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 Jeremy Gilbert and I sometimes joke about TOP, the Transindividual Oriented Philosophy. The reference is obviously to the phenomenon of OOO (Object Oriented Ontology) in the early part of the millennium. As much as our joke has to do with sort of doctrinaire and polemical way the former arrived on the scene and our lack of interest in any such thing. (I should say in a parenthetical that is way too late, one of the things that always troubled me about OOO is that it emerged and thrived on blogs, but blogs with their intersection of the social and the technological seemed the last thing that the last thing that the crowd wanted to think about. Part of what makes me irredeemably a historical materialist is that I think the question of understanding where one is thinking from is paramount even if a bit quixotic--one can never see the ground that one speaks from). Despite this joke transindividuality, at least in terms of contemporary writers who use the concept, less a school of thought than a series of intersecting critiques and articulations. Or, if one wanted to be clever about it, the collection of writers who work on transindividuality are all part of a general orientation that is individuated differently in each of their specif philosophical articulations. I would say more about this but I feel like this is something that I tried to say with the examination of Balibar, Stiegler, and Virno in The Politics of Transindividuality.In that book I did not really discuss Bernard Aspe or Vittorio Morfino (at least at any length). However in the past month of so I have been reading a book by each of them that makes it clear how much they are part of the same metastable unity of philosophers. The books in question are Morfino's recently published Intersoggettività o Transindividualità: Materiali per un'alternativa  (a book I was able to work through in Italian thanks to the generous help of Dave Messing who let me look at an early draft of the English translation) and Bernard Aspe's Les Fibres du Temps  published in 2018. The two books are connected not just through their shared engagement with transindividuality, but in their use of the concept to overcome existing, perhaps even dominant, conceptions of individuality, subjectivity, and intersubjectivity. However, both books do so in very distinct and different ways, with different methods and genealogies. Morfino book, like all of Morfino's work, is absolutely admirable in its scholarship and erudition. Or, more to the point, Morfino's talent is an ability to combine a radical provocation with scholarly erudition. Morfino has a remarkable ability for going deep into the philological connections of a text or problem, working out all of the intersections and implications. However these investigations never seem like purely scholarly pursuits; the tasks and problems of radical politics are always close to hand.  The history of philosophy is examined for the ways in which it has led us to our particular historical moment, and what might be done if we thought and acted differently. As the title suggests Morfino's book on intersubjectivity or transindividuality deals with an opposition between two different ways of understanding social relations. However, this opposition is not a matter of simply picking a side. As Morfino argues, even as intersubjectivity has been the dominant way of conceiving of social relations it still has for the most part been an afterthought in a philosophical tradition that has started from the individual subject. The way that the individual subject has been figured, in terms of its interiority and subjectivity, has made it difficult to grasp its relations with others, or reduces it to the general problem of how the external world can be known. As Morfino points out, Descartes the philosopher who gave us the cogito, who claimed that he could know himself prior to knowing the world, is the same philosopher who wondered if the figures under hats and coats he saw out the window might be automatic machines. As Morfino reminds us Descartes can only resolve this problem through the same way that he resolves the problem of knowledge in general; how we know other people is no different than how we know the objects in the world. The development of interiority, which begins with Descartes, has as its corollary the creation of intersubjectivity as a perpetual problem. The subject's assertion of its own certainty posits other people and with them social relations as a perpetual afterthought. Morfino charts the emergence of the dominant history of interiority and intersubjectivity from Descartes through Leibniz and Hegel, while at the same time charting its alternative, transindividuality emerging through Spinoza, Marx, and Freud, to be developed further in Althusser, Goldmann, and Pêcheux. The first trajectory passes through the concepts of cogito, monad, and subject, creating a concept of identity, interiority, and teleology, while the second trajectory, that of transindividuality has a largely subterranean dimmension. Morfino's orientation with respect to all of these problems can be considered primarily Althusserian, not just because he is influenced by Althusser but because he takes on an Althusserian labor of reading. Just as Althusser saw his task as one of reading the Marxist philosophy between the lines of Marx's critique of political economy and the political interventions of Marx, Lenin, and Mao, producing the concepts of overdetermination and structural causality, Morfino is able to excavate the concept or idea of transindividuality prior to its letter by consider the problem of relation in the history of philosophy.One of the more interesting interventions along these lines is his reading of the concept of Weschelwirking (interaction) in Marx and Engels. This concept is developed by Engels in his Anti-Dühring to complicate any linear or mechanical relation of cause and effect:....cause and effect are conceptions which only hold good in their application to individual cases; but as soon as we consider the individual cases in their general connection with the universe as a whole, they run into each other, and they become confounded when we contemplate that universal action and reaction [Weschelwirkung] in which causes and effects are eternally changing places, so that what is effect here and now will be cause there and then, and vice versa.This understanding of the mutual intersection and interaction of effects and causes informs an understanding of the mode of production that is something other than the classical and mechanical action of a base on a superstructure. As Morfino cites a passage, which also appears in Althusser's "Contradiction and Overdetermination"The economic situation is the basis, but the various elements of the superstructure — political forms of the class struggle and its results, to wit: constitutions established by the victorious class after a successful battle, etc., juridical forms, and even the reflexes of all these actual struggles in the brains of the participants, political, juristic, philosophical theories, religious views and their further development into systems of dogmas — also exercise their influence upon the course of the historical struggles and in many cases preponderate in determining their form. There is an interaction [Weschelwirkung]  of all these elements in which, amid all the endless host of accidents (that is, of things and events whose inner interconnection is so remote or so impossible of proof that we can regard it as non-existent, as negligible), the economic movement finally asserts itself as necessary. Otherwise the application of the theory to any period of history would be easier than the solution of a simple equation of the first degree.As Morfino argues this concept of interaction is not often named as such by Marx, but in some sense it is at work in other names, or other concepts such as the interaction of production, distribution, and consumption that opens the 1857 introduction. Morfino's excavation of the concept culminates in his reading of Althusser's own articulation of the concept of transindividuality without the name. In Reading Capital Althusser posits that just as forces of production cannot be reduced to technology, relations of production cannot be reduced to intersubjectivity. As Althusser writes,"While the productive forces cannot be reduced to machines or quantifiable techniques, the relations of production cannot be reduced to relations between men alone, to human relations or intersubjectivity, as they are in the historicist ideology." Beyond this assertion Morfino traces as thought of transindividuality in the disagreement of Althusser and Lucien Goldmann. Goldmann did use the term transindividuality, but, as Morfino argues Goldmann in thinking the transindividual as the "relations of production" reduces it to a collective subject, to society as a subject, returning the concept to the subject and interiority it was meant to escape. Transindividual is not the genesis of the collective, but the interrelation, or interaction, of the constitution of the collective and the individual. As such, and this is the importance of the discussion of the concept of interaction in Engels and Marx, it is as much a rethinking of causality and of relations as it is a rethinking of subjectivity and individuality. Aspe's book is punctuated by discussion of films including ArrivalBut honestly this is here because I needed to break up the postBernard Aspe begins with the similar problem as Morfino's book, the priority of interiority over relation. For Aspe, however, this problem has less to do with a historical excavation than an assumed starting point. The orienting figures of our thought are that of an interiority accessible only to us, and the interiority of the other, unknown to us and only accessible indirectly. Any connection, any relation other than a kind of analogy, in which I know the other by comparing them to myself is excluded. It is precisely this excluded space that Aspe sets himself to explore, an examination of the space of subjectivation, "such a space is constituted by a play of interiorities and of relative exteriority, which do not correspond to the play of opposition between the interiority of the individual and the exteriority of the world of the other." Aspe's formulation of subjectivation is explicitly drawn from Simondon. (of the two books under consideration his book is more Simondonian in its concept of transindividuality while Morfino's is more Althusser/Balibarian). For Simondon the subject has to be thought as the relation between the individual and its preindividual relations that constitute the common. As Aspe puts it, "a collective is constituted by the laws that put in common the potentials carried by each, and thus, by the formation of new system..given its own proper energy." Or, to put it more directly "the group is capable of acting in the world because they already act on each other." The common space of our collective and individual individuation is time. Time, or a particular relation of temporality is both the constitution of individual and collectivity. This demands a discussion of the way in which time, temporality is both the site of our individuation, our specific memories, and our shared belonging.  This is true even if we do not remember what constitutes our identity and cannot situate our place ourselves in what constitutes our commonality. As Aspe writes, "The fiber of time, it is the relation between an irreparable loss and a unlocalizable persistence. Common memory, itself without support, comes in the places of this absent space, where it inscribes memory."Aspe investigates common time by two different trajectories, first through a consideration of film. His book is punctuated by a series of inserts dedicated to films from Gaslight to Arrival. As he argues film gives us direct access to the common memory. Film is in some sense the object of a common memory, becoming part of shared references, it is also in some sense, for a limited time, a temporal object, in which the viewers experience the same images, ideas, and associations. Of course all of this is forgotten when people leave the theater (or shut their laptops), despite this loss film often documents the unlocalizable persistence of a historical moment. As Aspe writes, "The "new" American cinema (Aronofsky, Nolan, Anderson, but also for the intermediate generation, Cameron…) is not always convincing, but this is no doubt due to the bias that makes it special, according to which it is only by relying on déjà vu that we can produce new images. The situations that cinema takes for its point of view are willingly "archetypical."The archetypes can be found through a return to an American mythology (the heroic entrepreneur and radical individual of Anderson's There Will Be Blood), to the unconscious (the double as product of relation and the devouring other in Black Swan, another film of Aronofsky), to popular imaginary (super heroes)."Aside from the odd appellation of "new" American cinema, it  is unclear if this diagnosis is as much about the individual aesthetics of the different directors than it is about a general trajectory in the production and marketing of film in which the past is seen as a reservoir of images to be mined for new films. One might say, following this remark, that the current stage of production in the age of intellectual property in which even the most forgettable movies, shows, and comic books from from the past are remade, (Watchmen, Night Court, Morbius), might not be some horrible deviation from our historical moment, but its most accurate reflection. We are living in a remake in which the conflicts of the past generations are relived and nostalgia for the immediate past has replaced hope for the future. Which brings us to the second consideration of common time, that of capital as the standardization of time. Aspe goes over the arguments of E.P. Thompson and Foucault on the standardization of time, adding to this discussion the point that all conflicts over labor take place within the standardization of time. Aside from Simondon, Aspe draws from an eclectic group of thinkers, Wittgenstein, Foucault, Kierkegaard, but perhaps the most surprising is Mario Tronti who often figures in such formulations as this, in which the antagonism, the opposition, between worker and capital is understood to be central, and accepting standardized time as the terrain of conflict, fighting over more work or less, is to fight on the terrain of capital. Capital can be understood as a standardization of time, space, and culture, in order to constantly expand. However, Aspe also draws from ecological thinkers such as Jason Moore and Dipesh Chakrabarty to argue that capitals exploitation of cheap nature, its treatment of everything into an externality, means that this standardization takes place against a globe that becomes more and more chaotic. Our common time is one of both unprecedented standardization and chaos.Morfino and Aspe's books represent two fundamentally different approaches to the transindividual, one historical the other critical, one ontological and the other phenomenological. At some point it might be necessary to work out the divisions between these two ways of looking at things, team transindividual will individuate and oppose itself in terms of Balibar Transindividualists, Simondon Transindividualists, etc., However, given the predominance of individuality, interiority, and intersubjectivity over our thought and practice, I am more inclined to let a thousand flowers bloom, exploring just what happens when one tries to think outside the individual, to think social relations beyond intersubjectivity. 

Justicia radical estudia novelas policiales y documentales que refieren y elaboran sobre el período de las posdictaduras en España, Argentina y Chile. Esta perspectiva transnacional no desconoce las especificidades de cada país, pero enfatiza el hecho de que los eventos acaecidos son "parte del desarrollo global del capitalismo y de sus redes de terror" (4).1 El texto, en sus cuatro capítulos más introducción, desarrolla un triple trabajo: la elaboración de un marco y aparato teórico –cuyo centro es el concepto de 'no-lugar'–; el análisis y lectura detallada de cuatro novelas y cuatro documentales; y la contextualización histórica, que incluye el análisis, reflexión e interpretación de los acontecimientos, junto con los artefactos culturales estudiados; para (no) concluir con una discusión sobre las posibilidades de una 'justicia global'.
En la introducción se plantean las líneas centrales del argumento, a la vez que se justifica el empleo e intenta delimitar el sentido de ciertos términos que han sido usados ampliamente. Un ejemplo es el de 'posdictadura', para el cual, se señala, el 'pos' indica la habitación en el presente del pasado dictatorial. Similarmente, se busca limitar de modo formal el período de la 'transición a la democracia'. En este caso, la misma naturaleza de los eventos hace cuestionable la periodización propuesta. El concepto de memoria es también discutido: luego de criticar y descartar la noción propuesta por Steve Stern de 'memoria emblemática', Martín-Cabrera sienta las bases del modo de pensar y articular la memoria que recorre toda su reflexión: la memoria no puede desconectarse de la justicia ni del poder, hacer lo contrario implicaría caer en las redes del liberalismo y el libre mercado. Así, lo que surge es la necesidad de un acercamiento "espectral" (19) a la memoria y a la justicia. Es desde este modo de aproximarse a dichos conceptos que emergerá la idea de una 'justicia radical', término que, a mi juicio equívocamente, da título al libro. Equívocamente, pues justicia radical, tal como se plantea en el libro, es un "componente esencial del no-lugar" (21). La razón para este desplazamiento es considerada por el autor: el concepto de 'no-lugar' remite necesariamente al que elaborara Marc Augé. Aquí hay un intento por distanciarse y diferenciarse de aquel uso: el no-lugar para Martín-Cabrera corresponde a la "dislocación radical y ausencia de espacio de las memorias espectrales" (20). Esta tensión con la crítica existente –que se manifiesta en un recurrente intento por resignificar términos y en el diálogo con posiciones divergentes– constituye una de las contribuciones más novedosas y punzantes de Justicia radical. Finalmente, en la introducción se elabora sobre la relevancia que tiene la particular ficción detectivesca escrita durante las 'posdictaduras' en España, Argentina y Chile (con gran ironía se apunta: "los novelistas son los primeros criminales, en tanto se niegan a respetar las leyes formales del género", 24); cierra esta sección con la presentación de los documentales políticos que se analizarán, los cuales hacen explícitos problemas conectados con el trauma histórico y la elaboración de la memoria.
El primer capítulo se propone sentar las bases para una "teoría transatlántica del terror del estado y de la memoria" (35). El texto ejemplar de estudio será la novela de Manuel Vásquez Montalbán, Galíndez; mas, previo a su lectura minuciosa, se lleva a cabo una discusión crítica, histórica y teórica sobre la figura del desaparecido. El gran riesgo que se corre al proponer una teoría transatlántica del terror y la memoria es perder de vista ciertas especificidades nacionales. El autor se cuida mucho de ello mediante una constante referencia a las historias particulares de cada país; no obstante, la tensión acerca de la posibilidad transatlántica se mantiene por aquellas mismas diferencias históricas, siendo la no menos relevante de todas los diversos momentos de desarrollo económico vividos y los distintos niveles de desarrollo experimentados, aspectos que no se mencionan en el texto; similarmente, los caminos al neoliberalismo fueron diferentes. Esto no implica, claro está, que no existan múltiples vasos comunicantes o, más aún, que a pesar de sus problemas sea necesaria la elaboración de una teoría de este tipo. Una nueva vuelta precautoria se requiere, eso sí, para no caer en una lógica globalizadora que bajo el pretexto de crear una red de justicia mundial, termine por replicar la lógica del actual capitalismo posavanzado.
Tiene razón Martín-Cabrera cuando sostiene que el 'repertorio teórico' posdictatorial sobrepasa los límites nacionales. Este repertorio (golpes, espectros, heridas, ruinas, etc.), que se nutre de los estudios de Cristina Moreiras, Benjamin y Derrida, constituye el imposible centro de la noción de no-lugar. En este sentido, el concepto de un espacio-tiempo transatlántico adquiere mayor sentido y mayor fuerza epistemológica cuando se piensa desde su devenir no-lugar, implicando con ello una confrontación directa con el Estado y el Mercado, en particular con el control y sometimiento de la memoria y de la historia ejercidos por ellos. El no-lugar es, de este modo, una "crítica radical de la geopolítica" (56) hegemónica.
La lectura de Galíndez muestra cómo la discusión anterior es emplazada en un texto de ficción (si bien la diferencia realidad-ficción, por el mismo modo de crítica, ya deja de ser nítida). El texto de Vásquez Montalbán articula, desde la interpretación propuesta, el modo en que la violencia se repite en el presente democrático (la reiteración de los crímenes del pasado en el hoy). Esto es, el análisis se efectúa desde la desarticulación que hace el escritor español de la forma tradicional del policial y del mismo argumento de la novela. Si bien la lectura es impecable (e implacable), se extraña una breve reflexión sobre la estética que emerge en la novela. La ausencia, claramente buscada, de un acercamiento estético constituye uno de los espectros que ronda el libro de Martín-Cabrera y, a mi juicio, una que no favorece a su misma argumentación.
El capítulo concluye, al igual que los tres siguientes, con una breve 'Coda'. En ella el autor expresa con mayor libertad y soltura su propia posición; por lo mismo, es donde se hace más clara la política del texto y el llamado que este hace hacia la transformación radical de las estructuras hegemónicas. En Galíndez se advierte la emergencia de una comunidad que, desde los restos de la historia como negatividad temporal, se abre también a la ausencia de los que están presentes "solo a través de sus ausencias" (74). Martín-Cabrera no lo señala explícitamente, pero es precisamente en esta posible comunidad donde la noción de lo transatlántico adquiere su pleno sentido.
El segundo capítulo contrapone al periplo transnacional de Galíndez, los espectros de la historia desde un marco nacional. El modo de aproximación, en las tres novelas escogidas (Nadie sabe más que los muertos, de Ramón Díaz Eterovic; Los mares del sur, de Manuel Vásquez Montalbán; y Una sombra ya pronto serás, de Osvaldo Soriano), se centra en el carácter melancólico que los detectives protagonistas presentan. La primera parte del capítulo repasa la noción, trabajada entre otros por Agamben, de 'estado de excepción'. El autor postula que debemos entender el policial hardboiled "como una parábola del estado de excepción en tanto presenta una progresiva confusión de la aplicación y la transgresión de la ley" (80). El gesto melancólico del detective, su rechazo a hacer del pasado algo literalmente pretérito, agrega Martín Cabrera, conlleva también la negativa a abandonar el pasado revolucionario y su legado político.
Leer el hardboiled como una "parábola del estado de excepción", "esto es, como una ficción biopolítica", es, sin lugar a dudas, provocador. Primero, implica distanciarse claramente de los estudios literarios más tradicionales; en segundo lugar, involucra una propuesta de lectura y crítica que requiere de un aparato crítico y filosófico significativo; tercero, este modo de elaboración crítica busca borrar las fronteras entre la política de los textos y la política de la crítica misma, esto es, desde el diálogo que se establece con los textos analizados (y lo mismo vale para los documentales en los capítulos subsiguientes) se postula y establece una teoría crítica, cultural y política, en la que la relación entre los textos se hace más fluida y rica. En otras palabras: así como se lee políticamente un texto de ficción, el texto crítico-teórico sobre ese texto deviene una ficción-política también. Este modo de articulación crítica –así como la ficción– son intervenciones, y por lo tanto prácticas, en el campo cultural, social y político contemporáneo. Una de las grandes contribuciones teóricas de este capítulo es la melancolía como productora de sentido y de acción en y hacia el presente, una relación que se abre en su inconmensurabilidad desde la misma negación del presente tal cual es (o sea, mejor dicho, tal cual es supuesto en el presente democrático).
El tercer capítulo efectúa un doble desplazamiento crítico: no solo se pasa del estudio de novelas al de documentales, sino que se traslada la reflexión generacionalmente; esto es, cómo las generaciones más jóvenes –incluso aquellas que no experimentaron de 'primera mano' los horrores de la dictadura– se han visto afectadas. En este sentido, se establece un diálogo con una ingente cantidad de trabajos recientes que, desde variadas perspectivas han trabajado el tema ('posmemoria' ha sido uno de los términos privilegiados y es el primero que el autor se encarga convincentemente de rechazar).
La primera sección del capítulo, manteniendo el esquema mostrado en los anteriores, abre con una provocativa lectura de lo Real en Lacan, como manera de pensar la transmisión intergeneracional del trauma. Es aquí donde el concepto del no-lugar adquiere un mayor relieve y profundidad conceptual: es similar al "espacio entre percepción y conciencia" (128), esto es, la experiencia de ruptura que constituye lo Real lacaniano.
Previo al análisis de los documentales propiamente tal, se reflexiona sobre la supuesta menor capacidad que tiene el lenguaje visual, en oposición al lenguaje literario, para hablar sobre el trauma, una idea que es habitual hallar en los trabajos sobre el asunto. El autor no intenta negar este hecho, pero sí señala que es necesario desplazar la centralidad que lo literario ha tenido (refiere los estudios de Felman y Caruth como ejemplos). Este llamado podría mal interpretarse como un recurso a unos estudios culturales simplificados; muy por el contrario, lo que Martín-Cabrera propone es recuperar la valencia de la literatura desde su estrecha y necesaria relación con otros modos 'de mirada', esto es, desde la necesaria negación de su autonomía.
El capítulo hace un buen trabajo, si bien no exhaustivo, de discutir el amplio espectro de documentales y participa, especialmente en la sección sobre Argentina, activamente en las recientes controversias existentes. La lectura que se hace de El astuto mono Pinochet contra La Moneda de los cerdos da cuenta de las dificultades para producir y circular de todo discurso que se aleje de la visión reconciliadora oficial. Prosigue una lectura del documental Santa Cruz… por ejemplo, donde se enfatiza en la relevancia del psicoanálisis para aprehender el "movimiento dialéctico entre trauma y testimonio" (162). El autor es más crítico con la situación actual en España, dada la tardanza o la directa negación por parte del Estado de hacerse cargo del legado franquista. Y si bien la lectura del documental no es totalmente favorable (lo cual se agradece) en ciertos pasajes pareciera que el análisis se adecua en demasía a lo que se quiere demostrar.
La sección sobre Argentina se inicia con la afirmación que señala que ese es el país que tiene el movimiento de derechos humanos más fuerte y robusto (168). Es por esta fortaleza, se argumenta, que la acción de grupos de nuevas generaciones ha sido más notoria y se abre a nuevas posibilidades políticas. El documental analizado, H.I.J.O.S., el alma en dos, es puesto en directa confrontación con el documental más comentado y discutido por un sector de la academia 'progresista', Los rubios. Con este gesto y con la crítica misma que se elabora, Luis Martín-Cabrera adopta una posición de crítica radical y comprometida en el campo cultural argentino en particular e íbero-latinoamericano en general. Una posición que, por cierto, es rechazada por muchos, pero que trae no solo una mirada refrescante sino una fuerza teórica nueva. Con este movimiento crítico se cuestiona el posicionamiento de una intelectualidad para la que aún prevalecen los valores tradicionales (y conservadores) de la crítica cultural (y que pasan por 'progresistas' o 'de izquierda'). En la Coda final se explicita la urgencia de aquello de que se está hablando: la consecución de la justicia no es algo por lo cual quepa esperar, sino una actitud (y un deseo) que debe ser emprendida ya, más allá del Estado y el Mercado.
Esta última premisa es la que da comienzo al capítulo final, en el cual junto con la lectura del documental El caso Pinochet y la reflexión sobre los hechos históricos que se documentan, se plantea la posibilidad de un modelo de justicia global. Si el arresto de Pinochet en Londres ha abierto la posibilidad a un nuevo concepto de justicia a nivel global, es algo que está aún por verse. Pero sin dudas, tras las experiencias traumáticas que se han vivido durante el siglo XX, la misma noción de justicia ha sido puesta a prueba. Ante la represión transnacional, se afirma, emerge una solidaridad transnacional. Sin embargo, dentro de los planteos del autor, surge la duda de por qué considerar un caso dirigido por el Estado y desde el Estado, para ejemplificar la posibilidad de una justicia que, precisamente, vaya más allá de él. Martín-Cabrera está consciente de estas limitaciones, pero no por ello no deja de ser perceptible una nostalgia moderna que, quizás no tan curiosamente, nos remite a ciertos postulados ilustrados. Esto, a pesar de la directa (y adecuada a mi juicio) crítica que se efectúa a la lógica de inclusión/exclusión propia de los discursos de los derechos humanos. Pues, ¿qué sucede si, como se sostiene, ese sujeto es lo que queda del militante y de la víctima? Esa es una de las principales interrogantes que quedan abiertas. Podríamos añadir que en el plano crítico se hace necesaria una mayor conceptualización del término Mercado, que está presentado de modo muy monolítico, lo cual también contribuiría a matizar la subjetividad política que se construye.
Al final, el autor se pregunta si su mismo concepto de no-lugar acaso no repite la abstracción crítica que él mismo ha rechazado. La respuesta queda, por cierto, abierta a cada lectora. Como la justicia radical propuesta en este libro, no hay conclusiones definitivas y quizás por ello mismo no resulte tan contradictorio concluir el texto citando uno de los discursos humanistas par excellence: el de Salvador Allende el 11 de septiembre de 1973.
Justicia radical, más que una intervención en el campo cultural y teórico contemporáneo –una, además, muy necesitada– es una apuesta hacia un nuevo modo de crítica, una que en sí y desde sí contribuya a la búsqueda y la consecución de una justicia que no limita ni se limita a las fronteras que la adecuación del sistema imperante quiere adscribirle; una justicia por-venir, a fin de cuentas, que se halla en la raíz del no-lugar de todo futuro posible.

[1] Extracto de la ponencia "Unidad y Debate Nacional en el Uruguay", Seminario Internacional Educación, Comunicación y Democracia, Universidad Nacional de Entre Ríos, Maestría en Educación, Ushuaia, 1-2 de septiembre 2006. El candombe educativo Se ha desarrollado, a partir de la Convocatoria lanzada desde el Ministerio de Educación y Cultura en abril de 2006, el Debate Educativo en calidad de debate nacional. En el ámbito del Ministerio se ha conformado una Comisión Organizadora del Debate Educativo (CODE), con el propósito de proponer, impulsar y desarrollar las medidas organizativas al respecto. Este Debate Educativo no tiene significación nacional tan sólo porque presente proporciones gubernamentales, sino también porque se propone propiciar la instrucción política, por parte de la ciudadanía, de una Ley de Educación "LLAMAMOS, pues, a todos los colectivos interesados en la educación, tales como asociaciones culturales, profesionales y civiles, sindicatos, productores, organizaciones gubernamentales y no gubernamentales, medios de comunicación, a todos los integrantes de la comunidad educativa (docentes, estudiantes, ex alumnos, padres de familia, funcionarios), a todas las personas sin distinción de género, edad, etnia o convicciones filosóficas, incluyendo a quienes habitan en las áreas rurales y suburbanas o quienes se encuentran privados de libertad, a que participen activamente en el Debate Educativo, particularmente asistiendo a las asambleas que serán convocadas, haciendo suyo el objetivo de construir solidariamente un Sistema Nacional de Educación que responda a los grandes desafíos de hoy y a los que se presentarán al país en las próximas décadas [1]." Esa concepción de la transformación cultural en tanto efecto de una movilización popular coordinada desde el Estado, supone un desplazamiento de la tradición nacional de la reforma educativa en el mismo país. La tradición de una transformación de la educación pública concebida desde el ámbito gubernamental, puesta en una perspectiva sociológica del quehacer educativo y proyectada estratégicamente en el desarrollo democrático del país, termina por un retorno sobre el inicio del proceso, en cuanto genera efectos beneficiosos sobre el propio Estado que la propicia. Cierta contradicción entre la significación democrática de la reforma educativa y su iniciativa desde un ámbito político estatal que debiera ser su corolario, que encierra esta perspectiva, adquirió en el caso de la reforma vareliana un sesgo paradójico, en cuanto la trascendencia democrática de la reforma fue propiciada desde una dictadura militar caracterizada por la represión implacable de la disidencia. Esa colaboración indeseada e indirecta con la gestión dictatorial, que al cumplirse cien años de la dictadura de Latorre, celebrara como modelo centenario otro estado de excepción aún más sangriento, fue el reproche más mordiente que se dirigiera a José Pedro Varela, figura tutelar de la reforma educativa uruguaya. Sin embargo, Varela se identificó como educador y no cómo político[2], desde una perspectiva sociológica que cundió tanto en el plano cultural como en el partidario, generando opinión pública y consenso ideológico favorable por encima de fronteras colectivas. Esta transformación social por lo bajo de un tesoro que se tutela desde lo alto del Estado, es el planteo que revierte el Debate Educativo que desarrolla el actual gobierno de izquierda frenteamplista en el Uruguay. A tal punto llega la neutralización institucional de la política partidaria, que la Comisión Organizadora del Debate Educativo, reclama incluso del conjunto de los partidos políticos la más plena intervención, pero no para la presentación de propuestas programáticas sobre la reforma, sino en calidad de colectivos animadores de una participación generalizada. La CODE envió la semana anterior un pedido a todos los partidos políticos para que estos participen en el debate educativo. Brovetto habló con LA REPUBLICA como presidente del Frente Amplio (FA), y dijo que su partido planteará el pedido de la CODE en la mesa política, la cual "lo analizará en las próximas semanas". Brovetto explicó que la idea del FA es que "se integren al debate las bases en Montevideo e interior". El secretario de Estado explicó que "no se debe entender el pedido de la CODE, como el pedido de participación de los políticos, sino de los militantes de las fuerzas políticas para incrementar la discusión en el debate"[3]. La incorporación microfísica del debate educativo, incluso puesto en perspectiva mundialista, supone una integridad sociológica entre sí de la participación y la pertenencia, ajuste característico de la regulación institucional de los desequilibrios estratégicos. Esa perspectiva latente se manifestó en la alarma que ganó a la misma Comisión Organizadora del Debate Educativo (CODE), ante la escasa participación ciudadana en sus iniciativas, que desde entonces incorporan a la convocatoria incluso la fibra carnavalera de los ciudadanos para difundir un debate tan desfalleciente como prestigioso. "Ayer la comparsa "La Jacinta" se colgó los tambores y salió a todo repique, chico, y piano apoyando el debate educativo por el barrio Jacinto Vera. Partieron desde el Liceo 26 hasta el club Victoria. Ayer se apostó a la difusión del debate educativo hacia la población, después de los bajos índices de participación en Montevideo[4]. " El Estado uruguayo devuelve en el filón de la comunidad el metal precioso del saber educativo, para que el cuerpo social dilucide en qué ley de moneda legislativa acuñar el saber infuso en la sociedad. El descubrimiento de este tesoro que ignora el propio organismo que lo detenta exige un ejercicio de auto-transparencia, que constituye uno de los propósitos de emancipación moderna más característicos de la tradición de la Aufklärung, tal como lo ha consignado Vattimo con relación a la "sociedad transparente"[5]. Más allá del planteo cognitivo y la metodología del debate educativo que se instala como su consecuencia, el radicalismo sociológico de la actual reforma educativa uruguaya obedece a condiciones particulares de reproducción ideológica, por una vía que supone un precepto de reciprocidad orgánica. Este arcano que provee la tradición se encuentra sin embargo en un problemático estado de suspensión, en cuanto el designio de organicidad social puede no encontrarse reflejado en el desestabilizado proceso interno de la sociedad y menos aún en un índice mundialista ajeno ante todo a cualquier organicidad social interna. "La république est l'idée d'un système d'institutions, de lois et des moeurs qui supprime l'excès démocratique en homogénéisant État et société. L'École, par laquelle l'État fait distribuer en même temps les éléments de la formation des hommes et des citoyens, s'offre tout naturellement comme l'institution propre à réaliser cette idée. Mais il n'y a pas de raisons particulières pour que la distribution des savoirs –mathématiques ou latin, sciences naturelles ou philosophie- forme des citoyens pour la république plus que des conseillers pour les princes ou des clercs au service de Dieu. La distribution des savoirs n'a d'efficacité sociale que dans la mesure où elle est aussi une (re)distribution des positions"[6]. "La república es la idea de un sistema de instituciones, de leyes y de costumbres que suprime el exceso democrático en cuanto homogeneiza el Estado y la sociedad. La Escuela, por cuyo intermedio el Estado distribuye por igual los elementos de la formación de los hombres y de los ciudadanos, se presenta de por sí como la institución apropiada para concretar esa idea. Pero no existen razones intrínsecas para que la difusión de los conocimientos –matemáticas o latín, ciencias naturales o filosofía- forme ciudadanos para la república antes que consejeros de los príncipes o clérigos al servicio de Dios. La difusión de los conocimientos no adquiere eficacia social sino en la medida en corresponde asimismo a una (re)distribución de posiciones" (traducción R.V.). Puesta en la perspectiva de la redistribución de poderes que supone la transformación educativa democrática, la integridad republicana encierra asimismo un desafío a las condiciones de desarrollo del país (que sea) en su conjunto, en cuanto a los márgenes de reproducción social y de acumulación económica, como asimismo ante los condicionamientos que la globalización instala en el mismo proceso. Estas determinaciones suponen a su vez un ajuste que difícilmente pueda ser dirimido a través de un debate nacional, si éste no se sostiene asimismo en medidas que lo vinculen a una redistribución del propio poder social. Una memoria cultural vinculada al ascenso social por la vía educativa constituye, en el caso del Uruguay, un acerbo que subraya la significación estratégica del esfuerzo emprendido por el gobierno de izquierda, en aras de la elaboración democrática de una ley de educación. Pero la centralidad educativa del desarrollo social uruguayo pasado y posible, supone asimismo un cotejo difícil con las actuales condiciones de desarrollo económico y de inserción internacional del país, incluso por las alternativas en que se encuentra tanto para su integración en el MERCOSUR como ante las presiones de EEUU para obtener condiciones bilaterales de influencia directriz en la región. Desde el punto de vista de los márgenes exigidos por un emprendimiento de tal magnitud, se requiere asimismo una paralela voluntad democrática en el plano de la estrategia económica y de la promoción estructural del saber, campos en los que las disonancias ganan, al día de hoy, en diversidad y por consiguiente en amplificación. Constituye una debilidad coyuntural significativa del planteo de reforma educativa, que al tiempo que la misma pretende implantarse por la vía de la participación popular, se encuentre enfrentada con los reclamos de los gremios de la enseñanza pública. Estos últimos se han movilizado de forma ingente contra la actual política económica, incluso a través de varios paros de distinto gremios de docentes y funcionarios. La última de estas medidas gremiales se cumplió el pasado 23 de agosto, con paralización de actividades de funcionarios y docentes de la Universidad de la República por toda la jornada. El informe elaborado por la Comisión Ejecutiva Provisoria de la Asociación de Docentes de la Universidad de la República reitera la pauta dominante entre los gremios universitarios desde fines de 2005: el gobierno decepciona con relación a la expectativa instalada. "La propuesta del Poder Ejecutivo no contempla mínimamente la solicitud elevada por la UdelaR y no existe voluntad política de modificar esta situación[7]." En cuanto a las reformas propicias en el campo institucional del saber, las mismas están lejos de configurar una perspectiva prometedora. El Sistema Nacional de Ciencia, Tecnología e Innovación, pergeñado con el consenso de todos los partidos políticos en la búsqueda de una integración entre le mundo empresarial, el sistema internacional tecno-científico y las instituciones vernáculas, ha sido rechazado por la Asamblea General del Claustro de la Universidad de la República en tanto se considera que encierra disposiciones contrarias a la autonomía universitaria[8]. El rector que acaba de ser electo tras un arduo y prolongado cotejo universitario, no ha contado con la mayoría en el orden docente que es el núcleo decisivo para la radicación universitaria de la investigación. Esta oposición ha sido particularmente significativa en algunas de las facultades que cuentan con los cuerpos docentes de mayor dedicación total y que representan por consiguiente los núcleos estratégicos en una perspectiva de desarrollo investigativo. Ante condiciones de desarrollo contradictorio con esos dos ámbitos –la sustentación económica y la proyección estratégica en el desarrollo- que debieran propiciar la reforma educativa ante la memoria cultural del Uruguay, la dinámica reformista se encuentra contrapuesta a una ausencia manifiesta de voluntad política redistributiva por parte del propio gobierno, con la consiguiente desactivación de los impulsos que permitirían una incorporación de energía democrática. La reversión jerárquica de la iniciativa de propuesta, que se pone en manos del cuerpo social, no deja el dispositivo en el mismo estado, ya que más allá de una nostalgia russoniana que asoma en la condición democrática de la soberanía, el despliegue de la democracia a partir de una iniciativa gubernamental siempre supone una situación paradójica de la relación entre representante y representado. Se instala un pleonasmo en la significación democrática de la educación: mientras la reforma vareliana elaboró su propia legitimidad a través de la validación social de una iniciativa dictatorial, la reforma de la educación bajo gobierno izquierdista pretende fundarse en una asamblea que celebraría la propia ciudadanía[9]. La radicalidad democrática del planteo de la reforma educativa frenteamplista no es política, tal como se desarrollara a través de la dictadura de Latorre, sino sociológica, constituyendo un caso paradigmático de auto-transparencia moderna. La consigna ilustrada de la educación que apela a la emancipación en tanto que efecto sinérgico de distintas reciprocidades ciudadanas, se encuentra sin embargo en el caso del Uruguay ante una carencia de márgenes de viabilidad, incluso en razón de una perspectiva estratégica centrada en el mercado mundial, con la consiguiente puesta entre paréntesis de una clave anclada en el saber generado en el país. La tradición educativa nacional que se percibe a sí misma a través del desarrollo social, encuentra tanto en la implosión de la democracia representativa como en la explosión tecnológica de la comunicación los elementos de lucidez crítica y de la consiguiente capacidad de propuesta. [1] Comisión Organizadora del Debate Educativo "Llamado a la participación ciudadana: convocatoria al debate educativo", Ministerio de Educación y Cultura, 4 de abril de 2006, Montevideo. [2] "Yo no soy en mi tierra sino educacionista. Prescindo de la política porque la política compromete el progreso de las Escuelas en que está únicamente la salvación de la República" Discurso de Varela transmitido por Francisco Berra, en Zum Felde, A. (1978) Proceso histórico del Uruguay, Arca, Montevideo, p. 258. [3] "Creció la participación y se amplió la agenda de temas en debate educativo", La República, 21/08/06, Montevideo, p.14. [4] "El debate educativo a todo candombe", La República, 6/08/06, p.19. [5] Vattimo, G. (1990) La sociedad transparente, Paidós, Barcelona (ver particularmente el capítulo "Las ciencias humanas y la comunicación"). [6] Rancière, J. (2005) La haine de la démocratie, La Fabrique, Paris, pp. 76-77. [7] Secretaría Administrativa de ADUR CENTRAL, correo del 22/06/06. [8] Resoluciones adoptadas por la Asamblea General del Claustro con fecha del 23 de febrero y 16 marzo de 2005. [9] "Si tuviéramos que sintetizar el significado de esta gran operación de Política de Estado que es el Debate Educativo, diríamos que permite a todos quienes participan en él, el EMPODERAMIENTO CIUDADANO, la toma de conciencia de nuestro papel en esta sociedad que todos queremos ver "ilustrada y valiente"." Lockhart,E.http://www.debateducativo.edu.uy/documentos/ENCUENTRO20EDUCATIVO.htm (visitado el 12/08/06).

El estudio de la Arquitectura griega, desde la época arcaica hasta el helenismo, constituye aparenteme . Sin embargo, aunque en la época arcaica se constituyan los elementos que definirán todo el proceso, no resulta exacto prescindir de antecedentes más lejanos en el tiempo, que pese a la dificultad de ser evaluados, con el susbstratum de la propia cultura griega. En efecto, toda la cultura cretense y la posterior micénica determinan el horizonte en el que se desarrolla la civilización griega, a veces continuando tradiciones religiosas, mitos y actitudes vitales, en otros aspecto modificándolos sutilmente o bien rompiendo abruptamente con ese pasado, que nunca deja de ser una presencia activa y muchas veces decisiva. Los historiadores de la cultura han debatido largamente, y esto prueba la realidad de la cuestión, si la cultura griega constituye un fenómeno de tipo primario o bien por el contrario se trata de una civilización secundaria. El hecho aparece claro en el caso de la cultura romana, donde ni siquiera encontramos un periodo arcaico (papel de los etruscos y las influencias helenísticas), siendo menos determinante en el fenómeno griego, pero también de suma importancia. No todos los aspectos de influencias y en el campo más restringido de la arquitectura, es necesario precisar que ideas son continuación de los pensamiento y modalidades cretenses y micénicos, los cuales constituyen una reelaboración y finalmente los nuevos aportes. Un análisis detallado puede señalar las grandes tendencias, pero no debemos olvidar que el hecho arquitectónico es, finalmente, una obra individual y fundamentalmente sintética. Por lo expuesto, se vuelve necesario partir de un análisis y consideración del arte cretense y micénico, no solamente en el aspecto de lectura formal, sino teniendo presente los contenidos de significación, que hacen a su estructura religiosa, pues los estudios sobre los mitos y la religiosidad griega muestran una continuidad mayor que la que se sospechaba hace algunos años, y han obligado a modificar muchos juicios tenidos por verdades históricas. No olvidemos tampoco que tanto la arquitectura cretense, la micénica y la misma arquitectura griega, están fundamentalmente vinculadas al paisaje que constituye su entorno natural y con el cual dialogan de una manera que, para nosotros arquitectos contemporáneos, es difícil de imaginar. La arquitectura romana y la del gótico hasta nuestros días es una arquitectura de tipo urbana, donde los edificios se integran en el paisaje artificial de la ciudad y donde muchas veces, si el entorno no es totalmente urbano, el mismo paisaje está creado o modificado por el hombre, como sucede en los jardines de los palacios del barroco o en las perspectivas de los parques del siglo pasado. La arquitectura griega, por el contrario, está pensada en un diálogo profundo con el paisaje natural, lo respecta, se integra con él y muchas veces lo ordena con la presencia de la silueta inconfundible de sus templos. Por otra parte, señalemos que es propio de nuestra cultura y por ende de nuestra arquitectura, una relación con el paisaje natural muy distinta de la griega y de otras civilizaciones antiguas, pues en general, le atribuimos a esta relación una connotación de tipo formal donde los valores estéticos son dominantes, a los que se agregan realidades de tipo práctico y claramente racionales como las de tipo militar en la ubicación de los castillos, motivos económicos, de tránsito, políticos y sociales en la localización de las ciudades y su posterior desarrollo y aunque no falten decisiones y argumentos de significación más profunda, como la construcción de santuarios en determinados lugares, o el ejemplo mismo de los famosos caminos de peregrinación e la Edad Media, en general, percibimos el paisaje de una manera que podemos definir como laica o bien profana. Es cierto, sin embargo, que estudios de sumo interés han señalado, inclusive en los parques del Barroco y en los jardines paisajísticos de la última centuria, otros contenidos que los simplemente formales. Basta mencionar la búsqueda de los horizontes distantes y la expresión del infinito que simbolizan los jardines del Barroco y que encontramos simultáneamente en las obras pictóricas de Rubens, van Ruisdael, Hobbema, los grabados de Rembrandt y en muchos de los pintores de la escuela holandesa. Estos valores expresivos, junto con la nostalgia de épocas pasadas, de sueños utópicos, de arcadias y paisajes ideales como los de Claude Lorrain e inclusive la visión paisajística del siglo XIX, donde a las calidades estéticas del paisaje se agregan connotaciones de tipo sentimental, otras románticas, algunas teñidas de un cierto panteísmo, junto con las manifestaciones de mitos poéticos y literarios. La obra arquitectónica participa de las mismas ideas, se rodea de elementos naturales, introduce lo cambiante y variable de la naturaleza, se busca la unión del espacio interno y el externo, dominan las visiones interpenetradas, aparecen las escaleras monumentales con todo su dinamismo, que obligan a cambiar continuamente de punto de vista, cada vez son más frecuentes las cascadas y fuentes artificiales, lagos, arroyos, espejos de agua y la misma ornamentación y la decoración se complacen en elaborar elementos naturalísticos. Pero, por más que alusiones poéticas y literarias constituyan un aspecto importante de la estructura de significación que se manifiesta en la percepción del paisaje, tan importante en los últimos siglos de nuestra pintura y arquitectura y al respecto basta considerar la importancia del tema en la pintura, donde se convierte de complemento de la forma humana en el Renacimiento, en un elemento decisivo y finalmente autónomo en el Barroco; y qué decir del movimiento impresionista con todas las extrapolaciones en el hecho arquitectónico; nunca tendrá el carácter divino y primario del paisaje sagrado de la cultura griega. Que la arquitectura griega siempre se haya vinculado de algún modo al tema del paisaje, no constituye en sí mismo una novedad, pero debemos destacar que esta relación ha sido variable y condicionada a los sistemas de percepción del momento en que se hicieron estos juicios. La vuelta a la Antigüedad, como programa e ideal para encontrar respuestas a las formas de entender el destino, es un lugar común del Renacimiento en el siglo XV en Italia. Pero sabemos que en gran medida eran más vinculantes las formas del pasado romano y de la misma arquitectura cristiano primitiva, que fueron confundidas con las de la Antigüedad y que la imagen griega es más literaria que real. Basta señalar que las ruinas de los templos de Paestum (quizás lo mejor conservados de la arquitectura griega), pese al paso de muchos años de esta actitud, no merecen la menor mención por parte de Goethe en su famoso viaje por Italia. En cuanto a la intención seria de "volver al pasado" el Renacimiento se contentó con algunas esculturas griegas que se encontraban en Italia, muchas copias romanas y en el plano arquitectónico, por una serie de circunstancias históricas, fue escasísima la relación con obras realmente griegas. Tenían que pasar muchos años, para que al persistirse en este camino y ya a fines del siglo XVIII y comienzos del siglo XIX se pueda hablar de una relación directa y certera con las obras arquitectónicas griegas. Todo el Neoclasicismo lleva implícito un conocimiento más cercano del fenómeno griego, pero teñido también por los ideales y las corrientes de pensamiento de esa época. Si bien el siglo pasado y el nuestro se caracterizan por una profunda y continua actividad arqueológicas, los satos de esta tarea, así como las ruinas que se encuentran son interpretadas dentro de las concepciones arquitectónicas dominantes y es así, como la relación paisaje y arquitectura es confundida y reelaborada al servicio de nuevos mitos historicistas y estéticos, pero alejados de la realidad histórica. El Neoclasicismo y las tendencias académicas vuelven abstractas las formas de la arquitectura griega, de las deprende de todo vínculo con su entorno, se las confiere un carácter paradigmático y ejemplar, se las cataloga y codifica, constituyéndose así un diccionario de formas, con minuciosos y pedantes tratados de cada una de ellas y ya alejadas del ambiente en que nacieron y tuvieron vida se convierten en elementos combinables para así componer (la idea del proyecto y del diseño como Composición surge en esos años) nuevos programas formales a partir de esos elementos. En este sentido, el propio Miguel Ángel al hablar de San Pedro de Roma y de sus intenciones y propósitos, ya anunciaba esta idea de la Composición, tan cara al mundo del la Academia en el siglo XIX al decir "que pensaba colocar la cúpula del Panteón sobre la Basílica de Majencio para resolver el tempo más significativo del siglo XVI." El neoclasicismo desarrolla la idea de la Composición hasta sus últimas consecuencias y vamos a encontrar las combinaciones o "composiciones" más insólitas y fantasiosas, siempre en busca de la originalidad, pero a partir del repertorio tipológico de origen griego y romano. Tal lenguaje formas es empleado al servicio de temas muy distintos al que originalmente estaba vinculado y en un contexto geográfico y en condiciones ambientales diamentralmente opuestas… la nieve, la lluvia, la luz tamizada, la penumbra, el cielo nublado, el otoño y los largos inviernos, como horizontes tan distantes vitalmente de la luz violenta, del mundo deslumbrante del sol del mediterráneo que exalta el juego de los volúmenes y donde los elementos naturales hacen propicia la vida del hombre. Solo arquitectos del genio de un Schinkel o un Leo von Klenze lograron trascender y superar la mera "composición" y crear obras de arquitectura como las del propio Ledoux y también F. Gilly, pero en sus connotaciones de significación muy distantes del contexto griego y donde las referencias formales y las tipológicas sobreviven sólo como pretexto o legado cultural, mero punto de partida, para una realización muchas veces opuesta a su elaboración primera. Las publicaciones, de una relevante calidad en cuanto a medidas, relevamiento escrupulosos, láminas e ilustraciones en ediciones cuidadas y minuciosas, el acopio de datos y citas históricas que testimonian la laboriosa tarea de los eruditos, fueron creando una arquitectura griega como modelo perfecto, pero alejado de la realidad humana y del paisaje real en que las cosas habían sucedido. Es necesario señalar que los sistemas de representación, tan útiles y precisos, no son la realidad y en este sentido notamos que el color, alno no casual y que hace al sistema formal griego, y no sólo por razones de carácter estético sino más profundas, ya que para un griego de todas las épocas las cosas tienen forma y color, y así existen y participan del ser, fue olvidado en esta versión de los no colores (el blanco y el negro) que se convirtieron en una característica del neoclasicismo y donde el aclarar que la arquitectura griega era polícroma, hubiese constituido casi una blasfemia. Los mismos proyectos del genial Ledoux suponían formas casi abstractas (aunque de composición clásica), sentidas y proyectadas sobre inmensas superficies pavimentadas de losas blancas de piedra u donde todo vestigio de la naturaleza ha desaparecido. Esto se nota en el famoso proyecto para el Cenotafio de Newton y en la negación de toda relación orgánica con la naturaleza en el no construido, pero no por eso menos interesante proyecto para cementerio de Chaux. Aquí, el alejamiento de todo aspecto vital y humano es consecuencia de la búsqueda de algo que sentimos como macabro y cuyos últimos objetivos el propio Ledoux definía al decir que habría creado "la verdadera imagen de la nada" y que cualquiera tendría esta misma vivencia al recorrer la inmensa esfera, donde surgiría el humo de los cadáveres en cremación y que el mejor momento para contemplarlo sería a la luz de la luna, donde todo serían tinieblas y penumbras blanquecinas. Una contemplación del fenómeno griego de esta naturaleza no podía menos de prescindir de la profunda relación entre arquitectura y las formas orgánicas del paisaje, que afirman con vitalidad la presencia de los dioses íntimamente ligados con el hombre y con la tierra. Es en nuestro siglo donde los estudios de los historiadores y arqueólogos destacan la importancia del color en la arquitectura griega, relacionándola con el clima y con el notable y personal paisaje griego. Sin embargo, al producirse la revolución de la arquitectura contemporánea, asistimos al desprecio de toda la tradición académica y con ellos dejan de ser los órdenes arquitectónicos griegos, lo mismo que las tipologías de sus templos, la preocupación de los arquitectos y de las escuelas de arquitectura. Mucho se ha hablado de la absoluta ruptura con el pasado, de las tendencias arquitectónicas de la década del veinte y de su desprecio de la tradición clásica, así como del eclectismo del siglo XIX. El hecho de que se suprimieran los cursos de historia de la arquitectura en los primeros programas de la Bauhaus es ya de por sí muy significativo y muestra clara de una profunda negación del pasado inmediato y lejano. Sin embargo, pese a lo revolucionario de las propuestas arquitectónicas que suponen crear una arquitectura, que inclusive deseche todo concepto de estilo, encontramos en los pioneros del diseño moderno muchos puntos de contacto con los viejos conceptos de clasicismo que se pretende superar. Basta contemplar muchas de las obras de Peter Behrens, el maestro e Gropius, los primeros proyectos del mismo Mies van der Rohe, la obra de Auguste Perret que siempre buscó una monumentalidad utilizando los nuevos medios de la técnica y finalmente el propio Le Corbussier, que de manera consciente, continuamente hace referencias a la calidad de la arquitectura griega. Su definición de la arquitectura como "el juego armonioso de los volúmenes bajo la luz" si bien hace patente el culto común de la década del 20 por las formas puras y simples de la geometría, está acompañada de una invocación de las obras arquitectónicas griegas, referencias a sus manifestaciones más singulares y a su profunda relación con el paisaje de la hélade. Sin embargo, el hecho de que esta arquitectura participara de la utopía de generar propuestas de carácter internacional, absolutamente transferibles sin más a todos los pueblos y culturas, con indiferencia de los modos de vida social y las tradiciones locales; supuso una tipología de edificios desprendidos del paisaje y del entorno inmediato y con razón se ha dicho que los famosos pilotes de Le Corbussier expresan intento de adaptar los proyectos a cualquier terreno, con pendiente o sin ella, de roca o de arcilla, inclusive instalables en ríos o espejos de agua. De allí, el carácter abstracto de esa arquitectura, que si bien proclamaba muchas veces su relación con el paisaje, éste no era más que un entorno relativamente casual e intercambiable y nunca en el sentido griego de relación orgánica entre el edificio y el lugar. Fue la tendencia más orgánica de la década del cuarenta y del cincuenta la que buscó una identificación de la obra con su medio, interesándose por los materiales típicos, los usos sociales e inclusive los distintos modos estéticos y las soluciones tradicionales. No es casual que al dominar estas ideas se haya reconsiderado el papel de la arquitectura griega y más que ver sus soluciones como paradigmas eternos y normas transferibles a otras situaciones, se haya buscado su compresión en las relaciones precisas de su ubicación histórica, de su profunda vinculación con la cultura y en un plano más profundo con las creencias religiosas y los mitos. El cuestionamiento arquitectónico de los últimos años insiste en trascender los problemas de función, construcción, relaciones espaciales e inclusive el rico horizonte de lo social y dar a la obra de arquitectura también carácter de signo, hecho olvidado como objetivo en la primera parte del siglo. Todo lo que acompaña a la concepción estructuralista hace hincapié en los problemas de significación y vuelve a hacer necesario replantear el estudio de la arquitectura griega en su relación con el paisaje, que deja de ser mero entorno estético para adquirir sus últimas significaciones en la relación entre los templos, los dioses y la tierra como punto de referencia y de análisis y que tan logradamente y con profundo acierto señala la obra de Vincent Scully que vincula esos tres elementos interdependientes como método de profundizar el estudio de esa singular arquitectura.

