are once more con-cerned about their relationship with God. But, as often a~ not, that concern is a source of guilt rather'than a source of strength. Concern for spirituality and prayer--whether the concern is assumed or imposed~--isjust one more ~lemhnd placed upon the life oLthe already tired religious. Instead of one's i'elationship with God being the source of personal energy and an impetus to ministry, it can become just one more thing to worry about along with.all the others~ one more thing with which the religious has neither the timenor the energy to contend. Instead of being the place of rest where he no longer has to be doing and Working, his prayer becomeg just one more thing to do and to work at. Instead of his relationship with God being the source and center of life, it is thrown in with all the other things which clamor for attention in a life which has lost its center. Apostolic religious communities in America today are running the risk of producing amongtheir members merely weary church workers suffering from battle fatigue. In the long run, however, there will be a price to pay in human suffering and tragedy, as suppressed anger and resentment can be suppressed no longer and begin to surface, Often in indirect but destructive ways. Religious will retire too Soon from the battle, burnt out men and women who will no longer be driven or taken advantage of. They will unclutter their lives of hectic apostolic activity and then turn and fill them up with other more relaxing distractions; but whether busy with apostolate or busy with relaxing distractions, many will be leading lives of quiet desperation because their lives no longer have any focus or center to hold them together. Review for Religious, Volunie°38, 1979/1 There are alternatives, I think, to the way we live apostolic religious life and the way we do ministrytoday. Just ~as~we do no good for a.materialistic society if we ourselves get caught up in its materialistic ethos, likewise we do little good for a society that runs at an insane pace, fragmenting the lives of its people when we ourselves run at; that.~same pace, becoming quite as fragmented in our own lives. A different style and pace of apostolic religious life need not mean that apostolic ministry be less involx;ed, less concerned, or less whole-hearted than it is now. .~ . ~.," Finding the meaning of one's life in one's relationship to God and sustaining that relationship personally through reflection and prayermmany indeed "take time away from others" but it may also allow us to offer them something more than what had been our busy, overburdened lives. G~'ound-ing our personal lives outside of the work we do may both'free us from the apostolate and, at the same time. free us for it. We will be freed from the apostolate not in the sense that we will lose the apostOlic dimension of our life in favor of the comtemplative life but rather in'!the sense that the meaning of our lives, as individuals and as communities, would no longer be tied to this specific apostolate and this particular work. "We would be freed from the works of our own hands to pursue and minister to the needs of people wherever and whatever they may.be, On .the other hand, it may well be that we would be doing the same kinds of. things ,that we are ,doing now,. but the person doing them will be different: still busy, but less frantic, and bringing to those situations a life which is a little calmer, a little more rootedand peaceful. Our apostolic ministry might be less cluttered but, at the same time, more deeply involved; we might be less frenzied, but also more zealous about the things we do. Finding the focus and center of one's life in God and taking time to tend to that dimension of life will give impetus and focus to our ministry. It will take :nothing away from it but will, instead, make ministry all the more importantmand all the more possible. "Promises to Keep"' A Homily for Final Vows J.Peter Schineller, S.J. Father Schineller, ~ member of the faculty of the Jesuit School of Theology in Chicago (JSTC), shared with those who witnessed his final vows in the Society of Jesus the't~houghts and movements that were his then. He resides at 5554 s. Woodlawn Ave.; Chicago, IL 60637. While'I was visiting "my brother and sister-in-law over the Christmas hblidays, as oftenhappens with a new toy, an argument arose betweeh their two children. The younger boy was unwilling to let his big sister play with his new eiectriC helicopter. The conversation went something like this: "It's my t6rn! You'have to let me play ffith~it."" "I don't want to and 1 don't have to." "You have to, and you know you have to." "I don't ~have to,' and I ~on't." "You have to, because you promised!" "Well, OK." My five year old nephew was trapped. He was caught by his promise, and he kne~ it. He knew in his child's wisdom that a prom~ise is something special, something sacred, and not just any old word. Promises make a difference.' "The child in me made promises more than 18 years ago, not about toys, but about how to spend my whole life*; promises not to ariother pers6n, but promises to God, tlie Father of all persons. And here I am this ~evening, to *The Jesuit's "first vows," taken at the end of the novitiate, include the perpetual vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. (Editor)' 35 36 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/1 renew and to finalize those promises in my profession of "final vows," and to renew the promises with joy and enthusiasm. And so in these last few moments in which I am still a Jesuit scholastic, I would :like to share a few thoughts on 1) how I see these promises, 2) where the inspiration to make the promises comes from, and 3) how it is possible for anyone to make a profession of vows. First of all, what am I promising and vowing this evening? In one sense, it is nothing new, nothing beyond what I promised eighteen years ago, a life of poverty, chastity and obedience in the Society of Jesus. It is not a new turn, a grandiose new option, but rather a public statement of my choice tO continue on the road begun. Yet in another sense, it is a new choosing, because with eyes far more open than 18 years ago, I am saying, "This is the path for me, and I promise to take this path as long as I live." The promises I make tonight are promises that I can only make tonight, and could not have haade five, ten--or eighteen years ago. Much has been written about the meaning of the vowed life. i donit intend'to present a new theory, but let me say briefly how.I see what I am promising. In the vow of obedience, I am saying that I will not try to build ~a career for myself. Rather my life is a responding life in the Society of Jesus, a response to the call of God as seen in the needs of others. In chastity I am foregoing the joys, pleasures and anxieties of building a home and family and thus establishing family roots. My basic community will be the Jesuits I live, work, and move with. In this way I hope to be available for loving service, wherever the good news of God's love is called for. In poverty I am saying that I will look upon my time, talents, education as always God's gift to me, not for myself, but to be shared in the service of others. Finally, I promise to do all of this as a member of the Society of Jesus. That is much easier to grasp and to explain. For it means living, growing, working, enjoying life, and dying with many of the persons you see here. And it is quite a group: young and old, tall and short, from all over the United States, and even from around the world. What do w,e have in common? All of us are engaged in the serious convers.~ition and ctiallenges of Christian life and ministry, in the~.tradition of Ignatius and the many .great Jesuits of the past and present. We are trying-in many different ways to let the good news of the love of God break into this world. ~ Secondly, where do I get the urge or inspiration to make these vows and promises? If it comes simply from my own imagination, then I could make and break these promises without further ado. But years ago, in quiet and diverse ways, the idea crept into my head to be a Jestlit and a priest. The idea came fr.om reading books, from conversation; from the example of my family, parish priests, and from Jesuits who taught me, And so I responded. "Promises to Keep," A,Homily for Final Vows But it was a long time ago that the journey began. Today where do I get the inspiration to make this profession of final 'vows? It seems to me that the process is quite similar. You, so many here, and so many who couldn't be here, in your own ways, have kept ~the vision and ideal of being a Jesuit priest before my eyes. YOU have been sending me signals, challenging, pushing, leading m.e, ~and so I respond. You have been sending me signals,' as I read them, that indicate that what I am about is good, and is from God. Signals have come from the parish at Harvey, Where I help on Sundays, to friends and teachers at the University of Chicago; from Jesuits in New York to students I teach and learn with here at the Jesu.itSchool of Theology; from fellow faculty members, friends of Hyde Park, to those I live with at Jesuit House. And I have to rely on :these signals, signals which have given me hope, courage, and confidence .,that 1 am on the right path. There is one conviction that has grown over the years, that while the vows are finally from God and made to God, it is according to his plan and purpose that the desire and courage to take and renew the promises of vows always comes mediated through.human lives. I sensed today a new insight into, or application of the parable of the last judgment in Matthew 25. If I might dare paraphrase it, I would say, "what I prpmise or vow to you, the least ofGod's brothers and sisters, I am vowing to God himself." But thirdly, how it is ppssible to make and live such promises? Many would say that this way of life is inhuman, psychologically unhealthy, or even un-Christian. How can i be sure that this is truly the will of God for me? How can I avoid the danger of the vows, the danger of being un-loving, irresponsible, the danger of pride in thinking that I have chosen a "better w~y" than n0n-vowed life? How can I'choose or control the future, and say where I wish to be ten or thirty years from now? Am I not fighting against Christian freedom, the freedom of the Spirit? Finally, and most trouble-some, how can I promise to God what he alone can give true obedience, holy poverty, and perfect chastity? These virtues are his gifts, and so how dare I promise or vow them'before God? The answer to these difficulties and°dangers must be an answer in faith, hope, and loving trust. Let me explain: I used to think I could figure it out--and had figured it out. I had what I thought was an adequate view of God, a solid enough view.of myself and the meaning and possibiliti~es of human life. I thought that on the basis of this perspective I could pronounce and keep my vows. They made a lot of sense. Now I see it is ndt so easy. For I see that vowed life, in common with all life, is, to use Karl Rahner's phrase, "a surrender to the mystery and incomprehensibility of God." I can't give a complete and adequate rational account or grounding for vowed life, for myself or anyone else. But on the basis of expei'ience and prayerful reflection, I dare to say that this life is not only.possible, but it is God's will and graced way for me. Living the vows as I have been about and encoun- 311 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/'1 tering the mystery of God in and through them is. their only final justification. Th.ey have been, are, and I say tonight, will continue to be my way to meet God, to be myself, and to respond to the needs .of God's people., Just as the Jesuit-.style of life has shaped my daily existence, so, in a.mysteriou.s way, the vowed life has shaped and formed my faith-filled idea of God himself. The God, revealed to me through the vows is a God I can and must stand before in trust. He is the one. who gives joy, peace, fulfillment, and a sense of purpose and mission far deeper tha~ any that I could create or grasp on my own. Moving to the center of the mystery of the possibility of the vows, I dare to say in and through these vows that God, the incomprehensible one, is not distant, far-off, uninvolved, but rather he is somehow present and working as the one who makes possible these promises in the first place. I find I am almost forced to say that he, in his Holy Spirit, is making the vbws and promises in and through me. And go only on this basis.do I dare to promise what God alone can give as gift. For I am convinced that it is a response to his impulse and urge that pushes me to make this commitment. I began these reflections with the story of a child:s pr~mise at Christ-mastime. Let me conclude with a poet's words on promises. In the midst ofa busy Week in a snow filled winter in Chicago, a pocida of Robert'Frost is perhaps most appropriate, "Stopping by Woods on a Siaowy Evening." It is good that we are here together, pausing; ~stopping not by woo~is, but in the city i~f Chicago in Augustana Lutheran Church.Tlie poet, stopping with his horse and carriage explains, "The woods are lovely, d~rk and deelS." And ~peaking formyself, Isay, yes,the woods I have journeyed through over ,the past eighteen years have been lovely, dark and deep. The woods a~re lovely--exciting, encouraging, adventuresome and challenging years, with beautiful moments of joy and peace, so lovely that~ I gla.dly, freely continue down this path. The woods are dark--filled with the .unexpected, from a pre-Vatican II Church onward towards Vatican III, with the graced paradox of a Jesuit pronouncing his final vows in a Lutheran church. Final-ly, the woods are deep if nottiing else the years of th~ journey have been deep, far too deep for me to understand and explain all that led me here tonight,, and all that is involved in this celebration, far tro deep for me to adequa.tely thank all who have supported and e, ncouraged me. Yes, the woods have been deep--filled with the mysterious presence of God in one humari life. The,,woods I,have journeyed through have been lovely, dark and deep, and I am saying in effect tonight that I would not trade a~0ay this way of, life through the woods for any other way. I say this joyfully, and as strongly as I can. But we can't stop here and pause here too long in-snow filled Chicago. For as the poet reminds us,'and as his poem concludes: "Promises to Keep," A Homily for Final Vows / 39 The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. May God who is Father, Son and Spirit continue to strengthen and guide each one of us on our journeys in the miles ahead. REPRINTS FROM THE REVIEW "A Method for Eliminating Method in Prayer," H. F. Smith, S.J . 30 "An Apostolic Spirituality for the Ministry of Social Justice," M. Oliva, S.J . 50 "CelibateGerhtality," W. F. Kraft . 50 "Celibacy and Contemplatio~n,'~ D. Dennehy, S.J . 30 "Colloquy of God with a Soul that Truly Seeks Him" . 3.0. "Consciousness Exhmen," G: A. Aschenbrenner, S.J. . ~.50 "Hidden in Jesus Before the Father," G. A. Asch~ffbrenner, S.J . 50 "Institutional Business Administration & Religious," Flanagan and O'Connor . 30 "Instruction on the Renewal of Religious Formation;' S.C. for Rel!gious . ~ . .~. . 35 "Prayer-of Personal Reminiscence," D. J,' Hassel, S.J .6.0. '~Profile of the Spirit: A Theology of .Disdernment of Spirits," J. R. Sheets, S.J. ' . 50 "Psychosexual Maturity in CelibateDevelopment," P. Cristatitiello . . . ~ . 60 "Retirement or Vigil," B. Ashley, O,P. .~.3.0 "The 'Active-Contemplative' Problem," D. M. Knight .7.5. "The Contemporary Spirituality of ihe Monastic Lectio," M, Neuman, O.S.B: . ~. . 50 "The Four Momeiats of Prayer," J. R. Sheets, S.J .5.0. "The Healing of Memories," F. Martin . . . 35 "The Nature and Value of a Directed Retreat," H. F. Smith,oS.J . :.° . .35 Orders for the' above should be sent to: Review for Religious Room 428 3601 Lindell Blvd. St~ Louis, MO 63108 Destructive Passivity Spiritual Direction in Judith Roemer Sister Judith is a member of the staff of the Jesuit Center for Spiritual Growth; Church Road; Wernersville, PA 19565. ecently, I have become aware of the work of Aar.on a.nd Jacqui Schiff on psychological aspects of passivity (T. A. Journal, 1:1, January, 1971). As I read some of their findings, I began to see applications to the situation of spiritual direction. I began to realize how important it is for directors to be more alert in detecting patterns of destructive passivity in their directees. I came to recognize how important it is not to foster such patterns. It.seems to me, then, that noting and examining the categories of these psychologists regarding negative passivity can be highly productive in improving the process of spiritual direction. ~ "Passivity" has long been esteemed in the spiritual life. For that reason, it seems necessary to distinguish clearly from the start precisely what is the subject of this paper. There definitely is a time for activity, and a time for passivity. What seems essential is that passivity, as a way of responding, be carefully chosen. When, after looking at a situation and being in touch with my faith, my intelligence, and my affectivity, I decide to do nothing, I have made good use of passivity. This paper is not about those freely-chosen, well-thought-'out, peacefully and joyfully chosen situations. On the con-trary, this paper is concerned .with a form of passivity which inhibits adult responsibility and substitutes an unproductive way of acting for a decision. Previously I had thought of passivity in terms of "'dging nothing," However, the unproductive types of passivity wear many masks. Along 40 Destructive Passivity in Spirit.ual Direction / lll with "doing. nothing," passivity can take the form of "over-adaptation," "agitation," "incapacitation," and "violence." Each form in turn has many other forms as the category is expanded. In writing about the situation of spiritual~direction, my assumption is that, for the most part, I am dealing with normal, productive adults. Hen~e~ without pushing Schiffs' original categories of abnormal behavior beyond their intent, I suggest that the destructive areas of passive behavior noted by them do have potential tendencies that are also to be~found ~n the situation of directing healthy adults. Both director and directee carl profit by being aware of them. Secondly, I want to show that the Spiritual Exer-cises of St. Ignatius contain some useful tactics for cou.nteracting destruc-. tive passivity. Using these tactics can be the occasion for providing quality decisions for the furtherance of the Kingdom. Doing Nothing In religious circles we often smile knowingly at the self-made martyr; we chide one another with the standard phrase, "Offer it up." We are indignant at the priest and levite who preceded the Good Samaritan and passed by the wounded stranger because it wasn't their business. We scoff at Cain as iii~ asks about being his brother's keeper. All of these are simply good exam-ples of the first category of destructive passivity, of doing nothing. Not quite so obvious is the example of a person who gathers data ad infinitum; waiting endlessly for the perfect insight, the perfect moment, before con-cretizing his dream in decision. Close to him is the example of the person who is caught in speculation to the point of paralysis. His personal intui-tions convolute beyond time and talent, becoming a threatening burden rather than a beaconing light. Substituting one a~tivity for another, washing the car instead of writing the checks, is yet another form of "doing nothing." A quite obvious form is plain indecisiveness. Not quite so easy to detect would be falling into a certain disproportionate balance of activity and passivity in prayer. One of the greatest struggles in prayer is knowing when to let go of activity in order to be quiet. As a person moves from a meditative stance to a contemplative stance, he is faced with the decision to choose or to resist passivity. Instinctively he would tend to resist whatever would challenge his depen-dence on word, fantasy, clarity or concept. In prayer, though, a person at some time is faced with the necessity of choosing the darkness of faith in place of his familiar dependency on thoughts and feelings. In the Exercises of St. Ignatius, the First Principle and Foundation (23) gives a clear direction against ~'doiflg nothingi': "The other things., are created for man to help him . Hence he ought to make use of them insofar as they help., and to rid himself of them insofar as they prove a hindrance." Later, in the Kingdom (91-98) the id quod volo (grace desired) is indicat- 49 /Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/1 ed in the petition to be "prompt and diligent., not to be deaf." Further on, the Three Classes of Men (149-155) portray sets of persons in the midst of decisions. At one extreme is the destructively passive man, who, filled with hopes, dreams, doubts, and attachments, comes to the end of~ his life uncommitted, not having "made use of any means." At the other end is the man of the ThirdClass who has developed a sense of freedom, a willingness to work with many options "to be better able to serve God our Lord." Many,, times people are unaware that there is any way out of their unproductive passivity, and thus see "doing nothing" as a way of survival. But this neednot be the case. A director who insists on careful discernment encourages his directee to find and develop many alternatives, thus lessen-ing the need for anyone to be locked into a single unproductive mode of ¯ acting. Over-adaptation A second, kind of passivity is over-adaptation; taking another's goal as one's own. Unlike the former category of "doing nothing," this one of over-adaptation appears to be busy and productive. Yet the exaggerated dependency role continues to operate and the results are destructive. Fear and "peace at any price" are common manifestations of over-adaptation in religious life. Yet it is often close to ordinary adaptation, which is a necessary~part of human existence. Hence over:gdaptation is difficult~to spot externally. However, careful listening to a directee can give a director many hints of how the directee is going to excessive pains not to cause trouble, to be nice, to be cooperative. Unfortunately it is not uncommon to hear of difficult or even impossible situations in which a person chooses to "sit" on his thoughts and feelings, to "adapt" rather than confront another person or a structure. The pain is often "offered up," and the unhealthy situation persists lest the individual be considered unmortified, or narrow-minded. Fear, too, can be used to mask over-adaptation. Especially among reli-gious women, being timid sometimes has an air of virtue about it. The timid woman wants to be rescued, preferably by a male spiritual director who will protect, reassure, and comfort her without suggesting that she move out of her unproductivity :and decide, with his help, what she is to do about it. Rather insidiously, this kind ofpassivity can be a mask for a deeper kind of aggression. It is difficult to challenge someone who is "trying so hard" to cooperate. Consciously or unconsciously, it doesn't take too long for the over-adapter to learn how much control can be gained in such a situation. Unfortunately, this kind of over-adaptation is often canonized as "docility." ,. Ironically, gaining control through over-adaptation often proves frus-trating. In the effort to mold, regulate and maintain the climate of safety created by over-adaptation, the directee often cannot hear the voice of the Destructive Passivity in Spiritua[ Direction Spirit. This kind of person has set up an atmosphere in which he does not have to give up his security. In clinging to safety he has substantially cut himself off from the world of inspiration and challenge. Directors often see this in directees who cannot believe that God could possibly be leading them beyond their self-made rules, beyond their self-made security and safety. Directees see this in directors who speak only of asceticism, never of mysticism, who prefer devotions and practices instead of fidelity to the Spirit. In some way those who claim they have no time for prayer as well as those who claim they cannot be involved with their neighbors both have fallen heir to passivity,in the form of over-adaptation. The former have let the rat race rather than their own head, heart and faith decide their destiny. The latter have refused to be molded by the poverty, particularity, and concreteness of the Incarnation.' Lastly, in our day, we often fail victim to concern for public relations. Our assumptions about what the bishop will think, what the lay teachers will think, what our community will think, what the Protestants Will think, what the children will think, and so on, endlessly, often decide the course of important events ?Further, they are used as a justification and motivation for over-adapting, for decisions which are unworthy of our faith experi-ence. Over-adaptation is an excellent example of how the "angel of darkness" comes disguised as an "angel of light" (Ex 332). We are all familiar with the monsters that have arisen in the guise of virtue under such "headings as availability, community, poverty, or blind obedience. Burning the candle at both ends, :navel gazing, stinginess, and the ill-use of human talents are all destructive~and.unworthy of the Kingdom. Those who have suffered these delusions might well look less to over-adaptation and more to considered responsiveness in their future decision-making. The Exercises are intended to be a celebration of one's gift of spiritual freedom. Key to that~disposition is ~ spirit of indifference. 1 can use things when I need them and put them aside when they hinder'rme. I canchoose the one or the other, not being unduly influenced by position, location or advancement. Such a stance demands a sense of presence: pres~ence to myself ag I accept the wonder and agony of who I am; and presence'to God as I accept the reality of Someone beyond'me who loves me, At the peak~ of the Ignatian ,experience, the exercitant becomes a cor~templative-in-action. Again and again, each one of the exercises faces him with the question: "What do I want?" He is asked to identify his desire and pray for what he needs. He is asked to face the reality of what he can do, what he needs to ask for, what he plans to do about it all. As though this were not enough, he is asked to order his de~i~es, prioritize his Iongings, lest he assume the posture of the man of the Secon~l Class (Ex 154), thus leaving himself open 44 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/1 to compromise and mediocrity, It is comforting to note that over-adaptation is often the easiest of the unproductive passivities to remedy. Most people who are negatively pas-sive have done a lot 0fthinking :to arrive at such a position. They are equally capable of assimilating new. information, though. For this reason, it would be a good thing for a director to confront such negative passivity directly. Thinking seriously about developing more positive options, a director and directee can develop new alternatives that lead to more creative results. Agitation The third category of unproductive passivity is agitation, the repetition of actions that have no meaning in terms of what the individual is seeking. In prayer this often shows itself in the kind of spiritual gluttony that ex-cludes the invitation to the darkness of faith. Most of us who pray consistently catch ourselves at times trying too hard, attempting to "program" a religious experience by learning the new-est techniques, and then clinging to the resultant experience as though it were God. Once an individual has fallen into this, it ultimately comes to him asa surprise to find that faith is~dark. His experience with this darkness then arouses anger, possessiveness, the demand that God come to him on his terms. His first experience with this reality often brings about more agita-tion in the form of worry, fretting, the gloomy exaggeration of his situation out of all proportion to its reality. Many persons tend to drop prayer at this point; "Nothing is happening," they say. Or they become over, involved in new techniques, in more interesting works, or in other people, rather than take the effort to learn to live comfortably with dark faith. Since religious people tend to be idealistic, they tend to strive for goals so high that the gap between the real self and the ideal self creates depres-sion rather than energy. Here is where good direction offers an opportunity for balance. Directors should be on the alert for extremes. Wild imaginings in time of prayer, quickly changing moods of sadness, exuberance, fear, or zeal need testing. It seems unlikely that experiences of being "bugged by God" about small ~hings or "being made to suffer" by God hold up in the pro.cess of good discernment. It is more likely that persons have allowed themselves the "luxury" of agitation as a replacement for the decision to accept fully the implication's of their call. Such a decision, lived, is sobering. Life with God becomes quiet, gentle, strong, and often hidden. One must be willing to give up the excitement of flurry, th.e pride of being a "martyr to the cause," the prestigiousness of extraordinary phenomena. The con-crete decision i.s amazingly simple, poor, and hidden, just as it was when the Word was made Flesh. St. Ignatius has many suggestions for coun~teracting agitation. In the Rules for Discernment for the First W~eek (313-327) he describes the behav-ior that is characteristic of those facing their own sinfulness. He warns Destructive Passivity in Spiritual Direction against secrecy, sadness, false reasoning, restiessness, frames of mind that lead to lack of faith, hope, and love. In the Second Week's Rules for Discernment (328-336) he describes the experience of agitation as "'violent, noisy, and disturbing." These, he counsels, are from the evil one. Again, [the course of thoughts suggested to us] may end in what weakens the soul, or disquiets it; or by destroying the peace, tranquility, and quiet which it had before, it may cause disturbance to the soul. These things are a clear sign that the thoughts are proceeding from the evil spirit, the enemy of our progress and eternal salvation ~333). Unfortunately, many enjoy their agitation. Not only does it substitute for their having to make a decision, but they can often find convincing reasons to suggest why it is actually accomplishing something. However, this would be a dangerous area to cultivate.Little that is long-lasting for the K~ngdom is accomplished through such agitation. Further, the'anxiety that I am arousing can move me into the more destructive aspects of passivity: incapacitation or violence. For the director, little or nothing is accom-plished by cooperating with the agitation ofhis directee. In fact, trying to dialog logically with a person in this state often brings the directee more deeply into a dependency role, delaying a good decision. In these cases an effort should be made by both director and directee to calm the agitation, moving it back to an over-adaptive situation where, temporarily at least, the director can give calm instructions that will provide a better atmosphere for the directee to think of alternatives and decide on more productive options. Incapacitation A more entrenched kind of passivity is the fourth type: incapacitation. 'One of the most common manifestations of freezing or incapacitation tn spirituality is stubbornness, an unwillingness to move one step further until I fully understand where I am going. This kind of stubbornness commonly occurs during the transition from meditation to contemplation. "I don't know what is going to happen, and I will not let go until I do," The result is that I stay where I am, often giving up mental prayer as a result. Hand-maid to stubbornness is scruple, a fear of doing something good lest I be wrong or at least somewhat ill-motivated, Much good can be left undone while a person worries about whether or not he is proud, vain, or ambitious, The Exercises answer this frame of mind. lfl such cases one should raise his mind to his Creator and Lord, and if he sees what fie is about to do is in keeping with God's service~, or at least not opposed to it, he should act directly against the temptation. According to St. Bernard, we must answer the tempter, "" I did not undertake this because of you, and I a.m not going to relinquish it~because of you" (351). Refusing to let go of an emotion, pleasant or agonizing, is another form of incapacitation. "'I can only pray provided it is a high experience." ""Io have grown comfortable with my anger (resentment, low self-image) and 46 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/1 the atmosphere I create helps me feel secure. I control my environment." Unfortunately, the situation backfires and shields the individual from life, i~ssenin'g the likelihood of his loving or suffering, rejoicing or crying with the rhythms of the real world. Having entrenched himself in his low self-image, he begins to project distorting 'images on God. God becomes the Great Controller, the Life-Taker, the Divine Exactor, rather than the Evoker of Freedom and the Loving Father. Lastly, incapacitation demon-strates itself as an unwillingness, an inability to look at one's blind spots. Fear of losing the security of his images often prevents the individual from being called beyond his own devices to the darkness of faith by the whispers of the Spirit. The Ex~rcises face incapacitation firmly by asking the individual to seek for the gift of knowing that he is deeply loved and ~knowing that he is at the same time sinful. Coupled with that grace is his growing realization of who he i~the wonder and the agonywthat leads him to grow comfortable and free with his own reality. In the protection of this new freedom the person does not.have to struggle for survival. He has experienced love. He knows that he is "precious in his sight" (Is 43:4). The Exercises would stir him out of his inactivity, bidding him to look at his secret stubbornnesses as a "false lover" who readily leaves as soon as he is discovered (326). In #325, I am admonished to face the temptation boldly so that it can be put to flight. My willingness to renounce my incapacitation reaches a high .moment when I honest|y put myse|f before Christ on the Cross "as one friend speaks to another" and hear myself own the answers to the triple question, " What have I done for Christ? What am I doing for Christ? What ought I to do for Christ?" (53). Paradoxically, the most extreme kind of passivity is violence. In it I give up my responsibility for thinking and loving to vent my energy on destruc-tion. Among religious people the violence is often inward: psychosomatic illness, masturbation, guilt, tortured imaginings. These are a poor substitute for the ecstacy to which I am called. The individual prefers the certainty of destruction to the uncertainty of wonder. Even worse, ,he can cloak the mess he has created in a false rationalization of the Third Degree of Humil-ity (Ex 167),thinking that these passivities are his way of bearing poverty, humiliation, and scorn with Christ. Eventually the fruits of distress and frustration, both in himself and in those who have to live with him, will hopefully bring him to his senses. The fruits of true Christian suffering and a true participation in Christ's life always bring forth peace and joy in the depths of the spirit. Violence can also be outwardly directed. We religious may not throw a chair through a window, but we do impose verbal burdens

Issue 38.4 of the Review for Religious, 1979. ; REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS (ISSN 0034-639X), published bi-monthly (every two months), is edited in collaboration with faculty members of the Department of Theology of St. Louis University. The editorial offices are located at Robin 428; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108. It is owned by the Missouri Province Educational Institute; St. Louis, Missouri. © 1979 By REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS. Composed, printed and manufactured in U.S.A. Second class postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri. Single copies: $2.00. Subscription U.S.A.: $8.00 a year; $15.00 for two years. Other countries: $9.00 a year, $17.00 for two years. For subscription orders or change of address, write REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS~ P.O. BOX 6070; Duluth, Minnesota 5.5802. Daniel F. X. Meenan, S.J. Robert Williams, S.J. Dolores Greeley, R.S.M. Joseph F. Gallen, S.J. Jean Read Editor Associate Editor Associate Editor Questions and Answers Editor Assistant Editor July, 1979 Volume 38 Number 4 Correspoudence with the editor and the associate editors, manuscripts and books for review should be sent to REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS; Room 4.28; 3601 LindeH Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108. Questions for answering should be sent to Joseph F. Gallen, S.J.; Jesuit Community; St. Joseph's College; City Avenue at 54th Street; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19131. "Out of print" issues and articles not re-issued as reprints are available from University Microfilms International; 300 North Zeeb Road; Ann Arbor, Michigan 48106. Journey Into Ancestral Fear Mary Grant, L.S.A. Sister Mary's work in strife-torn Belfast has influenced much of her writing. Last year, Our Sunday Visitor published "'Yes in Belfast" under the title, "Yes Lord," which has proven to be a popular source of meditations for many in the United States. She is also involved in Christian Life Communities. Our correspondence address is through Wilbert Forker; 2 Bristow Park; Upper Malone Rd.; Belfast 9; Ireland. Walking up The Falls, reaching out in my heart to the whole city . one with the countless people who have trod this ground through many centuries . Gathering perceptions: sounds, stir-rings of life, the signs ofdeeperlife. Opening up to the signs of death, decay: the burnt-out chimney, the gaping walls--another life, an-other force . The new trees planted: that they would represent Life--not just trees planted on the green of the dead . Gathering all into a unity, integrating all: "Listen to the cry of Your People, Lord! My heart cries their cry--the cry of a thousand years is gathered into Your Presence. When I came to live in this city first, my immediate reaction to hesitant queries was, "Of Course I'm not afraid!" Then one night I dropped a friend in East Belfast, a part of the city I' wasn't familiar with. I missed a turn and found myself lost. Every tiny street was blocked at the end; every time I turned, my headlights picked up "King Billy" on the walls--and slogans! It seemed.every door opened to see who was in the strange tar: I was seized With nameless terror. I could not get out and ask my way. I felt threatened, trapped, alone! 481 4B2 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979 / 4 In that night I realized how the fears of our environment had entered into me, despite myself. I understood the fears of those who walked alone at night, defenseless. I understood the fear of many people who had not left their district for years, never entered the "unknown" behind the barriers. Some children have never seen behind the barriers that their parents have erected. How do we learn to break through these fears? How do we become revitalized from the paralysis which hampers us? It is easy to quote. "Per-fect love casts out fear" (IJn 4)! But the truth is that we are a covenant people who have been unfaithful to that spirit of love and community by which all men were supposed to recognize the disciples of the Lord. I believe we have first of all calmly to acknowledge that fact, without blame or judgment on either side. And, equally calmly, we have to go about creating bonds of community. In these last few years we have talked much of justice. Our chief work of justice, though, involves our relationship to this covenant---our relationship among ourselves. What Are the Causes of Oppression Around Us? Reflecting on that night, on the grotesque forms of the unknown, I came to see that fear wears many guises. If we ponder on the question, What are the real causes of oppression around us?, immediately there come the replies: "British domination," Loyalist selfishness," "Social apathy," "I.R.A. Terrorism," "Unemployment," "Subhuman housing," and so forth. These are the likely response of a great number of people, depending on which side of the barriers they stand. ' ~ I'm beginning to be more convinced that the~ real ~answer is our-selves--- our memories, our inability to forgive, to be Christlike; to know what to do and how to be as a Christian in the face of injusticei oppression. Our reaction to oppression has been very different fr6m that of the'early Christians. We look back on our Irish history as a people--checkered, erratic: like many anation. But as Christians; how have we fac(d~it? (I mean aH who call themselveS Christian.) We have retaliated with violence, crude-ness, injustice, in just as bitter a way. Some of us say: "We have not thrown bombs! We don't believe that vio-lence is the answer." But have our hearts changed from republicanism or loyalism to a truly Christian approach to life? These labels really stand for all those people who wish to maintain their status quo, even at the cost of the lives of thej.r brothers and sisters. The death of hope is a high cost to pay for a moment's security behind artificial barriers. You ~Will Find in People What You Expect to Find . ~ Why is the change so difficult to'accomplish? Why-are we still talking about it, rather than simply living in love? I wonder, have we really listened to what the violence is saying? I think it is only the dreadful symptom of Journey into Ancestral Fetir / what is happening to the heart of our people. I hear it as a'scream for help, the screaming of the voiceless. I see it not as someihing we can meet head-on, but amid a persistent reaching out in understanding love of peo-ple's' real needs. I'm convinced of the necessity to get at the cat]se. If not, we'll become submerged ifi the symptoms which will get wors~ and worse no matter how we cover them up. Such encounters with our ancestral depths make it ciear to me that one of the deep-seated causes is the colonizer/colonized mentalities from which springs the. dividing wall of fear, mistrust, suspicion. The ancestral wounds have not healed. A change of mentality.does not happen overnight. It is the growth of a long searching, a patient understanding and a persevering love. Unless we have the cpurage to risk the leap of faith'towards our brother, whoever he is, (and I'm not talking simply about Loyalist and Republican), we cannot hope to begin this change of mentality. And we all need it. ! need first of all to learn to live with myself. I have to' learn to live with my brothers,~my neighbors. Then I can open out to.the wider ~zommunity! The reasons which move people to suc.h positioris are mainly historical. But to grow as a people, to be Christian, we have to reach out across these historical, cultural, spiritual barriers and create a climate of acceptance and understanding of each other. And it musi. be two-way: I must address tile barriers of fear. mistrust, hatred, pride, prejudice within me--overcome them in myself first, and then move outwards. But how many of us have learned to live with ourselves? How many of us have integrated within ourselves the various strands of our ancestry? If I take even the first tentative steps in this process of integration, of growth, I discover that there are no ready-made answers in the movement outwards again towards my brothers. I can only share what I have dis-covered in my attempt to follow Christ. ! discover that I learn all the time, from the people I move among. Yes, God is still speaking today. We need to let him change us! ; His peace will not be found in mass meetings for peace, but in changed lives. While that is true, it is also true that many of the mass meetings for peace do spring from the changed lives of thousands of people, a change which has been taking place ~quietly over the last few years. It seems a change of climate has been growing--a springtime. However, unless it springs from areal change of heart it will die do~wn and get nowhere. I'd fear to think of peace as simply the absence of violence among us. When we experience a comparative lull, as recently we did, how do we read it? Is the lull a nursing of our wounds, a hardening of attitudes? Or is it a time of healing? We have had many violent episodes in the past which eventually died down. But our hearts didn't change. Unless this change of attitude prompts'us to really seek out our brother, to understand him, as he is and not to try to change him, then it is but a caricature of Christianity--you will find in your brother only what you bring, what you are. 41~4 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979 /4 Becoming iMore Fully Human The trouble with most of us is that we haven't fully explored who we are. We transfer to our brother a whole lot of that deep subconscious which we haven't faced in ourselves. What is growth, integration, but a process of becoming more truly the person I am not some dream, or ideal, but truly myself. It is not easy to live with a known self, no matter how many angles, or how many depths of light and darkness that self holds. Within the context of what it means to be Christian, I see this growth as a process of Incarnation. Very often we are so close to all that is happening in this .process that we cannot see clearly at all what is .happening while it is happ6ning. Occa-sionally we have to stand back and look from a different viewpoint. Then whole new worlds of meaning light up our horizon. Through a brief en-counter w, ith the East, I myself had some such ~experience. When our separate worlds met (first, second, third), in my being lifted out of my own life experience of p.overty, need, struggle, into a totally "different" world, I experienced "living through Incarnation," not simply looking to it for meaning. I went carrying the burden of this seemingly impossible situation in our country. Would anything the East could teach thl:ow light on that? The situation of other nations was just as appalling. Where might hope be found? I felt saddened by the many who know only a hopeless resignation, and more saddened by those who channel their despair into reckless violence. The presence of Christ assured me that this was only part of the picture, but I had not had the reference ofmy o~vn experience to work on. I had not seen, touched, tasted, so I did not know--I hung on 'to belief. I felt stifled by the polarization of parts of my home-city into ghetto areas which prevents the natural giving and taking in which reaching oi)t and sharing would promote reconciliation. I felt frustrated by the third force which goads each side against the other rather thanwork for peace; The "ancestral fears" of our environment had eaten into us so deeply that I did not recognize them in myself. Yet, in the midst of this atmosphere of defeat, His hope rose up and beckoned more gtrongly, buoying me up. In our sheer need I saw Him at work in broken lives--healing, restoring. But there were so many ques-tions. So much I needed to'learn. In my being lifted out of my own life-exp+ rience of poverty, need, struggle, into a totally "different" world, I felt I lived through this "God becoming man" again. I was not outside, looking on. I became man--human. If I might look for a key word to describe this experience of Incarnation, it might be sharing. Too many have gone from the West to the East to give--to satisfy a nagging sense that "we must do something." We, though, in approaching our hosts with empty, open hearts, found ourselves en-riched beyond measure: reverence for the other; stillness, waiting. Entering into another's reality means going outside the self. Journey into Ancestral Fear Sharing, Not Distributing If we have not gone outside of self, outside "our" great world, we will remain on the level of doing. We will distribute from our bag of tricks and wonder.why, one day, it runs empty and we haven't that -powerful" feeling any more. No, to share speaks of equality. Sharing never makes others dependent, never prevents growth, never closes the door to a return. What else is sharing, but the life of the Trinity of love? Christ prayed that we may be one as They are one. Life is not life at all unless it is shared. To share the ordinary things of life gives me an idea of what it will be like to share the life of God. Have we learned to live a little like our God of Love? Could I truthfully say: "All I have is yours"? (see Jn 17:10). In my eagerness to live for the good of my own people, I learned that I had been affected by the Western sickness of wanting to give all the time. In being thrown back on my personal poverty and powerlessness, I have learned better how to receive--graciously, lovingly. It has opened up a beautiful new perspective in regard to all those whose lives touch mine, whether that might be family, work, community, friends, strangers. To all people, I have learned from the East the meaning of the simple, demanding statement: "I am for you.", Simple realities we take so much for granted have assumed a deeper significance: the really deprived among us are those without hope, those who have not discovered the immense riches of their true selves, those who hide behind barriers of fear, mistrust, hatred; those of us who dare not celebrate a life we feel too fragile; those ofus who have lost the festivity and joy of living. "What does it matter if you gain the whole world and lose your true self?." (Mk 8:36). In being evangelized by those people considered "poor" in the eyes of the world, I have become more deeply human--just as I have received my reality as a person also from those to whom I have been sent here at home. There Are No "Them" and "Us" As He turned to his people he felt great compassion: he wanted to reach out. His very desire for their good healed them--he truly "lived with" their need. There are no "them" and "us"--it is always "we together." He wants to free each one of us from our fears, doubts, hesitations, inabilities, limitations. He wants to launch us on his mission, before his healing power can effectively flow through us. 1 think ! lost any trace of the "Messiah complex," of "giving Christ to the world" rather than discovering him present inall peoples, during that time in the East. This true sharing leads to a deep communion. The bonds of community grow in the measure that we share who we are with all men. How do I approach those on the other side of the barriers in our own environment? Is it from a position of strength toward weakness? Is it from a position of "having it all" and needing to satisfy a nagging sense that "we must do something"? Or do those of us who genuinely want to reach out to others, 4~16 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/4 do so from the reality of being grasped by Christ,freed by him, impelled by his love to proclaim that he is alive today--among us? There is something deep within each of us as human beings that makes us want to live in communion with others. I don't want to approach anyone, or want to break through barriers, with the attitude of "them out there," of "isn't it awful?," of "what can we do about it?" I would rather like to receive all with an empty, open heart, in reverence, in stillness--in waiting, if need be. Entering into another's reality means entering into the "why" of the fears, barriers, defenses. Do I live with a sense of equality among all? When we talk of neighborliness, of friendship across the barriers, could I truthfully say to you, "All I have is yours!"