Definición y caracterización del tema El objetivo de éste trabajo es la materialización de un programa operativo con vistas a definir una estrategia y crear una metodología adecuada para la intervención en centros históricos con las características ya mencionadas. El estudio incidirá sobre la situación vivida en Portugal, dada la necesidad de ser estudiadas situaciones muy concretas que tienen que ver con la estructura administrativa y legislativa específica en el caso portugués, pero lo que se pretende es un arranque donde esos aspectos puedan ser encuadrados de modo que puedan ser generalizados a un universo que pretende ser más amplio. Éste estudio tiene como objetivo la elaboración de una propuesta de: Una metodología de intervención en las Zonas Históricas de Pequeñas y Medianas Agrupaciones Urbanas. Tiene cobo base el hecho de: -Considerar que éstas agrupaciones presentan especificidades físicas y sociales que hacen que la forma de intervenir en su patrimonio deba asumir también características diferentes a las que se puedan tener en agrupaciones de mayores dimensiones. Esto se debe principalmente al hecho de, en estas agrupaciones: -Aparece (aún) una gran complementariedad en las agrupaciones entre el todo y cada una de las partes que lo componen y, naturalmente, incluye sus centros históricos. -Es a complementariedad hace que, en la mayoría de los casos, estos se mantengan todavía ligados al territorio envolvente y las múltiples actividades que ahí se desarrollan. -Esa misma complementariedad entre centros históricos y sus envolventes, se extiende a los aspectos sociales, y económicos necesarios para el correcto funcionamiento de cada uno de estas agrupaciones, y exige que cualquier intervención deba tenerse en cuenta en la totalidad de esas realidades. -Las propias opciones técnicas de uno u otro tipo de intervención pueden ser determinantes para el éxito o el fracaso de estas intervenciones y, sobre todo, su aceptación o rechazo por parte de los habitantes. Todos estos hechos hacen que en cualquier intervención deba tenerse en cuenta toda la variedad de conexiones de las diferentes cuestiones referidas anteriormente, la necesidad de conocerlos, de comprenderlos y de poderlos interpretar. Este trabajo se basa en tres hipótesis que resultan del análisis de lo que define o ha sido la práctica de intervención en el patrimonio: -No ha habido una política coherente de intervención en el patrimonio y por eso ha sido casi siempre hecha de una forma fragmentada. -Las intervenciones en el patrimonio han sido casi siempre hechas con una fuerte, casi exclusiva, componente de construcción e incluso cuando ésta es hecha con el apoyo de otras áreas ha existido poca interacción entre ellas. -Es las agrupaciones más pequeñas donde más se siente la interconexión e interdependencia entre cualquier intervención, así como sus consecuencias en las condiciones de vida de la gente, o donde mejor se puede analizar esos resultados. Deberá ser en estos lugares donde deba incidir especialmente cualquier estudio metodológico. Partiendo de la hipótesis que, pese a que la situación actual se caracterice todavía por un enfoque de la intervención en el patrimonio en la que continúan privilegiándose los aspectos físicos y constructivos de los edificios y agrupaciones, refiriéndose a un tratamiento diferente a cada uno de los aspectos pendientes – económicos, sociales, etc.- que en ellos también intervienen, se considera como absolutamente necesario encontrar otro modo de actuar que permita un enfoque más eficaz y global. De hecho se tiene, sistemáticamente, abordado cada uno de estos aspectos como una parcela autónoma de todo que está lejos de ser igual al sumatorio de las partes. La consecuencia ha sido una serie de intervenciones paralelas, con decisiones a veces contradictorias o desfasadas y con resultados que no han permitido la optimización de los recursos. Son también varios los estudios que llaman la atención sobre el hecho de hoy en día vivir en una sociedad que cultiva la necesidad permanente de cambio (Cfr Bauman), algo que puede parecer contradictorio como la necesidad de preservación de la memoria y de la historia que el patrimonio de algún modo personifica. Pero también sabemos que "sólo si las personas saben dónde situarse social y existencialmente es cuando son capaces de cambiar las cosas" (de Carlo, 340) y que sin las referencias "a la historia, a la tradición y a la memoria, la arquitectura quedaría limitada a simples soluciones de problemas", dejando de tener la dimensión cultural que la diferencia de lo que no es arquitectura. Por eso, la memoria que el patrimonio representa es esencial para el equilibrio y estructuración de nuestro futuro, y la necesidad de encontrar modos de lidiar con esos testimonios, integrándolos (o integrándonos) en la actual estructura social, aparece como una prioridad esencial. Sabemos también como la constante desaparición de muchas de las señales de orientación o identificación del hombre en el espacio, han sido responsables de gran parte de la desorganización de ese mismo espacio y, consecuentemente, de nuestra capacidad de vivir en ellos. Aunque las tendencias en cuanto a aclarar la vida a penas vivida en el presente, y sin ninguna preocupación por integrarse en cualquier continuidad histórica; que para los autores como Lipovetsky (Lipovetsky, 1983, p. 73) es una de las formas más características de la sociedad contemporánea; no significan más que otra forma de encarar el patrimonio, y nunca la negación de su importancia, como se verá más adelante. Las nuevas necesidades están creadas por una sociedad dominada por la idea de progreso, una idea que, a pesar de surgida a finales del siglo XVIII, ha sido decisivamente notable desde entonces y que ha traído fuertes incompatibilidades entre muchas de las preexistencias (físicas) y las condiciones de vida que ahora todos esperamos poder tener. Muchas de las contradicciones en que estamos inmersos son consecuencia directa de esto, por la dificultad de crear condiciones materiales capaces de integrarse, disimuladamente, y de casi desaparecer del patrimonio que queremos realzar. En una sociedad como la actual, donde los aspectos económicos se sobreponen a casi todos los demás aspectos, adquiere cada vez La visión esencialmente economicista que ha sido dominante en muchas de las reflexiones sobre casi todos los aspectos de la vida social y, naturalmente, también en el modo en el que se intenta rentabilizar el patrimonio ha de ser sustituida por otras formas más completas de afrontar este problema. Por eso urge encontrar un nuevo equilibrio entre lo absurdo de querer proteger todo y el contrasentido de querer destruir todo. Como ya cité anteriormente, creo que en este momento las situaciones más frágiles aparecen precisamente en las agrupaciones que, por su pequeña o mediana dimensión, viven muchas veces en procesos de aislamiento, agravados por el hecho de no tener muchas veces un patrimonio donde destaquen piezas particularmente relevantes. Se convierten por eso en argumentos fáciles de justificar o de olvidar, incluso cuando son elementos importantes de un sistema de equilibrios del territorio y de toda su estructura ambiental. Son, por otro lado, ambientes y comunidades donde acciones ajustadas, aunque a veces recurriendo a escasos recursos, pueden producir resultados de gran eficacia. Estas fueron las hipótesis básicas para la elección de estas agrupaciones para la reflexión que aquí se va a desarrollar. Otra hipótesis de trabajo fue la constatación de que a pesar de las numerosas referencias hechas a varias disciplinas implicadas en la intervención de las zonas históricas continúa siendo principalmente a través de la arquitectura. Aun sabiendo que los aspectos sociológicos tienen cada vez más importancia, ambas áreas continúan siendo, en general, dominadas por omnipresentes decisiones que, una vez impuestas por consideraciones económico-administrativas, muchas veces condicionan no sólo la disponibilidad, sino también los plazos para ser usados. Todos estos son aspectos que se muestran en la mayoría de los casos muy poco ajustados a las necesidades de una intervención ciudadana. El hecho de que la arquitectura tenga este papel dominante tiene que ver, naturalmente, con la gran visibilidad de muchas de las carencias que se manifiestan en la degradación del edificio, pero también ha de tenerse en cuenta que éstas carencias están directamente relacionadas con el poder político que las solicita y, que sin otros mecanismos de control, corremos el riesgo de que la relación entre el esfuerzo invertido en estas acciones y los resultados obtenidos continúen siendo poco satisfactorios. De hecho, creo que es absolutamente necesario adelantarnos a la dimensión transmitida por una suma de acciones (pluridisciplinares) para que entendamos las diversas formas de intervención en el patrimonio, sobre todo por su capacidad de integrar y generar nuevas propuestas de desarrollo (transdisciplinaridad). Es a partir de esta hipótesis que una parte de este trabajo insiste en el intento de encuadrar estos procesos en un sistema complejo que sea capaz de generar nuevas respuestas a los también nuevos problemas creados por este concepto (todavía nuevo) de patrimonio, y sobre las estrategias para poder intervenir en él. El objetivo de este estudio es la elaboración de una metodología de trabajo capaz de responder a la creciente complejidad disciplinar que aparezca durante cualquier intervención de rehabilitación de un Centro Histórico. De hecho, las necesidades técnicas precisas para las nuevas formas de vida exigen un conjunto de intervenciones que son cada vez más difíciles de conciliar con la realidad física de los centros históricos de la mayor parte de las agrupaciones urbanas, tal como actualmente los conocemos. Pero tan importante o más que éstas son seguramente las muchas presiones que se ejercen desde el exterior. Presiones inmobiliarias muchas veces, o presiones que podríamos llamar culturales y que tienen que ver con las necesidades, muchas veces artificialmente creadas para que se adopte este o aquel modo de vida. Hay una serie de "padrones de cultura" (usando el título de libro de Ruth Benedict) que ejercen -por las buenas, pero en la mayoría de los casos por a las malas- una presión a veces asfixiante sobre las poblaciones que se reflejan mucho en algunos aspectos relacionados con el patrimonio. Por todas estas y por algunas otras razones asistimos cada vez más al abandono y la degradación de muchas zonas históricas al tiempo que se percibe un esfuerzo y una inversión política cada vez más fuerte en una preservación que, en los últimos cincuenta años, ha adquirido una dimensión que nunca había tenido y con la que muy probablemente no sepamos lidiar. Muchos de estos problemas se vuelven aun más difíciles de resolver cuando se trata de una agrupación de pequeño o mediano tamaño, no sólo por su intrínseca fragilidad, ya mencionada, sino también porque en éstos cualquier intervención conlleva implicaciones de decisiva importancia con relación a la globalidad de la población. La metodología que se busca pretende: -Ser aplicable en la situación concreta y en el encuadre jurídico-administrativo, y socio-económico portugués. -Ser capaz de aplicarse en situaciones muy diversas, desde las que pueda ser deseable una fuerte intervención constructiva, a las que ésta pueda asumirse con un carácter perfectamente secundario. -Se pretende también re-centrar en el hombre y en sus múltiples necesidades como ser cultural, u objetivo de cualquier intervención, pues sólo en una clara comprensión cultural de todos estos hechos es cuando podemos intervenir en ellos. Este molde cultural pasa por una comprensión clara de las formas de enmarcar las diversas formas capaces de dar lo que Pierre Nora considera como los aspectos que están en permanente evolución (la memoria) y que contrastan con lo que es una reconstrucción siempre problemática e incompleta como la de la historia (Nora, p. 14). Ya San Agustín se refería al tiempo distinguido "el presente de las cosas pasadas (…), el presente de las presentes (…) y el presente de las futuras (…)". Dependerá seguramente de nuestra capacidad de conciliar estos diferentes tiempos y de nuestro entendimiento del patrimonio. Una acción que, ha de ser contemporánea pues sólo "aprendemos con los ojos de nuestra época; o sea nos cuestionamos a partir de las preguntas de nuestra época y ofrecemos las respuestas a los problemas de nuestra época". "Difícilmente se puede valorar el significado de lo antiguo si las ciudades no son modernas, (pudiendo caer) en el fetichismo, en los colores locales, o también la nostalgia de los viejos tiempos". o sea, lo que Augé considera como el "exótico y banal anonimato de los sitios" . Tal como la entendía Lucien Febre, la historia sólo existe en el presente, es decir, la historia dejó de estar detrás de nosotros, como también le gustaba citar a Aldo Van Eyck. "La memoria no puede ser traída hasta nosotros únicamente a través de referencias más o menos arbitrarias, pues la memoria está más allá del reloj y del tiempo humanizado" (Van Eyck, 1982, p.18) un concepto que él venía defendiendo ya desde el Congreso de Otterlo, de 1959. O como por la misma época citaba Lina Bo Bardi, debemos entender el pasado y, por lo tanto, también el patrimonio como un "presente histórico". De hecho, "sólo si las personas saben dónde situarse social y existencialmente es cuando son capaces de cambiar las cosas". El patrimonio es así el medio del que disponemos para situarnos en el mundo, aun sabiendo que solo "aprendemos con los ojos de nuestra época; o sea nos cuestionamos a partir de las preguntas de nuestra época y ofrecemos las respuestas a los problemas de nuestra época" (Morin, 2001) El reflejo de muchas de estas preocupaciones es el que se expresa en las resoluciones de ICOMOS, el organismo oficial creado en 1965, y que se está bajo la égida de la UNESCO y de la ONU, después de la Convención para la Protección del Patrimonio Mundial Cultural y Natural, de 1972, liderando la reflexión y la actuación sobre el patrimonio. Al considerar "que la arquitectura exprime necesariamente su época (…) y que la expresión de su pasado presente y futuro deben ser tratados como un todo", se recomienda que se acepte la inclusión de obras contemporáneas en las ciudades históricas. Conscientes de que vivimos en un mundo caracterizado sobre todo por la gran complejidad de factores que en él se integran, donde el patrimonio es un área cultural particularmente sensible a esas múltiples interacciones, los objetivos de este trabajo buscan entender algunos de los condicionantes y limitaciones que caracterizan los modos de actuación en el patrimonio y, a partir de éstos, buscar una estrategia capaz de proponer una metodología de intervención que nos permita tener en cuenta esa misma complejidad. Se pretende con este trabajo encontrar algunos parámetros que no nos permitan definir líneas de orientación para ese tipo de intervenciones. De este modo se busca una propuesta de metodología de intervención en el patrimonio arquitectónico que tenga en cuenta las necesidades de búsqueda de líneas de fuerza orientadoras de una práctica que apenas dejó de ser pluridisciplinar para pasar a ser verdaderamente transdisciplinar. De entre todos estos factores destaca la que es la primera razón de cualquier intervención en el patrimonio, y que tiene que ser siempre centrada en el hombre y en sus múltiples necesidades. El hecho es que han desaparecido muchas de las señas de orientación y de identificación del hombre en el espacio. En muchos de nuestros edificios, pero también en gran parte del territorio que nos rodea no existe más definición de límites, de fronteras entre el interior y el exterior, de puertas, etc., y todo esto contribuye a la desorganización del espacio. Cada vez más tenemos que lidiar con conceptos que se van alargando mucho más allá de las dimensiones físicas del patrimonio. Ejemplo de eso es el concepto todavía recientemente formulado de patrimonio inmaterial, ("intangible heritage), la dimensión inmaterial o sea, la valorización de los saberes, de las realizaciones y tradiciones, conceptos particularmente importantes para sociedades multiculturales como son cada vez más todas las nuestras. Si antes referí la necesidad de volver a centrar en el hombre la atención de cualquier intervención en el patrimonio es justamente porque la reacción de las intervenciones hechas nos ayuda a percibir muchas de las razones de los fracasos cotejados. Está hoy en día ya bastante consensuado que – salvo excepciones puntuales e inevitables- sólo es posible conservar el patrimonio mientras que sea porque el hombre lo ocupa y lo utiliza. El abandono que se aprecia en algunos sitios es muchas veces simplemente la señal de un desajuste que todavía no ha encontrado modos de armonizar estas necesidades contradictorias. La reflexión hecha sobre estos temas nos lleva también la necesidad de formularnos otra pregunta sobre la posibilidad, o hasta la conveniencia, de continuar con la preservación de una cantidad tan grande de testimonios del pasado por lo menos en las condiciones en que muchas veces lo hemos hecho, y hasta saber si valdrá la pena hacerlo.

El estudio de la Arquitectura griega, desde la época arcaica hasta el helenismo, constituye aparentemente, un periodo cerrado en sí mismo, con sus propias leyes, con la particular evolución de los estilos, la permanencia de valores más estables como los órdenes arquitectónicos y una manera muy particular de enfocar los problemas de diseño. Las tipologías, una vez definidas, adquieren carácter permanente, mientras la preocupación por el espacio externo se manifestará junto con la intensa vocación plástica de esta cultura. Sin embargo, aunque en la época arcaica se constituyan los elementos que definirán todo el proceso, no resulta exacto prescindir de antecedentes más lejanos en el tiempo, que pese a la dificultad de ser evaluados, con el susbstratum de la propia cultura griega. En efecto, toda la cultura cretense y la posterior micénica determinan el horizonte en el que se desarrolla la civilización griega, a veces continuando tradiciones religiosas, mitos y actitudes vitales, en otros aspecto modificándolos sutilmente o bien rompiendo abruptamente con ese pasado, que nunca deja de ser una presencia activa y muchas veces decisiva. Los historiadores de la cultura han debatido largamente, y esto prueba la realidad de la cuestión, si la cultura griega constituye un fenómeno de tipo primario o bien por el contrario se trata de una civilización secundaria. El hecho aparece claro en el caso de la cultura romana, donde ni siquiera encontramos un periodo arcaico (papel de los etruscos y las influencias helenísticas), siendo menos determinante en el fenómeno griego, pero también de suma importancia. No todos los aspectos de influencias y en el campo más restringido de la arquitectura, es necesario precisar que ideas son continuación de los pensamiento y modalidades cretenses y micénicos, los cuales constituyen una reelaboración y finalmente los nuevos aportes. Un análisis detallado puede señalar las grandes tendencias, pero no debemos olvidar que el hecho arquitectónico es, finalmente, una obra individual y fundamentalmente sintética. Por lo expuesto, se vuelve necesario partir de un análisis y consideración del arte cretense y micénico, no solamente en el aspecto de lectura formal, sino teniendo presente los contenidos de significación, que hacen a su estructura religiosa, pues los estudios sobre los mitos y la religiosidad griega muestran una continuidad mayor que la que se sospechaba hace algunos años, y han obligado a modificar muchos juicios tenidos por verdades históricas. No olvidemos tampoco que tanto la arquitectura cretense, la micénica y la misma arquitectura griega, están fundamentalmente vinculadas al paisaje que constituye su entorno natural y con el cual dialogan de una manera que, para nosotros arquitectos contemporáneos, es difícil de imaginar. La arquitectura romana y la del gótico hasta nuestros días es una arquitectura de tipo urbana, donde los edificios se integran en el paisaje artificial de la ciudad y donde muchas veces, si el entorno no es totalmente urbano, el mismo paisaje está creado o modificado por el hombre, como sucede en los jardines de los palacios del barroco o en las perspectivas de los parques del siglo pasado. La arquitectura griega, por el contrario, está pensada en un diálogo profundo con el paisaje natural, lo respecta, se integra con él y muchas veces lo ordena con la presencia de la silueta inconfundible de sus templos. Por otra parte, señalemos que es propio de nuestra cultura y por ende de nuestra arquitectura, una relación con el paisaje natural muy distinta de la griega y de otras civilizaciones antiguas, pues en general, le atribuimos a esta relación una connotación de tipo formal donde los valores estéticos son dominantes, a los que se agregan realidades de tipo práctico y claramente racionales como las de tipo militar en la ubicación de los castillos, motivos económicos, de tránsito, políticos y sociales en la localización de las ciudades y su posterior desarrollo y aunque no falten decisiones y argumentos de significación más profunda, como la construcción de santuarios en determinados lugares, o el ejemplo mismo de los famosos caminos de peregrinación e la Edad Media, en general, percibimos el paisaje de una manera que podemos definir como laica o bien profana. Es cierto, sin embargo, que estudios de sumo interés han señalado, inclusive en los parques del Barroco y en los jardines paisajísticos de la última centuria, otros contenidos que los simplemente formales. Basta mencionar la búsqueda de los horizontes distantes y la expresión del infinito que simbolizan los jardines del Barroco y que encontramos simultáneamente en las obras pictóricas de Rubens, van Ruisdael, Hobbema, los grabados de Rembrandt y en muchos de los pintores de la escuela holandesa. Estos valores expresivos, junto con la nostalgia de épocas pasadas, de sueños utópicos, de arcadias y paisajes ideales como los de Claude Lorrain e inclusive la visión paisajística del siglo XIX, donde a las calidades estéticas del paisaje se agregan connotaciones de tipo sentimental, otras románticas, algunas teñidas de un cierto panteísmo, junto con las manifestaciones de mitos poéticos y literarios. La obra arquitectónica participa de las mismas ideas, se rodea de elementos naturales, introduce lo cambiante y variable de la naturaleza, se busca la unión del espacio interno y el externo, dominan las visiones interpenetradas, aparecen las escaleras monumentales con todo su dinamismo, que obligan a cambiar continuamente de punto de vista, cada vez son más frecuentes las cascadas y fuentes artificiales, lagos, arroyos, espejos de agua y la misma ornamentación y la decoración se complacen en elaborar elementos naturalísticos. Pero, por más que alusiones poéticas y literarias constituyan un aspecto importante de la estructura de significación que se manifiesta en la percepción del paisaje, tan importante en los últimos siglos de nuestra pintura y arquitectura y al respecto basta considerar la importancia del tema en la pintura, donde se convierte de complemento de la forma humana en el Renacimiento, en un elemento decisivo y finalmente autónomo en el Barroco; y qué decir del movimiento impresionista con todas las extrapolaciones en el hecho arquitectónico; nunca tendrá el carácter divino y primario del paisaje sagrado de la cultura griega. Que la arquitectura griega siempre se haya vinculado de algún modo al tema del paisaje, no constituye en sí mismo una novedad, pero debemos destacar que esta relación ha sido variable y condicionada a los sistemas de percepción del momento en que se hicieron estos juicios. La vuelta a la Antigüedad, como programa e ideal para encontrar respuestas a las formas de entender el destino, es un lugar común del Renacimiento en el siglo XV en Italia. Pero sabemos que en gran medida eran más vinculantes las formas del pasado romano y de la misma arquitectura cristiano primitiva, que fueron confundidas con las de la Antigüedad y que la imagen griega es más literaria que real. Basta señalar que las ruinas de los templos de Paestum (quizás lo mejor conservados de la arquitectura griega), pese al paso de muchos años de esta actitud, no merecen la menor mención por parte de Goethe en su famoso viaje por Italia. En cuanto a la intención seria de "volver al pasado" el Renacimiento se contentó con algunas esculturas griegas que se encontraban en Italia, muchas copias romanas y en el plano arquitectónico, por una serie de circunstancias históricas, fue escasísima la relación con obras realmente griegas. Tenían que pasar muchos años, para que al persistirse en este camino y ya a fines del siglo XVIII y comienzos del siglo XIX se pueda hablar de una relación directa y certera con las obras arquitectónicas griegas. Todo el Neoclasicismo lleva implícito un conocimiento más cercano del fenómeno griego, pero teñido también por los ideales y las corrientes de pensamiento de esa época. Si bien el siglo pasado y el nuestro se caracterizan por una profunda y continua actividad arqueológicas, los satos de esta tarea, así como las ruinas que se encuentran son interpretadas dentro de las concepciones arquitectónicas dominantes y es así, como la relación paisaje y arquitectura es confundida y reelaborada al servicio de nuevos mitos historicistas y estéticos, pero alejados de la realidad histórica. El Neoclasicismo y las tendencias académicas vuelven abstractas las formas de la arquitectura griega, de las deprende de todo vínculo con su entorno, se las confiere un carácter paradigmático y ejemplar, se las cataloga y codifica, constituyéndose así un diccionario de formas, con minuciosos y pedantes tratados de cada una de ellas y ya alejadas del ambiente en que nacieron y tuvieron vida se convierten en elementos combinables para así componer (la idea del proyecto y del diseño como Composición surge en esos años) nuevos programas formales a partir de esos elementos. En este sentido, el propio Miguel Ángel al hablar de San Pedro de Roma y de sus intenciones y propósitos, ya anunciaba esta idea de la Composición, tan cara al mundo del la Academia en el siglo XIX al decir "que pensaba colocar la cúpula del Panteón sobre la Basílica de Majencio para resolver el tempo más significativo del siglo XVI." El neoclasicismo desarrolla la idea de la Composición hasta sus últimas consecuencias y vamos a encontrar las combinaciones o "composiciones" más insólitas y fantasiosas, siempre en busca de la originalidad, pero a partir del repertorio tipológico de origen griego y romano. Tal lenguaje formas es empleado al servicio de temas muy distintos al que originalmente estaba vinculado y en un contexto geográfico y en condiciones ambientales diamentralmente opuestas… la nieve, la lluvia, la luz tamizada, la penumbra, el cielo nublado, el otoño y los largos inviernos, como horizontes tan distantes vitalmente de la luz violenta, del mundo deslumbrante del sol del mediterráneo que exalta el juego de los volúmenes y donde los elementos naturales hacen propicia la vida del hombre. Solo arquitectos del genio de un Schinkel o un Leo von Klenze lograron trascender y superar la mera "composición" y crear obras de arquitectura como las del propio Ledoux y también F. Gilly, pero en sus connotaciones de significación muy distantes del contexto griego y donde las referencias formales y las tipológicas sobreviven sólo como pretexto o legado cultural, mero punto de partida, para una realización muchas veces opuesta a su elaboración primera. Las publicaciones, de una relevante calidad en cuanto a medidas, relevamiento escrupulosos, láminas e ilustraciones en ediciones cuidadas y minuciosas, el acopio de datos y citas históricas que testimonian la laboriosa tarea de los eruditos, fueron creando una arquitectura griega como modelo perfecto, pero alejado de la realidad humana y del paisaje real en que las cosas habían sucedido. Es necesario señalar que los sistemas de representación, tan útiles y precisos, no son la realidad y en este sentido notamos que el color, alno no casual y que hace al sistema formal griego, y no sólo por razones de carácter estético sino más profundas, ya que para un griego de todas las épocas las cosas tienen forma y color, y así existen y participan del ser, fue olvidado en esta versión de los no colores (el blanco y el negro) que se convirtieron en una característica del neoclasicismo y donde el aclarar que la arquitectura griega era polícroma, hubiese constituido casi una blasfemia. Los mismos proyectos del genial Ledoux suponían formas casi abstractas (aunque de composición clásica), sentidas y proyectadas sobre inmensas superficies pavimentadas de losas blancas de piedra u donde todo vestigio de la naturaleza ha desaparecido. Esto se nota en el famoso proyecto para el Cenotafio de Newton y en la negación de toda relación orgánica con la naturaleza en el no construido, pero no por eso menos interesante proyecto para cementerio de Chaux. Aquí, el alejamiento de todo aspecto vital y humano es consecuencia de la búsqueda de algo que sentimos como macabro y cuyos últimos objetivos el propio Ledoux definía al decir que habría creado "la verdadera imagen de la nada" y que cualquiera tendría esta misma vivencia al recorrer la inmensa esfera, donde surgiría el humo de los cadáveres en cremación y que el mejor momento para contemplarlo sería a la luz de la luna, donde todo serían tinieblas y penumbras blanquecinas. Una contemplación del fenómeno griego de esta naturaleza no podía menos de prescindir de la profunda relación entre arquitectura y las formas orgánicas del paisaje, que afirman con vitalidad la presencia de los dioses íntimamente ligados con el hombre y con la tierra. Es en nuestro siglo donde los estudios de los historiadores y arqueólogos destacan la importancia del color en la arquitectura griega, relacionándola con el clima y con el notable y personal paisaje griego. Sin embargo, al producirse la revolución de la arquitectura contemporánea, asistimos al desprecio de toda la tradición académica y con ellos dejan de ser los órdenes arquitectónicos griegos, lo mismo que las tipologías de sus templos, la preocupación de los arquitectos y de las escuelas de arquitectura. Mucho se ha hablado de la absoluta ruptura con el pasado, de las tendencias arquitectónicas de la década del veinte y de su desprecio de la tradición clásica, así como del eclectismo del siglo XIX. El hecho de que se suprimieran los cursos de historia de la arquitectura en los primeros programas de la Bauhaus es ya de por sí muy significativo y muestra clara de una profunda negación del pasado inmediato y lejano. Sin embargo, pese a lo revolucionario de las propuestas arquitectónicas que suponen crear una arquitectura, que inclusive deseche todo concepto de estilo, encontramos en los pioneros del diseño moderno muchos puntos de contacto con los viejos conceptos de clasicismo que se pretende superar. Basta contemplar muchas de las obras de Peter Behrens, el maestro e Gropius, los primeros proyectos del mismo Mies van der Rohe, la obra de Auguste Perret que siempre buscó una monumentalidad utilizando los nuevos medios de la técnica y finalmente el propio Le Corbussier, que de manera consciente, continuamente hace referencias a la calidad de la arquitectura griega. Su definición de la arquitectura como "el juego armonioso de los volúmenes bajo la luz" si bien hace patente el culto común de la década del 20 por las formas puras y simples de la geometría, está acompañada de una invocación de las obras arquitectónicas griegas, referencias a sus manifestaciones más singulares y a su profunda relación con el paisaje de la hélade. Sin embargo, el hecho de que esta arquitectura participara de la utopía de generar propuestas de carácter internacional, absolutamente transferibles sin más a todos los pueblos y culturas, con indiferencia de los modos de vida social y las tradiciones locales; supuso una tipología de edificios desprendidos del paisaje y del entorno inmediato y con razón se ha dicho que los famosos pilotes de Le Corbussier expresan intento de adaptar los proyectos a cualquier terreno, con pendiente o sin ella, de roca o de arcilla, inclusive instalables en ríos o espejos de agua. De allí, el carácter abstracto de esa arquitectura, que si bien proclamaba muchas veces su relación con el paisaje, éste no era más que un entorno relativamente casual e intercambiable y nunca en el sentido griego de relación orgánica entre el edificio y el lugar. Fue la tendencia más orgánica de la década del cuarenta y del cincuenta la que buscó una identificación de la obra con su medio, interesándose por los materiales típicos, los usos sociales e inclusive los distintos modos estéticos y las soluciones tradicionales. No es casual que al dominar estas ideas se haya reconsiderado el papel de la arquitectura griega y más que ver sus soluciones como paradigmas eternos y normas transferibles a otras situaciones, se haya buscado su compresión en las relaciones precisas de su ubicación histórica, de su profunda vinculación con la cultura y en un plano más profundo con las creencias religiosas y los mitos. El cuestionamiento arquitectónico de los últimos años insiste en trascender los problemas de función, construcción, relaciones espaciales e inclusive el rico horizonte de lo social y dar a la obra de arquitectura también carácter de signo, hecho olvidado como objetivo en la primera parte del siglo. Todo lo que acompaña a la concepción estructuralista hace hincapié en los problemas de significación y vuelve a hacer necesario replantear el estudio de la arquitectura griega en su relación con el paisaje, que deja de ser mero entorno estético para adquirir sus últimas significaciones en la relación entre los templos, los dioses y la tierra como punto de referencia y de análisis y que tan logradamente y con profundo acierto señala la obra de Vincent Scully que vincula esos tres elementos interdependientes como método de profundizar el estudio de esa singular arquitectura.