? Only then can we return to each other the festivity and joy of living. How One Man Became Free In the slums of Manila, where 80% of the people live below the poverty line, they spoke with us about the climate of fear and oppression around them. There was no hint of hopelessness--though one often met with a feeling of powerlessness. This was brought home to us as one group told us how they had come across the wife and family of a well-known political prisoner. ~ This manhad been in a position equivalent to the opposition. Since the introduction of martial law he had been in prison, and denied the right to ordinary legal proceedings for a trial. A military tribunal hearing was to begin the following day. His wife pleaded with us visitors to. come with her. With some apprehension as to possible consequences, we did, and' were amazed to find the courtroom nearly filled with priests and sisters morally upholding the prisoner~ The hearings of his challenge to the tribunal was an outstanding example of real strength against injustice. A remark he made during the trial has echoed in my mind through all the weeks and months which followed: My cell door, ironically, has been my door to freedom. Having walked through it, I have lost my fears. It became my door to freedom when I finally acknowledged its threats as the promise of liberation and truth . I cannot yield to you my spirit and my conscience. I am yielding to might but not to right . After four years in confinement, 1 have finally realized that man must fear most the prison of his own making--the prison of fear itself. Freedom From Fear I returned with renewed'faith--God, who has begun this great thing, humanity, and Christianity; will see it through. Sharing in his love for all those whose lives touch mine, I dare to believe that he can use even me to bring life to a world without hope. And, when I am united with you., and you., who believe, the kingdom of God has come among us. "There are no experts, only disciples who learn by doing." ~An'd, when we are given the courage to launch out into (he deep, we don't know where Journey into Ancestral Fear that "doing" will end! When Christ raised Lazarus from the dead, he gave him ~over to the people wh6 surrounded them to be unbound. So, as he raises us, he gives us to each other to continue the unbinding--receiving our reality from each other, giving each other our freedom--in dignity, simplic-ity, beauty, hospitality. "Yes, we are a happy, carefree people, but something is happening to our hearts which we do not understand." The worst form of poverty is to be alive without hope. To be without hope is to be without Him---our Savior. But where He is, there is no fear: "Perfect love casts out fear" (1 Jn 18). I came away from the East free of a fear which had paralyzed and prevented all aspects of my life. And so I understood the fear in our environment here at home. The historic wounds are so deep, part of the very fabric of our lives--so deep we might not recognize ourselves without them. As God touches our beings personally, gradually, gently., leading us toward personal wholeness in him, so he touches us as a people. He, as it were, goes back into history and heals the wounds history has left behind. This is the healing we need as a nation. ~ This freedom from fear enables us to proclaim by our lives: "Serenity--knowing we are loved, assured, at peace with him and our-selves; Stability--God is God, let Him be God. He holds all, hand it over to him. Tranquillity---overflowing from an abiding sense of his presence among US. Capability--his power in our lives, his power overflowing to others. This is our service--to be open to all: the fruit of the Spirit of peace among us. We need to speak for God in these our troubled times as reso-lutely as the prophets of old. We need to proclaim joy, hope, peace in the midst of the many disasters round about. Real hope dawns when there is no other possibility than absolute dependence on God---our foot constantly wearing out his doorstep! The Brotherhood of Man is Possible! Already, as I was learning these truths more deeply, thousands of peo-ple were rising up at home and speaking fearlessly for peace, forging stronger ties towards reconciliation. Since then, freedom has been pro-claimed again and again, echo6d by a thousand voices. In the past, gather-ings in war left bitterness, hatred, division festering in age-old wounds. And then enough people said, "We have been governed by fear" to enable gatherings in peace, and joy, forging links of reconciliation. Yes, I learned how to face our fears, turn my back on them, and reso-lutely turn towards all that builds up a climate of reconciliation, strength-ened not by any ability but by my weakness and dependence on His strength. It was worth going to the other end of the world to learn that alone ! 488 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/4 I have felt great sadness at these gatherings too. How effective they will ultimately be depends on how many present have risen out of their fear, how deeply and how realistically each one becomes peace. Too many are carried along on waves of emotion! Yet the brotherhood of man is possible---even here! The answer to the divisions, exploi/ations, war, hatred, rejection, hunger, fear-in-the-world is our Christ of the Beatitudes, with his call to share. There is only one human family. But if we have never experienced human love, can we offer love, or understand what struggle for another involves, or live a life of communion with God? And how can anyone know love--unless you and I love? In the past I have been constantly strengthened by the beautiful expressions of love and hospitality, of generosity, of sharing that I have known among our people here, daily witnessing to the fact that even in our shattered lives the spirit of love is at work among us. Iam filled with more hope than ever. And I am very, very, grateful at being placed near people in .need--at the heart of my people's search for him; at the point of their desire for him. Life has always been beautiful and full of the surprises of God: that beauty has been increased a thousandfold for me. I feel hope rising in leaps 6f Joy: Expect the impossible! Believe the unbelievable! Proclaim the truth !--For God is with us! Each, returned to his own Galile~i, can proclaim fearlessly that which we have seen, touched, tasted (1 Jn 1:1). He is here. He is with us. Hope makes us live. ForHe is our peace. Sitting It Out With Job: The Human Condition Mary Catherine Barron, C.S.J. Sister Mary Catherine is a frequent contributor to these pages. Her last article appeared in September, 1978. She resides at 91 Overlook Ave.; Latham, NY 12110. For a long time now, he had haunted me, this acerbic little man-- haunted me and annoyed me. He seemed so utterly sore: ulcerous wounds on the outside, bleeding heart on the inside. Who needed it? Who also needed his words--thunderous, vehement complaints~de-nouncing life, God, man. Quite honestly, who wanted to tangle with all this writhing agony? It might underscore the already too familiar. So determinedly, I put him aside and concentrated on other things: the joy of Joseph, the fidelity of Ruth, the.trusting surrender of Esther. But they occupied my time, not my mind. For behind them all, there he sat, that angry, implacable figuremstinking, screaming, wildly gesticulating. Ulti-mately, against my will and better judgment, he antagonized me to his side--flies and all. To be candid, I hate flies. And odors like disease and manure, And unmitigated complaining. And pseudo-sympathy. It all talks and walks like death. So I didn't really like Job in his utter humanity. It was too graphically prophetic. That was the haunting part. The annoying part is that, in spite of all of it, I stayed. So now there are two of us si~ting in the noonday sun--hot and stubborn and mad. Eventually, someone will have to speak. In the end it was Job who broke the silence and cursed the day of his birth (Jb 3:1). 489 490 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979 / 4 Just like that--for twenty-six verses--spewing out anger. Why was he born? Why couldn't he die? Words filled with dread of the future, sleepless-ness, lament. Grief has a way of doing that, you know. Utter stone., then the crack across the surface. A few heaves--abruptly a mountain becomes a volcano, lava of words and emotion searing out everywhere. Shock on the faces of onlookers st.ampeding to take cover: "Spare us your painful fire, please. Please.'~ While the volcano rages on. And then., the deathlike stillness ¯ . . followed by meaningless words trying to make meaning. A survivor gasps: "Then Eliphaz of Teman spoke: 'If I were as you are, Job . . .' " If ¯ . . if. Through all the wreckage and debris. "If I were as you." if. The irony of those words: Who can be like Job, when one is sound and whole and safe, free from loss, darkness, despair? Speaking out of loved ones alive and farm lands intact, what can such a one as Eliphaz know of unanswered questions, heartrending supplications? For him, do they even exist? Silence. Then, imperceptibly, a stirring from the ashpit, a flicker of the eyelash. Job speaks: If only my misery could be weighed . What wonder then if my words are wild? The arrows of Shaddai stick fast in me . My spirit absorbs their poison (6: I-4). Ah yes--those poisonous arrows of Shaddai; those intimations of doom from Sheol that stick deep. into the soul; the-certain knowledge- that never again will there be innocence and joy. And always there ~are the bitter questions asked over and over of self: Will I be able to go on? Why go on anyway? Where are my friends? Why can't they understand? Fear and loneliness. The Underworld. Someone creeps near to draw out the stir~g, to touch the cracked skin. It is Bildad. He urges humility: You too, if so pure and honest must now seek God, plead with Shaddai (8:4-5). These are soothing words indeed: "ff you are honest." This is an answer with insight!?'Seek God; plead with Shaddai." How is Job to do this when Shaddai has disappeared? Where is God to be found for Job, the sufferer? A lull ensues. The hot breeze blows. Flies buzz. Then a voice. And Job said: Your own hands shaped me, modeled me: And would you now have second thoughts and destroy me? (10:8). The appeal and bargaining begin. Who hasn't done it? Bargaining with self; Sitting It Out With Job: The Human Condition / 49"1 bargaining with God. And the panic: how dare oppose the Almighty's will? How dare question Yahweh God Omnipotent? Suppose I am right? Wha.t difference would it make? Suppose I am wrong? What then? Yet, what is there to lose when one has already lost everything? "Yahweh, give a little happiness before death." Is this too much to ask? Appeal and bargain-ingwwho hasn't done it? .Zophar apparently. For he queries pontifically: Can you claim to grasp the mystery of God, To understand the perfection of Shaddai? It is higher than the heavens; what can you do? It is deeper than Sheol; what can you know? (11:7-8) Truth--unadorned and stark. What can you do? Nothing. What can you know? Nothingwabsolutely nothing. That is the darkness, the pain. Help-lessness in the face of the abyss--the human condition. What can you know? What can you do? Nothing--nothing except to confront Yahweh. Despair--the human condition. Then, convoluting tortuously, comes the rush of Job's words, ejaculated with the vehemence of despair, discharged with the agony of futility, resolute like one,maddened: I mean to remonstrate with God; I will do the talking, whatever may befall me. I put my flesh between my teeth, I take my life in my hands. Let him kill me if he will (13:3-15). The pathos of those words, the frenzy! The "last-chance syndrome." Where have we heard it before? From what corner of the universe has'it n0t cried out? V~e havehea'rd it on the lips of the dying; in the hearts of survivors; from the tomb called old age and rejection; out of the spectral ¯ stare of disease and starvation. Who has not, at some point in life, taken one's flesh in one's hands, remonstrated with God? But Eiiphaz cannot understand. Not yet having plumbed the depths of misery, never having drunk suffering's cup to the dregs, he cannot fathom .the pain that would drive a man to contend with God. He only sees the obvious: anger and rebellion. And sohe says: ~'See how passion carries you away!" Passion--that double-edged sword of grief and joy, the ecstasy and bestiality of man, the most cherished and most despised of gifts. Passion. Who has not longed for its transforming unity? Who has not wept over its fragmenting discord? Passion. I watch him--Job~as he masticates Eliphaz's words. He chews them carefully as one chews a fish with bones. He moves his teeth cautiously around them and just as cautiously his t6ngue. But he will not swallow 492 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979 / 4 them. He holds them in his mouth, in one corner of his cheek, and stares ahead at emptiness. "Swallow them," I plead silently, urgently, "or spit them out. Don't hold them lest they choke you." But there is nothing-- only that awful bulbous cheek and the empty stare. It is mid-afternoon, the height of heat and sun, reason's siesta time. Perspiration drips. Things swim before the eyes: mirages, desert visions, subconscious creatures from the soul. The universe crumples like a folded fan. The breeze pants hot across inert bodies, creating the sense of being played upon, fretted. And then, heartrendingly Job cries out: He has shattered me! He has pierced me! He has breached me! He has borne down on me! Every fibre of my heart is broken! I weep! I cry out! Still he shoots his arrows into me! I am overcome! (16:17) The Litany of Passion, divine passion. Good old platitudinous Eliphaz has finally hit the mark. Unerringly, unknowingly, Job has be'en ravished. In the nakedness of a cloudless day, we have seen him vanquished, embraced. He gasps and swallows. The lump travels to his throat and lodges. Is it possible that loss is no longer what he wails? Could it be that he and Yahweh are suddenly bartering for surrender? Without moving an inch, Job has traversed a terrain. I swallow too. Silence impregnates solitude. No one stirs. The sun moves impercep-tibly. A shade begins. Coolness trickles down my brow. 'I close my eyes and wipe the damp. I feel like sleep. Or death. I feel like dying, if dying is so much a pouring out. I feel like.sleep if sleep is like release. I feel . Mournfully into the dusk, Bildad speaks, musing: Driven from light into darkness man is an exile from the earth (18:18). "Driven from light into darkness." Like the sun's course. Like the ocean's tide. Like the season's change: Like life's pattern! Dawn, noon, night. High, ebb, low. Fertility, fall, winter. Birth, life, death. "Driven from light into darkness." Man. The mood is infectious. Night hedges in. Animal cries echo. And Job takes up the refrain: God, you must know, is my oppressor and his is the net that closes round me. He has covered my way with darkness. My kindred and my friends have all gone away. The hand of God has struck me (19:6-21). Sitting It Out With Job: The Human Condition / 493 "Driven from light into darkness." And suddenly, like a meteor across the sky, Hope flares briefly: But this 1 know, I, Job, that my Avenger lives, and he, the Last, will take his stand on earth. He will set me close to him, and from my flesh I shall look on God. He whom I shall see will take my part; These eyes will gaze on him and find him not aloof (19~25-27). It is the song of the prisoner, the condemned. It is the avowal of the sick man, dying. It is the prayer of the faithful soul, deserted. "I know that my Avenger lives." His words fall into the air dropping like snow on velvet, glistening and hushed. The moon rises and clouds over; the stars wink and disappear. It is the inky time of night. Absolute aloneness. Total isolation. Simple breath-ing is intrusion. And I think: "Enveloped by the darkness, shall we quietly slip away'?" The eternal temptation of friendship: to quietly slip away. Will he even know we're gone, so absorbed is he in pain? Will he even care, since, in fact, we cannot help? Is there any point to vigils when the heart lies already dead? Truly, how far does fidelity go? How deep does commitment bind? Ironically, Job gives the answer: fidelity is radical. Its presence is an absolute grace; its absence, an absolute sorrow not to be compared. Job has known the calamity of loss, the pain of bereavement, the suffering of illness. Yet, none of these hold the anguish of desertion and infidelity which is the dark night of the soul; the index tingler of Yahweh scraping across the heart; the Ruah, his breath, blowing in the memory, tantalizing, near, but indescribably far away. From this void of absolute emptiness, Job laments in prayer: That heavy hand of his drags groans from me. If only 1 knew how to reach him, or go travel to his dwelling! If I go eastward, he is not there; or westward--still I cannot see him. If I seek him in the north, he is not to be found; invisible still when I turn to the south . For darkness hides me from him and the gloom veils his Presence from me (23:2-17). This is Psalm 139 prayed backwards. Even in desolation, Job is a good Israelite. And how accurately he speaks. When human friends depart, the griefis great, but who can measure the torment which ensues when God withdraws? "Under cover of darkness, Yahweh, have You, too, slipped away?" So I sit and wait and rest. The night leaks out drop by drop. Minutes become ages, then cease. It is the hour of desolation, which is timeless. 4~14 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979 / 4 Inevitable. "And Job continues his solemn discourse. He says:" Who will bring me back to the months that have gone, and the days when G~d was my guardian; When his lamp shone over my hi~ad~ and his light was my guide in the darkness? I cry out to you and you give me no answer (29:1-4; 30:20). How does one deal with that--the silence of~non-response, the answer of the void? Does one walk away dejectedly or does one catapult into the abyss? There is death either way. And thus, Job carefully considers, examines his days and his nights, probes his heartaches and ecstasies, fingers his hopes and his dreams. Is their memory worth silence or speech, retreat or confrontation? And then with a mighty leap, embodying faith and despairJob issues the challenge, directly, forcibly, to God: Who can get me a hearing from God?~ I have had my say from A to Z; now let Shaddai answer me~ When my Adversary has drafted his writ against me, I shall wear it on my shoulder, and bind it round my head like a royal turban. I will give him an account of every step Of my life, and go as boldly as a prince to.meet him (31:35-40). With this ringing declaration, argumentation ceases; lament is done. "End of the words of Job" (31:40). A tremulous pause. Terror grips. Awe invades. The e]arth turns over and I am sick, my senses reeling. Roaring thunder, thickening night. "My God! My God! We are strangling to death. Our words regurgitate." The desert sand flails. I cover my face; I grovel on the earth; I burrow into the dirt. "And then from the heart of the tempest, Yahweh gave Job his answer" (38:1). In fifty eight questions! And Job replied to Yahweh: My words have been frivolous; what can I reply? 1 had better lay my finger on my lips. (40:3-4) God has a way of doing that--giving questions for answers. He has shown himself divine Socratic: And Yahweh God called to the man: Where are you? (Gn 3:9). Yahweh asked Cain: Where is your brother Abel? (Gn 4:9). YahWeh asked Abraham: Why did Sarah laugh? (Gn 18:13). And the one who wrestled with Jacob said: Why do you ask my Name? (Gn 32:29). And Yahweh answered Moses: Who makes man deaf or dumb, gives him sight or leaves him blind?Is it not I, Yahweh? (Ex 4:12). In fact, all through Salvation History we have been closing our mouths Sitting It Out With Job: The Human Condition / 495 with our fi .ngers~too late. Job is in good company. I relax and come up for air,. And Job gave answer to Yahweh: I know that you are all powerful: what you conceive, you can perform. I am the man who obscured your designs with my empty-headed words. 1 have been holding forth on matters I cannot understand; on marvels beyond me and my knowledge (42:1-3). Humility. Man before the divine. Nature kneeling to Transcendence. The mystery of God. And Job replied: I retract all I have sa!d; In dust and ashes, I repent (42:!-3). The beauty of humanity. Its capacity for enlargement. Its yearning for completeness. Its ability to change. Because 1 knew you then by hearsay, but now I see you with my own eyes (42:5). Knowledge of the heart. Contemplation and surrender. Incarnation re-versed: man entering into God, Peace. My pulse resumes. My heart begins to beat. I can see that I am stained. I can see that I can see.t A mist of rose gathers in the east. A breeze sighs. Or is it Eliphaz? And Yahweh God said to Eliphaz of Teman: 'I burn with anger against you and your two friends for not speaking truthfully a~out:me as my servant Job has done. So now find seven bullocks and seven rams, and take them back with.you to my servant Job, and offer a holocaust for yourselves, while Job, my servant, offers prayers for you. I will listen to him with favor and excuse your folly in not speaking of me properly as my servant Job has done.' Eliphaz of Teman, Bildad of Shuah and Zophar of Naamath went away to do as Yahweh had ordered, and Yahweh listened to Job with favor (42:7-9). So now there are two of us sitting in the morning's dawn, tired, and joyful, and reborn. Someone will have to speakmbut no one does. There is only the echo of a deeper silencemthe silence of refrain: Where were you when I laid the earth's foundations? Who decided the dimensions of:it; do you know? Have you ever gi~,en orders to the morning? Have you journeyed to the sources of the sea? Which is the way to the home of light? Where does darkness live? Has the rain a father? What womb brings forth the ice? (38; 39) Riddles. Unsolved riddles. Man, and mystery, and wonder. Pain, and suffering, and death. The human condition. Riddles. Unsolved riddles. And 496 / Review for Religious, Volume38, 1979/4 always the eternal unyielding question: "Do you really want {o reverse My judgment and put Me in the wrong to put yourself in the right?" (40:3) I stretch and rise to go. Job never notices. He is wrapt in prayer, I suppose, for Eliphaz, Bildad, and Teman. 1 shake out my robe, flex my toes inside my sandals. I start across the sand. The dusty road coils away and flows into the sky; the air trembles with the weight of birds; the grasses caress the soil. Love and infinity. Providence and care. The human condi-tion. I plod on down the road, humming as I go: Has the rain a father? What womb brings forth the ice? Now Available As A Reprint The "Active-Contemplative" Problem in.Religious Life by David M. Knight Price: $.75 per copy, plus postage. Address" Review for Religious Rm 428 3601 Lindell Blvd. St. Louis, Missouri 63108 Jungian Psychology and Christian Spirituality: I Robert M. Doran, S.J. Father Doran delivered three lectures at Creighton University last year as part of a Spiritual Enric.hment Program. This isthe first one in article form. He resides in the Jesuit Community; Creighton University; 2500 California Street; Omaha, NE 68178. Christian Spiritual Transformation: Self-Transcendence and Self-Appropriation This is the first of three articles on the subject of Jungian psychology and contemporary Christian spirituality. The present article will focus on the latter of these two items, on Christian spiritual transformation as this is understood at the present moment in the life of the Church. By concentrat-ing on two terms frequently employed in the works of Bernard Lonergan, self-transcendence and kelf-appropriation, I hope to provide a context for the next two articles, which will deal more extensively with Jung. This first article will treat, first, Christian spiritual tranformation as self-transcendence; second, Christian spiritual transformation as growth in self-knowledge orself-appropriation; third, the levels of consciousness that can be discovered when one enters on the way of self-appropriat!on; and fourth, the relation of feelings and symbols to these various levels or dimensions of consciousness. This fourth topic locates that element of our interior lives in regard to which Jung's insights become pertinent for our spiritual self-understanding. I have discovered that any such treatment of Jung as the present one eventually brings me into that form of discrimination which, in Ignatian 497 4911 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/4 spirituality, is called the discernment of spirits. Jung is a religiously contro-versial figure. Not only does my own treatment and evaluation of Jung tend to arouse rather than quell the arguments that surround his person and his work, but, more significantly, my critical response to Jung always ~arries me to the heart of the Christian exigence to differentiate the true call of God from the subtle attractions of the force~ of evil as these two contrary tendencies compete for the allegiance of men and women involved in the renewal of the contemporary Church. Why this is so will hopefully be-come clear in the subsequent articles, especially in the final one. But perhaps I can offer now some indication of the difficulty. First, then, Jung ih a religiously controversial figure. The religious significance of his psychological insights is variously interpreted. John A. Sanford and Morton Kelsey are two well-known authors who have drawn on Jung to promote and understand Christian self-discovery.~ On the other hand, James Hiilman has. maintained that Jung's guidelines to "soul-making" are of a completely different order from the well-known paths to spiritual transformation in Christ and from the insights of the other major religious traditions of the world,z Martin Buber entered into direct conflict with Jung, claiming that the psychology of individuation and Yahwistic faith are diametrically opposedorientations.of the human spirit.3 Jung him-self, as we shall see, gives some indications of his own that the process of individtiation will lead the cognoscentes to the position of being able to dispense with all forms of traditional religious involvement; but he also attempted to offer his psychology as an aid to the pastoral care of souls.4 What 'is one to make of these differences and ambiguities? Obviously, some framework must be found to enable us to enter on the kind of process that Lonergan calls dialectic and foundations: the process, namely, in which we not only assemble and review alternative interpretations, but also evalt~ate and compare them, reduce their affinities and oppositions to their underlyin~ roots,.determine which, if any, of.these roots stand in dialectical ~See, for example,~John A. Sanford, Dreams: God's Forgotten Language (Philadelphia and New York: Lippincott, 1968); Healing and Wholeness (New York: Paulist Press, 1977); Morton Kelsey, Dreams: The Dark Speech of the Spirit, A Christian Interpretation (New York: Doubleday, 1968); Encounter with God: A Theology of Christian Experience (Minneap61is: Bethany, 1972). 2See James Hillman, The Myth of Analysis: Three Essays in Archetypal Psychology (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1972). I quote from p. 21: "The spiritual-director models of guru, rabbi, oflgnatius or Fenelon, of Zen master, are only substitutions on which we lean for want of surety about the true model for psychology." 3See Edward C. Whitmont, "Prefatory Remarks to Jung~s 'Reply to Buber,' " in Spring: An Annual of Archetypal Psychology andJungian Thought (1973), pp. 188-195; and C; G. Jung, "Religion and Psychology: A Reply to Martin Buber," ibid., pp. 196-203. 4Compare C. G. Jung, "'Is Analytical Psychology a Religion?" (notes on a talk given by Jung, in Sprihg, 1972, pp. 144-148) with Jung's "Psychotherapists or the Clergy," in C. G. Jung, Modern Man in Search of a Soul (New York: Harcourt, Brace, and World, 1933), pp. 221-244. Jungian Psychology and Christian Spirituality: I / 499 opposition to one another in such wise that only a radical transformation of the basic horizon can achieve reconciliation, and, finally, choose that basic horizon and those resultant positions and interpretations which we will make our own.5 Such a framework is what I hope to offer in theopresent article. Secondly,- my own judgments and decisions regarding the potential spiritual fruitfulness of Jung's work are themselves controversial, at least in the sense that they will please neither Jung's detractors nor his enthusias-tic followers. For I will sharply differentiate the process of Christian self-transformation from the way to individuation that .lung maps out for us. But I will also insist with equal force that there is much that we not only can, but indeed must, learn from him in developing both a theology and an ascesis of" spiritual transformation in the context of the contemporary world. Thirdly, the only final arbiter of the kind of discrimination that I find necessary is what we have come to call the'discernment of spirits.lung's theological A.mbiguities, and thealternative interpretations and evaluations that are offered of his work, are symptomatic of an underlying spiritual conflict that can be mediated only in the context of the dialectic ofgrace and of sin, of the Standards of Christ and of Satan. David Burrell has indicated correctly that one cannot fail to meet God if one goes on the inner journey to individuation.6 But one will also meet much.that is not God, and that is even opposed to God. Not only does Jung not help one to discriminate these forces as they operate in one's psyche, but he also contributes to and even encourages the confusion'that can be experienced in such moments that call for discernment, and thus mires one in the conflictual forces that wage an ultimate battle in the depths of one's psyche. Jung's work, if left uncriti-cized, leads one into a psychological cul-de-sac that can assume demonic pi'oportions. Christian Spiritual Transformation As Self-Transcendence ~ ' There are many diverse and quite useful approaches to the understand-ifig'of spiritual transformation. I have chosen to focus on two terms that have been developed by Bernard Lonergan. Lonergan's thought has achieved a great deal of notoriety due principally, it would seem, to its difficulty. I have no intention here of repeating the subtle intricacies of his full argumentation. I will rather present in what I hope are quite under-standable tdrms (he results of that argumentation, and will deal with more 5Bernard Lonergan, Method in Theology (New York: Herder and Herder, 1972), Chapters Ten and Eleven. 6David Burrell, Exercises in Religious Understanding (South Bend: University of Notre Dame Press, 1974), p. 221. 500 /ReviewforReligious, Volume 38, 1979/4 subtle points only to the extent that they are necessary to clarify my basic position.7 I choose Lonergan's approach to the issue of Christian spiritual trans-formation for several reasons. First, it is the approach with which I am most familiar and the one that 1 personally have found most helpful. Secondly, Lonergan explicitly takes his stand in human interiority. And, when we are talking about either spiritual transformation or Jungian psychology, we are talking about the realm of interior experience, about the data of conscious-ness, about such events as insights, judgments, decisions, and, as we will see, dreams. All of these happenings are items that we experience. But we experience them interiorly. None of us has ever seen an insight or a feeling. But I trust, too, that none of us would claim that he or she had never experienced a feeling or an insight, never judged that some proposition was true or false, never made a decision. Moreover, I hope that we all know the experience of wanting to understand, wanting to be reasonable in our judgments, wanting to be responsible in our decisions. For it is in the realm of that desire, and in being faithful to that desire, that Lonergan locates what it is to be an authentic human person. But our experience of these events and of this desire occurs, not in the realm of outer sense, but in the domain of human interiority. It is in interiority that, through these events of understanding, judging, and deciding, we "process" reality. Sensations come in; language goes out; but between sensations and language there is, as Lonergan has formulated it in some recent lectures, the mysterious "little black box" of our interiority. The workings of that little black box are the domain that we concentrate upon in Christian spiritual theology, in Jungian p§ychoiogy, and in any attempt such as the present one that would relate spirituality to psychology. I should mention, in addition, two other advantages that accrue from employing Lonergan's framework for understanding interiority? First, his stress, as I have already indicated, is on human desire, and desire is the area of our being that is illuminated by the explorations also of the great depth ps~ychologists, including Jung, Secondly, and most importantly, Lonergan emphasizes that spiritual development is not something that oc-curs in some realm that is isolated from the insights that we have into the events of our everyday life, from the judgments that we make as to the truth or falsity of the most mundane propositions, from the anxieties we feel and the decisions that we make regarding our orientation and actions as beings-in- the-world. God's saving purpose is a will to save the world itself, to redeem the time of our lives, as Eliot would put it. It is not a dimension of 7There are, of course, dangers in such a procedure, for the reader can easily take the results of Lonergan's explorations as a series of concepts that could dispense one from the task of insight into oneself. There are no short-cuts to the self-appropriation to which Lonergan invites one. But precisely because there are no short-cuts, I can only ask the reader interested in pursuing the process to go to Lonergan's works themselves. Jungian Psychology and Christian Spirituality: reality that is totally extrinsic from the events of understanding, judging, and deciding, that we experience every day. On the other hand, our relation to God is not to be collapsed into a secularistic denial of the supernatural character of grace. Rather, grace is offered in its supernatural character within the events of our everyday lives. So the perspective offered by Lonergan is neither a fundamentalism or extrinsicism that denies the this-worldly character of our lives, nor a secularism or immanentism that ne-glects the absolutely transcendent origin and finality of the relationship to the divine in which we stand at every moment of our lives. What, then, is Christian spiritual development? Lonergan's treatment of this question is provided at the end of a lengthy analysis of human cognitional and moral development that concludes with the realization that the flowering of human potential, the sustained development of the human person, the solution of such social ills as injustice, alienation, and the dominance of totalitarian aspirations in both~the West and East today, are impossible on the basis of human resources alone. We are confronted with a problem of evil in our development as human persons and in the social organization of human affairs. This problem is rooted in our very constitu-tion as human subjects, in our finitude, in the tension between our always limited possibilities and our aspirations to transcend these limitations. I will not go into the intricacies of Lonergan's analysis of the roots of moral impotence. Suffice it to say that he argues persuasively that we are faced with a problem of evil that we are powerless to resolve. If there is going to be a solution to the problem of evil, it must come in the form of redemption. Either there is a divinely originated solution to the problem of evil, or there is no solution at all. If God exists, if God knows of our plight, and if God is good, then there is a divinely originated solution that is offered to our freedom, one that we can accept or reject, and that, if we accept it, will involve us in a whole new area of growth and transformation, an area which we would not even know in any explicit way if God had not come to meet us. This distinct area of development is related to our cognitional and moral development. It is not the product of our knowing and our choosing. It is not something that we vainly imagine, or that we produce by wishful thinking. Rather, it is offered to our knowledge and our freedom as agift. And, if we accept it, it transvalues our values, and provides a new context for Our knowing~ a new atmosphere or environment that enables us to be truly intelligent in our questioning and genuinely reasonable in our judg-ments. This new context is faith, which Lonergan defines as "the eye of love," the eye of the love that is ours, that is the atmosphere in which we live, when we know ourselves as unconditionally loved by, and rooted in, the love that is God's alone.8 8See Lonergan, Insight: A Study of Human Understanding (paperback edition, New York: Harper and Row, 1978), Chapters Eighteen and Twenty; Method in Theology, Chapter Four. 51~2 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979 / 4 The divine solution to the problem of evil, then, is God's gift of his love that is poured forth into our hearts by the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.~ Our desire for this love is a natural desire: with Thomas Aquinas, Lonergan insists that we have a natural desire for the vision and love of God.t0 He insists, too, that our subjectivity is mutilated or abolished, unless we are stretching forth towards God: There lies within [our] horizon a region for the divine, a shrine for ultimate holiness. It cannot be ignored. The atheist may pronounce it empty. The agnostic may urge that he finds his investigation has been inconclusive. The contemporary humanist will refuse to allow the question [of God] to arise. But their negations presuppose the spark in our clod, our native orientation to the divine." , Being in love with God, then, is for Lonergan the basic fulfilment of the deepest human desire, that desire that he calls "conscious intentionality." That fulfillment brings a deep-set joy that can remain despite humiliation, failure, privation, pain, betrayal, desertion. That fulfillment brings a radical peace, the peace that the world cannot give. That fulfillment bears fruit in a love of one's neighbor that strives mightily to bring about the kingdom of God on this earth. On the other hand, the absence of that fulfillment opens the way to the trivialization of human life in the pur.suit of fun. to the harshness of human life arising from the ruthless exercise of o, power, to despair about human welfare spnnging from the conviction that the universe is absurd.~ God's love is offered to all men and women at every time and place. This universality of God's self-communication (a notion that he has in common with Karl Rahner) Lonergan speaks of in terms of God's inner word, the word that God speaks in the solitude of our hearts, drawing us to himself. But this love is also embodied, incarnate, revealed for all to see, in the outer word of the life, preaching, death, and resurrection of Jesus.~.'~ "And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, shall draw all men to myself.''~4 The disciples of Jesus through the centuries constitute that community whose task it will.~ be until the end of time to give explicit witness in external words and deeds to the offer of divine love as the only resolution oLthe otherwise hopeless human dilemma of personal incapacity to grow, of social injustice and alienation. As another superb contemporary thinker. Eric Voegelin, has labored for thirty years to argue, no social order that is not permeated with the love of the unseen measure that Christians call God can be just or humanly fulfilling.~5 In language current among those who have followed 9Rm 5:5. ~°See Lonergan. "The Natural Desire to See God." in Collection: Papers by Bernard Loner-gan (New York: Herder and Herder. 1967), pp. 84-95. t~Lonergan. Method in Theology, p. 103. ~21bid. p. 105. talbid., pp. 112-115. t4jn 12:32. ~sSee Eric Voegelin, Order and History, four volumes to date (Louisiana State University Press, 1956-1974). Jungian Psychology and Christian Spirituality: l / 503 recent deliberations Within the Church, faith and justice are inextricably linked in the mission of the disciples of Jesus in the world.16 Christian spiritual transformation, in this context, is thus a matter, first~ of a process of conversion that involves a growing intimacy with the source and fountain of redemptive love, an intimacy that takes the form of being evermore patterned after the example of Christ; and, second, of a growing commitment and ability to participate in the mission of Christ, which is also the mission of that community.whose task it is tb render explicit to the whole world the fact that,.in Jesus the Christ, God has definitively revealed the saving action that he is always working in the world. To be in love with God is also to be sent by God. To grow in the love of God is also to grow in participation in the mission--the saving and revealing mission---of Jesus. Christian spiritual growth thus involves a number of elements: a) One comes to a developing familiarity with God, so that one is able ever more readily and ever more easily to find him and to participate with him in his redemptive work after the pattern of Christ, the suffering servant of God. b) One grows in the ability to discern precisely what it is that God wants of oneself and of one's community, and in the willingness to do what it is that God asks, confident that what one is doing is not one's own work but God's. c) Summing up all of what this development involves, one grows~in self-transcendence. This is the first key term that I take from Lonergan. One grows in self-transcendence, until, in the saint, there is reached a point of the union of one's own understanding, reason, and desire with the knowl-edge and love of God, a union that can only be broadened and heightened, deepened and enriched, but not gone beyond; and a point of self-abnegation and humility that rejoices in sharing the lot of the poor, despised, and humiliated Son of God himself, in his mission of establishing the kingdom of God on earth. Christian spiritual transformation is a matter of continual conversion to self-transcendence, within the community of the disciples of the Lord that is the Church, until there is reached the point where one's understanding, one's judgments of fact and of value, one's desires, and one's choices, while not ceasing to be one's own, are a participation in the understanding, the judgments, the desires, the choices of God himself, working in and through oneself and one's community, to continue and to spread the redemption of the world that only God can effect. If, then, we are talking about Christian spiritual development as a trans-formation of our insights, our judgments, our desires, and our choices, we ~6See the document of the 1971 Synod of Bishops, Justice in the World. See also the Docu~- merits of the 32nd General Congregation of the Society of Jesus, and especially Decree 4, "Our Mission Today." 504 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979 /4 are speaking of it as fundamentally a transformation of our interiority, of our basic horizon. The difference that God's solution to the problem of evil makes in the social world, in the world of economics and politics, in the world of institutions and organizations, is a function of the difference it makes in persons, in the unity of personal consciousness, in people's vision and choices. Christian spiritual development, considered most radically; is a transformation of one's understanding and of ~)ne's willingness, so that these two are brought into harmony and cooperation with God's redemp-tive purpose in Christ Jesus and through the community of his disciples. The transformation, once again, is in the direction of self-transcendence, so that, by accepting God'.s offer of both salvation and vocation, one becomes ever more God-centered and Christ-centered in one's apprehensions of value and in one's decisions, in one's pursuit of meaning and truth, and in one's affective engagement with other persons in the dramatic situations that constitute the stuff, the setting, the stage, of one's own personal story and of history itself. Christian Spiritual Transformation as Self-Appropriation Now, besides serf-transcendence, there is another term that Lonergan uses when he speaks of development. That term is self-appropriation. Self-appropriation is a matter of self-knowledge, of self-discovery, of self-understanding. One can bE quite self-transcendent, quite loving and generous, quite genuine in one's relations with others, quite sincere about wanting to understand things correctly, without being very adept at intri-cate and precise self-knowledge.~ One can be, in Lonergan's terms, quite religiously and morally converted without being intellectually converted. 18 Intellectual conversion is a matter of knowing precisely what one is doing when one is pursuing understanding, reaching for truth, trying to decide in responsible fashion. Many people genuinely try to understand, and succeed in doing so, without being able to say precisely what they are doing when they understand, .how their insights are related to their sensations, their questions, their beliefs, their .images, their concepts, their feelings. One can also be quite religiously and morally converted without being what I have called "psychically converted.''~ Psychic conversion is a matter of know-ing what one is feeling, of being able to tell one's story, and to tell it as it is. One,can have a quite genuine and even beautiful life of feeling without being able to tell what he or she is feeling, how this feeling is related .to that, how both feelings are related to the objects they intend, how one's feelings 17See Lonergan, Insight, p. 475. 18On intellectual conversion as self-appropriation, see Lonergan, Method in Theo!ogy, pp. 238-240. ~gSee Robert Doran, Subject and Psyche: Ricoeur, Jung, and the Search for Foundations (Washington, D. C.: University Press of Ainerica. 