Issue 55.3 of the Review for Religious, May/June 1996. ; fo r reli ious Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living MAY-JUNE 1996 ¯ VOLUME55 ¯ NUMBER3 Revtew fo~r .Reli~tous tS a ~orum fo~r Shared reflection on the~ liVed :experie~ice @ all Who find that :the~.churCb's~ rico bemtaffes ~o~ ,sptntuaht~ "sul~OOrt the~r pdrsonal: ~a~d: apostoli~ :~e~a~cles ~tn the~jou~al are ;meant ~to~ ~e t~foNat~ve~ :~radt~dal~.~o~ in~p~at~nal, wH~en~om a th~lO~ic~l or so~nmt or:somenmes mnontcat oo~nt ot vtew,~ , : Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bi-monthlv at Saint Louis University by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393. Telephone: 314-977-7363 ¯ Fax: 314-977-7362 Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Correspondence about the Canonical Counsel department: Elizabeth McDonough OP St. Bernadette Convent ¯ 76 Universit3, Blvd. East ¯ Silver Spring, MD 20901 POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ¯ P.O. Box 6070 ¯ Duluth, MN 55806. Second-class postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. See inside back cover for information on subscription rates. ©1996 Review for Religious Permission is herewith granted to copy any material (articles, poems, reviews) contained in this issue of Review for Religious for personal or internal use, or for the personal or internal use of specific library clients within the limits outlined in Sections 107 and/or 108 of the United States Copyright Law. All copies made under this permission must bear notice of the source, date, and copyright owner on the first page. This permission is NOT extended to copying for commercial distribu-tion, advertising, institutional promotion, or for the creation of new collective works or anthologies. Such permission will only be considered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Editorial Staff Advisory Board David L. Fleming SJ Philip C. Fischer SJ Regina Siegfried ASC Elizabeth McDonough OP Mary Ann Foppe TracT Gramm Jean Read James and Joan Felling Iris Ann Ledden SSND Joel Rippinger OSB Edmundo Rodriguez sJ David Werthmann CSSR Patricia Wittberg SC Chris~ar~ ]~er~tages and Contemporary Living MAY/JUNE 1996 ¯ VOLUME 55 ¯ NUMBER 3 230 The Ecclesiology of the U.S. Bishops' 1994 Healthcare Directives John A. Gallagher develops some implications of the ecclesiology underlying the mission, governance, and partnership found in Catholic healthcare services. 249 264 Abandonment That Enlivens and Sets Fire for Mission George Aschenbrenner SJ develops a spirituality of abandonment as central to the stability and identity of a religious congregation in respect to its mission, community, authority, and obedience. Gathering the Fragments: New Times for Obedience Judith A. Merkle SNDdeN explores obedience as affective bonding and the challenge this call presents personally, congregationally, and ecclesially. Review for Religious 283 297 Acknowledging the Gift of Gay Priestly Celibacy William McDonough presents a case for the timeliness of acknowledging the homosexual orientation of gay celibate priests as a gift to the church. HIV Testing of Seminary and Religious-Order Candidates James F. Keenan SJ reviews reasons for and against HIV testing for priesthood and religious-life candidates and suggests some ethical standards that need to be observed. 315 A Call for a Bespoke Revival of a Hijacked Tradition Bertrand Webster FMS suggests a number of ways to update our use of the rosary for both individual and communal devotion. ,~ 228 Prisms 320 Canonical Counsel: General Chapters: Historical Background 326 Book Reviews May-3~ene 1996 prisms Nostalgia becomes a fitti'ng characteristic of the poet Homer's Odysseus--in the midst of all his travels and adventures he is driven by an aching desire to return to his island home and his wife, Penelope. A contemporary dictionary builds upon the original Greek root of nostalgia, expanding its meaning from a home-sickness to the wistful and sometimes abnormal yearning for a return to some fondly remembered season of life or an unrepeatable dream. It seems to be natural for many of us to harbor a certain nostalgia for the past--either what we have experienced or, perhaps, what we have only read or heard about. Movies or television docudramas are often quite suc-cessful in evoking an appreciation of a past with a sim-pler lifestyle or less complicated human relationships. Even reading the Gospels can sometimes lead us to express the wish that we "could have lived at the time of Jesus." The nostalgia to have been among the crowd listening to Jesus speaking out the beatitudes or among the thousands fed by Jesus' miracle of the loaves and fishes receives a rude awakening when we realize that, likely enough, we would have been among those who walked away and went about their ordinary duties of life. In our daily examen of consciousness, we find that we ignore and walk away even now from the many Christs who enter our day. The church of the 13th and 14th centuries--the peak-ing of scholastic theological developments--was in fer-ment from the press of many ideas. The controversies which resulted were often worked through over long peri-ods in a debate form called quaestiones disputatae (disputed questions). The question was a technique to explore the Review for Religious writings of authorities in conflict and the process of conflicting argumentation. Today we sometimes get glimpses of this method in writings found in the medical and health-science fields. Although we may unconsciously idealize the civility of these olden theological discussions, perhaps without too much nostalgia we can appreciate an inquiring drive toward new understanding that is often missing from church life today. Maybe, with computer knowledge banks and television soundbite news, we all have become impatient with debate and discussion; we want only answers and truths and none of the messiness of living with our own responsible choice among some merely provisional under-standings available to us. God's revelation finds its fulfillment in Christ; yet even if revealed truth is complete, it remains for Christian faith to grasp its full significance over the course of centuries. Since the truth of the church's witness is still human truth, we need to ask ourselves the question: Should we not expect disputes and controversies in our theological developments and pastoral practices just as there are in other human disciplines? Consecrated life in the life of the church is not disputed, but how it fits within church structure, what new forms it takes along-side older ones, how to work out the relationship of religious superiors and bishops, and what roles consecrated life plays within the local church are some of the ongoing questions addressed in Pope John Paul's apostolic exhortation under date of 25 March 1996. The letter is the pope's reflections on the October 1994 Synod of Bishops on the consecrated life and its mission in the church and in the world. The pope's letter brings a closure to the synod and at the same time opens out its workings into the future. As one. who exhorts, the pope sees the questions around conse-crated life as reason to commit ourselves with fresh enthusiasm. He sees that the church stands in need of the spiritual and apos-tolic contribution of a renewed and revitalized consecrated life. As a resource for continuing this discussion about consecrated life, a new book, The Church and Consecrated Life, is being pub-lished by Review for Religious. The book includes a review of the official church documents on consecrated life since, Vatican a number of exploratory articles, and the pope's apostolic exhor-tation. The book is available from our St. Louis office; the cost is $20 which includes postage and handling. David L. Fleming SJ May-J, ote 1996 JOHN A. GALLAGHER The Ecclesiology of the U.S. Bishops' 1994 Healthcare Directives "Ethical and Religious Directives for Catholic Health Care Services" has been published now for about a year.' Sponsors (religious institutes, commonly), board mem-bers, and managers of Catholic healthcare organizations have had the time to reflect upon this new promulgation of directives. What new elements do they find? What will they need to assimilate into their decision-making pro-cesses and their Catholic healthcare operations in order to respond appropriately to this teaching of the American bishops? Interestingly, what is most innovative in this set of directives and most clearly different from the 1971 set is not new or more nuanced ethical teaching. Most of the individual directives are unchanged or only minimally changed. Afterations in specific ethical directives are attributable to statements from the Roman curia (for example, the responsum on uterine isolation) and to changes in the healthcare delivery system in the United States (see Part 6, Forming New Partnerships with Health Care Organizations and Providers). Perhaps the most provoca-tive ethical change can be found in Directive 57, which asserts that "excessive expense [to] the family or the com-munity" can render a life-prolonging intervention an "extraordinary" means and thus a morally optional one. The addition of "community" to the classic definition of John A. Gallagher is director for corporate ethics for the Holy Crbss Health System. His address is 3606 East Jefferson Boulevard; South Bend, Indiana 46115. Review for Religious what constitutes an extraordinary means of prolonging life will probably become controversial in a healthcare system increas-ingly dominated by managed care. What is more distinctly new in the 1994 "Directives" is the ecclesiology that can be perceived as a consistent undercurrent throughout the document. Ecclesiology is the theological disci-pline that attempts to understand what the church is, how it is related to the wider world, and how persons within the church (clergy, religious, laity) are related to one another and the church as a whole; "Directives" is not a treatise on the church. But it is concerned to identify the mission of Catholic healthcare within the mission of the church as a whole, to outline a governance structure for Catholic healthcare vis-~l-vis the local ordinary, and to set limits to cooperative arrangements between Catholic health organizations and healthcare providers daat are not Catholic. This underlying ecclesiology constitutes the truly innovative aspect of "Directives." This inchoate episcopal teaching merits serious the-ological consideration by the sponsors and leaders of Catholic healthcare. TheMission of Catholic Healthcare and the Church's Mission How convenient it would be to begin with a definition of church. But mysteries are not readily captured in crisp definitions. Theologians have contented themselves with speaking of the marks or characteristics of the church (one, holy, catholic, apos-tolic). The fathers of Vatican Council II frequently employed analogies from Scripture to provide clarification concerning the nature of the church. The closest they came to a definition was to assert, in Lumen gentium, that the church is the visible sacrament of the saving unity offered to people through the redemptive work of Christ (LG §9). In his masterful Models of the Church, Avery Dulles SJ pro-posed five models, analogies which enable some further under-standing of the mystery of the church? These models are derived from ecclesiologies developed by various theologians to portray what they believed to be the essential characteristic of the church. The models describe the church as institution, mystical commu-nion, sacrament, herald, and servant. Dulles's argument is that, though the church is no one of these models, its identity can be May-~une 1996 Gallagber ¯ Ecclesiology of the 1994 Healtbcare Directives partially clarified through reflection upon each of them. In a sub-sequent edition Dulles added a sixth model, the church as a com-munity of disciples, to emphasize the inherent cohesiveness and unity among the models and indeed of the church itself. The mission of the church pertains to its activities as a "fel-lowship of life, charity, and truth" founded by Christ to be his "instrument for the redemption of all" (LG §9; see also Ad gentes §5). Note that the mission of the church is simply another man-ner of speaking about what the church is; "mission" is a clarifi-cation, not the addition of some further information. The church is its mission. To assert that the church is "visible sacrament" is to clarify both what the church is and what it does. So with each of Dulles's models: they portray not only what the church is, but also what it does. The church is an institution, and many of its activities result from the fact that it has social, legal, and hierar-chical structures. The church is a mystical communion which unites those who are within it and identifies its relationship with other religious groups. The church as sacrament is the visible symbol of the redemptive work of Christ; its activities are symbols having their effect in the world today. The church as herald pro-claims Jesus' redeeming gospel. The church as servant extends its witness into the secular world. The mission of Catholic healthcare is but one manifestation of the mission of the church as a whole; it partakes in that visible sacrament of redemption, in that mystery which is the church's very being. The mission of the church is manifested also in Catholic parochial life, in education, and in various charitable enterprises. The healing mission of Jesus, "Directives" asserts, touches all of Catholic healthcare: The mystery of Christ casts light on every facet of Catholic healthcare: to see Christian love as the animating princi-ple of healthcare; to see healing and compassion as a con-tinuation of Christ's mission; to see suffering as a participation in the redemptive power of Christ's passion, death, and resurrection; and to see death, transformed by the resurrection, as an opportunity for a final act of com-munion with Christ. ("Directives" booklet, p. 6) Thus, Catholic healthcare is a particular specification of the mission of the church itself. As the documefits of Vatican II say with regard to missionary endeavors, so also with regard to Catholic healthcare, "the differences to be found in this activity Review for Religious of the church do not result from the inner nature of her mission itself, but are due rather to the circumstances in which this mis-sion is exercised" (AG §6). "Directives" (p. 1) indicates that a major reason why a revision was needed was developments within the church: changes in reli-gious orders and congregations, the increased involvement of lay men and women, a heightened awareness of the church's social role in the world, and developments in moral theology. Another major reason was the reconfiguration of the American healthcare system. The acute-care hospital and the long-term- care facility, the two places where most Catholic healthcare has been provided, are being incorporated nowadays into integrated delivery systems. Catholic healthcare organi-zations are b.ecoming owners or partners of these systems or are providing services within them and thus are assuming some fundamen-tally new obligations. Accordingly it became necessary to reflect anew on Catholic health-care's mission. But why explicitly? With Catholic health-care now consisting of myriad structures and organizations by which an array of healthcare services is provided to individual persons and communities, what the new "Directives" intends to accomplish is "a theological basis for the Catholic healthcare ministry" (p. 2). The healthcare ministry has always been manifested in the activities of physicians and nurses, orderlies and aides; women and men dedicated to care of the poor, the dying, the homeless. This ministry was in part animated by people's desire to mirror the healing mission of Jesus. In the United States, Catholic healthcare ministry has, along with the witness of these many individuals, also been closely identified with the healthcare institutions that many religious congregations have sponsored and governed. Now, however, as "Directives" notes, lay people are increasingly emerg-ing as the leaders of this ministry. "Directives," which is "con-cerned primarily with institutionally based Catholic healthcare services" (p, 2), is intended to provide a theological basis for con-temporary Catholic healthcare ministry because this ministry must increas.ingly receive its theological impetus from the apos-tolic endeavors of lay people rather than from the church- What the new "Directives" intends to accomplish is "a theological basis for the Catholic healthcare ministry." May-~une 1996 Gallagber ¯ Ecclesiolog~ of the 1994 Healtbcare Directives approved constitutions and the apostolic vision of sponsoring congregations. This point is crucial for understanding the ecclesiology of "Directives." Catholic healthcare in the United States has almost exclusively been the ministry of religious women. As the number of religious available for the ministry continues to decline, lay women and men, i~acluding indeed a significant number of non- Catholics, have become leaders of the Catholic healthcare min-istry. From the perspective of the mission of the church and the perspective of lay Catholics, this is a major development. Laypersons are now leaders of an institutional Catholic ministry, roles traditionally reserved to clerics and religious. Lay people are no longer at the periphery; no longer just collaborators, they are increasingly the major participants. The laity has always had a role in fulfilling the mission of the church. The apostolate of the laity has generally been construed as bringing the mission of the church into the secular world. Lumen gentium defines the lay apostolate as "a participation in the saving mission of the church itself" and describes the role of the laity as making "the church present and operative in those places and circumstances where only through them can she become the salt of the earth" (§33). The lay apostolate, however, has generally been embodied in the activities of individual Catholic men and women. In their lives of service as doctors, lawyers, judges, and teachers, they concomitantly witnessed to the saving mystery of Christ. They sometimes joined associations of Catholic lawyers or doctors and sometimes taught or practiced in a Catholic college or hospital, but for the most part their apos-tolate was conducted outside an institution officially associated with the mission of the church. If Catholic lay-persons chose to carry out their apostolate in a Catholic school or hospital, it was the priests or religious who were the sponsors and administra-tors. It was the presence of priests and religious that both canon-ically and de facto gave the institution its Catholic identity and its link to themission of the church. ~ Such an understanding of institutions as vehicles for the mis-sion of the church has become codified in canon law. The law strives to assure that the property and financial resources of such institutions will be used e~xclusively for the mission of the church (canon 1254, §2). When a bishop confers Catholic identity on an educational or healthcare institution, he expects that certain obli- Review for Religious gations of faith and administration will be embodied in the life of that organization.3 A Catholic institution ought to carry out its ministry in a manner that reflects the church's understanding of the gospel and the tradition. "Ethical and Religious Directives" is the episcopal effort to delineate at least some aspects of the church's current understanding of the gospel as it relates to the healthcare ministry. What is most innovative about "Directives" is that it acknowl-edges and endorses the leadership role of the laity in these insti-nations. In the past, as lay people participated in the ministry of priests and sisters, they were sometimes encouraged to model their lives on those of religious, to become mem-bers of third orders, in order to enter more fully into the ministry. But now laypersons qua laypersons are becoming the major par-ticipants in this ministry. In line with what Yves Congar OP wrote shortly after World War II, lay people in the American church have now begun to take part "in the hierar-chical apostolate, that is, in that sacred activ-ity., which defines the church's proper task and mission.''4 Thus "Ethical and Religious Directives" announces a significantly new manner in which the ministry of Catholic healthcare will be conducted in the 21 st century. This sort of development is occurring also in other institutional ministries of the church in the United States. The laity are increasingly being recruited into leadership positions on all levels of Catholic education, In a recent address Father Philip Murnion, director of the National Pastoral Life Center, said that "the fuimre of parish ministry, of educatior~, of pastoral care 'and the development of worship life will increasingly be in the hands of the laity."s The laity are fill-ing the vacuum created by the declining numbers of priests and religious active in the church's institutional life~ Therefore, as Ladislas Orsy SJ has recently suggested, the opinions and rec-ommendations of layperson~ will need to be'more fully integrated into institutional decision making within the church.6 If lay people are to constitute the staff and leadership of Catholic healthcare in the 21st century, how is that ministry to be "The future of parish ministry, of education, of pastoral care and the development of worship life will increasingly be in the hands of the laity." May-~une 1996 Gallagber ¯ Ecclesiology of the 1994 Healtbcare Directives theologically articulated? At the presenttime, mission statements and core values derived from the constitutions and way of life of the sponsoring congregations have provided the sense of purpose and direction that animates the ministry. But, as sponsorship becomes more tenuous and at some point no longer exists, what will replace it? At that point American Catholic healthcare will be drawn back to its ecclesial roots, to what is common to the founding congregations and to the lay apostolate and to the ministry of healthcare: the mission of the church. How the participants in Catholic healthcarewill articulate the relation between the mis-sion of the church and the ministry of healthcare in 2025 or 2050 lies far beyond the worries of current leaders of Catholic health-care. But it is the duty of those who live in a period of transition like ours to begin to make the theological transitions. Dulles's models, I believe, provide us with theological categories with which to begin such a reflection.7 The church as institution, sacrament, and mystical commu-nion will'always be central to its healthcare ministry because those words describe what the church is, as does the word mission. As an institutional ministry, Catholic healthcare must maintain its link to the church as institution. Catholic healthcare will always be sacramental; it will continue to serve as a symbol of the healing and caring ministry of Christ. The anointing of the sick, the sacra-ment of reconciliation, and especially the Eucharist will continue to be essential in Catholic healthcare's holistic healing ministry. Further, as an institutional ministry staffed by persons of many faiths and providing services to a culturally and religiously diverse population, the Catholic healthcare ministry will continue to be a sign of the church as mystical communion. In, a time of transition such as the present, however, and as "Directives" makes clear, there are dangers in the current envi-ronment which jeopardize this relationship. The three models we have just discussed will not be adequate to describe the Catholic healthcare of the 21st century. As laypersons increas-ingly become the bearers of the ministry of Catholic healthcare, it is the herald and servant models of the church that will best correspond to Catholic healthcare's activities. The servant model construes the church's activities in a sec-ular- dialogic model, "secular, because the church takes the world as a properly theological locus, and seeks to discern the signs of Review for Religiotts the times; dialogic, because it seeks to operate on the frontier between the contemporary world and the Christian tradition.''8 Patient care, relations with collaborators and other providers, and the governance and management of multibillion-dollar corpora-tions will increasingly draw the healthcare ministry into a world with which it can never be truly at ease and which it cannot con-trol; but it is the world in which the healthcare ministry will make present the saving mystery of Christ. Will Catholic healthcare as servant be able to have signifi-cant influence on the business and medical spheres which will shape its institutional presence in the world? The values of med-ical science and of business and the manner in which they affect the lives of individual persons and communities will be the socio-cultural matrix which the church as servant will seek to influence. The servant model directs the ministry of laypersons where it has traditionally been done, the secular world. But the lay people enter this world no longer as individuals, but with the collective power, influence, and responsibility associated with the leader-ship of an institutional ministry. The church as herald is, in a sense, the counterpart of the church as servant, The latter seeks to engage the secular world, to bring about at least a partial recognition of the human signifi-cance of gospel values. The church as herald, on the o.ther hand, does not seek the transformation of society, but contents itself with witnessing to the Word of God. The church is gathered by the Word of God which it has received as "an official message with the commission to pass it on.''9 The church as herald com-plements the church as servant by recalling to Catholic healthcare that fidelity to God's Word is the test of its collaboration in a secular world. The Governance Structure of Catholic Healthcare The 1971 version of "Ethical and Religious Directives" makes no specific reference to the role of the local bishop in regard to the affairs of Catholic healthcare organizations. The 1994 edi-tion, on the other hand, assigns a major role to the local bishop in the governance of healthcare organizations within the diocese. The healthcare ministry in a local diocese is an activity in which the diocesan bishop exercises responsibilities that are rooted in his office as pastor, teacher, and priest. As the center of Gallagber ¯ Ecclesiolo~mtof tbe 1994 Healtbcare Directives unity in the diocese and coordinator of ministries in the local church, the diocesan bishop fosters the mission of Catholic healthcare in a way that promotes collaboration among healthcare leaders, providers, medical profession-als, theologians, and other specialists. As pastor the dioce-san bishop is in a unique position to encourage the faithful to greater responsibility in the healing ministry of the church. As teacher the diocesan bishop ensures the moral and religious identity of the healthcare ministry in what-ever setting it is carried out in the diocese. As priest the diocesan bishop oversees the sacramental care of the sick. ("Directives," p. 4) Individual directives define the role of the local bishop in the founding of new Catholic healthcare facilities (no. 8), in the administration of the sacraments to non-Catholics (no. 20), and in the appointment of Catholic and non-Catholic chaplains (nos. 21, 22), especially the director of pastoral care (no. 21). Directive 37 proposes that there be some form of liaison between ethics committees and the local bishop. Part 6 deeply involves the :bishop in decisions of Catholic healthcare institutions concerning entrance into new partnerships and alliances. The local bishop is to be consulted (no. 67), and in some instances appropriate autho-rization or a nihil obstat is to be obtained from him. "Directives" of 1994 articulates a set of mutual responsibilities between the local bishop and the leadership of the healthcare ministries within the diocese. The issues posed by these aspects of "Directives" define how the governance of the bishop is to be exercised. These are fundamentally issues of ecclesiology, not of ethics or morality. Their purpose is to clarify the relationship of the local bishop to the ministries of Catholic healthcare in his diocese. The point is to specify the mutual responsibilities of bishops and the boards and senior management of Catholic healthcare orga-nizations. The more subtle and more important purpose is to maintain the link between the local church and its healthcare ministry. It will be important for Catholic healthcare and the bishops to consider whether this is the appropriate relationship. The ecclesiology of this section of "Directives" is based upon the canonical principle that a .bishop is subject to no higher author-ity in his diocese other than the pope (canon 381). But Catholic healthcare organizations and their member institutions crisscross diocesan lines. Indeed the healthcare ministry is partially set within individual dioceses, but its service and witness are spread Review for Religious to the American healthcare system as a whole. Although canoni-cally there is no such thing as the American Catholic church, it is within the publicly recognized reality of such an organization that the Catholic healthcare ministry exists. That the local bishop is the sole person with the authority to confer Catholic identity upon a new healthcare facility is certainly nothing new, nor is it riew that the bishop should have. a role in the appointment of Catholic chaplains and oversee the administration of the sacraments. Both of these activities pertain to the institutional and sacramental aspects of the church, which are at the heart of a bishop's ministry. What will require clarification is the role of bishops with regard to. ethics commit-tees and the formation of partnerships and other alliances. Ethics committees exist in virtually every Catholic hospital in the United States. They provide three functions. First, they offer edu-cational programs for physicians, nurses, and staff. Second, although they do not make patient-care decisions, they do provide consul-tation to patieni:s, families, nurses, and physi-cians concerning ethical issues that can arise in the course of patient care. Third, they collabo-rate with the officers and board of a hospital in writing policies on such issue~ as "do not resuscitate" orders, informed consent, and physician-assisted suicide. Through such policies Catholic hos-pitals have expressed their compliance with "Ethical and Religious Directives." Many Catholic hospitals possess written policies on abortion, sterilization, contraception, and euthanasia. Physicians, nurses, and other medical personnel practicing within the hospi-tal are expected to conform their treatment plans to the policies of the hospital. The work of the ethics committee is one of the places where Catholic healthcare as h~rald is particularly active. These com-mittees grapple with the concrete details of medical practice within an acute-care setting. The committees require the skills and knowledge base of physicians, nurses, ethicists, and hospital administrators. They apply ~he principles of Catholic healthcare to concrete patient-care decision~. They do so in an environment in which professional medical standards, patient preferences, the What will require clarification is the role of bishops with regard to ethics committees and the formation of partnerships and other alliances. May-J*lne 1996 Gallagber ¯ " Ecclesioloy~y._of tbe 1994 Healtbca~re_D__irec~'.v_e. ,s, desires of insurance companies and other payers, the dictates of civil law, and the teaching of the Catholic hierarchy may not be in agreement. As Catholic hospitals are progressively integrated into organized delivery systems, the work of the ethics commit-tees will need to migrate from the acute-care setting directly into the managed-care environment where the major policy and patient-care decisions will be made. In many instances the Catholic organization will be part of a larger whole; it will not have the same degree of control over policies and patient-care decisions that it has had in the past. If bishops or their representatives enter the deliberations of ethics committees with the same sense of purpose as other par-ticipants in the healthcare ministry, if they come as servants and as heralds, then they will be received as welcome collaborators. The work of ethics committees is very concrete; rarely is time devoted to the discussion of ethical theory or metaethics. Consensus is the mode of decision making on which these com-mittees thrive.I° Authoritarian interventions in the work of ethics committees simply will not work. They will drive away the col-laborators essential for the successful operation of a contemporary ethics committee. How the bishop chooses to interact with the ethics committees associated with healthcare ministries in his dio-cese will determine the contribution these interventions will make to the ministry of Catholic healthcare. A recent article by Kevin Wildes SJ deals with the role that the 1994 "Directives" ascribes to the local bishop. He concludes by saying that the ecclesiology of "Directives" marks a shift toward a top-down model in ecclesiology. The Catholic tradition, Wildes argues, has generally maintained an uneasy tension between those in authority (the pope, the bishops) and those considered to be authorities (theologians). Wildes's concern is that "Directives" gives the impression of being "an effort of those in authority to restrict the space and liberty of those who are an authority.''a~ Wildes's premonition must be taken seriously. The list of those who are authorities in the area of healthcare must include physi-cians, nurses, healthcare administrators, and an array of other professionals whose expertise is essential to the management of American healthcare organizations. Successful relationships among these professionals are based upon collaboration, trust, and a mutual sharing of values. Any form of authoritarianism which denies or rejects the integrity and professionalism of one's col- Review for Religious leagues will destroy the healthcare ministry, which can exist only in a world that does not completely share its values. The legitimate concerns of local bishops for the future of the healthcare ministry in their dioceses is obvious. In some places the institutions of Catholic healthcare are the most visible signs of the church in a diocese. Ethics committees within Catholic health-care organizations address issues that go to the heart of the mis-sion of Catholic healthcare, to the implementation of its fundamental purpose. "Directives" does not propose that the bishop or his representative be directly involved in the work of the committee. Rather, it says that there should be "appropriate stan-dards for medical ethical consultation within a particular diocese that will respecLthe diocesan bishop's pastoral responsibility as well as assist members of ethics committees to be familiar with Catholic medical ethics" (no. 3 7). The purpose of the directive can be most suitably fulfilled by the bishop's creation of a diocesan committee to inform and advise the bishop in the exercise of his stewardship of the healthcare ministry. Such diocesan committees, many of which are already in the process of formation, must be staffed by healthcare profes-sionals and theologians knowledgeable about the realities of the contemporary American healthcare delivery system. Where dio-ceses are small and lack appropriate resources or where diocesan boundaries overlap the service areas of Catholic healthcare min-istries, such committees could be established within regional or state episcopal conferences. In either case, such a committee offers the bishop the means of informing himself on the issues con-fronting the healthcare ministry before becoming directly involved. The Creation of New Partnerships Until relatively recently, Catholic healthcare organizations, like their counterparts in the overall American healthcare deliv-eW system, functioned as independent, autonomous institutions. If there were several Catholic hospitals or long-term-care facili-ties within a diocese, they existed in isolation from one another. There were few reasons for them to function conjointly. The reform of the healthcare delivery system within the United States has greatly altered this basic characteristic of the Catholic health-care ministry. Collaboration, partnerships, and alliances have replaced the earlier autonomy of American healthcare. May-June 1996 Gallagber * Ecclesioloffy of the 1994 Healtbcare Directives The many reasons underlying this ~ajor reconfiguration of the healthcare delivery system reasons already well known to sponsors, board members, and managers of Catholic he~althcare are not ~irectly germane to the purposes of this essay. The con-sequences of this realignment, 'however, are among the fundamental reastn~ for the revision of "Directives," with its emphasis on ecclesiology. The"buzzword in American healthcare is integration. A health- ~are organization, hospital, or long-term-care facility, must be integrated horizontally and vertically. Horizontal integration implies a collaboration or alliance among an array of healthcare organizati6ns that can provide all the services necessary to sustain the wellness and treat the illnesses of a covered 15opulation. Such an integrated delivery network (IDN) or organized deli,cery sys-tem (ODS) will contain primary-care and specialist physicians; ambulatory-care centers, labs and centers for diagnostic medicine, pharmacies, long-term-care facilities, and acute-care hospitals. Vertical integration, refers to the manner in which th6 IDN or ODS is aligned with a system of payers and insurance compianies that furnish the financial support for the network of providers. The stand-alone hospital or long-term-care facility has no future in a healthcare system based upon horizontal and vertical inte-gration. The question the mission and business question before every CathOlic healthcare organization over the past several years has been: With whom should it be a partner? Successful IDNs and ODSs have secured sources of revenue (payers, insurance companies)' and can offer an appropriate array of health services across a geographicalarea. Such IDNs and ODSs have set up rela-tionships with a large number of physicians, have made agree-ments with multiple providers Working together, and have entered into contracts with multiple suppliers of goods and services. These are large complex btisiness operations. Catholic healthcare orga-nizations seek either to become members of or to create such IDNs and ODSs as ways of resolving their business questions. But the presence of a Catholic healthtare organization within a viable IDN or ODS does not necegsarily ensure an appropria'te resolution to the mission quest!on. Can Catholic healthcare insti-tutions be pfir~ners with for-profit corporations? Can they be partners with institutions that provide abortions or other proce-dures that conflict with the "Ethical and Religious Directives"? Review for Religious Can the Catholic healthcare.minlstry retain its status as an instru-ment of the mission of the church in whatever sort of business,~ economic, or healthcare environment? Questions such as these are what induced the bishops to put Part 6 into "Directives" and to append their interpretation of formal and material cooperation. At the present time, Catholic healthcare organizations are developing and acting upon diverse answers to the mission question. Cardinal Bernardin is attempting to facilitate the development of an alliance among the Catholic hospitals of the Chicago archdiocese. Catholic Health Care West has created in California a statewide IDN/ODS that is composed largely of Catholic providers. In Indianapolis, St. Vincent's Hospital has created an alliance with Community Hospitals, a not-for-profit organization, in which other Catholic and non- Catholic organizations are in the process of seeking membership. Recently the Sisters of Charity of St. Augustine ~in Cleveland announced that their hospitals would be entering a partnership with Columbia/HCA, a for-profit hospital corporation. In each of these four very different IDNs/ODSs, the Catholic parties have contended that they are making a business ar}angement that is compatible with their healthcare ministry. "Directives" encourages the leaders of Catholic healthcare to consult with the local bishop and to seek his approval or nihil obstat in the creation of partnerships that will affect the organi-zati0n's mission (no. 68). This process of consultation and approval is a matter of central importance to the leadership of Catholic healthcare organizations as well as to the members of the hierar-chy. Ho~ it is to be conducted and what its goals are will be key factors in the success of such a process. Several directives touch upon issues internal to the process of consultation and approval. Directive 59 stipulates that the prin-ciples governing cooperation should be used to limit the partic-ipation of a Catholic organization in an alliance which provides services "judged morally wrong by the church." Such services, referred to elsewhere in "Directives," include abortion (no. 45), euthanasia (no. 60), direct st~erilization (no. 53), contraception The stand-alone hospital or long-term-care facility has no future in a healthcare system based upon horizontal and vertical integration. May-.]une 1996 Gallagber * Ecclesiolog~f tbe 1994 Healtbcare Directives (no. 52), and artificial fertilization that separates the unitive and procreative components of the marital act (nos. 40, 41). Scandal, the appearance of cooperating in and accepting as permissible an objectively immoral act, rnust be avoided in the partnerships entered into by Catholic healthcare ministries (no. 45). Of course, avoidance of scandal would be agreed to unhesi-tatingly by all parties to this process of consultation and approval. Scandal is a sin against charity, against the very bond that unites persons within the church. No participant in the Catholic health-° care ministry would willingly let the organization's activities be a source of scandal. The more likely discussion would focus on what, in fact, constitutes scandal. The concepts of formal and material cooperation in the evil of others have generally been the gauges used by moral theologians to make such a determination. It is at least questionable, however, whether this mode of moral reasoning will be sufficient to resolve the issues that currently confront the ministry of Catholic healthcare. The concepts of formal and material cooperation were devel-oped by theologians to resolve the qu.estion of the culpability of one person's cooperation in another's morally evil act. The clas-sic example in recent medical ethics has been the Catholic nurse who cooperates with a physician in performing an abortion. If the nurse's cooperation was simply to care for the woman after the procedure in a postoperative (post-op) area, her cooperation was generally deemed remote and material. Her actions were after the fact (remote) and incidental to the act of an abortive-proce-dure; she was simply providing care that would be provided to any post-op patient (material). Indeed, under the principles gov-erning cooperation, a nurse could assist in the abortive proce-dure by handing instruments to the physician if she did not intend the evil of abortion, was performing a task that was itself not immoral (simply handling the surgical instruments), was under duress to cooperate in the procedure (fear of loss of job), had voiced her opposition to the.' procedure, and was not repeatedly placed in this situation.12 The principles governing cooperation were developed to assist confessors in their assessment of the moral culpability of penitents coerced in some fashion to coop-erate in the evil of another. Can it be applied to the activities of healthcare institutions? Fathers James Keenan and Thomas Kopfensteiner, the authors of the appendix to "Directives" that defines the principles gov- Rewiew for Religiot~s erning cooperation, contend that such is the case.13 However, this issue requires further reflection. Certainly the decision-making processes of corporations and institutions are much more complex than those of individuals. Decision making in modem corporations and institutions is spread all through them. Corporate boards endorse or reject proposals made by CEOs and their senior man-agers; CEOs and their management teams approve or modify rec-ommendations from directors and managers. In the healthcare setting, physicians have a strong influence on decisions about healthcare delivery. Corporate decision making is the result of an ongoing, multileveled, integrated discourse that eventually reaches a decision. Although corporations and institutions are moral agents, their agency ought not be confused with that of individual persons. It will be from within the corporate structures which consti-tute the decision-making processes of the Catholic healthcare ministry that the future profile of that ministry will be discerned. If the principles governing cooperation assist some organizations in responding to the question of the manner in which their health-care ministry can be legitimately configured in an IDN/ODS, then clearly they should employ them. Many Catholic organiza-tions, however, have begun to develop processes of corporate ~dis-cernment in order to ensure'that their activities in a reconfigured delivery system will continue to be an authentic ministry in sup-port of the mission of the church. Such decision-making processes are being developed for sev-eral reasons. "Directives" (pp. 6-7) has identified some key values for the Catholic healthcare ministry, "normative principles that inform the church's health ministry": human dignity, care of the poor, the common good, stewardship of resources, and the right to refuse services inconsistent with church teaching. The first four of these principles are clearly values that leaders of Catholic healthcare can share with potential collaborators. Although these values are central to the Catholic ethical tradition, they are also readily embraced by others. Catholic healthcare personnel strive to cooperate with other providers who share these basic values. An IDN/ODS becomes an instance of the very concrete manner in which such principles become embodied in a corporate structure composed of Catholic, and non-Catholics dedicated to providing healthcare services for a community. Indeed, agreement on these values does not necessarily resolve the issue of a Catholic orga- May-~une 1996 ; Gallagber ¯ Ecclesiology of the 1994 Healtbcare Directives nization's partnership with an organization that provides elective tubal ligations or even.abortions. But it does widen out the array of issues that are deemed relevant in determining whether~a par-ticular partnership or alliance will be acceptable to a local bishop. These fundamental values of the Catholic healthcare min-istry need to be woven into an array of complex business deci-sions. The very location of places of service will say much about an organization's commitment to care of the poor. The managed-care programs of Catholic organizations and their human-resource practices will portray their interpretation of human dignity. The various allocations of capitated dollars within a system are signs of the system's stewardship of resources. Finally, how an IDN/ODS plans for care of the poor in a nation that has growing numbers of people without health insurance and that faces pending reduc-tions in Medicare and Medicaid spending will be a witness to an important value. All of these decisions need to be made within corporate structures that will take the values central to all Catholic healthcare ministry and make them operative in a given institu-tional structure. Careful processes of discernment assist board members and the leadership of Catholic healthcare organizations to identify the explicit rationale for individual decisions. Such processes pose questions: Why are we doing this? ls this decision in support of the ministry of Catholic healthcare? Will this deci-sion not only facilitate the success of this organization as a busi-ness operation, but also enhance its ministry? In their discussion and discernment about the purpose and practice of their ministry, Catholic healthcare organizations go well beyond the principles governing cooperation. Catholic healthcare has never defined itself in negative'terms. It was not created, nor has it continued into the present, in order not to do certain things. The foundresses of Catholic healthcare and their successors endeavored to operate virtuous institutions that would serve their communities. Current and ongoing reflection by a new generation of successors sets the same positive goals and strives to choose wisely the means to accomplish them. These ~eflective processes are educational; they require that individual board members,and managers, become familiar with the values that.shape the behavior and expectations of the orga-nization. Since values like human dignity and care of the poor are part of the discourse part of what the organization talks about and how it makes its decisions new members need to Review for Religious become sensitized to these values in order to function profes-sionally within it. A culturally diverse professiona! staff can be attracted to ~'participate in the activities of a virtuoias institution that strives to embody values in its services. Their involvement in such an institution need not jeopardize their own religious con-victions. The reflective processes of corporate discernment can con-tribute to the refounding of the healthcare ministry. At this point both bi~shops and leaders of Catholic healthcare are more certain about what the healthcare ministry was than what it is or will be. Latent in all who are concerned for the future of the healthcare ministry is a longing, perhaps even an expectataon, that some wily theologian will identify the essence of Catholic healthcare so that, knowing what that essence or nature is, they can produce it and make it available. But this is not likely to be the case. Catholic healtheare in the past was built upon the religious values and commitments of women who forged a ministry in isolated railroad towns in the West and in the urban poverty of 19th-century American cities. People who practice reflective disc~i'nment together will not discover the new essence of the healthcare min- )stry, but they will invite the leaders of this ministry into a period of dialectics in which the clash of facts and values, of business realities and religious visions, wil.l give rise to a new foundation of the Catholic healthcare ministry. Reflective discernment pro-cesses are heuristic: they strive to pose questions whose answers will render the world in which we live coherent and enlivening. But Catholic healthcare is not yet in such a world. In all like-lihood, it will be some time before the healthcare ministry is securely situated on a new foundation. When that time arrives, Catholic healthcare will be distinct from what it was for most of the 20th century. Yet, in a form that is not altogether clear at this time, it will be a ministry of service and witness, of diaconia and kerygma. At present, however, American Catholic healthcare remains a pilgrim ministry that tries to read the signs of the times and find its way into the future. Notes 1 "Ethical and Religious Directives for~Catholic Health Care Services" was approved by the National Council of Catholic Bishops at their November 1994 meeting. First published in Origins 24~ no. 27 (15 December 1994): 449-462, it was afterwards published as a booklet (Washington: United States Catholic Conference, February 1995). May-yTune 1996 Ga/lagber * Ecdesiology of the 1994 Healtbcare Directives 2 Avery Dulles SJ, Models of the Church (New York: Doubleday, 1974). ~ Adam J. Maida, Church Property, Church Finances, and Church Related Corporations (St. Louis: Catholic Health Association, 1984), pp. 53-58. 4 Yves Congar Op, Lay People in the Church, trans. Donald Attwater (London: Bloomsbury Publishing Co., 1957), p, xxiv. s Philip Murnion, "The Next Steps for the Laity," Origins 25, no, 2 (1995): 30. 6 Ladislas Orsy SJ, "Structures for the Vision: An Interview with Ladislas Orsy sJ," America, 7 October 1995, p. 12. 7 See Bernard Lonergan SJ, Method in Theology (New York~ Herder and Herder, 1974), pp. 285-293. s Dulles, Models, p. 92. 9 Dulles, Models, p. 76. ~0 See K. Danner Clouser and Bernard Gert, "A Critique of Principlism," Journal of Medicine and Philosophy 15 (1990): 219-236; John Arras, "Getting Down to Cases: The Revival of Casuistry in Bioethics," Journal of Medicine and Philosophy 16 (1991): 29-52. See also Jonathan D. Moreno, Deciding Togetber: Bioetbics and Moral Consensus (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995). ~ Kevin Wildes sJ, "A Memo for the Central Office: The 'Ethical and Religious Directives for Catholic Health Care Services,'" Kennedy Institute of Ethics Journal 5 (1995): 138. ,2 Orville N. Griese, Catholic Ide~nti?y in Health Care: Principles and Practice (Braintree: Pope John Centei', 1987), p. 401. ~3 James Keenan and Thomas Kopfensteiner, "The Principle of Cooperation," Health Progress, April 1995, p. 24. Annunciation Having left no hint Of handkerchief or halo, Gabriel was gone. There was no other word between them needed, For she and God would grow together so, No angel would intrude. Sally Witt csJ Review for Religious GEORGE ASCHENBRENNER Abandonment That Enlivens and Sets on Fire for Mission In 'recent times mission, community, authority, and obe-dience have not always blended well in religious congre-gations. But, when a congregation carefully integrates these four elements, it possesses a healthy center of religious experience that makes possible a clarity of identity, a cohe-siveness of membership, and, most importantly, a fire for mission. This is the thesis of this article. The challenge .fa.c.ing us religious today is not simply a matter of deploy-ing members efficiendy or satisfying their ministerial pref-erences. Rather, the challenge includes a self-abandonment that renews the members' total reliance on a loving God while enlivening them and setting them on fire for mis-sion, their hearts fused together in one consecration. The issue fundamentally is religious and spiritual. Mission always has the overarching importance when-ever it is related to community, authority, .and obedience. Mission, as the very heart and meaning of any congrega-tion, ties the members into the great desires of God as revealed in Jesus. Surely more than being just a job, mis-sion draws its effectiveness from a spiritual theology, active and unitive within the hearts of all the members. At the same time, though mission has a priority over the other three elements, it can never replace any of them without George Aschenbrenner SJ is presently director of the Jesuit Center for Spiritual Growth at Church Road; Box 223; Wernersville, Ptnnsylvania 19565. symposium part 2 May-j~une 1996 Ascbenbrenner ¯ Abandonment That Enlivens seriously weakening the congregation's overall effectiveness and corrupting the significance of the element apparently replaced. Obedience when separated from the other three becomes an unhealthy ascetical practice, something shortsightedly in and for itself. Mission when separated from community produces a scat-ter- shot diffused effect, and community without much relation to mission narcissistically turns in upon itself. No, there is no avoiding the interrelationship of these four elements. The very identity and stability of a congregation depend upon it. A clear central integration~of these four elemeflts is as neces-sary for active as for mona~stic congregations, despite the signif-icant differences between them. In religious life today this fourfold central unity may express itself differently in the two, but it r~emains important for both.~ Though not easily accomplished, this central unity .can take on a critical importance in active con-gregations. Because it is the nature of an active community that its members be sent out and dispersed in a variety of ministries, the accomplishment of unity and a sense of felt membership can be difficult. But when the centrifugal force of ministry is not bal-anced with the appropriate centripetal force of community, the pain of disunity and loneliness can destroy the congregation. In many cases the issue addressed here touches on nothing less than the very survival of the group. After renewing a basic .supposition about religious life, I will develop a spirituality of abandonment as central to ,apostolic mis-sion. This spirituality has four different personal objects and cen. trally affects the exercise of religious government for mission. Finally, four results emerge when an appropri.ate,integration of our foursome is ~achieved. Religious Life: Essentially Corporate Existence Orders and congregations each have their own version of the evangelical imperatives of chastity, poverty, and obedience, but all of them have a corporate faith, focused in a shared vision and mission, that distinguishes religious life from other life-forms in the church. In the midst of a great variety of changes within reli-gious life, an essential corporate existence continues to play a central identifying role. And t.hough the und~erstanding of reli-gious community has shifted a lot since Vatican Council II, only some clear shared corporate vision--believed and practiced by Review for Religious all--can prevent religious life from changing into a wholly dif-ferent form. This fundamental communitarian existence stands as one identifying continuity stretching back even to Pachomius in the 4th century. At a time of shifting meanings for religious community, care must be taken not to lose the reality. Especially in the active apos-tolic model, one of the revealing signs of a religious vocation con-tinues to be a genuine desire for a shared faith and life. This must include some form of the following actions done together: shar-ing faith, praying, living, and ministering. These shared actions are not arbitrarily left to the individual's choice or whim. They con-stitute membership. So one is excused only for directly ministe-rial reasons. These commitment mechanisms ritualize in some genuine fashion the corporate vision and faith. Without such reg-ularly siiared experiences, the sense of religious community becomes ethereal and chimerical. Therefore, in some carefully understood sense, religious life is life in community, and not just on one's own. For an active religious, not to have a genuine desire to be,together in praying, living, and ministering becomes a seri-ous countersign to membership and cannot simply be tolerated. This corporate shared life has within it a dynamic impulse to public, visible expression. The life-form of a secular institute runs on~a different dynamic: to be hidden and unrecognized within the secular society. And so, ordinarily the religious life-form will stand out more than that of a secular institute. This element of public visibility gives external expression to the essential corpo-rate nature of religious life. Of cot~rse, the evangelical impera-tives, especially celibate chastity, add their own focus~to this central corporate identity. My point here is simple and clear: reli-gious life is not something done on my own and alone. It is always a shared corporate vision and existence. Mission: A Profound Spirituality and Theology Mission is a great growing concern within religious life today, and well it should be. But this great concern can be misunder-stood. In these days of second, third, and even fourth careers, more and more religious find themselves wondering "What would I like to do now?" or "What should I try after ten years of teach-ing?" Though these and similar wonders can naturally entertain our minds, they can fixate us on too superficial a level. As men- May-June 1996 Aschenbrenner ¯ Abandonment That Enlivens tioned above, mission is not finally a matter of personal preference and efficient deployment of members. Mission in religious life always catches fire in a profound the-ology and spirituality. Religious consecration gathers together and roots members in the mystery of Jesus' obedience to the great universal mission of God's love. A passionate desire for every-body to know how loved and cared for they are in the mystery of God is always burning in Jesus' heart. He is always on this mis-sion. It is his very identity. Jesus' consciousness is dominated by a sense of being sent. He never stands on his own. He never comes to do his own thing. Whatever he speaks and does and is, he receives from another. The Gospel of John makes this very clear in many passages. "I do nothing on my own authority but speak simply as my Father has taught me. The one who sent me is with me now: the Father has never left me alone, for I always do what pleases him" (Jn 8:28-29). There is a clear limit to any process of self-actualization in Jesus. This clear limit does not speak of immature dependency, but rather points to a theology and spirituality of love always aflame in his heart. The receptivity involved in Jesus' experience of mission reveals the central love affair that burns at the core of his identity. Rather than passive submission to the marching orders of some distant authority, mission for Jesus always radiates a life of love with the One he calls "my dear Father." At the heart of this love affair, a mysterious abandonment burns in an identity of perpetual ado-ration. It is an adoration that sets him afire every day for his mis-sion and finally for the fearful but well-loved completion of that mission: the great Passover of his life. He does not tell his dear Fathe~ what to do. Rather, their self-abandonment in mutual love forges such a union that Jesus, aglow in the Holy Spirit, is God's mission always burning among us. Jesus: Abandonment to His "Dear Father" In this abandonment Jesus' heart is always burning true. Sometimes he shows his love by carrying out ordinary routines, while at other times he performs deeds of high drama. All disci-ples of the great mission of God must do both kinds of things in their own lives, according to the specifics of their own personal religious experience. Review for Religious In the temple at the age of twelve, Jesus speaks a word of truth: "Didn't you know I must always be where my dear Father is?''2 This truth radiates identity for the young boy, as well as for his distraught mother and foster father. While not easily under-stood, such a word invites contemplative treasuring in their hearts. It not only cannot be contradicted, but it allur-ingly presages a mysterious future. Years later this word has become so clear in his heart as to call him away from his beloved home and mother. An urgency beckons him, an urgency to go to his cousin, the Baptizer, at the Jordan. There the fire flames forth in an enor-mously special way. A religious experience, always alive in his heart, flashes forth in a dramatic moment. A love beyond words and imagining; a Son so specially beloved and pleasing; a servant uniquely chosen for mission--in such a moment the abandonment of his life to his dear Father is so very obvious and very right. He knows that this fire in his heart has not been set by himself, but by a dear Father's loving Spirit. The original temple-word, now a clearly recognized relationship with a dear Father beloved beyond limit, becomes a guiding light all through his busy life in the midst of the people. Always he is one called and sent into the mission of every day. This special inner consciousness keeps the fire of loving aban-donment zealously aglow, ~in his heart. "I have come to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were blazing already!" (Lk 12:49). This inner fire burns finally into the completion of his bap-tism. "There is a baptism I must still receive, and how great is my distress till it is over!" (Lk 12:50). The growing paschal ful-fillment of that temple-word brings him into the great mission-ary climax of his life.-It is high drama. A mission of love plays itself out on the stage of his troubled heart, and the audience stretches into the fullness of time. In an olive grove his aware-ness that "everything is possible for you, dear Father" raises a puzzling possibility: "Take this cup away from me." But, beyond the fear and questioning of his mind, in the deepest adoring still-ness of his heart, that fire of self-abandonment faithfully burns and enlivens: "But let it be as you, not I, would have it!" This chosen servant, so much the delight of God, brings the whole mission of his life to unending fullness in the climactic Mission for Jesus always radiates a life of love with the One he calls "my dear Father." 2~lay-37~ne 1996 Aschenbrenner ¯ Abandonment That Enlivens challenge of Calvary. Though the drama and intensity of the moment is high pitch, the story is still the same: a servant aban-doning himself to the Beloved. The mission of love is now some-how complete. "It is accomplished" (Jn 19:30). "Dear Father, into your hands I give over my spirit" (Lk 23:46). Jesus, God's mission. in our midst, stripped to the simple clear essence of his identity, becomes a fire of forgiving love blazing into the fullness of time. Disciples: Sent for Missidn This enlivening fire for mission in Jesus is meant to deter-mine the missionary lives of all his disciples. A great desire for mission and evangelization sends disciples all over the world. This evangelization must always be fueled by an urgency of desire that more and more people taste the joy, freedom, and union of God's deeply personal love in Jesus, a reconciling love in which we all live and move and have our being. Disciples always bring an aston-ishing wealth of gifts, training, and experience to this mission of evangelization. This is marvelous. The cooperation and blend-ing of all these talents in any particular operation, however, is not always easy. At the heart of this sense of mission must always be the same profound identifying attitude of Jesus. An eager, ready abandon-ment in love stokes the heart's coals for the fire of mission. Such missionary eagerness comes from a burning desire to be sent, This fire for mission involves a profound attitude in faith that becomes visible in the results of an appropriate ministerial place-ment process. Daily discipleship in the great mission of Jesus always requires the stance of radical abandonment that identifies Jesus in his love affair with his dear Father. Various dangers today threaten the faith attitude and reli-gious experience needed if we are to share Jesus' burning sense of mission. In recent years many congregations have borrowed ter-minology from corporate management and social psychology to name roles played in the community's organization and struc-ture. 3 While there surely is some value in this, we must be care-ful~ of the significance of our language. Language often has an effect on us that is not immediately evident, It can .talk us into or out of certain attitudes, almost without our noticing. If we slip out of the profound faith perspective described in this article, a prophetic vision easily becomes ideological, and fire for mission Review for Religious becomes political competition. We must be careful that our words do not distract us from the realm of profound faith where the dynamics of life and love are often quite different from those of our secular society. An age still strongly individualistic, therapeutic, and security conscious keeps the focus on self and taking care of self. In ways insidiously subliminal or at least not obvious, this spirit can lead to an assertiveness that resists the abandonment that sets a person afire for mission. Especially when this therapeutic spirit seems very convincing, the dynamic of "sending oneself" can quench the red-hot coals of missionary abandonment. Such self-sending is easily justified in the heady winds of assertiveness and individ-ualism. Such self-sending often makes a person blind to any par-ticipation in the corporate vision; it blocks genuine community mediation and can even manipulate it. Such an attitude and prac-tice ~threatens our sharing in Jesus' sense of mission. The issue finally is always the same: The self-abandonment that enlivens and sets the heart on fire is itself being abandoned. An Abandonment to Whom? The abandonment described here must be an interpersonal experience of love. Though we may pledge allegiance to a flag, we can abandon ourselves only to some person who loves us. Then, when the beauty of the beloved is magnetic enough, the aban-donment becomes practically unavoidable. 'No mere cause, how-ever noble and (xciting, can affect us in this way, can move us as profound interpersonal love, engagement, and abandonment of self can. The abafidonment beyond self that participates in God's mis~- sion in Jesus always includes four loves or four ways of loving. First and foremost, we abandon ourselves into the loving hands of God. This falling 6ut of control can never be forced or strongly willed on our own. We can only be lured and seduced to it by the astonishing beauty of God's love in the fidelity of Jesus. For someone who does not feel the magnetism of that love, the aban-donment so central to this article not only will be almost unin-telligible, but will also be altogether impossible. The person may even repel any such suggestion. The continuing struggle in active apostolic congregations to integrate mission and consecration is relevant here. A certain consecration to, with, and in God is nec- May-June 1996 Ascbenbrenner ¯ Abandonment That Enlivens Our hearts' desires and attentions must not focus on ourselves, but on needy people of the world. essary if mission endeavors--even fervently "prophetic" ones-- are to become more than just efficient social work. In other words, the proper integration of consecration and mission can take place only in the actual experience of abandoning ourselves to God's love so radiantly.inviting in Jesus. Second, fire for mission also involves an abandonment in com-passionate sensitivity to all sorts of needy people in our world. No impersonal cause, however rabidly espoused, will suffice. A specification and personalization of the great needs throughout our universe invites the missionary abandonment described in this article. For this aspect of the abandonment to have strong effect today, certain countercultural developments are needed. Our hearts' desires and attentions must not focus on ourselves, but on needy people of the world. This calls for gener-ous abandonment. The charism of each congre-gation must help its members to see needs in the world and then to set priorities. The charism must be alive in their hearts so that they actually address some specific needs of today, rather than simply embrace a vague universalism. A charism that is trying to do everything runs the danger finally of accomplishing nothing. Third, abandoning myself to the community of brothers or sisters who share the same religious consecration implies a belief that our corporate good is much more important than my own individual good. Community here must be, not some idealized reality, but the real people of the here and now. This aspect of abandonment for mission does not make light of my own good, but presumes the pervasive corporate identity whereby my own sense of self cannot be conceived apart from our shared life and mission together. The central energizin, g concern is we, not me. Once again, as mentioned earlier, corporate ministerial impact is what mission is about, not a scatter-shot effect of talented pro-fessional individuals. This corporate identity is not easily attained in an age of therapeutic individualism. It continues to be a major issue in religious formation today, and it must be resolved suffi-ciendy at the time of profession if candidates and communities are to have a future together. Fourth, the abandonment we are discussing will always some-how involve human mediators who specify, clarify, and incarnate Review for Religions God's loving authority in Jesus for mission. Whether these medi-ators are friends, a spiritual director, a leadership team, a provin-cial, the bishop, or the people with whom I live, mission can never be simply a matter of myself and God. The dialogue and dis-cernment stretch beyond individual limitations. Each member's discernment always assumes great importance, but is never the ultimate determining factor in the decision. In many situations human mediation is precisely the point of struggle and disagree-ment among us. Some of this struggle is an understandable reac-tion to excessively authoritarian practices of mediation in the past, but not all of it is so easily explained. Some of this reaction needs to be explored and challenged. Without settling for vague gen-eralities at this point, I want to describe some specific develop-ments in the riext section without, however, resorting to overly definitive, rigid uniformities. This brings us to the role of religious government in fostering a congregation's fire for mission. Role of Religious Government for Mission Models of religious government have gone through an enor-mous transformation since Vatican II. The diversity of develop-ment between men's and women's congregations has been striking. As we become sensitive to the enriching differences of the femi-nine and the masculine, this diversity of development is expected and is perhaps long overdue after many years in which women religious were forced into structures and models originally cre-ated for men. But some further questions surface at this point. Should the governmental models in congregations of women and men be so different? Along with some diversity that all seem happy to allow for, should there not be more similarity in the role of authority and the practice of obedience within men's and women's congregations? How do we recognize and maintain, both for women and men, a continuity of development with the past.in this area of religious authority and obedience? (Such continuity, though not easily recognized at certain junctures in the development, is always a sign of the guidance of the Holy.Spirit.) These questions are not easily answered, and I hope that together we will deal hon-esdy with them for some time. It is too easy a resolution simply to say: that is the masculine way and this is the feminine way. It is my hope that the diversity in thi.s area between the practice of men and women will be mutually challenging and enriching. May-June 1996 Aschenbrenner ¯ Abandonment That Enlivens To give authority to someone utterly without the charism of leadership will usuall not promote the corporate ministerial impact of a con regation, o A movement awayofrom hierarchical models has character-ized ma.ny congregational leadership arrangements since Vatican II. This movement was not so clearly called for in the cohncil's Decree on the Appropriate Renewal of the Religious Life; espe-cially in its treatment of obedience.4 Throughout all the docu-ments of the council, we can clearly find glimpses of a new "vision for the people of God that would legitimate in the Spirit-some of this movement away from a thoroughly hierarchical model. But, withgut' doubt, other waves of influence gathering force over the last thirty years have been churned up and driven along by secular winds. Strong'democratic and egalitarian presumptions have been hard at work deconstru4dng most models of ¯ authority and government. And, once tidal-wave proportions have been reached, it is hard to be concerned about nuance and degree of development and chan~e. The Ignatian model is an interesting.~xample. The original Ignatian concePtion of authority and obedience for mission was strongly hierarchical and centralized. It was this strong centralized model, of authority that made both internal cohesiveness and widespread external ministry possible. Some would view this Ignatian model as the beginning of active religious life in the ~'modern world,s Congregations of women and men claiming Ignatian 'influence and roots in their founding interpret this in quite different ways today, howe~,er much they have or have not thought through and discussed the matter. A triangular model of authority as flowing down from the pinnacle has given way to a model of much more mutual and shared responsibility. We are rediscovering the authority in each mature believing person. When well informed by the Holy Spirit and well in touch with God's people as a whole, each person is able to "author forth" as part-of God's mission of love among us. But is this individualized, egalitarian authority enough for the mis-sion of religious life in the future? If we simply let the recent decentralizing development have its way, will the. proper under-standing and practice of authority for mission just naturally emerge? I think not, Such a development implies too ethereal a Review Jbr Religious view of the Holy Spirit, as though not inviting the cooperative ohard work of human minds and hearts. Authority's triangle can-not simply be exchanged, in my opinion, for a circle composed of brothers and sisters of completely equal authority. A Model of Concentric Circles To properly integrate mission, community, authority, and obe, dience, I suggest another model for religious institutes: concen-tric circles. In the centermost circle is God revealed in Jesus with a very special authority. In the next circle are the founders and foundresses with their charismatic vision and that vision's con-tinuous development. In the next few circles would be individu-als or teams on the general or local levels who possess an authority for unity and mission beyond that of all the other members. This special authority is received both from God and from all the mem-bers through the group's ecclesially approved process of choice. This distinctive authority does not finally s~t these people off from the rest of the members. As a matter of fact, it will have effect only as contextualized within, the community of all the brothers and sisters. The people exercising such special authority are sisters and brothers to. us all. This is precisely why these cen-tral circles are placed concentrically within the largest circle, which contains all the members gathered as brothers or sisters in the one congregation. In the concentric model it is important to distinguish, but not separate, authority, leadership, and obedience.6 Authority is a canonical, juridical office of power rooted in God, not in the chancery or some Vatican office. This is a power about other per-sons for.ministry. Leadership, on the other hand, is a charism of influence and inspiration over other people. This latter cannot be legalized and institutionalized. Not everyone has this charism. Though the juridical office of authority and the personal charism of leadership can and should be distinguished, we must always work hard to keep the two in a proper balance of relationship. To give authority to someone utterly without the charism of lead-ership will usually not promote the corporate ministerial impact of a congregation. To confuse this distinction and the operative government-model in a congregation will always have its cor-rupting effect on the unity of the membership and on its shared fire for mission. That lines of authority be clear regarding who May-~nne 1996 Aschenbrenner ¯ Abandonment That Enlivens exercises it and for what object is not a finicky concern for tidi-ness, but rather a strong desire for spreading fire effectively in the mission of God's love. If authority and leadership must stay in relationship, the same is true of authority and obedience. They form an essential mutual relationship. One cannot stand without the other. While author-ity invites the mature obedience of careful listening, so too must it be sensitive in careful listening to the membership's calling forth healthy mature exercise of authority. Each calls forth the other in a vitality and interrelationship always focused on greater unity.and fire for mission. The decentralizing trend in religious congregations since Vatican II has affected this interrelationship of authority, leader-ship, and obedience. It has thereby also affected the structure, appearance, and sense of belonging in many congregations: But, as we keep relating this decentralization to two other corporate values (membership and ministry) and not allow it simply to develop a life of its" own, a couple of important questions face us. How decentralized can a group become and still preserve a cohe-sive unity and an outreaching mission? How much unrefined plu-ralism can a group tolerate without losing its unity and identity? These questions not only nag at religious groups, but also affect secular organizations and are not susceptible to pat or easy answers. However, dealing with them is crucial because it keeps this decentralizing tendency in relationship with the foursome (mission, community, authority, and obedience) that provides (as this article argues) the central stability and identity of any religious congregation. One of the dangers today is that this decentralizing spirit may assume a solitary dominating influence. Religious authority, then, as exercised in the concentric gov-ernmental structure presented here, serves two major important purposes. In the first place, this authority fosters clarity and energy about the mission of God in Jesus for us here and now. Decisions are made, not simply according to individual preferences and seri- 6us individual discernments, but in light of a congregation's charis-matic identity as that has developed over years to a contemporary specification. Authority thus exercises a preserving role regarding the congregation's present specification of its identity in the mis-sion of God in Jesus. Rather than having a stifling effect, these mediators in the exercise of authority foster: fire for mission and are servants of the faithful continuity of the congregation's Review for Religious charism. Of course, they could never serve this special role with-out the energetic cooperation of us all. In the second place, this authority is especially related to the corporate unity of the group. Just as God's authority is never meant to be an oppressive ,burden, but serves toward the uplifting unity of the whole human family, so this religious authority is a unique service for love in the unity and mission of the congregation. Mediators of this authority, therefore, are special servants of the group's unity in love. Without careful, clear exercise of authority and obedience, a congrega-tion's experienced unity gets ragged and its fire for mission dims. Results of Healthy Integration The proper interrelationship of mission, community, author-ity, and obedience produces four healthy results. First, ministry is always seen as rooted in and flowing out of the Trinity. Neither empty theory nor impractic.al idealism, this profound spiritual theology must ground and animate all ministry in the church. Ministry is really God's work and not some project that we, are in sole charge of and that belongs completely to us. This vision of bedrock faith has very practical implications. The second result is one of these practical implications. This Trinitarian vision of ministry keeps in check the serious danger of finding our very identity in the ministry. To succumb to the dan-ger and identify ourselves in what we do is always to stunt the richness and profundity of our person. This is even more serious in terms of our identity in Christ. Whether consciously or uncon-sciously, letting our very identity--who we are in Christ~--be con-sumed by our hands-on daily work has serious repercussi6ns. Our view of self becomes superficial and overly pragmatic; we stub-bornly cling for dear life to our ministry. The religious experi-ence of taking genuine risks because of our reliance on God's promise in Jesus shrinks. Moreover, the physical decline of old age can bring deep frustration after many years of busy activity if we have allowed those years to teach us by osmosis this faulty maxim: The harder we work, the holier we become. As disciples called by Christ and, saved in Christ, our identity is given; it is revealed, not earned, not merited. "It is, remember, by grace and not by achievement that you are saved . It was nothing you could ordid achieve--it was God's gift of grace which saved you" (Ep 2:6, 8). May-June 1996 Ascbenbrenner ¯ Abandonment That Enlivens Jesus' death on the cross is our hope, our salvation. He is our identity beyond all others. In this greatest act of love, we find an identity so deeply rooted in God that we can be surprised; sur-prised by a ministerial availability beyond limits we had mistak-enly imposed, surprised by a ministerial effectiveness beyond our careful planning, and surprised by an experience of aging that invites an. intimacy with Jesus beyond expectation. Once again the central point of this article stands clear: Jesus' abandonment on the cross attracts us and unites us in a similar abandonment that is the core of all ministry. As a third result, when mission, community, authority, and obedience are meshing in the proper way, an invigorated sense of membership pervades the congregation. Members do not feel competitively alienated from one another in seeking, finding, and carrying out employment. Members, rather, feel part of a reality much. bigger than themselves because their individual placement in ministry somehow really involves the entire community. Their daily ministry is part of the community's whole commitment to mission, extending far beyond individual preference into the enor-mous venture of God's mission of love in Jesus for the transfor-mation of the whole universe. As a fourth result, the proper implementation of the four-some described in this article enables a congregation to pool its resources, especially financial ones, and respond to some extremely critical contemporary needs even when the work is not recom-pensed by a living wage or any salary at all. A corporate commit-ment can overcome the limiting of ministries only to those that individual members find adequate to support themselves. In this way availability for minisu'y is stretched beyond the limits of indi-vidual preference, individual job search, and individual income. In conclusion, the church throughout the world,-and espe-cially in North America, faces the tremendous missionary chal-lenge of a civil society becoming more and more secularistic, more permeated with a practical atheism. In the face of such a challenge, fear would distract our gaze and corrupt our courage. All of the church's members must respond courageously. But we religious, from the vantage point of our celibate, simple lifestyle, should be able t6 gaze and~listen together in a specially sensitive and enlightened way, always eager fo~ a self-abandonment that will enliven, not dehumanize, us and will set us on fire for mission way beyond the individual likes and dislikes. The fire of this self- Review for Religious abandonment will constantly remind us, and everybody, that God is at the heart of it all and that God's love in Jesus is the real work being done and to be done. Notes l See George Aschenbrenner sJ, "Active and Monastic: Two Apostolic Lifestyles," Review for Religious 45, no. 5 (September-October 1986): 653-668. 2 This is a tra~nslation of Luke 2:49 suggested by the Jesuit scripture scholar Father David Stanley in a retreat given in 1967. 3 See Ma~y Linscott SND, "The Service of Religious Authority: Reflections on Government in the Revision of Constitutions," Review for Religious 42, no. 2 (March-April 1983): 212-213. 4 Most commentators on the document notice an ambiguity within a variety of positions due to the conflicting views represented in the body 6f the council and in the commission responsible for Perfectae caritatis. See Commentary on the Documents of Vatican 11, vol. 2 (New York: Herder and Herder, 1968), pp. 301-370. s See David Knowles, From Pachqmius to Ignatius (Ox,ford: C_larendon, 1966), pp. 61-68. 6 See Mary Linscott SND, "Leadership, Authority, and Religious Government," Review for Religious 52, no. 2 (March-April 1993): 166- 193. Composition of Place With consistency, theocean disarms life's taut livery. Before the vasL I let it, like a magnet, draw away heavy-metaled worry that cages me unfree. In its place I embrac~e the gossamer interlace of sun and s,ky and foam, fit garment for a psalm by the side of the sea with ;the waves' response in holy antiphony. Anna Marie Mack SSJ May-if:tote 1996 JUDITH A. MERKLE Gathering the Fragments: New Times for Obedience an Matthew's Gospel we visit a scene with which we are all miliar, the multiplication of the loaves and fishes. Jesus, upset over the death of John the Baptist, withdraws to a quiet place. The disciples and the crowds follow him. The sick come and he heals them, even though he is filled with a sense of loss. It becomes evident the people are without sufficient food. Through strengthening the faith of the disciples, Jesus not only heals the sick but even feeds those who journeyed with him to this out-of-the- way place. At the end of the meal, the apostles gather the fragments from the feast and then continue to journey with Jesus. We too have journeyed with Jesus to what some would call an out-of-the-way place. Over the last thirty years, we as religious have set out in search of Jesus. As Perfectae caritatis states, "the religious life is intended above all else to lead those who embrace it to an imitation of Christ and to union with God" (§2). We have found Christ in prayer, in the poor, in our classrooms and emer-gency wards, on planes to Africa, and in AIDS clinics in our urban areas. We have sought union with God in the reforms of Vatican II, in the retreat movement, marching with farm workers, or pro-viding support to the elderly. We find ourselves in a new place, still seeking to listen to his word. We too have our sick with us, and we have our concerns for them. We too wonder if we have brought enough food for the Judith A. Merkle SNDdeN is in the Religious Studies Department at Niagara University. She is the author of Committed by Choice (1992) and a forthcoming book on religious life, cultural crisis, and the vows. Her address is: P.O. Box 1869; Niagara University, New York 14109. Review for Religious journey. We seek food from Jesus for these next steps of renewal, while at the same time knowing that a world on the cusp of a mil-lennium seeks new food from us. We too, like the people on the hillside, are at the end of a divine banquet. Historically we have witnessed in 19th-centnry religious life a multiplication of the loaves and fishes. In its insti-tutions, its way of organizing religious living, its powerful con-tribution to the church, and its marvelous growth, we have seen something unparalleled in church history since the 13th century. , Today we are left with only the fragments of 19th-century religious life; the fragments of the institutions they founded, the fragments of the way of life they constructed to express religious life, the fragments of their spirituality and beliefs. We can no longer go back and re-create the world they once built, and nei-ther the quality and extent of the next divine banquet nor our part in it is clear to us. There is, however, a choice before us today. We can sit on the hillside and tell stories of a wondrous event, of a former way of living religious life, remembering with nostalgia that brief moment of grandeur when God so touched our lives. We can allow our companionship to cover up our hopelessness about the times ever again being right for such a visitation. Or we can hold the fragments in our hands and ask what revelation they may hold for 'us. Why did God leave us with these fragments? Why must the disciples gather them up? As people living on fragments, we must ask, too, what the people did the day after the banquet. How did they continue their journey of faith? We know they did continue it because today we can gather in Jesus' name and we remain a people who live in this mystery. Let us, then, hold these fragments in our hands and pon-der the pain and promise in them. We will be examining expressly the vow of obedience and how, in the context of our times, it takes on new meaning. We will first discuss how religious share in the cultural crisis in our society at large, and in this way we will speak to the pain these fragments hold. Second, we will focus on obedience as affective bonding and on the life process which this involves. Here we will take heed of the promise which religious living holds in our cul-ture as we face issues of morfil decline, fragmentation, and drift. I would like to explore with you the challenge this call presents personally, congregationally, and eccle~ially. May-3~ne 1996 Merkle ¯ Gathering the Fragments What is obedience in a social context where the rules have changed from a premodern to a modern to a postmodern mindset in a thirty-year period ? The New Situation We sha~e with others in the Western world in a new situation. of our lives. A recent book makes it clear that the United States society currently lives from moral fragments and community frag-ments only. Ours is a time of moral breakdowns, moral hope-lessness, and drift. We have looked to both economic progress and government to provide a quality life for all, but we realize more and more in the 1990s that there is nothing more important to our lives together than the regeneration that moral community can provide,l ~ Hearing this analysis as religious, we know that the moral drift in the wider cul-ture has touched us also. Thirty years ago Perfectae caritatis launched us on a path of renewal with these words: "The more ardently religious unite themselves to Christ through a self-surrender involving their entire lives~ the more vigorous becomes, the life of the church and the more abundantly .her apostolate bears fruit" (§1). But what is the shape of this self-surrender in a culture living on frag- .ments, where cultural wisdom says to find some corner of the world where your needs are met and stay there, avoiding life's larger questions and the needs of one's neigh-bor? 2 What is obedience in a social context where the rules have changed from a premodern to a modern to a postmodern mind-set in a thirty-year period? Before Vatican II, it could be argued, religious life shared many of the characteristics of premodern life. Community was based largely on a shared geography, kinship, ethnicity, and the particular territorial identity created by the institutions of 19th-century' religious life. The cloister provided a world apart, within a modern world. Vatican II brought the modern world into the cloister, and with it the emancipation, .freethinking, open future, and promise of progress that are chariacteristic of modernity.3 Religious entered into a world organized by mobility of money and work. The old institutions and the clear but at times static thinking they repre-sented gave way to the new. We welcomed this change. New Review for Religious beliefs gave moral and social coherence to our lives. Personal freedom, using one's gifts in ministry, freedom of conscience, per-sonal' development, renewed social commitment, and political reform came to the forefront Community and Identity In this rapidly changing situation, however, the type of local community which taught the virtues, values, obligations, and iden-tity of our congregations was harder to maintain. We sought to enlarge our concept of community with a greater sense of our province community and with various new forms of government at the congregational level. We argued over government, but found ourselves really arguing over community and how we belonged as we experienced growing pluralism among us. We knew that a common checkbook was not enough of a unifier in our growing diversity. But at times we imitated a culture which turned to the market and government as unifiers in the absence of weak-ening moral community.4 But we felt the incompleteness of it all. Community became largely intentional on a small scale, yet broadened to the world at the level of association and conscious-ness. In the mobility of life, community became too transitory for many and at times only an enclave of privacy,s The change brought good and bad, yet this transition has not been complete. As we discern the new times for our vow of obedience, we grabble today for a sense of identity, not just before others but among ourselves. We struggle with the identification of the lim-its of our way of life and with' questions about the appropriate moral ways of dealing with them. For moral discourse always implies boundaries and limits the stuff of community. In this we share in the moral drift of the wider culture where also there has been a weakening of centers of moral formation: family, church, community. Postmodern Challenge We have difficulty, too, with public conversations about our identity as religious because we find, unlike thirty years ago, that words such as church, sacrament, authority, and celibacy do not always have a common core of meaning among us. Years ago we argued about progressive and conservative viewpoints, but we shared a core of meaning. Today our cofiversations reveal vast differences of meaning among us. May-dTune 1996 Merkle ¯ Gathering the Fragments This flows from our being in a culture that lacks a broad interpretative metaphor to explain the order and meaning of the world. Beyond this lack, the uncertainty of any knowledge is widely held. The meaning of any idea is constandy in flux, and no one meaning or interpretation has any authority over another. Since people believe that one cannot know the truth, they think of "truth" as merely the momentary victor among ideas vying with one another for popular acceptance. Criticism of any and all ideas goes on and on. This is a brief description of what authors term postmodernism.6 It is also a description of where some reli-gious locate themselves. We also find a weakening in our skills for envisioning and pursuing the common good together. In a more static society, one cannot opt out of the common good, for one's own enter-tainable options are out of the question if they infringe those of another, and vice versa. In a mobile society, where community is an experience rather than a place, this face-to-face existence is weakened and along with it the ability of a group to reinforce behavior that moves beyond self-interest. We experience this in our difficulty in addressing the responsibilities and benefits of membership. ,4 Situation of Moral Hazard Charles Wilber, the economist, claims that our modern way of living separates us from one another and creates "imperfect knowledge" of one another. This in turn breaks down trust and can place us in a situation of "moral hazard." While Wilber's anal-ysis focuses on industry, I suggest that it provides a window on our experience as religious.7 A moral hazard occurs in situations where people are affected by one another's behavior. A situation is termed a moral hazard when a low trust level causes people to engage in self-defeating behaviors. An example is the distrust that can occur between an employer and employee. The employer fears that the employee is not doing her job. The employee fears that the employer will require too much work or will fire her if given the chance. In response the employee begins to withdraw and shirk her job. To remedy the situation, the employer supervises more to stop the expected laziness. If the employee could self-supervise, work would be more efficient and the company would profit. Instead, what results is a Review Jbr Religions situation where each, the employer and the employee, pursues his or her self-interest. Other individuals working in the situa-tion can observe troublesomeness growing, but no one individual can do anything about it. It becomes a climate, and a self-defeat-ing one. The result is that all individuals are worse off and the group is worse off than if they had been able to work together. Why is it so difficult in such a situation to cooperate?s Because exit is cheap and voice is expensive. Exit means to withdraw, to drop out of the conversation that would be needed to come up with a solution which serves each individual's interest and the group's interest as well. The ability to exit is facilitated by "room to move," the very meaning of a "mobile" society. Voice, on the other hand, involves the communication of one's concern to another and the willingness to work out a solution. The cost to individuals to do this often exceeds the benefits they might hope to receive. Hence, one of the two persons at odds exits. The situation of moral hazard has parallels in religious life 'today. The fragments of an earlier religious lifestyle that we live with include problematic questions about membership and the possibility of group action. We need group decision more than ever before because our problems cannot be solved by individu-als, yet our lifestyle is such that to take up the challenge of voice instead of exit is getting more and more "expensive" emotionally, spiritually, and personally. Obedience in These Times These are new times for obedience. Today the practice of obedience has to be linked to a common consciousness of one's interdependence with others, self-restraint based on a gospel life, and institutional reinforcement of those values that constrain self-interested behavior and build common meaning out of a plural-ity of experiences. Those in leadership know that government can regulate only what people allow to be regulated. Money and government are inadequate unifiers unless there is a moral com-munity based on these beliefs. Researchers today point to "affiliative decline" among reli-gious. They charge that religious lack a sense of purpose based on a belief in the meaning and viability of their way of life. This breeds a sense of disaffection or alienation. The researchers believe that congregations will decline if members have no stronger reason to remain than mere bonding.9 May-June 1996 Merkle ¯ Gathering the Fragments For these reasons the reclaiming of obedience today has to address issues of meaning and common commitment in a situation of pluralism. It has to further outline the path by which religious and their congregations bond the real people who are their mem-bers in the diverse situations in which they live, by shared com-mitment to and reinforcement of the values which give meaning to their lives and direction to their congregational ministry. Our language of obedience has to touch,the process by which we learn to participate--because we want to, as an affair of the heart~-in the life and mission of our congregation. We obey in the '90s:like religious before us, in imitation of Jesus, who obeyed his heavenly Father because he wanted to, out of love. He defined his whole life by this pursuit. Postmode~m means that the systems of the modern age are no longer workable. Progress, freedom of choice, and open bound-aries have not necessarily brought quality of life. We realize today that some of the systems we created in renewal are defective. We, like others in our culture, are searching for meaning, spirit, and moral direction and for new structures, policies, and organiza-tion to unify our communities. Questioning these new times of ours for obedience, there-fore, has consequences for congregational and ecclesial regener-ation as well. There is no obedience without mutuality. As we turn to obedience as affective bonding, the perspectives we gain will have ramifications for congregational response and ecclesial life. I will suggest a few of these ramifications. Obedience as Affective Bonding Obedience of the mind, or cognitive growth in one's knowl-edge of the church and the Christian mysteries, is easier to define than the path of affective bonding which the vow of obedience pri-marily involves.I° Cognitive growth can be measured by assimila-tion of important information. Formation programs, courses of study, and catechetical syllabi can put information about the church and Christian life and one's congregational spirit into a sequence of increasing complexity and hierarchy of importance. Such order-ing allows for proper intellectual formation of a religious. Affective bonding takes longer, is harder to measure, and is difficult to chart. The goal of affective learning is for persons to act as they do because it is in itself satisfying to them. Educational Review for Religious literature offers mbdels to help people reflect on the components of affective learning and bonding.To the degree that growth in obedience is a path of affective learning and bonding with God, with one's community, and with the mission of the church, :reflec-tion on such components or Stages of affective bonding can reveal important aspects of obedience today. The stages we discuss will be termed receiving, responding, valu-ing, prioritizing, and communal charac-ter/ characterization.11 Looking at them one at a time will make their meaning .and relevance clear. Receiving Obedience begins with receiving, becoming conscious of, a vocation and having a willingness to attend to people and events associated with it. All voca-tions begin with a connection: to a men-tor, to a person in a certain apostolate, to a chance advertisement, to a casual remark. Obedience begins here, long before a vow is taken. If there is any decision, it is to remain open to the sub-ject of a religious vocation. At this point there is usually no decision about the merit of the call itself. A per-son is invited to move in this stage from a consciousness of a vocation, to a willingness to receive, to a decision to give mat-ters concerning a vocation some careful attention despite com-peting choices or distractions. While receiving is a stage in obedience, it is also a recurring theme. All through religious life, there are new occasions to revisit this grace of obedience. A new member of cdmmunity is waiting to be received or a new program is being launched. New leader-ship, maybe not of one's own choosing, needs to be accepted. An intervention regarding health, retirement, or change in ministry needs to be examined. Can we even consider it? Can we receive this into our lives? Inability or refusal to "receive" one's congregational reality into one's life causes disaffection. Disaffection here is understood as an alienation from something which is important to our whole-ness or completion)2 When we make a vow of obedience, we say Our language of obedience has to touch the process by which we learn to participatem because we want to, as an affair of the heartm in the !ife and mission of our congregation. May-~une 1996 Merkle ¯ Gathering the Fragments we want our relationship with Jesus to happen within the con-text of this community in the church. Disaffection occurs because we are not in harmony with something which we have chosen as a life-giving relationship. Like the rich young man, we feel the sadness this creates. Congregational mail is not read, a change of ministry is never considered. Persons in authority are rejected before they act. We are living within a congregation, but not receivi ~ng it in our lives. Since obedience has ramifications for the bonding of the com-munity and its effectiveness in mission, disaffection at the. level of receiving can be contagious and can create a negative climate in a local community or a province. Congregational. Disaffection can also be caused by the inabil-ity of the congregation to receive the members. Whom do we receive today? Are we in a posture to receive new members? Do we receive our own present members, or do ageism, racism, and ideological battles cut us off from one another before we begin? Do we know how "they" think before they speak? Do we turn people off?. How do those of us in international orders receive members of cultures not our own? How do these things affect our bonding and our future? While we complain that members have "dropped out" of our congregations, how large is our own circle of inclusion? Ecclesial. In the 19th century the juridical mentality of the church regarding religious life was one of enclosure. To be a reli-gious meant to be "removed" from the world. The new congre-gations forming, however, were different from what canon law described. Hence, they required a new mentality to give them birth ecclesially. The church had to receive something with which it was not familiar. We find that new congregations of simple vows were formed over a period of a hundred years, while the main body of canon laws officially recognized as "religious" only the traditional, enclosed style of religious life.~3 A more radical dia-logue between religious life and the society produced, not the death of religious life, but a newness in its expression and form. The church had an important role in fostering this newness. What today needs to be received to allow this tradition to continue? Responding The next step in affective bonding is a response beyond mere attending to a call or invitation. In response a person does some- Review for Religious thing with, in, or,about the call, besides merely perceivin~ it~ Our first response to the call ofour vocation was to enter, to promise we would give our vocation a try. 0 Responding can begin passively as compliance and later .become voluntary. When persons begin religious life, they often do things they areasked even though the purpose of them may not seem evident at the time. Many would tell of judging early adjust-ments as "what is involved" and going along with what was asked. In order to take on the story of the community and its way of life, such a response is required. When response becomes volun-tary, an emotional response of pleasure or enjoyment occurs. .Responding to people, events, and matters of one's community is accompanied by a feeling of satisfaction. It is obvious that responding is an ongoing element in the obedience of the religious. What marks its distinctiveness is the passage from compliance to voluntary action. Compliance is a valuable obedient response .to many requests in religious life. However, it is only through voluntary action that affective bond-ing moves beyond the fragile link of compliance. The satisfac-tion that comes from voluntary'action is the free blending of the hearts and the wills, which is of the essence of obedience as affec-tive bonding. Compliance is only the handmaiden of voluntary action. Disaffection can occur at the level of responding when a per-son cannot move from compliance to voluntary action. Religious slip .if, fearing enforcement or fearing that lack of any response at all would invite emotional sanctions from. their peers, .they do only what they have to do. Disaffection sets in because in this state the religious are bereft of the normal emotional satisfaction that should come from voluntary participation in the life and mis-sion of their congregations. Congregational. The need to create meaningful avenues bf response' is key to growth in a congregation. Withdrawal breeds lack of emotional involvement, and lack of emotional involve-ment breeds withdrawal. Research claims that altruism in a group actually atrophies when it is not called forth.~4 The resources of love in a group are not fixed or limited; rather these moral resources respond positively to practice, to learning by doing, and negatively to nonpractice. This is not to recommend mak-ing~ exaggerated demands, but only to.re'commend that the group do some stretching. May-~tne 1996 Merkle ¯ Gathering the Fragments ~'Ecclesial. The 19th century was'a ,tirfie of new needs. The tur-moil of the Industrial Revolution called ~eligious. from the clois-ter to active involvement in collective, works :of'social significance: education, social services, and healthcare:The church was called to expand its geographical reach and its ministerial presence in a society which claimed its irrelevance. The times were not unlike our own. -, 'Religious, however, ~,ere .partners with the church in meeting this crisis. Many 19th-century orders had superiors general and were not directly under the authority of a local bishop. This new jurisdictional authority in the church enabled the coordination of ministerial works which were transdiocesan and which in turn established the credibility of the church in sectors where it was not previously received,t5 Response of religious to the ,church and response of the mag-isterial church to religious have to continue this tradition for the sake of both the church and religious life, for neither ~prospers in a climate of alienation. The crisis of the 19th century stimulated the creation of a n~w authoritative identity in the church. What is needed today to. strengthen the relationship between religious and the magisterial church is 'for each to view the other novas a problem but as a partner. At this valuing stage in the process of obedience, members make it clear that membership in community is worth something to them. There is enough participation in the life and mission of orie's congregation and enough identification with its way of life so that other people readily identify the members as belonging to the group, _ A later stage of valuing consists of efforts to grow as members, Opportunities for renewal and deepening are sought out. Here there 'is an actual preference for religious life and its values. One is committed by choice. There is an investment of time and energy beyogd the minimum. Members manifest a growing conviction and loyalty regarding the values of religious life and a desire to convinceothers or at~least share their own faith experience. Here the satisfaction felt earlier as pleasure is transformed into an aroused need or drive to act and grow as members of the congregation within the ~hurch and society. There is a motivation to live the life to its fullest extent. Commitment is measured by Review for Religious the extending of such dedicated living over a period of time and by renewed desire to continue. The ongoing dynamic of obedience is shown in the act of prefei'ence.One prefers the life and mission of one's congregation over other things. One willingly considers community priorities in selection of a mission. One willingly chooses to work through a difficult community situation. One faithfully stands by someone in illness in spite of its time-consuming nature. This is the dynamic of valuing. This growth enables the member not just to par~ ticipate passively in community life, but to function actively. A~ fundamental values are owned and appropriated deeply, they also can be translated into new forms and expressions~ Congregational. Conviction regarding the life and mission of the community breeds new endeavors and investment in the worth of meaningful traditions. Dispiritedness, however, grows in a con-gregational climate of doubt about the value of the group, its authenticity, and its future. There is no longer a desire to invite new members. There are no new initiatives. There is apathy and lack of commitment to act and grow as members. People have no energy for anything but super-ficial reminiscing and required presence. This is a great danger especially in a congregational culture which has relied on com-pliance and force as its bond of membership. No one individual can treat this doubt. A~ a situation of moral hazard, it requires group ac6on and leadership. Without oppor-tunitiesto move from compliance to voluntary action, religious are not likely to deepen .their valuing of their congregational life, for they know little of the emotional satisfaction that. comes from voluntary action. Many congregations today are discussing processes of "re-membering," of calling their members to reinvest in new ways that could help them overcome the apathy and fear which threat-ens them. When such a decision of valuing occurs, it leads to the more mature obedience of the next stages. Ecdesial. The effort of the Synod to study the value of religious life was for us religious a supportive moveas we seek or explore The ongoing dynamic of obedience is shown in the act of preference. One prefers the life and mission of one's congregation over other things. May-ffTtne 1996 Merkle ¯ Gathering the Fragments our meaning and role now and into the new millennium. We reli-gious need the affirmation of the church, not just passively, but to help us participate in its life actively and creatively within its own re-creation. On our part, what values does our experience rec-ognize as essential in spite of the rapid change we'have under-gone? What support do we need so that w& can translate these values into new fo~ms~and expressions? What do we need and what do we not need from the church? If we religious do not want our relationship to the magisterial church to be based on compliance and ~force, then we too have to do our communal work in taking hold of our future. Prioritiz~ ing As one matures in religious life, membership has to be inte-grated with other values: career goals, family relationships, beliefs, coping, with personal crises, new knowledge and experiences and opportunitie~. Religious have to see how life in community and in the church relates to other dimensions of their life. ~ The first step in prioritizing is a willingness to think issues through. The next step is to bring together a complex of values, possibly disparate values, into some semblance of order and mean-ing. Since renewal has brought a plethora :of experiences into a community, it is critical that the group be' able to sit and talk about .these new yearnings. This ability to talk,will help keep the bonds of~community realistic and centered in the present. For instance, communities can ask how members experience com-' munity when they live apart from the group. Religious need to .relate multicultural experiences, new ways of prayer, educational o'pportunities, changes in the church, mis-sion experience, and women's issues with their membership in religious community. This may require familiarity with new areas of church teaching or involvement in groups within or outside . the community that gr.apple with how the gospel and new per-sonal experiences impinge on one another. For instance, religious who are working through various types of addictive behaviors can learn together the meaning of a twelve-step program in their lives as religious. While this is, an affective process, a sharing of the heart, it also involves cognitive growth, new information, and the ability to generalize and engage in abstract thinking. It requires accu-rate information. In many instances it requires good theology. Review for Religious How do women's issues, church membership, and fidelity to reli-gious commitment relate? How is one a feminist and a member of the church? How does one integrate his desire for political reform and his commitment to the priesthood, which usually means he cannot hold public office? How does one uphold one's valuing of community life and yet reach out in a ministry that makes com-munity contact difficult? Prioritizing is an act of obedience. The organization of values as one prioritizes may result in their synthesis into new ways of membership and deeper investment in the church and community. It is obvious that prioritizing is a principal task in fol-lowing a mature religious lifecourse. Those who take on the hard work of prioritizing achieve a high result, that is, an internally consistent integration of membership in their congregation and church with other aspects of their lives. Congregational. VChen we look at the religious of the 19th century, we can see they did this prioritizing. They integrated religious commitment with an entirely new cul-ture of the Industrial Revolution. They influenced the culture and created a new expression of religious life. They distinguished themselves from "regular" cloistered religious life by collective works of social significance: education, social services, and health-care. In the eyes of the church, it was the leaving of the world which constituted the religious state. However, these religious were immersed in the world. How were they religious? They rejected the upward mobility of liberal society by differentiating their activity from other forms of work in the society. They were active in the society yet were removed by social position. They were "placed" by obedience in the works of their congregation. Their works were not those of the new profitable capitalist cor-porations, although there is evidence of scattered experiments with founding "Christian factories" to give the poor employment and a sense of Christian community.~6 We religious'today are called to the task of integrating our charism with the new situation of our culture. We still struggle with how we have left the world yet are immersed in it as a place of revelation and service. This struggle to achieve a balanced understanding will overcome the feeling of powerlessness, isola-tion, and frustration in the face of a vast and complex future. Prioritizing is an act of obedience. May-Jvtne 1996 Merkle ¯ Gathering the Fragments Those who avoid prioritizing see the choice of religious as between embracing everyday secular life as they know it and going back to a pre-Vatican life based on a religious worldview that no longer communicates, This all-or-nothing viewpoint eliminates the possibility of synthesis between the real world of everyday life and the transcendent one which prioritizing calls forth. Ecclesial. For this prioritizing to occur, there has to be a cli-mate in the church in which one can safely explore new avenues of thought and living, engaging in critical reflection and respectful dissent until the value and relationship of new ideas to the mysteries of the Christian life is.evident. Today something is perceived as credible, not just because the church says it, but because it makes human sense. Religious need to be involved in helping the church make sense to the world and the world make sense to the church. Needed church reforms such as giving women more .decision-mak-ing power cannot be ignored by religious orders if they hope at the same time to promote the credibility of the church in first-world society; nor can economic, social, and political reforms be supported only halfheartedly in poverty situations in both the first and third worlds. These corporate stances of prioritizing mark the communal path of obedience within a congregation. Communal Character/Characterization At this stage of obedience, the values of membership in their congregation have a place in the individual members' lives. The values are organized into some kind of internally consistent sys-tem and have controlled the behavior of the individual members for enough time that they are now readily seen as persons who have adopted "living the life" of the congregation. It is impor-tant to note that such a stage of obedience does not come until members have had to prioritize, that is, integrate the new dis-coveries of their gei~eration with the gospel and the founding charism. There is no "cheap grace" in religious life, and one gen-eration cannot hand on to another a ready-made commitment. At this stage of characterization, issues surrounding mem-bership no longer arofise emotion or affect except when the indi-vidual is threatened or challenged. By now .the members are described and characterized as individual persons by their iden-tification with the congregation. It has been integrated into their entire philosophy of life or worldview. To an outsider, identification with the congregation is so clear Review for Religious that it makes individual members predictable and comprehensible. The values of the community are important determiners of the way the various members approach a problem, determining what they will see as important in it. In other words, the living charism becomes a principle of ongoing and daily discernment and opens the religious to the full call of the gospel. The values of the charism will limit the things that members will take into account in attempting to find a solution .to a prob-lem. They provide a focus and an identity. They will al