1977), especially pp. 240-246~ Jungian Psychology and Christian Spirituality: I / 51)5 are related to one's images and symbols, to one's questions and insights, to one's beliefs and ideas. In other words, one can have a quite profound and genuinely self-transcendent interiority without being able to articulate one's inner life with any notable clarity and precision. We all know wonderful and holy people who are quite unsophisticated when it comes to self-knowl-edge, or who will put their self-knowledge in very common sense terms-- people who make at times heroic decisions, but who, when asked why they made this or that decision, or what went on in their minds and hearts which led them so to decide, can answer only, "I don't know; it just seemed to be the right thing to do." Such genuine self-transcendence without self-appropriation is by no means to be disparaged. It is the condition of most good and holy men and women down through the ages, the source of most that is good in human history. But there are factors at work, especially in our age, that seem to indicate that self-appropriatiot~, in addition to self-transcendence, is becom-ing ever more necessary if one wishes to choose responsibly, to judge reasonably, to inquire intelligently, or just if one wishes to know what God wants and does not want. Perhaps there was a time when common sense wisdom and homespun practicality were enough for most people. Perhaps, too, there was a time when the only addition to common sense that some people needed was a good dose of theoretical understanding that was basically in harmony with the Gospel. But there are a number of indications that would seem to argue persuasively that we are now living in a world where self-transcendence, backed up by a common sense framework, or even by a cogent and brilliant theory, is simpl~, not enough; where religious and moral conversion must be complemented by intellectual and psychic conversion; where self-transcendence must be aided and helped, complemented and augmented, by self-appropriation, by precise and even technical self-knowledge, by an ability to articulate just what is going on in one's "little black box." If this be the case, then spiritual transformation today is a matter not only of growing self-transcendence, but also of ever more precise and technical self-knowledge. What are some of the indications that would back up this conviction that I share with Lonergan? Let me talk first about the insufficiency of common sense, and then about the ambiguity of theory. And let me do so within the context of the Church's recent pronounced recognition that the promotion of justice is a constitutive element in the preaching of the Gospel. The paper that issued from the 1971 Synod of Bishops, "Justice in the World," and the statement of Pope Paul VI, Octagesima Adveniens, mark the beginnings, I believe, of a substantial leap forward in the Church's social, political, and economic insight and praxis. One of the few public statements that Pope John Paul I had a chance to make was to the effect that we need a new and worldwide economic order. The achievement of that 506 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/4 order, I believe, is going to demand that we take our stand, and that we enable others to take their stand, not on practical common sense, and not on theory, but on the self-appropriation of our interiority and especially of our orientation to value. Why do I say this? Well, let us treat common sense first, however briefly. One of the cha~'acteristics of practica.I common se.nse is that it not only is incapable of.treating complex, long-range, and ultimate issues and results, but also that it resentfully brushes aside and ignores any attempts to raise questions that are concerned with such issues. It has the world's work to do. and it cannot be bothered by questions that would take time away from doing that work.z° The person exclusively operating from prac-tical common sense is concerned only with "getting the job don~i." Every-thing else mo.tivation, rationale, social organization, interpersonal communication--is oriented to that end. The question of whether the jo.b is worth doing at all. or whether the most expedient way of. doing it is also the most authentic way, is,a bother, yes, but more than that: it is a threat, a subversive question t, hat could overturn the ~ntire project. Rejection pre-cisely of such kinds of questions is what is responsible for the fact that our objective world-situation today can be characterized in terms of opposed totalitarianisms: the totalitarianism of the multinational corporation, pred-icated on the assumption of the need of automatic progress and expansion; and the totalitarianism of the communist state, rooted in the assumption that class conflict can bring the social o, rder into harmony with what is right.2~ Both myths neglect the fact that there are religious, personal, and cultural values that must be pursued in an integral fashion if there is to be a just social order that really provides for the basic needs of all the mem-bers of a society. In both systems, however much theory may. be involved in their establishment, we see operative the bias of practical common sense against the kinds of questions that must be asked if the job is to be done, not only expediently, but also humanely, genuinely, authetically. The ques-tion of integrity is. not just overlooked, but actively repudiated and re-pressed. _ Nor is theory sufficient to reestablish the significance of that question. For there are theories that support the question, but there are other theories that discredit it. The theories of B. F. Skinner or of orthdox Freudian psychoanalysis are just as coherent, just as thorough, just as all-encom-passing, and, for many,just as convincing, as are the theories of a Christian philosophy and theology. The Church's reliance on theory as the ground of praxis arose in the Middle Ages, more specifically with scholastic philosophy. One of the interesting things about that period, though, is that there were not many ~°See Lonergan, Insight, pp. 225-242. ~lbid. Jungian Psychology and Christian Spirituality: theories from.which to choose, and there was not all that much to be learned in order to piece together a convincing theory. Even the disputes in the world of.theory did not touch, as they do today, on the really basic issues, such as the existence of God, the fact of revelation, the ethical end of the human person, the value of a virtuous life, and so on. Right down into the Renaissance, there was so little to be learned that it was possible for one person to be at once an artist, a natural scientist, and a man of practical affairs and we have Leonardo da Vinci to prove it. The need for specialization to master one tiny dimension of reality is a distinctly modern phenomenon. And while one is spending most of one's time specializing in one's own area, one's contemporaries are adding theory upon theory in their specialized domains. And these theories sometimes contradict one another on the most fundamental issues, on issues that every developing adult must confront. But how is one to take a stand, if one has to devote all of one's energies to his specialization? There are issues on which we must judge and on which we must decide if we are to live a human life. Yet there is simply too much to be learned before we can judge and decide.22 Unless we find a ground beyond theory--for it will not do just to fall back on common sense--our situation becomes one of hopeless relativism. It is my contention that this ground-beyond-theorydies in the self-appropriation of human interiority. This point about the need for,a quite technical self-appropriation can be developed at great length; we do not have space to do that here. The point I wish to make in the present context ,is that only through such self-appropriation can one discover the precise relation that obtains between re,!igio~us, personal, and cultural values on the one hand, and the social value of a just economic and political order on the other hand. And one needs to discover these relations, not simply in the abstract, as through some theory of value ,"but in the concrete order in which one is called upon to judge, to decide, and to act. And so I return to my general statement: Christian spiritual transformation is a matter of self-transcendence that, at a certain point, calls fo'r a movement to self-appropriation. Christian spiritual development is a matter of ongoing cbnversion, and ongoing con-version means today not only religious and moral, but also intellectual and p~sychic conversion. The Levels of Consciousness There are five levels of operations that one discovers when one enters upon the project of the self-appropriation of interiority.2"~ Inner and outer sensations, memories, andimages constitute the level of empirical presen- 22Lonergan, "Dimensions of Meaning," in Collection, pp. 252-267. 23On the levels of consciousness, see Lonergan, Method in Theology, Chapters One and Four. Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979 / 4 tations. These empirical presentations are organized by understanding, which is a second level of consciousness. For example, if you are reading without any understanding of what I am saying, you are operating at the first, empirical level of operations. If you are reading and understanding what I am saying, your understanding is organizing the empirical presenta-tions into some kind of intelligible whole. You are processing what you hear by the operations that go on in your "little black box." You are operating not only at the first, but also at the second level of o~perations. If, moreover, you not only understand what I am saying but are also trying to judge whether it is correct or not, you have added a third level of operations, where we either assent to, or disagree with, something we have understood. These three levels of operations are what make us to be human knowers. Lonergan calls these levels experience, understanding, and judgment. But we are not just'knowers. There are times in our lives when, after we have made a judgment, "This is t~rue," a further question arises, "What am I going to do about it?" Then we have to decide. And decision constitutes a fourth level of operations. Finally, there is another whole dimension of interior reality that is not dealt with by speaking of the empirical, intelligent, rational, and decisional levels of consciousness. There is a fifth level of consciousness that is a matter of being addressed by and in relation to God. There is the experience of mystery. There is the reality of falling in love with God. There is prayer, worship, mystical experience, the dark night of the soul, the living flame of love, the search for and discovery of the holy, the gift of the divinely originated solution to the problem of evil. Religious self-appropriation, obviously, is a matter of articulating what is going on at that fifth level of consciousness. The means of discovering oneself in one's relation to God are many: there are spiritual direction, retreats, various methods of keeping a journal, and so on. But what is important for us also to appr6priate is the manner in which experience at that fifth level of consciousness has an effect on other levels. The influence of God's grace moves downward in our consciousness. It changes our values (fourth level), so that it provides us with entirely new orientations for our decisions, and enables them to be more self-transcendent. It changes our view of the world, our vision, the way we understand and judge things (second and third levels), and provides us with a determination to under-stand thoroughly and to judge reasonably; and it brings about a harmony and peace at the level of inner sensation, a peace that "the world cannot give," so that our inner being and our bodies rest securely in the love of God. Symbols, Feelings, and Drama Such is the pattern of interiority that is discovered when one enters upon the way of self-appropriation: five levels of consciousness, each related to Jungian Psychology and Christian Spirituality: I / 509 the other, whether we move from~below upwards, or from above down-wards. And now, finally, we are able to locate with precision the region where Jung's discoveries become significant for spiritual development, especially for self-appropriation. For all of the operations that we are talking about--sensing, imaging, remembering (first level), inquiring, understand-ing, putting our understanding into words (second level), reflecting, weigh-ing the evidence, judging (third level), deliberating, deciding, acting (fourth level), praying, worshiping (fifthlevel)--all of these operations are per-meated by feelings. We have feelings about the objects of all of these operations. The operations themselves are always dramatic. When you try to understand, it is because you are confused. When you succeed in un-derstanding, the confusion ceases and you experience satisfaction, maybe even excitement. When you want to know whether you understand cor-rectly, it is because you are not satisfied with just a set of bright ideas; you want to get things right and not just go about spouting opinions. When you have to make a decision, the drama of the situation stands out clearly. Some decisions can be agonizing. All decisions have a great deal of affectivity accompanying them, for we are dealing in decisions with questions of value. And value is something we feel before ever we judge about it or act on it.z4 Finally, fifth-level religious experience has those peculiar sets of feelings that we call "consolations" and "desolations." In sum, we are not just structured conscious operators. We are~also the subjects of a drama, pre-cisely in and through these operations. There is a story to our operating, because there are feelings that permeate all of those operations. Let us focus a bit more on this drama, because it is more complicated than I have so far indicated. In addition to the desire to understand, there is also aflight from understanding (second level). I can flee insight just as passionately as I can pursue it. Moreover, I can resist the truth just as strongly as I can intend it (third level). I can try to escape responsible decision and live a life of ease or of drifting or of hiding my talents, just as persistently as I can conscientiously examine every situation to find the best course of action (fourth level). I can flee contact with God just as passion-ately as I can seek to find him and do his will (fifth level). ~ There are feelings that permeate not only genuine performance at each of the five levels, but also inauthentic actions at each step of the way. The ultimate drama of my life, in fact, is this drama of authenticity and inau-thenticity. The authentic person is the person who pursues understanding, who seeks truth, who responds to what is. really worthwhile, and who searches for God and his will. The inauthentic person is the person who flees understanding, who runs fi:om the truth, who resists further questions 241bid., pp. 31-33. 510 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979 /4 about his or her decisions, and who tries to escape God. And those feelings never go away. They are present in the entire drama. They are precisely what make it so dramatic. What. then. are feelings? Feelings are energy-become-conscious. Feel-ings are a~matter of psychic energy. Feelings are the basic sensitive compo-nent of every human operation. Feelings make of spirituality a story. To know one's feeling is to begin to tell one's own story. Feelings are the drive and momentum of the life of the human spirit. Feelings join the spirit to the body in a conscious unity. There is one further aspect to this matter. Feelings always enter con-sciousness through being connected with some representation. Now, the, most basic form of representation lies in symbols. A symbol, Lonergan says, is an image of a real or imaginary object that evokes a feeling or is evoked by a feelingZS; what this means is that there is never a feeling without a symbolic meaning; never a symbol without a feeling. To name one's feelings is to discover the dynamic images, the symbols, that are associated with them. To have insight into one's feelings is to understand the symbolic association. To tell one's story is tomarrate the course of one's elemental symbolizing. And where does one's elemental symbolizing occur in its purest form, untainted by the biases that. in waking life, can lead us to distort our story? The place of elemental symbolizing is in our dreams. It is in the dream that we first are conscious, and it is in the dream that we find a "story" going forward that we cannot distort without being aware that we are doing so.z6 If we want to know our -story" the story of insight, the story of judgment, the story of decision, and the story of prayer--we can find it in our dreams. There is a psychic conversion that puts us into contact with that story. It affects us deeply once it has occurred. For it enables us to judge ourselves in our waking life as authentic or inauthentic in our pursuit of understanding, in our.seeking of truth, in our decisions, and in our search for God. In the next article I will situate Jung's psychology of individuation within this context of the discussion of self-transcendence, and, especially, of self-appropriation. In the third article, though, I will use this same frame-work to criticize .lung's psychology. For Jung did not have an accurate understanding of the structure of our operations as human subjects~ur understanding, our judgments, our decisions, and our search for God. His basic philosophical and theological standpoint did not take its stand on a notion of authenticity as self-transcendence. And this basic flaw renders his contributions to Christian spiritual .development very ambiguous until these contributions are transposed into some such context as I have tried to indicate in the present article. 251bid., p. 64. 26See Doran, "Dramatic Artistry in the Third Stage of Meaning," forthcoming in Lonergan Workshop 11, edited by Frederick Lawrence (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1979). "Matchwood, Immortal Diamond"-- Reflections on Death and Resurrection John Renard, S.J. Father Renard is on the faculty of St. Louis,University. A previous article of Father Renard was entitled "Islamic Spirituality" which appeared in the November, 1978 issue. With:the bitter:sweet clarity that came to him in his illness, ~ohn Donne wrote, "Therefore that He may raise, the Lord throws down.''~ The poet expresse_s a wisidom most of us would rather flee than surrender to; bui our flight from mortality is not always and necessarily a flight toward immortal-ity. Ernest Becket explains the dynamic of the "Jonah Syndrome" by saying that the fear of life often menaces human beings as relentlessly as the fear of death. The "Jonah Syndrome" involves escape from both the apex and the nadir of human potential. It issues in a frantic sear.ch for control of one's destiny to the smallest detail; it deems abstinence from the heights of ecstasy a fair price to pay 'for a shorter fall; it shuns the awesome lest it happen upon the terrible,z Both extremes of the fear ~eem to be rooted in a dread of extinction, whether as annihilation wrought by weakness confronting the ultimate ~This and all other selections of poetry quoted in this paper may be found in the.Norton Anthology of Poetry ('Revised, New York, 1975). "Hymn to God My God, in My Sickness," p. 251. 2Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death (New York, 1973). Term coined by Abraham Maslow; pp. 48 ft. 511 512 /Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/4 power, or as humiliation wrought by shame in the face of the ultimate glory. I would like to explore both of these aspects of the "Jonah Syndrome." First we will look at the extreme that presents itself more immediately, and which is a more readily recognizable feature of human experience. In that context we will talk of two preeminent characteristics of the experience of Weakness, Shame, and Mortality. Then we will turn to the experience of power, glory, and immortality. In both instances our guideg will be the struggle of great poets to comprehend, the insight of Paul into the incompre-hensible, and the example of Jesus' surrender to the "impossibility" of a life lived across the full spectrum, from being to nothingness and back. Weakness, Shame, and Mortality At the beginning of his chapter on "The Terror of Death," Ernest Becket quotes Sigmund Freud: Is it not for us to confess that in our civilized attitude towards death we are once more living psychologically beyond your means, and must reform and give truth its due? Would it not be better to give death the place in actuality and in our thoughts which properly belongs to it, and to yield a little more prominence to that unconscious attitude towards death which we have hitherto so carefully suppressed? This hardly seems indeed a greater achievement, but rather a backward step., but it has the merit of taking somewhat more into accou.nt the true state of affairs,a Two factors seem most to contribute to a sense of impotence and of the inability to achieve quite enough in one lifespan--and hence to the half-wish for immortality. They are, first, the feeling of time's inexorability, and, second, the conviction that to make a lasting name for myself I must make it for me alone, me the autonomous, me the independent. These twin cliffs of mortality both spell weakness and shame, for the sheer faces of time and of di~sire for self-fulfilment cannot b~ scaled head-on. Nevertheless, the summit is not entirely unattainable. It merely requires the acceptance of "time" and the rejection of encapsulation in oneself. John Donne writes in his "S.atire on Religion:" He's not of none, nor worst, that seeks the best, To 'adore, or scorn an image, or protest, May be all bad; doubt wisely; in strange way To stand inquiring right, is not to stray; To sleep, or run wrong, is. On a huge hill, Craggrd and steep, Truth stands, and he that will Reach her, about must, and about must go, Ahd what th' hill's suddenness resists win so; Yet strive so, that before age, death's twilight, thy soul rest, for none can work in that night. Hard deeds, the body's pains; hard knowledge, too "Matchwood, Immortal Diamond" / 513 The mind's endeavors reach, and mysteries Are like the sun, dazzling, yet plain to all eyes.4 The poet does not advocate pretending the mountain does not exist, nor does he counsel over-confidence as to its vincibility. He does suggest that the most important of attainments are precisely not those which can be attained, but rather those which are allowed to be apparent. It is a question of not denying the obvious, but' also of not taking the obvious for granted. Donne suggests further that mysteries are the very stuff of this life: one had best confront them now, for they set at death's twilight. Time itself is not the poet's nemesis here; the prospect of an untimely death is. As we shall see in the second section of this paper, John Donne found a solution to the problem of time's "unperturbed pace," in his hope of resurrection. As other poets attest, however, not everyone escapes the conviction that time is a vacuum. ,' The Emptiness of Time Many a great poet has written of the vain struggle to deny the marauding burglar of time access to his house. Scarcely a Shakespearean sonne~ but talks of Time's "fell hand," and his "bending sickle's compass," and of the "best jewel from Time's chest., hid." Time is "sluttish,'~ "wasted," "balmy.''5 The young John Milton reflected, "How soon. hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, stolen on his wing my three and twentieth year!" Time was for him, along with the will of heaven, his guide toward his mortal end.6 John Keats, also twenty-three, wrote in a similar vein of his fears that he might "cease to be before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain." His fearful reflections led him to stand alone on the shore of the wide world till Love and Fame sank to nothingness in the face of Time's inevitability.~ At twenty-seven, W. B. Yeats wrote "The Lamentation of the Old Pen-sioner." The aged and discarded man sits sheltered from the rain under a tree and reminisces about how he had once held the center ~f attention in fireside chats "Of love or politics, ere time transfigured me." Though young men once more prepare for combat, the pensioner's "contemplations are of Time thht has transfigured me." Though no woman now turns to look upon him, 'he summons up remembrances of loves past and concludes, "I spit in the face of Time that has transfigured me.''s In his magnificent "Fern Hill," the thirty-two year old Dylan Thomas wrote of his heedless youth when: Nothing i cared, in the lamb-wfiite days, that time would take me Up to the swallow throng.ed loft by the shadow of my hand, 'tNAP p. 246. 5Sonnets 64, 116, 65, 55, 106, 107, NAP pp. 212 ft. SNAP p. 323 rNAP p. 700 SNAP p. 918 514 / Review for Religious, Volume38, 1979 / 4 In the moon that is always rising, Nor that riding to sleep I should hear him (Time) fly with the high fie!ds And Wake to the farm forever fled from the childless 'land~ Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means, Time held me green and dying Though 1 sang in my chains like the sea) ,~ Thomas compressed an entire lifetime into the image of a day, born with the birth of the sun and dying forever under an ever-rising moon. Time was his master: the poet both knew it too,well and, denied it. He was green, but dying; fettered, but singing as though free as the sea. ~ The Fullness of Time Jesus, too/was keenly aware_through his life of the. imminence of an auspicious, even ominous, hour. John's Gospel portrays Jesus early in his public ministry as conscious that hishour would come soon, but had not yet (Jn 7:6 and 30). His later recognition that "the hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified" occurs at.the theological, literary, and even geo-graphical center of John's Gospel (Jn 12:23). It is preceded immediately by. the raising of Lazarus and Mary's anointing of Jesus for burial, .and it is followed immediately by the analogy of the grain of wheat that ~must die. in order to give life. In the Synoptics, too, this crucial hour's striking marks the turning point in Jesus~ life, the fullness of his time. In the Synoptics, however, the theological, literary, and geographical pivot is signalled by Peter',s confession.of Jesus as the Christ and Jesus' decisive reorientation for the journey to Jerusalem (Mr 16:13if; Mk 8:27ff;, Lk 9:18ff). Mark, Matthew, and Luke indicate that it is Peter who is troubled, most of all, by Jesus' prediction of his death, and who tries to dissuade Jesus from his intended course. John, on the other hand, more insistent than the SynOptics on Jesus' awareness of his "tim~ and hour," emphasizes Jesus' own anguish that his time has now come: "Now is-my soul troubled. And what shall Isay? 'Father, save me from this hour'? No, for this purpose I have come.to this hour's' (Jn .12:27). It is an hour of glor.y, but not for Jesus "personally." It is the hour in which his Father's name will be glorifie~l again (Jn 12:28), At this juncture we turn to the second factor that .makes human mortality seem so impotent and dishon6rable--the forever frus-trated yet die-hard desire to make a name for oneself alone. Making a Name: The Delusion of Self-Proclaimed Glory Several years ago a cartoon in a national magazine depicted a handsome young couple in togas seated in an idyllic lakeside glen. The young man gazes into the mirror-smooth lake, and the lady asks, "Is there., someone else, Narcissus? . Everyone," notes Ernest Becket, "enjoys a working aNAP pp. 1166-7 "Matchwood, Immortal Diamond" / 515 amount of basic narcissism,"~° which amounts to a drive for self-protection and self-creation. The more that drive becomes the central life project, however, the moreoenslaving and suicidal it becomes. Chapter two of the Letter to the Philippians is the New Testament's most remarkable.state-ment of Jesus' surrender of his own name for the glorification of his Father's name.~::'He did not count equality with God a'thing to be grasped., but emptied~ ~himself, taking the form of a slave being born in human likeness. And being found in human form he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, death on a cross': (Ph 2:6-8). By "becoming sin who kflew no sin" (2 Co 5:21), Jesus engaged in the ultimate ec-stasy. He rejected the Godly power which alone is immune to the need for striving, in favor of human weakness with its constant struggle for freedom. He rejected the Godly glory which alone is~truly autonomous and peerless, in favor of the shame of common slavery. Power and glory in God are Godly; in human~beings they are merely the produc't of self-aggrandizing,, narcissistic wishfulness. Power and glory in God are His awesomeness and attractiveness; in human beings~they are a pathetic grasp-ing after invulnerability and control, needlessness and Unrelatedness, free-dom from risk.~ That, in the. words of Shakespeare, amounts to "Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame. . lust in action. In his choice of slavery and emptiness Jesus had even to divest himself of the faintest hope that it would all' have world-redeeming consequences. He had to abandon himself unreservedly to the powerlessness and anonym-ity of the human condition. The colossal irony of his surrender is that, because Jesus forsook his, own name and status, "God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name which is above every name, that atthe name of Jesus,every knee should bend., and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father" (Ph 2:9-11). A classic of Chinese tradition called the Tao te Ching spe.aks simply and insightfully of the nature of this paradox: Reality is all-embracing. To be all-embracing is to be self-less. To be self-less is to be all-pervading. To be all-pervading is to be transcendent.~3 Paul elucidates further~ the'implications ~of Christ's self-lessness ~or us. Thb',~ib~e~'ness of self-~areservation must "yield to the folly' of the Cross, "For~tlie. fo61ishness~ of God is wiser than humankind, and the Weakness of l°op. cit., p. 22 ~For further excellent discussion of power and autonomy, see John Dunne's The Way'of All the Earth (New York, 1972), pp. 4-26. ~aSonnet 129, NAP 216 ~aChang Chung-yuan, Tao: A New Way of Thinking (New York, 1975), p. 42. 51!5 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/4 God is stronger than humankind." Self-proclaimed power and glory must yield to a confession of "shame and confession," as in the meditations on sin in St. Ignatius' Spiritual Exercises, for "God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are" (1 Co .1 and 2, quoting 1:25, 27). Jesus' own acquiescence in the arrival of his "hour" and his preference for namelessness led him to the folly of the Cross, that our "faith might rest not in human wisdom, but in the power of God" (1 Co 2:5). And all the heavenly host shouted: "Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and giory.~. And the four living creatures said, 'Amen'" (Rv 5:12, 14). Power, Glory and Immortality If reflection on the ravages of time and change is a common theme in the great poets, musing on what may lie beyond death are no less prominent. "Death once dead," says the Bard, there's no more dying then.''14 Shake-spearc's is a rather cold resignation in that poem. A more hopeful note is heard in Wordsworth's "Intimations of Immortality": 0 Joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive.15 Another facet of "nature's memory" is the subject of "The Root Cellar'" by the twentieth-century poet Theodore Roethke. Observing nature's stubborn refusal to become extinct, he tells of how in a lowly earthen dungeon all things strain after survival. In that cellar "Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath."16 In "The Far Field," Roethke writes of how "All finite things reveal infinitude." I am renewed by death, thought of my death, The dry scent of a.dying garden in September, The wind fanning the ash of a low fire. What I love is near at hand, Always, in earth and air.1~ The same W. B. Yeats who had written about the Pensioner who spat in the face of Time, later wrote a play called The Resurrection. The p~lay climaxes with a song about the demise of the ancient rites at~the appearance of the Risen Christ who now stands on the stage. The song is a different kind of reflection on how the passing of time exhausts human power and glory to make way for Christ's power and glory: t4Sonnet 146, NAP :p. 217 ~SNAP p. 603 ~6NAP p. 1131 ~TNAP p. 1138-9 "Matchwood, Immortal Diamond" / 517 Everything that man esteems Endures a moment or a day.: Love's pleasure drives his love away. The painter's brush consumes his dreams; The herald's cry, the soldier's tread Exhaust his glory and his might: Whatever flames upon the night Man's own resinous heart has fed.Is Few poets have prayed in our tongue more fervently than John Donne. In the"Holy Sonnets" Donne vacillates between terror in the face of death and the hope that death will lose its sting and concede victory to the Resurrection. "Thou hast made me, and shall Thy work decay?" he asks his Lord.~° Ever awareof his need to ask forgiveness, the poet exhorts the angels to trumpet into resurrection all mortal humanity "At the round earth's imagined corners.''2° Donne then becomes a seventeenth century Paul in one of his best known sonnets: Death, be not proud, though some have call6d thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so; For those whom thou thinkst thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee dO go, Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. Thou 'art slave to fate, chance, kings and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy' or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke; why swellst thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally ' And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.2~ For the original Paul, all that the poe.ts have hinted at, pined for, groped after, and, perhaps, found, is embodied in Christ as image of the invisible God. Christ "reflects the glory of God" and "sustains the universe by his word of power" (Heb 1:3). By that word we are "strengthened with all power, according to the glory of his might" (Col l:l l). The "small breath" of the earth in Roethke's "Root Cellar" is the treasure we carry "in earthen vessels, to show that the transcendent power belongs to God and not to us." We carry in our bodies "the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in oOr bodies" (2 Co 4:7, 10-11). Our universal experience of being "thrown down" in the wasting of our outer nature can-not quench'Wordsworth's "embers" of renewal in our inner nature (2 Co 4:16). It is merely a thorn in the flesh, a reminder that God's "power.is made ~SNAP pp. 927-8 19Sonnet I, NAP p. 248 2°Sonnet 7, NAP p. 249 ~Sonnet 10, NAP p. 250 51~1 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979 / 4 perfect in weakness." For that reason Paul could happily boast of his weakness so that the power of Christ might rest on him (2 Co 12:9). The exultant herald's cry and the victorious soldier's tread exhaust their power and glory. Christ's defeat on the cross manifests his all the more, "For he was crucified in weakness, but lives by the power of God." As a result, Christ now deals with us not in weakness, butin power (2 Co 13:3-4). Paul therefore prays that he be able~ to accept his humanity and its impo-tence, in order to~ know Christ and the, power of his resurrection, which will "change our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by,the power which enables him even to subject all things to himself" (Ph 3:8-H, 21). The Apostle prays for,us, too, that we might share in that power and glory and life. Speaking of his own suffering as the glory of the Ephesian Christians, Paul prays That acc6rding to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power interiorly through his Spirit. ; that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have power to comprehend., the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to do far more abundantly than all we ask or think, to him be glory . (Ep 3:13-21). Paul further clarifies the nature of the revivifying power of Christ's love as he describes the different degrees of glory proper to the various earthly and heavenly bodies. Using the same metaphor of sowing and growth suggested in Ephesians in the words "rooted in love," the author writes in 1 Co 15:42-3: "What is sown is perishable, what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in shame, but raised in glory. It is sown in weakness, but raised in power." The full mystery and many-sided paradox of how weakness becomes power; shame glory, and mortality immortality is beautifully summed up in John Heni'y Newman's Parochial and Plain Sermon entitled "The Cross of Christ, the Measure of the World." Newman says that the Cross has brought together and made consistent all that seemed discordant and aimless. It has taught'us how to live, how to use this world, what to expect, what t~ desire, what to hope. It is the tone into which all the ~trains of this world's music are ultimately to be resolved.22 To resolve th~se discordant strains, Chris~ endu,red,every paradox. To teach us how to live with ambiguity and in~.security, Christ put mystery in place Qf what we would otherwise try to solve as a mind-teasing puzzle. To unburden us of the curse of the Law, Christ became accursed o~n the Tree. To obtain for us that which we most grasp at, Christ unhanded ~l~i. To transform our folly into wisdom, Christ became foolishness. To free us from sin, Christ became sin. To loose the bonds of our servitude, Christ became 22Parochial and Plain Sermons, London, 1875, Vol. 6, p. 85. ° ~ "Matchwood, Immortal.Diamond" / 519 a slave. To empower our impotence, Christ became weakness itself. To ransom us from bankruptcy, Christ became poverty. To glorify our dis-honor, Christ became shame. To fill our vacuum, Christ emptied himself. All of which prompted G. M. Hopkins to write in his poem, "That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the Comfort of the Resurrection": "In a flash, at a trumpet crash, ! am at once what Christ is, since he was what I am, and this Jack, joke, poor potsherd, patch, matchwood, immortal diamond, is immortal diamond.''23 23NAP p. 905 Now Available As Reprint An Apostolic Spirituality~for the Ministry of Social Justice by Max Oliva, S.J. Price: $.50 per copy, plus postage. Address: Review for Religious Rm 428 3601 Lindell Blvd. St. Louis, Missouri 63108 St. Luke's Use of the Temple Image Frank X. Reitzel, C.R. Father Reitzel is a member of the Congregation of the Resurrection who has spent most of his active years in his priesthood teaching English literature at the high school, university and seminary levels. He has also done considerable work in counseling, spiritual direction and retreat work. Presently he is on a sabbatical leave doing research study at the Gregorian University in Rome. His address on leaving Rome will be: Resurrection College; Westmount Road North, Waterloo; Ontario, Canada N2L 3G7. Father Reitzel hopes that the present article will form the chapter of a projected book on the concept and image of the Temple as a means of prayer. Part I he Odyssey is most often mentioned as the classic example in literature of the use of thenliterary device or symbol of a journey within which to frame a story. It is important, however, to remember, that every journey has a goal or end to be attained. For Ulysses it was to return to his homeland and there to lay rightful claim to his kingdom, his queen and his home. The traditional name for such a story is epic. St. Luke's Greek cultural back-ground is sufficient evidence on which to base a presupposition that he was familiar with this story form of a journey ending in a kingdom reclaimed. Both his Gospel account and The Acts of the Apostles have epic qualities built on the basic image of a journey. The intention of this paper, however, is to focus attention on the goal of that journey, the Temple at Jerusalem, as Luke uses it in his Gospel in order to show that an awareness of this image can aid a reflective and prayerful reading of the text of the third gospel. The journey theme and the Temple image are equally evident in Acts; but I shall refer to these only in passing. 520 St. Luke's Use of the Temple Image / 521 The Journey It is now generally accepted that the journey theme is an important factor, in the literary structure of Luke's version of the story of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. In every epic the arena of the journey is vast, sweeping from one end of the known world to the other; for Jesus it really begins in heaven and ends there. The action that takes place on earth within the limits of time and space tells of his journey from Nazareth to Jerusalem. At Jerusalem is the focal point and goal of the journey, the Temple. By using principles of literary criticism we can discover that Luke has artistically placed his references to the Temple at significant places in his narrative. I suggest that the position of these references clearly and deliber-ately divides the text of the Gospel, for artistic and meditative purposes, into a five-part structure that is similar to that of classical epics and dramas. Paradise Lost, for example, is constructed in twelve books or movements in which the poet John Milton retells the tragic story of the loss of paradise by Adam and Eve. The number twelve, referring to the twelve months of the year, symbolizes a full-life span or a life's journey. In his second epic, Paradise Regained, Milton uses the more compressed five-movement structure to tell the story of.Christ's cosmic struggle with Satan. In every case the artist freely chooses what he considers to be the proper and fitting frame for his work or story. In order to enhance his retelling of the inspiring story of Jesus that had been-handed on to him Luke employs a similar five-part structure. Later, in his account of the beginnings of the Church, he describes the missionary journeys of Peter and Paul in a two-part structure similar to that of many modern dramas. Moreover, in both works Luke uses carefully placed refer-ences to the Temple at Jerusalem as a central image which unifies the structure and the story of the Gospel as Luke presents it to us. An aware-ness of this image and its function can aid us in using Luke's Gospel as a guide to prayer and a means of personal growth. Reliable Scripture scholarship has shown that the author of the third Gospel was a man of Greek birth and culture who wrote for a Greek Christian audience. Like Paul (arid like ourselves) Luke had not been a contemporary eye-witness of Jesus. He had learned and been inspired by the story of Jesus as he had received it from the apostolic eye-witnesses such as Peter. He wrote to Theophilus, to persons of similar culture and background, that is, to all those like Theophilus in the world. But if we are his audience why does he use the center of Jewish worship as one of his main images? The Temple Image Temples have played a pa.rt in almost every culture; but they differ in one significant feature from the Temple at Jerusalem. A temple for all 522 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/4 pagans (gentiles) was a holy place; it was the house of the gods. But for the Israelites, Yahweh, the One True God, actually manifested his presence in his chosen dwelling place on Mount Zion. The Israelites were prepared and they were often called upon to protest that belief with their lives. They did not just casually believe this--they knew that God dwelt in their midst. No matter where he might be, the devout Israelite could face east to the Temple and enter into prayerful communion.with his God; he could experience an immediate and personal realization of the presence of Yahweh. The ideal, of course, was to make the journey to Jerusalem and there actually present oneself to God, as he had. commanded: "Three times a year all your men-folk must present,themselves before the Lord Yahweh" (Ex 23:17)? Similar references to. this belief and practice in the Old Testament are numerous. The visions of many of the prophets took place in the Temple. It was there that Isaiah (Is 6) and Jeremiah. (Jr 1) w.ere commissioned by God to go forth on their prophetic journeys to .his people. The prophet Amos had condemned the unjust and unprayerful uses that some people made of the place of worship, emphasizing, thereby, that God',s presence, not the bricks and mortar, was of importance. Whenever his people turned to false gods and rejected him, Yahweh abandoned them and their Temple. Each time in history that the bricks-and-mortar temple was destroyed it graphically symbolized Yahweh's displeasure with his ~.people and his ab-sence from them. Through the psalmist as through the prophets, Yahweh insisted that the Temple was sacred because he chose to dwell there. He promised to be with his p.eople as long as they were faithi'ul to him; if they betrayed him, he would withdraw his presence and the Temple, no longer sanctified, would be destroyed. That history and thai faith, were a part of the Judaeo-Christian heritage handed on to Luke. That is evidenced by the fact that his Gospel ends,with the statement that praying and worshipping in the Temple at Jerusalem continued to be a normal practice of Christ's followers after the ascension. And at the beginning of Acts Luke indicates that the same mentality and practices continued to prevail. The disciples, he tells us, went up to the Temple each day at the prescribed liturgical hours to pray (Ac 2:46; 3:1). A shift was beginning to evolve, however; Luke says that for "'the breaking of the bread" they met in private homes. They were Christian-Jews; though a gradual change was "taking place in their worship, they had n6t broken away from their Hebrew. Temple-centered roots. That break would Occur later. But at the time of Luke's writing the Temple was still regarded as the House of Prayer, the place where God made himself manifest among his l~eople. ~Biblical quotations in this article have been made from The Jerusalem Bible (New York: Doubleday & Co., 1966); and from The R. S. 'V. Interlinear Greek-English New Testament, by Rev. Alfred Marshall (London: Samuel Bagster and Sons Ltd. 1978). St. Luke's 'Use of the Temple Image / 523 The Literary Structure It is perfectly acceptable in literature to use poetic devices to emphasize certain features of the text. Luke artistically uses repeated references to the Temple.in order to draw the listener or reader to a more reflective and prayerful attention,to the words and the story action o,f his Gospel. Luke's story of Jesus of Nazareth, which has as one of its themes the struggle between good and evil, is based on a five-part.division. An aware-ness~ of this structure and its main themes can assist us in a reflective and prayerful reading of this account of the gospel. It is important to note that this dramatic and reflective outline (given below) does not run counter to nor violate the exacting topical outline that exegetes suggest for study of the text. This literar~y and meditative approach emph~asizes the dramatic quali-ties of the cosmic struggle between Christ and Satan and recognizes the artistic unity in Luke's use 9f the Temple as a focal image. An Outline For Meditation For careful study of the text, commentaries generally outline Luke's Gospel in the following way:2 ~ (1) The Prologue 1:1-4 (2) The Infancy Narrative 1:5--2:52 (3) The Preparation for Ministry 3:1--4:13 (4) The Galilean Minis~try 4:14---9:50 (5) The Journey Na~ative .~ 9:51--19:28 (6) The Jerusalem Ministry 19:29--21:38 (7) The Passion and Glorification 22:1--24:53 ¯ This can be a valugble g~u.ide to discover what Luke tells us about Jesus, his teaching and 'his ministry. It acknowledges the importance of the jour-ney, but only as a pan,of the outli.ne rather than as a theme throughout the entire gospel. According to his introduction, however,. Luke wrote for a prayerful and reflective audience in an artistic way so as to spark the imagination, the feelings,jthe.heart of his readers and to focus attention on the Person of Jesus in order to open their ears and eyes to respond as fully as possible to the message of the Lord as Luke presents it to them. Jesus taught his disciples that his 'message is best heard in prayer and the graces to respond to it best received in prayer. For such a prayerful consideration and use of Luke's text of the gospel I suggest the following outline. PROLOGUE: 1:1-25 ' (a) Introduction: why and to whom he writes. (b) Milieu: time and pl~ce. 2James A. Michener, The Source (Greenwich, CT: Fawcett Publications, 1967), p. 266. 524 /Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979/4 Zachariah; the Temple scene, in the sanctuary. ACT I: Infancy: Prepare for life. Begins in the Temple: Pre-sentation. Introduces John the Baptist; then Jesus. Closes with the Temple scene. ACT II: Preparation For Mission: ~ Mission, decision, conflict. Career of John the Baptist; genealogy of Jesus. The temp-tations, ending with the Temple image. A hint that Jesus and Satan will meet again. ACT III: Journey and Ministry: Jesus, led by the Spirit, begins his journey toward Jerusalem; He commences his public teaching. A special mention of the Temple (18:10). The section closes with Jesus taking possession of the Temple. ACT IV: Temple and Contest: Jesus teaches daily in the Temple. His enemies plot to kill him. Example of the widow's offering. At night Jesus withdraws from the Temple to the Mount of Olives. 1:26-2:52 3:1-4:13 4:14-19:48 20:1-21:38 ¯ Act V: Conflict: 22:1-24:52a Passion, death and resurrection of Jesus. Signal phrase: "Satan enteri~d." Judas goes to the priests. Trial; condemnation; death. Veil of the Temple is torn. Resurrection and ascension. EPILOGUE: ~ 24:52b-53 The apostles begin their journey in the Tem-ple. The Good News for Prayer In my outline of Luke's gospel, I have indicated that each of the major divisions end witha'specific use of the image of the Temple. In every case of these references the use flows smoothly and naturally out of the thought and action of the story. Artistically, the Temple image serves the same purpose as a major refrain in a symphony or opera; the audience hears it in the background and is reminded~of a principal character or of the primary theme of the work. Like an organist, Luke is able to play on three manuals at once. He uses the image of the Temple, repeated at significant moments in his text, to weave into a unity the principal themes of the life story of Jesus of Nazareth. St. Luke's Use of the Temple Image / 595 The Temple image establishes the goal of the journey theme and gives it a continuity throughout the whole of the gospel as Luke presents it. Moreover, this image repeated at important instances in the narrative emphasizes and gives a continuity to the main theme of the story of Jesus: his life, death and resurrection. In the course of his journey to Jerusalem, Jesus makes allusions to and direct prophecies, of his death, and resurrec-tion, such as: "The. Son of Man" he said "is destined to suffer grievously, to be rejected by the elders and chief priests and scribes and to be put to death, and to be raised up on the , third day" (Lk 9:22). But it is the carefully placed references to the Temple that hold this theme of death and resurrection before our eyes throughout the text of this gospel. For at the end of each major section, designated in the outline above, when reference is made to the Temple something ends and something new begins; death and resurrection are symbolized. In the end the Temple of brick and mortar would be destroyed, as Jesus prophesied, to be replaced forever by the eternal Temple of the Risen Christ. Evidence in Greek Terms The literary prologue (1:9-25) ends with the priestly action of Zachariah in that sacred area of the Temple, the sanctuary, while the people wait outside praying. The events recorded in this episode are interpreted as a signal of the end of the Old Testament and the beginning of the New. It is significant that in the Greek text Luke uses the specific term "sanctuary" or "holy place" (naos) three times in this prologue as his reference to the Temple: (1:9;22). He does not use this term again until after Christ,s death on the cross when he, tells us dramatically, with the tearing of the veil of the "Temple" (naos), that the old has ended and the new has begun~(23:45). There are, however, some instances in the course of his narrative in which Luke makes reference to the Temple or to the sanctuary :with a more general Greek term "the house of God" (oikos theou), because the refer-ence at such times is not essential to the narrative structure. When, for example, Jesus speaks o.f. the prophet "who was murdered between the altar and the sanctuary" (Lk I1:5 l), Luke uses the Greek term, "the house of God" (oikos theos). When, however, the reference is made to the Temple proper and is essential to the narrative structure, he uses the precise Greek term the Temple (hieros). This is the word which he uses at the end of each of the major sections that I have designated as acts in the above outline, as well as in the last verse, the literary epilogue, of his gospel account. Accord, ing to scholars3 Luke.was following a reliable tradition in his use of these 3The Jerome Biblical Commentary, ed. Raymond E. Brown, Joseph A. Fitzmeyer, Roland E. Murphy (New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1968), p. 119, 44:19. (For subsequent notes this will be referred to as JBC.)--There is a°good outline of Luke's Gospel for meditative reading in The Gospel According to St. Luke. ed. Alois St6ger (London: Burns & Oates, 1969), two volumes. 526 / Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979 / 4 Greek terms,, and should not be accused of inconsistency. Of importance in the present consideration,~ however, is Luke's use of the term "the Tem-ple" (hieros), with all its sacred and imaginative connotations from the Old Testament as well as its Christian ,associations with the life of Jesus. This is the" term which Luke uses when he refers to the Temple scene (2:46) with which he completes his narrative o'f~the infancy of Jesus. Simi-larly, he ends with this same Temple image what | have designated as Act II, which describes Jesus' preparation for his mission:" Jesus rejects the third temptation 6f Satan who had led him "to the pinnacle of the Temple" (4:9) and begins his public ministry. With one special excepiion (18:9-14), Luke does not use this precise term for the Temple again until the ehd of the third'section of his narrative (indicated as Act III)when Jesus enters the Temple and forcefully takes possession of it as his Father's house (19:45-46). In e~,ery case when Luke uses this term; we notice that there is an end and a beginning; the life-death-resurrection theme is symbolized in the Temple. At this part of the narrative (19:48) the actual suffering and death of Jesus are imminent, for the growing opposition of his enemies has become a calculated decision to destroy him. Throughout Act IV Jesus teaches daily in the Temple area (hieros); but at night for his own safety he withdraws to the Mount of Olives. He continueS to use the Temple for his mission, but he has begun to abandon it; it is no longer a place of safety for him. In Act V, his rejection of the Temple of bricks and mortar is completed in ~he violent tearing of the veil of the Temple (23:45) to signal the beginning of the reign of Christ. In the epilogue, Luke tells us that the apostles went to the Temple after the ascension of Jesus to await, in, prayer, their call to journey and mission. Each dramatic section of this outline of'the action 0f Luke's gospel closes with a precise use of the image of the Temple which, I ~uggest, holds up before the reflective reader the main theme 'of the life, death and resurrection of the story of Jesus. A reflective and careful exami-nation of even a few' of these sections will bear this out. The Prologue As Prayer ' Luke says that although his readers are familiar with the story of the life bf Jesus, he intends "to write an ordered account." I Shggest that his purpose is to write :an artistic and' meditative account of the Gospel in order to lead his refiders to prayer and a deeper consideration of the events o~ that story. The prologue (as I have designated it, verses ! to 25) can be used as a unit for prayer which inv~olves the whole person of th6 reader. For study purposes exegetes rightly identify as prologue 6nly the first ~our°verses~, because theseare writtenin very stylized and formal-Greek. That is proper to a formal introduction; but a literary prologue, besides'addressing the work to the~hudience, also links it to the past and gives.th'e~ audience some hints of the principal themes in the action that is to follow, The formal introduction, that is the first four verses, appropriately ,addresses the St. Luke's Use of the Temple Image / 597 Gospel to Theophilus anti to everyone who professes a love of God. Verses 5 to .7 make the link: this is not going to be. a Gr~eek story, but one set in Israel. The first personages to whom we are introduced are two of the finest people that culture and religion produced: "Both were just in the sight of God and scrupulously observed all the commandments and observances of the Lord" :(1:6). Every word of this quotation is rich in history, meaning and imagery. The word "just," often translated as "righteous," "worthy," -"virtuous," is a summary of the history of God's dealings with the Hebrew people. We should also be aware of the suggestive power of names such as Zachariah: "His name means 'Yahweh has remembered'.TM A note of tragedy is sounded with the words that Elizabeth was barren; but the author hastens to set his scene for the main action and to suggest his main themes. It is the solemn hour of, w9rship in the sacred dwelling place of the True God. It is one of the great moments of Zachariah's priestly career; he has been chosen by lot to offer the incense in the sanctuary. While the faithful outside continue in prayer, Zachariah is plunged into a deep mystical ex-perience. Luke's mention of the angel Gabriel (1:19) is regarded as a signal that the new age is about to begin? The same angel had commanded the prophet Daniel to tell his people that their exile and oppression were at an end and that a messenger would come to herald the advent of a new era (Book of Daniel, chapters 9 and 10). By drawing attention to several pa~al-lels between Zachariah's experience and that of Daniel (such as the evening hour of prayer and their being left speechless6) Luke implies that God is about to fulfill his promise and begin that new era. With this incident in the Temple Luke also symbolizes the coming to an end of the Old Covenant and the beginning of the New. This. of course, will be developed and made increasingly more clear as the narrative unfolds. For the moment, this is the hour for which the whole world has been waiting. God is about to enter into the history of man. By closing the prologue with a reference to the Temple (l:.22).Luke esta~blishes a pattern for his symbolizatio.n of a life-death-resurrection t.heme which will be repeated throughout the gospel-story at the end of each significant dramatic section. Use of Imagination in Prayer A studious reading of the Gospel is important to avoid mere flights of 4Theological Dictionary of the New Testament. ed. Gerhard Kittel; trans. G. W. Bromiley (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Wm. E~rdmans Publishing Co. 1965). For "hieros" see 111. pp. 221-247. For "naos". IV, pp. 880-890. (Subsequent references m these notes will be to Kittel.)~Klaus Baltzer, in "The Meaning of the Temple in the Lukan Writings.'" Harvard Theolog!cal Review (Misso~ula. Montana: Scholars' Press) 58 (1965), pp. 263-277. regards Luke's use of terms for the Temple as "inconsistent." 5JBC, p. 121, #44:27. 6JBC, p. 121, 4#44:28. Review for Religious, Volume 38, 1979 / 4 fancy, and the use of a good commentary can be of invaluable help. But,a prayerful approach through the use of imagination and other faculties will prevent the opposite errbr of regarding the Gospel as a mere intellectual exercise book. St. Luke's Gospel is a prayer book of the highest merit. But we must bring to it our whole selves as human beings; all our senses and faculties must be employed in our praying. The passage designated as the. end of Act II (2:41-52) is an exemplary unit of action and dialogue which can be momentarily lifted out of the context and used for meditation which involves our whole person in it. ThE opening sentences immediately direct our thought and imagination to Jerusalem and draw us into the journey of Jesus. "Every year" and "Passover" should be equally significant words to us as they were for the people of Jesus' own day. The first activity"is in the world of human, every-day affairs and should alert us to the fact that prayer begins and take~ place in the world of events, circumstances, and persons in the course of our daily lives. Hence, we take our place among friends and acquaintances, with Jesus and Mary. We, too, are going up to Jerusalem, to the Temple, for a joyful celebration. The text, of course, leaves the details of the visit to our imagination. Our prayer at this level might valuably draw us to dwell upon 'what happened at the Temple when Jesus celebrated his entry into adulthood. However,~that can only be surmised; we should not allow our-selves to be sidetracked by it. The text urges us to follow more closely; it puts the emphasis on what occurs after the ceremony of Jesus' Bar Mitz-vah, The return trip to Nazareth is usual and all that might be expected after aj0yful visit to the Temple. Again, it is the world of everyday experience. Jesus was not with his parents, but "they assumed he was with the cara-van." They were conscientious parents and looked for him. No panic is suggested in their action: "They sought him among acquaintances and relations." Where else would one look for a normal twelve-year-old boy who had just experienced the excitement of receptiofi into adulthood? However, "when they failed to find him," anxieties