What is a radical? Somebody who goes against mainstream opinions? An agitator who suggests transforming society at the risk of endangering its harmony? In the political context of the British Isles at the end of the eighteenth century, the word radical had a negative connotation. It referred to the Levellers and the English Civil War, it brought back a period of history which was felt as a traumatic experience. Its stigmas were still vivid in the mind of the political leaders of these times. The reign of Cromwell was certainly the main reason for the general aversion of any form of virulent contestation of the power, especially when it contained political claims. In the English political context, radicalism can be understood as the different campaigns for parliamentary reforms establishing universal suffrage. However, it became evident that not all those who were supporting such a reform originated from the same social class or shared the same ideals. As a matter of fact, the reformist associations and their leaders often disagreed with each other. Edward Royle and Hames Walvin claimed that radicalism could not be analyzed historically as a concept, because it was not a homogeneous movement, nor it had common leaders and a clear ideology. For them, radicalism was merely a loose concept, « a state of mind rather than a plan of action. » At the beginning of the nineteenth-century, the newspaper The Northern Star used the word radical in a positive way to designate a person or a group of people whose ideas were conform to those of the newspaper. However, an opponent of parliamentary reform will use the same word in a negative way, in this case the word radical will convey a notion of menace. From the very beginning, the term radical covered a large spectrum of ideas and conceptions. In fact, the plurality of what the word conveys is the main characteristic of what a radical is. As a consequence, because the radicals tended to differentiate themselves with their plurality and their differences rather than with common features, it seems impossible to define what radicalism (whose suffix in –ism implies that it designate a doctrine, an ideology) is. Nevertheless, today it is accepted by all historians. From the mid-twentieth century, we could say that it was taken from granted to consider radicalism as a movement that fitted with the democratic precepts (universal suffrage, freedom of speech) of our modern world. Let us first look at radicalism as a convenient way to designate the different popular movements appealing to universal suffrage during the time period 1792-1848. We could easily observe through the successions of men and associations, a long lasting radical state of mind: Cartwright, Horne Tooke, Thomas Hardy, Francis Burdett, William Cobbett, Henry Hunt, William Lovett, Bronterre O'Brien, Feargus O'Connor, The London Society for Constitutional information (SCI), The London Corresponding Society (LCS), The Hampden Clubs, The Chartists, etc. These organizations and people acknowledged having many things in common and being inspired by one another in carrying out their activities. These influences can be seen in the language and the political ideology that British historians name as "Constitutionalist", but also, in the political organization of extra-parliamentary societies. Most of the radicals were eager to redress injustices and, in practice, they were inspired by a plan of actions drawn on from the pamphlets of the True Whigs of the eighteenth-century. We contest the argument that the radicals lacked coherence and imagination or that they did not know how to put into practice their ambitions. In fact, their innovative forms of protest left a mark on history and found many successors in the twentieth century. Radicals' prevarications were the result of prohibitive legislation that regulated the life of associations and the refusal of the authorities to cooperate with them. As mentioned above, the term radical was greatly used and the contemporaries of the period starting from the French Revolution to Chartism never had to quarrel about the notions the word radical covered. However, this does not imply that all radicals were the same or that they belong to the same entity. Equally to Horne Tooke, the Reverend and ultra-Tory Stephens was considered as a radical, it went also with the shoemaker Thomas Hardy and the extravagant aristocrat Francis Burdett. Whether one belonged to the Aristocracy, the middle-class, the lower class or the Church, nothing could prevent him from being a radical. Surely, anybody could be a radical in its own way. Radicalism was wide enough to embrace everybody, from revolutionary reformers to paternalistic Tories. We were interested to clarify the meaning of the term radical because its inclusive nature was overlooked by historians. That's why the term radical figures in the original title of our dissertation Les voix/voies radicales (radical voices/ways to radicalism). In the French title, both words voix/voies are homonymous; the first one voix (voice) correspond to people, the second one voies (ways) refers to ideas. By this, we wanted to show that the word radical belongs to the sphere of ideas and common experience but also to the nature of human beings. Methodoloy The thesis stresses less on the question of class and its formation than on the circumstances that brought people to change their destiny and those of their fellows or to modernize the whole society. We challenged the work of E.P. Thompson, who in his famous book, The Making of the English Working Class, defined the radical movements in accordance with an idea of class. How a simple shoe-maker, Thomas Hardy, could become the center of attention during a trial where he was accused of being the mastermind of a modern revolution? What brought William Cobbett, an ultra-Tory, self-taught intellectual, to gradually espouse the cause of universal suffrage at a period where it was unpopular to do so? Why a whole population gathered to hear Henry Hunt, a gentleman farmer whose background did not destine him for becoming the champion of the people? It seemed that the easiest way to answer to these questions and to understand the nature of the popular movements consisted in studying the life of their leaders. We aimed at reconstructing the universe which surrounded the principal actors of the reform movements as if we were a privileged witness of theses times. This idea to associate the biographies of historical characters for a period of more than fifty years arouse when we realized that key events of the reform movements were echoing each other, such the trial of Thomas Hardy in 1794 and the massacre of Peterloo of 1819. The more we learned about the major events of radicalism and the life of their leaders, the more we were intrigued. Finally, one could ask himself if being a radical was not after all a question of character rather than one of class. The different popular movements in favour of a parliamentary reform were in fact far more inclusive and diversified from what historians traditionally let us to believe. For instance, once he manage to gather a sufficient number of members of the popular classes, Thomas Hardy projected to give the control of his association to an intellectual elite led by Horne Tooke. Moreover, supporters of the radical reforms followed leaders whose background was completely different as theirs. For example, O'Connor claimed royal descent from the ancient kings of Ireland. William Cobbett, owner of a popular newspaper was proud of his origins as a farmer. William Lovett, close to the liberals and a few members of parliament came from a very poor family of fishermen. We have thus put together the life of these five men, Thomas hardy, William Cobbett, Henry Hunt, William Lovett and Feargus O'Connor in order to compose a sort of a saga of the radicals. This association gives us a better idea of the characteristics of the different movements in which they participated, but also, throw light on the circumstances of their formation and their failures, on the particular atmosphere which prevailed at these times, on the men who influenced these epochs, and finally on the marks they had left. These men were at the heart of a whole network and in contact with other actors of peripheral movements. They gathered around themselves close and loyal fellows with whom they shared many struggles but also quarreled and had strong words. The original part of our approach is reflected in the choice to not consider studying the fluctuations of the radical movements in a linear fashion where the story follows a strict chronology. We decided to split up the main issue of the thesis through different topics. To do so, we simply have described the life of the people who inspired these movements. Each historical figure covers a chapter, and the general story follows a chronological progression. Sometimes we had to go back through time or discuss the same events in different chapters when the main protagonists lived in the same period of time. Radical movements were influenced by people of different backgrounds. What united them above all was their wish to obtain a normalization of the political world, to redress injustices and obtain parliamentary reform. We paid particular attention to the moments where the life of these men corresponded to an intense activity of the radical movement or to a transition of its ideas and organization. We were not so much interested in their feelings about secondary topics nor did we about their affective relations. Furthermore, we had little interest in their opinions on things which were not connected to our topic unless it helped us to have a better understanding of their personality. We have purposely reduced the description of our protagonists to their radical sphere. Of course we talked about their background and their intellectual development; people are prone to experience reversals of opinions, the case of Cobbett is the most striking one. The life of these personalities coincided with particular moments of the radical movement, such as the first popular political associations, the first open-air mass meetings, the first popular newspapers, etc. We wanted to emphasize the personalities of those who addressed speeches and who were present in the radical associations. One could argue that the inconvenience of focusing on a particular person presents a high risk of overlooking events and people who were not part of his world. However, it was essential to differ from an analysis or a chronicle which had prevailed in the studies of the radical movements, as we aimed at offering a point of view that completed the precedents works written on that topic. In order to do so, we have deliberately put the humane character of the radical movement at the center of our work and used the techniques of biography as a narrative thread. Conclusion The life of each historical figure that we have portrayed corresponded to a particular epoch of the radical movement. Comparing the speeches of the radical leaders over a long period of time, we noticed that the radical ideology evolved. The principles of the Rights of Men faded away and gave place to more concrete reasoning, such as the right to benefit from one's own labour. This transition is characterized by the Chartist period of Feargus O'Connor. This does not mean that collective memory and radical tradition ceased to play an important part. The popular classes were always appealed to Constitutional rhetoric and popular myths. Indeed, thanks to them they identified themselves and justified their claims to universal suffrage. We focused on the life of a few influent leaders of radicalism in order to understand its evolution and its nature. The description of their lives constituted our narrative thread and it enabled us to maintain consistency in our thesis. If the chapters are independent the one from the other, events and speeches are in correspondences. Sometimes we could believe that we were witnessing a repetition of facts and events as if history was repeating itself endlessly. However, like technical progress, the spirit of time, Zeitgeist, experiences changes and mutations. These features are fundamental elements to comprehend historical phenomena; the latter cannot be simplified to philosophical, sociological, or historical concept. History is a science which has this particularity that the physical reality of phenomena has a human dimension. As a consequence, it is essential not to lose touch with the human aspect of history when one pursues studies and intellectual activities on a historical phenomenon. We decided to take a route opposite to the one taken by many historians. We have first identified influential people from different epochs before entering into concepts analysis. Thanks to this compilation of radical leaders, a new and fresh look to the understanding of radicalism was possible. Of course, we were not the first one to have studied them, but we ordered them following a chronology, like Plutarch enjoyed juxtaposing Greeks and Romans historical figures. Thanks to this technique we wanted to highlight the features of the radical leaders' speeches, personalities and epochs, but also their differences. At last, we tried to draw the outlines and the heart of different radical movements in order to follow the ways that led to radicalism. We do not pretend to have offered an original and exclusive definition of radicalism, we mainly wanted to understand the nature of what defines somebody as a radical and explain the reasons why thousands of people decided to believe in this man. Moreover, we wanted to distance ourselves from the ideological debate of the Cold War which permeated also the interpretation of past events. Too often, the history of radicalism was either narrated with a form of revolutionary nostalgia or in order to praise the merits of liberalism. If the great mass meetings ends in the mid-nineteenth-century with the fall of Chartism, this practice spread out in the whole world in the twentieth-century. Incidentally, the Arab Spring of the beginning of the twenty-first-century demonstrated that a popular platform was the best way for the people to claim their rights and destabilize a political system which they found too authoritative. Through protest the people express an essential quality of revolt, which is an expression of emancipation from fear. From then on, a despotic regime loses this psychological terror which helped it to maintain itself into power. The balance of power between the government and its people would also take a new turn. The radicals won this psychological victory more than 150 years ago and yet universal suffrage was obtained only a century later. From the acceptance of the principles of liberties to their cultural practice, a long route has to be taken to change people's mind. It is a wearisome struggle for the most vulnerable people. In the light of western history, fundamental liberties must be constantly defended. Paradoxically, revolt is an essential and constitutive element of the maintenance of democracy. ; Die radikalen Strömungen in England von 1789 bis 1848 Formulierung der Problematik Was ist ein Radikaler? Eine Person die vorgefassten Meinungen zuwiderhandelt? Ein Agitator, der die Gesellschaft verändern will und dabei das Risiko eingeht, sie aus dem Gleichgewicht zu bringen? Im politischen Kontext, in dem sich die britischen Inseln am Ende des 18. Jahrhunderts befanden, hatte dieser Begriff eine negative Konnotation. Er erinnert nämlich an die levellers und an den Bürgerkrieg. Diese historische Epoche, die als traumatisches Erlebnis empfunden wurde, hat bei den politischen Führern Stigmata hinterlassen, die immer noch vorhanden sind. Die Herrschaft Cromwells hatte bestimmt einen direkten Einfluss auf die Aversion der Engländer gegen jede heftige Form des Protestes gegen die herrschende Macht, vor allem wenn er politisch vereinnahmt wird. Im politischen Kontext in England versteht man unter Radikalismus verschiedene Versuche, eine Parlamentsreform durchzusetzen, die das allgemeine Wahlrecht einführen sollte. Natürlich bedeutet dies nicht, dass die Befürworter solch einer Reform eine gesellschaftliche und ideologische Nähe verband. In der Tat waren sich die reformistischen Verbände oft untereinander nicht einig und ihre jeweiligen Führer hatten wenige Gemeinsamkeiten. Edward Royle und Hames Walvin erläutern, dass der Radikalismus historisch nicht wie ein Konzept analysiert werden kann, da er keine einheitliche Bewegung war, da sich die Führer untereinander nicht einig waren und da keine eindeutige Ideologie vorhanden war. Der Radikalismus war ihrer Meinung nach nur eine vage Ansammlung bunter Ideen. Er sei « eher eine Einstellung als ein Aktionsplan» gewesen. Am Beginn des 19. Jahrhunderts verwendete die Zeitung Northern Star den Begriff « radikal » in einem positiven Sinne, um eine Person oder eine Gruppe zu bezeichnen, deren Ideen mit den Ihrigen im Einklang standen. Gegner der Parlamentsreformbewegungen haben diesen Begriff im negativen Sinne verwendet. Der Radikale wurde dann also als Bedrohung wahrgenommen. Der Gebrauch des Begriffes radikal scheint kein semantisches Problem darzustellen im Vergleich zur Verwendung des Wortes Radikalismus dessen Suffix -ismus eine Doktrin bzw. eine Ideologie voraussetzt. Die Tatsache, dass die Radikalen so unterschiedliche Gesinnungen vertraten, scheint eine Definition des Radikalismus unmöglich zu machen. Trotzdem wird sein Gebrauch heute von allen Historikern akzeptiert. Man könnte also behaupten, dass es seit der Mitte des 20. Jahrhunderts gängig wurde, mit dem Begriff Radikalismus jede Bewegung zu bezeichnen, die Ideen durchsetzen wollte, die nach unserem heutigen Verständnis als demokratisch verstanden werden. Wir können den Begriff Radikalismus zwischen 1792 und 1848 also erst einmal als eine praktische Bezeichnung für die verschiedenen radikalen Volksbewegungen, die das Ziel verfolgten, das allgemeine Wahlrecht einzuführen, betrachten. Diese radikale Einstellung findet man bei einer ganzen Reihe von Menschen und Organisationen wieder. Cartwright, Horne Tooke, Thomas Hardy, Francis Burdett, William Cobbet, Henry Hunt, William Lovett, Bronterre O'Brien Feargus O'Connor, die London Society for Constitutional information (SCI), die London Corresponding Society (LCS), die Hampden Clubs, die Chartisten, usw. Man kann viele Gemeinsamkeiten zwischen den Protagonisten erkennen, die sie sich auch eingestanden haben. Auβerdem wird auch der Einfluss erkennbar, den sie aufeinander ausgeübt haben, um ihre Aktionen zu gestalten. Diese Einflüsse findet man sowohl in der Sprache und in der politischen Ideologie wieder, die von den britischen Historikern als « konstitutionalistisch » bezeichnet wurden, als auch in der politischen Organisation von auβerparlamentarischen Gruppierungen. Alle Radikalen wollten die Ungerechtigkeiten beheben, und in der Praxis haben sie sich von einem Aktionsplan anregen lassen, den sie im 18. Jahrhundert in den Pamphleten der true whigs gefunden haben. Wir müssen teilweise das Argument zurückweisen, dass die Radikalen nicht kohärent und einfallsreich waren, oder dass sie nicht genau wussten, wie sie ihre Ziele umsetzen konnten. Ganz im Gegenteil: Die innovativen Formen des Protestes, die ihnen zuzuschreiben sind, waren bezeichnend und haben eine Spur in der Geschichte hinterlassen. Das Zaudern der Radikalen war erstens auf die prohibitive Gesetzgebung zurückzuführen, der die Verbände unterlagen und zweitens auf die kategorische Ablehnung der Behörden zu kooperieren. Die Zeitgenossen der Epoche, die sich von der Französischen Revolution bis zum Chartismus erstreckt, haben nie über den Sinn des Begriffs radikal debattiert. Dies bedeutet allerdings nicht, dass alle Radikalen gleich waren, oder dass sie zu derselben Einheit gehörten. Horne Tooke und der Priester Stephens waren beide Radikale, so wie der Schuster Hardy und der extravagante Burdett. Ob man ein Adliger, ein Mitglied des Bürgertums, ein Handwerker, ein Gutsbesitzer oder ein Mann der Kirche war: Nichts hinderte einen daran, ein Radikaler zu sein. Jeder konnte auf seine Art ein Radikaler sein. In dem Radikalismus gab es in der Tat eine groβe Bandbreite, die sich vom revolutionären Radikalismus bis zum paternalistischen Torysmus erstreckte. Wir waren daran interessiert, genau zu verstehen, was der Begriff radikal bedeutet, denn sein integrativer Charakter wurde von Historikern übersehen. Wir haben uns deshalb so genau mit der Bedeutung des Begriffs « radikal » beschäftigt, weil dieses Adjektiv im Plural im Titel die radikalen Strömungen enthalten ist. Mit dem im französischen Titel enthaltenen Gleichklang zwischen den Wörtern « voie » (Weg, Strömung) und « voix » (Stimme) wollten wir zeigen, dass sich der Begriff « radikal » sowohl auf ein Ideenbündel als auch auf eine Person bezieht. Die methodische Vorgehensweise In dieser Arbeit richtet sich unser Augenmerk weniger auf die Frage, wie eine Gesellschaftsschicht entstanden ist, als auf die Umstände, die die Menschen dazu bewogen haben, ihrem Schicksal und dem Ihresgleichen oder gar der ganzen Gesellschaft eine andere Wendung zu geben. Wir stellten das Werk von E.P.Thompson in Frage, welcher in seinem bekannten Buch "The Making of the English Working Class" radikale Bewegungen, entsprechend einer Vorstellung von Klasse, definiert. Wie kam es, dass ein einfacher Schuster wie Thomas Hardy, während eines Prozesses, in dem er beschuldigt wurde, eine moderne Revolution anzuzetteln, im Zentrum der Öffentlichkeit stand? Wie kam es, dass ein Autodidakt und ein Anhängiger der Ultra- Tories wie William Cobbett sich nach und nach für das allgemeine Wahlrecht einsetzte, zu einer Zeit, in der es unpopulär war? Wie kam es, dass sich die ganze Bevölkerung in Massen um Henry Hunt scharte, einen Gutsbesitzer, der nicht gerade dazu bestimmt war, sich für die Belange des Volkes stark zu machen? Unser Ziel ist es, das Universum, in dem die wichtigsten Beteiligten lebten, wiederzugeben, so als wären wir ein privilegierter Zeuge dieser Epochen. Die einfachste Art diese Fragen zu beantworten und die Beschaffenheit der Volksbewegungen zu verstehen besteht unserer Meinung nach darin, das Leben jener Männer zu studieren, die sie gestaltet haben. Wir hatten den Einfall, mehrere Männer, die in einem Zeitraum von mehr als 50 Jahren gelebt haben, miteinander in Verbindung zu bringen, als uns aufgefallen ist, dass Schlüsselmomente der Reformbewegungen miteinander korrespondieren, wie z.B der Prozess von Thomas Hardy und das Massaker von Peterloo 1819. Je mehr wir uns mit diesen Ereignissen beschäftigten, desto mehr weckte dies unsere Neugier auf das Leben jener Menschen, die sie verursacht haben. Schlussendlich konnte man sich fragen, ob radikal zu sein nicht eher eine Frage des Charakters als eine Frage der Klassenzugehörigkeit war. Die verschiedenen Volksbewegungen für eine Parlamentsreform haben in der Tat viel mehr unterschiedliche Menschen vereint und waren um einiges vielfältiger als es die Historiker behauptet haben. So war es zum Beispiel Thomas Hardys Vorhaben, die Führung des Verbandes einer intellektuellen Elite unter Horne Tookes Kommando zu überlassen, nachdem er es geschafft haben würde, genug Mitglieder der Arbeiterschicht zu versammeln. Auβerdem haben die Sympathisanten mit Freude Führer akzeptiert, deren Schicksal sehr wenig mit dem Ihrigen gemeinsam hatte. O'Connor z. B erhob den Anspruch, der Nachkomme eines irischen Königs zu sein. Cobbett, der Besitzer einer bedeutenden Zeitung, erinnerte daran, dass er aus einer Bauernfamilie stammte. William Lovett, der den Liberalen und einigen Parlamentsmitgliedern nahe stand, stammte aus einer armen Fischerfamilie. Wir haben diese fünf Männer Thomas Hardy, William Cobbett, Henry Hunt, William Lovett und Feargus O'Connor in Verbindung gebracht, um gewissermaßen eine Saga der Radikalen zu erstellen. Dies erlaubte es uns, uns ein genaueres Bild zu machen von den Merkmalen der verschiedenen Bewegungen, an denen sie teilgenommen haben, von dem Kontext, in dem die Bewegungen entstanden sind, von ihren Misserfolgen, von der besonderen Atmosphäre, die in diesen unterschiedlichen Epochen herrschte, von den Männern, die diese Bewegungen beeinflusst haben und zuletzt von dem Zeichen, das sie gesetzt haben. Diese Männer waren im Mittelpunkt eines Netzwerkes und standen in Verbindung mit anderen Akteuren, die an peripheren Bewegungen beteiligt waren. Sie waren umgeben von treuen Weggefährten, mit denen zusammen sie viele Kämpfe ausgetragen haben, oder mit denen sie sich heftig gestritten haben. Unsere Vorgehensweise ist insofern neu, als wir die Fluktuationen der radikalen Bewegungen weder linear bzw. chronologisch beleuchten, noch in einer zersplitterten Weise, indem wir die Problematik in mehrere Themen unterteilen. Wir sind ganz einfach dem Leben der Männer gefolgt, die am Ursprung dieser Bewegung standen. Jedes Kapitel behandelt eine historische Person und die gesamte Abhandlung ist chronologisch aufgebaut. Manchmal war es notwendig, Rückblenden einzubauen oder die gleichen Ereignisse mehrmals zu erwähnen, wenn verschiedene historische Personen daran beteiligt waren. Die radikalen Bewegungen wurden von Menschen aus verschiedenen Horizonten beeinflusst. Verbunden waren sie vor allem durch ihr Bestreben, eine Normalisierung der politischen Welt zu erreichen, gegen die Ungerechtigkeiten zu kämpfen und eine Parlamentsreform durchzusetzen. Wir haben uns auf die Momente konzentriert, in denen das Leben der Männer mit einem aktiven Handeln in der radikalen Bewegung oder mit einer Veränderung ihrer Ideen oder in ihrer Organisation einherging. Ihre emotionalen Beziehungen und ihre Einstellung zu belanglosen Fragen interessierten uns nicht. Ihre Meinungen zu Fragen, die unser Studienobjekt nicht betreffen, waren auch nicht Gegenstand dieser Abhandlung, es sei denn sie ermöglichten es uns, ihre Persönlichkeit besser zu umreiβen. Unser Augenmerk richtete sich ausdrücklich und vor allem auf die radikale Tätigkeit der Beteiligten. Natürlich haben wir auch die Lebensumstände und die geistige Entwicklung dieser Männer geschildert, denn wir wissen, dass Meinungen sich im Laufe eines Lebens ändern können, wie es der bemerkenswerte Fall von Cobbett verdeutlicht. Das Leben dieser Personen fiel zeitlich mit markanten Momenten in der radikalen Bewegung zusammen, wie z. B die ersten politischen Organisationen der Arbeiterschichten, die ersten Massendemonstrationen oder die ersten politisch ausgerichteten Volkszeitungen. Wir wollten die menschlichen Züge jener Männer wiedergeben, die Reden gehalten haben und die in den radikalen Verbänden anwesend waren. Man könnte uns vorwerfen, dass wir- wenn wir uns auf eine historische Person konzentriert haben- andere Fakten oder Personen, die nicht zu ihrem Umfeld gehörten aber dennoch an der Bewegung beteiligt waren, ausgeblendet haben. Uns schien es aber wesentlich, die analytische Methode oder die historische Chronik, die die Studien über die radikalen Bewegungen maßgeblich prägt, aufzugeben. Unser Ziel war es nämlich, diese Schilderungen zu vervollständigen, indem wir den menschlichen Aspekt in den Vordergrund stellten. Dazu haben wir die biografische Perspektive gewählt und unserer Studie angepasst. Schluss Jeder Mann, dessen Rolle wir hervorgehoben haben, lebte in einer bestimmten Phase der radikalen Bewegung. Der Vergleich der Reden, die sie in verschiedenen Epochen gehalten haben, hat aufgezeigt, dass die radikale Ideologie sich im Laufe der Zeit verändert hat. Die Verteidigung der Menschenrechte verlor an Bedeutung und die Argumentation wurde konkreter: Es ging z. B mehr und mehr um das Recht, die Früchte seiner Arbeit zu genieβen. Dieser Wandel fand in der chartistischen Epoche Feargus O'Connors statt. Die Traditionen des Radikalismus und die Erinnerung daran spielten jedoch weiterhin eine wichtige Rolle. Die Rhetorik des Konstitutionalismus und der Volksmythos waren Themen, mit denen die Arbeiterschichten sich immer identifiziert haben, und die ihre Forderung nach dem allgemeinen Wahlrecht gerechtfertigt haben. Wir haben uns auf das Leben einiger einflussreicher Männer des Radikalismus konzentriert, um seine Entwicklung und sein Wesen zu verstehen. Ihre Lebensläufe haben uns als Leitfaden gedient und haben es uns ermöglicht, eine Kohärenz in unserer Abhandlung zu wahren. Zwar sind die Kapitel unabhängig voneinander, aber die Ereignisse und die Reden korrespondieren miteinander. Man könnte manchmal den Eindruck haben, dass sich Fakten, Handlungen und die Geschichte im Allgemeinen endlos wiederholen. Allerdings ist der Zeitgeist im ständigen Wandel begriffen, so wie dies auch beim technischen Fortschritt der Fall ist. Wir sind der Ansicht, dass diese Besonderheiten fundamentale Elemente sind, die es ermöglichen, historische Phänomene zu begreifen, die nicht auf philosophische, soziologische oder historische Konzepte reduziert werden können. Die Geschichte als Wissenschaft weist die Besonderheit auf, dass die physische Realität und die erwähnten Phänomene auch eine menschliche Realität sind. Daher ist es wesentlich, bei der intellektuellen Auseinandersetzung mit einem historischen Phänomen den menschlichen Aspekt nicht aus den Augen zu verlieren. Wir wollten einen Weg einschlagen, der dem vieler Historiker entgegengesetzt ist. Unser Augenmerk richtete sich zunächst auf die Männer, die ihre jeweiligen Epochen maβgeblich geprägt haben, bevor wir uns mit Konzepten beschäftigt haben. Die Männer, die wir auserwählt haben, gaben uns einen neuen und frischen Blick auf den Radikalismus und brachten uns diesen näher. Natürlich sind wir nicht die ersten, die sich mit diesen historischen Personen beschäftigt haben. Durch die chronologische Anordnung unserer Abhandlung, wollten wir- so wie Plutarch, der griechische und römische historische Personen miteinander in Verbindung brachte- die Wesensmerkmale ihrer Reden, Persönlichkeiten und Epochen aber auch ihre Unterschiede in den Vordergrund rücken. Wir haben also versucht, eine Bewegung zu umreiβen und im Kern zu erfassen und die Wege nachzuzeichnen, die zum Radikalismus führten. Wir behaupten nicht, dass wir eine neuartige und ausschlieβliche Definition dieser Bewegung geliefert haben. Wir haben nur versucht, die Wesensmerkmale eines Radikalen zu begreifen und herauszufinden, aus welchen Gründen tausende Männer an diesen Mann geglaubt haben. Wir wollten uns von der ideologischen Debatte über den Kalten Krieg losmachen, die sogar auf die Interpretation zurückliegender Ereignisse abgefärbt hat. Zu oft wurde die Geschichte des Radikalismus mit einer Art revolutionären Nostalgie erzählt, oder mit der Absicht, die Vorzüge des Liberalismus zu preisen. Der Chartismus leitete zwar im 19. Jahrhundert das Ende der groβen Massenbewegungen in England ein, aber diese Methode hat sich im 20. Jahrhundert überall auf der Welt verbreitet. In der Tat zeigt der arabische Frühling am Beginn des 21. Jahrhunderts, dass die zahlenmäβige Überlegenheit das beste Druckmittel des Volkes ist, um seine Rechte einzufordern und das bestehenden Regime zu destabilisieren. Ein Volk, das demonstriert, zeigt, dass es keine Angst mehr hat. Von dem Moment an, in dem ein autoritäres Regime diese psychologische Waffe, die es ihm ermöglicht hat, an der Macht zu bleiben, verliert, kehrt sich das Machtgefälle zwischen der autoritären Staatsgewalt und dem unterworfenen Volk um. Diesen psychologischen Sieg haben die englischen Radikalen vor mehr als 150 Jahren errungen. Jedoch wurde das allgemeine Wahlrecht erst ein Jahrhundert später eingeführt. Damit es also nicht bei Prinzipienerklärungen bleibt, sondern die Freiheiten in die Wirklichkeit umgesetzt werden, bedarf es einer Bewusstseinsänderung, die nur durch eine langwierige Arbeit zustande kommen kann. Für die Schwächsten ist dies ein langer Kampf. In Anbetracht der abendländischen Geschichte muss man die Freiheiten als Rechte betrachten, die es immer wieder zu verteidigen gilt. Paradoxerweise scheint die Revolte also eine grundlegende und unabdingbare Bedingung zu sein, um die Demokratie zu erhalten.

NDI President Derek Mitchell and NDI Board Chairman Secretary Madeleine Albright talk about her new book Hell and Other Destinations, and her experiences as Secretary of State. She reflects on U.S. foreign policy, democratic trends, and her hopes for the future.

This podcast was recorded May 27, 2020, prior to demonstrations in support of racial equality across the United States.