Issue 34.5 of the Review for Religious, 1975. ; Revtew ]or Rehgtous ts edited by faculty members of the School of DIvlmty of St Louts University, the edttorlal ol~ces bemg located at 612 Humboldt Buddmg, 539 North Grand Boulevard; St. Louis, Missouri 63103. It is owned by the Missouri Province Educational Institute; St. Louis, Missouri. Published bimonthly and copy-right (~) 1975 by Review [or Religious. Composed, printed, and manufactured in U.S.A. Second class postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri. S!ngle copies: $1.75. Subscription U.S.A. and Canada: $6.00 a year; $11.00 for two years; other countries, $7.00 a year, $13.00 for two years (for airmail delivery, add $5.00 per year). Orders should indicate whether they are for new or renewal subscriptions and should be accompanied by check or money order payable to Review ]or Religious in U.S.A. currency only. Pay no money to persons claiming .to represent Review ]or Religious. Change of address requests should include former ad~ciress. Daniel F. X. Meenan, S.J. Everett A. Diederich, S.J. Joseph F. Galicn, S.J. Editor Associate Editor Questions and Answers Editor September 1975 Volume 34 Number 5 Renewals, new subscriptions, and changes of address should be sent to Review for Religious; P.O. Box 6070; Duluth, Minnesota 55802. Correspondence with the editor and the associate editor together with manuscripts and books for review should be sent to Review for Religious; 612 Humboldt Building; 539 North Grand Boulevard; St. Louis, Missouri 63103. Questions for answering should be sent to Joseph F. Gallen, S.J.; St. Joseph's College; City Avenue at 54th Street; Philadelphia, Pennsyl-vania 19131. / ;" ~: :°~Vith these ,words Po o ~t only for Jesmts,~but-~f6r all~rehg~ous;~ )s wh6, .in ~varyingways, ~dentff, y:.o. 671 A Survey of the Thirty-second General Congregation John R. Sheets, S.J. Fr. Sheets, chairman of the theology department of Creighton University and director of its new Masters Degree in Christian Spirituality program, was an elected delegate of his province (Wisconsin) at the 32nd General Congregation. He resides at Creighton University; 2500 Califor-nia St.; Omaha, NB 68178. The Thirty-second General Congregation of the Society of Jesus began on December 2, 1974. It finished its work on March 7, 1975. The Holy See authorized the promulgation of its decrees on May 2, 1975. In this article I will attempt to set down in an intelligible way a description of what went on during those ninety-six days, especially for (hose who are not Jesuits but who are in-terested in the congregation. Having gone over once again both the official documents and the Acta of the congregation, and having tried to recapture.my own experience over those days, I feel keenly the limitations of what follows. In the first place, it is difficult to give a survey of the vast amount of material covered by the various commissions;-secondly, it is hard to detail my own ex-perience without writing an autobiography; thirdly, it would take someone with both a sense of historical detail and a journalistic flair to present the in-terplay that took place among the various identifiable groups within the con-gregation, and also what took place between the Vatican and the congregation. In spite of these reservations, I hope that the observations that follow might provide some insight into what happened, and at the same time provide a counterweight to impressions given to the public through the general press. For me personally the congregation was the peak experience of my life. I am still trying to sort out the reasons for this. There is the obvious fact of hav-ing been part of a decision-making body whose decrees could have momentous importance for the Societ), of Jesus and for the Church at a very critical mo- A Survey of the Thirty-Second General Congregation / 673 ment in history. Again there was the experience of being "companions in the Lord" with two hundred and thirty-six other Jesuits from all over the world, united in the same Ignatian vision, sharing a common purpose, praying and working together to formulate with the help of the Holy Spirit responses to what the Church and the world ask of the Society today. The "honeymoon experience" of the first days gave way, as the weeks went on, to the .experience of fatigue, the perplexities of the search for the proper wording, the experience of working on disparate problems at the same time, without any clear point of convergence. Added to these was the experience of the interaction between the Vatican and the congregation which brought with it great anguish. However, it was also perhaps the experience that changed the congregation from a group of planners relying much on our own wisdom into something approximating an instrument of the Holy Spirit. The whole experience of the congregation in many ways paralleled what a person goes through in making the Spiritual Exercises, where one is subject to the movement of different spirits. On the one hand, it was the occasion of the greatest consolation; on the other, 1 have never in my life experienced such heaviness of heart. There were moments when one could almost feel the presence of the Holy Spirit, particularly at the concelebrated liturgies where one was drawn into the mystery of the communio jesuitarum, both the living and the dead, ~hrough our sharing in the Eucharist. Certainly the con-celebrated Mass, celebrated on the opening day of the congregatiofi in the Gesu, a church hallowed by the memories of Ignatius, Xavier and the early history of the Society, with seven hundred Jesuits participating, was one such moving experience. But if there were consolations, there were also periods of desolation, the worst desolation I have ever experienced. These came from the pall of uncer-tainty cast over the congregation from the communications of the Holy Father through Cardinal Villot in reference to the way the congregation had proceeded on a particular point concerning the Fourth Vow in the Society. This was also the occasion for the Holy Father to remark with pain that he detected from the Acta of the congregation attitudes among the delegates which were at variance with the kind of disposition a Jesuit should have toward the Pope. To be frank, however, it was not so much the interventions of the Holy Father that depressed me. In fact, as events would show, he was under the im-pression that we had received a specific communication on the subject that he had given to one of the delegates to be transmitted to us. But because of a mis-understanding the delegate did not in fact communicate it, and the congrega-tion learned about it only after we had taken a step which seemed to con-travene directly the explicit instruction of the Holy Father. To me the tone of his and Cardinal Villot's letter, while severe, was comprehensible in the light of this misunderstanding on the communication of their earlier message. What was far more upsetting was the sudden change in the mental climate of the congregation. Somewhere Kierkegaard mentions that the sudden is the 1574 / Review for, Religious, Volume 34, 1975/5 category of the demonic. In the course of only minutes, the demon of rumor, suspicion and recrimination was let loose. Suddenly it all fitted into a kind of master plot to discredit Fr. Arrupe, bring about his resignation, and bring to nothing the efforts of the congregation. No one knew who the enemies were, but some gave the impression that there was one hiding behind every column in the Vatican. Among the memories which will always be with me are the occasions when I used to walk in St. Peter's Square at night, when it was deserted, except for a police car and a few pa~sers-by. The majestic beauty of the facade of St. Peter's, bathed by the light of the moon, the beauty of the fountains flashing in the lights, the Vatican apartments with a light here and there, formed a setting of peace which seemed to overflow into me, particularly when events occurred which plunged the congregation into gloom. Looking back over those difficult periods I am certain that if it were not for the example and leadership of Fr. Arrupe we would have lost courage. He transmitted to us both by word and example a sense of the working of God's providence and the life-through-death process in which we were engaged. We were faced with the humbling and humiliating fact that we experts who were supposed to discern the signs of the times could not discern a sign that was much closer to us. In many ways the misunderstandings did not "have to be," when one looks at them from a human point of view. The reports from the press about con-frontation, maneuver and counter-maneuver were the product of journalistic imagination. The sad fact is that pain was caused by people who were trying their utmost to act with responsibility to the Holy Father and to the Society. But I have probably got ahead of myself. All I wanted to do in these in-troductory remarks was to point out that for me personally the experience of those three months led by the diverse paths of joy and anguish to a deeper ex-perience of the ways of God, that "If Yahweh does not build the house, in vain the masons toil." The Procedure Followed in the Business of the Congregation In preparation for this congregation there had been four years of highly organized participation on the level of the local communities and the provinces. The extent of this participation varied. In general, however, it had a beneficial result in creating the awareness that this congregation would grow out of the discernment that took place on the local level rather than work from the top down. Perhaps some might consider that this was a waste of time and money when we measure the results of those years of preparation, and the little impact that it had directly on the congregation. However, the minimal result of this preparation was that at least we did not come into the work of the congregation cold, but had some awareness of the problems that confront us, as there were seen by a large segment of the Society. For those who are not familiar with the structure of the Society of Jesus, a few words of explanation may be helpful. In the Society of Jesus the supreme A Survey of the Thirty-Second General Congregation / 675 authority is vested in the General Congregation. It does not meet at regular in-tervals, but only on two occasions, either to elect a new superior general, or to face a particular state of affairs which can be handled only by the highest authority of the Society. Of the thirty-two congregations that have met in the four hundred and thirty-five years of the Society's history, all except seven have been called to elect a new superior general. When, therefore, in 1970 Fr. Arrupe decided to call a General Congregation to convene after appropriate preparation, he felt that the state of the Society needed to be reviewed. It was an opportune time, since ten years would have elapsed since Vatican II and our last congregation. Delegates to a General Congregation are basically of two kinds: the provincial superiors, who attend by right of office, who make up ap-proximately one-third of the membership of a congregation and the other two-thirds who are elected. The only delegates who were unable to attend the 32nd General Congregation were a few from behind the Iron Curtain. Their unoc-cupied desks remained an ever-present symbol to the assembly of the oppres-sion of the Church in various areas. In spite of these absences, there were two hundred thirty-six delegates present. In the Society of Jesus the agenda is made up after the congregation con-venes. It is based mainly on the postulates (requests) submitted either from in-dividual Jesuits or provinces. Contrary to what one might suspect, there is probably no more democratic legislative group than is to be found in the General Congregation. Any Jesuit can send in postulates either through his province or directly, as an individual to the General Congregation. All of these are considered on their merits independently of their source. Over one thousand postulates were submitted. After a preliminary analysis, it was seen that they could be organized according to ten categories. Ten commissions were set up roughly corresponding to these ten categories. Initially the commissions had a membership of about twenty-five each, com-posed of representatives from different parts of the Society. Later, for the sake of efficiency in composing the documents emerging from the commissions, the number was reduced to four or five. The amount of work that went into the final draft of the documents was enormous. The work of the commission would be submitted to the whole assembly, receive revisions (or even be re-jected), be returned to the commission; then again be submitted to the assembly, with a repetition of the same procedm:e, until the assembly was satisfied with it. The whole assembly convened in a large hall that had been especially renovated for the congregation. Electronic equipment was installed to provide simultaneous translation. Voting was done by means of a small switch at each desk. In the front of the hall in full view of all the delegates was a large elec-tronic board, with indicator lights arranged accordihg to the seating plan in the hail. This board registered the votes with a green light if affirmative or a red, if negative. At the top of the board was a place where the total affirmative and negative vote would register immediately after the vote was taken. All ~'~' ~ ~.~. 676;~ R~i~.w for Religious, Volume 34, 1975/5 voting~'~bhe exception," was public. The exception came at the request of the congregatiori ~hen it came to vote on the question of grades in the Society. Doubtless this pr0ce.dure was intended to provide the general with the oppor-tunity to vote in a way that would not compromise him in whatever future ac-tions he would have to take.as a result of the vote. The Main Themes Seventeen documents issued from the congregation, most of them originating from the ten commissions which had been established. Other documents came from special commissions appointed as the need arose. Though the documents differ in content, some common themes run throughout. Perhaps the main theme reflected in the documents is that of mission. Related to this is a reawakened awareness of the Society as a whole, of which the local communities are part. The Society, while it exists also for the sanc-tification of its members, takes its special meaning from its apostolic orienta-tion. This apostolic orientation is specified by its relationship to the Holy See, particularly through the Fourth Vow, and in its service to the Church through the promotion and defense of the faith. A characteristic of this apostolic orienta-tion is adaptability to the needs of particular times and places. In our day this involves an overriding concern to overcome the injustices which oppress so many millions of people. However, in all of its apostolic work, the goal and the means it uses are to be consistent with the tradition of the Society as set forth in its Formula of the Institute which sets forth its fundamental pontifical law. This ties in with the identity of the Society, a theme that is both the subject of one particular document and one that runs through all of the others as well. The Society is a priestly, apostolic body, bound to the Holy See in a special way for the defense and promotion of the faith. The sense of mission involves not only working with those who are op-pressed but it also involves becoming identified with them as far as this is possible. Our poverty, therefore, which has its juridical as well as evangelical aspects, takes on a particular experiential mode in so far as, by it, we can iden-tify with the poor. The decree that has to do with union of hearts and minds is also intimately related to the nature of the Society as an apostolic body. Ignatius clearly saw that the Society's apostolate depended first of all on the union of the members with God, and then derivatively on their union with one another. One theme which is conspicuous is that of repentence. The Society acknowledges that it has failed in recent years to live up to those characteristics which were suppose to distinguish it, such as obedience, loyalty to the Holy See, fidelity tO the principles of the religious life. The State of the Society One of the commissions set up early in the order of business was the one charged to examine the state of the Society. Its purpose was to form some A Survey of the Thirty-Second General Congregation / 677 kind of an evaluation of the condition of the Jesuit order at this point in its history, assessing both its weaknesses and its strengths. To provide this com-mission with input, the delegates met in small groups over a period of several days. These small groups were of two kinds: what were called "assistancy groups" (for example, all of the American Jesuits belong to one "assistancy," the French to another, etc.), and "language groups," composed of people from different countries who had some facility in their own and other languages (German-English, French-English, Spanish-French, etc.) These groups dis-cussed the state of the Society in reference to key points such as formation of Jesuits, religious observance, the apostolate. These sessions broadened the practical knowledge each of us had of the Society and helped to create among us an awareness of community. They were also informative, first of all in bringing us to realize that many of the problems were common, with varying degrees of acuteness, while others were peculiar to a particular section of the Society. A criticism which many of us in the western world resonated with came from one of the German provincials in my group when he said that the image that the Society in Germany gives is that of B~rgerlichkeit, which in English connotes a comfortable, gentlemanly, middle-class existence. On the other hand, the situation of the Jesuits from behind the Iron Cur-tain, some of whom were also in my language group, has spared them some of the enervating effects of secularization. For one reason, their apostolate, where they are able to exercise it, is mostly pastoral work; secondly, their precarious existence serves to keep their faith at a high level of vitality. The delegates from the Third World countries brought other emphases. From the Spanish speaking countries there was a strong orientation toward social change, bringing with it problems of political involvement and the degree to which such involvement could subscribe to an ideology which often had Marxist overtones. In other regions, such as Africa, Indonesia and the Far East, one of the main problems is "inculturation," embodying the faith and the spirit of the Society in forms peculiar to their own cultures. As part of this evaluation on the state of the Society, Fr. General himself gave a picture of the way he sees the Society at the present, as a body which is very much alive, but with certain illnesses. He also gave a detailed description of his own relationship with the Holy See and the other officials in the Vatican, providing afterwards an opportunity for the delegates to question or discuss any of the points he had brought up. The document on the state of the Society which came out as a result of all this exchange is not one of the papers published to the Society. It was intended only for the delegates and their work in the congregation itself. However, the document is not in fact that useful. Its main value was in providing the oppor-tunity for the delegates to familiarize,themselves with the state of the Society through their live exchanges with one another. A document of this kind by its nature remains general, and gives little sense of the extent and import of either the positive or negative points. 671~ / Review for Religious, l/olume 34, 1975/5 The Work of the Commissions As was mentioned above, ten commissions were formed, more or less along the lines of the categories of material received in the postulates. While a few others later came into being and some of the original ones were changed, these ten commissions formed pretty much the working base of the Congrega-tion. Risking over-simplification, they could be divided into those which looked mainly inward, for example, about our "grades," the Fourth Vow, for-mation, final incorporation into the Society (final vows), central government, the constitution of provincial and general congregations; those which looked outward, namely, the mission of the Society today, inculturation, the service of the Society to the Church; and finally those which look both inward and outward, for example, on union of hearts, the Jesuit today. Some comments on a few of the documents might contribute to a better understanding of them. 1. The Mission of the Society Today The decree which took up the lion's share of the time, and which provided the platform for most of the rhetoric was the one that dealt with the mission of the Society today. The very nature of the topic explains why it took so long to come up with a satisfactory formulation. It involves an articulation that had to bring together the old and the new: fidelity to the essentials of the Society's apostolic nature, and coming to grips with the needs of today. While such a formulation has its own difficulties, the problem was exacer-bated by an initially one-sided approach and by the impression that some gave of using language more appropriate to political parties than to a religious group attempting to clarify its mission. The initial approach was largely horizontal, too much concentrated on the socio-economic aspects, with too lit-tle of the priestly. In the effort to make the congregation conscious of the urgency of these problems there was a tendency to absolutize what was in fact only one aspect of the Society's apostolate. One of the observations offered by Cardinal Villot in the letter in which he com-municated the Pope's authorization to promulgate the work of the congregation pertains to this decree. He stresses an important point, which is already present in the decree, but which deserves emphasis, namely, that the total work of evangelization has a comprehen-sion that cannot be reduced to working for social justice, and secondly that there is a priestly way of working for social justice that is distinct from the proper role of the laity. No one can judge from the final document how much work went into it. If one were tothink of a carpenter shop filled with shavings, and one tiny cabinet to show for the work, the comparison would be apt. The final decree, though somewhat diffuse, manages to relate the fundamental apostolic orientation of the Jesuit life as a priestly order to the promotion of faith which in the real-life situation is inseparable from the promotion of justice. 2. Poverty The. subject of poverty has continued to bedevil our recent congregations. A Survey of the Thirty-Second General Congregation ] 679 As everyone knows, there are two main aspects to what is called religious poverty: the juridical and the evangelicalwor the personal appropriation of the values of evangelical poverty. The decree on poverty, probably the most im-portant document to come out of the congregation, has two parts, the first be-ing more inspirational and exhortatory, while the second is juridical, setting down a basic reform in the structures of our institutional practice of poverty. It is not possible to enter into the technicalities of the juridical part of the decree since it presupposes some knowledge of the structure of the Society. Suffice it to say that the decree formulates what is, to my mind, a creative way of realizing for our own times the Ignatian ideal of poverty, taking into con-sideration the different socio-economic conditions of the twentieth and six-teenth centuries. On the personal side, frugality, the sense of being part of the kenotic mystery of Christ, dependence on the community, and identification with the poor are stressed. in his letter, Cardinal Villot makes two points concerning this decree. After commenting on the fact that the Holy Father was aware of the immense amount of work that had gone into this decree, which attempts to relate the traditional practice of poverty in the Society to the needs of our times, he says that considering the newness of the approach, it would be better to promulgate the decree ad experimentum, to be reviewed in the next General Congregation. He also cautions that the decree should not jeopardize the Society's traditional approach to gratuity of ministries. 3. Grades and the Fourth Vow No other subject discussed by the congregation received as much attention from the press as that of our "grades" and the Fourth Vow. As I remarked above, the delegates had proceeded in a spirit of obedience to the Holy Father's wishes, but in the spirit of Ignatian obedience which allows represen-tation of one's case to the superior, with full openness, however, to the final decision of the superior. But, as I mentioned above, the delegates were not aware of an important communication from the Holy Father which he had given to one of the officials manifesting his mind clearly on the topic. We were made aware of this special communication only after we had proceeded in good faith to take up the question, and to give an "indicative" votewone that is not definitive, but from which it is possible to infer the mind of the delegates. The indicative vote was overwhelmingly in favor of abolishing grades. One can imagine the consternation of the Holy Father when he read of the results of this in the Acta, a copy of which he received regularly, especially when he learned that we had not been given his specific directive on this matter which had been communicated to one of the officials of the congregation. This unfortunate series of events precipitated a strong response from the Vatican. First there was a letter from Cardinal Villot in the name of the Holy Father expressing his consternation at the proceedings. Later there was a letter from the Holy Father himself, tin which he expressed his wonderment, pain, disappointment. What the delegates found particularly difficult to understand in Cardinal Viilot's letter was the strong language used about the failure of Fr. Arrupe to exercise the proper kind of leadership that could have headed off this series of unfortunate events. I~1~0 / Review for Religious, Volume 34, 1975/5 While the delegates were still reeling from this unexpected turn of events, they learned of the directive that had been given by Cardinal Villot to one of the officials to be given to the congregation. The official explained before the whole congregation that he had not understood that he was supposed to transmit this directive to the delegates in any official way. This was a costly mistake. Yet in some ways I think it was a felix culpa because of the benefits which came out of it, as I shall comment below. At this point I should say something about the meaning of the grades and the Fourth Vow for those unfamiliar with the Society's structure and legisla-tion. When the idea of the Society was evolving in the mind and experience of Ignatius, one of the features that emerged was a conception of having membership in the Society on different levels, or "grades." For those with their final vows, there were to be three levels or grades. First of all, there are the "solemnly professed," with solemn vows of poverty, chastity, obedience, and a Fourth Vow of special obedience to the Holy Father in regard to mis-sions, that is, apostolic commissions. In the past one hundred years about 40% of Jesuit priests have belonged to this grade. In the mind of Ignatius the professed were supposed to exemplify to a special degree what he looked for in every Jesuit, proficiency in learning, a high degree of virtue, mobility, a life supported only by free-will offerings, exemplifying in their lives a similar relationship to the Vicar of Christ that the disciples showed toward Christ Himself. In addition, key positions in government were reserved to the professed, such as the office of provincial. Again, only the professed could take part in a General Congregation. In the second place, there were priests whose final vows were simple, not solemn. Without going into detail on the differences between solemn and sim-ple vows, it is sufficient to remark here that for one thing they differ accord-ing to the seriousness of the reasons needed for dispensation. This grade is that of "spiritual coadjutor." Members of this grade do not take the vow of special obedience to the Holy Father. In the third place, there are "temporal coadjutors" or brothers. Their final vows are also simple vows of poverty, chast.ity, and obedience. They have the same apostolic purpose as the priests, but have a different way of contributing to the realization of it. The grades are a feature that are peculiar to the Society. As one would sur-mise, the distinction has not been an unmixed blessing in the history of the Society. Though Ignatius never conceived of a Society which would have privileged and unprivileged castes, human nature being what it is, the results were predictable. Since human nature associates power with authority, the professed came to be considered as a kind of first-class type of Jesuit, and the non-professed as second-class. In recent years there has been much historical research on the origin of the ~grades. Also there has been considerable discussion whether the distinction of ~the grades was inextricably tied up with the vision of St. Ignatius, or whether it was something that with the change of times no longer served a purpose. The A Survey of the Thirty-Second General Congregation Thirty-first General Congregation did not face the question head-on. It con-tented itself with broadening the norms by which a person could be admitted to profession. It also transmitted the final solution of the problem to the Thirty-second General Congregation. The intervention of the Holy Father did not directly concern grades. He limited himself to the question of the Fourth Vow, which he said could not be extended to non-priests. This intimates that the Holy Father was concerned not simply about a juridical division in the Society which could be changed by another law, but about a theological question concerning the relationship between the priestly identity of those who take the Fourth Vow and the mis-sions which are the direct object of the vow. Again (I am speculating) the intervention of the Holy Father might be a healthy reminder in this age of blurring all distinctions for the sake of dubious notions of equality, that differentiation in functions does not necessarily mean division. Reserving the Fourth Vow to priests helps to keep the priestly focus of the apostolic work of the Society which has characterized it from the begin-ning. This need not create first- and second-class citizens, but it could engender an awareness that there are different gifts within the same body by which the same goal is realized. 4. The Union of Hearts A commission without a name was set up as a kind of catchall to handle four topics that on the surface had little unity: the question of union and pluralism, communal discernment, religious life, and community life. Since I was a member of this commission from beginning to end, I feel more in touch with it than with the other commissions. It was a kind of a "Benjamin" com-mission compared with those set up to handle the "important" topics like mis-sion, grades, poverty, etc. Ironically, Benjamin was suddenly given an importance late in the con-gregation. The Holy Father in his intervention had commented on the fact that he had heard a lot about mission and justice, but little about renewal of the religious life, even though we had already been at it for two months. So all of a sudden the pressure was on to come up with something significant along those lines. The final document on union of hearts is a contemporary commentary, on Chapter One of Part VIII of our Constitutions, "Aids Toward the Uniori of Hearts." Under this heading the commission found a focus which could unite the various topics given to it. Much effort was spent in an attempt to formulate a clear statement on the subject of union and pluralism. Many of the postulates asked for such a state-ment, some of them stressing the harm coming from internal divisions, others emphasizing the need for a "healthy pluralism." Eventually the commission decided that a theoretical statement would not be helpful. Instead it for-mulated, along with principles on which union of hearts is based, certain prac-tical directives on prayer, community life, sacraments, and communal discern-ment. 682 / Review for Religious, Volume 34, 1975/5 The subject of communal discernment received a lot of discussion. Some wanted to turn it into a kind of Aladdin's lamp which could call forth some kind of a jinni. Others were more skeptical over the possibility of univer-salizing the practicableness of such a process. The final statement in the docu-ment attempts to locate communal discernment within the spectrum of various kinds of spiritual exchange within a community, not exaggerating its role, but on the other hand recognizing the value that it has when the right dispositions and circumstances are present. Incidentally about midway through the congregation, an ad hoc commis-sion was also established to see whether the congregation itself could not carry on its work through a method of communal discernment. After a couple of meetings, it dissolved, because it felt that proceeding according to a formal method of communal discernment was impractical for the congregation because of the large numbers involved and the wide range of subjects on the agenda. 5. The Jesuit Today In the light of the diversity that has appeared in Jesuit life over the past ten years, it was felt necessary to have a statement which would describe the meaning of being Jesuit today. The congregation was presented with five different papers, each of which approached the subject of Jesuit identity from different points of view. They opted for the one which now appears among the official decrees. The decree relates Jesuit identity today in a very simple way to our Igna-tian tradition, to our apostolic mission, and to the source, center, and goal of Jesuit life, which is the imitation of Christ. The Holy See and the General Congregation We have already commented on the intervention of the Holy See in regard to the subject of extending the Fourth Vow to non-priests. However, this is only an application of something which is much broader. The interest of the Holy See in this congregation is unparalleled in the whole history of the Society. Perhaps this comes from the fact that Pope Paul had a keen sense of its importance for the Society and for the Church itself. I have just finished once again going over the papal documents, beginning with the letter written to Fr. Arrupe on September 15, 1973, which the Holy Father wrote after Fr. General had announced the convening of the General Congregation, and concluding with the covering letter which was added to the approbation of the decrees. There is one theme running through all of these communications: the necessity of being faithful to the distinctive nature of the Society as it is expressed in the Formula of the Institute, a distinctiveness which has proved its fruitfulness over hundreds of years of experience. Specifically, the Society is described time and time again as a priestly apostolic order, with a special bond of obedience to the Holy See. There is, to be sure, a stress on the need to adapt to the needs of our times, but such adap- A Survey of the Thirty-Second General Congregation I 683 tation must always maintain the essentials as these are to be found in the For-mula. 1 Pope Paul wrote of his concern for the Society not only as the Vicar of Christ who has responsibility for the whole Church, but in terms which, unless I am mistaken, are unprecedented in the history of this relationship between the Society and the Holy See. He speaks of himself as the one who has the chief responsibility for the preservation of the Formula of the Institute, "supremus 'Formulae Instituti' fideiussor," and the chief protector and preserver of the Formula, "Formulae Instituti supremus tutor ac custos." It would not be true to say that all of the delegates responded with un-qualified enthusiasm to the interventions of the Holy Father. Though all recognized his right in abstracto to intervene, a~nd the corresponding attitude of obedience to which we were obliged and, which all gave without contesta-tion, nevertheless when the interventions came in this particular way, with these particular words and in this particular timing, there were signs of ruffled feelings. In case anyone needed reminding, we learned in the process that the delegates as a whole, while good and responsible men, are not yet ready for canonization. However, we did see in an exemplary way the incarnation of Jesuit obedience in at least one person, Fr. Arrupe. This was not something he did just "to give good example." His whole life has been so totalized by his faith that even his perceptions pick up the reality beneath the appearance. He senses the presence of the Vicar of Christ beneath the appearance of Pope Paul. The concern of the Holy Father shown in so many ways over the past few years and in a special way through his vigilance over the activities of the con-gregation are to my way of thinking a special grace for the Society. In a way that we never planned on, the interventions of the Holy Father brought us to a level of faith we would not have reached by ourselves. It also brought us to a realization that the Society is a servant of the Church. In some small way the history of this congregation parallels the description of Peter's death, about whom our Lord said, "You will stretch out your hands, and somebody else will put a belt round you and take you where you would rather not go" (Jn 21:18). Father Arrupe I have already mentioned that if it were not for Fr. Arrupe's example and leadership the congregation would have capsized under the difficulties it ran into. He constantly called us to a vision we needed in order to see what was happening from a supernatural point of view, and in order to avoid the traps of tNot many Jesuits are aware either of the content or the importance of the Formula of the Institute. Yet, even more than the Constitutions, it is the basic rule or fundamental code of legisla-tion in the Society. It contains the results of the deliberations of Ignatius and his companions in 1539 which provided the first sketch of the Institute of the Society of Jesus. It was first approved by Paul Iil in 1540, then again by Julius 111 in 1550 in a slightly revised form. 684 / Review for Religious, l/olume 34, 1975/5 self-pity or recrimination that were only too present. Like one of th~ prophets, he reminded us to see what was happening as coming from the hand of God, and to use it for our own purification and conversion. In a talk given to the delegates on the second day of the congregation, he spoke of the answer that we had to give to the needs of our times. It should be the foolishness of the cross by which Christ redeemed the world, which is the wisdom of God. "In the absolute foolishness of the Cross, the emptying of all things, we find the key to the ultimate solution to the problems of today." In a way we did not foresee, those words were prophetic. Again, he exercised his leadership by leaving the congregation free to follow the paths where its deliberations would take it. In its authority, the General Congregation is superior to the general. Fr. Arrupe always acted with full awareness of this fact. On occasion he would let the delegates know how he felt about certain things, not to pressure them, but in order to make this part of the input of their deliberations. The congregation showed its appreciation of his leadership over the past ten year,s in many ways. There are few who have had to pilot a ship through such a stormy period. The burden has not been easy. But there is always evi-dent in him the same buoyancy and infectious joy that somehow puts him in touch with the Stillpoint that is beyond, above, beneath the storm. Yet, while realizing his outstanding qualities, the delegates did not apotheosize Fr. Arrupe. They realized that with all of his gifts there were also limitations. In fact, the decree which set up a council for the general was framed mainly to supply the kind of help which might balance out the one-sidedness of some of his gifts. Differences Between This Congregation and the Previous Ones The Thirty-second (2ongregati0n had many characteristics which made it very different from any preceding General Congregation. Some of the more important ones might be the following. As was mentioned above, there was a four-year period of preparation for this congregation which was unprecedented. Similarly a few months before the actual opening day a special preparatory commission met to organize the material. This was the first General Congregation where, from the start, traditional rules of secrecy were lifted, except for the prohibition against making public either the names of delegates who spoke on the different questions, or the tally of the votes. Five Jesuit journalists were given free access to the meetings. They published a report about every week that kept the Society informed of the progress of affairs. In this Congregation for the first time the voices of the Third World were not only heard in larger numbers, but they showed a vitality that added zest to the meetings. However, even among these voices there were different accents. All of them were keenly aware of the injustices which oppress their peoples by reason of the exploitation of the capitalistic countries. However, the Spanish- A Survey of the Thirty-Second General Congregation / 685 speaking delegates tended to stress political and social involvement; the Africans continually reminded us of the need for the sense of the transcendent, the specifically God-and-Christ-centered nature of our apostolate; and those from the Far East, while keeping these same perspectives, also stressed the need for approaches that were directed both toward personal conversion and change of the structures. No other congregation has met at a period when there has been such a crisis in vocations. Over the past ten years, the Society has diminished from about 36,000 to 30,000 members. While in some places the number of novices has begun to pick up again, the overall picture remains dim. In 1965 there were 1902 novices compared to 705 in 1974. In the United States there are about 200 novices, showing a slight increase over the past few years. In some coun-tries, however, the picture is dismal. Spain, for example, had 269 novices in 1965. In 1974 it had only 30. Germany had 114 in 1965. At present it has about 30. Similar figures could be given for France, Belgium, Holland, Italy. When one compares the number of scholastics presently in their training with the number of priests engaged in apostolic work, there is only one scholastic for every five priests. This will seriously change the scope of our apostolic work over the next fifty years. Another unique factor was the everpresent concern of the Holy See in regard to the preparation for the congregation, the things taken up, and the final results, as I have mentioned above. The theme was repeated over and over again: be faithful to yourselves, especially to your identity as it is ex-pressed in your Formula of the Institute. The only specific feature which was singled out in the expressions of this concern was fidelity to the lgnatian idea of the Fourth Vow, both positively in the fact that it should be a vital factor in the life of the Society, and negatively in that it should not be extended to non-priests. Again, the fact of asking the congregation to submit its decrees to the Holy See for its approval before they were promulgated was unprecedented. The approbation was given with, in some instances, a few qualifications. Another characteristic which distinguishes this congregation from begin-ning to end and is evident in the decrees is thee theme of repentance. There is a mea culpa, mea maxima culpa evident in the Introductory Decree, the Decree on Mission, on The Jesuit Today, as well as in others. The Society is painfully conscious of its failings over the past ten years. Particularly in contrast to the Thirty-first Congregation, with its stress on freedom, subsidiarity and conscience, this one stressed the complementary features of the limits of pluralism, the need for norms that are applicable for Jesuit life as a whole, the responsibility of superiors for a greater firmness in governing, the importance of the manifestation of conscience both for the spiritual direction of the individual, and the good of the apostolate, the value of communal discernment when the proper conditions are realized. This congregation, unlike others, had a unifying theme throughout: the mission of the Society today. This did not happen because it was planned. There was a kind of unconscious dynamic at work which imperceptibly gave 686 / Review for Religious, Volume 34, 1975/5 this orientation to the various decrees. The consciousness of mission, if fully appropriated in all of its richness, could do much to revivify the Society, over-coming in the first place a great deal of individualism and self-will, and bring-ing about a greater sense of the living presence of Christ sending through His Church, and through superiors. In the actual procedure of the congregation there were unique features arising from the sharing that took place in smaller groups. One of the most im-portant parts of our daily life was the concelebrated Mass which was celebrated according to the different language groupings. Finally this congregation is probably distinctive in the fact that a little over half of the delegates were under forty-nine years old (122 out of the 236). Strengths and Weaknesses of the Congregation Like all meetings of this kind there are both strengths and weaknesses to be found. I could not resist the temptation to say that one of the strengths was un-doubtedly sheer psychological tenacity to "keep at it" for over three months when everyone was exhausted both from the work itself and the emotional strain. But the main strength of the congregation is the sense of solidarity manifest among the delegates and throughout the Society, a solidarity coming from a vision based on faith and brought into an Ignatian focus through the Spiritual Exercises and our Jesuit tradition. However, I think that there are also some deficiences evident in the work and structure of the congregation. Some way has to be found to expedite the carrying out of business. Though it was an attempt to get the input from the whole Society, on balance, the analysis of the postulates took up too much time. And questions of order consumed interminable hours. In regard to particular questions, in retrospect, it might have been a serious mistake not to have separated in some way the question of the Fourth Vow from that of grades. While they are related, they are distinct. And the interven-tion of the Holy See was concerned with the Fourth Vow, and not directly with grades. Again the expression given to the relationship of the Society to the Holy Father is "safe," but it creates the impression of one who is driving a car with one foot on the accelerator and the other on the brake. It does not seem to ex-press the 61an of Jesuit spirituality in its fullness. One reason for this inade-quacy stems from the fact that the congregation came to the topic only in the last few days before it ended, and the members did not have the mental energy or the time to do justice to it. Another difficulty is in the formulation itself. Attempts to combine both the unreserved expression of the spirit of loyalty and the juridical aspect of limits tend to cancel one another out. For example, there were numerous attempts, all sterile, to speak of "mission" in relationship to "doctrine," wherein loyalty would be unreserved in regard to mission, but conditioned in regard to doctrine. Consequently the resulting statement is bland, not nuanced. This will probably be one of the main topics that will have to be taken up at the next General Congregation. A Survey of the Thirty-Second General Congregation Another deficiency is the fact that the congregation treated those problems which are more obvious because they have a certain shrillness--the problem, for example, of global injustice. Just as important, however, but without the volume being turned up, are questions touching man and technology, par-ticularly the genetic manipulation of man. Again, these questions will probably have to be faced by the next congregation. What to Hope For If the Society as a whole could translate what is set down in the decrees from formulation into fact, it would be renewed. In turn it would become a great force in renewing the Church and the world. What hope is there for such a renewal? The parable of the sower and the seed has its application to the Society as well as to the Church. There are those whose roots are not deep enough to withstand trials. There are others whose life of faith is choked by cares and riches. But then there are the many who do yield fruit, some, a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. Decrees, however excellent, are no substitute for the gospel-call to totality. To the degree that individuals open themselves to the radical call of the gospel will they also open themselves to the decrees, which after all are only a faltering attempt to express this radical call in a way that is both Ignatian and contemporary. There are many factors which will contribute to energizing this renewal. Many feel a need for a deeper life of prayer. The importance of spiritual direc-tion is expressing itself strongly. A fuller appropriation of the Spiritual Exercises ¯ through the directed retreat is a great blessing. Again, an important factor is the reinforcement and leadership given to the Society by other religious con-gregations which have already led the way in the renewal of religious life by bringing their lives more in conformity with gospel simplicity and single-mindedness. We can also hope that we will not repeat the mistakes of the past ten years. Considering the turmoil and confusion coming from "future shock," these mistakes are perhaps understandable. But no organization can exist in a state of continuous convulsion. Many of the delegates, in searching for answers to the problems which faced us "discovered" our Thirty-first Congregation, which someone described as the great congregation in the history of the Society. We found that in many cases we could not do better, in fact could hardly come up to the decrees of the Thirty-first. But we also felt like a traveler who had spent hours trying to find his way only to discover after much meandering that there was a map in his glove compartment. The documents of the Thirty-first General Congreg -tion were such a map. The logical question, then, is: why were not the decrees implemented? A still more haunting question is: will the same thing happen to the decrees of this congregation? This was a problem which preoccupied the delegates throughout the whole time. Meetings were held to discuss implementation. But as the saying goes, 61~! / Review for Religious, l/olume 34, 1975/5 there is many a slip,between the cup and the lip. How much will the Society be able to drink in from the decrees? One of the main sources of hope, in addition to those mentioned above, is a renewed sense of solidarity and confidence among the provincials, and a strong sense of support in Fr. General. In the past ten years very often inaction resulted not from a failure of courage or faith, but because of a blurring of ideas concerning the fundamentals of religious life, often enough because of contradictory views bandied by theologians. The provincials obviously have not suddenly received some formula of universal application to solve all problems, but there is a greater sense of assurance and direction. The weight of implementation turns around the local superiors with the support of the provincials. There is hope here also, because the superiors themselves have a greater sense of their solidarity and of their role as spiritual leaders of the local communities. Ultimately the problem is always the same: conversion. It is something never accomplished once and for all, but continues to repeat its call. There are the perennial obstacles to conversion: inertia, self-love, self-will, the evil spirits that affect us all as individuals. However, it especially in the way that the collectivity reenforces the inertia in individuals that we find the main obstacle today. Group-think and group-feel, in large part created through the media, produce a kind of closedness that filters down from a collective level to in-dividuals, bringing about imperceptibly a closedness in the individual. Each one, young or old, is caught in some degree on this split level of collectivity and self, and suffers from the unfreedom of the collectivity. Jesuits already engaged in the apostolate have to discern how much this group-think affects their personal lives, impeding their personal conversion and the fruitfulness of their apostolate. Jesuits who are in formation have to do the same. The responsibility of those who are in charge of training the younger Jesuits is great. The importance of the congregation comes not from the written decrees but from the support that these decrees give to creating in the Society a different kind of group-think, a "group-feel" based upon the gospel. "My name is legion." Legions can be driven out only by legions. The demonic in collectivity can only be driven out by the embodiment of holiness in collec-tivity. The Society will rise or fall to the extent that the good will of the in-dividual is supported and sustained by a corporate realization of sanctity. No individual can abdicate the responsibility for his own conversion. But in a special way superiors have a responsibility for the whole group. Newman remarked somewhere that good is never done except at the expense of those who do it, and truth is never enforced except at the sacrifice of its propounders. Reformers and prophets have never been well received. Perhaps superiors are destined to enter into that role, not, however, with a martyr complex or heaviness of heart. We have a living example in Fr. Arrupe that it is a role that is compatible with a deep joy. Aiding and facilitating the work of the superiors are the communities A Survey of the Thirty-Second General Congregation / 689 themselves which are called upon, through community meetings and prayerful discernment, to face their own response to the gospel call to simplicity, and to bridge the gap between the radical response to which we have vowed our lives and the actual way in which we live them. When I asked one of the delegates who was in great part responsible for the formulation of the decree on poverty how optimistic he was about its im-plementation, he said: "When I think of human nature, I am not very op-timistic. But when I think of the power of the Spirit, 1 am hopeful. Everything depends on the Spirit. Legislation can support; it cannot convert. Of ourselves we are weak, but with the power of the Spirit we can overcome, overcome even ourselves." POSITION OPEN The Department of Theology in the School of Religious Studies of the Catholic University of America announces the opening, beginning January, 1976, for: Assistant, Associate or Full Professor in the field of Christian Spiritual Theology. Applications should be sent to:Chairperson Department of Theology Catholic University of America Washington, DC 20064 The Catholic University of America is an equal ol~portunity employer. The Recovery =of Religious Life Bro. Raymond L. Fitz, S.M. Bro. Lawrence J. Cada, S.M. Both authors belong to the Marianist Training Network. Brother Raymond Fitz is director of the Marianist Institute of Christian Renewal and associate professor of Engineering Management and Electrical Engineering at the University of Dayton. He lives at 410 Edgar Avenue; Dayton, Ohio 45410. Brother Lawrence Cada is chairman of the Department of Science and Mathematics at Borromeo College of Ohio and lives at 315 East 149 Street; Cleveland, Ohio 44110. I. Introduction~ How long will the turmoils now besetting religious life last? Are they almost over, and has the process of returning to a more normal situation begun? Or will things stay unsettled for some time to come? This article will argue for the likelihood of the latter alternative. On the basis of the models and analyses presented, the article will try to show that religious life in America is undergo-ing a profound transition, which will take another twenty to twenty-five years to run its full course. Moreover, the study will seek to demonstrate that social disintegration (loss of membership, lack of vocations, collapse of institutions, etc.) of religious communities in the Church will probably continue for at least the next ten to fifteen years. The most significant questions facing religious life in those ten to fifteen years will center on "death and dying." Many aspects of the life as it has been known will be passing away. Only after these questions are accepted and creatively answered can religious life be expected to be revitalized and renewed within the Church. This process will demand both a recovery of that deep dynamic impulse which first gave rise to religious life in the Church and a recovery from the malaise through which it is now passing: tThis is a draft of a work in progress. Feedback on the content and style of this paper would be ap-preciated. 690 The Recovery of Religious Life hence the title "The Recovery of Religious Life." Although much of this arti-cle argues for the plausibility of these assertions and their implications for the future of religious life, there will also be provided an explanation of how the data were collected and organized, and of what was called important or unim-portant. In this sense, these assertions represent a starting bias that informs the entire article. As such, this bias merits being stated at the outset. The approach taken in this article2 is to explore the questions about the future of religious life from a historical and sociological point of view. In the first two parts of the article, two models are developed: a historical model of the evolution of religious life as a movement in the Church and a sociological model dealing with the organizational life cycle of an individual religious com-munity. Then, in the final sections of the article, these two models will be used to address questions about the present condition of religious life and its future. Every model represents a simplification of reality, and the models in this arti-cle are no exception. To arrive at the questions posed in the final sections, the article will digest and condense large amounts of material drawn from a variety of sources that are partially indicated in the notes. It is hoped that this simplification is not a serious distortion of the facts and that it will arrange the historical and other data in such a way as to provide an overview from which some tentative generalizations can be made. II. The Evolution of Religious Life: A Historical Model Religious communities in the life of the church are not fixed and static en-tities. Taken together they make up a historical process unfolding over time, and religious life can be viewed as a significant social movement in the history of Western Culture. As parts of a movement, religious communities arose in response to dramatic social change in the Church and in the larger cultural and political arena of Western Civilization. They became a dynamic force in shap-ing and cha~ging the Church and secular culture. They have been both a cause and an effect of social change: the founding of religious communities has fre-quently been a response to major developments of society, and the evolution of the Church and Western Culture has been significantly influenced by the life and work of religious communities. As in all social movements, the role of myth, the emergence of belief systems, the fashioning of institutions and social structures, and the role of personal transformation and commitment are central to the evolution of religious life. The dynamic interplay of all these elements creates, sustains and limits the histo~'ical unfolding of religious communities. ~This article grew from a variety of experiences over an extended period of time with multiple presentations at workshops and reflections from many religious. Especially helpful were Fr. Norbert Brockman, S.M., Sr. Gertrude Foley, S.C., Bro. Thomas Giardino, S.M., and Sr. Carol Lichtenberg, S.N.D. The scheme of dividing the history of religious life into the five eras presented in the second part of this article was first suggested in a lecture given by Fr. David Fleming, S.M., at the University of Dayton in December, 1971. 692 / Review for Religious, Volume 34, 1975/5 A. Organizing Concepts One way to view the unfolding of religious life within the Church is to look at how the image of religious life has evolved over time and what implications this evolution has had for the functioning of individual religious communities.3 The term dominant image of religious life is used here to name a multifaceted reality that includes how religious view their life and its functions and role within the Church and the world during a given period. The term is also meant to indicate the sense of history which permeates religious life at a given time. How do people, both the religious and the members of society at large, picture the past of this way of life? What kind of future are religious supposed to be creating? The process by which the dominant image of religious life evolves in time can be characterized by a repeated sequence of identifiable phases of change: - Growth Phase. A relatively long period of elaboration and develop-ment of the dominant image of religious life and its implications. - Decline Phase. A period of crisis in which the dominant image of religious life comes under strong question. Religious communities seem no longer suited to the aspirations of the age. Religious com-munities lose their purpose, drift into laxity, and disintegrate. Transition Phase. A comparatively short period of revitalization in which variations of the dominant image of religious life emerge and one of these is gradually selected as the new dominant image. - Growth Phase under a New Image. A period of elaboration and development under the new dominant image of religious life. The supposition that religious life has passed through a succession of such phases of growth, decline, and transition is the basis of a model that can be used to organize and interpret the data of the history of religious life.4 The remainder of this section is devoted to illustrating a way this model might be constructed. 3Some sources used to clarify the notion of dominant image were Fred Polak, The hnage of the Future, translated and abridged by Elise Boulding (San Francisco: Jassey-Bass, 1973); Changing Images of Man, Policy Research Report No. 4, Center for the Study of Social Policy, Stanford Research Institute, May, 1974; and Kenneth E. Boulding, The Image: Knowledge in Life and Society (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1961). *Some sources used to clarify the notion of social evolution were Stephen Toulmin, Human Understanding-I (Princeton: P. U. P., 1972); Anthony F. C. Wallace, "'Paradigmatic Processes in Cultural Change," American Anthropologist (Vol. 74, 1972), pp. 467-478; Donald T. Campbell, "'Variation and Selective Retention in Socio-Cultural Evolution," in H. R. Barringer, G. I. Blanksten, and R. W. Mack (¢ds.), Social Change in Developing Areas (Cambridge, Mass.: Schenkman, 1965); Edgar S. Dunn, Economic and Social Development." A Process of Social Learn-ing (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins U. P., 1971); and Thomas S. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1962). The Recovery of Religious Life / 693 The following questions have been used in fashioning the model. First, there are questions about variation that deal with searching and experiment-ing. Under what conditions do variations appear in the dominant image of religious life? If these variations lead in certain directions, what factors in culture, the Church, or religious life itself influenced the choice of those direc-tions? Second, there are questions about selection. What determines which variations in the dominant image of religious life are selected out to serve as essential elements of a new image of religious life? How do members of religious communities distinguish well-founded and properly justified variations from those which are precipitous, not well thought out, and hasty? ¯ Finally, there are questions about retention that deal with incorporating and establishing the new. How are selected variations incorporated into religious communities? What processes are needed? What set of factors distinguishes in-novations which endure from those which disappear quickly? B. Major Eras in the Evolution of Religious Life Using the concepts described above, the history of religious life can be divided into five main periods: the eras of the Desert Fathers, Monasticism, the Mendicant Orders, the Apostolic Orders, and the Teaching Congregations) The description of these eras given in this section constitutes the historical model that will be used in the final portion of this article. 1. Era of the Desert Fathers The first period was the Era of the Desert Fathers. Following the earliest manifestations of religious life in the mode of consecrated virgins and widows within the Christian communities of the persecuted Church, ther~ emerged the image of the religious as the ascetic holy person. The description of the her-mit's life given by Athanasius in his Life of Anthony crystallized an ideal which inspired both solitary anchorites and many communities of cenobites. The desert was seen as the domain of the demons to which they had retreated after being driven out of the cities by the triumph of the recently established Church. It was to this "desert" that generous men and women withdrew to 5Factual and historical data on the history of religious life were gathered from such standard sources as The Catholic Encyclopedia (1907), The New Catholic Encyclopedia (1967), the An-nuario Pontificio, The Official Catholic Directory, and The Catholic Almanac. Some of the other sources on this topic were Raymond Hostie, S.J., Vie et mort des ordres religieux (Paris: Descl~e de Brouwer, 1972); David Knowles, O.S.B., Christian Monasticism (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1969); Humbert M. Vicaire, O.P., The Apostolic Life (Chicago: Priory Press, 1966); Derwas J. Chitty, The Desert a City (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1964); Owen Chadwick, John Cassian, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: C. U. P., 1968); William Hinnebusch, O.P., "'How the Dominican Order Faced Its Crises," Review for Religious (Vol. 32, No. 6, November, 1973), pp. 1307-1321; William A. Hinnebusch, O.P., The History of the Dominican Order, 2 vols. (New York: Alba House, 1966, 1973); Teresa Ledochowska, O.S.U., Angela Merici and the Company of St. Ursula, 2 vols. (Rome: Ancora, 1969); William V. Bangert, S.J., A History of the Society of Jesus (St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1972); and Adrien Dansette, Religious History of Modern France, 2 vols. (New York: Herder and Herder, 1961). 69t~ / Review for Religious, lZolume 34, 1975/5 carry on the Church's important work of doing battle with the devil in the wilderness as Christ had done long ago. In this way the desert came to be seen as a place of austere beauty, where the monk was trained in the ways of perfec-tion. He returned from time to time into the midst of his fellow Christians, who saw in him the power to do good--healing the sick, casting out demons, comforting the sorrowful with gentle words, reconciling the estranged, and above all urging everyone to put nothing in the world before the love of Christ. This image captured the imagination of the Christian world as news about the Desert Fathers spread from Egypt to all points of the Roman empire. Throughout the 4th century monasteries sprang up on all the shores of the Mediterranean. By the 5th century, the golden age had begun to fade. In the East, the monks had become embroiled in doctrinal controversy. In the West, TABLE 1: ERA OF THE DESERT FATHERS (200-500) Dominant Image of Religious Life. The ideal of religious life is the holy ascetic who seeks " the perfection of Christ as a solitary or in community with a group of monks. Disciples withdraw into the "desert" and place themselves under the care of a master ascetic who teaches them the ways of perfection. They live nearby as hermits or gather in cenobia or monasteries where the master is the superior. The monk prays, mortifies himself, does battle with the devil for the sake of the Church, and spends his life seeking union with Christ. 2nd and 3rd Centuries 251 Anthony horn Consecrated virgins and widows live a form of 271 Anthony withdraws into the desert RL within Christian communities of the early 292 Pachomius born Church during the persecution. 4th Century 313 Edict of Milan 325 Pachomius founds cenobium 356 Anthony ~lies 357 Athanasius writes Life of Anthony 360 Basil founds monastery in Cappadocia 363 Martin founds monastery in Gaul 376 Melania founds monastery on Mount of Olives 393 Augustine founds monastic group in Hip-po 399 Cassian, disciple of Evagrius, migrates from Egypt to West Hermits and cenobites flourish in the Egyptian desert. Various forms of solitary and com-munity RL spread around eastern rim of the Mediterranean (Palestine, Syria, Cappadocia). First monasteries are founded in the West. 5th Century 410 Alaric sacks Rome RL continues to expand in the East. Spread of 415 Cassian founds monastery in Marseille wandering monks and various kinds of 455 Vandals sack Rome monasteries in the West while the western half 459 Simon the Stylite dies of the Roman Empire crumbles. 476 End of western Roman Empire 1st TRANSITION: SPREAD OF BENEDICT'S RULE The Recovery of Religious Life / 69t~ the foundations of Roman civilization weakened under the onslaught of the barbarian tribes, and the ties between the eastern and western halves of the Empire began to break apart. The monasteries in Gaul and other parts of the moribund West became refugee cloisters, where the monks gathered the few treasures of civilization they could lay hold of. As dusk settled on the glories of imperial Rome, the stage was set for the rise of feudal Europe and with it the next period in the evolution of religious life. 2. Era of Monasticism The next period was the Era of Monasticism. In his attempt to regularize religious life as "a life with God in separation from the world," Benedict produced a new dominant image of religious life. This image was not only a correction of the abuses which had crept in during the 5th and 6th centuries, it also, and more importantly, turned out to be a successful adaptation of religious life to the feudal society of the Dark Ages and the early medieval period. Benedict's short and practical Rule furnished workable guidelines for all monastic activity and every age and class of monks. It combined an uncom-promising spirituality with physical moderation and flexibility. It emphasized the charity and harmony of a simple life in common under the guidance of a wise and holy abbot. By the 9th century, this new image had spread to virtually all the monasteries of Europe. The ideal of the Benedictine monk became the model for Christian spirituality and played a part in the stabilization and unification of society. Various modifications, such as the Cluniac, Carthusian, and Cister-cian Reforms, maintained and adapted the dominant image to the developments in European society. Cluny and the Cistercians devised methods of uniting monasteries into networks that became harbingers of the modern order. However, by the time the 'first stirrings of urbanization began at the end of the 12th century, the dominant image began to show its inadequacies and once again laxity in religious life was not uncommon. There was also a great debate between monks and canons about which form of religious life was a more authentic embodiment of the apostolic ideal. As the civilization of the high Middle Ages began to emerge, new possibilities were felt in society and with them came the opportunity for a transition in religious life. 3. Era of the Mendicant Orders When Francis and Dominic launched their communities, they ushered in the next period, the Era of the Mendicant Orders. As mendicant friaries sprang up in towns across Europe, they met with an initial hostility which could not fathom how this new style could be an authentic form of religious life. Gradually, though, the new image of religious life became acceptable, and it proved to be a much better adaptation of ~:eligious life to the needs of urban society than was possible for the monasteries in their rural settings. During the course of the 13th century, even the monastic orders established studia close 696 / Review for Religious, l/olume 34, 1975/5 to the new universities, where the mendicants were flourishing. As Christen-dom was passing through its zenith, the image of a religious life unen-cumbered with landed wealth played a key role in the cultivation of the in-tellectual life by the Church within society and in the preaching of the Gospel for the Church. TABLE 2: ERA OF MONASTICISM (500-1200) Dominant Image of RL. Life in a monastery is the ideal of the religious. The daily round of liturgical prayer, work, and meditation provides a practical setting to pursue the lofty goals of praising God and union with Christ. Within the Church and society, the monks set an example of how deep spirituality can be combined with loving ministry to one's neighbor and dutiful fidelity to the concrete tasks of daily living. 6th Century 529 Benedict founds a monastery to live ac- Spread of monasteries throughout western cording to his Rule Europe (Gaul, Spain, Ireland, etc.). Various 540 Celtic monasticism takes root in Irela'nd formats. Excesses and laxity are common--as 590 Columbanus founds monastery in Lu~r are wandering monks. euil 7th and 8th Centuries 642 Arab conquest of Egypt Gradual spread of Benedict's Rule to.more and 700 Venerable Bede more monasteries of Europe. Missionary 746 Boniface founds monastery in Germany journeys of Celtic monks to evangelize 755 Canons of Chrodegang founded northern Europe. 9th Century 816 Regula Canonicorum of Aix-la-Chapelle Observance of Canons Regular is made uni- 817 Charlemagne's son decrees that form by the spread of the Rule of Aix. Con- Benedict's Rule is to be observed in all solidation of Benedict's Rule. Virtually all monasteries. This project coordinated by monasteries are "Benedictine." Benedict of Aniane. 910 Cluniac Reform 1084 Carthusian Reform 1098 Cistercian Reform 10th and llth Centuries Various reforms breathe new life into Benedict's ideal and introduce organizational variations. 1111 Bernard joins the Cistercians 1120 Premonstratensians founded 12th Century Canons Regular unite into orders which are a variation of the monastic networks of Cluny and Citeaux. Military orders attempt a new form of RL which is temporarily successful (Knights of Malta, Templars, Teutonic Knights, etc.). 2nd TRANSITION: RISE OF THE MENDICANTS After a rapid flowering, the mendicant orders were affected by the same changes which spread across the Church and European society in the 14th and 15th centuries. As the Renaissance presaged the new humanism, the secularization of European society, and the breakup of the unity of Christen-dom, there emerged the conditions for yet a new kind of religious life. The Recovery of Religious Life / 697 TABLE 3: ERA OF THE MENDICANT ORDERS (1200-1500) Dominant Image of RL. The simple friar who begs for his keep and follows in the footsteps of the Lord is the ideal of RL. He prays as he goes, steeping himself in the love of Christ. Unencumbered by landed wealth, the mendicants are free to travel on foot to any place they are needed by the Church. They hold themselves ready to preach, cultivate learning, serve the poor, and minister to the needs of society in the name of the Church. 1211 Franciscans founded 1216 Dominicans founded 1242 Carmelites founded 1256 Augustinians founded 13th Century Mendicant friaries spring up in medieval towns across Europe. These foundations lend themsel~,es to work in the new universities and the apostolate of preaching. Rapid expansion of the mendicant orders. Monastic orders make some attempts to take up the style of the mendicants. 1325 75,000 men in mendicant orders 1344 Brigittines founded 1349 Black Death 1400 47,000 men in mendicant orders 1415 Hus burned at the stake 1450 Gutenberg 1492 Columbus 1500 90,000 men in mendicant orders 14th Century ~tabilization and slow decline of the mendicant orders. Abuses in RL are prevalent. 15th Century Various reforms restore the mendicant ideal and produce a gradual increase in membership. First stirrings of the Renaissance introduce an uneasiness into the Church and RL. 3rd TRANSITION: THE COUNTER-REFORMATION 4. Era of the Apostolic Orders The transition to the next period in religious life, the era of the Apostolic Orders, happened with the Counter-Reformation. Not long after Luther sparked the Protestant Revolt, the new image of religious life appeared with the foundation of various orders of Clerics Regular, the chief of which were the Jesuits. The verve and style of this new foundation set the pace for religious life, The mendicant orders had taken up this ideal in part by joining in the mis-sionary conquests,of the Church in the newly discovered lands. The new image also spurred religious to come to terms with the secularizing trends of the scientific revolution, modern philosophy, and the rise of nationalism in Europe. Jesuits, for example, could be found in the royal courts of almost all of Europe's Catholic kingdoms, in the laboratories of the new scientists, and teaching the youthful Descartes at La Fl~che. As the proponents of the Enlightenment testily challenged the very ex-istence of the Church, a slow decline descended upon religious life. Large and nearly empty monasteries dotted the European countryside. Jansenist and Enlightened thought undermined the.rationale for religious life from opposite directions. The Bourbon kings succeededin persuading Rome to suppress the 69~! / Review for Religious, l/olume 34, 1975/5 Jesuits in 1773. On the eve of the French Revolution, worldwide membership in all the men's religious orders stood at about 300,000; by the time the Revolution and the secularization which followed had run their course, fewer than 70,000 remained. Many orders went out of existence. As the 19th century began, there was need of a thorough-going revival of religious life, which could realistically cope with the new consciousness of Europe. TABLE 4: ERA OF THE APOSTOLIC ORDERS (1500-1800) Dominant Image of RL. Religious are an elite of dedicated and militant servants of the Church with a high level of individual holiness, a readiness to defend the Church on any front, and the zeal to win new expansion for the Church to the very ends of the earth. 1517 Luther sparks the Reformation 1535 Ursulines founded 1540 Jesuits founded 1541 Francis Xavier sails for Far East 1545 Trent starts 1562 Discalced Carmelite Reform 16th Century RE virtually wiped out in Protestant Europe. Founding and expansion of a new kind of RL in the format of the Clerics Regular. These groups work at shoring up the Church's political power in Catholic Europe, reforming the Church, and spreading the Gospel in the foreign missions. 17th Century 1610 Visitation Nuns founded 1625 Vincentians founded 1633 Daughters of Charity founded 1650 St. Joseph Sisters founded 1662 Ranc6 launches Trappist Reform 1663 Paris Foreign Mission Society founded 1681 Christian Brothers founded 1700 213,000 men in mendicant orders Flowering of spirituality, especially in French School, leads to new foundations such as the various societies of priests and clerical con-gregations. Bulk of men religious still belong to mendicant orders. 1725 Passionists founded 1735 Redemptorists founded 1770 300,000 men in RL in world 1773 Jesuits suppressed by Rome 1789 French Revolution starts 18th Century A few clerical congregations emerge, but RL as a whole seems to be in decline due to the in-roads of Enlightenment thought, Jansenism, wealth, and laxity. Weakened RL is given the coup de gr?tce by the French Revolution, which sets off a wave of political suppression and defection in France and the rest of Catholic Europe. 4th TRANSITION: FRENCH REVOLUTION 5. Era of the Teaching Congregations The revival of religious life which occurred in the next period, the Era of the Teaching Congregations, set off in a new direction. There were about 600 foundations of new communities in the 19th century. They were, for the most part, dominated by the movement of educating the masses. For the first time The Recovery of Religious Life / 699 in European history, the idea of educating everyone had the possibility of be-ing concretely realized. The new congregations joined in this movement in hopes of planting the seeds of a hardy faith in the souls of the children they taught by the thousands. This zeal for the education of children was combined with a cleansed Jansenistic spirituality to form the new image of religious life. While the activity of religious spilled over into other apostolic works such as hospitals, teaching set the pace. Even the few pre-Revolution orders which were managing a slow recovery took on many of the trappings of the typical 19th century teaching congregation. For the first time in the history of religious life, recruitment of adult vocations was almost completely displaced by the acceptance of candidates just emerging from childhood. Through the end of the 19th century and on into the 20th the religious who gave themselves to this demanding work of teaching edified the Church and produced a brand of holiness which was most appropriate for a Catholicism which sought to strengthen a papacy denuded o.f worldly power and to care for the masses of the industrialized wor.ld in need of christianization. By the mid-1960's membership in religious communities reached the highest point in the history of the Church. In the last decade, this trend was reversed for the first time in more than a century. Crises have set in which some ascribe to a loss of identity TABLE 5: ERA OF THE TEACHING CONGREGATIONS (1800-present) Dominant Image of RL. Religious dedicate their lives to the salvation of their own souls and the salvation of others. The style of life of religious men and women blends in intense pursuit of personal holiness with a highly active apostolic service. Identity with the person of Christ unites this two-fold objective into a single purpose. 19th Century 1814 French Restoration; Jesuits restored by Rome 1825 Fewer than 70,000 men in RL in world 1831 Mercy Sisters founded 1850 83,000 men in RL in world 1859 Salesians founded 1870 Papal infallibility declared Revival of RL after widespread state sup-pressions. Numerous foundations of con-gregations dedicated to a return to authentic RL blended with service, principally in schools. Old orders, such as Jesuits and Dominicans, rejuvenated in the format of the teaching con-gregations. Church gradually centralizes around the papacy and isolates itself from secular trends of the modern world 20th Century 1950 275,000 men in RL in world 1962 Vatican II starts; 1,012,000 women in RL in world 1965 335,000 men in RL in world 1966 181,500 women in RL in U.S. 1972 879,000 women in RL in world 1973 143,000 women in RL in U.S. 1974 227,500 men in RL in world Expansion and solidification. In the sixties, crises set in from within RL due to loss of iden-tity and inroads of secularizing process. Numerous defections and decreasing numbers of new members. 5th TRANSITION: (?) 700 / Review for Religious, Volume 34, 1975/5 and the inroads of secularism. It seems that another transition in the long history of religious life has begun. Further considerations will be undertaken in the remainder of this article to better analyze the present situation. 11I. The Life Cycle of a Religious Community: A Sociological Model The previous section of this paper focused on a historical model for the evolution of religious life as such within the Church; in this section attention is turned toward the life of the individual religious community or institute. To this end, a sociological model for the life cycle of individual religious com-munities which organizes the important dimensions of each period in the life of the communities is developed.6 This model allows further probing of the questions concerning the plausibility of a revitalization of religious life, since revitalization of present religious communities is one way that religious life as a whole will be renewed. A. Organizing Concepts To date, only thirteen men's religious orders in the entire his.tory of the Church have ever surpassed a membership figure of 10,000 at some point of their existence. The membership pattern of three of these orders--the Dominicans, the Minims, and the Jesuits--is graphed in Figure 1 below. Although these three examples are taken from among the largest orders of the Church, they are representative of the membership pattern in most religious communities, large or small. Typically one finds one or more cycles of growth and decline in the number of members. These membership patterns suggest a dynamic of inner vitality that goes on in a religious community. Using such analogies as the human life cycle and other cycles of growth and decline, a sociological model has been devised which divides the life cycle of an active religious community into five periods: foundation, expansion, stabilization, breakdown and transition. The model is shown schematically in Figure 2. The shape of this curve is intended to repre-sent the over-all vitality of the community as it passes from one period to the next. In the following section salient events and characteristics which typify each of these periods are described. An attempt is also made to isolate the crises which occur during each period. ~Some sources used to clarify the notion of a life cycle were Hostie, Vie et mort; Wallace, "'Paradigmatic Processes"; Gordon L. Lippitt and Warren H. Schmidt, "Crisis in a Developing Organization," Harvard Business Review (Vol. 45, No. 6, November-December, 1967), pp. 102- 112; and Lawrence E. Greiner, "Evolution and Revolution as Organizations Grow," Harvard Business Review (Vol. 50, No. 4, July-August, 1972), pp. 37-46; Thomas F. O'Dea, The Sociology of Religion (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1966); Luther P. Gerlach and Virginia H. Hine, People. Power and Change: Movements of Social Transformation (Indianapolis: Bobbs- Merrill, 1970). The Recovery of Religious Life / 701 _z 20 LLI ~ lO 30 1200 1300 ! \/ , st 1400 1500 1600 1700 I t I t I I I II ! I ! 1800 1900 2000 Figure 1: Membership of Dominicans, Minims, and Jesuits IFOUNDATIONIEXPANSION ISTABILIZATION BREAKDOWN TRANSITION Figure 2: Life Cycle of a Religious Community B. The Periods of the Life Cycle 1. The Foundation Period The first period in the life of a religious community centers around a found-ing person and his or her vision. The founder or foundress undergoes a radically transformi,ng experience, which can usually be pinpointed to an event or series of events, and .which is perceived as an abrupt shift in the founding 702 / Review for Religious, I/olume 34, 1975/5 person's identity and a timeless moment in which a vision or dream is received. Contained in the transforming experience is a new appreciation of the message of Jesus which leads to innovative insight on how the condition of the Church or society could be dramatically improved or how a totally new kind of future could be launched. A new impetus to live the religious life in all the totality of its demands is felt, and a new theory emerges that is at once a critique of the present, an appropriation of the past, a compelling image of the future, and a basis for novel strategies. The founding person's transforming experience is followed by the initial emergence of the community. A fortuitous encounter takes place between the founder or foundress and some contemporary men or women in which the founding experience, the innovative insight, the emerging theory, and the call to holiness are shared. The group unites under the guidance of the founding person to search for and invent new arrangements for living the Gospel together and working toward the realization of the Kingdom of God. The foundation period may last ten to twenty years or longer and fre-quently coincides with the last part of the founding person's lifetime. Integra-tion and cohesion center on the founding person and still more deeply on the person of Christ. The structural identity of the community appears in seminal form, and authority in the community springs from the wisdom of the found-ing person. Founding events of religious communities have a uniqueness about them which has caused them to be especially treasured as significant moments in the Church's past. Examples of founding persons and their visions readily come to mind: Angela Merici's dream of a new kind of religious life for women that centered on an active apostolate; the hopes of Robert of Molesme to restore fervor through the primitive observance of Benedict's Rule in the wilderness of C~teaux; Don Bosco's contagious vision of loving Christ and joyfully serving the poor. The more striking cases of founding persons receiving their in-spirations have become part of the common heritage of all religious: Anthony hearing in a Sunday Gospel the words which were the key to his life's aim; Ignatius retiring to Manresa to receive his visions. For the most part the foundation period is a time of grace and charism for a new religious community. But there are also crises that must be faced. The crisis of direction forces the community to decide which undertakings are im-portant and which must be sacrificed. The crisis of leadership confronts the community with the problem of finding out how it will live beyond the time of its founding person. The crisis of legitimization engulfs the nascent community in the question of whether or not the Church will approve it as an authentic form of religious life. The Waldensians, for example, showed some signs of becoming a new religious order on the pattern of the mendicants, but they never overcame the crisis of iegitimization. Instead of becoming a religious community, they ended up as renegades who had to hide out in the woods of medieval Europe. The Recovery of Religious Life / 70a 2. The Expansion Period When the community has emerged from the foundation period, it un-dergoes a fairly long period of expansion, during which the founding charism is institutionalized in a variety of ways. A community cult and belief system solidifies, a community polity is fashioned, and community norms and customs take hold. As members of the community's second generation mature and grow older, they recount stories of the foundation, which they have heard from the pioneers or have themselves experienced in their youth. These stories enshrine decisive events which set the community's direction or establish its characteristic traits. Gradually, rituals and symbols which express and com-memorate the most treasured facets of the foundation are fused with the.iore of the older members into a sort of sacred memory and cult that begins to be passed on from generation to generation as the community's "founding myth." Attempts are made at thinking through the founding myth and expressing it in terms of contemporary thought patterns. Eventually these efforts result in theories, interpretations, and social models which coalesce into a belief system and give a rational structure to the more intuitive thrust of the founding myth. Simultaneously, procedures are devised for community decision making and communication, and bit by bit the community's polity.takes shape. Norms are set down and customs emerge which cover all aspects of the community's life, such as membership criteria, leadership standards, and apostolic priorities. The members of the young community experience an excitement about the growth and success which characterizes the expansion period. Large numbers join the community, and new works are rapidly taken on which enhance the possibility of a still broader recruitment. Major interpreters of the founding vi-sion are recognized. Patterns of spiritual practice are determined, and the community's spirituality is made concrete in manuals of direction or other written documents. With expansion come certain organizational crises. How is authority to be delegated? What means will be used to integrate and tie together the rapidly expanding network of establishments and the burgeoning membership. When Bernard joined the Cistercians thirteen years after their foundation, he led the community through this kind of organizational crisis. In the process, a new en-tity, the general chapter, was invented to cope with the situation, and this in-novation is still a standard feature.of most religious orders today. Another crisis of this period centers on maintaining the pristine vigor of the founding vision. As rival interpretations arise, which will be discarded? A classic exam-ple of this kind of crisis occurred in the great debates about poverty among the early Franciscans just after Francis died. 3. The Stabilization Period After a fairly long expansion, which may last two to three generations or "/04 / Review for Religious, l/olume 34, 1975/5 longer, there ensues a period of stabilization. Numerical increase in membership may continue, but geographical expansion usually slows down. The stabilization period may last a century or more, but it is sometimes as brief as fifty years or so. A feeling of success pervades the community during the stabilization period. Members experience a high degree of personal satisfaction from simply being in the community. The prevailing image of religious life is clear and accepted. It provides a basis for describing unambiguous social roles for religious. The community is accomplishing its purpose and this purpose is self-evident. The need to improve is not seen as a need to change things but simply to do better what is already being done. Gradually, as stabilization sets in, more and more of the community assumes that religious life has always been the way it is now and that it will always remain so in the future. There is little need to elaborate the understanding of the founding vision or penetrate into it more deeply. It is simply accepted and repeated to new members who join. No one is left in the community who knew the founding person or the first dis-ciples personally. Memory of the founding events takes on the cast of past his(ory that is separate from the present moment. Formation of new members emphasizes their conformity to standard patterns of external behavior that are seen as the best means of cultivating interior commitment. The over-all feeling of success which is so typical of the stabilization period is not illusory. There is in fact a job that is being done and done well by the many generous religious who devote themselves to its accomplishment. The kinds of crises that Crop up during the stabilization period are linked to the other characteristics of the period. The crisis of activism occurs. Members become so absorbed in work that they lose sight of its spiritual and apostolic underpinning. They allow the satisfactions of accomplishment to dis-place a centeredness in Christ. Loss of intensity is another crisis of the stabilization period. Is it possible to maintain the intensity of vision and com-mitment among members, now that the community has become so highly in-stitutionalized? They can often be simply carried along by the sheer inertia of the community's activity and held in place by the pressure of social expecta-tion placed on their role as religious from people in the Church. Another danger stems from the crisis of adaptation. In the midst of success the com-munity is seldom open to adaptation, and any changes that have to be made are fraught with difficulty. Quite often, even the most legitimate changes are rejected, and their proponents are righteously and intolerantly silenced. The failure of later Jesuit missionaries to implement the ideas of Matteo Ricci con-cerning Confucian practices among Chinese Catholics is perhaps a good ex-ample of the sort of resistance to adaptation that can be found during the stabilization period. 