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Derek Mitchell: Hello. Welcome to DemWorks. My name is Derek Mitchell, president of the National Democratic Institute.
We indeed are honored to once again to have Secretary Albright join us. Madam Secretary first, thank you again very much for doing this. Do you want to share some opening thoughts? I want to turn it over to you. Perhaps some things that have happened since we last got together about a month back.
Secretary Albright: Terrific. Thank you very much, Derek. Two important meetings I've participated in the past weeks. What was very interesting, it was the ... First was a virtual hearing convened by the house foreign affairs committee. They couldn't have testimony, so this was a briefing, and I did it alongside Derek and Dan Twining from IRI, and the subject was authoritarianism, disinformation and good governance during COVID-19. And this was the first time that the committee had done this kind of a hearing, And I think it's a very important signal that they chose to focus on the subject of democracy. And I think that it's a great tribute to NDI that we were the first organization asked to debrief the committee.
What is very, I think, positive is that leaders in Congress, both Republicans and Democrats recognize that good governance is critical to responding to the pandemic. And they know that NDI therefore has a key role to play in helping the world overcome the challenge and others like it.
DM: We discussed it at that last town hall, featuring our chairman about how she was on the cusp of releasing a new memoir about her life. This one being about her very eventful life after leaving her job as the first woman vice secretary of state. Hell and Other Destinations was released in mid April. During my time in doors last month, I read her book and it really is funny, a funny and fascinating read. So my intention today is to open up another conversation with our chairman and do so first by asking some questions based on themes from her life that she discusses in her book.
You said in your book that everyone should write a memoir. Why do you say that? And do you, or did you, have you kept a journal yourself?
SA: Well let me say this. I have thought, because basically I come from an academic background that when one looks at what happened in a certain period of history, it's very important to read people's memoirs. Now what I have found as I've analyzed memoirs, and I have, is that people write it from a different perspective. And so it's important because often we disagree on the context or what we did or what our role was. But I think it is interesting to kind of have the memoirs and it's really worth the doing. And I think especially people that have been in public positions, but everybody, I think in terms of ...
So let me just say, I have tried over the years to keep a journal. And I haven't really, because at a certain stage I was made much ... Obviously when I was young and had met a lot of people, I thought, "Isn't this great. I have to write about it." And then it always kind of stops after one month. Then, I did actually not keep a journal when I was in the government, because as we know ... I don't know if you remember, everything was being subpoenaed. But I had a lot of scratchy notes. And then what happened as I was writing Madam Secretary initially, was that when I found the schedule it was like the Rosetta Stone, because I could identify what the scratchy notes actually has something to do with. But embarrassingly, my mind would wander, and all of a sudden in the middle of my scratchy notes it was say, "Buy yogurt." And so I was multitasking even then, but I didn't keep a journal. And in many ways I wish I did, but there are so many records of the kinds of things that we all did together that I think my memoirs have been fairly complete.
DM: I felt one of the most poignant chapters in the book was the story about how you discovered your maternal grandmother's journal. It was about five or six years ago while you're going through your father's artifacts. And it turned out your grandmother had been killed in the Holocaust in 1942, and the journal, you have excerpts with the journal in the back of the book and it was written as a kind of dialogue she had ... She wanted to have with your mother and maybe with you while you're all in England. It also reads like kind of a lonely mother who wanted to connect with an absent family alone and isolated and Czechoslovakia, as things happened around her. Dangerous world was swirling in 1942 ... Well, really it started in 42 for her in that journal.
Can you talk a bit about the experience of discovering this journal, and through it your grandmother, so late and what it meant to you? Because we're also being isolated with things swirling out our doors, but also just what it meant to you to discover this and discover your grandmother so late.
SA: Well, thank you for asking that. And I ... Just for people that don't know my story, I was raised a Catholic, married and Episcopalian, and found out I was Jewish. So I can have my religious discussions sitting in a corner. But basically, I did not know about my Jewish background until 1996. And I had gotten a letter from somebody that had the names of the villages and my grandparents' names and dates right, and that was just as I was being vetted to be secretary of state, and the White House lawyer asked all the questions about taxes and nannies and stuff, but then he said, "We always ask this question of everybody. Is there anything you'd like to tell us that we didn't ask you?" And I said, "Well, it's perfectly possible I'm of Jewish background." And they said, "So what? The president is not antisemitic."
And it was only later when I was already an office that I was visited by some reporters who started giving me this disgusting index cards. These Nazis were very good record keepers and they had names of my relatives that have been sent to concentration camps. So to get to the journal part of it is my parents, we left Czechoslovakia in March, 1939, or escaped frankly. My father was in the Czechoslovak diplomatic service, and we escaped to England. And they ... When I think about all the things that happened, I find it harder and harder to get my head around it.
My parents were in their 30s, they left their families behind and went to England, where they were isolated in many different ways. We came back and I won't go through the whole story, but my father died in 1997 and he had lots of papers, and then my mother moved to Washington and she brought all his stuff with her. And when she died, all of a sudden all of it got transferred to me. And I had some hesitation in looking at anything, frankly, because of how the memories, but then what happened is when I became a public official diplomatic security moved into in my garage and were around all the time and there were all these boxes. And they said, "You've got to put these in storage." So I put all these boxes into storage and I didn't look at them, and it wasn't until 2015 that I had to find something and I went to the storage and I start poking through the boxes. And all of a sudden, there's this old envelope, and inside it is a diary. A journal. And it kind of blows my mind.
I look at it, obviously it's a ... And it's from my grandmother, and it is something that she wrote to ... They were letters to my mother describing what was going on. And it was kind of an interesting mixture of just day to day kind of things. "I did this, I washed my hair and I went shopping." And then all of a sudden it began to say things like, "They're talking about Aryans and non Aryans. I've never heard that distinction," she says. And goes through the kinds of things that the Jews in the town we're not able to shop in a variety of places. Oh, they had to give up all their warm clothes to the Nazi soldiers, and ... Just stunning. And in the middle it would say things, "How was it [Mudlanka 00:08:45]?" Which was me. "She's so cute." And it just was unbelievable.
And it was really like a message in a bottle where all of a sudden it's hearing from a previous generation in terms of their hopes and their wishes. And obviously in the most incredibly complex time. And the other thing I try to figure out, how my mother even got this and I've tried to put together what the path of it was and how stunned she must've been when it showed up. And so I have translated it, and it is in the book. But it's really very meaningful and it has hope in it, which I think is such an important part. And one of my messages just generally is that we can't control everything around us. We can only control our behavior. And I think that that's something that also came through in my grandmother's journal.
DM: It also is you talked about the various identities you have in a way as a Catholic Episcopalian Jew, in terms of heritage. And that issue of identity is a big one that we work with at NDI. And there's a big question for nations nowadays, given your past and your family, that of your family, how has the question of identity shaped you?
SA: Well, I have definitely been a lot of different things. As a child, we spent the war in England then went back to Czechoslovakia briefly, and then my father was made ambassador to Yugoslavia. I think some of you've heard me tell this. The little girl in the national costume that gave flowers at the airport, that's what I did for a living. My father didn't want me going to school with communists, so I had a governess. And then I got ahead of myself, and as people know in Europe, you have to be a certain age to get into the next level. So my parents sent me to school in Switzerland, where I was finally told how I should spell my name, because my mother used to pronounce it [Mudlan 00:00:10:44]. And so anyway, I have the French spelling and I learned to speak French. And then we come to the United States.
And so I was recently asked to describe myself in six words, and it is, worried optimist, problem-solver, and grateful American. And I think those are my identities and I'm grateful to be an American, but I'm also grateful for the background that I've had in terms of trying to understand how other people see themselves. I do think identity is important. I think we all want to know who we are. We may get surprised, but it's worth it knowing. What I don't like, and this is what troubles me and I wrote about this in my previous book on fascism is when my identity hates your identity, because that then is obviously very divisive. And it's one thing to be proud of your identity, it's another, hyper nationalism, which we're seeing that is undercutting everything. And we know that the virus knows no borders. So there are an awful lot of paradoxes that are going on now in terms of wanting to know who you are, but not thinking that you're better than everybody else.
And my, as I describe, authoritarian leaders and fascists, I begin with Mussolini. It's a matter of the leader identifying himself. And by the way, they're all his, with one group at the expense of another and makes them scapegoats. And that's why I'm very troubled by the divisions that are being exacerbated now.
DM: There's individual identity and there's national identity. And the national identity, as you say, that's most pernicious is an exclusive identity, rather than an inclusive identity, which is what we're all about. We're all about an inclusive identity. We're all treated equally. And these authoritarians are about identifying those exclusive identities, us and them, that tear countries apart and create the instability and insecurity that results. So this is a key part of what we do, I think absolutely.
During the writing process, we you able to identify the moment in your life when you knew what your life purpose was? At what point did you know what Mark you wanted to leave in this world?
SA: And it's a hard question to answer, because I do think that one of the things that was a motivating factor for me growing up was that I was, and am, a grateful American, and wanted to give back in some form. I also ... My father had, obviously, a great influence on me. So did my mother, and my father kept saying that Americans are taking democracy for granted. We had just left the country of our birth twice. Once because of the Nazis and then because of the communists. And the fragility of democracy. And so I looked at trying to figure out, in looking back, what were the different methods that I thought I could use to give back to America?
By the way, it never occurred to me that I would be secretary of state. There's some people who think I planned that. Never. But I do think that I wanted to have some kind of a role where I was able to talk about the necessity of supporting democracy. And I got fascinated by the UN because that's what brought us to America. And so kind of looking at institutional structures, but it never, never occurred to me. Nor did it occur to me, frankly, that I would be able to have a post secretary of state life, where I was able to put together the various things that I was interested in.
What I tried to do always is to make whatever I was doing next more interesting than what I'd done before. Not easy if you've been secretary of state, but the reason I wanted to write this book was to show how the various things that I got involved in related to each other and how I learned from one thing to another. My greatest talent, frankly, is dot connection, of trying to figure out how one thing relates to another.
I do want to talk about one specific moment that's so stands out. My favorite thing to do is to give naturalization certificates at the ceremonies. And so the first time I did it was July 4th, 2000 at Monticello, and I'm handing out a certificate and I hear this man. He goes away and he says, "Can you believe I'm a refugee, and I just got my naturalization certificate from the secretary of state?" And I go up to him and I say, "Can you believe that a refugee is secretary of state?" And I so believe in what America stands for and what we can do to be helpful to others, which is why I say that at this moment, the statue of Liberty is weeping.
DM: Our research in Ukraine has uncovered historical memory as a significant target of Russian information attacks. Ukrainians appear to be vulnerable to attacks that speak to evoke nostalgia for the economic stability of the Soviet period. These attacks exploit an actual democratic challenge for Ukraine, which is an economy that is not working for all citizens. In the US, what vulnerabilities do you worry similar information attacks could seek to exploit.
SA: I do think that I have been ... I love history. When I teach at Georgetown, I always try to put everything into historical context. And I have to say what I was just doing before we started this discussion was watching a program about a project in the United States about slavery. And there's ... The New York Times was doing something called 16 19, and there were some very strong arguments on Morning Joe this morning about this, between those who recollect history differently, or are trying to use it in particular ways for political movement, which we do. And I think people do that in terms of understanding what their history means.
And then one of the people there said, "History is to be argued about," which I find interesting because you kind of think, "Okay, well, we know what history is." But it goes back to your first question, Derek, about writing memoirs. Because people have different ideas of their history. I think the question is, do you have a society where you can dispute the history? And the Ukrainian one is clearly unbelievably complicated, in terms of that a modern Russia comes out of Ukraine, and that that relationship and Ukraine itself is a complicated country in terms of East and West and religion, and the aspect of communism that gave people a certain sense of understanding what the system was. They might not have gotten the kinds of things ...
Not everybody just wants the freedom to talk. Some of them want to be able to what their history is about. Are they going to have retirement? What group do they belong to? Can they send their kids to school? And I found this in a lot of research that I did about central and Eastern Europe at the time, right after the fall of the wall. What is it that the people thought that they ... What was communism and what were the possibilities of democracy? And I do think that Ukraine is one of the more complex countries, and the fact that it has been invaded, and the fact that the economic situation is something that is being pushed by the Russian hacking and the way that they operate, and their way of trying to divide us and divide Ukrainians from each other.
DM: Rebuilding a United Europe was one of the success stories of the second part of the 20th century. The last few years have seen the foundations of Europe shake with Brexit and the rise of authoritarian populace. How do we ensure that the European project continues as a liberal democratic one?
SA: I think that it is something that I ... I keep going back, trying to figure out what went wrong. Why did this happen? And I think partially we didn't appreciate enough the problems of societies that had been under communism for 50 years, and that it was much ... We spent a lot of time, I think, with a lot of the wonderful dissidents and intellectuals, and didn't think enough about how it affected the people that had had jobs. I mentioned that a little bit. And I think that also there are the issues now of this identity and the hyper nationalism, and that has been created to some extent in Europe, by the differences in the economic lives of, initially, Northern and Southern Europe, and trying to figure out why some were doing better than others, which then did lead to the fact that there were some leaders like Orban and the Poles that started blaming the other. And that was the most evident in many ways in why Brexit happened.
So these are big trends. I happen to believe in a European Union, but I think that as a structure, it also needs some fixing in terms of how it works with the different economic situations in the central and eastern European countries.
DM: In your book, you speak about how you dealt with misogyny as you progressed in your career. Can you share what helped to keep you steadfast in fighting this prejudice?
SA: I think that what is interesting ... And I often say that I went to college sometime between the invention of the iPad and the discovery of fire, but here it was a women's college. And basically we were told by our commencement speaker to get married and raise children. And I think that what I've been trying to do is to understand why women, why we're so hard on ... Tough on each other in terms of being very judgmental or finding our own inadequacies and other women. And so I have been very much for having ... Creating groups of women that can support each other.
And that is why I think it is so important, the kind of things that NDI is doing, in terms of working with women, to make sure that they are participants in society, run for office, and are respected. And I'd love talking about the fact now that the countries that are doing best on dealing with the coronavirus are ones that are run by women. New Zealand, Taiwan, Finland, Germany, Denmark, Norway, Iceland. And I think trying to make clear what the characteristics are of women that make that possible in terms of multitasking, of caring, not setting their children against each other, but you have to keep ... I do think that what is important is for women to support each other, and so that you're not the only woman in the room.
DM: Sometimes moments of crisis and trial like this pandemic lead to better things. What are your hopes in that regard? And also what is the significance of today's pin?
SA: My hope, this is where my optimism comes from, our young people. I love learning from my students, and students that are particularly interested in foreign policy and diplomacy. Many of whom have traveled and they speak different languages and they certainly are tech literate. And I think that they question ... I think the important part for all of us as a democracy organization is to make sure that they participate, that they do vote, that they are interested in the institutional structures in the countries where they are. But that is definitely what gives me hope. And not ...
And I think it's very important, and I say this wherever I can, that democracy is not a spectator sport. It is something that the people need to be involved in. They need to be informed. They need to be respected. And I think the other part that I often talk about, and this is so true of NDI activities, is to spend time with people with whom you disagree and try to figure out where they're coming from, and understand what their needs are, and have a dialogue with civil society, and then understand the various institutions that are important. But definitely what makes me hopeful, our young people.
DM: On this issue of hopes of how moments of crisis and trial can lead to better things, I do think that's a very important question. I really hope that moments of trial by fire are sometimes very important, to set priorities to remember what's important, and to tell you how precarious things always are. I think we can get kind of complacent about things, as we are as a country, or we as individuals, that everything is going to be simply easy. I'm sure it's not easy for any of us. I'm sure many people have gone through lots of trials in their lives, as we all have. But crises can be moments where we focus on how ... Okay, we take stock of where our priorities are, and what kind of choices we want to make, which is what Madame Secretary said. Not just ... Crisis don't just happen to you, you also have a choice in how you respond to that crisis, both individually and as a collective, as a country, as a unit.
So I do think it's an opportunity and I'm certainly seeing that NDI of having better communication and doing more to force change, even potentially in culture because of this moment that's quite different than we've ever experienced. So we should be thinking in those terms. What are the things that we can do to take advantage of this moment, even when there's a lot of stress and anxiety? To take advantage of the opportunity as well. And that's my hope for all of us at NDI, again, as an organization and individually, that we can do that. And I think we can come out better on the back end if we go through it together on those terms.
SA: One of my heroes was Harry Truman. He was my first American president. We came to the United States, November 11th, 1948. He is the one that understood, to a great extent, America's role in the world, a democracy. And understand linking domestic to foreign policy. But I think there's so many other people that I have admired. I admire the first president of Czechoslovakia, Tomáš Masaryk, who married an American. And the first Czechoslovak constitution was modeled on the American one with one difference. It had a women's rights in it in 1918.
And so I think that one can have more than one hero, and I think it's important to point them out and to understand that people have gone through very difficult periods before. And I do think that what is important is to really be proud of things that we can do, and the thing that I personally am proudest of, because it put things together and how I used representing the United States was what we were able to do to end ethnic cleansing in Kosovo. And going there with President Clinton made a big difference cause they kept saying, "We were just there. We are so grateful to the United States."
DM: Well Madam Secretary, let me just close the book conversation with a quote from the book that I saw that I just want to share with everybody that you say at the end. I think it's in the acknowledgements at the end. The central theme of this book is about how people of all descriptions can work together for common goals against the background of accelerating history. It is about trying to make sense of the world we have while attempting to contribute to something better. Madam Secretary and everybody out there, stay safe, be well. Thank you all. Have a good day, and we'll talk again soon.
SA: Thank you so much for everything that you do. Thank you.
DM: Please visit our website at www.ndi.org. Thanks very much.

NDI Board Chairman Secretary Madeleine Albright



Derek Mitchell & Secretary Madeleine Albright on her past and democracy's future

Democracy (General), Podcast Listen Secretary Albright Madeleine AlbrightCountries: All Regions

Issue 52.3 of the Review for Religious, May/June 1993. ; frOe i g,i ous Christian Heritages and Contempora~ Living MAY-JUNE 1993 ¯ VOLUME 52 ¯ NUMBER 3 Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bi-monthly at Saint Louis University. by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393. Telephone: 314-535-3048 ¯ FAX: 314-535-0601 Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393. Correspondence about the Canonical Counsel department: Elizabeth McDonough OP ¯ 5001 Eastern Avenue ¯ P.O. Box 29260 Washington, D.C. 20017. POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ° P.O. Box 6070 ¯ Duluth, MN 55806. Second-class postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. SUBSCRIPTION RATES Single copy $5 includes surface mailing costs. One-year subscription $15 plus mailing costs. Two-year subscription $28 plus mailing costs. See inside back cover for more subscription information and mailing costs. ©1993 Review for Religious for religious Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Assistant Editors Advisory Board David L. Fleming SJ Philip C. Fischer SJ Michael G. Harter SJ Elizabeth McDonough OP Jean Read Mary Ann Foppe Joann Wolsld Conn PhD Mary Margaret Johanning SSND Iris Ann Ledden SSND Edmundo Rodriguez SJ Se~n Sammon FMS Wendy Wright PhD Suzanne Zuercher OSB Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living MAY-JUNE 1993 * VOLUME 52 ¯ NUMBER 3 contents 326 feature Prophecy or Restorationism in Religious Life Gerald A. Arbuckle SM describes the effects of the prophetic and the restorationist movements on religious life. 340 350 witnessing Would That All Were Prophets~ Dianne Bergant CSA examines the 'meaning of prophecy in the life of religious congregations. Committed Christian Secularity Paul J. Philibert OP explores some areas of development for those called to the life of the secular institute. prayer and direction 364 Liturgy of the Hours: A Reflection Suzanne Zuercher OSB finds that the ritual praying of the Liturgy of the Hours manifests what monastic life is and needs to remain. 371 380 Get Serious! The Monastic Condemnation of Laughter Kenneth C. Russell suggests some ways for us to understand and give modern application to the monastic attitude towards laughter. A Mystical Moment: Spiritual Direction and the Adolescent Fred Herron highlights aspects of spiritual direction in the con-text of adolescent development. 322 Review for Religious 39O 418 428 432 446 454 religious leadership Religious-Leadership Competencies David Nygren CM and Miriam Ukeritis CSJ report on skills and characteristics which mark superior performance for contemporary religious leaders. Some Ruminations on the Identity of Religious David F. O'Connor ST reviews the current identity issues around religious life. An Identity Dilemma: Standing with the Poor Patricia McCann RSM focuses the question about a gap between the espoused ideal and the reality of standing with the poor in religious life and ministry. ~ living gospel values Poverty as the Embrace of Insecurity Richard J. De Maria CFC stresses that the insecurity of poverty in some form remains essential to religious life. Men Vowed and Sexual: Conversations about Celibate Chastity Selin D. Sammon ~MS and Judith Ann Zielinski OSF describe a project sponsored by the Conference of Major Superiors of Men to enhance the living of celibate chaste life by vowed men. A Story of Addiction and Co-Addiction William F. Kraft tells a story of how the problems of addiction and co-addiction can be signs of contradiction that lead to new and better living departments 324 Prisms 462 Canonical Counsel: Common Life and Houses 469 Book Reviews May-.~une 1993 323 prisms ~edo not talk much about "working at the virtuous life." Perhaps the Pelagian inference--that "working at it" is enough, all by itself---keeps us suspi-cious of such talk. Maybe we are reluctant to admit explic-itly that virtue is on our list of outmoded things. There is also the possibility, even the likelihood, that some people strong in virtue have offended us in some way. "Nice" people may be easier to live with and less offensive than people imbued with courage or fired up for justice' sake. But Jesus demands more of his followers than that they be nice. Christians in every age need to work at the vir-tuous life. Recently in North America the news media have made much of various accusations or admissions of sexual mis-conduct by bishops, priests, and religious. The result is that the leadership in the local church and in religious congregations has had the painful, but necessary, task of coming to terms with a difficult and disturbing situation. What becomes evident to those living the consecrated life is that celibate chastity is not only something which we can "lose," but also something to be worked at: that only through a lifetime effort does one grow in chastity and love. Various programs like Marriage Encounter and the Christian Family Movement and Teams of Our Lady have long stressed how couples need to Work at their marital chastity if they are going to deepen their love and grow to be ever more faithful to each other. In a similar way, through some painful reminders today, both men and 324 Review for Religious women in celibate commitment are being called to make the effort they need to make if they are to grow as loving celibate people. In the scholastic theology of St. Thomas Aquinas we are taught the meaning of the virtues of the Christian life through his masterly explanation of habit. It would be interpreting Thomas fairly to bring our commonsense thinking about acquiring a habit to our understanding of his insight into acquiring--"working at"--virtue. Without denying the primacy of grace, especially experienced in the theological virtues of faith, hope, and charity, we need to put forth the human effort to make those qualities more deeply our own. Theological developments since Vatican II have stressed that, just as conversion is continual in a Christian's life, so too growth in virtue is never finished--nor can either of these occur in iso-lation; they demand the presence of the faith community. Similarly, we now see even more clearly that virtue, like conver-sion, is never a private matter but impacts the public and social sphere. Our very working at virtue gives force to our evangeliz-ing efforts in our families, communi.ties, and workplaces. As a case in point, then, there are recent efforts being made to ~work at celibate chastity within a community setting and not in isolation. As married people have discovered in their various Christian family organizations, it is within the faith community that growth in virtue finds its support and that marriage and fam-ily values are witnessed to and witnessed. "'Men Vowed and Sexual," a project sponsored by the U.S. Conference of Major Superiors of Men and reported on in this issue, is one way to achieve a com-munity setting of support and understanding for the celibate chaste development of individuals. In another effort to assist those who are committed to the tasks of spiritual formation, the Christian Institute for the Study of Human Sexuality has been announced by the staff of theJesuit Educational Center for Human Development. Along 0¢ith the primacy of the grace of God and continuing individual effort, such community projects point the way for all of us to "work at" virtue today. David L. Fleming SJ May-June 1993 325 feature GERALD A. ARBUCKLE Prophecy or Restorationism in Religious Life "Turmoil is going to break out among your tribes." --Hosea 10:14 Anthropologically a tribe is a gathering "of bands., hav-ing a feeling of unity deriving from numerous similarities in culture, frequent friendly contacts, and a certain com-munity of interest.''1 By this definition religious life before Vatican II was one tribe consisting of many bands or clans (congregations) bound together despite their individual differences by a common belief in the nature and purpose of religious life. Now this tribal oneness no longer exists. Today, instead of clans within one tribe, we have many dif-ferent tribes that do not share a common vision of reli-gious life. Even within the same congregation there can be several different tribes, each claiming that it alone is authentically interpreting religious life and the original founding congregational vision. Communication across the boundaries of these reli-gious- life tribes may be poor, as is commonly the case between different ethnic groups at any time in human society. Each tribe, says anthropologist Edward Hall, usu-ally takes the position of "thinking and feeling that any-one whose behavior is not predictable or is peculiar in any way is slightly out of his mind, improperly brought up, irresponsible, psychopathic, politically motivated to a point Gerald A. Arbuckle SM continues to write, lecture, and con-duct workshops on the refounding of religious life. His address is Refounding and Pastoral Development Unit; 1 Mary Street; Hunters Hill; Sydney, N.S.W. 2110; Australia. 326 Review for Religious beyond redemption, or just plan inferior.''2 This rather blunt (but generally accurate) statement of tribal ethnocentrism describes the strong prejudice-founded belief that my tribe is the center of everything, and all other groups or tribes are scaled and rated with reference to it. Unfortunately, the way some religious tribes within contemporary religious life at times view other groups-- with hostility and self-righteous intolerance--is not unlike Hall's description. Sometimes. religious-life tribes agree to co-exist side-by- side with apparent harmony; peace is maintained because they agree at least tacitly not to raise their significant differences over the m~aning of religious life. They deny or suppress the differ-ences lest exhausting tensions erupt openly. Dialogue, which demands an op.enness to the other and to the possibility of change, is difficult in these circumstances--even impossible. This article has a twofold function: first, to summarize why one religious-life tribe has fragmented into many different tribes or quasi-ethnic groups since Vatican II; and second, to describe the significant qualities of these tribal groups. From Tribe to Tribes in Religious Life Religious Life: Founding Myth Undermined. The founding myth .of religious life historically evolved wheri people began to gather together to live the radical values of the gospel, to devote, them-selves totally to the person of Christ and his kingdom values. The major mo;vements (monastic, conventual, and apostolic) were prophetic reactions to abuses or corruption of power within the church and society at large. Prophetic action is thus integral to the founding stoW of religious life. Johannes Metz correctly asserts that religious communities must be "a kind of shock therapy" challenging the church to live the fullness of Christ's message. "Against the dangerous accommodations and questionable com-promises that the church . . . can always incline to," he writes, "they press for the uncompromising nature of the gospel and of the imitation of Christ.''3 Myths bind people together with a common vision. They are value-impregnated beliefs and notions, born in sacred time and space, that people live by and live for; at the level of the culture they are primarily unconscious, powerful in their influence, and partic-ularly difficult for people to articulate objectively except in stoW form or by describing the life histories of their culture's heroes or May-a~une 1993 327 Arbuckle ¯ Prophecy or Restorationism: heroines. In reality people adhere to relatively few archetypal myths, of which the conspiratorial enemy and the all-powerful hero-liberator are central kinds. Myths provide a feeling of cer-tainty, direction, and trust rather than the paralysis, fear, or bewil- The council challenged religious to rediscover the prophetic heart of their ministry when it directed them back to the person of Christ, the founding experience of their own congregations,. and the apostolic needs of the world. derment that chaos--the opposite of order or the predictable--brings.* Over time, however, myths can drift away from their original message without people' being quite aware of what is happening. This in fact hap-pened to the founding myth of reli-gious life. In recent centuries religious life has lost its prophetic emphasis within the church and the world and has become based on three pivotal assumptionscontrary to its original founding vision: the world is funda-mentally evil and tobe avoided, reli-gious are the spiritual elite of the church, and their task is to be uncrit-ically supportive of the ecclesiastical and pastoral status quo.~ Vatican II dramatically under-mined these aberrant assumptions and the myth they sustained when it stated that the world is capable of redemption and the church must inter-act with it through a process of exchange/dialogue (that is, incul-turation). 6 Furthermore, all people--not only religiousware called to, and are capable of, holiness.7 Religious asChristians could no longer remove themselves from the concerns of the world, nor could they ever again consider themselves the spiritual elite of the church. Finally, the council challenged religious to rediscover the prophetic heart of their ministry when it directed them back to the person of Christ, the founding experience of their own congregations, and the apostolic needs of the world. The revi-talized founding myth was not neatly put together by the coun-cil and it would be a long time before religious could rediscover with confidence its authentic nature and implications. Reactions to Vatican Ih Conversionist and Restorationist Groups. It is a basic experience of anthropology that any interference with a founding story or myth of a group--even when fully justified (as 328 Review for Religious occurred at Vatican II) and intellectually assented to by the peo-ple involved--is catastrophic or chaotic at the level of identity, belonging, or feeling.8 A satisfying and interiorized myth is never re-created quicHy out of turmoil or chaos. The reaction to a dramatic mythological change, such as hap-pened to religious life at Vatican II, normally follows a fairly pre-dictable pattern. First, there is an effort to control initial unease or anxiety through legislative or structural changes so that an anxiety-reducing order can once again emerge, but political or legislative action alone is ineffective without an attitudinal open-ness to an as yet unformulated new myth. The phase of chaos follows; neither traditional support systems nor mere structural changes provide the needed sense of direction and belonging. Symptoms of depression--such as anger, numbness, "lostness," feuding, denial, sadness, witch-hunting to assign blame for the chaos--emerge within the group or in individuals. As the chaos persists, people are apt to turn to one of two options: either conversionist or escapist movements. Leaders of these movements have the charismatic ability of articulating appropriate visions and strategies to achieve them. Conversionist movements develop when people recognize that the way to change is not by nostalgically and uncritically returning to a former cul-tural stage but by struggling to relate to an entirely different ambience. The building of a new founding myth is painful, demanding courage to let go the past, the willingness to walk in the darkness of uncertainty and ambiguity, waiting, creating and testing new ways of acting adapted to the changing circumstances. No sudden solution to the malaise of the chaos is possible.9 Commonly many people cannot cope with the darkness and uncertainty demanded by the conversionist approach. They seek the escapist option with its fundamentalist and simplistic remedies to the confusion. Fundamentalistic or sect movements are com-mon today within Islam, Judaism, and Christianity and in the arena of politics just as they have always been in times of dra-matic social or cultural changes. They take various forms. For example, some are millenarianl° as they promise a dramatic and imminent appearance of a world of meaning and belonging to their disoriented followers, on condition they commit themselves without question to simplistic and authoritarian-led actions. The popularity of these fundamentalist movements today~ testifies to the extent and depth of the cultural upheaval through- May-3~ne 1993 329 Arbuckle ¯ Prophecy or Restorationism Restorationism is the vigorous effort to return the church uncritically to the pre-Vatican II structures, practices, and attitudes. out the world in reaction to the speed and radicality of contem-porary technological; social, and economic changes. Patrick Arnold's definition of fundamentalism is particularly apt: it is "an aggressive and marginalized religious movement which, in reac-tion to the perceived threat of moder-nity, seeks to return its home religion and nation to traditional orthodox prin-ciples, values, and texts through the co-option of the central executive and legislative power of both the religion itself and the modern national state.''t2 This definition highlights the emphasis that fundamentalists place on the role of civil and religious governments to coerce people to accept their beliefs. James Hunter sees fundamentalist movements as "characterized, to varying degrees, by a quality of organized anger." They aggressively want to make history right again.13 Intellectual arguments will not convert people away from fundamental-ism because fundamentalism is a reaction to a loss of felt belong-ing, not necessarily to inadequate intellectual reasoning. Fundamentalist movements form an increasingly strident, intolerant, and powerful force within the Catholic Church today, indicative of the extent of the chaotic upheaval sparked off by such forces as Vatican II and the opening 0f the church to a world caught up in its own tumultuous change--the revolution of expressive disorder of the 1960s and early 1970s.14 These restora-tionist movements demand that the church return to its pre- Vatican II culture with its patriarchal, dependency, and authoritarian models of leadership. Whoever dares to question what fundamentalists do are branded as contemporary "witches" who are out to undermine in a conspiratorial way what restora-tionists define as orthodoxy. In brief, restorationism is the vig-orous effort to return the church uncritica'lly to the pre-Vatican II structures, practices, and attitudes. (I say "uncritically" because there are some key pre-Vatican II values that need to be revital-iz. ed, for example, a respect for a living tradition.) Restorationism is an abuse of power because key values of Vatican II--for exam-ple, collegiality, the call to inculturate the faith within local 330 Review for Religious churches--are either rejected or undervalued. Like Thomas the Apostle, fundamentalist or restorationist Catholics earnestly seek clear-cut signs of the presence of the Lord: "Unless I can see the holes that the nails made in his hands and can put my finger into the holes they made, and unless I can put my hand into his side, I refuse to believe" (Jn 20:25). Contemporary Religious Life: Tribal Models .With the disintegration of the then prevailing founding myth of religious life, in addition to the other upheavals consequent on Vatican II, religious today are torn between the enticements of fundamentalist or restorationist solutions to the chaos they expe-rience and the painful requirements of the call to radical conver-sion. Those opting for the latter take to heart the words of Christ to Thomas: "Blessed are those who hav~ not seen and yet believe" (Jn 20:29). They recognize that the church (and religious life) is in the liminality stage of a crucial rite of passage--the pre-Vatican II church has yet to be let go and the new to be confidently cre-ated based on Vatican II values. It is a time of pain, lament, and hope. Prophets and prophetic movements are needed to create the "pastoral quantum-leaps" necessary to bring the gospel into interaction with the most.urgent needs of today--secularism and political/economic oppression for example.~s The following tribal models of contemporary religious life fall within what I will call "escapist" or "conversionist" categories. By "escapist" I mean that religious tribes within this category avoid in various ways the struggle to return to the original found-ing myth of religious life--that is, the prophetic challenging of the church and the world. "Conversionist" tribes, however, struggle to live this challenge. My purpose in offering these categories and models is to help clarify an increasingly c.omplex situation within religious life; it is not my aim to judge the subjective moti-vations of individual religious. Finally, a word of warning about the use of models. An anthro-pological model is not a perfect representation of the real world. Rather, a model is very much a necessary research construct to facilitate a better understanding of very complex situations. A model reflects reality to the extent that it highlights certain emphases or trends. For the sake of clarity unnecessary details are omitted. A situation can then be researched to discover just May-J~ne 1993 331 Arbuckle ¯ Prophecy or Restorationism how far it diverges from or conforms to the model. In practice one will rarely find in real life a perfect embodiment of a model; par-ticular qualities of many models will tend to be present, but the characteristics of one model will predominate over others. A model is not a caricature since the latter is a deliberately inaccu-rate representation of reality for comic effect; No one expects a caricature to be modified in the light of reality.~6 Category 1: "Escapist" Religious-Life Tribes The Nativistic Tribal Model. Tribal leaders claim that the unquestioning return to the symbols (for example, religious garb), myths, and rituals of.religious life before Vatican II will in some magical way resolve the loss of meaning or relevance among reli-gious. Fundamentalist and sect-like tribes that approximate to this model fanatically assume "we have the truth and the pope is on our side," yet, like all Catholic fundamentalists, they selectively read ecclesial documents to support their position and rather thoroughly ignore the social teaching of the popes. These com-munities withdraw from the "contaminating world" (which they look upon with considerable doom and gloom), refuse all dia-logue with their opponents, and avoid any critique of restora-tionism in the church. In fact, they are zealous supporters of ecclesiastical restorationism. Prayer is stressed, but only the pre- Vatican II forms that highlight a personal or privatized holiness removed from the world's concerns. They cultivate, as the Puebla document says, "a spirituality of evasion.''~7 Candidates are encouraged to join, but screening and training programs are inadequate for the demands of today's apostolic work. The more who join, the more certain nativistic tribes are that God loves them. In brief, they place the survival of their con-gregation over their commitment to the full mission of the church. The Conservative Tribal Model. In the conservative model, lead-ers are moved by the numerical success of sect-like and restora-tionist lay movements within the contemporary church; they uncritically encourage the return to pre-Vatican II traditions-- for example, quasimonastic structures for apostolic communities, traditional religious habits, and pious customs--but with less fanaticism than nativistic leaders. Souls are to be converted to the Lord, compassion shown to the poor, but the faith/justice 3 3 2 Review for Religious apostolates are to be avoided as irrelevant and dangerous to one's consecrated vocation. Conformist-oriented candidates are encour-aged to join these tribes, particularly if they have above-average needs for security and identity. Dependency and conformity are valued "virtues" in this model as in the previous one. New forms of prayer are allowed--as, for example, in the charismatic movement--provided they do not lead to involve-ment in the social-justice apostolate. Asceticism is an esteemed virtue, but within the narrow limits of the individual's journey to the Lord or as a way of encouraging him or her to submit to authority and the congregational status quo. Liberation theology and inculturation are considered dangerous "leftist" ideologies, and criticism of ecclesiastical restorationism is not considered necessary nor encouraged. The Millenarian Tribal Model. Millenarian movements immi-nently and dramatically expect the miraculous transformation of the world by supernatural methods. In millenarian religious tribal life, all forms of instant-holiness or inner-peace programs are .offered by tribal leaders--for example, encounter-group sessions, bodily relaxing techniques, immediate-union-with-God prayer sessions. Pastoral planning programs are formulated with the assurance that they will automatically lead to an increase in voca-tions. Often, as a sign of one's authentic conversion, in true mil-lenarian style religious indiscriminately discard as "old-fashioned" any reference to the past; thus, for example, the great spiritual traditions of Saints Teresa and John of the Cross are seen as of lit-tle or no value.Is Religious keep searching feverishly from one workshop to another for the "right leader, or spiritual/professional guru, to describe the latest way to inner peace and a firm sense of direc-tion" for themselves personally and their congregations. Try harder, they feel, and the correct miraculous technique will turn up eventually. Leaders and followers are so concerned about inner-peace and identity issues that ecclesiastical restorationism and the apostolic demands of the world are of little concern to them. The Therapeutic or "Me-istic" Tribal Model.19 In the previous tribal model, religious do have concern for the welfare of the group and its future, even though it be in an introverted way. However, group life and concern for its future are of minimal importance to the therapeutic tribal model. Tribal life is marked by individualism, excessive concern for self-fulfillment, and uncrit- May-a~une 1993 333 /trbuckle ¯ Prophecy or Restorationism ical acceptance of secular consumer or material standards. The group andits leaders exist solely to support the narcissistic, indi-vidualistic, and independent aspirations of its members. There is a paradox in this tribe: rampart individualism on the one hand and the desperate need for personal affirmation and support from other tribal members on the other. Individuals may undertake important apostolic work, but it is done with little or no reference to their religious tribal com-mitments or vision. In other words, the links between members and the corporate vision are so weak that the tribe is equivalently a social club; a typical attitude would be: "I remain in touch with my community only as long as it serves my needs." If restora-tionism is criticized, it is only because it is thought to be an obsta-cle to the pursuit of individualism and personal self-fulfillment. The prophetic corporate commitment of religious life within the church and the world has no meaning in this tribal model. The Neo-Conservative T~:ibal Model. Religious gather around leaders who were once fervent advocates of change, but have now become overly fearful of the chaos and the extremes of attempted adaptation programs they see around them. They believe that only slow, measured ox~ predictably safe apostolic adaptation to the world will achieve new expressions of religious life. Orderly pastoral planning becomes an ideology or an end in itself, not a condition for bold creative apostolic action in response to the most urgent pastoral needs of the world. There must be no diver-gences from the pastoral plan lest chaos erupt.2° "Risk is out, order is in" becomes axiomatic. It is assumed that revitalization can occur only if the whole community or congregation moves in response to agreed-to mis-sion statements and strategic pastoral planning. Intra-group ten-sions and conflict are to be avoided at all costs: "Let the province move when all are ready and willing to do so; otherwise no change is to be sanctioned." The sense of belonging to or affiliation with the congregation is viewed as more important than the struggle for the religious community to realize its primary task of prophetically challenging a secularizing world and the church. Creative religious who believe that chaos requires a more rad-ical linking between the gospel and cultures are marginalized or pressured out of the community since they threaten the group's desire for an orderly approach to refounding. The faith/justice apostolate is only lightly supported lest involvement in it disturb 334 Review for Religious the unity of the community. Any critique of restorationism is couched in unchallenging or vague tones for the same reason. The Radical Non-Conversion Tribal Model. These tribes are led by people who have a vision of a radical, social-justice program. However, because the faith values of religious life do not impinge on their consciousness, they see themselves only as social workers, activists, or enablers of others. Their view of the gospel is limited only to the procla-mation of forms of liberation. They do not see that their "contribution to lib-eration is incomplete if [they] neglect to proclaim salvation in Jesus Christ.''2t Tribal life in this model is very fragile; either people withdraw from religious life since it no longer has any meaning for them, or they remain, generally with bitterness against their congregation and the church, living The ultimate identity of religious comes from their faith in the person of Christ and his mission to the world, especially to the marginalized and powerless. highly individualistic lives, refusing any effort to work toward an authentic religious-life vision. There is an un-Gospel-like harsh-ness to their criticism of restorationism within the church. Category 2: Transformative/Refounding Tribal Model Tribes within this, category are transformative or prophetic communities recognizing that the only way out of the chaos is through radically new faith-justice, hope-inspired, corporate action in which the gospel message is directed to the most urgent needs of today. The ultimate identity of these religious tribes comes from their faith in the person of Christ and his mission to the world, especially to the marginalized and powerless. The chaos is seen in biblical and anthropological terms as potentially a graced experience--the chance to rethink the mission of religious life and the tribe's commitment to it. Hence, for exam-ple, these religious tribes struggle to be living witnesses to the radical demands of prayerful asceticism in opposition to the sym-bols of consumerism and "instant spirituality"; living witnesses to the virtue of hope in order to counter symbols that seek to May-ffune 1993 335 Arbuckle ¯ Prophecy or Restorationism negate any redemptive and eschatological power of suffering; liv-ing witnesses to the need to dialogue with the world so as to counter the elitism/sectarianism of restorationist Catholicism; living witnesses through their lifestyle and attitudes to God's mercy, Jesus Christ, in concern for the alienated and the oppressed; living witnesses to vibrant community-life relation-ships founded on interdependence, mutuality, and faith sharing to counter the symbols of excessive individualism, abuse of author-ity/ power in society and in the church; living witnesses to a spir-ituality of involvement with the world, especially the powerless, to counter a spirituality of evasion.22 Through their imaginative, faith-oriented action they create a new founding myth of reli-gious life, a vision in which creative and prophetic action is an integral and primary quality. For these transformative tribes, it is Christ's mission that has priority, not the physical survival of the community. If they dis-cover it is God's will that they are to die, then they accept this as the chance to enter more deeply into the mystery of Christ's suf-fering and resurrection. Consequently, if people do ask to join these tribes, they are accepted only if there are well-founded hopes that these candidates have the demanding qualities of maturity to live and work on the prophetic edge of the church and the world. These communities foster within themselves prophetic or refounding persons who are able to relive within today's context the experience of the original congregational founding people. They are pained to see the void between the gospel and the needs of the world; so, like their original founding members, they move to create pastoral strategies to bridge this gulf. They, together with others in their communities, are dreamers who do. These are rest-less or liminal people in the sense that they are on the edge of what is considered to be the "correct or predictable" way of being reli-gious; they are prepared to critique everything according to gospel values. Not surprisingly, therefore, they and their communities evoke anxiety within tribal groups of category 1; their vision is too threatening so marginalization, tribulation, and suffering are their inevitable lot (as has commonly been the case with founding peo-ple of religious communities over the centuries).23 These apostolically risk-oriented leaders and prophetic tribes maintain their zeal only as long as they prayerfully admit to their own inner powerlessness without the grace of God. Once they allow their own attachment.s to the predicable to go, they repeat- 336 Review for Religious edly rediscover, as did the lamentation psalmists of old, that noth-ing is impossible to them through the mercy and love of the Lord.24 Restorationism is critiqued with a boldness of apostolic faith, love, and compassion because they take to heart the fact that "Christ summons the church., to that continual reforma-tion of which she always has need, insofar as she is an institution of [people] here on earth.''2s Conclusion In the centuries immediately before Vatican II, religious life had become a bastion of the unchanging status quo within the church. We even called it the "religious state." But by its origins it .was never intended to be something static, but an ongoing expe-rience of prophetically becoming in reaction to the ever-changing apostolic needs of the world. Once religious say they "have got it all together," then they have lost their passion for creative gospel life. Today, Paul VI said, the "split between the gospel and culture is without a doubt the drama of our time,''z6 so religious to be true to the original founding myth must be at the cutting edge of the gospel and culture. This is an inescapably agonizing experience, for it means cri-tiquing not just the world but also the church itsel~---a church in which the forces of restorationism are daily more visibly present. Religious life is in the stage that anthropologist Victor Turner terms liminality,27 that is, the betwixt-and-between stage; the unnecessary structural constraints of the former state of religious life have gone, and the reinvigorated founding story of prophetic action has yet to emerge with confidence. It is a stage rich in imaginative apostolic potential for the future. But it is also a dan-gerous phase for those religious who are excessively frightened of the darkness of uncertainty and ambiguity. They are tempted to flee into the false comforts of restorationism and to reengage uncritically the structures of pre-Vatican II religious life, seeing around them "nothing but prevarication and ruin"ZS--the defeatist attitude John XXIII warned us against. When this happens, these religious turn their backs on what is the most exciting and prophetically stimulating period for religious life in centuries. May-~une 1993 337 Arbuckle ¯ Prophecy or Restorationism Notes ' R. Linton, The Study of Man: An Introduction (Appleton-Century- Crofts, 1936), p. 231. 2 Edward Hall, Beyond Culture (New York: Doubleday/Anchor, 1976), p. 43 3 Johannes Metz,F0110wers of Christ: The Religious Life and the Church (Exeter: Burns and Oates/New York: Paulist, 1978), p. 12; see also an analysis of the prophetic nature of religious life by D. O'Murchu, Religious Life: A Prophetic Vision (Notre Dame: Ave Maria, 1991). 4 See G. Arbuckle, Earthing the Gospel: An Inculturation Handbook for the Pastoral Worker (London: Geoffrey Chapman/Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1990), pp. 26-43; see also M. Eliade, The Myth of the Eternal Return (New York: Bollingen/Pantheon, 1954), chap. 1. s See Arbuckle, Out of Chaos: Refounding Religious Congregations (New York: Paulist/London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1988), pp. 68-77. 6 See "The Church in the Modern World," The Documents of Vatican II, ed. Walter Abbott (London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1966), §44; for expla-nations see Arbuclde, Earthing the Gospel, pp. 15-20. 7 See "The Church," §40f. 8 See M. Douglas, Natural Symbols: Explorations in Cosmology (New York: Pantheon, 1970), p. 38. 9 See Arbuckle, Out of Chaos, pp. 14-28. ,0 See explanations by Norman Cohn, The Pursuit of the Millennium (New York: Oxford Un!versity, 1970). ~l For an overview of world fundamentalism see Concilium, no. 3, 1992. ¯ ,2 "Reemergence of Fundamentalism in the Catholic Church," in The Fundamentalist Phenomenon, ed. N. Cohen (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1990), p. 174. ~3 "Fundamentalism in Its Global Contours," ibid, p. 63. ,4 See overview of Catholic fundamentalism by T. O'Meara, Fundamentalism: A Catholic Perspective (New York: Paulist, 1990), passim, and Patrick Arnold, "The Rise of Catholic Fundamentalism," in America, 11 April 1987, pp. 298-302. *s See Arbuclde, Earthing the Gospel, pp. 187-220. ,6 For an analysis of the nature and usefulness of anthropological mod-els see L.C. Luzbetak, The Church and Cultures (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1988), pp. 135-139. ,7 Final Document, Conference of Latin American Bishops, 1979, § 826. ~8 See T. Merton, "Cargo Cults in the South Pacific," in America, vol. 121, no. 5, 1969, p. 96. ,9 See a fuller development by Arbuclde, "Suffocating Religious Life: A New Type Emerges," in The Way Supplement 65 (1989): 26-39. 338 Review for Religious 20 For insights into the dangers of overplanning see R. Stacey, Managing Chaos (London: Kogan Page, 1992), pp. 43f., 208. 2, Evangelii Nuntiandi, 1975, §47. zz See Arbuclde, Strategies for Growth in Religious Life (New York: Alba House, 1986), p. 41. 23 See J. Lozano, Foundresses, Founders, and Their Religious Families (Chicago: Claret, 1983), pp. 65-70. 24 See Arbuclde, Change, Grief and Renewal in the Church OgVestminster, Md.: Christian Classics, 1991), pp. 61-107. 2s "Decree on Ecumenism," Abbott, §6. 26 Ibid, §20. 27 See V. Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure (New York: Aldine, 1969), p. 95. For a summary of Turner's insight into limi-nality see Arbuclde, Earthing the Gospel, pp. 74f. 28 "Open!ng Speech to the Council," Abbott, p. 712. Will He? Veils gone, Securities gone, "Respect" gone. Adulation and ~. Convent-mysteries All gone. Can I sing my Song of Songs to Him In the rags of who I really am ? Will He love me still? Without my baubles And my cover-ups, Will He still love me? Crushed in His arms, 0 wonder of it all! I came to know That, in my poverty, He loves me Twice as much! Maxine Inkel SL May-~'ane 1993 339 DIANNE BERGANT Would That All Were Prophets witnessing In 1989 the joint assembly of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious and the Conference of Major Superiors of Men (LCWR/CMSM) drew up ten charac-teristics of the "transformative" religious life of the future. The first of these, prophetic witness, is described as fol-lows: "Being converted by the example of Jesus and the values of the gospel, religious in the year 2010 will serve a prophetic role in church and society. Living this prophetic witness will include critiquing societal and eccle-sial values and structures, calling for systemic change, and being converted by the marginalized with whom we serve." The following reflections have been prompted by this statement. "Behold, I am doing a new tbing" (Is 43:19) Before we discuss prophetic witness, we should briefly consider prophetic insight: Why is prophetic insight needed? Where does it originate? Prophetic insight is born in times of crisis, in its basic Greek meaning of decision and not its popular-usage meaning of misfortune or distress. In a time of crisis, a community is at a turning point and needs some kind of decisive direction--or the community should be at a turning point but, failing to recognize this, needs someone to call it to repentance and reform, to conver- Dianne Bergant CSA presented the substance of this article in a talk to the chapter members of her congregation, the Sisters of St. Agnes. Her address is Catholic Theological Union: 5401 S. Cornell Avenue; Chicago, Illinois 60615. 340 Review for Religious sion, to turning. But, of course, a community is not always at some kind of crossroads; and, if it is relatively faithful to its nature and ideals so that its members encourage and inspire each other, it may not need, for the time being, any distinct and indepen-dent prophetic insight. When prophetic insight is needed, where will it come from? One cannot casually assume it in oneself; not every member of the community is blessed with it. While it is the fruit of a very personal relationship with God, it includes perceptive insight into the reli-gious implications of "the signs of the times," an insight that calls for decision and usually for some kind of change. Prophetic insight is lit by the flame of passionate attachment to the religious tradi-tion. It is critical, not for the sake of being critical, but for the sake of the word of God. Illumined by this word, it perceives either the faithfulness of believers to their religious identity or a lessening or lack of this faith-fulness. It sees clearly what people should embrace within society in order to deepen their commitment to life and to God, and it sees what they should avoid. Prophetic insight assesses the values of contemporary society with eyes of discerning faith, recogniz-ing any distortions and, on the other hand, relating society's authentic values to their divine source. The biblical prophets did not call for change for the sake of change. They spoke out when they were convinced that their communities were in peril. They were often alone as they chal-lenged the institutions and practices that limited and sometimes shattered the lives of their communities. At times the threat fac-ing .their communities was evident to all. For example, King Ahaz was well aware of his predicament when Isaiah warned him against Assyrian entanglement (Is 7), as was King Zedekiah when Jeremiah spoke to him (Jr 27). At other times the threat was more insidi-ous, and the community seemed oblivious of its surrender to seductions that compromised its religious identity. We read that Amos condemned the Israelites for disregarding their covenant responsibilities in favor of material prosperity and that Hosea denounced the people of his day for yielding to the religious prac-tices of the Canaanites. The prophets seem always to have been Prophetic insight is lit by the flame of passionate attachment to the religious tradition. May-June 1993 341 Bergant ¯ IVould That All Were Prophets convinced that the situation had to change because it threatened the community's relationship with God. Prophetic insight and satisfaction with the status quo are seldom compatible. The prophets usually found themselves in conflict with offi-cial leaders. This was not because they disdained authority or authoritative organization, but because the leaders were respon-sible for public policy and for the social and religious structures that supported that policy. Therefore, when those in responsible positions failed to lead as the religious tradition directed them or when the policies and structures themselves created divisions of privilege or marginality, the prophets denounced the status quo and called the community to a new vision. They seldom, if ever, proposed specific new approaches to the problems. They were the visionaries, not the policy makers. They were the ones who called for a new society; others would work to fashion such a society in line with the prophetic insight. We must not confuse prophetic with apocalyptic, which also grows out of a dissatisfaction with the prevailing situation. Prophetic insight, whether it is reassuring people of divine com-passion and care or warning them of God's indignation and jus-tice, is fundamentally positive. It knows that human history with all its possibilities, challenges, and risks is the matrix within which the reign of God takes shape. Down amid social, economic, and political reality, such insight is neither ignorant of nor removed from the needs, aspirations, movements, and accomplishments of society, for it believes that it is within society that God is revealed. A genuine prophetic spirit is fashioned and enlivened by the ener-gies of the day. It is not a spirit of the past or, for that matter, of the future, but of the present. It knows that God is immanent and continually involved in the lives and history of people here and now. No event, no moment in time, is beyond the realm of God's activity. Authentic prophetic i,nsight insists that human beings can indeed influence the course of history and, with divine assistance, can bring .to birth the reign of God. "Apocalyptic" comes from the Greek word for revelation. Since it refers to a divine message about the end of the world, in the minds of many it is associated with prophecy. It maintains that the world and all within it must be purged before it can enjoy that for which God intended it, and it believes that this purgation will be individual, social, and cosmic. For this reason an apocalyptic atti-tude is fundamentally pessimistic. It not only challenges but rejects 342 Review for Religious the prevailing social, economic, and political reality. It does not encourage involvement in the world in order to transform it. Instead, it advocates separation from the world in order to pre-vent contamination. An apocalyptic point of view contends that sinful history is ultimately and exclusively under divine control, and therefore it awaits the defeat of evil and the triumph of good-ness. It believes that only after purgation will the new age appear and God's reign be victorious and unchallenged. While prophetic fervor drives people into the marketplace (for example, Jesus going from village to village proclaiming the reign of God), apocalyptic zeal frequently bids them escape into the desert (for example, the Essenes of Qumr~n waiting for the reign of God to come). At times prophetic insight has been confused with an apostolic spirit, which also calls for decision, repentance, .and reform and is also 6ommitted to the transformation of the world. The word apos-tle comes from the Greek for "send," and it stresses the intimate relationship between t~he sender and the person sent, rather than any message that may be involved. In a veery significant way, the one sent actually represents the sender. "Those who hear you, hear me; and those who reject you, reject me" (Lk 10:16). Paul under-stood his call in this way: "So we are ambassadors for Christ, God making an appeal through us" (2 Cor 5:20). Such an intimate rela-tionship between the apostolic minister and the Lord is more than a matter of personal holiness. It is inextricably li.nked with repre-sentation of the Lord to the world. This is quite different from the situation of the prophet, where the focus is not on the person sent but on the message sent. Belief in the power of the word itself is clearly seen in a passage from Second Isaiah(55:10-11): For just as from the heavens the rain and snow come down And do not return there " till they have watered the earth, making i( fertile and fruitful, Giving seed to those who sow and bread to those who eat, So shall my word be that comes forth from my mouth; It shall not return to me void, but shall do my will, achieving the end for which I sent it. Insisting on these distinctions does not suggest that an apos-tle cannot also be prophetic Or that a prophet may not at times May-June 1993 343 Bergant ¯ Would That All Were Prophets entertain an apocalyptic attitude. Rather, it is to point out that these perspectives are in fact different from each other. "Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy" (J1 3:1) The LCWR/CMSM statement speaks of conversion, critique, and change, language that implies that religious life is indeed at a crossroads. It further claims that "religious in the year 2010 will serve a prophetic role in church and society." Such a claim pre-sumes that an entire body of people will enjoy a kind of insight When the community finds itself at a crossroads, prophetic witness becomes more crucial and even more complex, because there is ambiguity among the members regarding it. that is normally not communal. This prompts us to ask: How can we ascribe prophetic witness to the whole group without compromising the power of unique prophetic insight? In answering this question, we must remember that religious commu-nities are made up of the daughters and sons of foundresses and founders, who critiqued the dominant social and reli-gious cultures of their times and found them wanting and who, as a result, brought new vision and devised new ways of living in the world and in the church. They frequently called for repentance and reform; they always called for decision. Their visions, their insights, became the charisms of their religious families. Because these charisms were always in some way prophetic, fidelity to tMm will always result in a form of prophetic witness. This will be true even when a community does not face a time of crisis, for devoted living out of the founding charism is the fundamental prophetic ideal to which members always commit themselves. Rededication to the ideals of the com-munity does not always call for prophetic insight, but it always demands faithful commitment. However, when the community finds itself at a crossroads, prophetic witness becomes more crucial and even more complex, because there is ambiguity among the members regarding it. It may be that social changes call for a new and contemporary inter-pretation of the founding charism (for example, the early Christian controversy regarding the admission of the Gentiles and the 344 Review for Religqous observance of the Law [Acts 16]). When this is the case, a com-munity faces a serious challenge. It must choose which guidelines to follow in critiquing the social change itself, and it must decide how the integrity of the charism can be guaranteed even as it is reinterpreted. The community as a group must discern how to address this challenge faithfully, and communities do not always achieve consensus on such matters without difficulty. On the other hand, the group may have lost its prophetic edge and may be itself in need of prophetic critique. Such a cri-tique should come from within the community, from an insider who knows the charism intimately and can bring its challenge to bear upon prevailing community understandings that are inade-quate. But who can perceive and articulate the hopes and ideals of the community in such a way as to speak both to it and for it? The community must discern this matter as well. (An example of such a dilemma is the ill-fated clash between the prophets Jeremiah and Hananiah [Jer 28].) Since the charism is to be found within the group and not merely in the intuitions of one individ-ual, the community must be able to recognize itself in the insights of its perceptive member or members. The task of a community at a crossroads is twofold: (1) a crit-ical examination of "the signs of the times" in order to discern the real religious needs of the moment and (2) a thorough anal-ysis of its established religious institutions and practices in order to discover their underlying traditional religious value. Only after such examination and analysis can the community hope to bring to bear on contemporary needs the traditional religious values that flow from its charism. It is not enough to approach this task with faith and commitment. Serious examination, rigorous eval-uation, and faithful yet imaginative reinterpretation are required, all of which call for extensive information, keen insight, and cre-ative visioning on the part of each member and the community as a whole. Not every member will be proficient at each step in this analysis and reinterpretation, but if each member has been formed in the founding charism, everyone will be able to enter into the process in a thoroughly beneficial manner. It is in this way that prophetic witness can be ascribed to the whole group without compromising the power of unique prophetic insight. "Behold, I make all things new" (Rv 21:5) Time and again we have heard it said that we are in the midst of a paradigm shift. May-June 1993 345 Bergant ¯ WouM That All Were Prophets Actually, because of the complexity of today's world, we are under-going the radical shift of m~iny paradigms. The ways in which we understood the world, society, human endeavor, and theology seem no longer adequate to meet and interpret the realities now facing us. The presuppositions of the modern world with its tech-ntlogic~ il achievements and its hierarchical manner 6f manage-ment are being seriously challenged. We ai'e standing on the threshold of the postmodern world, and yet we remain caught in many of the paradigms of the past. For example, we know that the patterns of growth and pros-perity which have provided many of us in the Western world with the benefits of material comfort can no longer be sustained at the same rate or for the same number of people as has been the case till now. One reason for this is that we are depleting our available material resources and are doing little or nothing to replenish them. There are limits to the environment's ability to sustain the kind of lifestyle to which the Western world has grown accus-tomed. Nature may be able to endure a certain amount of imbal-ance, but if its tolerance is exceeded it can no longer be expected to sustain our life. Despite our realization of this fact, we are still caught in a lifestyle that requires an inordinate amount of fuel for heating and for travel, of water for cooling, of paper for com-munication, and so forth. Another reason that we can no longer sustain our present pat-terns of gro.wth and prosperity is that we no~ realize that our privileged lifestyle has often been secured at the expense of the human rights of others. Frequently we are able to procure what we need or what we want at bargain prices only because workers that provide us with these products are paid wages far below what they need in order to live with dignity and hope. We already fight wars over land and the control of natural resources and at the expense of vulnerable people and nations. Still, we continue to live relatively comfortable lives while professing to be in solidar-ity with the disadvantaged. On another issue, we reject any androcentric or misogynist anthropological view that regards women as derivative. We refuse to consider ourselves natural followers rather than leaders, sup-porters rather than directors, dependents rather than providers. We have become sensitized to language and imagery that explic-itly insults, subtly minimizes, or completely disregards women. And yet at times we ourselves employ the very strategies of priv- 346 Review for Religious ilege and control, both among ourselves and with others that we believe relegated us to positions of subservience in the first place. In yet another area we are engaged in ministerial situations that call for a high degree of resilience and include extensive trav-eling. Ours is a kind of itinerant existence which demands that rootedness, a feature that is essential for any sound life, be found somewhere else than in a particular place. Despite this we are often efltangled in concepts of community that are more fitted to a sedentary lifestyle than a peripatetic one. . Finally, we have committed ourselves to the transformation of the world, a world that seems bent on greed and power and on violence in order to preserve privilege. We have taken on min-istries of advocacy; direct social service; ecological, peace, and justice activism; and the influencing of policy on all .levels of gov-ernment, and we carry out these ministries in dangerous circum-stances. We have committed ourselves to uncommon selflessness. All the same, we are often caught in the contemporary preoccu-pation with our own health, both physical and spiritual; the sur-vival of our group and our institutions, even at the price of compromised ideals; and the glorification of personal and pro-fessional accomplishments. None of the above is done hard-heartedly. Rather, things have changed either so rapidly or so imperceptibly that we have had neither the time nor the insight carefully to analyze either the old models that governed us or the new ones that are emerging. Nonetheless, we have already taken upon ourselves the task of fashioning an alternative way of living in the world, and if we are to be faithful to this commitment, we will have to examine seri-ously not only what we do but also how we do it. We will have to learn anew that the reign of God is more a process than~a prod-uct. It is brought to birth not so much in what we do as in the way we do it. Although it is in the world, it is not of the world, and this includes the world's systems and strategies. In order to bring this reign to birth, we must first acknowl-edge that this same world has played an active role in forming us into the people we have become. We possess many of its features (for example, our political and economic values), and we carry the effects of its history (for example, our inherited preferences and prejudices). Although it plays sugh a formative role in our lives, we are not always aware of the ways in which our particu-lar worldview promotes our own well-being and enhances our May-.l~une 1993 347 Bergant ¯ IVould That All 14Zere Prophets lives. It is very easy to take for granted the attitudes and mores into which we have been socialized and to presume that they and only they offer a way of dignified human living. Yet how will we be able to transform the world if we are not even aware of how We must listen to the marginal, not because their way of living and coping is better than ours, but because they help us to see what is wrong with a system that makes people marginal in the first place. much we are embedded in that world and its values, and how much that world and its values are embedded in us? Usually it is only when people feel restricted or in some way diminished (in other words, when they are not members of the dominant or influential group of the culture) that they question the justice of the restriction and then of the underlying rea-sons for it or for the continuation of it. This explains why those who suffer oppression or who are relegated to marginality or invis-ibility within a group are sometimes better critics of that group than are those who are privileged and satisfied. We must listen to the marginal, not because their way of liv-ing and coping is better than ours, but because they help us to see what is wrong with a system that makes people marginal in the first place. But even this may not be enough. We may need someone's prophetic insight to uncover for us our own complicity with such systems and with the world that we hope to transform. We may need to listen to the voices in the world and in the church that offer us insights that, left to our own devices, we may not be able to gain; voices that call for authentic collaboration rather than subtle control, for willing cooperation rather than self-interested competition, for genuine interdependence rather than aloof independence or inappropriate dependence, for gra-cious mutuality rather than uncompromising domination, for uni-versal justice rather than selective exploitation, for unaffected respect rather than veiled disdain, for tender compassion rather than detached indifference, for the reign of God rather than busi-ness as usual. This paper ends where it began, with the challenge of the LCWR/CMSM statement: "Being converted by the example of Jesus and the values of the gospel, religious in the year 2010 will 348 Review for Religious serve a prophetic role in church and society." The task before us appears monumental, but then we are taking on the whole world. Like our predecessors in their own periods of crisis, in many ways we are in uncharted waters, but they did not drown--so why should we expect to? We are being called upon to address urgent human needs that are not only social but also religious in nature. As we work to transform the world, we are bringing to birth the reign of God. Added to this challenge is the task of developing a contemporary theological understanding of who we are and what we are doing. We may still claim meaningful religious traditions that informed us in the past, but our conventional expression of these traditions is not always helpful in the postmodern world that we face. Despite all of this, we believe that we have been called by God and that we are the heirs of a prophetic charism. We are convinced that we must be steadfast in what we do, without being unyielding. We must be bold as we face the unknown, with-out being foolhardy. We must be confident of the pervasive power of God's love, without being presumptuous. We must be creative as we face the future, without being forgetful of the past. In all of this we must be genuinely humble, for after all it is God who promises: "Behold, I make all things new" (Rv 21:5). Letterto a Friend on Her Return from Retreat in a Hermitage Don't be afraid; you bring the forest and the trees back with you. Deer roam the corners of your room; shadows hang upon the curtdins, crouch playfully upon the pane. Healing is not out there; it's within if it's at all. Deep nights and double days, the soft wool throw of quiet. Peace: you carry it with you like persistent pink impatiens in your heart. Ann Maureen Gallagher IHM May-June 1993 349 PAUL J. PHILIBERT Committed Christian Secularity tkniS difficult to profess a Christian lifestyle that is very little own and largely misunderstood, but my hope is that secu-lar institutes will become better known and much more appreci-ated. In this article I argue that the consecrated life of the professed secular Christian is the most vivid example of the ide-als of Christian living in the secular world that were put forward at Vatican Council II. In the light of this council's theology, one would expect church leaders to illustrate the radical meaning of baptism by speaking at every opportunity of'the ideals and prac-tice of members of secular institutes. Yet four years ago, when Pope John Paul II spelled out in his apostolic exhortation Christifideles Laici the "vocation" and "mission" of the lay faithful in the church and in the world, he made only the briefest refer-ence to secular institutes: In the field of a "commonly shared" lay vocation, "spe-cial" lay vocations flourish. In this area we can also recall the spiritual experience of the flourishing of diverse forms of secular institutes that have developed recently in the church. These offer the lay faithful, and even priests, the possibility of professing the evangelical coun-sels of poverty, chastity, and obedience through vows or promises, while fully maintaining one's lay or clerical state.~ Many diocesan bishops in the United States appear to be unaware of the meaning of secular institutes or unconcerned about their development. What, we may ask, does this lacuna in the ordinary teaching of the church actually mean? Paul J. Philibert oP is prior provincial of the Southern Dominican Province. His address is 3407 Napoleon Avenue; New Orleans, Louisiana 70125. 350 Revie'w for Religious One can start the assessment by noting that the present papal administration seems to be distancing itself from some of the reformist orientations of the council. For so long have we been dividing recent church history into two periods called "concil-iar" and "postconciliar" that we have failed to recognize a more complex reality which needs to be named. Like many others, I would divide these years into three periods: 1963-1965, the "con-ciliar" years, during which the council was in session; 1965 until the death of Pope Paul VI in 1978, the "postconciliar" years, dur-ing which the Vatican and most Catholic bishops endeavored to implement the liturgical and pastoral reforms of the council; and, since 1978, a period of "ecclesiastical reassessment" during the pontificate of John Paul II. One of the council fathers, who is now a retired archbishop, has said, "The council rejected triumphalism (the church has all the answers), clericalism (the church is a pyramid), and legalism (church teachings presented as laws). The church is in the mod-ern world as are its ministers. There is no retreating to being people of another world.''2 Yet, to a greater or lesser degree, all three of these orientations--triumphalism, clericalism, and legal-ism-- are creeping back into the attitudes and utterances of some church leaders. Some describe the present tendency of the Vatican as "restoration," that is, an orientation to restore things to the way they were before Vatican II. That may be too extreme a judgment, even though one can understand why some think that way. Different observers account for this retrenchment from the "postconciliar" period in different ways. Some have observed that a significant motivation for this papal administration has been to avoid schism with the Lefebvrites and other ultraconservative Catholics; they say that the Vatican has been bending .over back-wards to avoid alienating those who pretend that Vatican II never happened. Others suggest that some high officials in the Vatican believe that much that came out of the council was mistaken in its orientation and must be replaced with the preconciliar solutions. Probably more accurate is the view that many of the documents of Vatican II are compromise statements that contain the seeds of tension that are now sprouting and bearing the fruit of division and conflict over some basic notions of church. Tlie major orientations of this pontificate that seem to touch on secular institutes are centralization and institutional nostal- May-June 1993 351 Philibert ¯ Committed Christian Secularity The major orientations of this pontificate that seem to touch on secular institutes are centralization and institutional nostalgia. gia. Regarding centralization, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that some heads of Vatican congregations think that incultura-tion and diversity of practice have gotten out of hand. Cardinal Ratzinger is reported as saying that national organizations of bish-ops have gone too far in establishing their independence of Vatican control. Some American bishops, and bishops in Holland and Germany too, have been called on the carpet and chided for statements of theirs. These are examples of what I mean by central-ization. This pontificate does not want anything to be happening in the local churches without consultation with the top. As regards institutional nostalgia, the example of religious comes to mind. The pope personally or through personal del-egates working above the level of the Roman congregations has given prefer-ential treatment to certain new, conser-vative religious institutes like the Society of St. Peter and the Legionaries of Christ as well as to some small traditionalist groups that stayed with the Roman Catholic Church at the time of the excommunication of Archbishop Lefebvre. During the summer of 1992, the Holy See granted approval to a new Council of Major Superiors of Women Religious in the United States at the request of a small number of traditionalist sisters here. (They are fewer than ten percent of the religious women in this country.) This fairly momentous decision was taken by the pope at the behest of an American cardinal arch-bishop without any consultation of the three existing church lead-ership conferences: the National Conference of Catholic Bishops, the Leadership Conference of Women Religious, and the Conference of Major Superiors of Men. Among other interpretations, actions like these make one wonder if this pontificate is calling into question the principles and outcomes of the past thirty years of efforts at institutional renewal undertaken by the vast majority of religious in this country and in western Europe. What is being held up as a positive counterex-ample is the attitude and practice of a small number of religious who follow a regular'daily order and wear a distinctive habit. 352 Review for Religious Separation rather than transformation marks the spirit that is approved. I need to admit, of course, that mistakes and excesses did occur in the thirty years of postconciliar efforts at renewal. That is too obvious to miss. But it needs to be pointed out, I believe, that the Vatican seems now to single out for approval a simple return to the ways of the preconciliar period. This is what I mean by institutional nostalgia. Applying these observations to secular institutes, I note that their form of consecration does not fit well either with central-ization or with institutional nostalgia. They are trying new ways of implementing the church's ancient commitment to consecrated Christian life. Even though their commitment and spirituality are admirably in accord with the lay vocation and mission as described in Pope John Paul's apostolic exhortation, their juridi-cal and cultural independence place them somewhat outside the central preoccupations of this pontificate. In this context I now ask two essential questions: What is the vocation of a consecrated secular Christian? And how should it evolve? Institutes Described in the Code" of 1983 The 1983 Code of Canon Law describes secular institutes carefully. Their members share a radical commitment to Christian witness and apostolic endeavor. The charism given to secular institutes and recognized by the church is to united Christian commitment and secular presence in the world. Members remain lay or diocesan priests, even though they receive a canonical sta-tus in view of their profession of a consecrated life. The 1983 Code has abandoned the term "states of perfec-tion" and, above all, the language of Provida Mater (1947), which allowed one to think that there was a sort of hierarchy of institutes of perfection which placed members of secular institutes within a third rank. Canon 710 says: "A secular institute is an institute of consecrated life in which the Christian faithful living in the world strive for the perfection of charity and work for the sanctifica-tion of the world especially from within." The use of the cate-gory "consecrated life" allows the possibility of avoiding reference to the category "religious." In the eyes of the present Code, "reli-gious" and "seculars" are two categories of consecrated life of equal dignity. May-June 1993 353 Philibert ¯ Committed Christian Secularity Canon 713, §2, indicates that lay members, in the world and operating in a secular manner, participate in the church's evan-gelizing task in various ways: (a) by means of the witness of their Christian life, (b) by their fidelity to their profession of the evan-gelical counsels, (c) by their "efforts to order temporal things to God," and (d) by shaping the things of the world so that they are enlivened by the spirit of the gospel. "Also, they cooperate in serving the ecclesial community, according to their particular sec-ular way of life" (c. 713). Members of secular institutes are called to strive for the per-fection of charity. The ultimate purpose of secular institutes is apostolic. Their apostolate is the expression and the exercise 6f their consecration. As to lifestyle, the Code of 1983 is insistent upon the secular dimension of their living. Neither common life nor religious garb is to be imposed upon members) Consecration vs. Commitment Let us linger for a moment on the term "consecration"; it is the source of a great potential misunderstanding. Almost thirty years ago, Father M. D. Chenu (the gre, at French Dominican theologian who died in 1991) pointed out that the term "consecration" was loaded with ambiguity when employed in a context of relation or service to the world. The word, from the Latin for "to make sacred," supposes an opposition between the sacred and the profane. Is it, asked Chenu, a useful term.at precisely the moment when the Roman Catholic Church is articulating its openness to the world and its embrace of the ordinary conditions of human expe-rience (see Gaudium et Spes)? Historically the word "profane" meant "not pertaining to that which is sacred or holy," from the Latin for "outside the temple." So, Chenu argued, we would do better in this age to leave aside the term consecration, which suggests an oppo-sition to the secular (the nonsacred) and to express the intensifi-cation of a Christian life with a word like commitment.4 Chenu was at the time in search of the authentic meaning of religious life. His remark is even more pertinent to the vocation of members of secular institutes. Chief among their stated goals is to witness to the fullness of a lay vocation or (in the case of ordained members) of baptismal maturity in a world of secularity. The key issue, it seems, is how to be an active participant in sec-ular life and at the same time to be an exemplary Christian. 354 Review for Religious Secular and Christian What is authentic secular living, and what is authentic Christian witness? One of the meanings of the word secular (from the Latin saeculum, meaning "age") is "pertaining to the spirit of the age or the character of the times." This may refer to things like clothing styles and popular music, but is there a deeper mean-ing too? What is the most profound challenge of our age? I think that the answer lies somewhere within the interplay of political and religious phenomena. We are coming out from what was sometimes called "the age of alienation" or "the age of anxiety." Not that all alienation and anxiety are over and done with, but the world seems to be mov-ing out from under the cloud that threatened us for 45 years with nuclear destruction. It is amazing, now that the Cold War is ended, that there is not more acknowledgment and analysis of the waste of wealth on arms of cosmic destructive power. If the trillions of dollars spent on armaments in the past five decades had been available for peaceful solutions to world problems, we could have eliminated illiteracy and starvation and attacked poverty and disease. We were victims of irrational fear for fifty years; now that period is passing. The demise of the major communist governments is another symbol of a changing age. The irony is that Karl Marx devised the philosophy of communism as a response to "alienation"--people not being able to participate meaningfully in the economic and political processes that governed their lives. The tragedy is that the government of the Soviet Union under Lenin and Stalin became instead a totalitarian dictatorship that was even more alienating than the corrupt government to which it was reacting. Marx's issue, though--participation versus alienation--is still the issue. Here in the United States, at the end of an overlong pres-idential electoral campaign, it is not at all clear that people are pre-pared to participate vigorously in politics, We have been alienated by the media and by the deviousness of the c~ndidates themselves from truly raising or genuinely addressing the issues that are the most significant for our nation as a whole. In the religious world, participation versus alienation is like-wise a key issue. One analysis of the Second Vatican Council and its aftermath is that the dominant social reality of this age has been to promote full participation in church life--worship and administration included--to all those who, by their baptism, are May-ffune 1993 355 Philibert ¯ Committed Christian Secularity entitled to dynamic interaction within the "body of Christ." Forty years ago we would never have conceived of a woman eucharistic minister, a lay pastoral administrator, or a nonclerical chancellor of a diocese. Now we have all these things and have learned to take them for granted. Despite the fact that more progress has been made in securing entitlements to church office for lay people in general and women in particular in the past fifty years than in the previous fifteen hun-dred years, there is nonetheless strong agitation for even more par-ticipation, includinglthe ordination of Catholic women to priestly service. It can be argued that to be authentically "secular" today is to take a stand for the promotion of rightful participation of all persons in the structures, processes, and decisions that shape their lives and shape the communities in which they live. Authentic Secularity Authentic secularity includes three Cs: conversation, com-passion, and conversion. Social psychologists have argued that people enter into a new form of relation when they treat others not as strangers or inferiors, but equals. This is what I mean by "conversation." A conversation is marked by give-and-take, by listening as well as speaking, receiving as well as giving. This atti-tude, when adopted intentionally, empowers others. It opens us to the perspective of another despite distances of role and situation. It favors the understanding and fellow feeling that we generally call "compassion." Living this relation of conversation and com-passion promotes experiences of "conversion." Here conversion means for me a reorientation that makes us eager to promote the growth and freedom of others. By this conversion, one becomes an agent of liberation and a facilitator of the moral and emotional maturity of our neighbors in this world. My effort to spell out the agenda of authentic secularity in our age of transition has remained rather general and abstract, but I hope that these ideas may stimulate recognition of these patterns or possibilities in yourself. I hope you will notice that many people are still marginalized from government and the econ-omy, education and the church, and that their true well-being can be promoted through their fuller participation in these things. The promotion of such participation is a clear responsibility of those who have secular integrity .at heart. 356 Review for Religious Authentic Christian Witness Beyond secular integrity, how does one integrate authentic Christian witness with it? How is one authentically Christian today? First, I would observe that the key issue here is more akin to pol-itics than to piety. I use "politics" in Plato's classical sense, mean-ing the ethos and the discourse of a people. Of all the dynamic changes that have touched the lives of American Catholics as a result of Vatican II, none has been as important or as far-reaching as the transformation of our sense of church. We no longer see Sunday worship as sacred theater. We see that we are each church, but not as isolated consciousnesses, isolated pieties, or isolated agendas. We are church as part of an organic cooperation and growing solidarity in the gospel and in the Holy Spirit. The council's mos~t dramatic theological paradigm shift, according to most theologians, was the fresh view of the church as the people of God. This view was the fruit of decades of the-ological work, especially biblical research and exegesis, liturgical studies, and the reinstitution of adult catechesis in northern Europe in the period between the two world wars. All three of these streams of research found it important to stress the theo-logical continuity between the Old Testament and the New. The opinion that the Old Testament's God was thunderously severe and arbitrary while the New Testament's God is forgiving and gentle was seen for the simplistic misinformation that it was. Better biblical texts and better exegesis, based not upon early Latin translations, but rather upon ancient Hebrew manuscripts, allowed several generations of biblical scholars and theologians to appreciate the theology of the Old Testament for what it was, a testament of mercy and salvation. The key concept of both tes-taments, which unified the revelation of the ages, was that of a people called and saved by God from alienation and absurdity. From the call of Abraham through the story of the sons of Jacob, the Egyptian slavery and the exodus, the kingships and the exile, and the times of the prophets and the remnant, one message dom-inated salvation history. God called and chose a people to become his very own so that they could bear witness in their very existence to his transcendent reality and mercy. The theology of Vatican II places this truth above all others, forcing other themes of theology and other pastoral insights to adjust to it. God calls a people to be the visible expression of God's way with the real. The descendents of Jacob, Israel, heard May-.l~une 1993 357 Pbilibert ¯ Committed Christian Secularity In Jesl, ls ~ God was again calling a people to be his own--. this time a people so closely identified with Jesus the Lord as to be calledhis "Body." (despite disbelief and temptation) and were haunted by God's call until they became the Judaism of history. Jesus came to call them into an intimate relation of love, forgiveness, and transformation by revealing the mystery of the triune God. But many of them rejected the Messiah Jesus, and the story of God's people reached a new moment in the followers of Jesus. These followers carried the "good news" to the nations, while Israel "hardened its heart" once again. But the fundamental truth did not change: in Jesus, God was again calling a people to be his own--this time a,~ people so closely identified with Jesus the Lord as to be called his "Body." It may be that in this theological insight lies the greatest challenge of all for members of secular institutes. For reasons largely associated with the ori-gins of secular institutes in hostile, anti-clerical societies, the institutes adopted the principle of discretion or reserve. One characteristic of this is that the members are not to lead a lifestyle pub-licly distinct from that of their neigh-bors. Part of their "secularity" is their immersion in the ordinary. A public religious profession or an unusual lifestyle would deny institute members access to the are-nas of.activity and witness in which they hope to use their apos-tolic energies: the place of work, casual neighborhood conversations, and the deliberations of university faculties, gov-ernment agencies, and community assemblies. This kind of anonymity--not publicizing their secular- institute commitment-- need not keep members from active involvement in a local parish's liturgical and apostolic life, but institutes differ in encouraging their members to lend their energies to the shared life and apos-tolic projects of their parish community. An authentic Christian life, however, is, as I said above, an ecclesial life. The institute members must always reflect the call of God to all Christians to be part of the people, of God and to give solid witness to God's presence and mercy in the midst of a hurting world. Therefore, they need to guard against such things as escapism, a piety .that is self-absorbed rather than apostolic, 358 Revie~ for Religious and a manner of liturgical participation that avoids involvement with the worshiping community. The ministry of reconciliation and atonement of the Lord Jesus can be seen as a work of solidarity with those who had become alienated from the forgiving and empowering word of his Father. As Vatican II's Constitution on Divine Revelation puts it, "Jesus perfected revelation by fulfilling it through his whole work of making himself present and manifesting himself: through his words and deeds, his signs and wonders, but especially through his death and glorious resurrection from the dead and final send-ing of the Spirit of truth." The central challenge to our moment of time from the gospel is that of visibly joining the dynamics of faith and of social trans-formation. I have been trying to evoke a general sense of the issues that are involved in this joining. But now it is time to turn to the admirable text of Pope John Paul II that followed upon the synod of bishops of 1987 and in which he summarizes the synod's theological insights. Christifideles Laici At the heart of the pope's message in Christifideles Laici is the assertion that lay Christians can bring to the frontiers of society a presence of the church that is unique. As the council's Dogmatic Constitution on the Church Says, "The laity are called in a spe-cial way to make the church present and operative in those places and dircumstances where only through them can she become the salt of the earth" (§33).5 It is the secular insertion of the laity that is the treasured aspect of their witness, in the pope's analysis. He says, "In particular, the lay faithful are called to restore to creation all its original value. In ordering creation to the authentic well-being of humanity in an activity governed by the life of grace, they share in the exercise of the power with which the risen Christ draws all things to himself and subjects them along with himself to the Father, so that God might be everything to everyone" (§14). The pope interprets the secular character of the lay Christian as a theological dimension of the experience of being Christian. It involves living in the world and transforming it through the exer-cise of "every one of the secular professions and occupations." It involves their relationships with family, friends, professionals, members of society, and authorities of the civil order. May-June 199.~ 359 Philibert ¯ Committed Christian Secularity The pope's theological affirmation appears to be that living and working in the context of ordinary reality from motives of faith in God and love for our human fellows is in itself an exercise of grace with the power to influence and ennoble human exchanges. The pope makes an unusually strong statement in saying: The images of salt, light, and leaven taken from the gospel, although indiscriminately applicable to all Jesus' disciples, are specifically applied to the lay faithful. They are partic-ularly meaningful images because they speak not only of the deep involvement and the full participation of the lay faithful in the affairs of the earth, the world, and the human community, but also and above all they tell of the radical newness and unique character of an involvement and par-ticipation which has as its purpose the spreading of the gospel that brings salvation (§ 15). The pope goes on to emphasize that a member of the lay faithful cannot remain in isolation from the community, but must live in an interaction with others that builds up the church. With reference to the church's liturgy, the pope says, "The various min-istries, offices, and roles that the lay faithful can legitimately ful-fill in the liturgy, in the transmission of the faith, and in the pastoral structure of the church ought to be exercised in confor-mity to their specific lay vocation, which is different from that of the sacred ministry" (§23). At the heart of lay people's ecclesial life is the parish, which is the symbol and the realization of the community of Christians. The pope reports that at the synod the bishops, in their discus-sions about renewing parishes, proposed two approaches: (1) "adaptation of parish structures according to the full flexibility granted by canon law, especially in promoting participation by the lay faithful in pastoral responsibilities"--so as to respond to situations where parishes have become geographically too large or where exiles and migrants demand specific pastoral responses (such as ministry in languages foreign to the place); and (2) devel-oping "small, basic or so-called 'living' communities where the faithful can communicate the word of God and express it in ser-vice and love to one another; these communities are true expres-sions of ecclesial co~nmunion and centers of evangelization in communion with their pastors" (§26). Thus the pope links the renewal of the parish to the expanded role of the lay faithful in the ani~nation and development of parish communities and the foundation of base communities alongside 360 Review for Religious and within the structure of existing parishes. Clearly, the need to find new forms of relationship that call to faith and celebrate faith within the neighborhood or the village is at one and the same time a diagnosis of the church's weakness today and a challenging mission for committed lay people. The pope, stating that the council insisted upon "the absolute necessity of an apostolate exercised by the individual [lay Christian]" (§28), then cites the following text of the council: The apostolate exercised by the individual--which flows abundantly from a truly Christian life (see Jn 4:14)--is the origin and condition of the whole lay apostolate, even in its organized expression, and admits no substitute. Regardless of circumstance, all lay persons (including those who have no opportunity or possibility for collaboration in associations) are called to this type of apostolate and obliged to engage in it. Such an apostolate is useful at all times and places, but in certain circumstances it is the only one avail-able and feasible.~ The pope's letter says much about the possibilities for holiness in committed lay life, but here I will include only some summary comments taken from its closing pages. A key preoccupation of Pope John Paul is to foster unity between everyday life and faith experience. He speaks of the need to evangelize the cultures within which we live. In part this means finding a place (in conversation and in social action) for the gospel values that the church preaches. Lives that integrate prayer, con-templation, and liturgical and sacramental life are a witness to the divine origin of our life and our world. The pope urges a readiness to take part in church programs and activities at local, national, and international levels. He indicates the crucial need for capable persons to commit themselves to catechesis and religious teaching. He urges people to organize gatherings and meetings focused upon a Christian analysis of family, civic, and social expe-rience. Finally, he mentions the value of a spirit of detachment and generosity and the power of the witness of poverty in a world " that is seduced by the power of materialism. John Paul then calls for a "reevangelization" of the Catholic and Christian world; we need, he says, to "remake the Christian fabric of the ecclesial community itself. This will be possible if the lay faithful will know how to overcome in themselves the separation of the gospel from life, to again take up in their daily activities in family, work, and society an integrated approach to life May-.~ne 1993 361 Philibert ¯ Committed Christian Secularity that is fully brought about by the inspiration and strength of the gospel" (§34). Earlier I noted how odd I find it that this lengthy document refers only briefly to secular institutes. I will not dwell further on that point. I observe, however, two things on the relation between secular institutes and the pope's apostolic exhortation on the laity: (1) I think this papal document is an extraordinarily well-crafted exposition of the meaning of the life of the vows for members of secular institutes. What they effectively commit them-selves to is an intense baptismal transformation as spelled out in the documents of Vatican II and summarized in the pope's letter. (2) The papal teaching here takes us a step further. The mem-bers of secular institfites must be committed to fostering the Christian life of their friends and neighbors. There is a mission-ary dimension to their vocation--towards their neighbor and towards the common culture within which they live and celebrate together. Although I have no firsthand experience of living the life of secular institutes, I have come as an interested outsider to the study of this dedicated form of life. My hope is not to answer ques-tions and close off discussion, but to raise questions and open new avenues of dialogue. I feel that secular institutes, especially in the United States, have a great opportunity. The church needs evan-gelical guidelines to help people grow in personal holiness and in effective witness to all the people around them. And so I hope that members of secular institutes will find ways to articulate their sense of their vocation even more clearly 9nd ways to make others aware of the very existence of secular institutes and the nature of their life. The gospel warns us about keeping treasures hidden. Notes ~ John Paul II, The Lay Members of Christ's Faithful People: Christifideles Laici (Boston: Daughters of St. Paul, 1989), §56. 2 David M. Bulger, "Men Who Love Their Priesthood and Their Church," Touchstone (National Federation of Priests' Councils newslet-ter) 8, no. 1 (fall 1992), p. 2. The prelate in question is the Most Rev. James Martin Hayes, retired archbishop of Halifax. 3 See the helpful summary in E Valdrini, J. Vernay, J. E Durand, and O. l~chapp~, Droit Canonique (Paris: Dalloz, 1989), pp. 188-121. 362 Review 3~r Religious 4 M. D. Chenu, "Consecratio Mundi," in The Christian in the World: Readings in Theology (New York: Kenedy, 1965), pp. 161-177. 5 The Documents of Vatican H, ed. and trans. W. M. Abbot and J. Gallagher (Ne~ York: Association Press, 1966): The Dogmatic Con-stimtion on the Church, §33. 6 Decree on the Apostolate of the Laity (Apostolicam Actuositatem), §16. Loving Verbs I've always loved nouns. Neatly framed words with clear definitions. Solid, stable words that name safe things, things you can count on and hold and keep. I know now that I've been afraid of verbs. Words that do and have and are. Words that whirl past you so fast you can't catch them, that alter and change things and give ulcers to nouns . Loving verbs is like saying yes to the rollercoaster, going on but still being scared. Loving verbs is saying yes to a kaleidoscope of action and being and having and feeling. Loving verbs is saying yes to Possibility. I think it's time for me to fall in love with verbs. Christen Shukwit OSF May-~une 1993 363 prayer SUZANNE ZUERCHER and direction Liturgy of the Hours: A Reflection "Ritual is the enactment of the myth." --Joseph Campbell The reality of monastic" life has always been formed and shaped around the ritual of the Liturgy of the Hours. In his Rule for Monasteries St. Benedict devoted numerous, if brief, chapters to the content and structure of this prayer, which he called the Work of God. The Divine Office requires that monastics pause again and again, offer praise together, and then move on to the next aspect of their lives. The complete circle of the monastic day gains its momentum ahd energy by stopping for the Work of God. Many monastics no longer spend eight periods daily praying the Liturgy of the Hours. Nevertheless, the pri-ority of this liturgical prayer remains, and they continue to gather daily. For contemporary monastics, as for early ones, this form of worship best manifests what their life together is about. Early monastics were lay persons even in all-male communities, and so opportunities for daily eucharistic celebrations did not exist in many monasteries. In such a context it is understandable that Benedict would place a high priority on the Work of God, which he made the distinctive and constant form of community praise and worship. It remains the heart of monastic prayer life even in this twentieth century. Suzanne Zuercher OSB, well known for her writings and work-shops, has held both administrative and formation roles in her community. Her address is: St. Scholastica Priory; 7430 North Ridge Boulevard; Chicago, Illinois 60645. 364 Re'view for Religious In times when we are so intent on exploring what religious community really means, one place to look for the answer is in this ritual of the Liturgy of the Hours. Joseph Campbell tells us that by examining a ritual we can find out about the myth the ritual attempts to express. For this reason I would like to spend time reflecting on elements of the Divine Office as it is celebrated in monastic communities in order to better understand what com-munity means in such settings. Today's monastic communi-ties say something about who they are as they gather daily for this ritual and worship. Perhaps even they need to pay close attention to what that statement is. Are we overlooking what community life is and needs to remain by failing to examine what may well be its clearest manifestation? Initially, the most basic communication a monastic community makes by gathering for the Work of God is that their life is founded on hope. David Steindl-Rast in his book Gratefulness, the Heart of Prayer distinguishes hope from optimism. A hopeful per-son lives in the present. An optimistic one looks ahead, pumping up positive feelings of how good things will be. A person of hope looks with confidence and trust into reality simply as it is right now. He or she--or they when one speaks of a community of hopeful people--finds life in ordinary, humble, actual experience. Rather than having expectations of good things to come, persons of hope have only one expectation: For those who live and wait in the present moment, life/Life will be a surprise. Monastics watch for such surprises. Ritual, Campbell also reminds us, is by its very nature boring. In its repetitiveness it fails as entertainment and distraction. Instead, ritual forces those who participate in it to search beneath the words and actions to discover the reality it gives shape to. This holds true whether worshipers are from Indonesia or Illinois. Boredom demands the deeper search for meaning beneath litur-gical action. Those who observe monastic communities repeating psalmody week after week and year after year may wonder what can possi- The most basic communication a monastic community makes by gathering for the Work of God is that their life is founded on hope. May-j%ne 1993 365 Zuercher ¯ Liturgy of the Hours bly draw them together for so repetitious a ritual. The sequential reading of Scripture, the yearly round of liturgical seasons, the consistent liturgical gestures are rhythmic, to be sure. To some, such repetition may appear empty and uncreative; but for monas-tics, whose worship is formed around this liturgy, such ordinari-ness underlines the reality of all human life and, consequently, of their life together. It calls to them, demands of them, that they look more deeply into what their lives are about. Eventually, if they are to continue to gather for the Hours, they are forced to cut through ritual to discover what that ritual signifies. It is dif-ficult, if not impossible, to endure the repetitive round of common prayer without such a breakthrough. Monastics who do not respond to this challenge to go deeper either go to sleep or despair. Sooner or later they absent them-selves psychically and physically from gatherings of the commu-nity in prayer or otherwise. Those, however, who hang, on in the face of meaninglessness can be led to the conversion at the heart of monastic commitment. Anguish and desperation can lead to rebirth and transformation in this as in other aspects of the spir-itual life. We do not willingly plumb our lives. We do so only when something demands that we move from the obvious to what that obvious is really expressing. We are forced to ask some questions: Why do we come together, stop our work, come home early, make sacrifices to be together for this time of prayer? What is the mean-ing behind what we do and say here? Do we believe all this, see it as important, even primary? Such questions are about the liturgy. But they are also, if we look closely at them, questions about community itself. Do we really see significance in using up our energies in praise of God together? Given life/Life as mystery, there is no final answer to any important human question. That is possibly why we keep asking what community is over and over again, generation after gener-ation, even though we have a Rule to guide us. Our human nature ultimately insists on experience. Experience is how we learn our answers. Liturgy of the Hours revolves around a lived experience of virtues we have all learned about which form the bedrock of the spiritual life. It makes these virtues concrete. First, we find faith in the gathering of the community, and we believe that life/Life will be found here. Then we recognize that the space in which we 366 Review for l~eligio~s gather is a sacred place where holiness will quicken us; for this we hope. And when it does bring the energy we call spirit/Spirit, we are truly one people, God's family, united in love with those who gather here and with the world of which we are a microcosm. Indeed, the place of our gathering for liturgy is sacred, but the spiritual spills over, if it is gen-uine, into all the other aspects of life: to the kitchen, the grounds, the classroom, the social agency, the hospital ward, the parish offices, the artist's studio. All are sacred places, all filled with objects and growing things and others who are sacred vessels. Benedict told his monastics to pause wherever they were in their work for God's Work, the Liturgy of the Hours, to remind themselves that everything is sacred. They were not to make life holy; they were to remind them-selves that it already is. Another element of monastic community is stability. Sometimes misunderstood as never going anywhere, stability does have something to do with being together in physical space. There is symbol in gathering. When community members come in one after another and take their places for the Work of God, their gathering together says what people want and need to hear expressed: You can count on my presence. Seeing the same per-sons gathered for prayer day after day makes real the word fidelity. The action of monastics looking around and noticing commu-nity members assembled with them is itself a form of prayer--a consoling and strengthening reminder that we wait as a people for our God (o come to save us. The monastics who gather share daily living, values, com-mitment; They are the same people who will be together in wor-ship and in all the other moments of existence as well. Praying together stands for and ritualizes all our being together. Talk and write as we will about the importance of being one in spirit, actu-ally hearing the voices and observing the silences and singing the psalmody with community members provides a needed testimony of this dedication to one another. The physical setting and its rituals offer another reflection on monastic community. As weeks pass, those who participate in the Liturgy of the Hours assume first one role in the ritual and then another. From presider to chanter, to reader, to the one who Praying together stands for and ritualizes all our being together. May-gTune 1993 367 Zuercber ¯ Liturgy of the Hours intones the various choirs, to merely being one of the group at prayer, the rhythm of life involves numerous tasks. The rhythm of monastic community is similar. One may be the prioress for a time, and then the procurator or the formation director, the gar-dener or the cook, the principal of the school or a teacher, the hospital administrator or a staff nurse. Monastics move easily and regularly throughout their lifetime in one another's company from the responsibilities of authority to those of obedience. They do so simply; it matters little in their life together what title they may have or how much prestige it carries. If today they have a larger role, yesterday they were one of the group and tomorrow they will be so again. Prolonged and consistent living among the same people pro-vides opportunity for a unique sort of learning. All the ministries monastics assume in the community and beyond it are for ser-vice, and this service changes. When a group lives in continuity with one another, moving from role to role is a normal, unim-pressive experience. Members give of their talents now in one way and now in another. The content of the Liturgy of the Hours is almost entirely scriptural. Meaning comes from the long and nourishing story of the Judeo-Christian tradition found in both Old and New Testaments. The history of redemption is larger than any indi-vidual person or any community, but Scripture provides words for the human experiences lived out by the whole group and each of its individual members. Monastics ponder the Scriptures until its words--and more importantly, the message they proclaim-- permeate their lives, are absorbed into the marrow of their bones. Body and mind and feelings soak up the liturgical seasons in their cyclic rhythm. In my own experience I once met a group of spiritual direc-tors who were to companion some monastic women on their first directed retreat. These directors expressed concern about how to introduce praying with Scripture. To their surprise, the monastics they directed not only understood the relevance of suggested pas-sages, they were able to add many others on the same theme. The directors were amazed at how steeped these women were in the concrete experiences which various Scriptures highlighted. Many of them had done litde formal scriptural study, but the constant association of the texts with their day-to-day lives had blended both together. 368 Review for Religious The simple reflection on the Gospel which the Liturgy of the Hours provides testifies to the natural, nonelaborate quality of the best of prayer, the best of living. There is design and order in the structul'e of God's Work, but medieval embellishments have been done away with in these times of ours. Monasticism is again being expressed very simply in its most basic and original form, and its prayer ritual has assumed some-thing of the natural breathing in and out of word and silence. As a result monastics experience the order and peace found when an appropriate amount of structure shapes life. It is important that what is and needs to be predictable not degenerate into rigid formalism. Monastic liturgy makes the statement that, as is true for all mature persons, mgnastics need to learn to bend with changing breezes without uprooting themselves as they do so. Perh.aps the most signifiEant statement the Liturgy of the Hours makes is that "it is good for us to be here." In the end, community is its own justification as is prayer. Religious life is valuable simply because it is. People live in community; it is the human thing to do. The kind of community people choose varies according to who they are. Monastics live their kind of commu-nity life primarily because it "fits" them. They find their whole-hess with other people who, like them, seek God, the Work of God and obedience as described in the Rule for Monasteries. When members of monastic communities live their under-standing of who they are in a whole and happy way, they cannot but witness to God's love and peace and joy. They do so simply by their lives. Of course, it is true that any whole person is called to care and to serve~ to be concerned and to work for the good of others. Monastics, therefore, find that they cannot contain what God has given them. It overflows to those around them and cre-ates yet another expression of stability in the environments in which they live. The vision of monastic community that underlies this article is idealized, to be sure. So, too, is the fantasy of perfectly carry-ing out the Liturgy of the Hours. Such perfection never happens. There are coughs and sneezes; people read too softly or too loudly, Perhaps the most significant statement the Liturgy of the Hours makes is that "it is good for us to be here." May-3~ne 1993 369 Zuercber ¯ Liturgy of the Hours too slowly or too fast. People forget to perform their assigned role in the ritual and the flow of things is upset. Differing inter-pretations about how the psalmody is to be read or sung by the group create subtle conflicts. All of these imperfections, and many more besides, limit the beauty and peace of liturgical celebration. Despite such imperfections, monastics continue to gather together for this less-than-perfect expression of a community life that is also less than perfect. They watch and wait, not knowing at what hour the Bridegroom will come in the form of some insight, some consolation, some discernment, some energy released from image or symbol, some decision to act. The Spirit blows when and where it wills. Those who wait find their quick-ening at the point of what we might Fall readiness--a readiness which differs for each person. It demands a culmination of a num-ber of life experiences to reach such a ripeness. Monastics gathered for Liturgy of the Hours never know when their individual hearts will be warmed, when the heart of the person beside them will be set on fire, when the community as a group will hear God's response to the Spirit's groaning within. But they wait, nonetheless, with a certain amount of patience and good humor for these freeing moments to occur in the world of time. This reality best describes for me what community is. It has not always been my description of our life together, but in recent years community has come to mean waiting with one another for each person's time. The ritual of Liturgy of the Hours celebrates and makes that description clear over and over, day after day. It, indeed, enacts the reality we struggle to define, the myth of reli-gious community. 370 Review for Religious KENNETH C. RUSSELL Get Serious! The Monastic Condemnation of Laughter /~,n, chapter six of his famous rule, St. Benedict bluntly forbids talk leading to laughter,''1 Later he notes that a monk has reached .the tenth step of humility when "he is not given to ready laughter:, for it is written: 'Only a fool raises his voice in laughter'" (Si 21:23).2 This condemnation of mirth is not, we must note, some oddity that can be explained away on the basis of Benedict's personal history or the troubled period in which he lived. His outright condemnation of the joviality we applaud was echoed in other monastic rules and in the critical comments of church fathers such as St. Ephrem and St. John Chrysostom.3 This harsh attitude toward laughter seems strange to us and even downright unhealthy. The early spiritual masters frowned on laughter; we, on the contrary, are suspicious of seriousness. ' In today's world all truth is spoken with a smile, as Horace rec-ommended, and Woody Allen, despite his recent troubles, is the only Hamlet we are willing to tolerate. Why Laughter Was Suspect But what prompted the first monks to condemn laughter? The scholars who have explored the early monastic rules and the sayings of the desert fathers offer various explanations. For one thing, laughter disrupts monastic order. It shatters the silence that represents the readiness of a disciple to listen.4 A monk who Kenneth C. Russell is a professor of the theology faculty at Saint Paul University. His address is Saint Paul University; 223 Main Street; Ottawa K1S 1C4; Canada. May-June 1993 371 Russell ¯ Get Serious.t is busy laughing is not ready to hear whatever may be spoken to him by the Holy Spirit or the abbot. In the monastic context it is the abbot's duty to speak and the monk's to listen,s The monas-tic rules are particularly hard on the effort to provoke laughter. In terms of order, this all makes sense because a joker in the clois-ter is obviously the equivalent of the clown in the back row of a classroom competing with the teacher for the other students' attention. Monasticism's reasons for rejecting laughter went deeper than that, however. The early monks prohibited laughter because they associated it with an arrogant, self-satisfied disdain for God and neighbor. Did Jesus not in fact say, "Woe to you who laugh now; you shall weep in your grief" (Lk 6:25)? And where in the New Testament does it say that Jesus laughed? This may not seem an important point to us, but the early monks took the failure of the gospels to show Jesus laughing quite seriously. They were not the only ones. Not even popular piety, which was ready in every cen-tury to fill the gaps in the gospel narrative with legends and sto-ries, ever developed the image of a lighthearted, laughing Jesus.6 Why this suspicion of laughter in the first Christian cen-turies? There would seem to be cultural as well as religious rea-sons for this uneasiness. In the tight-knit societies of the ancient world, laughter was likely to be laughter at someone: the for-eigner, the deformed, the handicapped. It separated the person who had done something "funny" from the group and made him or her a legitimate object of scorn. Laughter mocked and excluded the outsider. This social reality is reflected in the view of the ancient Greeks who, though they recognized risibility as a dis-tinctive human quality, concluded nonetheless that laughter was unbecoming to a mature human being because of its characteris-tic cruelty.7 The world in which monasticism took shape was sev-eral centuries away from the classical era, but the same high regard for how one appeared to others and the same sensitivity to shame were operative. Laughter, therefore, could be seen as a destruc-tive and even satanic force,s We must not think, however, that the fathers and the early monks favored a kind of pious gloom. They did not. In fact, some of those who made the harshest remarks about laughter were well known for their geniality and cheerfulness. What they frowned on was a certain lighthearted devil-may-care joviality. But why? To get to the heart of the matter, I think we have to look beyond the 372 Review for Religious historical situation and the predictable considerations of monas-tic discipline to the very essence of laughter. This is the only way we can discover what the fathers were really condemning and determine whether what they said has any message for us today. What Is So Funny? It seems to me that humor springs from the tension between our spiritual aspirations and the physical limitations imposed on us by our bodies and our confinement in a physical world with laws of its own. Comedy, in other words, is built into our very being. Even when we avoid the ridicu-lous pretensions that blind the proud to the banana peel right in front of them, we are funny creatures. Our efforts to go up the down escalator, our inability to guarantee that the soup in our spoon will reach our mouth without mishap, and all the other follies of daily life constantly remind us of our basic humanity or, to put it differently, of our littleness and dependence. Our comic condition mocks our solemnity? Therefore, if we have a prudent measure of humility and a min-imum of wisdom, we cheerfully accept our role in the human comedy and laugh at ourselves. We also laugh at others, but usually because we identify with them and see ourselves in their pratfalls. That is why Charlie Chaplin holds our attention or why we laugh at the-shy scientist in The Gods Must Be Crazy who falls all over every bit of furniture in sight in the presence of the attractive young woman who has entered his life. "Isn't it the truth!" we say. Male or female, we know what it is like to be completely overwhelmed by the attractiveness and charm of another human being. We have all been there, and our laughter celebrates our humanity and the glory of its fragile being. Our laughter testifies that the world, for all its troubles, is a joy-ous place and humanity, for all its pain, a wondrous thing in the hands of a God who can be trusted. Faith and cheerfulness would seem to go together. Our laughter testifies that the world, for all its troubles, is a joyous place and humanity, for all its pain, a wondrous thing in the hands of a God who can be trusted. May-June 1993 373 Russell ¯ Get Serious! But does our laughter always stand in such a healthy rela-tionship to the basic seriousness of life? What about the cynicism and despair that echoes in much of our laughter? For, indeed, we use laughter, not only to relativize the tragic dimension of life, but also to trivialize it altogether. Laughter can be a way of saying, "Hey, when it comes to silliness and stupidity, we're all in the same boat!" or it can be a frightened, frenzied dance over the abyss of anxiety. Laughter can be a life-affirming chuckle or a panicky giggle. Laughter, therefore, is not necessarily a sign of faith, nor is it necessarily, to use .the title of Richard Cote's contribution to a theology of laughter, "Holy Mirth." 10 It may, indeed, signify a brave stance before the meaninglessness of life. It may be a deter-mined retreat from a truth too dismal to contemplate. It may, ultimately, be an avoidance of seriousness. The Nature of Laughter We have lost the ancient world's suspicion of laughter, but it remains true, nonetheless, that making someone the object of laughter can be a disguised act of aggression. The same chuckle that mocks the other may comfort the joker with the consolation that he or she is not "like that." Whether crude or subtly sugar-coated, this alienating humor is the basis of most racial jokes and stories. Is this cruel aspect of humor just a negative twist that can be explained away by human sinfulness, or is it, in fact, the very basis of laughter? Surprising as it may seem, most philosophers and psychologists who have studied laughter connect it with aggres~ sivity and defensiveness. You may hit your neighbor with a feather duster and protect yourself with a water pistol, but you do hit him and you do defend yourself. In the evolutionary and anthro-pological way of looking at humanity which these thinkers adopt, laughter is partly a protective device, like the cuteness of small ani-mals, and partly a barrier erected to protect the group from the unfit and different. Laughter offers an alternative to a direct assault in those circumstances where overt aggression would be ill-advised. "If you can't hit him, tickle him to death, or make him so uncomfortable he gives up and goes home." The experts seem to consider laughter akin to the excited, mocking behavior of the likes of Tarzan's Cheetah.11 374 Review for Religious Are the psychologists and phenomenologists right? They cer-tainly seem to be on target when they describe how laughter func-tions in society. We have all, at one time or another, used laughter to disarm someone who has assumed an aggressive stance in a conversation, or we have, conversely, "jokingly" taken a verbal punch at someone we dared not face off with seriously. But must we fol-low them when they explain laughter in purely evolutionary terms? Must we see it merely as an outgrowth of aggression and defensiveness? Is laughter--harmful or helpful, loving or hateful--merely an amoral by-product of our swing down out of the trees? Is it someth!ng that will van-ish once genetic engineering succeeds in bleaching aggression out of the human gene pool? The notion that laughter is rooted in the desire to figh.t and defend ultimately cloaks the most lighthearted laughter in very dark colors indeed. It is surely prefer-able, therefore, to view laughter as a God-given, inherent human characteristic and not merely as a stained leftover from some newly grounded ape with the jitters. It is a proper human attribute that can be used, like most things human, for good or ill. Why, then, was laughter so harshly condemned by the spiri-tual masters of early monasticism? It is true that they placed a high value on the gift of tears which enabled a monk to lament his sins .and, indeed, the human condition in its alienation from God, but they certainly did not favor going about under a dark cloud.~z Sadness, after all, is one of the spiritual disorders in the list of passions that John Cassian handed down to Western monasti-cism. 13 We have to keep in mind that cheerfulness is one thing, the deliberate effort to provoke laughter quite another. What Laughter Does It seems to me that, to hold the monastic condemnation of laughter in perspective, we have to keep in mind that cheerfulness is one thing, the deliberate effort to provoke laughter quite another. Cheerfulness is the mark of someone who knows the May-.]une 1993 375 R~ssell ¯ Get Serious! score, as it were. Confidence in the providence of God and faith in the resurrection of Christ make Christianity a joyful religion. Therefore, those who penetrate to the heart of things, the wise, are inclined to be cheerful. However, if they heed the warning of St. Benedict, they will not "love immoderate and boisterous laugh-ter." L4 Certainly they will "speak no foolish chatter" and will not say anything "just to provoke laughter." ~5 Yet surely there is much to be said for the effort to make peo-ple laugh. After all, jokes, wit, and "foolish chatter" function as social lubricants. They act as icebreakers and frequently provide an interlude of relaxation and entertainment in the tense envi-ronments in which many of us operate. This is certainly true, but nonetheless I am inclined to say that, even at the best of times, laughter is a movement toward the surface, toward the shallows. It is always escapist. It is always a distraction because it is always a movement away from the quiet center of one's being. The fact that clowns and clowning around distract us does not, of course, make the effort to provoke laughter an evil. Laughter has its proper, place and its uses. In the hustle and bus-tle of the large, impersonal metropolis in which most of us earn our living, it is a marvelous instrument of social interaction. It helps us survive in a world of strangers. We may not know one another's history or evefi what the person next to us does when he or she is not working in this office, serving on this committee, or attending this class; This may be regrettable on a theoretical level, but the truth is that things would not go smoothly if we had to establish a deep interpersonal relationship with the mul-titude of people we meet. We encounter them in a specific con-text where we wear, as it were, a name tag referring to only one aspect of our personal history. We are "employee," "tennis part-ner, . student," or whatever. We want to be known and to feel that we fit in, but at the same time we have no desire to expose our pri-vate life to people we meet in this one-dimensional setting. Shared laughter allows us to achieve these contradictory goals. It binds the group together by touching our common humanity and, by veer-ing away from a focus on the personal, it protects our privacy. Laughter keeps everything light and frothy as it should be among those who work in the same place or band together to pursue some common social or recreational goal. This'is not the perspective that preoccupied the early monks. Therefore, their derogatory assessment of laughter should not 376 Revie~w for Religious be read as an attack on the social use of humor nor interpreted as a put-down of stand-up comics or, for that matter, the office wiseguy. The words of the fathers were addressed to those who had withdrawn from the turmoil of life and the humor that helps it function pleasantly. They were addressed to those who had, as it were, gone apart to concentrate. An effort to deliberately pro-voke humor in a setting which, by reason of its very seriousness, was surely prone to the laughter rooted in the human condition was obviously inappropriate. Laughter was as out of place in this setting as it would be on a green during a pro tournament. It broke the pros' concentration. Worse than that, the inclination to stir others to laughter indicated that a monk had fallen victim to the restlessness and distraction that the desert tradition called acedia.16 Conclusion Does this ancient suspicion of laughter have anything to say to us today? I think it challenges all Christians to ask, "Why am I laughing?" Does our joviality spring from the confidence that gives rise to cheerfulness, or is it perhaps anxiety in cap and bells faking nonchalance in the entrance hail of death? Is it the prod-uct of faith in a loving God who demonstrated his seriousness by making humans glorious beings and his love by giving them two feet to fall over to help keep things in proportion? Or is it the by-product of unbelief that opts, despite it a