4. The Breakdown Period Eventually the seeming immutabilities of the stabilization period start to give, and the religious community enters the breakdown period. The The Recovery of Religious Life / 705 breakdown may be gradual and last a half a century or more, or it may be rapid and run its course in a few decades. In either case, what happens is a dis-mantling of the institutional structures and belief systems that arose in the ex-pansion period and served the community so well during the stabilization period. This collective decline gives rise, in turn, to stress and doubt in the in-dividual members. Initially .a number of persons become dissatisfied with the current state of the community. Perhaps they are simply struck by what they judge to be the silliness of some of the community's customs or procedures. Or they may come to see that the community's life and work are not equipped to handle im-portant new challenges. Unanswered questions about the function and purpose of the community begin to accumulate and start to raise doubts. Levels of in-dividual stress increase slowly at the beginning, but then rise rapidly as doubt spreads to more and more levels of the community's social structure. To handle the growing problems, standard remedies are tied. All that is needed, it seems, is to get back to doing well what has always been done and to renew commitment to the community's mission. However, the usual problem-solving techniques become increasingly ineffective. A sense of crisis grows as community authority and decision-making structures become confused. The community's belief system begins to appear archaic and bound in by the trap-pings and articulations of a bygone age. The founding experience and myth, which had been internalized by the community's early generations, is no longer felt by the members. As the community loses its sense of identity and purpose, service to the Church becomes haphazard and lacks direction. Moral norms in the com-munity are relaxed and some members perhaps distract themselves with sex and a misuse of wealth. There is a net loss of membership through increased withdrawals and decreased recruitment of new members. The crises that arise during the breakdown period center on the various phenomena of decline in the community. The crisis of polarization can become acute when those who have faith in the community as it was align themselves against those who in varying degrees reject the community as it is. The crisis of collapsing institutions sets in as the community is forced to stop doing "business as usual" and abandon long-established works. The resulting demoralization leads to the crisis of the community's impending death. What is to be done as the chilling awareness grows in the community that it is inex-orably listing into disintegration on all sides? 5. The Transition Period The breakdown is followed by a period of transition. Three outcomes are possible for religious communities during this period: extinction, minimal sur-vival, or revitalization. Extinction, the first of these outcomes, occurs when all the members of a community either withdraw or die and it simply passes out of existence. This happened, for example, to 76% of all men's religious orders founded before 706 / Review for Religious, l/olume 34, 1975/5 1500 and to 64% of those founded before 1800. From a historical perspective, then, a reasonable expectation would seem to be that most religious com-munities in the Church today will eventually become extinct. A religious community which does not die out may go into a long period of low-level or minimal survival. If the membership pattern of presently existing religious orders founded before the French Revolution is examined, one finds that most of them enter into a period lasting across several centuries in which the number of members is very low. In fact, only 5% of all men's orders founded before 1500 and only 11% of the orders founded before 1800 have a current membership which is larger than 2,000. The Minims (Figure 1) are typical of the orders which once were quite large and now have a small membership. This type of outcome should not be interpreted as a dis-appearance of vitality in every case. The Carthusians, for example, follow this membership pattern. Yet they seem to be living UP to their reputation of never having relaxed their observance--never reformed and never needing reform. To this day the order's spiritual impact appears greater than its numerical strength. There is also a small percentage of religious communities which survive the breakdown period a~d enter into a period of revitalization. At least three characteristics can be singled out in all communities which have been revitalized in this way: a transforming response to the signs of the times; a reappropriation of the founding charism; and a profound renewal of the life of prayer, faith, and centeredness in Christ. The time in history fn which revitalization occurs seems to make a difference. If the revitalization occurs during one of the shifts in the dominant image of religious life singled out in the historical model above, the com-munity takes on many of the characteristics of the emerging image, and the transforming response to the signs of the times seems central to the revitaliza-tion. If the revitalization occurs midway during one of the major eras in the history of religious life identified earlier in this article, the revitalization takes on the characteristics of a reform with the reappropriation of the founding charism playing a central role. In either case the community experiences the revitalization as a second foundation. Personal transformation or conversion is central to revitalization. With personal transformation comes innovative insight and a new centering in the person of Christ. The innovative insight allows the transformed individuals within the community to develop critical awareness of the assumptions un-derlying the traditional meaning of the community and functioning of that community within the Church and the world. This innovative insight brings with it a focusing of energies through a new positive vision of what the com-munity should be in the future. The vision allows the emergence of a new theory which gives meaning to the experiences of individuals and the shared events lived within the community and spurs the community to building and creating its future. Such a new theory guides the community in the search for The Recovery of Religious Life / 707 and the invention of new models ~of living together as a community bound by. the evangelical conditions of discipleship in the service of the Church. A more complete sketch of the human dynamics of revitalization will be given in the last section of this article. The essential components of this dynamic, namely, insight and vision, and new theory and new models, are mentioned at this point to complete the picture of the life cycle of a religious community. Some limitations of this sociological model and the historical model of the previous section are given in the next section together with some generalizations that can be drawn from the models. IV. Some Limitations and Generalizations A. Limitations of the Models Before proceeding, some concluding and cautionary remarks must be made. Evidently the rapid overview of the history of religious life given in the first portion of this article should not be taken as anything more than a demonstration of how the evolution of religious life can be interpreted so as to fit the model of the five main eras that are being postulated in the proposed historical model. The account is far too compressed and over-simplified to provide an adequate and proi~erly nuanced telling of the story of religious life. For example, little attention was given to the Canons Regular, who constituted a significant portion of men religious from the Middle Ages to the French Revolution. There was no discussion of the medieval military orders nor of Orthodox monasticism. A still more gaping lacuna is the almost complete absence of any analysis of the way women's religious life differed from or followed the same pattern as that of the men. It may be that the sources used in this study were not sensitive to the distinctive role women actually played in the evolution of religious life. On the other hand, it may be that up to the present time the trends of women's religious life have been very parallel to those in the men's orders. The models proposed for the evolution of religious life and for the life-cycle of a religious community are also both simplifications. Some might validly question, for example, whether there were just five major eras in the history of religious life and whether the transitions between the eras occurred as clearly as the historical model suggests. The description of the dominant image of religious life for each era is a simplification of what was in every case a rather complex phenomenon. Hopefully, the liberties that have been taken are justified by the intention of trying to synopsize the history of religious life in such a way as to make some tentative insights more easily accessible to someone who is not a professional historian. Similarly, the breaks between the successive periods in the life cycle of a religious community are nowhere near as clear-cut as the proposed sociological model suggests. In .history, breakdowns sometimes occur within one order in different geographical locales at different times. Revitalizations often occur in some places for an order, while it decays elsewhere. At times 708 / Review for Religious, Volume 34, 1975/5 there are orders in which the role of the founding person is rather minor and does not have the decisiveness described in the model. Some communities have been founded in rather modest historical circumstances that were not accom-panied by the profound inspiration described in the model. These and similar qualifications must be kept in mind when the sociological model is used to in-terpret the life cycle of any particular community. B. Generalizations The models presented in the previous sections suggest some generalized conclusions. These conclusions can be helpful in exploring the present crisis of religious life. The historical evidence suggests that there have been significant shifts in the dominant image of religious life across the centuries. These shifts seem to occur when there are major societal changes astir and when the Church is un-dergoing major changes. The first transition happened as the Roman Empire fell in the West and feudal Europe was beginning; at the same time the rift between western and eastern Christianity was starting. The second transition occurred as feudal Europe was giving way to medieval urbanization and as the Church was gathering all of Europe into the unity of Christendom. The third transition took place at the start of the modern period of Western Civilization as the Church underwent the shock of the Reformation. The fourth transition resulted from a direct attack of society on the Church as a whole and on religious life in particular. Admittedly each of these changes in the culture and the Church differed from one another in many respects. However, the pattern seems clear enough at least to permit one to ask whether perhaps another shift in the dominant image of religious life would happen if major changes in society and the Church should come to pass. Although religious communities have been founded in almost every cen-tury of Christian history, it seems that each major shift in the dominant image of religious life is heralded by some significantly new foundations which em-body a new image in an especially striking way. This could be said of the earliest Benedictine monasteries for the first transition, of the Franciscans and Dominicans for the second transition, of the Jesuits for the third transition, and of the plethora of 19th century foundations for the fourth transition. It also seems to be the case that many communities go out of existence at each transition. Those that survive either continue in a diminished form or somehow blend the new dominant image with the charism of their own foun-dation to get another lease on life. The mendicant orders, for example, grew numerically stronger during the Era of Apostolic Orders as they adapted their own special gifts to the new style of religious life. The culture of the high Mid-dle Ages was rapidly and irretrievably passing away, but the mendicants adapted and flourished. One might ask, then, if the Church would witness the death of many religious communities and the foundation of new and different ones if a shift in the dominant image of religious life were to occur. The remainder of this article will explore the plausibility of maintaining that The Recovery of Religious Life / 709 another major transition has in fact begun in the history of religious life. Should this hypothesis be true, it would be appropriate to pose questions about h6w religious life is dying and how a recovery and revitalization might happen. Another observation that suggests itself from this brief survey concerns the continuity that underlies the shifts of the dominant image of religious life. As the image evolves it continues to hold up the impelling ideal of a radical following of the conditions set forth by Christ for an evangelical discipleship embedded in a life of prayer and deep faith. While the contemporary religious would probably not feel called to take on the externals of the life of the Desert Fathers, he or she will surely understand and be drawn to the stark beauty of the life of radical discipleship that moved Anthony to withdraw into the desert. Similar remarks could probably be made about the ultimate aims of the first Franciscans and the first rugged band of Jesuits. Through all the twists and turns in the make up and style of religious life, there is a deep core of seeking union with Christ in a special and total way that endures century after century. A great deal of historical precedent would have to be explained away by anyone who would wish to maintain that religious life is about to disappear as a separate and distinguishable way of life in the Church. The historical pattern seems to be one of repeated recovery. The present moment is indeed a time of trouble for religious communities, but religious life as a whole will doubtlessly survive. Turning to the sociological model, some further generalizations can be made. In the evolution of a religious community the non-rational elements of transforming experience, vision, and myth play a central role. This is es-pecially true during the periods of foundation and revitalization. Although necessary for each period in the life-cycle of a community, the techniques of rationality (long-range planning, leadership training, etc.) will never be suf-ficient to found a religious community or to revitalize one. The renewed vitality that comes to some religious communities during the time of transition finds its source in plumbing the depths of.the mythic and non-rational and in-tegrating them with the more rational dimensions of human life. A central insight of the myth of original sin is that humankind is not capable of sustained development; breakdown and disintegration are ever-recurring manifestations of the human condition. Since religious men and women exist within the human condition, it should not be surprising that, from time to time, all religious communities experience an extensive period of significant breakdown and disintegration. These bleak realities should be em-braced with humble acceptance of th~ human condition and a faith-filled hope that the Lord will in time resurrect life-giving initiatives from the death-dealing processes of breakdown. V. Where Does Religious Life Stand Today? In the previous sections of this article, the history of the religious-life movement in the Church and of particular religious communities was ex-amined to determine the major factors within culture, the Church, and 710 / Review for Religious, Volume 34, 1975/5 religious communities themselves that significantly influence the evolution of this movement. Generalizations from the proposed models indicate that major. transitions are likely to occur in religious life when secular culture is in the midst of a major crisis, and when religious life has experienced a period of major breakdown. The factors can serve as a useful matrix for answering the question, "Where does religious life stand today?" As was mentioned in the in-troduction, the answer proposed in this article is that religious life is undergo-ing a pervasive transition that will last for the next twenty to twenty-five years and which will significantly change the style of life and service of religious communities. The plausibility of this assertion is developed in this section. A. Signs of Transition in Secular Culture Many writers have noted that contemporary culture is in the midst of a societal transition. Some compare the present time to the Renaissance. Others claim that the present multifaceted change is equal to if not greater in magnitude than the agricultural and industrial revolutions. Many strands of societal transition have been pointed out. Spiritual, intellectual, philosophical, psychological, political, economic, and many other crises in society have been described by writers from a wide range of disciplines. For the purposes of this article, a cluster of these difficulties, which might be broadly termed the socio-economic crisis, will be summarized below as a sample of the sort of comment on contemporary society being made today. Catastrophic events and critical trends are continually reported by the news media. These reports range from widespread famine in the Sahel and South Asia to the continued downward spiral of the national economy. Careful analysts and writers have noted that these events and trends are a manifestation of the parallel growth of a set of interrelated critical issues which they have designated as the "world problematique.''7 A list of the critical issues that make up the "world problematique" would include: Energy Problems: Runaway growth in domestic and worldwide use of energy; shortages and scarcity of energy; insufficient capital resources to develop new energy sources. Food Problems: Food supply unable to meet the demand for food; worsening of weather conditions through pollution; increasing food prices due to food scarcity and increasing cost and consumption of energy; deterioration of arable land through increased urbaniza-tion and ecological undermining; actual widespread famine; potential long term problems of hunger and famine. Pollution Problems: Rise of pollution-induced illness; exponential increhse in the pollu-tion of the air and seas; denuding of natural environment through strip mining. 7.Some sources used to examine the "world problematique" were Kenneth E. F. Watt, The Titanic Effect: Planning for the Unthinkable (Stanford, Conn.: Sinauer Associates, Inc.); Donella H. Meadows, et al., The Limits to Growth (Washington: Potomac Associates, 1972); Mihajlo Mesarovic and Eduard Pestel, Mankind at the Turning Point (New York: Reader's Digest Press, 1974); Lester R. Brown, In the Human Interest (New York: W. W. Norton, 1974); and Lester R. Brown with Eric P. Eckholm, By Bread Alone (New York: Praeger, 1974). The Recovery of Religious Life / 711 Economic Problems: Growing world inflation; market saturation (e.g. airplanes, elec-tronic equipment, automobiles); instability and manipulation of monetary system, lack of alternatives to growth economics; increasing gap between the "have's" and the "have not's." Work Problems: Increasing unemployment and underemployment; saturation of the labor market; decreased productivity; increasing alienation and dissatisfaction with work; depersonalization of work environments. Problems of Urban Areas: Deterioration of urban areas; increasing crime rates; in-creasing cost of essential urban services. Problems of International Order." Hazards of international competition and war; com-petitive economic policies. What makes the "world problematique" different from problems en-countered in previous eras is its complexity and the pervasive interrelationship of its elements. Hence, the "world problematique" is not amenable to normal methods of problem solving. Attempts to address such critical issues in a singular or joint fashion introduce fundamental dilemmas that do not appear resolvable within conventional modes of thought. Among such dilemmas which seem to be plaguing the contemporary politico-economic situation, four might be singled out: the dilemmas of growth, guidance, global justice, and social roles.8 These dilemmas are delineated more fully in Table 6. One may ask if these problems and dilemmas have not been present during most of the Industrial Era. Are not the problems of the 20's and 30's very much the same as those of the 70's and 80's? What makes the above mentioned problems and dilemmas different is that they have not been ameliorated through the use of conventional wisdom and standard problem-solving ap-proaches. In fact, one may argue that application of these approaches has led to many unanticipated and undesirable consequences. Resolution of the problems and dilemmas is dependent upon a thorough-going shift in social perceptions, involving restructuring of beliefs, images, and human aspirations at a fundamental level. B. Crisis in the Church and the Breakdown in Religious Life The Catholic Church in America has been profoundly influenced by con-temporary change. For at least fifteen years the Church has been experiencing a transition of its life. The Second Vatican Council (1962-1964) was a result of the early stages of this transition and a triggering event for its later stages. The Church began to open itself to a world which was undergoing a dramatic secularization. This opening up or aggiornamento had significant impact on all dimensions of Church life. Parish life and parochial education are no longer the only shapers of the values and beliefs of American Catholics. The once-clear norms and social roles ~vithin the Church no longer seem to serve their original purpose. For example, the Vatican's official position on birth 8The schematization presented in Table 6 is based on the work of Bill Harmon, Director of the Center for the Study of Social Policy, Stanford Research Institute. 712 / Review for Religious, I~'olume 34, 1975/5 TABLE 6: SOME DILEMMAS OF CONTEMPORARY SOCIETY Growth The fundamental "new scarcity" of fossil fuels, minerals, fresh water, arable land, habitable surface area, waste-absorbing capacity of the natural environment, fresh air, and food come from approaching the finite limits of the earth. These limits demand a radical slow down or leveling off in material.growth and energy-use curves of the past.' Yet, the present economic and political system is built around a growth hypothesis. The economic and political consequences of limiting growth appear unbearable. Guidance Dilemma Ecological considerations along with awesome power of modern technology to change any and all aspects of the human environment establish a mandate for greater guidance of technological and social innovation. Yet, the political price of such guidance is very high. Such guidance is perceived as con-trary to man's fundamental right to freedom and as an inhibition to economic growth. Global Justice Dilemma Further advances by the industrialized nations make the rich nations richer and the poor nations relatively poorer. The impressive ac-complishments of the industrial economy are largely built on a base of cleverness plus cheap energy, the latter from the world's limited stockpile of fossil fuels. Yet, the costs of not redressing these inequities may be serious political and economic world instabilities as well as widespread famine and inhuman suffering in the poorer nations. Social Roles Dilemma Present economic system is failing to provide Yet, the absence of satisfying and personally an adequate number of satisfying social roles meaningful roles for women, youth, the especially for women and minorities. The aged, and minorities along with worker employment market is saturated; there is a dissatisfaction in general results in in-need to keep youth and the aged out of the creased I~ersonal alienation and erodes labor market, the morale of the nation. control is considered unacceptableto an increasingly large number of Catholics. Difficulties are arising in the functioning of such Church structures as the priesthood and the traditional role of the laity and of such Church institutions as parishes, schoo|s, and hospitals. Their once-unquestioned role within the Church no longer seems to satisfy the needs of an increasingly large number of church members. This crisis and transition within the Church has had a dramatic effect on religious communities of women and men. Religious communities have begun to experience all of the signs of entering into the breakdown and disintegration period described earlier in this article. There has been a sharp decline in membership due to increased withdrawals and a decrease in new recruits. Re- The Recovery of Religious Life / 713 cent literature9 gives a statistical picture of this breakdown in the United States. - A recent National Opinion Research Center study indicated there is a larger relative number of resignees among those already established in church careers than in any other equivalent period of time since the French Revolution. - For the years between 1965 and 1972 66% of the yearly decrease in communities of religious women was due to dispensation or termination of vows. In communities of religious women the average annual net increase over these years was approximately 768 members, the average annual net decrease was 3841, with only one-third of that loss caused by deaths. - The total number of Sisters in 1974 had declined 17% from 1960 and 23% since their peak membership year in 1966. - The total number of religious Brothers in 1974 had decreased 12% since 1960 and 26.5% since their peak membership year in 1966. The purposes of religious communities which were once clear and widely understood have become vague and meaningless to some in the midst of the modern church crisis. The structures of authority and process of communica-tion and decision making within religious communities seem no longer to fit the needs of the individuals within the community or suit the evolving work of the communities. The processes of formation to religious community have sometimes become disorganized and seem to lack purpose. These and other signs indicate that the last fifteen to twenty years have been a time when most religious com-munities have begun to experience breakdown. This cluster of the signs of breakdown in virtually all communities seems to indicate that we are ap-proaching the end of another major era in the history of religious life. C. Restatement of the Bias This review of the transitions in secular culture as well as the current crisis of the Church allows us to use the historical and sociological models of the evolution of religious life and religious communities outlined in the previous sections to answer the question "Where does religious life stand today?" In the introduction of this article, an answer was given in what was called the fun-damental bias of the article, namely, that religious life in America is undergo-ing a profound transition, which will take another twenty or twenty-five years to run its full course. The arguments leading up to this bias can be set forth as follows: 1. The dominant image of religious life has undergone several major tran-sitions as religious life has evolved as a movement within the Church. 2. The occurrence of these major transitions is associated with a number 9Carroll W. Trageson and Pat Holden, "Existence and Analysis of the 'Vocation Crisis' in Religious Careers," (pp. 1-3) in Carroll W. Trageson, John P. Koval, and Willis E. Bartlett (eds.), Report on Study of Church Vo

Issue 41.1 of the Review for Religious, January/February 1982. ; REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS (ISSN 0034-639X), published every two months, is edited in collaboration with the faculty members of the Department of Theological Studies of St. Louis University. The editorial offices are located at Room 428; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS is owned by the Missouri Province Educational Institute of the Society of Jesus, St. Louis, MO. © 1982 by REVIEW FOR REI.~G~OOS. Composed. printed and manufactured in U.S.A. Second class postage paid at St. Louis, MO. Single copies: $2.50. Subscription U.S.A.: $9.00 a year: $17.00 for two years. Other countries: $10.00 a year; $19.00 for two years. For subscription orders or change of address, write: REVIEW FOR REt,IGIOUS; P.O. Box 6070; Duluth, MN 55802. Daniel F. X. Meenan, S.J. Dolores Greeley, R.S.M. Daniel T. Costello, S.J. Joseph F. Gallen, S.J. Jean Read Editor Associate Editor Book Editor Questions and Answers Editor Assistant Editor Jan./ Feb., 1982 Volume 41 Number 1 Manuscripts, books for review and correspondence with the editor should be sent to REVIEW I"OR RE~.IGIOUS; Room 428; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108. Questions for answering should be sent to Joseph F. Gallen, S.J.; Jesuit Community; St. Joseph's University; City Avenue at 541h St.; Philadelphia, PA 19131. Back issues and reprints shoul.d be ordered from Rt:v,Ew Vo8 RE~oIGIOUS; Room 428; 3601 Lindetl Blvd.; St. L~uis, MO 63108. "Out of print" issues and articles not published as reprints are available from University Microfilms International; 300 N. Zeeb Rd.; Ann Arbor, MI 48106. Review for Religious Volume 41, 1982 Editorial Offices 3601 Lindell Boulevard, Room 428 Saint Louis, Missouri 63108 Daniel F. X. Meenan, S.J. Dolores Greeley, R.S.M. Daniel T. Costello, S.J. Joseph F. Gallen, S.J. Miss Jean Read Editor Associate Editor Book Editor Questions and Answers Editor Assistant Editor REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS is published in January, March, May, July, Sep-tember, and November on the fifteenth of the month. It is indexed in the Catholic Periodical and Literature Index and in Book Review Index. A microfilm edition of REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS is available from University Microfilms International; Ann Arbor, Michigan 48106. Copyright © 1982 by REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS. The Art of Wasting Time: Thoughts on the Expropriation of Leisure James W. Heisig Father Heisig, of the Society of the Divine Word, is a Permanent Fellow of the Nanzan Institute for Religion and Culture, General editor of its book series on East-West thought and Associate Professor of Humanities at the Nan:an University. His address: Nan:an Institute for Religion and Culture: 18, Yamazato-cho. Showa-ku: Nagoya, Japan'. In modern industrialized nations, time is thought of as an investment commodity with a fluid market value. The power of time to cure all ills that the ancient Greek proverb celebrated has been drained from it to reduce time to disposable mer-chandise within our control. Some people's time is now worth more than other people's time because they know how to use time .profitably, that is, to achieve maximum production with minimum consumption. The ideal management of time is measured by cost-benefit analysis. As a consumer commodity, time is also unevenly distributed: some people now possess more time than others, which they are free to invest wisely or foolishly. It does not take much reflection to appreciate how the metaphor of "annual income,"the most Oniversal measure of the relative value of time, has crept its way into the modern imagination and laden words once rich in personal meanings with the double entendre of economic connotations. And that is as true in the world of business as it is in the world of religious or humanitarian devotion to an ideal. We hear it said that the fund~.mental shock occasioned by the increased pace of modei'n living is that shorter and shorter periods of time enable us to achieve the same things that former civilizations took much longer to achieve, which in turn produces the need for constant novelty. In fact, we do notachieve the same things at all. By submitting time and human needs to new s.tandards, the quality of life 3 4 / Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1982 itself has been altered and important spiritual values siphoned off as waste. The trip across the Sinai that took the ancient Israelites forty years to complete would hardly take forty minu~tes today from t~ikeoff to landing. But whereas their voyage was a.journey that transformed a band of refugees into a people of God, ours is reduced to a mere change of location that takes place too quickly to effect any but the most superficial of insights. For us, time wasted in travel, in the use of outmoded tools, and in the inefficient use of resources and personnel is money flushed down the drain. On the one hand, time well spent promises the reward of time to spare; but on the other, the time that we have saved is only of value if it, too, is well spent. The result is that leisure has become a luxury item, with less to be found among workers today than there was among the slaves of ancient Greece and Rome. In such circUmstances, it has become easy to market time-measuring devices for popular use that approximate the precision of scientific equipment. A wrist-watch that takes time to wind and has to be reset once a week is an anachronism to the modern mind. The practical advantages of such accuracy are fictitious, but the ideological advantage is very real. We are so firmly locked into the modern myth of time that the thought of unclocking oneself, even for the purposes of relaxation, has become the moral equivalent of undressing in public. The idea of time that has colonized the habits of thought that gird the institu-tions of modem society--school, church, business, entertainment, travel, health care, politics, social action--has wrought a spiritual impoverishment on our native sensibilities. The reverence for free time Freizeit and leave from labor (leisure) has not disappeared, but its motivations have shifted. The important wisdom that time belongs among the "best thing~ of life" that cannot be bought and sold, that belong to all of us as our common human right, and that are their own reward, is in peril. The expropriation of leisure by the consumer ethos is one of the most harmful ideas that pollute modern consciousness and obstruct the construction of an equitable and sustainable global community. Instead of having time for oneself, time for the earth, and time for the human race, we have become content with having time to consume the goods and services manufactured in other sectors of society. We have come to think of time as a nonrenewable resource, and lost the art of wasting it lavishly for our spiritual well-being. Deliverance from this state of affairs begins with learning to make transparent the myth of time that we inhabit unawares. And onestep in that direction, it seems to me, is to have a look at some of the things we no longer seem to have much time for. Time for Oneself The story is told of a certain clergyman who went to see the famous psycholo-gist, C. G. Jung, complaining of an impending nervous breakdown. His story was a familiar one. Working fourteen hours a day to fill up his life of service with meaning, he found only a spiritual tiollowness to his work. The harder he worked, the more tasks he took on, the more his nerves stood on end, threatening at any moment to shatter through the fragile mask of the busy pastor and expose his The Art of Wasting Time hypocrisy. 3ung's advice was simplicity itself; he was to work a mere eight-hour day, go home and spent his evenings quietly in his study alone. Unconvinced of the wisdom of .lung's counsel, but sufficiently agonized to have no other recourse, the man made up his mind to follow the prescription to the letter. He worked his eight hours, returned to the parish house for supper, then retired behind the closed doors of his study for the rest of the evening. Some time later he returned to see .lung, reporting that, alas, the remedy had been a complete failure. Spiritually he was worse off than before, and the parish had fallen into disarray for want of attention. He had done everything just as he had been told, but to no avail. "What did you do in your study?" Jung asked. "Well, let's see, the first night I finished a Herman Hesse novel and listened to some Chopin l~tu~les. After that I read some Thomas Mann and listened to a Mozart sonata. Next I . . ." "But you didn't understand," .lung broke in. "I didn't want you to spend your time reading novels and listening to music. I wanted you to be alone with yourself.""Oh, but 1 couldn't stand it. i make such bad company," the pastor replied. "Aha! Now we see the problem," said .lung. "That very self that you can't stand for even a short period is the same self you have been inflicting on others for fourteen hours a day.~ The pastor's problem and the way he set out trying to cure it both belong to a level of cultural development that can only be called elite. The freedom to opt for a fourteen:l~our work day and drive oneself to psychological tatters, and then to reduce one's time of labor by 40% for the sake of spiritual hygiene; the possibility of consulting a professional therapist and paying for the service; the ability to read classic literature and appreciate classical music--all of these things belong to a style of life unthinkable to the great masses of humanity, who do not work for ends supererogatory to survival that can be dispensed with when body or soul collapses, but work to keep alive, and great numbers of them successfully. I do not mean to imply that the man's problem was not a real one, or that it should be classified, along with cosmetic surgery and Caribbean cruises, as needs bred of boredom or surfeit. I mean only that, like all spiritual problems, its roots reach over into problematic social structures as well, whose repair requires more attention to one's own soul. Of this, more shall be said later. What 'lung showed the pastor about himself, and what many of those who share his general cultural field can readily identify with, is that people will often go to extraordinary lengths to avoid having to look at themselves without a role to play. The crises of meaninglessness.that had attacked his work spread over into his leisure because of a common fundamental bias that value can only be generated by keeping busy at a socially acceptable task. In each case, he fled what he feared would do him more harm than anything else: his deep dislike of himself. In his work, the pretense of altruism threw up a thick smoke screen, almost as if deliber-ately to cloud the problem; and in his leisure the pretense of polishing up his education protected and reinforced the hollow ideals he could never quite recog-nize as his own. "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." Before one embraces those words as a commanded task, they need first to be accepted as a statement of fact: like it or not, one cannot love another if one does not first love oneself. And 6 / Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1982 there is no way to love oneself if one does everything possible to avoid spending time with oneself. The pastor's abuse of leisure meant that leisure was not a freeing time but an enslaving time. Instead of serving as a re-creational balance to the creativity of his work, it bound him more firmly to the estrangement he felt between his own innermost beliefs and his outward devotedness. The proper use of leisure, on the other hand, demands the capacity to turn solitariness into solitude, not to dread it as a mere isolation from things that have value. If there are human values that daily life and work sterilize conscience against, and if those values are truly the eradicable imprint of the divine on the soul of each individual, then the deliverance of the human from the inhumanity of which it is capable begins with a transforma-tion in perspective metanoia towards oneself. And that takes time, leisure time. To be denied that time to waste on oneself, or to deny it to oneself, is to forsake redemption from the common habits of evil that we all participate in unawares. Time for the Earth A second dimension on which our~modern myth of time has expropriated the functions of leisure is that of our relationship to nature. In order to get to the core of this problem, 1 should like to cite a story from the Inner Chapters bf Chuang- Tzu, the Chinese mystic and Taoist philosopher of the fourth century before the Christian era. It is a story about a certain master carpenter named Stone and his apprentice, and how they happened one day to encounter the truth about worth-less trees. It seems that on one of their voyages the two chanced to pass by a gigantic oak tree standing by a local village shrine. The young apprentice stopped short and stood aghast with awe at the towering majesty of the tree, whose trunk he thought must measure a hundred spans in girth, and whose branches were so immense that at least ten of them he reckoned could surely be carved into boats. But the master Stone just stalked off ahead without so much as giving the tree a second glance. Catching him up, the apprentice inquired of him why a carpenter should pass up such timber, more splendid than any he had seen since taking up his axe. "Stop!" the master rebuked him. "The tree is useless. A boat made from it would sink, a coffin would soon rot, a tool would split, a door would ooze sap, and a beam would have termites. It is worthless timber and is of no use. That is why it has reached such a ripe old age." That night the oak,tree appeared to the carpenter Stone in a dream and complained of being compared with useful trees that are stripped and pruned and robbed of their fruits or cut down in their prime because they attract the attentions of the common world. "As for me, I have been trying for a long time to be useless. I was almost destroyed several times, Finally I am useless, and this is very useful to me. if I had been useful, could 1 have.ever grown so large? Besides, you and I are both things. How can one thing judge another thing? What does a dying and worthless man like you know about a worthless tree?" The next day, when the °The Art of Wasting Time apprentice heard of the dream, he was puzzled. "If it had so great a desire to be useless, why does it serve as a shrine?" This time the master took up. the cause of the tree. "It is just pretending to be one so that it will not be hurt by those who do not know that it is useless. If it had not been a sacred tree, it would probably have been cut down. It protects itself in a different way from ordinary things. We will miss the point if we judge it in the ordinary way." Let us say the carpenter Stone, with his "ordinary way" of looking at things, is a type of technological men and women whose tools have so eclipsed their direct contact with nature that they can no longer revere the world except as something "useful" for their equipment. As the tree reminds the carpenter in his dream, however, there are values that go beyond the useful, beyond the values that civilizations assign to things when they judge them to be worth our "while." These values reach deep beneath the differences that separate the human from the rest of the earth, to the point of geocentric unity that was broken with the anthropocent-ric revolt against being merely a thing among other things. They reach beyond the divisions of means and ends into which people classify everything about them. Insight into such values begins with learning t9 listen to the earth, something whose importance we are only now rediscovering after a century of industrial progress. Even so, we have the greatest of difficulty in unplugging ourselves from the apparatus we have built to mediate our way to nature. The world is still viewed by and large as raw material for human civilization. We struggle to keep our environment free of pollution because we fear the spread of disease among people and the poisoning of our food. We lobby against the mindless pillage of forests because we fear the effects of soil erosion on our buildings and landscaping. We protect the wilderness because we need somewhere to "get away from it all." These are reasons that make sense to a civilized mind, but do not satisfy it quite yet. We still want more sense than that. Increasing numbers (especially those for whom there is no economic danger involved) are finding it therapeutic to sympathize with the plight of species endangered by hunting or the destruction of natural habitats. Others are relearning to use the tools that scientific advance had thought to render into museum pieces. Something like a spirituality of the earth is coming to birth, but its douleurs d'enfantement are spasmodic and uncomfortable in the extreme. Perhaps the major reason that the developed industrial nations of the world do not yet have time for the earth is that their livelihood depends on a world frag-mented according to its utility for tools, and on a work force of specialists who literally feed off of one or the other fragment. The kit of tools that provides us with our ordinary way of looking at the earth functions not only because it represents a considerable extension of the power of the human body--legs into automobiles, voices into radio waves, eyes into telescopes, arms into cranes, and so forth, in the great caricature that humanity has made of its own image--but also because it succeeds in devaluing any other way of looking at life and work. While this has made impressive leaps in scientific and technical progress possi-ble, it has also taken its toll on the human spirit in the form of a massive addiction I~ / Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1982 to packaged, processed experiences of the earth. We seek respite from the drudgery of working at our own specialized task only to find ourselves consuming the product of someone else's specialization. The woman who sits from morning to night on an assembly line at a canning factory learns to put up with the boredom and servility of her labor by concentrating on the privileges it will give her through the money she earns. Come vacation time, she happily skips into a great steel can sealed in Los Angeles and opened in Hawaii, clutching her five-nights-six-days-cut- rate-holiday plan around which she has organized her hopesof regaining some of the dignity she had to forfeit in order to afford the trip in the first place. She may well spend her whole life without noticing 'that she is being sold on the earth in entertainment-packages by an industry that depends on people not being able to experience the beauties and pleasures of nature without their help. Such contact with nature, far from helping one to recover the basic human demand for creativity and meaning in work, only reinforces the same feelings of impotence, ignorance, and strangeness in the face of the complex machinery and bureaucracy that has come between people and the earth. From the point of view of those who have forgotten that demand, such time may be considered very well spent, very useful, and very recreational. But it is not the freeing time of leisure because it does not so much as waste a moment on trying to step outside the ordinary way of looking at the earth, to see nature once again from the inside as it were, as something valuable in itself. Time for the Human Race In addition to the estrangement from oneself and estrangement from the earth, there is a third dimension on which our myth of time has expropriated the dower of wasted time, namely estrangement from our own race. We who compose essays on electric typewriters and subscribe to journals on the spiritual life tend to forget that the technology we take for granted is still experienced as an oppression by the vast majority of human beings. Consciously it is felt as the oppression of neglect at the hands of those who dwell in the economic penthouses of the global commun-ity. Unconsciously it is felt as the oppression of envy for the equipment and the life style of affluence and the accompanying disgust with their own primitive enjoy-ments. For all the commonsense wisdom contained in the counsel that money cannot buy happiness, and that more often than not it only multiplies the possibili-ties for unhappiness, both the rich of the earth and the poor are agreed that it is a misery they would prefer risking. The consumer ethos that pervades and sustains a high level of technology at the top of the human pyramid also pervades and sustains the grotesque want under which most of our kind are forced to live. - By far the greatest part of the human community has no opportunity for employing the technological tools that are now transforming the fac~ of the planet, and in many cases do not even know that they exist. Those who use jet transporta-tion are an absolute aristocracy; for every one of them there are several thousands who have never ridden a bicycle. The number of illiterates in the world still far The Art of Wasting 7~me / 9 outnumbers the number of those who even own radios; and the number of people who own television sets is far lower than the number of those whose annual income does not reach the cost of a television. The rest of humanity, for which individuals in the developed world have no time, have fallen into conditions made more difficult to escape by the surfeit that one small portion of the world enjoys. At the base of the human pyramid there are ~hundreds of millions living on the borderlands of vegetation and death, which in turn belongs to a group of nearly one billion people whom we have now come to speak of as the fourth world. Above them is the third world, over half of which lives in a poverty they have no hope of remedying, yet a poverty tortured by the knowledge that some of the race spend their lives struggling to acquire still greater surpluses of luxury, and to glut themselves with still more of the already maldis-tributed fruits of the earth. Those who are born and bred in life at the top of the pyramid have little practical feeling for the current inhumanity that is ravaging most of the race. They find it easier to imagine science-fictional futures than to imagine the present reality, let alone to image their own complicity in the way things are. They may watch documentaries about starvation in Africa or floods in Asia, but fail to make any connection when they book passage the next day for a tour