El género ensayístico, cultivado como vehículo exclusivo de expresión literaria, tiene larga tradición en nuestro continente. El Uruguay ha dado a las letras nada menos que un maestro del estilo como es sin duda alguna José Enrique Rodó, y más contemporáneamente al ensayista por excelencia —estudioso de Rodó y del propio ensayo en cuanto estructura de expresión literaria— que se llamó Carlos Real de Azúa.En el concierto de su promoción, la conocida como "del 45", Real fue el ensayista puro y casi único, sin olvidarnos del estimable caso de Washington Lockhart (con intereses y alcances más acotados). Bordeó la crítica literaria, pero trascendiéndola por la brillantez de estilo y la amplitud de miras conceptuales que nunca descuidaron lo sociológico, lo filosófico y lo ético. Se internó en la historiografía, sin dejarse atrapar por el canto de sirenas de tan estimulante especialidad. Recaló por fin en la ciencia política, pero la aridez de la misma no pudo aminorar la vitalidad tan personal de su estructura textual.La cabal condición "ensayística" de la escritura de Real de Azúa es de unánime consenso crítico. Ángel Rama sintetiza esto cuando afirma, a propósito de su muerte —ocurrida en l977, en medio del vergonzante silencio que impuso la Dictadura en torno a su nombre— que: ". fue uno de los ensayistas claves de América Latina, a pesar de que su nombre trascendió poco las fronteras de su país y de que sólo mediada su carrera extendió a otras áreas del continente la investigación histórica y estética que había concentrado sobre la región platense a la que perteneció raigalmente". Podríamos afirmar, sin desmesura, que encontró en este género un modo de expresión único, al punto que son ensayo en sentido estricto hasta sus larguísimas cartas en tantas polémicas en las cuales participara con apasionamiento, y hasta su hablar —matizado por un tartamudeo peculiar— tenía la respiración estilística, el regodeo, la morosa delectación propia de esa forma literaria.Real, dotado como bien se ha dicho para ser un cultor eficaz de otras direcciones de las letras, y sin duda probablemente en más de una especialidad, encontró sin embargo en el ensayo mucho más que un mero vehículo de expresión: la cabal tonalidad para la manifestación de su espíritu rico y complejo. Por eso pudo llegar a desarrollarlo con una libertad y rigor infrecuentes. De "arborescente" calificó a su estilo Rodríguez Monegal; en él la digresión y el "entre paréntesis" son elementos usuales y hasta a veces esenciales. Muchos han marcado la condición difícil y hasta laberíntica de su decir, en el cual las extensas notas al pie de página son una recurrencia. Preocupado por el matiz y por la variedad, Real es sin embargo minucioso en la precisión de conceptos o ideas. Esto establece una curiosa dialéctica: como una oscilación se podría decir, que nos lleva siempre en sus reflexiones de lo delineado con preocupación científica a la ambigüedad lúdica, o viceversa.Para quien no lo ha leído, vale advertir que esta condición proteica, múltiple, nada convencional de la escritura de Real, no la vuelve en absoluto críptica como algunos han considerado, sino que comprendiendo y aceptando su lógica peculiar —que prefiere rodear los asuntos que trata, y llegar hasta ellos por vías originales— comienza el libre disfrute de esa "alegría de ser inteligente" (que con acierto atribuyera a su persona la profesora Mercedes Ramírez). Detrás de las adensadas y multiplicadas referencias, hijas de una amplísima y universal cultura, se esconde en sus escritos algo no común en la ensayística: la posibilidad del estricto goce, aún para lectores no particularmente interesados en el tema; aunque sí requieren de una cierta formación en quien los lee, para saber apreciar las a veces demasiado sutiles alusiones, los deliberados sobreentendidos, la multiplicidad de analogías en diferentes planos.Los variados caminos "reales"El primero de sus libros data de l943 y se titula España de cerca y de lejos. Obra de juventud, significó más que nada un balance personal y cierre de cuentas crítico con su precoz fervor falangista en tiempos de la Guerra Civil Española, a propósito de un viaje a la España de Franco y a un riguroso cotejo de las idealidades con los crudos hechos. Lo más interesante en él es que —en perspectiva de tiempo— se trata de un texto en el cual ya estaban germinando aquellas ideas e inquietudes que luego iría desarrollando a lo largo de su vida, sobre todo en lo que tiene que ver con su peculiar perspectiva sobre el Nacionalismo, las relaciones entre lo político-social y lo ético, así como también la vinculación entre la praxis concreta y ciertos arquetipos ideales a los que será —soterrada pero decididamente— fiel, más allá de las contingencias y avatares de su propia personal y zigzagueante peripecia en el campo político (que pasó por cierta zona del coloradismo, se volcó luego a la experiencia ruralista de Benito Nardone, y derivó por fin en cierta izquierda nacionalista y en el Frente Amplio). En puridad, nunca dejó de ser un conservador atípico, transitando caminos no usuales y problemáticos, desmoronando con agudo sentido crítico lo aceptado, lo institucionalizado por rutina o pereza. Su óptica tangencial, marginal en el más fecundo de los sentidos, acompañará su quehacer en todos los campos que con inusual intensidad va a transitar.El minucioso análisis literarioSu reflexión en materia literaria y estética —paralela a la docencia, desde muy joven llevada a cabo en la primera disciplina y luego a nivel de formación de profesores en la segunda— se encuentra desperdigada en revistas y periódicos, en prólogos y hasta en noticias acerca de autores (en un destino que ha sido similar en toda la ensayística Latinoamericana, gran parte de la cual se pierde en la precariedad e inmediatez del soporte periodístico). Sobre todo va a ser a través del semanario Marcha, de tanta importancia intelectual en el Río de la Plata y también en todo el Continente, que logrará su expansión adecuada la pluma de Real de Azúa; aún a costa de "huelgas" de tipógrafos en relación concretamente a sus colaboraciones, las que solían crecer a más del doble en el proceso de corrección, con el agregado de profusas notas al pie, todo esto realizado a último momento y en las propias pruebas de galera. En Marcha quedó plasmada, casi siempre en dos o más páginas bien colmadas, su voraz y multiplicada inquietud literaria, asentada sobre todo en Iberoamérica y más que nada en la zona platense.Dentro de sus proteicos intereses en tal sentido, la presencia de Rodó fue una constante: desde un juvenil trabajo de l936 a su último prólogo a los Motivos de Proteo (1), ya avanzados los setenta. Entre tanto, hay otro prólogo a la misma obra —de l953— para una edición del Ministerio de Instrucción Pública; está el prólogo a El mirador de Próspero, de l965 y en la misma colección estatal; tenemos el trabajo titulado El problema de la valoración de Rodó (2) y otros como Rodó en sus papeles: a propósito de la exposición (3), Rodó y Zorrilla de San Martín (4), José Enrique Rodó (5), Rodó y su pensamiento (6). Real explicitó muchas veces que no le entusiasmaba especialmente el autor de Ariel, pero este volver durante años a su obra —más allá de casuales circunstancias de compromiso que no todo lo explican— tiene seguramente su razón profunda. Rodó fue nuestro ensayista más puro en el inmediato pasado, y Real de Azúa no sólo un brillante cultor del género sino y a la postre su teórico más lúcido por aquí. Rodó encarnaba a su vez lo sacralizado culturalmente —"hay que dinamitar, o por lo menos dinamizar los monolitos literarios", declaraba nuestro autor—, y a su vez y por eso mismo resultaba en el fondo un estereotipo que encerraba un enigma para la mayoría, y que requería como tarea cultural impostergable una relectura crítica, un rescate de sus vigencias y un desglose de todo aquello ya periclitado en sus páginas. A través de Rodó y de lo que éste simbolizaba, Real desmenuzó importantes rasgos de la misma estructura cultural oficial uruguaya posterior al Novecientos.Pero la inquietud en cuanto al análisis literario ha sido en él —dada su universal, múltiple avidez intelectual— amplísima. En lo nacional, en rápida mirada a sus textos principales, comprobamos que se ha interesado por Gustavo Gallinal, por Raúl Montero Bustamante (a propósito de su muerte), por Zorrilla, por el Mario Benedetti de los comienzos, y por el ensayo en su conjunto siempre, y por la relación entre pensamiento y literatura en el siglo XIX particularmente, y la eclosión cultural de comienzos de éste lo tuvo —con su imprescindible Ambiente espiritual del Novecientos (7)— entre sus más lúcidos y penetrantes intérpretes. En lo que hace a Latinoamérica en las letras, le interesaron desde Ezequiel Martínez Estrada hasta Eduardo Mallea, de Beatriz Guido a José Vasconcelos, de Manuel Gálvez a Ricardo Latchman, y como temas generales el Modernismo y sus vértices ideológicos, y también los perfiles básicos de la novela del continente.No sería gratuito, para redondear el bosquejo del extenso mapa abarcado en su reflexión sobre el tópico literario, apuntar su acercamiento al poeta anglo-norteamericano T. S. Eliot —sobre quien escribiera en Marcha y Tribuna Católica, en el año l949— , además de una sostenida atención en torno a los aspectos críticos de la literatura anglosajona. También, su preocupación en torno a los autores que tocaron el tema de la Iglesia Católica y su crítica, como es el caso de Peyrefitte (al que dedicó dos entregas en Marcha, en l956).La vocación historiográficaSi la producción de Real hubiera quedado en este inteligente, original, personalísimo encare del hecho literario, ocuparía sin duda y de todos modos un lugar destacado en la ensayística de su generación. Sin embargo, cuando se manifestaba ya plenamente en él ese intelectual dotado de amplísima cultura, interesado y al día sin descuidar lo permanente, capaz —por su visión penetrante de los contextos históricos, sociológicos y culturales— de trascender la crítica literaria y pasar a la teoría (a la cual se acercó en cuanto docente, y sobre la que dejaría mucho texto inédito), el centro de sus preocupaciones se derivó decididamente hacia la historia, o "historia de las ideas" siendo más estrictos. No fue algo sorpresivo, sino que ya cohabitaban distintos intereses en sus escritos, como se puede bien corroborar chequeando sus diversas colaboraciones. Lo nuevo fue su entusiasta, definido pasarse al campo historiográfico desde fines de los años cincuenta.En esta área, donde desplegó tan profusa como variada y lúcida tarea —extendida además en polémicas diversas que se proyectaron incluso a la década del setenta (como la sostenida, impublicable en ese año 75, con José Pedro Barrán, a través de sendas cartas públicas expuestas en la cartelera de la Editorial Banda Oriental) — resultan decisivos sus libros El patriciado uruguayo (8), y El impulso y su freno: tres décadas de Batllismo y las raíces de la crisis uruguaya (9). En el primero Real vivisecciona la clase alta más tradicional en el país casi desde dentro —ya que provenía de una familia de tales características— pero logrando en la demanda la adecuada distancia para el análisis comprensivo pero no menos riguroso. Ello no le impide momentos, muy bien logrados, donde no oculta sino que devela su complicidad personal con ese sector, cuando recuerda por ejemplo que: "En el Montevideo de los diez, de los veinte, de los treinta, en sus casas de la Ciudad Vieja cada vez más amenazadas por la piqueta y la oficina pública, en sus quintas del Prado, en sus decrecientes estancias, todavía la vieja clase siguió marcando un melancólico magisterio de modales, un invisible canon del gusto". Su acercamiento al tema es estricto en los datos históricos, fundamentado en lo sociológico, pero centrado más en las personalidades decisivas, en sus realizaciones y errores, que en los aconteceres corporativos o en los avatares de conjunto. Culmina este ensayo, recordando el origen patricio de los dos grandes conductores cívicos de raigambre popular en los partidos tradicionales durante la primera mitad del siglo pasado: José Batlle y Ordóñez y Luis Alberto de Herrera.Al peculiar país que logró plasmar el primero está dedicado El impulso y su freno. En síntesis, es el más logrado diagnóstico acerca de las potencialidades y carencias del fenómeno social y político que colmó las primeras décadas del siglo XX; a pesar de su perspectiva de base anti-batllista —por su catolicismo, Real de Azúa simpatizaba en forma más natural con el coloradismo independiente, al que había apoyado incluso años antes en la figura de Pablo Blanco Acevedo— mantiene una saludable distancia de ese lugar común de la diatriba, mostrando comprensión y penetración en el balance que ya era posible en los sesenta en cuanto a lo que había sido el país batllista.Con estas obras, Real se afilia a la corriente historiográfica revisionista, entonces en auge en ambas márgenes del Plata, aunque lo hace de un modo matizado, con su habitual sutileza, sin los extremos a veces caricaturescos y maniqueos de otros autores. Por cierto que su pensar histórico no queda aquí, sino que se extenderá hacia otros horizontes: el Federalismo artiguista; la figura paradojal y atractiva de Bernardo Berro, a quien calificara de manera certera como "el puritano en la tormenta"; el período Militarista en el siglo XIX; la Defensa de Paysandú; la polémica figura de Herrera. También le despertaron interés reiterado los escritos de viajeros que recalaban en el Montevideo del 800, y aún los de esta centuria.La política como objeto de estudioY otra vez, cuando ahora —cerca del año 70— la nutrida y valiosa pléyade de los nuevos historiadores veía en Real de Azúa a uno de los suyos, tal vez el que estaba destinado a profundizar la invalorable obra muchas veces de equipo que se estaba concretando entonces, nuevamente el ensayista hace lo que en forma gráfica calificaríamos de "mutis por el foro". Su inquietud, su casi nerviosismo cultural, le conducen a precipitarse en una línea de trabajo que ya venía abriéndose paso en su producción: la Ciencia Política y aledaños, en la que se embarcaría de modo constante hasta su muerte.Ese ámbito, que sugestivamente había inaugurado su primigenio España de cerca y de lejos, se desarrolló luego a partir de su libro Tercera posición, Nacionalismo revolucionario y Tercer Mundo (10), pasando por trabajos tales como Elites y desarrollo en América Latina (11), o El poder de la cúspide: élites, sectores dirigentes, clase dominante (de l970), encontrando su definido tono en Política, poder y partidos en el Uruguay de hoy (12). Luego vino la etapa de su obra más especializada en el tema —la que no obstante, a pesar de las referencias, apoyaturas y términos técnicos, no por ello pierde su raigal "vis" ensayística— integrada por títulos como La teoría política latinoamericana: una actividad cuestionada (13), Una sociedad amortiguadora (de l973), y El clivaje mundial euro- centro periferia (14).Por supuesto que en su obra de Ciencia Política, la preocupación por un destino más amplio que el de la comarca se vuelve más recurrente y explícita. Aparece cuando se refiere a las élites en América Latina, de la teoría política tal como se la encara en esta zona del mundo, y en sus agudas observaciones acerca de la relación entre el Sur periférico y la zona eurocéntrica desarrollada. Más allá de todo esto, es interesante comprobar cómo su inquietud por el destino común —histórico y futuro— de estos pueblos, se filtra en tantas páginas, acotaciones, trabajos, referidos en su temática central al Uruguay.Leyéndolo con cuidado, comprenderemos que fue un pragmático, sí, pero que nunca dejó de lado la entonación moral —en el mejor de los sentidos— para "iluminar" los múltiples asuntos que le ocuparon intelectualmente. Le interesó más, en ciencia política por ejemplo, el análisis del poder y de los grupos vinculados a él —la anatomía de los mismos— que el conflicto y la dinámica de las clases sociales, el que por otra parte no negaba.En este importante y definitivo sector de su producción, es donde podemos seguir el proceso —ya marcado en la dimensión histórica de su tarea— de su reflexión latinoamericanista, la cual no es posible disociar de su concepción del Nacionalismo y de su idea en cuanto a la Tercera Posición (tan en boga en el universo intelectual de los años cincuenta y sesenta). Es también en esta zona de su escritura, aunque la posibilidad es grande en lo historiográfico, donde sí es factible rastrear sus basamentos filosófico-ideológicos. Se ha apuntado bien que para este autor personalidades claves del pensar contemporáneo, fundantes diríamos, como Freud y Marx, no solamente no influyeron en él sino que tampoco le interesaron especialmente como tópico. Si bien al último le dedicó un trabajo donde dice que: "Si bien Marx y sus seguidores no realizaron ninguna aportación deliberada al tema de las élites o de la clase gobernante o dirigente, no existe un sólo planteo de estas categorías que no haya estado imantado por las posiciones marxistas; que no las tenga en cuenta, polémicamente —aún en forma tácita, oculta— en cada uno de los pasos de su argumentación". Una de las influencias decisivas en el estudio de los temas sociales la tuvo en mitad de la década del cuarenta, a partir de la lectura de Max Weber, con el cual es filiable directamente, aunque mantuvo un constante arraigo a sus orígenes, ese cristianismo peculiar que aunaba en confesión explícita la línea aristotélico-tomista (valorando en ella su condición de antídoto contra el peligro de "idealismo") pero además cierto existencialismo.El estudioso de la Estética, el teórico del ensayo, el original antólogoSin duda, el Real de Azúa más conocido es el vinculado a la historiografía, y en segundo lugar el de los últimos años dedicados casi a pleno a las cuestiones de la ciencia política (área dentro de la cual habría podido llegar a completar una obra única en este medio —por sus características: cabalgando entre el estilo depurado y el rigor científico— , que lo hubiera llevado incluso a bordear la "filosofía de la historia" como bien se ha sostenido, a no ser porque la muerte vino a clausurar un proceso productivo que estaba lejos de agotarse). Pero existe otro Real, menos público, más especializado, del que disfrutaron por ejemplo sus alumnos del IPA.Hay un texto titulado Conocimiento y goce, de larga ineditez como tantos otros suyos, cuya datación es ubicable en los primeros años sesenta. En él aprovecha a establecer la crítica "historicismo y estética", o "conceptualismo e inefabilidad". Se basa en el uso adecuado de un concierto de citas que apuntalan su propio discurso, algo que logra hacer como pocos, con esa limpidez y buen criterio propios que dejan entrever vastas pero bien asimiladas lecturas. De entrada, se acerca a la antinomia más frecuente en los estudios literarios: la de crítica y creación, que es nada menos la que hace a la viabilidad de la misma crítica. "Se enfrentan así por un lado" -dice- "un tipo de experiencia intelectualmente borrosa, hedonística, radicalmente sensorial, gozosamente y confesadamente irracional. Por el otro reclaman sus fueros la lucidez, la inteligencia, la aspiración a un pleno calibrar lo que gustamos". Y avala su propia opinión al respecto de un modo indirecto, apelando a una cita de T. S. Eliot, que en su parte final establece: "Es cierto que no gozamos completamente de un poema a menos que lo entendamos y, por otro lado, es igualmente cierto que no lo entendemos completamente si no gozamos de él".Luego, avanzando el trabajo concluirá en la proposición primaria y básica: para que haya pleno goce debe haber como condición previa conocimiento, lo que después va reafirmando y especificando. Por fin concluye en que: "El conocimiento literario en todo lo que implica de abstracción de lo individual, generalización de experiencias singulares es la única vía de enseñanza, el único medio con que es posible poner al sujeto no entrenado en el camino de realizar por sí mismo una serie ilimitada de informadas experiencias literarias. En suma: que el enseñar es en cierto modo poner al enseñado en unos andadores que son la formación de criterios de dilucidación y valoración". "Que esos andadores deban después abandonarse es tan cierto como que, prologalmente, son imprescindibles".Es lástima que Real no haya dedicado a esta vertiente de sus inquietudes un mayor, más extenso y profundo desarrollo, pero, contemporáneamente a la escritura de estas páginas ya había prendido en él la pasión historiográfica, impulsándolo a dejar por el camino —no en sus clases, pero sí en el texto— el tópico literario.Junto al germinal teórico de la estética que recién procuramos mostrar, vale destacar al teórico del ensayo, rol en el cual es único entre nosotros. Todo surgió al encomendársele por parte de la Universidad de la República, en l964, la concreción de la Antología del Ensayo Uruguayo Contemporáneo; como era su característica más acentuada, el prólogo fue un torrencial, brillante, disfrutable ensayo acerca del ensayo, donde tienta incluso una teoría sobre el género.Su tarea de antólogo en este caso interesa de por sí, desde el momento que las notas informativas en relación a los autores incluidos —a veces largas— son una de las partes más disfrutables de esos dos tomos (sin desmerecer muchos de los bien elegidos fragmentos de la mayoría de los antologados). Incluye en la selección a gente que comenzó a publicar a partir del año l9l5, extendiéndola hasta casi el momento de la edición, logrando agrupar cuarenta y un ensayistas de un período de cincuenta años. Siendo estrictos, debemos admitir que el prólogo de Real de Azúa y muchas de sus notas son lo mejor de estos dos volúmenes, dejando algo que desear quizá algunas de las inclusiones, así como también unas —pocas— ausencias. No se puede negar la originalidad del antólogo, riguroso por un lado al tomar como punto de partida una delimitación estricta de los márgenes de su labor, pero a la vez capaz de mezclar armoniosamente autores en sí disímiles.Hace suyo en este caso el feliz hallazgo de Alfonso Reyes, cuando define al ensayo como "agencia verbal del espíritu", destacando su vocación de estilo definida (sin la cual un texto no es tal), su alejamiento de las especializaciones (filosóficas, científicas, históricas, de crítica artística en el sentido más convencional). Pone el énfasis en el carácter no sistemático y libre del ensayo, que muchas veces roza la divagación para acercarse así desde un ángulo inédito al tema que trata. Lo vislumbra tan equidistante del especialista intelectual en cualquier rama como así del periodismo en lo que éste tiene de bien característico, es decir su caducidad rápida e irremediable. Recién a partir de un bosquejo claro, inconfundible, de lo que es realmente lo ensayístico, es que Real pasa a justificar su concreta selección.Latinoamérica en el pensamiento de Real de AzúaEntre uno de sus posibles tópicos constantes estuvo la reflexión sobre el país —la patria chica uruguaya— y también América Latina, a la cual sentía auténticamente como Patria Grande. Esta le preocupó, en Literatura, en sendos trabajos acerca de la novelística continental, en cuanto al Modernismo (como es sabido, nuestra "vanguardia" más genuina). Con perspectiva cultural más amplia, en José Vasconcelos: la revolución y sus bemoles (15), y sobre todo en Historia invisible e historia esotérica: personajes y claves del debate latinoamericano (16).En Ambiente espiritual del 900, Real apunta con su acostumbrada lucidez:"Diversos libros —algunos de ellos ejemplares, como la Historia de la Cultura en la América Hispánica de Pedro Henríquez Ureña— nos han mostrado el proceso cultural americano en una organización formal que, si no es falsa, resulta, por lo menos, una sola de las dos caras o planos de la rica evolución de nuestro espíritu. Se ha dado, y se da, en estos países, el proceso cultural como lógica secuencia personal, y grupal de creaciones, de empresas y de actitudes. Neoclasicismo, tiene, según esta perspectiva (que es también un método) su etapa de lucha, sus hombres y obras representativas, sus planos de pasaje y agotamiento. Pero en Hispanoamérica, mucho más acendradamente que en Europa, tales procesos no agotan la realidad de la cultura como vigencia objetiva de cada medio y época, como sistema actuante de convicciones de vastos sectores letrados y semiletrados, verdaderos protagonistas de la vida del continente".Con similar precisión, en un tema ya socio-económico y político —al delinear las clases altas en Latinoamérica, tierra de oligarquía — dice: "Inmensurable es el impacto del fenómeno imperialista en el proceso social latinoamericano pero sobre todo lo es en el de la conformación, cambio y robustecimiento de sus sectores superiores. Si el hecho general de éste, características específicas adquirió en los casos nacionales en que una economía de enclave —esto es, sin conexiones sustanciales con el ámbito circundante y sí, en cambio, con el centro de la economía dominante—, cobró vuelo hasta significar lo que alguien ha llamado un poder externo, fuera de los alcances del sistema político nacional e incluso más fuerte que él". En este trabajo Real de Azúa analiza, de manera impecable y sintética, el acontecer histórico que llevó a gran parte de las élites de poder del continente a oficiar como sector gerencial de los intereses imperiales, desmitificando en la demanda el concepto recurrido de "burguesía nacional".En relación a la perspectiva uruguaya, y a la contraposición de la misma con la posible en otros puntos de América Latina, observa, en Uruguay: el ensayo y las ideas en l957 que fuera publicado en la revista argentina Ficción: "El tema del país, la toma de conciencia de la circunstancia, es la gran piedra de toque de la ensayística americana. Es también la gran pobreza de la nuestra". Y más adelante: "Aquí, como en otras claves, nuestra condición periférica en América, nuestra situación distante de los más típicos desniveles y dramatismos del continente, ha determinado que el tema americano sea —más quietamente, más puramente— una inquietud, una nostalgia, un remordimiento sin formas operantes". Y en otra parte del mismo texto, bosquejando lo que entendía como una fidelidad a lo nacional, vivenciado auténticamente, lo definía —en casi ars vitae de su propio camino— así: "aceptar la circunstancia (mundial, sudamericana, uruguaya y hasta montevideana). Asumir, sufriéndola, la fealdad, el desorden, la injusticia del mundo que nos rodea. Buscar, desde ellas, las maneras de una actitud: el sereno deber, a la manera clásica, o el asco patético, o la furia desmelenada (que todas caben). En suma: los caminos de acción o de contemplación, de descripción o de ventura, que Dios nos señale".En este hurgar al vuelo en la múltiple obra de Real de Azúa, es interesante detenerse también, siempre en lo que hace al tema latinoamericanista, en la síntesis que realiza en relación a las equívocas influencias del pensamiento rodoniano en el continente: "El discurso de Rodó promovió, al margen y a contrapelo del propio autor, demasiado equilibrado para recargar las tintas de su cuadro, cierto vacuo orgullo, cierta engolada presunción de lo hispanoamericano. Ese orgullo descansó invariablemente en la grosera antítesis del norte y el sur, de lo sajón y lo latino, como oposición de materia y espíritu, de Calibán y Ariel.No tengo espacio ahora para destacar que esta posición significó siempre una irresponsable caricatura, que no apoyó casi nunca la crítica solvente y ello desde el más inmediato l900 hasta casi nuestros días. Ni entonces la suscribieron Pedro Henríquez Ureña, Francisco García Calderón, Juan Carlos Blanco, José de la Riva Agüero o Juan Valera, ni lo hicieron después Ramiro de Maeztu, Zaldumbide, Alfredo Colmo o Juan Larrea" (17).El latinoamericanismo de Real, a su vez, se corresponde armónicamente a la riqueza, profundidad, e incluso vastedad de su cultura: por ende no es dicotómico, ni telurista, sino bien uruguayo en su impronta; no comulga, no obstante, con ninguna de las rémoras de la visión insular del país que el Batllismo dejó entre los ingredientes de su difusa ideología (en esto fue más atípico que la mayoría de sus pares intelectuales, no negando en la instancia su raíz patricia, su arraigo en la más genuina tradición nacionalista, su cristianismo incluso que lo vacunaba de esos extremos esterilizados y tartufescos del laicismo vernáculo). Hay en este autor una compleja dialéctica entre la fidelidad a algunas ideas entrañables y fundantes de su pensamiento, y su permanente actualización, pesquisable para quien siga su producción cronológicamente; también, una ambivalencia que no deja de ser equilibrada, que hace a la complejidad de su pensar, entre el cosmopolitismo y el localismo. En suma: es la suya una interpretación de lo latinoamericano, que sin eludir la problematicidad y dramatismo coyuntural de los momentos de su mayor creatividad —años cincuenta, sesenta y setenta— proyecta hacia un futuro (que es hoy) puntas fermentales, líneas que algún día deberán continuarse. Por la cuidada mesura en sus esbozos de teoría, lejos está de lo postulado apenas una generación atrás. Lo de Real es, en este tema como en tantos otros que desarrolló, parafraseando a Umberto Eco una "obra abierta", que incita, que invita, que permite pensar a partir de una lectura que abre puertas a lo que vendrá.A modo de culminaciónSe apuntó con acierto alguna vez la paradojal situación de este escritor: tan leído y valorado —porque lo era, a pesar de las múltiples quejas ante la supuesta dificultad de su estilo— en aquellos años de plenitud de trabajo que van desde mediados de los cincuenta hasta pasado el setenta, y tan soterradamente dejado de lado —más allá de citas y referencias— luego de su muerte. Si bien el tiempo oscuro de los años setenta colaboró a echar sobre su obra un grueso manto de silenciamiento, eso no explica del todo las causas de la extensión de tal anomalía mucho después, con la excepción del momento del décimo aniversario de su desaparición. Estamos ante un autor que las nuevas generaciones tienen dificultad en ubicar, o directamente desconocen, y que otros mayores han cuasi olvidado. El desafío tal vez radique en revalorar en su totalidad este corpus textual vasto y complejo, variado y atractivo, dentro del cual hay tanto para ayudarnos a pensar este presente problemático y el confuso futuro que se avecina, así como para mejorar en mucho nuestra vida cultural y nuestra vida a secas. Hay aquí intensa labor para editores, críticos, investigadores, estudiosos, y sobretodo nuevos ensayistas. *Poeta, narrador, ensayista, periodista cultural, investigador y autor de numerosas obras de crítica literaria,docente de Facultad de Comunicación, Universidad ORT. REFERENCIAS1- Ediciones Biblioteca Ayacucho, de Venezuela.2- Cuadernos de Marcha, l967.3- Escritura, l947.4- Tribuna Católica, l950.5- Almanaque del Banco de Seguros, l952.6- Marcha, l954.7- Publicado originalmente por la revista Número en l950, y reeditado en l984 por Arca.8- Publicado por Asir, en l96l.9- Bajo el sello de EBO, en l964.10- Escrito en l963, e inédito por décadas.11- En La sociología subdesarrollante, volumen colectivo de l969 publicado por Aportes.12- Siglo XXI, Buenos Aires, l97l.13- Columbia University, Nueva York, l973.14- Cuadernos del Ciesu, l976.15- Publicado por el Departamento de Literatura Hispanoamericana de Facultad de Humanidades, en l966.16- Arca-Calicanto, l975, donde se reúnen varios de sus ensayos.17- Es fragmento de Rodó y Zorrilla de San Martín: tres momentos de un diálogo intelectual, publicado en agosto de l950 en la revista montevideana Tribuna Católica.