in the Yucatfin. Or perhaps better, they have allowed their.questions to be silenced by the whole tangle of government and economic organizations that constantly complain of how com-plicated everything is. They may know that the budget of New York State, with its twelve million people, exceeds that of India with its six hundred million, and perhaps even permit themselves a sigh of pity; but they entrust the sorting out of injustices to the experts who have been trained to worry about such things. All the privileged of the earth know for sure is. that they have no objection to others sharing in their style of life, provided it does not make any demands on theirown appetities. Clearly, this is not enough. Within a generation we shall have six billion people on the earth, with five billion of them living in poverty. The tactic of indifference, which amounts to a war of the few against the many, kills and dehumanizes more effectively than any weapon we have yet dared to use. But it is running out of time. As the poor arm themselves with the surplus of our .stockpiles, sold off cheaply to make way for more advanced weaponry, we cannot suppose that they will forever remain content with waging war among themselves. The smaller and more concen-trated the centers of wealth become throughout the world, the more vulnerable they become to the masses of those who have been trained to be jealous of what others are free to consume. The urgency of the situation, however, is not of itself enough to guarantee the quality of any and every attempt to alleviate it. Just as time for the self and time for the earth tend to get absorbed without remainder into time for the consumption of luxuries advertised as refreshment from working time, so time for the human race all too readily gets twisted into the donation of services that perpetuate the spirit-ual impoverishment of the technological world by camouflaging it behind an 10 / Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1982 idiom of charity. Those who are touched with a sense of pity for the maldistribu-tion of wealth and feel the pressure to help, all too frequefitly lack the requisite insight into their own patterns of thought to realize how their aid can amount to the substitution of one form of dehumanization for another. In providing hospi-tals, schools, factories, and modern transport for the underprivileged (that is, for those denied the right to consume culture as we consume it), the donor organiza-tions narrow their responsibilities down tc~ the unilaterial sharing of goods and values. The possibility that alternate social systems, now' rendered obsolete, unproductive, and unsustainable by the current management of the world's resources, may have something to, teach the human community about liberation from the consumer ethos is pushed to one side in the rush to make amends for gluttony overcome with guilt in the face of deprivation. I1: the price of providing bread for the world is further investment in the current means of producing and distributing bread, then bread for the world there will never be. The economics of this are fairly intricate, but the direct ratio th~it obtains between the number of people who are starving to death and the increased number of organizations and agencies aimed at distributive justice is plain enough to see. A leisure that is freeing for the human race is not simply time given free of cost by the haves to the have-nots, but a time for withdrawal from the ruling myth of time. It must, in the first pla~e, be a waste of tilne altogether free of investments economic or ideological, time wasted on the whole of the race, ourselves included. Of all the forms of leisure, this is the one that has become most radically enslaved to the biases of working time, despite the way in which improved means of communication have enabled an altogether new image of the universal h~]man family. There may be no greater constriction of.the imagination in the history of human thought about world order than that of the present day face-off in devel-oped industrial nations between the philanthropic illusion of the rich nations of the world opening their storehouses to share with the poor on the one hand, and the financial illusion of increasing productivity to the point of being able to sell more goods more cheaply without monetary loss on the other. And this, too, is a mark of grave spiritual immaturity. The Reappropriation of Leisure If I have left a good deal in the previous pages to innuendo and only hints of an explanation of how leisure time has become victimized by the spread of consumer metaphors, it was not only to condense a manifold problem into a few words, but also to prepare for what 1 wish to propose by way of conclusion. Simply put, it comes to this: that only the personal awakening of increasing numbers of individ-uals to the considerable loss sustained by civilization in its forward march into technology can provide the footings for a modern spirituality, and that only the redemption of leisure time from its servility to current structures of thought can provide the conditions for such awakening. The reappropriation of the need for leisure--an unadvertised, unprofitable, and withal revolutionary need--begins with the individual or it does not begin at all. No one can stand l~roxy for another's The Art of Wasting Time spiritual conversion. No expertise can service a society with personal insight, judgment, and decision. For it is not so much concession to the logic of particular conclusions that is the point, but the recovery of the process of working one's own way out of familiar biases. This process hinges on the art of wasting time. In the first place, leisure time should nurture a spirit of resistance to the humors of resignation that poison the bloodstream of industrial society. It should increase one's resistance to the workaday bias that the submission and trust due divine providence, for having cast us into a world with hopes in our hearts too big for our abilities, should be extended into a submission and trust in social provi-dence, for having spun a web of institutions so tightly about us that we are powerless to do much more than lay a hand across our inquisitive mouths and adjust as best we can. From the point of view of the world of time where work gets done, free time that results in raising basic questions about that world is not only wasted time, it is counterproductive. No doubt a life in which leisure means nothing but filling up with comforts and entertainments the hollow gouged out of the soul by resignation to the complexities of modern life is an ideal few, if any, would Openly champion. But the fact is, the bare physical need for periodic reinvigoration always has a spiritual dimension to it as well, and in industrial society that spiritual dimension tends to vacillate between the reinforcement of patterns of passive consumption of relaxation and spare-time thoughts about better pay, shorter hours, or increased benefits. In either case, it remains subser-vient to the structures of work and effectively concedes defeat to their power. It lacks re-creativity. This is the idolatry, of epidemic proportions, that afflicts the spirituality of technological society. Second, in order to offer this sort of recreational resistance to the spirit of resignation, time wasted in leisure should be an abandon to the spirit of playful-ness. I use that word in a broader sense than either the games of children or the athletics of adults to cover not only the labor of alternative activities but also the enjoyments of repose; and in a narrower sense than sleep or intoxication on the one hand, moonlighting or profit-making hobbies on the other. The playfulness of leisure has three facets. The first of these is the imagination of possible futures in which we might be free of the oppressions of the present. If such futures are truly' possible, that is, if they are able to emerge out of the existing world by a rearrange-ment of its priorities, then their entertainment in imagination is capable of being sustained and deepened from one period of leisure to the next. This in contrast to the scattered daydreams of wishful thinking that come and go for all of us without effort or lasting impression. That is, such images can accumulate sufficient form in time to lead to the commitment to some preferable future from among the possi-bilities~ To experience such a reorganization of hope in playfulness is to experience the genesis of an ideal within oneself. Not to experience it is to keep leisure locked up in itself. And finally, there is the transition from the possible and the preferable to the enjoyment of the future in the present. This is where most people are best at wasting time, even though they may not know what they are doing. It consists in the construction of a temporary utopia about oneself where the things one values 12 / Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1982 most can be savored. It is a timefor tasting ideals of companionship without strife, pleasure without labor, crafmanship without pressure, play without punishment. The reigning fear among those who wish to protect their leisure time from being absorbed by spiritual or intellectual recollection is that too much reflection inhibits enjoyment. And to be sure, there are those whose twisted sense of asceticism drives them from one cause to the other, volunteering their services and neglecting the wisdom that comes from having a good, wasted time. At the other extreme, enjoyment cut off from reflection about the future altogether quickly shrivels up into a mere pampering of a self exhausted by labor, with the result that it becomes less and less enjoyable and more and more like the pure passivity of sleep. Some-where between the two lies the art of celebrating a world that is not but might be for a while, a world filled up with the spirit of playfulness. Third, leisure should help foster a spirit of survival in the midst of this by no means best of all possible worlds. Just as the struggle for physical survival requires ingenuity in using available resources and at the same time remaining alert to the opportunities for deliverance if and when they present themselves, so too with the struggle for spiritual survival. It requires anger against avoidable evils, sensitivity to appropriate solutions in which one's anger may be expressed, and the capacity to wait without exploding from within or being sapped of one's energies from without. One may have to buy chemically treated food because fresh produce has been priced beyond one's budget; one may have to drive an automobile to work because public transport systems have become an economic deficit to the com-munity; one may have to put up with menial labor because one's skills are not in demand; one may have to swallow large doses of injustice, stupidity, and callous-ness. But one does not have to pretend to like it or allow it to embitter enjoyment. Survival means wedding a resistance to resignation with a love of playfulness so as to forfeit neither the gusts nor the disgusts of life. Fourthly, leisure needs to infuse a spirit of the sacred into the time that we waste. When the ritual, beliefs, and holy writ of a religious tradition become fettered to the myth of consumer time, they forsake their sacredness. When they cease to cut like a. two-edged sword that denounces sinfulness and announces goodness, they dull and profane their capactiy of re-creation. At the same time, when they provide mere divertissement from the trials of working life or serve only as platforms for supporting the flood of causes that wash through the mass media with the regularity of spring and autumn fashions, they betray their meaning. Sacred time is not an investment measured in loss and profit to the current problems of a civilization. It is a necessity--the necessity to hallow the self, the earth, and the human race as a single great gift beyond all desert. It insures that, whatever of practical use may come out of time wasted in leisure, it is the wasting that is holiest. Sacred time unplugs us from our own time and opens up a horizon of all time, against which the greatest sin appears as the desire for absolute control and the greatest goodness as the grace of being absolutely loved. All of us, every soul of us on earth, breathe the myths of our civilization as inevitably as we breathe the air .that surrounds us. They are transparent, taken for The Art of Wasting l~me / 13 granted, but essential for human .life. Leisure time is like a flute that transforms.the silent secrets in the air into music. It shows us the harmonies and the cacophanies, the purity and the pollution of our myths. Without leisure, we have no way to know the air about us, no way to love back the One who made us the,mythmaking animals we are. View From Behind Tapestries look like battlefields from the back. Threads like soldiers in hand to hand combat-- who is most resilient? Arms locked, elbows out, clenched fists of knot scattered like small skirmishes across the expanse. Who is most flexible? Stitches quarrel in overbearing voice, rush to trenches, maintain positions. Colors invade each other's territory, singing violent victories of light. All clamor, all struggle, It faces the wall of faith while the weaver and the watcher . work from the front. St. Anne Higgins, D.C. 123 Franklin St., Petersburg, VA 23803 Celibacy in Africa Matungulu Otene, S.J. Zaire's Father Otene, ordained in 1977, is presently working in St. Peter and Paul parish: B.P. 1125: Lubumbashi: Zaire. This article is excerpted from the booklet. "C~libat Consacr~ pour une Afrique assoiff~: de F~:conditi:," published by Editions Saint-Paul Afrique, P.O. Box 8505; Kinshasa, which was translated into English by Louis C. Plamondon. S.J.: Manresa; Box 47154; Nairobi; Kenya. In English, it is no. 65 of the Spearhead series, "Celibacy and the African Value of Fecundity," published by Gaba Publications: P.O. Box 908: Eldoret: Kenya, which graciously granted permission for our use. ~f the reason for Christian celibacy is unique, that is, for Jesus Christ and his kingdom, every Christian called to this type of life is also called to live out this experience in the context of his own culture and personal history. An African celibate today is not celibate in exactly the same way as an Indian of today, even if both are celibate for the sake of Jesus Christ and his kingdom. There is a whole world of emotions and affectivity which permeates our celibacy very deeply. This is so true that the world we live in affects the objective and subjective content of our celibacy. Both what we hear being said about celibacy and what we experience in our flesh by living out what is said, are rooted emotions. Without this emotive element, there would be no human celibacy in the full sense of the term; conse-quently, there would be no Christian celibacy since the latter is deeply rooted in human nature and since celibacy itself has also to be incarnated. The affective life of a South American--his way of feeling and living celibacy--differs from that of an African from Zaire or Senegal. Among Africans there are a certain number of differences in affectivity. However, even if it must be admitted that within the same people there are different ways of feeling things, this, nevertheless, does not mean that African peoples do not have a greater affinity with one another than with peoples from the West or the East. After all, their cultural heritage is common. This seems evident even if there are shades of meaning or subtle nuances which are hard to express in these few short pages, which do not pretend to be a psycho-so-cial study of human societies. 14 Celibacy in Africa The cultural milieu in which the young African lives has a very great impact on his response to the Lord's call. Celibacy is surely an area in which sensibility is a very important factor, if not the most important. In fact, coming as he does from a family where marriage is viewed in a very special light, the young African will carry in the depths of his being, perhaps through his whole life, the impact of this way of thinking. It will take only a circumstance or an event to awaken in him a whole world of memories accumulated throughout his short life. The fact that his grand-father was polygamous, that his own father had more than one wife, and that his own mother was not the first wife of his father, nor the one preferred, cannot but have significance in his life of celibacy. The mere fact of knowing that in his extended family there is somewhere a cousin with five children, each with a different father, cannot be without significance. Those are his half brothers, but this entails that this good cousin of his.is a husbandless woman with children entirely dependent upon her. To know that his aunt is a prostitute with children, cannot' but have some impact on him. It is no small thing to have a deep sense of all these situations and still, despite all this, to dedicate his life to God in conse-crated celibacy. This world which I have just described briefly cannot be found as such in Europe nor in North or South America, but this is the world that has shaped the young African of whatever black African country he may be. One cannot ignore these realities and pretend that they do not have any influence whatsoever on people. For Africans the child is a reality to be treasured; and each human being does all in his power to leave behind him :some offspring, whether he be married or not married, living the life of a prostitute or of enforced celibacy. All Africans desire to have children, sometimes by any means. The young man who hears the Lord's call is living in this very world and not in any other. His' reflections and ways of thinking are rooted in the environment from which he comes, in the psycho-social milieu which surrounds him. This does not frighten the Lord just as no human milieu frightens him, because it is in such complex situations that he manages to find celibates for his kingdom. Growth in the Life of Celibacy To be sure, other cultures also have their own difficult problems in this area. I am merely showing that our way of experiencing the world has an influence on celibacy and that the cultural traditions are to be taken seriously, but without exaggeration. The young African called to a life of celibacy or religious life will have to integrate progressively within his affective life the realities which surround him without seeking to escape from them. He will do so by looking at them frankly, without panic, in prayer, in his personal relationship with Christ in the Eucharist. God's grace is always there, and this is what gives us confidence in the face of the strong temptations in this life. This young human being will have to understand that since the Incarnation, God gives his grace through weak human beings. Accordingly, to see clearly within his own being, he will have to be open with another person who has the experience of Jesus Christ. The one the Lord will "16 / Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1982 put in his path will show him the road to follow and will give him courage in the moment of trial when temptations are strongest. Celibacy requires a lot of disci-pline. He will have to learn to exercise great control over his senses and sometimes to give up things which are innocuous, and to focus on the unique reality which is necessary, Jesus Christ. For certain types of people, chastity can be gained only after a hard fight lasting many years; and this can cause a lot of anxiety when it happens to people who are scrupulous by nature, yet desirous of achieving holiness. What I have just written is not rhetoric. It sometimes happens that young people are torn apart inwardly because they want to dedicate themselves entirely to the Lord but yet cannot completely control certain evil habits or certain attitudes which they find difficult to evangelize. I insist that it is a difficult fight--a fight to death--a fight which moulds a man gradually as he learns bit by bit not to depend upon his own strength but on that of the Lord who has set him apart from his mother's womb to preach his Gospel to men of good will There are less sensitive types of people who do not encounter very many types of problems in their development, but irrespective of their sensitivity, all will undergo moments when they are forced to make a decision for the Lord. The chastity that is required by a life of celibacy is not a case of spontaneous generation--it is a garden that must be tended lest weeds grow in it. When one has gone astray, one finds it difficult, sometimes even impossible, to go back; thus, it is not surprising that some young, generous people have gone astray. Vigilance is necessary in these matters, but the kind of vigilance characteristic of those who are sure of victory; for if Christ is with us, who can be against? Sooner or later Christ will defeat this devil of our middle age who likes to attack our flesh, born in the human condition, born incomplete. The young celibate, therefore, will learn not to abuse God's grace. He will be prudent; he will not take chances with his celibacy. He will have the simplicity of a dove but the prudence of a serpent. The married man who is a dedicated Christian will not flirt with other women lest his marriage, be threatened and, accordingly, his real happiness and that of his home. The same holds true for religious. They also cannot take chances with their passions and put themselves in the position of violating the gift they have made of themselves in the simplicity of their heart. Nothing escapes lay people when it comes to observing the behavior of reli-gious. They notice even the smallest detail when they want to criticize their priests or religious men and women. Some even take pleasure in judging them, in scrutin-izing their behavior to find the smallest reprehensible thing. In this way, they purify their religious, even without wanting to. Lay people are surely not gullible, even though they sometimes misinterpret the way African religious live out their celibacy. They can often distinguish between the religious who is loyal and faithful to his consecration to the Lord from the religious who is beginning to compromise and. to give in. Assuredly, their judgments are not gospel truth, and often one would do well to minimize themremembering that even the great saints were often Slandered by malicious tongues. Celibacy in Africa Certain Difficulties or Certain Illusions It is sad to 'note that many young, generous and seemingly solid religious have lost the grace of celibacy because of supposedly spiritual relationships with women religious and with young girls. There is nothing more dangerous than these suspect relationships between men and women religious, nothing more scandalous for African Christians than to see their priests, their men and women religious become involved in expressions of human love under the pretext of love in Christ.Many men and women religious believe rather too easily that they have been made immune to the weakness of their flesh. They are a little too quick to believe that they have attained the required maturity in celibacy. They sincerely think that henceforth sex has no hold over them since they have become spiritual. Yet, it is a very sad and illusory spirituality which makes man believe that he is now immune to sin. A really spiritual person, on the contrary, depends entirely on the grace of God without giving up healthy vigilance. I believe that the closer one gets to the Lord, the more one realizes that what seemed innocent until then now takes on the appearance of something that is not entirely pure. However, far from being threatened or discouraged by this increasing desire for purity, one has more and more confidence in the Lord and greater humility when one thinks 6f how little one is virtuous. In true love there is no fear. This is so, it seems to me, in the case of one who wants to respond wholeheartedly, day after day, to the call of him who has made us pass from darkness to his wonderful light. In my humble opinion, it often takes many years of solitude to be able to experience a true spiritual friendship in Christ with members of the other sex. The danger is to believe too quickly that the right moment has come. That is often when one goes astray. As for any genuinely Christian life, celibacy cannot go without suffering. There is no real celibacy without the mystery of the cross written, as it were, in the flesh of baptized people. A celibacy without renunciation, without a sacrifice that is willingly accepted, a celibacy which refuses to die like the grain of wheat fallen in the soil is a celibacy locked up in solitude and bearing no lasting fruit. There are people who are undoubtedly privileged because of circum-stances and especially because of the Lord, but let us not be too quick to classify ourselves among those people and risk spoiling the splendid grace the Lord has given to us--the grace of living the celibacy of simple people without any special favors from God, I mean without any extraordinary grace. This simple gift, in fact, honors the Lord just as much as the extraordinary gift that some of us humans might receive from God. I don't mean to say that it is absolutely impossible for men or women religious to experience a healthy spiritual friendship with members of the other sex, but I believe that some of us think that we have attained that stage when we really haven't. Often, because of a lack of restraint or a lack of real self-knowledge, one strikes up a friendship which will tomorrrow become sinful, therefore, bad for oneself and for theirs. A friendship to which we are too attached, a friendship which prevents us from fulfilling our duties is a friendship to be "18 / Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1982 purified or, better still to be abandoned while there is time; that is, as soon as we become aware off where it is. leading, the relationship must be severed politely and without human respect. This is for the greater good of the person whom we love in Christ; finally, it is for the greater glory of the one who has called us to holiness, Jesus Christ. In the same way, a friendship which would render a member of a religious order incapable of being available to do what his superiors want 9f him is simply not good. It is for the Lord that we have joined religious life, not for the purpose of surrounding ourselves with protective partnerships which go against true charity. In,his infinite goodness, the Lord may put on our path a person of the other sex for a certain period of time. This, person will enrich us through, friendship, and this enrichment can be mutual. But, here again, this gracemust be lived in all simplicity and with the necessary prudence since we are all weak, sinful human beings. Hope for Africa ~ , Certain missionaries have led young Africans to believe that celibacy is more difficult for them than !t is for young people from the West. This opinion is based on ignorance or it is a lie. The fundamental problem, in fact, is the same for all human beings; the conditions that are found in any culture are not qualitatively different. In the final analysis, it is the same fundamental problem for different people in different cultures; there are accidental but no essential differences. I have sometimes been shocked to hear this type of broad statement according to which it would be practically impossible for Africans to live a life of celibacy. For me, celibacy is rooted in faith in the living Christ. It is something which permeates the faith of the one who feels called, and faith is something which is given by the Lord without any distinction of culture or race. There are differences, but they are not so essential that they make a life of celibacy impossible in AfriCa. There are enough African religious to show th~.t this is true. Among these meia and women of Africa, often living in some isolated areas, there are men and women religious who live their cbnsecration to the Lord even in heroic fashion. Their silent example is enough to prove that celibacy is possible for Africans, at least for those who feel themselves called to it and who respond generously. Not too long ago, 1 was telling a group of young Africans the following: either we are Christians or we are not; either we believe in Jesus Christ or we don't believe in him at all. In this area there are no half measures. It's all or nothing. This is why faith in Jesus Christ requries a complete transformation of our life-style and of our outlook. One of the aspects of our outlook on life which must change because it is absolutely against Christianity is this requirement of a fruitfulness that is exclusively biological. A man without children among us in black Africa is one who does not bear fruit, who is useless and even an outcast. If there is an obstacle to the awakening and living out of vocations (and I am talking here about voca-tions to the priesthood or religious life), it is our too limited way of looking at fruitfulness. Many Africans believe that a man cannot be completely fulfilled in or outside of marriage unless he has many children. Among us, celibate people and Celibacy in Africa married couples without children are not seen in a good light because they seem useless to our society. It may be understandable that some non-Christians think this way. But for Christians this is disastrous. Haven't we ever meditated on the life of Christ? Can we ignore that he was himself celibate? Or do we believe that Jesus was not a man like us except for sin? Yet our creed is very clear on this. Jesus was truly God and he was truly man. If such is the case, why wouldn't we allow those among us who wish to live like Christ to doso? If it be true that the face of being celibate did not diminish the God made man, why wouldn't we accept that a certain number among us are not diminished by celibacy for Jesus Christ and his kingdom? Has the world ever known a being as fully developed as Jesus of Nazareth, our Love? Yet, he was celibate. Isn't this Jesus who lived without a wife and children still, even today, a source of all life for us? One doesn't lose anything by responding to his call, by becoming celibate for him and for his kingdom where we shall all have only one Father, his own, and where all of us will truly be brothers and sisters in the Spirit who makes us one. The young African is thus called to live a life of faith in Christ. He must not think that celibacy is more difficult for him than for young people in other continents. This is simply not true. Let us take the example of the West where today may be found pornographic films, sex shops, nightclubs. To live in such a world is not always easy. It requires a certain self-discipline. In order to live a life of celibacy in such an atmosphere, it is necessary to cling to Jesus Christ, to have a deep life of prayer and to receive the Eucharist regularly. The young African man or woman called to religious life will always remember that we live in a world of male and female; consequently, it is clear that we have to live our celibacy in the midst of men and women of our times and of our culture. There is nothing wrong with that; on the contrary, it is a grace that the Lord gives us by inviting us to live out his gospel in the midst of the world and not in some isolated corner. At the crossroads the Lord may put on our path certain persons of the other sex. We will welcome them as brothers and sisters in the Lord. The gospel is full of examples that show us how Jesus respected persons of the other sex. He doesn't send away the sinful woman who comes to the house of Simon, the Pharisee to have her sins forgiven. On this occasion, Jesus could have been afraid of shocking people by receiving such a woman with open arms. But the Lord was not afraid of what people would say or think because in true love there is no fear. Neither does Jesus judge the woman caught in adultery like the Pharisees who bring her to him. On the contrary, he defends her against the "unmarked tombs" who have grown old in sin and yet want to preach to others. Jesus is close friends with Martha and Mary as well as with their brother, Lazarus. Jesus has pity on the widow from Naim who has lost her son. The Lord admires the Canaanite woman's faith, and he is exceedingly affectionate toward his mother Mary, the Immaculate Virgin. In his Gospel, the Lord shows us how his celibacy did not exclude anybody. He Was completely open; he welcomed others. In solitude he prayed and he was a 20 / Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1982 source of joy and peace for the people that God, his Father, had placed in his path. If religious life is to flourish in our African continent,it is necessary that there be more and more religious who witness by their life of celibacy. A celibacy based on Jesus Christ cannot but be fruitful. Black Africa, which has such a high regard for fruitfulness, will see a new type of love which outstrips in fruitfulness the love of the children of this world. We, the sons and daughters of Mother Africa, have believed in the word of him who said, "there are some who are eunuchs because they have made themselves so for the kingdom of heaven. Let him who can understand, understand" (Mt 19:!2). If there is a word which has become the life of our life, that is the one. Spiritual Fruitfulness If there is a fruitfulness that is biological, there is another one which is spiritual. Any parent worth his salt knows that it is' not enough to procreate children. In responsible parenthood, it is also necessary to help the child that we have brought to life to grow untilhe has reached a stage where he will truly be an adult. To educate, to instruct are part and parcel of his awakening to human life. It takes only one instant for a couple to initiate the process of procreation. It takes only a little time to call someone into existence, but it requries many years for a child to become an adult. Whether it be as parents, as educators, or in any other capacity, all those who are engaged in human formation are doing a type of work that is spiritually generative. Any man who helps another one grow and become more human is a man who is gpiritually generative. This spiritual generation exists at various levels; yet, the spiritual fruitfulness of a Christian is not that of a non-Christian. From a Christian point of view, any Christian man or woman who awakens another human being to the life of God in Jesus Christ is spiritually fruitful. The object of spiritual fruitfulness for a Christian is Jesus Christ and his message. It is the person of Christ which distinguishes any typically Christian fruitfulness from any other. All Christians are called to be fruitful but in different ways and in accordance with their state in life. The form of life of one who wakens to the life of God in Jesus Christ is not something that is accidental. There are some who believe that the way of life--whether it be of married Christians or of "eunuchs for the king-dom of God"---has no importance in the process of awakening to life. But when one awakens somebody else to life, one does it with all one's being. If our way of life is not something external to us but a part of our being and, therefore, a part of our relationship to God, to others, and to the world, we can readily understand that this life-style is not without importance in matters of spiritual fruitfulness. In his life Jesus preferred celibacy to marriage, and this choice is not something accidental. The Jesus of the gospels presents himself to us as celibate and not otherwise, and this is part of the mystery of incarnation. In the same way Jesus was not at the same time a man and a woman. He was not both married and non-mar-ried. He was a celibate, and tfiis fact has some relevance in the transmission of his Celibacy in Africa message. He wanted to be born of a virgin, Mary, and this also is not something purely accidental or accessory in the mystery of salvation. Thus one who chooses celib~acy for the kingdom of God is fruitful differently from married people. This difference is rooted in the order of being and not of having. It is an ontological reality and, therefore, it is a dimension surrounded with mystery. The spiritual fecundity of those who live in celibacy resembles closely that of Christ. In other words, the way that Christ was spiritually fruitful resembles the way in which a man is fruitful through a celibacy chosen for Christ. Obviously "to resemble" or "to be close to" is not the same thing as "to be identical to." Wherever a true local Church is to be found, there will be found also Christians who are married and Christians who are eunuchs for the kingdom. Each of these forms of life has a great importance in the aspect of fecundity which is essential for the life of the Church. The uniqueness of the spiritual fruitfulness of a celibate for the kingdom of heaven shares something of the mystery of God made man, of God who wanted to be among us without woman or child while being eternally generative. Death Song of a Grain of Wheat Born above the earth, Beloved of the sun, Sky-held. Rain-touched. Wind-taught to dance, I know I sang of joy. Borne beneath the ground, Forsaken by the sun, Sky-denied, Rain-forgot, I feel no more the winds, And know a slower song. Yet reach I for the sun-set fires And C~rr the hidden waters. Stretched, song-heavy with the wait ' Of days too long to measure, I learn to trust the darkness That consumes me: That sends my myriad children to be Born above the earth. Sister Linda Karas. RSM Mercy Consultation Center P.O. Box 370 Dallas, PA 18612 The Sparrow Has Found Its Home At Last: A Personal Account of Transfer Anonymous The author is a sister who transferred from an active to a contemplative community some several years ago. She explains in the article why she prefers to remain anonymous. The sharing which follows comes as the result of a suggestion made to me that I write about my experience of transfer from an active community to a contempla-tive order. My first response was a hasty and hearty "No." Then the possibility of helping any individual or community involved in a similar experience crept into my prayer and thinking. The good which might be achieved seemed to outweigh my natural reticence and my disinclinatio.n to discuss the subject. I have not taken any polls, nor have I statistics. I personally know exactly six solemnly professed nuns and a few people in formation who transferred from active to contemplative life. However, one would'have to have lived on a remote Pacific atoll for the last several years not to know that transfers are on the increase. What follows is not a scholarly analysis of the phenomenon of transfer. It is just my own experience and an endeavor to share what ! have learned. The reason for my choosing anonymity is that I might feel freer in what I write and also guard the identity of my former and present communities. There is another reason: the story is more God's than my own. The transfer, or more correctly, my contempla-tive vocation, is his work, his call, his idea. My part has only been a response to his initiative and to his love. Early History The idea of transfer did not come as a sudden inspiration. My first desire to be a nun came when ! was twelve and I was certain then that I was called to be a contemplative: I even knew to which order and monastery I was attracted. Some-thing, though, interfered with following this vocation: My father adamantly opposed the idea of his daughter being immured in a cloister. The whole topic was 22 A Personal Account of Transfer forbidden, and gradually I forgot the idea. In the meantime, I became acquainted wi~h the sisters working in our parish. I won my father's consent to join this :community which 1 genuinely loved and admired. I received a good fo, rmation and an excellent education. I was very happy and contented. One thing consistenly moved and drew me: prayer. Right from the beginning I had some difficulty with meditation books and their outline of points, colloquies and resolutions. It all seemed too ready-made. Also, the time given to this prayer (one-half hour) never seemed to satisfy my longing for greater intimacy and depth. My difficulty was remedied by the fact that God simply transcended the books and led me along his chosen path for me in prayer. Another remedy came by way of hiding alone in solitary places on the novitiate property. There God had free rein in my heart. The one thing I most wanted was to love him and see him known and loved. Of course I did try to speak of this desire to superiors. They seemed mbre concerned that I live the common life, practice virtue, and eliminate my faults. All this was quite understandable but not terribly encouraging. Matters came to a head when I became a junior sister. My desires for loving God alone and in hiddenness, and for a life which would embrace withdrawal and penance became a steady fire within me. Neither studies nor work could distract me from it. After some months of inner turmoil I finally had the courage to broach the subject of a contemplative vocation to the community confessor, a, retreat maste.r, and my immediate superior. None of these persons told me the whole thing was a temptation against my vocation, but since 1 was happy and well adjusted, they each felt that I had enough opportunity for the things I was seeking within the scope of the religious life as it was then being lived in the congregation. Again, this was essentially what I had been told in the novitiate. My disappoint-ment was as strong as the attraction I had experienced but l was able to set aside my yearning. The work in which I was engaged kept me busy. I enjoyed it and gave myself to it wholeheartedly. A few years later, an unforgettable retreat, coupled with God teaching me to pray with Scripture some months after retreat, gave direction and support to me in my relationship with him. He was so near, and daily he spoke to me in his word. This did not rekindle the desire for contemplative life~ but it did establish me firmly in the way of contemplative prayer. This brief history serves, I think, to underscore a fact in my life and in the lives of those women whose stories of transfer I know well: the vocation was felt very early and not taken too seriously by those in a position to advise and assist. Had they done so, a good deal of the suffering, struggle and turmoil of coming to a decision to transfer,after many years in an apostolic congregation might have been mitigated. . Coming to a Decision In the years following Vatican Council II my community undertook its renew-al and adaptation. I welcomed all the initial changes as healthy and hopeful. As time went on, however, I became unhappy with my own and the community's level 24 / Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1982 of secularization. My modest wardrobe and collection of trifling possessions troubled my conscience. I wanted and expected to receive annual assignments, but the new approach of applying for both position and residence, with the full expectation that one's preferences would be honored, contradi6ted my understand-ing of Gospel obedience. T.V., mixed drinks, popular novels, dating, and all the inevitable departures from religious life were matters of grave concern to me. It seemed to me that the true life of the community was ebbing away, that God and the love of God were no longer the focus of life. We still did a first-class job in our work, but there appeared to me~ little difference between ourselves and dedicated lay persons. Without going into more detail, I felt it necessary to include the foregoing inasmuch as it formed some of the background for my transfer. However, I do not feel that discontent and disapproval, even if justified, are good reasons for transfer. They would form a very shaky foundation for any new beginning and would surely raise questions in the community accepting a transfer sister. Flight from trouble could well indicate that the same pattern would be followed in the new community. It could also mean that the heart of the problem might be within the sister herself, and her response to difficult circumstances. Fleeing trouble was never part of my motivation. Had this been the case, I would have done it much sooner because I lived in painful community situations for several years before making a transfer. Furthermore, 1 was always very open and honest in communicating my thinking to my superiors. One cannot simply leave. There must be integrity in the decision and it should be made in peace and, as far as possible, in harmony with one's higher superiors. There should be no bitterness, resentment or anger. The vocation is followed as God's call and is a result of his initiative. This fact, if kept central in the minds of all concerned, makes for peace; and it is in this way that God's presence manifests itself to all involved. God uses all our experiences to our good and brings about his purposes. While not my motivation, discontent and disapproval were part of my personal expe-rience and did serve to keep me from what I saw as wrong, In a more positive vein, they ,kept me praying for God's light, strength and help. Certain tragic events in my own family also form a part of this picture and had their effect. Instead of completely discouraging me or leading me to despair or exodus from religious life altogether, everything brought me to the God of all peace and consolation. He alone became myRock of Refuge and Teacher. The alienation I experienced from my community and its value increased my love for him and my trust in him. Thus it was that my attraction for simply being with God in love grew stronger. A mere "concidence" (in quotation marks because the providence of the God who numbers the hairs of our fieads extends to every circumstance and happen-ing) occasioned my writing to the superior of a monastery. In time we became correspondents. When I first visited her and met her community in the grilled and bare parlor of the monastery I was deeply moved. This surprised me. I had not thought of contemplative life as my vocation for years, yet here 1 was, feeling completely at home with relative strangers and very strongly drawn to their sim- A Personal Account of Transfer / 25 plicity, humility, joy, peace and poverty. In the months that followed 1 was haunted by the experience. I found out more about their life and read of their origin. Could it be? Might 1 become one of them? Or was this merely a desire for escape from present suffering ("the grass is always greener.") or a dream too good to be true? Then, too, there was the possibility to be faced that God was calling me to deeper contemplative prayer rather than actual contemplative life. And might I be doing more good in the world outside a cloister rather than in it? I went through this inner and secret turmoil for several months. All the while 1 begged for light and some discernible, positive direction from God. 1 kept waiting and hoping for some outside confirmation of God's will. God was, in fact, giving me all the "signs" I needed, but I distrusted the most significant of them: the profound attraction the life held for me over the years and especially at that moment, the fact that it fulfilled the most unselfish aspirations of my heart, and the fact that I seemed to have the requisite "talents." How is it we so readily distrust our own intuition and heart? Yet here at the deepest level of our being is where God works. Again, I have heard the same experience related by others who transferred to contemplative life. 1 went through no particular "process" of dis-cernment. There was just myself and, I trust, the Holy Spirit, plenty of tears, prayer, and searing, soul-searching honesty. One thing 1 knew: my life had one purpose and that was to love God with all my heart and soul, mind and being and to tend solely to him. Nothing else mattered. I did not see it then as clearly as I do now, but that, too, was evidence of a contemplative vocation, and had been the most important reality in my whole religious life. In his own time, God spoke, and he completely calmed the storm. I came to a "peace surpassing understanding." All my doubts vanished. My questions came to an end. I knew. In light of that peace I first asked the superior of the monastery (of the same order as that to which I was first attracted at the age of twelve) if there were any possibility of her accepting me. At the time I made my request I know now I was too little aware of the risk a small enclosed community takes in accepting a transfer. 1 next confided in my old and saintly grandmother who gave me her blessing, encouragement and wisdom--along with a warning that there was "still plenty of the world" in me and that I'd have far to go. She was absolutely correct. With my grandmother's prayers to back me, I approached my major superior. She was wonderful and accepting. The depth of my peace and conviction were evident to her. She fully realized and agreed.that this was a genuine vocation and not a result of any differences of values or opinions. We communicated in a real spirit of love. Not knowing much about contemplative life, her concern was that my personality might be stifled or my gifts ignored and unused. 1 had tentatively broached the subject to a priest friend in a letter some weeks before. Visiting him, 1 told him the whole story and said that I really thought it was God's will for me to transfer. He informed me that it came as no surprise to him, that he had seen it coming but had not wanted in any way to interfere with God's guidance of me. Among my family and friends, the least suprised was my mother. Her intuition had led her to realize that a great change was in the offing. 96 / Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1982 The responses of all the above mentioned persons further confirmed my expe-rience. I cannot say that my decision was accepted or understood by all my friends and religious family. It caused some painful estrangements and there were those who could only accept it as my "thing" and therefore all right for me. The actual process of transfer was thus initiated after what had felt like an interminable period of waiting and praying. Perhaps God wanted me to realize that it was first necessary that I be utterly surrendered to his desires and that the only way he could achieve this was to let me struggle on "alone" during that time. It was a kind of game of love. He so deeply drew me but never let me fully reach him. Left to myself 1 could not believe in my own heart. It was not until he gave me that unmistakable sign and gift of peace that 1 was sure that what I had been experiencing in my own heart was indeed his will for me, that the two were not two, but one. Legal Process of Transfer Because 1 am rather sure questions about procedure will arise, it may be helpful here to tell what 1 know about getting the document known as a "Rescript of Transfer" from the Sacred Congregation for Religious. In my own case this was done in the last months of my postulancy immediately prior to my receiving the habit and commencing my canonical year. For the validity of novitiate, one must have this document. Ordinarily the Vicar for Religious of the diocese in which the monastery is located handles the paperwork. He directed that three letters be written: the first by the superior of the community ! was leaving expressing her approval and her willingness to receive me back at any time before solemn vows should I leave the monastery; the second by the superior receiving me stating her willingness to receive me and including pertinent data regarding my status in religion (name, age, years professed, community of origin); the third by myself. handwritten and addressed to the Pope, stating my request and my reasons for it. These letters are sent to the Vicar who forwards them to.Rome through his office. In approximately six weeks, upon receipt of the rescript, he sends copies to the superiors. This is, as ! understand it, the general procedure, although I have heard of it being done through the Vicar of the diocese which the transferring sister was leaving. I have also heard of cases handled by a major superior independently of the Vicar for Religious. The superior dealt directly with the Sacred Congregation for Religious. In any case, this rescript is the only permission one needs to begin the canonical year and proceed through formation to vows. New Beginning I entered upon my new life with certain expectations. Some were realistic and some not so realistic. It was realistic to expect some sense of dbjb vu. This was in many ways a return to customs and practices l had lived in my first several years of religious life. With these things I was at home. I had also rightly anticipated a warm community life. Of course 1 allowed for a period of adjustment, but I did not A Personal Account of Transfer expect it to last more than six to eight weeks, in fact, it took much longer than that. The reason was not that I was too old to learn or change or that 1 lacked a willing docility. It was more subtle than this. Without realizing it, I expected to enter upon a period of rest, a sort of honeymoon in a safe harbor after years of struggle and sorrow. This was not to be. For one thing, the monastic community I entered was going through its own renewal pains. And much worse, for me, was that when I came in the front door of the monastery it seemed that God left by the back door. Here 1 was at last, and where was he? The work tired me. The hard bed took some getting used to. Often it was impossible to get back to sleep once it had been broken by the Office or night adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. Sometimes the closeness of my neighbors irritated me beyond measure. There were no days off from routine. I expected to master everything easily but it turned out that I was the one to be mastered. After many years in religious life it amazed me to learn how deluded I was about myself. Without the distractions of apostolic work and all that goes with it, without useless conversation, reading and entertainment, God's light began to clarify my vision. The very starkness of the life, its purity, makes for this experience. I was face to face with myself, my weakness, my poverty. Anything is possible if God is tangibly supporting us. It is when he is appar-ently nowhere to be found that things get out of hand and we are unable to cope with the simplest and most normal inconveniences and trials of daily life. But ought not a contemplative be able always to find refuge in prayer? Self-made prayer is most unsatisfactory. What a contemplative learns by being unable to pray, by being reduced to utter poverty at every level of existence (and this was my experience) is just to cling in naked faith to Jesus Crucified. Paradoxical as it may sound, there is no greater happiness. Having come to this reality through suffering, both in my life before 1 entered the monastery and in the years 1 have been here, I know something of what it means to say with Paul that I have been crucified with Christ, that my life is not my own and Christ lives in me (Ga 2:19-20). The way to the deepest joy I have ever known is just as the Son of God has taught us and that way is by losing my life and denying my very self. The total experience of knowing myself as nothing, of having nothing, has opened my eyes in faith to the All within me, the Being who in unfathomable love calls non-being into union with himself. My love for God, my hunger for him, unites me at the Heart of Reality with all my brothers and sisters in this world. I do not live for myself, nor suffer for myself, nor weep for myself. My vocati6n embraces every person on earth. In their names 1 pray and work. In their names, I, too, am in misery and pain. I am a whole world calling to God in need, in love, in trust. 1 have entered eternity in time and within me there is infinite scope for love. I came because of love and I have stayed because of love. Surely it is "a narrow gate and a hard road" (Mt 7:13-14), but it "leads to life," life opening more and more into the mystery of God as love. The Needs of Contemplatives in Direction Barbara Armstrong, O.SS.R. This article had its origin in a presentation made to a group of retreat masters by Sister Barbara, a cloistered nun residing in the Redemptoristine Monastery; Liguori. MO 63057. Somewhere in her writings, the great St. Teresa compares the contemplative with the standard-bearer in battle. She says that, because he is the standard-bearer, he is exposed to great danger. He can't defend himself because he carries the standard, of which he must not let go--even if he is to be cut to pieces. "Contemplatives," she says, "have to bear aloft the sign of humility, the Cross. And they must suffer all the blows aimed at them without striking back. Their duty is to suffer as Jesus did." "Let them watch what they are doing," she says again, "for if they let the standard fall, the battle is lost." It isn't the standard-bearer who is important. It is the standard itself which is all important, for it is imprinted with the sign of our salvation: the Cross. Perhaps this is why there are so few contemplatives. Perhaps, too, this is why contempla-tives need all the help they can get just to respond fully to the call of their vocation, to persevere and become fruitful in the Church of today. You Have No Eyes to See The message sent to the Church in Laodicea, in the Book of Revelation, is also a message meant for contemplatives--and for those who guide them. Right after the familiar passage about lukewarmness, we hear the Lord say: "You have no eyes to see that you are wretched, pitiable, poverty-stricken, blind and naked. My advice to you is to buy from me that gold which is purified in the furnace, so that you may be rich, and white garments to wear so that you may hide the shame of your nakedness, and salve to put on your eyes to make you see." That phrase, "You have no eyes to see," is significant for us because ignorance The Needs of Contemplatives in Direction is one of the reasons why relatively few contemplatives ever attain the end for which they were called: union with God. Mystical graces, we are told, are always available. God's goodness and generosity are never lacking. But very few actually arrive at a state of contemplation. Why is this? To answer this question, I would like to tell you a story. Actually, it is a parable which is told in the book of a Carmelite nun, Sister Ruth Burrows. Here is her parable. A Love Story Hidden away in a valley surrounded by high mountains there lived a very primitive tribe. The people of this tribe knew very little of the world outside their valley. Occasionally, they would get a glimpse of a jet streaking across the sky far over their heads, and this, they thought, was one of the gods throwing spears at another. One day a man appeared in the valley, a young anthropologist. He had come to study the tribe at close quarters--if they would have him. But they were a gentle tribe, so they welcomed him. The young man was lodged in the chief's hut and lived there for some years. Eventually he fell in love with the chief's daughter and married her. Hitherto, the girl had thought herself wealthy. Was not her father the most powerful of their people? But the closer she grew to her beloved, the more she saw that her riches--the family cattle, some cooking pots and animal skins--were as nothing compared to the possessions that were her husband's. He had materials, leathers and machines, knives and matches to make fire--riches unimaginable. But the girl saw, too, that her husband's greatest delight was to share his riches with her. Her lack merely aroused his bounty, so she knew her poverty itself primarily as a richness, giving them both pleasure. There came a time when the anthropologist had to leave and, taking his wife with him, he returned to his own civilization. The native girl found this new environment terribly alien. She discovered, to her horror, that her husband's enemies laughed at him behind his back because of his primitive wife. Even his friends pitied him. She didn't know what to do with this bitter knowledge. Some-how she had brought disgrace on her loved one. The girl always knew that her husband loved her. She knew that he longed to share his heart with her, take her completely into his life. But when he tried to speak of so many things closest to him, she would notice his voice falter, for she could not follow even the meaning of his words, let alone the scope of his thoughts and concepts. She was shut off from him by her own limitation and ignorance. That caused her distress almost beyond bearing. The more she realized what her poverty cost her beloved, the more absolute became her will to escape from it for his sake. Equally the more clearly did she see that, of herself, there was no escape. But all was not lost because she also realized that in her husband she had come not only to understand her poverty, but to find an effective and everpresent escape from it. From him she could receive all that his Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1982 love had prepared for her. So she opened her heart to everything he had to offer her. She found in him the most loving of teachers. Soon she became the echo of his thought. There passed between them intimate glances of complete understanding. She had an intuitive knowledge of how his mind worked, so closely did she grow to him. Yet she bad lost nothing of that natural woman he had first loved. On the contrary, she only now realized her own innate capacity. Her enrichment had brought all that was already there to bloom. But now, more than ever, she knew, too, that this was all his doing. Every perception, every growth, had come from his love and his teaching. Genuine Contemplatives This story, lengthy though it be, brings out so many important points about the contemplative vocation. Years ago, maybe it's different now, one of the phrases we often heard was that "we should strive for perfection." This tended to make us think that we could do it all ourselves. The main idea seemed to be that we were in control of our lives. The success of things depended on our own efforts. And so, many of us thought we could become contemplatives by the things we did. Like the primitive tribe of our story living in their valley, though, our horizons were very limited. We were content with our regulated existence, our own personal riches and the consolations sent us from time to time by a loving God. Much confid~nce was attached to the good things of our little enclosed world. We had no eyes to see beyond our then present peaceful life. But since we are meant to be genuine contemplatives, Jesus began to break through our ignorance and complacency. He asked us to leave our valley of poverty. He invited us to a rich interior world, one we had never dreamed of. These invitations continue to be offered to us in many ways. Perhaps they come in a retreat, in a sermon, in our reading, or through the words of a friend. But the voice is the voice of Jesus, and he invites us over and over again. If the primitive tribe in our story had turned away the young anthropologist when he came among them, he would never have married the chief's daughter. She would never have learned about the larger world; she would have stayed in her ignorance. Think of all the beauty, rich, ness and love of which she would have been deprived. The great St: Teresa was satisfied for a long time with her routine religious exercises, even though in her heart she knew better. We read that she continued to live just over twenty ,years with her heart divided between two extremes: the pleasures, satisfactions and pastimes of her fashionable world, and the spiritual life of a contemplative. How can this happen? How can we contemplatives continue to fool ourselves ---even though we are continually prodded, continually touched by grace? One of the ways we contemplatives have of staying in our valley of poverty is by our attachment to .the Law. We can" fall prey to a sort of fanatical legalism. The Needs of Contemplatives in Direction Most often, it seems, it is the most pious of persons who become rigid and unbending formalists. "Here at last," we say, "is something solid to hang on to." In our own eyes we are in the right. "We are doers of the Law." Any ,doer of the law, however, will also be tempted to live by the law, whereas the true lover of Jesus lives by the spirit. We contemplatives tend to make the Law, and it alone, our security. We never even dream that it is possible to seek a perfection in anything whatever with an intensity of zeal that is in itself imperfect. For instance, often in the past, the cross, austerity, suffering was unthinkingly perverted by us in our zeal. Wehad the idea that, since we were only pleasing God when we were suffering, the more suffering the better. Fearing and hating our bodies, we thought, would make us spiritual people. This, together with the notion that we were redeemed by suffering since Jesus died for us, we pushed .to its logical conclusion, thinking that we could never have too much suffering. It wasn't suffer-ing that redeemed us. It was love.t We contemplatives can develop attachments to just about anything: to prayer and fasting for their own sake; to a pious practice or devotion; to a custom or system of spirituality; to a method of meditation, even to contemplation itself (or to what we think is contemplation.) We can become attached to virtues, to things that, in themselves, are marks of heroism and high sanctity. We religious men and women, called to be saints, can allow ourselves to be blinded by an inordinate love for such things and can remain just as much in darkness and error as those who seem far less perfect than we. Some of us can become gluttons for prayer and for silence and solitude. Silence can become an ultimate. When there is noise we become angry and rebel-lious. If we are required to set aside our solitude for the sake of charity, we fill the air with our complaints. This kind of solitude and silence is false, of course, a refuge for the individualist. Perhaps the deepest attachment of all, the one which keeps us in our valley of poverty the longest, is attachment to ourselves. On this we must keep a fingerhold; we just cannot let go. Self-respect, self-fulfillment, self-satisfaction--we have to look good in our own eyes and in the eyes of others. We worry.about failure because somehow we are not living up to the expectations we have set for our-selves. Only secondly do we consider the expectations of God. In our story the chief's daughter found that her lack aroused her husband's bounty. She knew her poverty primarily as a sweet thing. But covetous as we are, we contemplatives want our hands full. We must have something of our own which we can bestow on God; or at least hold out to him, thinking to win him over with our generosity. When Jesus Touches Us Sooner or later we begin to realize that this way of living does not work; we begin to see that relying on ourselves alone is doomed to failure. When Jesus touches us with his mystical graces, what happens? Our eyes are opened and we are Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1982 dissatisfied with everything. This overwhelming feeling of dissatisfaction could very well be Jesus' most precious gift of all. But it does not seem so to us~ We look within and discover the same faults and vices we have always been burdened with. Prayer has become almost unbearable. Spiritual things in general lose their familiarity and joy. Panic deepens. Life seems turned upside down and inside out. Above all this, the knowl-edge that we have failed the Lord, that we have dropped the standard, that the battle is being lost--this is our deepest sorrow. But although all seems lost, what we experience in reality is the finding of our true life in Jesus. Like our primitivegirl, we, too, begin to realize, at last, that only in Jesus will we find our ever present redemption from our dreaded poverty. Retreat masters, spiritual directors and confessors will do us the greatest favor if they direct their efforts toward instilling in us an abiding trust in the all-loving Providence of God and in the saving life of Jesus. They should help us to mistrust ourselves and to surrender ourselves into His hands. They should teach us to cling to him no matter how dark things seem to be, teach us to have faith in his love and in his forgiveness no matter what we think we have done; no matter how we think we have failed. Signs of Progress What are the signs by which spiritual directors may gauge for certain real progress in contemplatives? Some of the outward manifestations of an inward mystical encounter or of infused contemplation might be the following: We contemplatives might describe to directors an experience of a deep and painful knowledge of ourselves, for we begin to see ourselves as we truly are. We may say that all our illusions are b~ing shattered, especially our illusions of self-importance. We may tell them that all our cherished ambitions are unmasked for the first time, or that we feel our dignity has been overthrown. We will, perhaps, tell them that we are lost; that we are not sure any more if we are leading dedicated lives at all. We exper!ence a growing sense of insecurity. At the same time, strange as it may seem, we experience at~ acceptance of this state. As our native girl found when she op~ned her heart to everything her husband had to offer her, so we contemplatives begin to see everything in a different light. Our lives of austerity, our efforts at mortification will acquire a deeper significance. We understand that as God is our life, we must let nothing take the edge off our need for him. This is a new way of living out our hunger and thirst, our refusing to be satisfied. We are consenting to have no security and no other satisfaction but God; a God who is unseen and unfelt. So near is he and so awesome, that unless we say "Yes" to him all the time, and accept life as he gives it, we must return to our valley of poverty. The temptation to turn back can be overwhelming. But it is also true that we are given a powerful strength at this time, enabling us to persevere. All this, of course, is an effect of Jesus' lox;e for us. We remember, indeed we cannot for a The Needs of Contemplatives in Direction moment forget, that any enrichment in us is all his doing. Still, this is a time of great struggle and temptation. Perhaps the greatest temptation will be to abandon prayer or at least to try to escape, in some way, the grievous suffering of a deep emptiness and poverty within. This empty prayer, however, has tremendous importance. If we consent to wait humbly for the Lord, we will, all unknowingly, find that it is precisely in this arid waste that Jesus is touching us. At this juncture, the contemplative might tell the director of an experience of being literally undone and remade, for there are no half measures any longer. What is really happening is that our faith is being deepened all the time. A sure sign that we contemplatives have not made progress will be precisely the certainty that we have! Alternatively another certain sign of growth might be the gradual disappearance of a tendency to criticize and find fault. There appears instead, a more gentle outlook; a kinder and more compassionate approach, thanks be to God. Love: Human and Divine Love has been our theme all the way through. But now I would like to be a li'ttle more specific about love, I mean the place of both human and divine love in the contemplative life. I think we will all agree that human affection is probably the most sweeping emotion in us. So, from the outset, we need to keep these two loves, the human and the divine, in order, lest the human sweep us off the foundation of the divine. To feel attraction for another, of course, is not wrong. Yet, for some of us, it can and does become a .dangerous thing. We fear to admit our feelings and to accept them, for the very difficulty in doing so can pose a thousand problems for us. At the same time, we know that this is the only healthy approach. It means we are accepting our sexuality and womanliness. I wonder if any of us ever fully grasps what a block to God's transforming action lies in the refusal to face up to and integrate our sexuality, and live it out continently for the glory of God? The Carmelite, Sr. Ruth Burrows states: "Being sexual means basically that 1 am a half and. not a whole. I am incomplete as I am and I tend, unconsciously, always to seek my other half, even though consciously, ! have renounced my right to marry and have children and be made whole by another. But grace does not work fully in a half person, so I struggle to love purely though it be through a great deal of suffering, because Jesus has promised to fill my emptiness with himself and so take away the ache of loneliness. If I am to become whole it will be in him and I must live in the hope of becoming whole in him and in him alone." The greatest danger is that we will try to get rid of the pain. We will even deny that these desires and attractions exist because they do not fit our stereotypic image of "the holy nun for whom God is enough." When we deny these feelings, the temptation will be to seek compensation for what we have given up. Frustrated longing comes to the surface sooner or later. It shows itself in outward behavior 3tl / Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1982 such as domination of others, maternalism (or paternalism), or a passive or child-ish dependence. Who hasn't encountered these types in religious life? There are the old maids or bachelors. They will avoid personal involvements of every kind. In the name of holy recollection, they "keep their hearts for God alone." They are afraid to make friends and so they play it safe. Then there are the frustrated wives and mothers--and we might add, frus-trated fathers. These have never faced up to the truth of their feelings and desires. So they live on compensations instead of on God. They use their friends selfishly, looking for gratification from them. They dominate.and control other lives for their own ends, thinking all the while that this is "holy freedom" and "human fulfillment." To get back to us women: a woman, by nature, is meant to be selfless, receptive, wholly intent on giving and loving, that others 'might become them-selves. But when we see so many religious women leave their institutes these days, giving up their vocation and going back to secular life, we're not judging them when we ask, "Could it be that they did not get the help they needed in this problem of love?" Perhaps they found no one to understand their problem. Was there anyone to whom they could have gone for guidance amid these conflicting feelings, desires and attractions? I think we all need to know that it's alright to feel attraction and affection for others, especially for those of the opposite sex. I think we need to hear again and again that the feeling of attraction is only one side of love; that it may lead to love but that it is not itself real love but only a feeling. And like any feeling, it will not last thus forever. In the meantime, the tension in which we are caught, between our desires for exclusive love and our commitment to universal love, needs some level-headed self-control. We need someone to encourage us tO effort, watchful-ness and patience, humility and trust in divine grace. The struggle will teach us to rely on a spiritual power higher than our own nature. There is no doubt that we will grow from this struggle, which with God's help will become creative. We will learn to grow up, to take total responsibility for our own lives, their choices and decisions. And we will allow no one and nothing to turn us away from the principles by which we wish to live. The ultimate answer is found only when Jesus is re'peatedly placed before us as the object of our whole desire, and when, by repeated redirection, we are gradually transformed into him. Viva Memoria Finally, there comes a time when the interior rending apart, the anxiety, the sense of terrible absence are no more. The mysteries of Jesus, previously seen as the imitation of Christ giving the external principles by'which we were guided, now become our own mysteries, and we live progressively the life of Jesus; we become literally living memories. All that happens to the "personal me" begins to give joyful insight into the knowledge of Jesus himself. ~ Our venerable foundress, Mother Mary Celeste, has something to tell us about The Needs of Contemplatives in Direction this mystical state of contemplation. In her prayer our Lord speaks to her in these words which she passes on to us: "My spouse, abandon your own free will, your willing and your not willing, and leave all to my Divine Providence and my disposal. Make yourself an echo of my Willing. And if I say to you in my good pleasure: 'A cross,' then in your willing, will the cross. And if I say: 'Humiliation and contempt,' then be my echo and say, 'contempt.' And if I say: 'Kiss me with the kiss of sweet union,' then give me the most sweet echo of love and kiss me. It is in this way that you have no other desire or will than the absolute movement of my Will. Thus while you live, I, too, live as if I alone were alive in your very being, a.nd not you yourself." As with the happy couple in our love story, so it is with us: There begins the passing of those intimate glances of complete spiritual understanding. We might say that our whole occupation is love, or that prayer is our life. Either statement would be equally true. Then there is an awareness of deep contentment. That doesn't mean that growth isn't possible. In fact, it has to happen. The surrender becomes deeper and deeper, letting God do everything, totally sure that he will do so. And so ours becomes a life of deeper and deeper trust. We might end this as we began by saying, once again in the words of Sister Ruth Burrows, "Holiness in the contemplative is not a greatness but a total acceptance of human lowliness and total surrender of it to God in trust." Desert--After Fire Twisted; tortured, Bare black This land. Seared, scarred, What remnants remain. Evening whispers, "All is lost." Night mantles dark Deeper than ever touched This fire-scorched earth before. This land will heal. Soft spring rain Will sift tl~rough ashes. Bring new life to seed Concealed beneath the crusted earth. The cross is fire too And bare its wood Which must be aflame Before the Paschal morning dawns To heal and renew. Sister Miriam John, R.G.S. Patterdell 1820 W. Northern Ave. Phoenix, AZ 85021 Indwelling Prayer: Centering in God, Self, Others David J. Hassel, S.J. This article~ is a chapter from a book, Radical Prayer, which Father Hassel hopes soon to publish. An earlier article, "The Feel of Apostolic Contemplation-in-Action," appeared in the issue of May, 198 I. Father continues to reside at Loyola University of Chicago; 6525 North Sheridan Rd.; Chicago, IL 60626. The most radical of all types of prayer may well be indwelling prayer, for its quiet power pulses the movements of all other types of prayer. Indeed, the praying person, carried along by the seeming passivity of indwelling prayer, drifts closer and closer to the inmost self where the~ majestic God waits to welcome him or her warmly. In the attempt to delineate this deepest prayer, the reader's familiarity with various forms of more active prayer will be used as contrasting background for recognizing and appreciating more passive prayer. Some of these more active types of prayer would be: 1) problematic prayer wherein one reviews personal problems with the Lord while expressing various needs arising from them (e.g., peace in a troubled mar-riage, a job sought in the midst of a depressed economy, success in collegiate studies, mental health for a troubled daughter, good weather for the tourist season); 2) insight prayer (meditation): seeing the spiritual meaning of, e.g., a gospel event, a striking sentence in a saint's biography, a friend's casual but penetrating remark, a shocking event witnessed by chance; 3) spaced vocalprayer in which one spaces out the words of a favorite vocal tThe comments of James F. Maguire, S.J., of Edmund Fortman, S.J., and of Mary Ann Hoope, B.V.M., were especially incisive in revising this article for publication. 36 Indwelling Prayer / 37 prayer like the Our Father in order to discover and to reflect upon the fuller meaning of each phrase; 4) gospel contemplative prayer: seeing, hearing, feeling the gospel event as it unfolds in one's imagination; introducing oneself imaginatively into the scene as a friend of the apostles, as a servant girl, as a sick shepherd; 5) petitionary prayer: asking for God's help, e.g., to bring this person back to church, to relieve this person's mental agony, to be able to handle this court case well; 6) liturgicalprayer: the community finding God together in the sacred event of Eucharist, baptism, marriage, anointing of sick, reconciliation of sinners, and so on; 7) affective prayer: wherein feelings of hope, love, fear, anger, and desire (for God, for various virtues for saving situations, for the saints and for friends) operate. These are, of course, not ~all the forms of more active prayer, but they serve to illustrate the meaning of the term more active prayer for our purposes here. Familiarity with these types of more active prayer will later enable one to recognize, by experiential contrast, more passive prayer, and, hence, indwelling ;prayer, the probable source of all types of more passive prayer. Consequently, our first task is not to define abstractly more active prayer against more passive prayer, but instead, to get the "feel" of each by contrasting their diverse types of presence to God, self, and the world. This demands that, in ~/second step, we explore the experience of "presence" and ~ote the paradoxes arising in the presence constitut-ing more passive prayer. Thirdly, we will investigate whether more active and more passive prayer cancel out or nourish each other. In a fourth step, we note how those entering into more passive types of prayer, often undergo the discouraging feeling of prayerlessness, a purifying experience which paradoxically leads into awareness of the indwelling prayer underlying the more passive forms of prayer. At this point, we are finally ready to enter the life-rhythms of indwelling prayer and to search out the ways of doing this trinitarian prayer at the center of our being. Here, too, it should become clear why trinitarian prayer could be the presence underlying all types of prayer. For it reveals death and resurrection at new depths in our being. But for the present let us begin to deal with the diverse presences of more active and more passive prayer. The Diverse Presences of More Active and More Passive Prayer To distinguish more active prayer from more passive prayer is not to abandon one for the other, not to put a premium on one over the other, nor to deny their need of each other. But it is to see how they promote each other and to note how more passive types of prayer are rooted in indwelling prayer. Here definitions can mean nothing if they do not touch our prayer experience, or if they are ambiguous enough to bag together all types of prayer indiscriminately. Therefore we must distinguish these different types of prayer by describing the diverse experiences in which they occur. Let us begin such a process by first trying to discover the root of 311 / Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1982 more active prayer. Seven types (among many) of more active prayer were mentioned earlier. Actually all types of more active prayer seem to burgeon out of a single root, a "stretching out to the Lord." What is this stretch? It may well be an attitude towards others which the average good person has. To illustrate this, answer the following questions, and notice what you discover within yourself: i) Why not sleep later than usual today?--Suppose you do inconvenience some people like those in the car pool, like the spouse waiting at the breakfast table, like the other workers in the ,office or at the assembly line, like the students in the classroom? 2) Why pay attention at breakfast to the kids'chatter and the spouse's com-plaints about the leaking roof when the morning paper would be so much more interesting? 3) Why get to work a little bit early in order to get the jump on things so that the day goes better for everyone? 'Why not let others worry about the day? 4) Why help out at this or that emergency when you've got your own job to get done, too? Why not tell them to do the best they can without you since you're busy? 5) Why break off a lively lunch conversation to answer a telephone call or to listen to Henry's usual request for a loan to tide him over the weekend? 6) Why use your midafternoon break for correcting Jenny's letter to the man-ager protesting his failure to put her in charge of the secretary pool? 7) Why correct the kids at the dinner table when it's so much eas'ier to let things go and pretend you didn't see or hear it? 8) When you're dead tired and comfortably waiting for the T.V. news to come on or when you are just starting to relax with a little hi-fi music, why agree to hear the spelling lesson or arbitrate the latest argument betw, een the ten year old and the eleven year oM? 9) Why end and start your day with prayer at the tioes you're most tired? And why go to early Mass on your golf or hairdresser's day and also on Sunday, the only times you can sleep in? In other words, why keep stretching, stretching, stretching through the day unless there is a person waiting at the end of the stretching~ unless there is the Christ or the Father or the Spirit? This refusal to protect yourself from others and from God is a mysterious attitude.'Could it pbssibly be the lure of your vocation, the strength of your friendship with Christ (and therefore with his people, your people)? Could this attitude even be the taproot of 'all the types of more active prayer in your life? Could it even be the basic source of your contentment with life underneath all its irritations, failures, missed opportunities, and dashed hopes? Of course, this "stretch" attitude underlying more active prayer is. buried within one's consciousness and so it can be discovered only through the type of question-ing just completed. Yet is there riot some single directing lure running like'a golden thread through the "stretch" of the day to gi~,e direction and meaning to one's life? Indwelling Prayer And does this thread not lead eventually to the attractive Christ who alone makes fitting sense out of one's life? How can a person stretch out to all the needy unless first God is stretching out to him or her? .Here active prayer is seen as presence to the world and its needs--a presence inspired by Christ's appealing call. It would seem, then, that we may have tapped the root of more active prayer and are now ready to find the source of more passive prayer. More. passive prayer is often defined as a resting in God or a quiet'alertness to God and to others. Thomas Green describes it as "floating freely in th~ sea of God," as allowing God to direct oneself wherever he wills.2 In common with more active prayer, it is a refusal to protect oneself, it is an availability to God and to others. This common element,,hints at a deeper experience underlying both more active and more passive prayer and uniting them. And yet these two types of. prayers are quite different .since more passive prayer is often like a sinking into one's inner depths to find God; while more active prayer is a stretching out to others and to God in others. Even when more passive prayer is awareness of a God-vibrancy in clouds, trees, animals, and people's faces, voices, gestures, it nevertheless is more a stirring in the depths of one's being than a reaching out to touch. Even when one becomes aware of God somehow speaking and acting through the other person, passive prayer is more an alertness within one's own being than the message in the other's'action. Indeed, more passive prayer is, for the most part, careful listening, long waiting, occasionally a soundless crying out to God in his seeming absence. At other times, it is. allowing the Spirit to pray in me to the Father without my having any control; it is letting Jesus invade me totally,in my powerlessness and then .experiencing the resultant clash of fear and gladness within me. , ~ As more passive prayer progresses in the person, it can distill into a simple presenting of the self to the Lord. It is merely a "wanting to be with God" which is often intensified by Eucharistic presence. It is a wordless, thoughtless, imageless facing to .God. It is almost pure presence at the deepest level of experience; while in the upper levels of experience one can be .simultaneously aware of pain in one's posture, of distracting thoughts and images, of feelings of fatigue or elation. But the latter appear negligible compared to the facing of God. Here the praying person is facir~g not only God but also the mystery of presence itself. Perhaps the feeling and meaning of presence hold the key to understanding more passive prayer~ The Experience of Presence: Its Paradoxes in More Passive Prayer What is the "feel" of presence for us? It can be the invigorating experience of knowing that one's father and mother are listening proudly during one's piano 2Thomas H. Green, S.J., When the Well Runs Dr), (Notre Dame: Ave Maria Press, 1978), p. 150. Just as this book is ekcellent for its descriptions of more passive prayer, so his Opening to God (Notre Dame: Ave Maria Press, 1977) describes well more active prayer and delineates simply and directly the basic principles of beginners' prayer. tll~ / Review for Relig!ous, Jan.-Feb., 1982 recital~ or watching eagerly from the basketball grandstands for one's next basket. It can also be the sense of depletion, of sinking heart, when one sees the "enemy" coming into the room, hostile and even malevolent, to observe one's expected failure. Presence can be a sustaining strength in the hospital room. No need for words or for the busy alleviating of pain, just the steady touch of being there. Presence is an enriching moment when the vast anonymity of the great airport terminal'is shattered by a familiar voice calling one's name. Sometimes "absence" can sharpen one's awareness of what presence is. One observes two people talking to each other but neither listening, each waiting impatiently for his or her turn to speak. Absence can be the "freeze" where two people working side-by-side in a bakery or in an office, condemn each other heartily and render the eight-hour day coldly miserable for each other. The politi-cal handshake can be an insult when the state's leader has shaken three hands while still talking to the first hand. Here absence hardly makes the heart grow fonder. Presence, at times, seems to grow without any effort on one's part. Old friends go to the concert together. As soon as the music begins, they~are rapt and seem-ingly totally oblivious to the other. But neither would consider for a moment going to the concert alone. Underneath the silent raptness, their friendship continues to grow quietly--a conclusion proven by a new depth of sharing as they return home amid slow, mulling conversation. Not rarely three friends hike the mountain trails for six to eight hours with only an occasional word and: an almost silent midday lunch. Yet the enjoyment of each other is intense and, underneath the quiet calm, intimacy grows. It would seem that the beauty of music and nature mysteriously sensitizes each person to the other instead of distracting each from the other. This sense of the other's person deepens over the years; familiarity does not always breed co.ntempt. The tight-knit family may have more than its share of private squabbles, but its members have a true sixth sense when one of them is in jeopardy or in deep joy and they quickly arrive to rescue or to rejoice. Such a family, over the years, develops a secret language of grimace, wink, smile and code-words which sum up a lifetime of shared sorrows and laughs; the person of each is uniquely appreciated. The lover of many years still feels a _leap of heart when the beloved comes into the room or when the lover hears the beloved's laugh from the far side of the party chatter. The lover's heart affirms the beloved's "simply being there"---apart from what he or she is saying or doing;just as the two concert-goers and the three hikers are doing more than enjoying music and nature. They find in the being of music and mountains a new way in which to resonate to each other's being, i.e., to grow in the intimacy of friendship. For what is intimacy if not this acquired ability to live deeply with each other, to resonate in each other's very being, in such a way that friends can, on occasion, say to each other: "It doesn't really matter much where we go or what we do so long as we are together." Such intimacy, expressed through quick knowing glance, light caress, exuberant play, and the clasp of hand, perdures and grows at the being-level in emergency rooms, during sweaty decision-times about job and fam- Indwelling Prayer ily, on the beach, at the "graduation ceremonies" of the retarded child, at the birthday parties, within the many hasty breakfasts and more leisurely suppers. From all this, could one say that "presence" is intimacy or mutual resonance at the level of being? If so, then this could reveal much about the dynamics between more active and more passive types of prayer. If presence would be deep awareness of the other's very being, then "the prayer of simple presence" to God could be the praying person's affirming of God's being and God's affirming of the praying person's being. In more passive prayer of simple presence, one becomes aware of Christ and of his interests because one now allows him to enter oneself and one's work at the level of one's very being or personhood? In more passive prayer, God becomes more real for the praying person because the latter lets God be more real, i.e., lets God be Being Itself. The praying person does this by refusing to box up God within her or his own ideas, theories, and expectations. Rather, this person allows God to act in him or her: by remaining passive, he or she gives God time to become more present to the self. Paradoxically, then, more passive prayer renders a person more fully present to God and to self than does more active prayer. Through more passive prayer, the person becomes literally a being-for-God. Indeed, the divine name, Yahweh, comes to mean not merely "I am who am" but also "I am the One who will be for you." Is it possible that at this juncture we have reached that basic attitude of prayer which underlies all other attitudes of prayer? Is this the most radical of all prayers? For this basic attitude is the very being of a person as a "being-for-God." At this point, a second paradox comes into view. In more passive prayer, because the praying person is more present to self and to God at the level of being, he or she can now meet others at their being-level, not just humans but also animals, plants, and even non-vital things like mountains, rivers, fire, and stars. For with the experience of God's tender regard for oneself as unique and undying comes the ability to appreciate others as having unique worth and destiny. It is no wonder, then, that through more passive prayer, the praying person paradoxically becomes more actively present to the whole wide world. Even distant horizons are expanded by the intimate depth at which beings resonate with each other. For this reason more passive prayer renders the praying person more active in works for the family, the neighborhood, the Church--and also more hopeful because more trusting of the Holy Spirit's activity in the self and in others. More passive prayer, in making the perso.n less trusting of his or her own activity apart from God, has enabled the person to become more bold for the Church by 3Karl Rahner speaks of this passivity when describing the conditions of transcendence. "[Transcen-dence] may not be understood as an active mastering of the knowledge of God by one's own power, and hence also as a mastery of God himself. By its very nature subjectivity is always a transcendence which listens, which does not control, which is overwhelmed by mystery and opened up by mystery . Transcendence exists only by opening itself beyond itself, and, to put it in biblical languag,e, it is in its origin and from the very beginning the experience of being known by God himself" (Foundations of Christian Faith [New York: Seabury, 1978], p. 58). 42 / Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1982 allowing God to enter the self and to power the latter's actions. This is where personal vanity becomes reduced and the confidence in self-sacrifice gets increased. Evidently, the more passively praying person is more consciously a "being-for- God" and more clearly sees God as "I am the One who will be for you." The Differences Challenge and Nourish Each Other At this point having described more active and more passive prayer for them-selves, we are now in position to etch out their differences and to discover why these two types of prayer are called "more active" and "more passive" rather than simply active and passive prayer. It would appear that more active prayer is more conceptual than its counterpart, that is, more concerned with ideas and insight. It is also more creatively imaginative as it deals with plans of action, options for decisions, visions for the future, ambitions for the present. Again, more active prayer is more consciously integrative around a central idea or insight: "As 1 see it, the one great value in life is . "or "The central theme in my prayer is . " It is more apt to try to control: "We could set up this system of priorities, then get that done immediately; then . " It is more energetic, that is, more work oriented, more prone to gathering achievements. Finally, it is more bodily, because action in the world is incarnated through the body. On the other hand, more passive prayer is more affective than conceptual, more conscious of feelings for the other and in the other; therefore; it is more value oriented than vision enthralled. It is also more receptive than creative in its use of the imagination; thus, art and nature speak out more clearly and enter more movingly into the person praying more passively. It is more integrative by person or spirit than by idea: "This person loves me and so 1 can take the hard knocks ahead," or "1 don't quite understand her plan, but I trust her and will do what she says," Indeed, more 'passive prayer is, strangely, more spontaneous than con-trolled; it is more disturbing, more surprising, more dangerous to a person's careful selfishness. One says more often: "This happening in prayer wa~ a rather unex-pected revelation for me; I'm not sure 1 like this turn of events." Again, in more passive prayer there is more waiting, more expectancy, more sharp listening: "Nothing seems to be happening for days, and then boom ."Finally, it is more soulful in its reflective sinking into the self to find God. It should be clearer now that one must name these two types of prayer more active and more passive lest we split the personality of prayer. For both types are active and both are passive but with different emphases. For example, both use concepts, imagination, and feelings; but more active prayer is more conceptual than affective and the reverse is true of passive prayer. More active prayer deals more often with the creative imagination and more passive prayer works more often with the receptive imagination; but both types of prayer, working' in one and the same imagination, use not only the creative but also the receptive function of the imagination. All this would seem to point to their radical unity, especially since in both types the praying person has the intent not to prote,ct and to comfort the self but rather Indwelling Prayer / 43 to be available to God and to his people. Indeed, it would appear that either type of prayer would go slack and die without the appropriate challenge of the other type: Without the "stretch" of more active prayer, more passive prayer could wallow deep in the self and even forget God, much more his people. Without the "reflective sinking into being" of more passive prayer, more active prayer can end up in such a welter of action that the "stretch" could one day shred into a thousand loose strands of frenetic, superficial activities having no center of being, no rever-ence for others, no undying future. But actually, both types of prayer can challenge and nourish the other. More active prayer is concerned with "putting it all together," with having the world make final sense, so that the world is somehow under control. More active prayer works that the praying person may "have it all together," may be totally integrated as a wholesome person, not fragmented or tormented, so that the praying person may control her or his destiny. On the other hand, more passive prayer forces the praying person to face the fact that he or she is a being totally dependent on God whom he or she must trust in the midst of personal fragmentation and of a world gone awry~ More active prayer wants the resurrection now and the beatific vision now just as they are promised in every love song; in all ~great poetry and drama, and in the apocalyptic literature of the Bible. In contrast, more passive prayer demands that the praying person wait and listen, become excruciatingly aware of shortcomings and sins within one's being or personhood, know his or her absolute powerlessness to do anything worthwhile apart from God, be content for now with much less than immediate resurrection and beatific vision. Neither prayer denies the truth of the other's intent; neither claims to have all the truth, but each challenges the other to greater realism about self, God, and the world. Each depends on the challenge of the other as more active prayer aims at total wholesomeness of self and world in God and as more passive prayer aims at enduring the fragmentation of self and dislocation of world until God heals them both~ There is, however, more than challenge between the two types of prayer. Each nourishesand promotes the other. The more active forms of prayer (e.g., the seven mentioned earlier) lead into the more passive forms of prayer, which in turn.root more deeply the ensuing more active forms of prayer. For example, meditative or mental prayer focuses the praying person's powers on particular objects such asan event of Christ's life, Mary's motherhood of the Church, the mystery of the Eucharist, God's plan for the individual or gr