Issue 19.4 of the Review for Religious, 1960. ; Review fOl" Religious The LordIs My Shepherd The Brothers',Vootion: Natural Ideal by Robert D. Cihlar, S.J. Problen~s of the Late Vocation , byDavid "B. IVadhams~ S.M.~ Is Religious DisObedience Al~ays, a Sin? by Joseph J. Farraher, S.J. The Problem of Transition for the Junior sister, by Sister Mary Magdalen, O.P. , Survey of Roman Documents Views, News, PreViews Questions and ,Answers Book Reviews 193 200 207 215 225 232 237 ,240 " 248 The Lord Is My Shepherd The Lord is my shepherd: I want for nothing; he makes me to lie in green pastures, He leads me to waters where I may rest; he restores my soul. He guides me along the right paths for his name's sake. Although I walk in a darksome valley, I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy crook and thy staff: these comf.o~:t me. Thou preparest a table for me before the eyes of my foes; Thou. anointest my head with oil; my cup brims over. Goodness and kindness will follow me all the days of my life, And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord days without end. BY A SPECIAL INSPIRATION the Psalmist foresaw that the Redeemer would come in the flesh and that He would found a Church and that He would be a Shepherd over it. However, this is not the only instance in the Sacred Scriptures where God alludes in very distinct language to the "Shepherd" mentioned by the words of the Psalmist in this beautiful psalm; but the "Shepherd" whom God has set over His only true Church is also very clearly indicated in the words of Ezekiel where it is stated: "And I will set up one shepherd over them; and he shall feed them, and he shall be their shepherd" (Ez 34:23). Now what is significant in these words is that the same term is here used for "shepherd" and "to feed," so that the sense is that this Shepherd which God has set over His Church is both our Guide and our Food as well. The Lord is not only our Shepherd; but He is also the means by which we are kept in existence, both body and soul. The Lord is our Shepherd who feeds us with Himself; for by means of the Church which He established He continues to say, "Take and eat! This is My Body" (Mt 26:27). By means of His Church He is able to carry out the words of this psalm and fulfill their implication by feed-ing us with Himself; for that is what the words "the Lord is my Shepherd" mean or imply in the original Hebrew, since in The author of this article is an American layman who is living a contemplative life and who wish~s to rhmain anonymous. 193 THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD Review for Religious that language no distinction is made between tending, govern-ing, and guiding a flock and feeding it. What a wonderful thing it is to have such a Shepherd who is able to feed His sheep, namely, all the faithful, with His own Precious Body and Blood ! But God is not only our Shepherd ; He is also our companion and our friend, since this word shepherd is often used to des-ignate the idea of companionship and friendship. "How beautiful art thou, my love, how beautiful art thou" (Cant 4:1). It is significant that in addressing the souls of all who love Him, God should here make use of a word which is a derivative of the term used by the Psalmist when he refers to Him as his "Shepherd." And so by an extended use of the term shepherd we may refer to our Lord as someone whom we love and in whom we find our whole delight. The Lord is our Shepherd in the sense that it is in Him alone that we can find our whole delight. He alone is the sole object of our love: The Lord is my Shepherd because the guidance He exerts over me is the guid-ance of love and delight. He is Love in nature and essence. The Lord is my Shepherd in the sense that I am being ruled and governed by means of that everlasting love and delight which He is. The Shepherd here spoken of by'the Psalmist is none other than the King of love, and so the dominion He exercises over us is the dominion of love and love alone." God guides and governs us by mean of His love. "The Lo~:d is my Shepherd. I want for nothing." What can be lacking to him who is governed and guided by Love Itself? The Lord is my Shepherd in the sense that I have God Himself for my close com-panion and friend. From the day of my birth 'til the day of my death, this guide in the form of Love Incarnate will be my close companion and friend, so that no circumstance can arise in which His help and friendship will not be there to see me through everything I shall ever have to undergo. Having such a Shepherd we can all say, "I want nothing," that is to say, no circumstance will ever arise in our lives in which we shall suffer any sort of insufficiency; for we will always have what we need from this Divine Lover of our soul, this God who both created and re-deemed us. "I know mine," He tells us in the Gospel of St. John (10:15). He knows us better than we know ourselves, and no real want we can ever have will be overlooked by Him who has loved us from all eternity. There are times when we may think we need what this "Good Shepherd" sees we do not need, and which would not be 194 July, 1960 THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD of any value for our eternal salvation. One thing we can be sure of, and that is with such a lover as God is, anything we really need to advance in our effort to get to know and love Him better we will most certainly have; and so we shall never be 'devoid of the good necessary for our progress along our journey to our heavenly home. The whole Bible has often been compared to a medicine chest ¯ in which may be found remedies suitable to every need the soul can have on its journey through time. And so, just as we think it nothing at all to rush over to the drug store to get something to soothe our bodily aches, so in like manner we should never be slow to turn to the pages of Holy Writ whenever we feel we need some words of help and consolation in the troubles and trials of this life. Our Lord is often referred to as a physician in the Scriptures. By this it is meant that we should use the words He speaks to us in them as a sort of medicine to apply to the ills of our souls. "Honor the Physician," we read in the Book of Ecclesiasticus (38:1). "Honor the Physician for the need thou hast of Him. For all healing is from God . The most high hath created medicines . . . and the wise man will not abhor them." Though these words refer to the medicines the doctor prescribes for the ills of our bodies, we know that in addition to the literal meaning of these words, there is also a spiritual and a mystical one. They also refer to that Heavenly Physician which our Lord is and the many remedies He has devised for the many ills of our souls. "The most high hath created medicines" in the form of the Church with her entire sacramental system; and so, "a wise man will not abhor them." At present, though, we intend to limit our consideration to the medicines to be found in the Sacred Scriptures and especially as these may be had in the words of the twenty-second psalm, and in many others as well; for in one of them we actually see the Psalmist call upon God as we do on an earthly doctor and say to Him, "Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed." These two words heal and healed are so rich in Hebrew that we can hardly realize the comfort they bring when read in the original, since besides the connotation of healing they are also a metaphor for comfort and consolation. When in the words of the Psalmist we ask God to "heal" us, we include the petition that we should be restored to that pristine felicity we all posses-sed before we fell into sin. We ask God that we should one day win back that same unmarred happiness Adam once possessed in Paradise and which the words of the twenty-second psalm 195 THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD Review for Religious reawaken in our soul as often as the beauty of them comes to our mind: "The Lord is .my Shepherd; I shall not.want." The complete fulfillment of all that these words imply will take place after we have been completely healed of the effects of original sin and restored to the state of innocence Adam had before the Fall. "We shall not Want," because after this life is over all our desires shall be fulfilled and there will be nothing we have to have which God will not give us in the complete and perfect giving of Himself to us in the life to come. "We shall not want" because after we die God shall be all in all to us so that, having Him with all the fullness and completion in which we will then have Him, we shall .lack nothing to be eternally happy. God will then "spread a table" before us on which He will Himself be the food of our glorified state. For if even during this life "the Lord is our Shepherd," in the sense that it is in the possession of Him alone that we can find our true delight, what will it not be to have that same delight in Him when we shall become completely assimilated to all that He is in the life to come? If even on this earth we derive our whole satisfaction in the thought that we have God who is Love Itself for our companion and friend, what shall it not be for us to enjoy that companionship and friendship of His when we are where alone we can truly and fully partici-pate in it? And if even while we are on this earth we find i~ such a delight to be ruled and governed by Him who is Love Itself, what will it be when we shall have that guidance and governance in Heaven itself? "The Lord is my Shepherd." What a privilege it is to have God Himself to guide and conduct us through every vicissitude and event of this life ; for with such a guide, "even though I walk in the dark valley I fear no evil, for He guides me in the right paths." The Psalmist says that as long as he shall live he has nothing to fear, because it is the God of righteousness who con-ducts along the paths of His own righteousness, and that He does so for His name's sake, namely, for the sake of Jesus, since we could never have that original righteousness we once pos-sessed in Adam unless Christ offered Himself for us as a victim for our sins. And so it is for the sake of the sufferings of Christ that we are now able to tread those paths of righteousness that will lead us to the realms of unending bliss in Heaven. "And a path and a way shall be there," Isaiah tells us (35:8) "and it shall be called the holy way." Our Lord said He was that "holy way" when He said, "I am the Way." He is the right path of 196 J~tly, 1960 THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD which this Psalmist speaks and along which he is being guided by God. No wonder he can say that, "even though I walk in the dark valley, I fear no evil, for you are at my side." For what shall we be afraid of when.we realize that He who both made and re-deemed us is constantly on the lookout for our every need, and He will permit nothing to happen to us which will not conduce to the greater good of our soul both in time and in eternity? "In .verdant pastures He gives me repose; beside restful waters He leads me." In these words the Psalmist wishes to point out God's tender compassion for the human race and the many comforts and consolations with which we are provided from the very first days of our existence until our last breath. "Show me," the soul says to her Belgved, "Show-me, O Thou whom my soul loveth, where Thou feedest, wh~re Thou liest in the midday" (Cant 1:6). Thh "repose" here spoken of is that of reclining on the bosom of Christ, mentioned in the Gospel of St. John (13:25), for the soul's rest in Christ is here compared to the pleasant and refreshing experience we have when we lie down on the tender grass on a hot summer day. Another signifi-cation for "repose" is the idea of being interchanged. "Repose" refers to that immingling of the soul with that of her beloved Lord by means of some extraordinary grace which makes of the two one; so that the "verdant pastures" are those exquisite de-lights the soul finds as she feels herself being drawn into the inmost essence of Him whom she loves--namely, the beauty and comeliness of Christ. The soul speaks of the pleasure she has in Christ as a sort of lying down on the young, fresh, and tender grass, in order to indicate the pleasing sensation which the rest she finds in Him procures for her. "Beside restful waters He leads me." These restful waters are the vast number of bless-ings we receive from God and which afford us so much consola-tion in the sorrows we have to bear. "He refreshes my soul." God "refreshes" the soul when by means of His grace it is re-stored to that pristine beauty it had before it fell into si.n, for the word "refresh" means to convert, to bring back, to restore, and to renew. Whenever we are being renewed in Christ, we are being, refreshed in soul and reconverted to God. The fullness of conversion will take place by means of that renewal, that res-toration, that complete conversion and refreshing of the heaven and earth spoken of in the Apocalypse of St. John (21:1), where-in he tells us that he saw a "new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away." Through 197 THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD Re4)iew for Religious sin, Isaiah tells us (24:5), "the earth is infected by the in- .habi.tants thereof." And so the time will come when it will pass away and be recreated in Christ, so that at that time our souls will. be completely refreshed because of their being completely converted to God. At present our conversion is only partial; and so the refreshment of which this psalm speaks to us is not as perfect as we would desire it to be, since we still need many things which after we die we will no longer have to have in order to be perfectly and completely happy. It is only after this life is over that our soul will be completely refreshed with that refreshment and renewal in Christ of which this psalm speaks. "Even though I walk in the dark valley, I fear no evil." What is this "dark valley"? Literally, it is the valley of the shadow of death, which in Hebrew is used poetically for very thick darkness. When we read the Book of Job, we find this word shadow-of-death being used on five different occasions to denote what no other expressions convey. In order to express the contempt he had for the present life, Job says: "Let the day perish wherein I was born. Let the darkness and the shadow of death cover it" (3:3-4). On another occasion he character-izes our entire existence in this world as "a land of misery and darkness where the shadow of death dwelleth" (10:22). In the third verse of the twenty-eighth chapter, he again makes use of the same word in order to indicate that our whole life is lived in death's shadow and that we will never cease to be freed from its image until we are out of this world. And the Psalmist speaks of walking in the valley of the shadow of death, because as long as we live we are never free from the fear of our having to undergo the penalties we have to pay for the sin of our first parents. We walk in the valley of the shadow of death, because as long as we live we can never be free from the necessity of dying; and the thought of our death haunts us from the cradle to the grave. We are said to be walking in the valley of the shadow of death because we always live with its image before our eyes, since there is nothing we can see that will not some day have an end. As long as we live we walk, as it were, in the shadow of death, in that the calamities and miseries of life which will last as long as we will, are a sort of image of death, since they prepare us for its approach when the time will come for us to leave this vale of tears. And yet the Psalmist says- and we should all say with him: "Even though I walk in the dark valley -- the valley of the shadow of death -- I fear no evil ; for 198 July, 1960 THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD You are at my side." The Psalmist tells us that we have nothing to fear from death, because Christ has removed its sting. "He suffered death," St. Paul tells, us, "that He might by God's gracious bounty experience the throes of death for the sake of every human being . . . that through death He might destroy him who had control over death; that is, the devil, and deliver those whom throughout their lives the fear of death held in bondage" (Heb 2:9-15). "I will deliver them out of the hand of death," our Lord tells us through the words of Osee. "0 death, I will be thy death; 0 hell, I will be thy bite." The Psalmist knew this; and that is why he says, "Even though I walk in the dark valley, I fear no evil." He knew that Christ would one day die and that by means of His own sacred death we would be freed from the bondage of death, so that even though we die, yet we shall live forever that life He merited for us by all He underwent for our sake. "I fear no evil," we say to God, "for you are at my side." We are not afraid of anything that can happen to us in this life, in-cluding death itself, because we are assured by the words of this psalm that in everything we have to go through, God will assist us by His divine aid, and we will always find ourselves upheld by Him in a manner too marvelous to comprehend. "When thou shalt pass through the waters," that is, the trials and afflic-tions of this life, including the agony of dying, "I will be with thee," our Lord says to us in words we can no more question than we can question our own existence. "When thou _.shalt walk in the fire, thou shalt not be burnt: and the flames shall not burn thee" (Is 43:2). With this divine aid of God Himself before his miffd's eye, no wonder the Psalmist was able to say: "Even though I walk in the dark valley, I fear no evil." For what is there anyone can fear when he is given the strength to trust God in those most agonizing moments of his life when his soul will be wrenched from the flesh of which it formed such a close com-panionship all the time it was in the body? What can unduly alarm him who is not unduly frightened by what so many dread ? Christ has destroyed death's terrors, and so it is now nothing more than a sleep from which we will one day awake as gently as we rise up every morning from our previous night's rest. And so, if we are afraid to die, we should also be afraid to go to sleep every night as well. If we fear God with the filial and re-verential fear He wants to be feared with, we will not have to fear anything else--death included. 199 The Brothers' Vocation as a Natural Ideal Robert D. Cihlar, S.J. yOUTH is idealistic. Whatever appeals to it as the greater good, that it will seek. It will seek it with a determination seldom found in later life. The child's changing ideas of what it wants to be when it "grows up" is a simple confirmation of this fact. At one time it aspires to be a fireman, at another a doctor, and so on. The desire changes with the appreciation of the good to be attained- one's own personal good. The child is led, without knowing the meaning of the word, by an ideal. The ideal not o.nly fires the imagination but it must also be somethin$ within reach of the abilities a man knows are his. A child does not fully realize its limitations. As a consequence it aspires to things far above its present capabilities. For the adult and the young man,. however, the ideal must be something which is possible--and possible through one's own efforts, tal-ents, and opportunities. An ideal must be capable of satisfying a man's sense of personal worth. It must also be achievable by this man. He must be able to see himself as realizing this ideal. People he knows, others he has read about have reached this goal; why not he? Often, not fully appreciating his own limitations, he will, like the child, aspire to things which are not for him. As realization comes, so the ideal changes or deepens. For the time being, how-ever, the mere possession of an ideal is enough to cause him to strive for it. It is not difficult to see how the makings of an ideal ar~ to be found in the married state. It takes a little more discernment to find them in the other vocations; and perhaps this is the reason, naturally speaking, why most people find their vocation in marriage. To be looked up to, even in the small circle of the family, to be the head of that family, to be needed, to be loved and to love, all these satisfy a man's sense of personal worth. The fact that others have failed in this state does not deter him Brother Robert D. Cihlar is stationed at West Baden College, West Baden Springs, Indiana. 200 THE BROTHERS' VOCATION nor make it less available. Rather he is all the more convinced, because he possesses an ideal, that his case will be different. Now let us take up a comparison in religious life also based upon the supposition of the ideal as given above. The priesthood at one time or another seems to appeal to most Catholic boys. They are attracted by the reverence shown the priesthood, and this in turn gives them an appreciation of its dignity. They see themselves invested with this dignity, receiving the reverence now accorded to another. They see themselves at the altar, in the confessional, at the bedside of the sick and dyfng. Their sense of personal worth is satisfied, and they know that the goal is achievable because others have made it. Their efforts could bring them there. We have present then in the priesthood two of the elements which go to make up an ideal. This in turn:,Ldepending on the intensity of the desire, becomes a motivating force to (1) prayer, leading to a more obvious cooperation with grace; (2) reading, leading to a greater knowledge of the true meaning of the priest-hood; and (3) a greater application to study, since scholastic ability is necessary. One thing .leads gradually to another. A vocation does not appear all at once but comes, like the dawn; gradually. No one of these is sufficient in itself. Most x~ocations, however, can be traced back to the development of the ideal. Vocations to the pries.thood are more plentiful beca.use they follow the pattern and contain the essentials of an ideal. It .is not so, however, in the case of the lay brother. Public opinion, and consequently the general opinion of youth, is against such a vocation. It is looked down upon simply (and mainly) because it lacks those two motivationally essential parts of an ideal. A young man cannot imagine himself in the position of one who is looked down upon, who possesses in the eyes of the ldity, and often the clergy, no natural worth or dignity. Why is this? Why must there be a lack of this natural value in this way of life? Why must the motivation for accepting such a vocation be only and solely supernatural?. Obviously this is delicate ~round on which it behooves one to tread ever so lightly, if it is to be trod at all. But it is not my intention in any way to minimize the supernatural motive. A vocation without such is no vocation at all. Nor do I wish to say that it is of lesser importance, for even that which I choose to call natural motivation is in reality an action of grace building on nature. It is sometimes true that the natural motivation is 201 ROBERT D. CIHLAR Review for Religious the more obvious of the two, but in the course of, let us say, the preparation for the priesthood, grace builds on that natural motive to such an extent that the supernatural motive becomes the first consideration. My contention, therefore, is that both natural and supernatural motivation, though not of equal im-portance, are of equal necessity, simply because we are human beings. With this explanation, let us try for a subjective viewpoint of what a young man sees when he looks at the life of the lay brother. Perhaps from such a viewpoint we shall catch some hint of the defects in the presentation of this vocation and the possible errors in our thinking concerning it. Undoubtedly the greatest deterent to a young man is the prevalent attitude among the laity, and some clergy, that the brothers' life is a demeaning of self. They feel that the brother is an admitted failure--or becomes such whe~ he becomes a brother. It is rather hard to dislodge the idea that the lay brother is one who "could not" become a priest because of inferior mental ability or some other defect. Popular Catholic literature and various hagiographers of the past have contributed to this idea. The humility of some saints has been demonstrated by their wishing to be with the brothers or work with them (mean-ing to demean themselves). Among present-day Catholic books the Mass of Brother Michael, though a romantic and enter-taining story, is an example of extremely poor propaganda material. Yet it is from such weakly representative literature that attitudes are formed, and once having formed become tra-ditional. In short, the persistent idea is that a man who becomes a lay brother is exceptional, in either his holiness or his ignor- . ance. It is not a vocation "possible" to the average man because it offends his sense of personal worth. It is within reach of his abilities, but it is also often beneath them. It therefore does not fulfill the conditions of the ideal, in the natural order, as ex-pressed above. This idea poses a very thorny problem, but a problem which must be solved if the numbers of the brothers are to increase. A change is evidently necessary in our thinking--and actions-for the mass of tradition is against the brother. The Church, from earliest times, has made use of the principle of adaptation; and adaptation to the times and their needs is the thing to be considered. 202 July, 1960 THE BROTHERS' VOCATION Tradition dating from the Middle Ages has assigned the brothers' vocation to the uneducated and lower classes who, wishing to serve God more perfectly, seek this perfdction in the religious life. Now, going farther back to the natal days of monasticism, we find that this was not true then. The early "Fathers" were not Fathers at all, but in their manner of living the equivalent of the latter-day brother. They engaged in manual labor, meditation, penance, and so forth, but were seldom if ever ordained priests. Necessity, among which was an ever-widening ministry in the monastic groups, brought about the inclusion of priests in their ranks. As the accent on the ministry grew, 'grad-ually the bulk of membership became priestly. Men of education, since educated men were the exceptioh, were directed to the priesthood. Those without education could not hope to become priests ; but, still wishing to become rel!~ious, they were directed to the life of the lay brother. This insistence upon educated men for the priesthood was brought about as part of the much needed reform of the clergy at the time of the Reformation. It also, as a side result, brought about a complete reversal of the original scheme of monasticism; or at least it was the culmination of a reversal that had been taking place for some centuries. However, considering modern' ~i~nes we find the educational picture itself reversed (at least in most ~vestern countries) and the illiterate man becomes the exception. In the Unite'd States, for example, the major portion of the population has completed at least a high school education; and the years since the Second World War find more and more high school graduates going on to college. Superimpose this picture upon that of the time of the Reformation, and a natural explanation will appear for the decrease in brothers' vocations. However, it is only a natural explanation. This does not necessarily mean that God is calling fewer young men to His service as brothers. It does mean that these men, better educated and better qualified, no longer con-sider this vocation as an ideal or even an alternative, which it much more readily was considered a few centuries ago. The brothers' vocation offers them too little in the way of a sense of personal worth. Tell me that the reason for this is a lack of supernatural insight and I will readily admit that this is true. In the order of grace the brothers' vocation has both great dignity and value. But the young man of today, unfortunately, has a much more sophisticated attitude toward life and greater cultural advan- 203 ROBERT D. CIHLAR Review for Religious rages without the balance of living in an age of faith which would have fostered this insight. This is a fact, and we have to adapt ourselves and our methods to it. It need not be without its own peculiar blessing. We are, after all, instruments which God uses. We commit a heresy of sorts if we expect His grace alone to do the job of foster-ing vocations. We must be prepared to offer candidates opportuni-ties in their work for God which are suited to their greater educa-tion and better-develo.ped abilities. Certainly in the congregations of teaching brothers provision is made for this in the various ad-ministrative and educational aspects of school life. The boys see this and respect it. The primary concern here, however, is with those mixed orders or congregations composed of priests and lay brothers. Here the brothers' duties as a rule are menial as well as manual. If, for example, a brother is qualified by his talents and/or education to work in posts of considerable trust, dignitY, and even title, why should they not be given to them. Such posts as treasurer, registrar, superintendent of buildings and gro.unds, promotion, public relations, library, and so forth, occur as possibilities. I am sure there are many others. Given these posts, they should also be delegated enough authority to act freely in them. I might even say that should a brother be discovered to have talents in these lines .and.not be qualified by education, such education should be provided. All things being equal, there is really nothing that a priest does which cannot be done by a brother except in ,-the direct area of the ministry. I certainly do not wish to advocate the idea that the brotherhood is equal to the priesthood; but I do hold that in his capabilities he is often equal to and sometimes better than the priest. When this is so, prescinding from personalities and persons, should he not be allowed to fully employ these capabilities for God and for the benefit of those who would see him and get to know him? If we want to get brothers who are well-qualified in their lines, do we not also have the duty to God to make the best use of the men He sends us, even to the extent of. demonstrating their qualities to others as a means of influencing them? The introduction of the idea of example as influence pre-sents another aspect in the matter of vocations. Seeing is believing. With brothers openly shown in positions of responsi-bility, an acknowledgment of their abilities is forced upon the beholder. Association will gradually accord a greater respect, provided of course the man conducts himself as one worthy of 204 July, 1960 THE BROTHERS' VOCATION respect. Respect accorded in and out of the order or congrega-tion ought gradually to influence or raise the calling, from the natural viewp5int, to conform with the principles of the ideal. In effect, what I would maintain is that there is a need for a greater "going in their door to bring them out ours." But first, of course, there must also be a change in attitude from within the order or congregation itself, or more precisely, among the members of the order or congregation. It is axiomatic that young men have a sixth sense in de-tecting the defects of their teachers or superiors. It is at times disconcerting to have them expose our weakest points. Though we might all profess a great reverence and esteem for the brothers, too few of us really feel it. Too often, in a rare and honest moment, we find the prevailing attitude toward the brothers in ourselves. We have only a notional knowledge as opposed to a real conviction. This is readily detected and carried over to the students and is reproduced in them. A patronizing, condescending attitude, even one of pity, obliterates the rosy picture we would like to paint; and the student sees right through it. He sees, often more clearly than we, the idea of inequality, of superior and inferior, master and servant. And we should not be surprised that he does not find this attractive. Why is this? Is it possibly because the social attitude has evolved in contradistinction to our own at home? That is, do we in practice have a social attitude toward the brothers which does not correspond to what we hold for society in general? Is this contradiction at home possibly one o~ the reasons that we, who are exteriorly champions of this new social attitude, are not so readily accepted as its champions? Undoubtedly there must be a hierarchy of superiors and subjects for the preserva-tion of good order. This is a pure sociological fact. However, it is not necessary that there be superior and inferior on the social level in religious orders or congregations, which finds its equivalent in the caste system. We maintain the "fiction" of all being equally members of the order or congregation; but this is true only as regards spiritual matters. Actually it works out to the maxim that some are more equal than others as far as temporalities are concerned. If, for instance, the priests are allowed something, the equivalent to the brothers must be less good, and so on right down the line. This spells out to the laity what they assume is our real attitude. 205 ROBERT D. CIHLAR The purpose of pointing up these defects is most certainly not an attempt to antagonize. It is merely to point out things in our actions which negate our words, thereby withdrawing from this vocation some of the sense of personal worth. A prospect of such things, contained in the acceptance of a broth-er's vocation, cannot help but prove repugnant to the young men we would like to gain, for they both sense and see them. Con-sidering the society and cultural background in which they live, it is the only natural conclusion they can come to. We stand convicted by the principles we advocate and the profession we make. We ourselves are not without guilt in this lack of an "ideal" in the life of the brother. We seem to expect almost over-whelming actions of grace in the face of obstacles we have helped to erect, and it is unjust to do so. In becoming a brother, a young man today must surrender much more than did his predecessor of a few centuries ago. We have no ~-ight to expect miracles of grace. Very few Pauls have been thrown from their horses. There are no immediate conclusions this writer can come to or any pat solutions he can offer as regards these problems. Such, as a matter of fact, is not his aim. His aim is rather to raise a doubt in the minds of those who read this, to provoke discussion, to call attention to the possibility of error in our present thinking. As I have mentioned before, there is no intention of min-imizing the necessity of supernatural motivation, of the need of prayer and grace in the fostering of vocations. But I am deeply convinced that we have been seriously mistaken in not providing a so-called natural motivation to accompany it. When, together with the action of grace, we have provided the mak-ings of an ideal, then men will not be lacking who will wish to follow it. Problems of the Late Vocation David B. Wadhams, IF A MAN around thirty decides to begin studying for the priesthood, he is beginning a bold undertaking which entails the hazards, though not the romance, of real adventure. The difficulties he will face will not be those encountered by the man of action, but problems he will have in abundance. These problems are perhaps no more serious than those of his younger confreres in the seminary; but they have a complexity and an urgency which make them special, requiring special considera-tion. These problems must be faced if the man is to persevere; they must be solved if he is to be a happy and efficient priest. Religious congregations now seem more willing then ever before to accept older candidates who are qualified, and the religious life increases the problems the older man must face. How does an older man adjust to community life, the rule, the vows? How does he meet the demands of fraternal charity, surrounded as he is by men younger by ten or fifteen years and presumably more resilient psychically? Will his years in the seminary be a loss if he does not persevere? Is he not just burying himself there, during that crucial period when other men are carving out careers? What if he should fail? The problems are not limited to the older man himself; religious superiors must also face special problems in the case of older religious seminarians. Should they be given any sort of ~pecial consideration or exemption from ordinary seminary and religious discipline? Should they be given greater responsibili-ties because of the experience they bring with them to the seminary? Like superiors, spiritual directors also find that the presence of older seminarians is not without its perplexities. Should they be given more or less direction than the younger men? How should the direction of the older seminarian differ from that of the younger seminarian? Why does it seem so dif-ficult at times to make contact with the older seminarians? Mr. David B. Wadhams is presently studying theology at Marist College, 3875 Harewood Road, N. E., Washington 17, D. C. 207 DAVID B. WADHAMS Review ]or Religious The range and number of such difficulties could be extended indefinitely, but it will be sufficient here to limit consideration of the matter to five points where special difficulties would seem to be present for the older seminarian: (1) the older seminar-ian's special need for patience and humility; (2) his impatience with "unbusinesslike" administrative procedure; (3) his im-patience with superiors and directors; (4) his chafing at being classed with younger men; and (5) his nostalgia, more or less prolonged, for the lay state. The Need for Patience and Humility It seems very likely that special dispositions of Divine Providence are to be seen when a man of around the age of thirty becomes a seminarian. However deep the consolation may be for the older man in this thought (and it is a considera-tion that he must keep uppermost in his mind), yet it must also be realized that this very ordering of things by Divine Providence also entails a special exercise of patience and of humility--the patience and the humility of the old man on the bench with younger students. If this lesson of patience in the practice of humility is not learned, he will not be able to persevere. Of course, all seminarians must learn these virtues; and all of them haveindeed ample opportunity to practice them. But a younger man who knows that his priestly life will begin at, say, twenty-seven has the impatience of youthful impetuosity to tame. On the other hand, the older seminarian has the gnaw-ing discomfort of knowing that he must begin a life at forty. Nor is it much consolation to him when a bright-eyed funda-mentalist slaps him on the shoulder and says, "That's all right, Dad, life begins at forty!" This truism soon fails to elicit any but the feeblest enthusiasm in the older man. This general situation forms a sort of background against which the entire life of the older seminarian must be enacted; life, he knows, is short, and his own, despite his age, has not yet really begun. However manfully he may struggle to be patient and to overcome the sense of frustration and unrest that flows from such a situation, his general background of impatience cannot help but be increased by more specific difficulties which he encounters. 208 July, 1960 LATE VOCATION Impatience with the "Unbusinesslike" For the sake of concreteness, assume that a man comes to a religiousinstitute after ten years as a minor executive in the sales department of some large corporation. After an initial period in the religious life of great good will and satisfaction, he may begin to find himself becoming impatient with what he considers to be the "unbusinesslike" and "unrealistic" opera-tional methods of the seminary. He is told that he should bring suggestions and complaints to his superiors during regular interviews known as adminis-trative counseling. But he finds that his suggestions for improve-ment are met with aloofness and subsequently may be ignored. He may find the cordiality of his superiors somewhat strained and entirely different from the warm spontaneity of office good humor: The happy camaraderie of the old days in business seems to radiate friendliness and mutual good-will in contrast to the remote politeness of this administrative consulation. He finds, in short, that businesslike office methods may not always be found in religious congregationg; and that established cus-toms, even undesirable ones, have a tendency to cling. He may .be shocked that buildings and equipment have been allowed to ~leteriorate because of improper delegation of responsibility in maintaining them, or because of what~ he considers a misdirected cult of poverty. After years spent in surroundings presentable, if not luxurious, he may find cracked and peeling paint in sleeping rooms and officeg, together with ancient furniture, serviceable perhaps, but piteously unappealing to the eye. Administrative-duties may be relegated to a single over-worked lay brother who has to manage a coinplicated acc0unting system with machines years beyond their prime. "Duplicating equipment may be gently awry, p~'oducing legible but~scr.atchy copy. Cash accountihg may be quite nonchalarit. Public relations techniques may be hopelessly mismanaged or totally nonexistent. The man may tend to exaggerate these deficiencies as time goes on, and his itch to rearrange things increases. Why-don't they call someone in for an audit? Why must certain precious ma-chines be available for the indiscriminate and uncontrolled use of fifty people? Why does fresh paint seem incompatible with poverty- surely the walls were freshly painted once? If on the other hand he find~ himself in a congregation whose progressive foresight has placed men of vision in positions '209 DAVID B. WADHAMS Review for Religious of authority, the subject will surely find some evidences of inefficiency. The ease with which a man finds matter for criti-cism is a match for the most progressive system. Perhaps the very businesslike character of the place will strike him as out of place. A man's past will stand him in good stead when he becomes a religious; but the stresses and strains which this life imposes will affect him in those areas where he is mos~ vul-nerable- the sphere of his accumulated treasury of general know-how. Superiors and Spiritual Directors Then, too, the vow of obedience has a peculiar democratizing effect. Along with his deep respect for the office of superior, the subject realizes that both are bound by the same ties. The superior, no less than he, is directly subject to the authority of those above him; and this authority is just as stringent in its demands of obedience. Back in the office, the former senior accountant or advertising man saw his superior in a greatly privileged position within the circle of major executives. He was conscious of a degree of separation measured in terms of seniority and yearly income. Now he finds himself in the religious life where his superior, though he exerts the same authority as his former employer, may be a near contemporary, sleeping just down the hall, and using the same bath. The older seminarian realizes, to be sure, that the motive of his religious obedience is a supernatural one; but, being flesh and blood, in certain cases he cannot help but experience a sense of somewhat dis-mayed surprise at a superior-subject relationship that on the natural level may be so different from his previous relations with authority in the business and commercial world. Another problem for the older seminarian may be spiritual direction. He may find that he has difficulty "opening up." This will be especially so if his director is a younger man, or if he considers his director can have no comprehension of his char-acter. Suppose, for example, that the director is a younger man, that he entered religion on the completion of high school, and that he has had relatively little experience except in the direc-tion of seminarians. In such a case the older seminarian may find it difficult to talk about anything more dangerous than the weather, since he is aware of the considerable difference in background between himself and his director. This and similar cases may cause real difficulties in communication; the difficul-ties will be overcome only if the older seminarian recalls that 210 July, 1960 LATE VOCATION the same Providence which placed him in the seminary has also given him his superiors and directors. Armed with this con-sideration he must then put complete trust in his director, even if he finds it costs him dearly in wounded pride. As has been stated above, he has a special lesson in humility to learn. As a matter of fact, of course, younger directors can be quite satisfactory. Being aware of their relative inexperience, they tend to exercise great prudence in applying theological principles to concrete cases. Moreover, since many problems are solved by the mere telling, the seminarian should be quite con-tent if be can find a man to whom he can talk freely. Relations with the Younger Seminarians Probably the greatest trial which the older seminarian must undergo is being in a class of much younger men. Many institutes have a minor seminary to which they will send the older candidate for a year or so to give him some Latin and to observe him before sending him to the novitiate. The age dif-ference at this level is so great that he will usually be allowed certain privileges to make this period of adjustment easier. At the novitiate, however, he is considered for all practical pur-poses the contemporary of his fellow novices. Here the strict observance of the exterior prescriptions of the rule will place a heavy burden on a man who has enjoyed years of independ-ence. If, for example, he has been a heavy smoker for ten years or so and if he must observe a no-smoking rule, the damage to his good disposition will perhaps be compensated for in a cor-responding growth in character; but the sacrifice is sure to be severe--more so than for younger smokers. After leaving the novitiate where spiritual consolations and graces may have made the way easier for him, the older man' must still face years of study where the difference in age is no less than it was in the novitiate. These years of living with younger men un-questionably present a strain for his vocation; they will, how-ever, if properly met with patience and humility, give him his greatest opportunity for growth in emotional stability and for progress in the spiritual life. Most younger seminarians show brightness and intelligence in their speech and behavior. But at times this basie intelligence is accompanied by the thoughtlessness of immaturity. Many left their homes in middle adolescence; and sometimes their deport-ment tends to remain at the adolescent level, especially since 211 DAVID B. WADHAMS Review for Religion,s no one is constantly correcting them. This lack of maturity will be vexing for the older man, who is only too prone to see in the gaucherie of a few what he may tend to think of as the general boorishness of a class. Young men, for example, have an ex-tremely cavalier way of treating furniture. ,And if the older seminarian has spent the better part of three or four m~nths recovering and reupholstering the armchairs in the recreation room, he' has to swallow hard and bite his lip to keep from shouting at some young philosopher, blithely and quite uncon-sciously wiping'chocolate-covered fingers on the back of a newly covered chair, ¯ The older man must be careful in conversation too. His younger confreies will usually have no more than a ~udimentary background in the fields of non-religious knowledge.-Discussions of politics, art, the theater, economics, literature, all tend to be somewhat superficial. The younger man may often show a quick theoretical perception, yet he may lack sufficient critical discern-ment. Because of this the older man may find himself exercising an air of intellectual superiority and condescendingly needling his companions for their lack of sophistication. As one young seminarian has put it: "The older men ought to stop and think now and then that they have no monopoly on ideas. They could at least listen, even if they disagree." :o. In the midst of'such difficulties the older seminarian could well reflect that if he sometimes finds it difficult to be with the younger men, surely they too find his company occasionally try-ing. If he has passed through the fiery trials of the crucial years between twenty and thirty, his very scars should remind him that seminary life is not always easy for the young men who hunger for action and the exercise of their ministerial labors. Let him think back upon what he was doing at their age; the contrast should fill him with the desire for patience and for-bearance. If he was in the service, his amazement will be com-plete that fifty or more young men can .live together cheerfully, peacefully sharing a life of work, study, prayer, and play. oIn the service, as h~ knows, men behaved quite differently; by contrast, the charity of seminarians clearly shows the effect of supernatural grace. He should reflect maturely that if he is annoyed at little gaucheries and breaches of etiquette, some thoughtlessness and lack of discipline, he will never find more serious faults; for however much he may see of thoughtlessness in the seminary, he will encounter no deliberate malice. Indeed, 212 July, 1960 LATE VOCATION one of his greatest sufferings may be his anguish that he ~cannot accept the small shortcomings of others with greater grace and equanimity. Nostalgia for the Lay State During the first two or three years of his training the older man may be subject to a fierce nostalgia for the lay state. Just as the Jews hungered for the delights of their former, life in Egypt, the older seminarian may sometimes be seriously tempted to think of his life "in the world" as much more useful and vital. This feeling will be all the stronger in the man of great vitality. At times all the reasoning that brought him to his priestly studies will become darkened and submerged. He will forget that one great reason for his having left everything behind was a dissatisfaction with what he was doing. He may begin to chafe at certain restrictions, desiring freedom from the restraint of the seminary rule. What he begins to miss is the habitual adult independence he has always known. Sometimes he will think: "I am too fiercely independent; I am not tem-peramentally suited to the regular life; these habits of inde-pendence are ingrained." As serious as this temptation may be, it will tend to dis-appear as his security in his vocation grows; and in most cases it will not be a source of great anxiety after the~pronouncement of perpetual vows. The nostalgia for the lay state is one temp-tation which .can best be handled in spiritual direction. The subject should regard it as a serious temptation and conscien-tiously follow the course his director prescribes for him. Once a man finds himself in the major seminary of a religious con-gregation, he can rest in complete confidence as to his choice of a state in life. He has chosen by heeding the call; whether he should continue is for his superiors and spiritual :directors to decide. The cool and firm acceptance of this fact will save. the man the added anguish of continually doubting his vocation when the temptation arises to return to his former state of life. Conclusion The older seminarian must train himself to face his trials and difficulties peacefully and tranquilly. His age may indeed tend to make him less flexible in certain respects; he will be less subject to "formation," more set in his attitudes and out-look on life. But this very situation may also be an advantage. If he is mentally awake, he will be at the very., peak of his learning powers. Years of training in judgment will compensate 213 DAVID B. WADHAMS for any alleged diminution of learning powers said to begin after full adulthood is reached. Although the older seminarian may be tempted to think that his best years are being wasted in the seminary, he should remember that, just because he is older, he will see more deeply into the problems of philosophy and theology and that he will draw from them a greater intel-lectual enrichment and practical value. Finally, there are two general attitudes that will greatly .help an older man along in his seminary life. The two attitudes, one natural, the other supernatural, are so diverse as to be almost incongruous when juxtaposed together. Yet the two can work together to ease the trials of seminary life for him. The first attitude is that of a sense of humor. The man who finds his own idiosyncrasies laughable has a safety valve which he will need to use frequently. Since he is constantly confronted with human foibles, especially his own, it is far better to laugh at them with hearty, tolerant, and loving amusement than to dwell on them as consant pricks to pride and self-esteem. The second attitude is one that has been hinted at above; it is a complete trust in Divine Providence. Whatever can be said on the human level of religious life, there is never any waste in the management of things by the fatherly hand of God. The years the older seminarian spent "in the world" as well as the protracted time spent in seminary life before ordination are not useless but completely functional from the viewpoint of the Father who has counted even the hairs of our head. In this sense there is no such thing as a late vocation; the call came and was answered at the time chosen by Divine Wisdom. In this con-nection it will assist the older seminarian to reflect and meditate upon the role of late vocations in the history of the Church; it is not mere fancy to say that without late vocations the entire history of the Church would assume a different cast and com-plexion. Remove, for instance, the three late vocations of Ambrose, Augustine, and Loyola from the history of the Church and consider the difference the removal would make in the course of the Church's history. Indeed it would seem safe to say that of the confessor saints who lived before modern times, a large part of them, if not the majority, were what are called today late vocations. Having seen the finger of Providence with regard to late vocations in the history of the Church, the older sem-inarian will be able to draw therefrom a greater trust in that same Providence with regard to his own late vocation. 214 Is Religious Disobedience Always a Sin? Joseph J. Farraher, S.J. THE CONSTITUTIONS of most religious institutes state explicitly that they do not bind under pain of s{n, even venial sin, except where the vow of obedience is explicitly invoked, or where they determine the matter of the other vows. Most also state explicitly, or at least imply, that the same holds for orders of superiors. Why then do some spiritual writers imply otherwise? For example, Father Cotel in the Catechism of the Vows, says: One sins against the virtue of obedience when one does not carry out a formal order of a legitimate superior. If an order of a superior only recalls an obligation of rule or a com-mandment of God or of the Church, failure to observe it is not a fault against the special virtue of obedience. Such conduct often involves a sin against another virtue.1 In a footnote he adds: According to very famous theologians (St. Thomas, Suarez and others) a simple act of disobedience does not constitute a sin against the special virtue of obedience, but it contains nearly always one or more sins against other virtues.2 And in a later section, he says: Unless the Constitutions determine otherwise, simple injunctions of superiors, commands which are not. made in virtue of the vow, do not always oblige under pain of sin. If the superior formally commands a particular act not determined by the Constitutions, but in conformity with them, it is our opinion that disobedience is always sinful.:~ Again he adds a footnote: "Some thhologians seem ho~v-ever to admit the contrary:''4 And Father Kirsch in his Spi~'itual Di~'ection of Siste'rs under the heading "Sins against the Virtue of Obedience" says: "A religious offends against the virtue of obedience by disobey- 'Peter Cotel, S.J., and Emile Jombart, S.J., Catechis~n of the Vows (New York: Benziger, 1945), pp. 83-84. ~Ibid. ~Ibid., p. 85. ~Ibid. The Reverend Joseph J. Farraher is stationed at Alma College, Los Gatos, California 215 JOSEPH J', FARRAHER Review for Religious ing without reason, the usual commands, regulations, counsels and wishes of the superiors.''5 How can these statements be reconciled with the explicit statement of the constitutions of most religious institutes that fione of the rules or orders of superiors bind under pain of sin unless they explicitly invoke the vow? First of all, Father Kirsch and Father Cotel's Catechism imply that there could be a sin against the virtue of obedience as distinct from the vow of obedience. In this matter, wh usually think of the Fourth Commandment as commanding obedience to all legitimate superiors. Are not religious superiors legitimate superiors? However, the Fourth Commandment commands us to obey all legitimate superiors according to their authority. For ex-ample, children are obliged to obey their parents in all things, except where there is sin, and except in the choice of a state of life: marriage or the religious life. In this last the parents have no authority, and therefore there is no sin of disobedience if children disobey their parents in their choice of life. What is the source of the authority i~f religious superiors to give commands which would be binding under pain of sin by the virtue of obedience? It is not from the natural law, since religious communities are not natural societies, but rather conventional, that is, they are formed by the mutual agreement of the members. Therefore, if there is authority in religious superiors, it will be according to the form under which the in-stitute was organized. But most modern religious institutes (and even some ancient ones) state in their constitutions that. orders of superiors will bind under pain of sin only when they command explicitly in virtue of the vow of obedience. Therefore, there is here no source of authority to command under pain of sin apart from invoking the vow. But some authors, even when they admit that disobedience would not be a sin against the virtue of obedience (which even Cotel seems grudgingly to admit in a later passage), still insist that it almost always involves a sin against some other virtue.6 This brings up the question, certainly a theoretical one but one with very important practical applications, of whether or not a positive imperfection is a venial sin. By a positive imper-fection is meant the deliberate choice of a less perfect action, 5Felix M. Kirsch, O.F.M.Cap., The Spiritual Direction of Sisters (New York: Benziger, 1930), pp. 483-84. 6Cotel, op. cir., pp. 86-87. 216 J~dy, 1960 RELIGIOUS DISOBEDIENCE or the deliberate omission of the better action. For example, I realize that it would be better for me to make a visit to the Blessed Sacrament at this. time; but I deliberately decide not to do so, with no question of the alternative being a sin in itself-- perhaps to continue reading a book. Some theologians have held that every such positive imperfection would be a venial sin. They base their argument on the principle that we are obliged to seek our last end in the best way possible. But this contradicts the opinion of the majority of theologians. We are certainly obliged to seek our last end, but not necessarily in the best way possible. And it seems to me that we have a very strong argument from Holy Scripture itself, in several places, that it is not sinful to choose the less perfect. The most explicit example, I think, is in St. Paul's First Epistle to the Corinthians, in the seventh chapter, where he is talking about virginity and marriage. In verses seven and eight, he says: "I would that all men were even as myself [the im-plication is: virginal].; but everyone hath his proper gift from God: one after this manner, and another after that. But I say to the unmarried and. to the widows: it is good for them if they continue, even as I." And later in the same chapter: "Now con-cerning virgins, I have no commandment of the Lord, but I give counsel, as having obtained mercy of the Lord to be faithful. I think therefore that this is good for the present necessity : that it is good for a man so to be. Art thou bound to a wife? Seek not to be loosed. Art thou loosed from a wife? Seek not a wife. But if thou take a wife, thou hast not sinned. And if a virgin marry, she hath not sinned" (vv. 25ff.). And still a little further on, where St. Paul is talking about a father giving his daughter in marriage: "Therefore, both he that giveth his virgin in marriage doth well: and he that giveth her not doth better" (v. 38). Is not St. Paul saying explicitly here that while it is better to remain virginal, nevertheless it is not a sin to marry? This certainly is the choice between the better and the less good. And he does not qualify it by saying that if one cannot do the better, it is all right to do the less good. He simply gives a comparison: that for the same man, it is better if he does not marry, but it is good if he does, and he does not sin in marrying. So, this is at least one example where deliberately choosing the lesser good is 217 JOSEPH J. FARRAHER Review for Religious not a sin: which proves that the universal statement to the contrary is false. But some adversaries answer: At least to disobey a rule or order of superiors would almost always be a sin because it will involve a bad motive. They give as examples, that it will be done out of laziness or sensuality or human respect. For this, Father Gerald Kelly, S.J., has a good answer in his book on Guidance for Religious (pp. 258-59).7 He is talking about the obligation of daily morning and evening prayers; but, as he himself says, it applies also to the obligation of rules: They would say (i.e., those holding for sin): "Theoretically there is no obligation to pray every day: but in practice there is usually a sin in the omission of these prayers, because when daily prayers are omitted without a sufficient reason this is often due to a small fault of laziness, sensuality, or human respect." This formula, or a somewhat similar one, is sponsored by eminent theologians; and catechists who wish to follow it in explaining the duty of praying are certainly justified in doing so. But I would not recommend it. I find it confusing. It says, on the one hand, that daily prayers are not of obligation, yet on the other, it demands a sufficient reason under pain of sin for omitting them. This seems to beg the entire question; for if there is no obligation to say daily prayers, why should a reason be required under pain of sin for omitting them? As for the statement that failure to say these prayers could be a sin of laziness, it seems to ignore completely the distinction between imperfection and venial sin. [In a footnote at this point, Fr. Kelly admits that those who hold that every positive im-perfection is a venial sin would logically hold this doctrine.] Laziness is not a sin in the strict sense; it is an inordinate disposition or tendency, and it becomes sinful only when it leads to the neglect of some duty binding under pain of sin. In other words, laziness is an imperfection when it induces one to act against a counsel (for instance, to break a rule which does not bind under pain of sin), and it is a sin when it leads one to violate a precept (for instance, to miss Sunday Mass in whole or in part). And what I have said of laziness is similarly true of such things as sensuality and human respect. According to this doctrine of Father Kelly, if a person de-liberately violates a rule or ordination of superiors, because it is easier not to do the thing ordered, for love of comfort, or for laziness, if you want to call it that, it is not a sin. Obviously, to seek comfort is not of itself a sin, or we could not have any cushions, soft beds, pillows, or anything of the kind. A certain amount of comfort is even necessary. The love of comfort there-fore is not wrong in itself; it is wrong only when it leads one to do something that is sinful, or to omit something to which one is bound under pain of sin. To omit something to which one is not bound, because of the love of comfort, is not therefore a sin. 7Westminster: Newman, 1956. 218 July, 1960 RELIGIOUS DISOBEDIENCE Obviously, if the action one chooses in place of obeying the rule is something sinful in itself, it will be a sin. But the mere fact that it is breaking the rule, will not of itself ever make an action a sin that would not be a sin even if there were no rule. How then does one sin against obedience? Aside from dis-obeying those commands which are given in virtue of the vow of obedience, one can also sin against obedience by formal con-tempt for authority. All the authors agree that this does not mean contempt for the person who holds authority, but formal contempt for authority itself. One can also sin against other virtues in disobeying the rules. Formal contempt for religious life and religious rule in general would be a sin against the virtue of religion. And, as was said before, if there is a really sinful motive in one's action and not ,just a less perfect motive, then there will be a sin; but that is apart from the fact that a rule is being violated. There is a further way in which one might sin by dis-obedience to rules and regulations: if one does it habitually, one might very well be getting into a proximate danger of losing his vocation. For a novice, that would not be sinful, because a novice is not bound to that vocation. But one who has taken perpetual vows is bound for life. Therefore, to endanger the perpetuity of his vows knowingly and willingly could be a sin. Generally speaking, an individual violation of a rule or an order of superiors not invoking the vow of obedience would not be a sin in itself, unless the act is sinful apart: from any violation of the rule. I hope that it is cl,early understood that I am not suggesting that we should violate rules or orders of superiors. Certainly, if we truly want to signalize ourselves in the more perfect following of our Lord, we shall ordinarily do our best to observe all rules and regulations. But our motive should be the love of God, not the fear of sin. But is not the rule the will of God for us? Is it not wrong to go against God's will? It would be wrong to go against the preceptive will of God. But the rule is not the preceptive will of God; it is a counsel, a guidepost or directive to the better way of serving and loving God. And even then the statement must be qualified: ordinarily the rule indicates the better thing to be done. But, as we know, no rule made by a human being can be so perfect that it could not admit of exceptions in extraordinary circumstances. But at least ordinarily, in ordinary circumstances, 219 JOSEPH J. FARRAHER Review for Religious the rule is for us the indication of the better way of serving God. But what about the form of the rules? Some will say that they are in the form of laws and all true laws bind in conscience. Some thelogians, myself included, would not agree that all laws must bind in conscience,s But if such a statement is admitted, then the rules are not laws. Because they do not intend to bind in conscience, regardless of how they are worded. This is clear from the constitutions themelves in stating that they do not bind under pain of sin. So, regardless of their wording, they are meant as mere directives to the more perfect following of Christ. Is there any sense in which they contain an obligation? Yes, I think there is- but not under pain of sin. What does obligation mean ? It seems to be a form of necessity in the moral order. When I say moral order here, I mean not in the physical or metaphysical order, but in the order of human conduct. It is a conditional necessity. If we want to achieve a certain end, we must do this particular thing. When we speak of a moral obli-gation, not simply an obligation in the moral order, but an obligation binding under pain of sin, we mean this: that if we want to achieve our ultimate end, we must do a certain thing. Now, we are obliged to seek our ultimate end, therefore we have an absolute necessity to take the necessary means. But if the end itself is not absolutely necessary, then we have no absolute necessity to take the means. We have only a conditional necessity. If we want this particular end, we must take these means. There are obvious examples of this use of words implying obligation which are certainly outside the realm of sin. For instance, if you are playing bridge and bid two spades, you must take eight tricks. That is an obligation, an obligation not under Pain of sin, but an obligation of the game. If you do not take eight tricks, you will receive a penalty. There is no moral fault in not taking the required number of tricks, nor does the in-flicting of a penalty imply this. But there is a certain necessity to take the eight tricks, if you want to succeed at the game. So also in the moral order : we might speak of the conditions of gaining an indulgence. One must fulfill all the conditions, if one wants to gain the indulgence. But one is not obliged to gain the indulgence. Therefore, one is not obliged absolutely to do these things required for the indulgence. For ihstance, if one sSt. Thomas also holds that counsels are an ordinary part of the law, Summa Theologiae, 1-2, 104, 4. 220 J~dy, 1960 RELIGIOUS DISOBEDIENCE wishes to say the same prayer, but not fulfill the conditions of the indulgence, he is free to do so. But if one wants to gain the indulgence, one must fulfill the conditions. You can call that a form of obligation, but not under pain of sin. So also with the rules. If we want to follow the more perfect way, we must do what the rule commands. But are we not obliged to seek.the more. perfect way by our profession as religious? No, the religious profession binds us under pain of sin only to those.things which are explicitly vowed, ~vhich are poverty according to the constitutions, chastity in its perfection, including celibacy or virginity, and obedience in those things which are commanded in virtue of the vow. This is a more perfect way of life, and to this much we are strictly obliged under pain of sin. But we are not obliged by the vows to seek the most perfect in everything we do: If we want to be more perfect still, we must follow the rules and regular;ions. But we are not obliged to them under pain of sin. If we so neglect them that we proximately endanger the fulfillment of our vows or their perpetuity, then of course we are sinni.ng,. Are we not obliged under pain of sin at least by the law.of the Church, which in canon 593 says that religious should order their lives in accordance with the rules and constitutions of their own order and so strive for perfection? A Claretian moralist, Father A. Peinador recently proposed this argument.9 But practically all authorities on canon law, including the out-standing Claretian expert on the canon law of religious, Father Goyeneche,1° agree that this canon adds no new obligation, and that, in fact, a religious can sin against the specific obligation of striving for perfection only by contempt, and not even by individual violations of his vows. In spite of Father Peinador's worries, the individuality of each order is still preserved by the fact that the rules and constitutions determine the matter of the vows and further determine the matter in ~vhich superiors can invoke the vow of obedience. Two. other arguments are proposed by Father Peinador in his effort to prove that the rules and constitutions, oblige under pain of sin in spite of his admission, that this is contrary ~"'Obligan o no obligan las reglas?" Vida Religiosa, 16 (1959), 149-52, 216-20. I°Qt~aestio~es Ca~tonicae de Ittre Religiosor~¢~, 2 (Naples: D'Auria, 1955), 8. Cf. also Bouscaren-Ellis, C(t~ton Law (Milwaukee: Bruce, 1953), p. 285. 221 JOSEPH J. FARRAHER Review for Religious to the wishes of both-their authors and the Church herself. The first is based on the expression, used by St. Thomas and others, that the rules oblige ad poenam: It is true that some authors have interpreted this to mean that, although the rules do not oblige to their immediate object, they do impose an obligation under pain of sin to accept any penance imposed for their viola-tion. Father Peinador thinks that it is absurd to hold that the rules would impose a heavier obligation to accept a penance than to do what is enjoined in the first place. But if it is an absurdity (and I am among those who agree that it is), the conclusion should not be that "therefore the rules oblige under pain of sin," but rather, "therefore there is no obligation under pain of sin to accept a penance imposed by rule or by superiors unless it is imposed in virtue of the vow (as some few are in some con-stitutions), or unless the avoidance of the penance would be a sin for some other reason.''11 Some further explanation may seem required here; but as was hinted above, to discuss the whole question of the obligation of law in general and of purely penal laws in particular, would take too much time and space. Let it suffice for now to point out two briefer answers: either that the constitutions and rules are not truly laws, as Father Peinador himself holds; or, that the expression ad poenam,really means what we would usually indicate by sub poena. This is clear from St. Thomas's use of the expression in opposition to ~d culpam, in English we might translate sub poena (and hence ad poenam as used by St. Thomas) as under threat of penalty, just as we usually translate ad culpam or sub culpa as under pain of sin. Finally, Father Peinador complains that if the rules do not oblige "under pain of sin" (sub culpa), they oblige only "under pain of imperfection" (ba]o imperfecci6n), which to him does not make sense. The expression does sound peculiar; I have never before seen it used. What is usually held is that the violation of a rule is usually an imperfection. I do not think that anyone considers this a threat, as ba]o would seem to imply. It does imply that desire for perfection for love of God rather than fear of sin should be our motive for obeying the rule. If Father Peina-dor means to imply that every positive imperfection is a sin, his objection has already been answered above. l~That this is true of purely penal laws is taught by Vermeersch, I, n. 472, and St. Alphonsus, Theologia moralis, lib. I, n. 145. 222 July, 1960 RELIGIOUS DISOBEDIENCE To summarize: one would sin against religious obedience only on two scores: by a direct violation of an order given in virtue of the vow, or by formal contempt for authority (admit-tedly a very rare form of sin). Endangering the fulfillment of the vows, or contempt for religious life or constitutions could be a sin against religion. Otherwise, a violation of a rule or regulation will be a sin only if the act would be sinful apart from all idea of disobedience. An example of what might be a sin on the occasion of a violation of a rule would be a violation of silence in sfich a way as to disrupt the common order and to cause real inconvenience and mental suffering to those who are trying to serve God in a more perfect way according to the rule. The principles of what is given above are those taught by practically all theologians, including St. Thomas Aquinas,I~ St. Alphonsus,13 and Suarez.14 The practical application as to how often a violation of a rule may involve a sin for some other reason differs from Suarez, who judges that a violation will almost always involve a venial sin because of a venially sinful motive. In this he is correctly cited in Father Cotel's footnote cited earlier. St. Thomas and St. Alphonsus hold that a violation can and perhaps often does involve a venial sin because of a venially sinful motive. All three agree that no violation of a rule will be a venial sin because it is a violation of a rule, but only if the act would be a sin apart from any violation of the rule. Some who follow Suarez' rather severe judgment of fact are heard at times to say such things as: a violation of the rule of silence almost always (or very frequently) involves a venial sin against charity. That seems a rather severe judgment. If one sincerely held that, he would have to hold that almost all conversation, even during recreation times, involves sins against charity. I would not like to admit that. 1"-'Summa Theologiae, 2-2, 186, 9, for the rule; 104, 5, for orders of superiors; 186, 3, on the obligation to perfection. ~'~Theologi~ moralis, lib. IV, n. 38, for the rule; n. 42 for orders of superiors.In both places he simply gives the text of Busenbaum without further comment. ~4De religione, tract. 8, lib. 1, "De obligationibus religiosorum . . . ," cap. IV, nn. 12-13. 223 JOSEPH J. FARRAHER In a'll this we must always remember that the chief motive for embracing religious life should be the more perfect serving of God, and that love of God, not fear of sin, should lead all religious ordinarily to follow all rules and regulations of superiors.15. -. l~Father Rene Carpentier, S.J., in his Life in the City of God (New York: Benziger, 1959), ~vhich according to the title-page is "a completely recast edition, of A Catcchis~t of the Vows," emphasizes the motive of love throughout the book. He also states the obligations of religious obedience under pain of sin, pp. 158-63, much more in the manner outlined in this article. 224 The Problem of Transition for the Junior Sister Sister Mary Magdalen, OoP. In a narrow circle the mind contracts; Man grows with his expanded needs.I THESE WORDS of the eighteenth-century poet apply to any of us at any one stage of our lives; and we who have the rich treasury of the Church always at our disposal must, indeed, blush if our needs do not precipitate that growth which "enriches the harvest o~ charity so that [we] will have abun-dant means of every kind for all that generosity which gives proof of our gratitude toward G6d" (2 Cor 9:10-11). At certain times in our life of grace we reach a plane where a marked change or growth takes place, from which we emerge with new attitudes, firmer convictions to reach for higher alti-tudes. We are not "that which we have been.''2 We have expe-rienced a transition, a "development or evolution from one clearly-defined stage to another"; a "changing from an earlier to a later form with the blending of old and new features"; a building-up which enhances and brings to completion the foun-dation already laid. Such transitions we will experience often enough as we go life's journey; one such is the particular aim of the juniorate period, following the novitiate formation in religious houses. The areas of sensitivity in this development are not difficult to ascertain as we watch the junior sister try to find her place in professed life. She must adapt herself to a more intensive study program, to a more mature assuming of responsibility under obedience, to new social relations that include some secular contacts, to a wider range of age levels and interests in her own religious family. She finds herself being urged toward develop-ing her individuality, yet toward a more virile obedience ; toward creativity, yet toward a zealous dedication to the common life; 1Schiller, Prologues, 1.59. :Byron, Childe Harold, Canto 4, stanza 185. Sister Mary Magdalen is Mistress of Jt~niors at St. Catherine's Convent, Racine, Wisconsin. 225 SISTER ~/~ARY MAGDALEN Review for Religious she is confused in her new environment of "thinking for your-self" and "thinking with the community." Above all, she is not a little appalled by the large issue of resolving~everything within her obligation to grow daily in the love of God, a duty she freely assumed ~with her vows. "How," she asks, bewildered, "do I harmonize it all?" It becomes the task of the junior mistress, then, and of all who deal with the juniors, to analyze the situation, to provide gradually the helps they need to adapt, to take root, and to grow. Since the juniorate provides an intensive study program, what transition will be involved here? Perhaps this is the place, if it has not been previously achieved, to give a clearer under-standing of a truly integrated liberal arts program and the end toward which it aims. We find that though this has been dis-cussed from the postulant's beginning year, the junior sister, probably entering her junior academic year in college, will now be more ready to appreciate such a program. Study is much more the dominant activity of her day than in the earlier years when the novelty of the life, novitiate formation, absence of stability of profession--all militated somewhat against an inten-sive concentrated life of study. Indeed, it may even be somewhat of a problem to convince all junior sisters of the proportionate importance of study in their lives. To sound this note last August we prepared a sym-posium and informal discussion before college classes began on: "The Place of Study in Religious Life." The outline used follows at the end of this paper. Since at this time some of the young sisters still need help with the self-discipline of study, a candid reporting and dis-cussion of these difficulties individually with the mistress offers a helpful way to arouse the sincere desire and effort to establish the habit. Study time must, of course, be provided, and the course load be kept within limits, credit-wise. Long periods of study from two to three hours, at least sometimes, are a real necessity. Along with developing an attitude toward study, these are the years during which to build an attitude toward a habit of broad and well-chosen reading. The young sister must be helped in this by providing the right reading matter, by dis-cussion and motivation toward the choice she will be required to make. The sister must be shown that the need for a profes-sional woman is to keep well-informed on current trends, cul-tural, economic, scientific, to know the mind of the Church on 226 July, 1960 THE JUNIOR SISTER controversial matters, to discuss opinions intelligently (first, to have some), and to choose books that will broaden her ability to evaluate literature, history, the arts, and contemporary move-ments. Here the college instructors must be interested, as, indeed, we find them to be. The Directed Readings courses in the various fields of concentration challenge the sisters to a critical evalua-tion of works ranging through Plato, Aristotle, and Longinus to Tawney's Religion and the Rise of Capitalism, Karl Marx's Kapital, Veblen's Theory of the Leisure Class, works of Newman, Maritain, Hemingway, and Riesman. This practice in seeing'rela-tion of parts to a whole, in evaluation, and in individual and group critical thinking is a facility that can be used by way of transition in attitudes toward religious life. At a recent Chicago meeting of the AHE (Association for Higher Education) the emphasis in a sectional discussion centered on the need for a right conformity along with creativity in thinking and adting. Mr. Kenneth Little of the University of Wisconsin, quoting St. Augustine, reminded the educators present that "the best indi-viduality will ultimately lead to a slavery to God." The whole trend of thinking was that basic disciplines in the classical tradi-tions alone will prepare the mind to develop its own freedom in thinking on contemporary issues and problems. Conformity, rightly understood, and creativity must be seen to be comple-mentary rather than incompatible. The thoughtful junior sister will soon transfer this understanding to' her life of obedience and the development of her own personality. The principles of integration found in the curriculum will take on a new meaning for the sister student at this level. She will begin to relate her biological and physical sciences to the philosophical concepts at her disposal, and her theology, besides becoming a stronger personal defense in her religious life, will serve as a norm to which each discipline will look, while retain-ing its individual distinction as a science. Literature will become a laboratory in which human problems are tested and tried but never completely solved and from which vision .will often arise; contemporary changes on the technological, political, economic scene will prove a challenge, fitting themselves into place in human history, posing questions for the present, challenges for the immediate future. From these understandings and attitudes we can help the young sister in her personal problem of living her vows. From conformity and individuality in analyzing literature, art; and 227 SISTER MARY MAGDALEN Review for Religious history, we can lead her to a clearer appreciation of the en-nobling power of obedience, of her duty to expand her talents, to enrich her personality, and to strengthen her character. She can find her penance in the long hours of severe mental and physical discipline demanded by study; she can direct this pen-ance by her will to love ; she will find her reward both in growth in grace and in love of learning. Father Gustave Weigel, S.J., puts it thus: "Esteem for scholarship will not be produced by legislation or even construction of programs. It is a matter of creative love. To love you must be acquainted. To look for new acquaintances, there must be dissatisfaction with what is at hand.'''~ This dissatisfaction will prompt her to forge ahead in both her intellectual and her supernatural life, for we must help her constantly to see these as one. When to interpret for herself, when to seek advice, when the letter, when the spirit of the law--these knowledges must come to her somewhat through experience, even, as to all of us, through trial and error. No-where will she find the standard rule, the "capsuled" formula, though she will eagerly seek it. We can instruct with examples, but we must also leave room for failure, that necessary human-izing experience from which we as a people shrink. The junior sister must be encouraged to think out her own problems, to do some interpreting of emergency situations, to come out with the wrong answer and face her own mistake. She must be helped through this to the courage to start over, to smile through difficulties, to laugh at herself at times. Many of these understandings and developed appreciations of her religious life, then, will be incidental, casual, imbibed along with her daily living. A formal program of instruction, is, of course, necessary also. We have found the third part of Father McElhone, C.S.C.'s, Spirituality for Postulate, No~)itiate, Scholasticatea an excellent and practical guide for weekly instruc-tions. It lends itelf to natural deviations as the needs of the group demand. The divisions are: Sacrifice, Charity, Humility, Offense to God, Love of God, Accusation of Faults and Sins, Security of Rules and Vows, Temptation, Identification with Christ, Communion, Authority, The Trinity, Eternal Life. The material will easily spread itself over a two-year period. In covering "Sacrifice" we spent some weeks discussing sacrifice 3Gustave Weigel, S.J., "American Catholic Intellectualism," Review Politics, 19 (July, 1957), 275-307. 4Notre Dame: Ave Maria Press, 1955. 228 July, 1960 THE JUNIOR SISTER and renewing our undertanding and appreciation of the Mass, concentrating especially on My Mass by Joseph Putz, S.J.5 Then the virtues of sacrifice, humility, and charity were studied as they w~re portrayed in the lives of our Dominican Saints and our foundress, Mother Benedicta Bauer, O.P. This carried us through the first semester. "Offense to God" and "Accusation of Faults and Sins" we combined in a study of the use of the sacrament of penance, of general and particular examen of ~onscience, and the relation of these to meditation and recol-lection. Our object here was to challenge the sister to see these aspects of her religious growth as a unit, to help her approach her subject of particular examen positively, through the practice of recollection, through harmonizing it .when possible with meditation and mental prayer, with her efforts at self-knowledge. This is to militate against the discouragement commonly ex-pressed by the young sister: "If I make a resolution after meditation, one in my particular examen, one after confession, if I try to concentrate on something quite different during silence by way of recollection, where do I end?--in confusion!" We make an effort, then to "integrate" here, though admittedly it is uphill work, one which is only begun, since it involves patient waiting for the Holy Spirit. Meanwhile we show the importan'ce of constantly striving anew, of making consistent efforts at particular examen, recollection, and mental prayer, cardinal points on which ultimate success hinges. One can help the sister here, individually again; but the approach to the individual conference should put the burden of effort, at least apparently, on the sister herself. Does she need help? Does she want help? Let her go on from there. In still another sphere, we find the junior sister facing a transition--that of adjusting to secular companions in some of her classes and to a more mature group of sisters. We believe in having the juniors mix with the other professed. While we do have provisions for separate recreations, our junior sisters have free contact with all the sisters and join them in many of their recreations. This is an idea] situation for their better under-standing of the older s~sters, for a new relationship with their college teachers. It gives them an insight into the life and valuable services of our nurses and domestic sisters. There are opportunities to observe and test their own youthful impru- ~Westminster: Newman, 1958. 229 SISTER MARY MAGDALEN Review for Religious dences; to visit the sick and read to them; to share experiences with sisters who are not engaged in the schools; to get a better picture of the personnel needed to do all of the community's work. In the classroom situation, too, ihey meet secular students. They are sometimes confronted with unexpected competition, with views, outlooks, examples which alert them to problems of a world from which they are otherwise easily removed. They are challenged at making small decisions as to conversation, explanation, to a sense of poise and graciousness expected of them, to a loyalty to their community, experienced in practice for the first time. We might ask, now, besides the religious instruction and individual counselling, what other approaches can be t~sed to help the juniors in these important transitions? Here, more than ever before in the formation period, must we help her to help herself. An effective and appealing method to face and penetrate mutual problems is the group discussion--in any form. We mentioned earlier an orientation-to-school discussion on "The Place of Study in the Religious Life." The topic was broken down thus : I. Definition of Terms. II. St. Thomas and Study. The virtue of studiousness. a. What it is. b. What it is not. III. Study and the Religious Life. a. Purpose. b. Integration. IV. Practical Considerations. a. Attitudes: . b. Motives. c. Advantages. V. The Apostolate and Study. a. Need for preparation. b. Responsibility of an "apostle." The sisters admitted to a new alertness in the importance of the role of study in their lives. We feel it convinced them that study was truly the chief duty of their state for the time being. Another topic for discussion suggested by the young sisters themselves later in the year as representing a direct need was: "Practical Aspects of Poverty." Our approach this time: Each 230 Ju~, 1960 THE ,.]'UNIOR SISTER sister was asked to submit a question of her own on the subject. These were classified and duplicated so that all might consider, discuss, investigate, and mull over in informal conversation before the final discussion. Other discussions fruitful in broad-ening and stabilizing the sisters' views were centered on "Criti-cism and Censorship in Art and Literature," and on two rather controversial lectures delivered by Ashley Montagu and Vance Packard respectively. We hold, also, weekly, an informal dis-cussion of the Sunday Gospel with the question in mind: "What is Christ telling or asking of us in these words of His?" Quite frequently the discussion leads to a healthy "housecleaning" on points of courtesy, rule, and schedule, and to a group resolution, spontaneously arrived at. Summarily, if the atmosphere of the juniorate and of the sister's entire environment is one of mutual generosity and sin-cere desire to help them make the most of this valuable time, if they are encouraged in the virtues of honesty, candor, and justice, if they are helped to.appreciate somewhat the challenge of the complexities of life, no matter where it is lived, the efforts of all involved will be greatly repaid. We can, then, app~:oach this transition period with the junior sister, aware of the challenge, alert to the possibilities for development, humbly confident that "according to the grace that is given us" (Rom 5:2) we can help .her grow up toward her full stature in Christ. 231 Survey of Roman Documents R. I~. Smith, S.J. IN THIS ARTICLE a summary will be given of the documents that appeared in Acta Apostolicae Sedis (AAS) during January, February, and March, 1960. All references throughout the survey will be to the 1960 AAS (v. 52). The Christmas Message The 1959 Christmas message (pp. 27-35) was devoted by John XXIII to the subject of peace. The first and most important part of the message was concerned with three types of peace and the conditions under which each type can exist, l~eace, His Holiness said, is first of all peace of heart, an interior state of the spirit of each individual. The condition for this kind of peace, he added, is a loving and filial dependence on the will of God. The Second type of peace considered by the Holy Father was social peace, harmony within nations. This peace, he stated, must be based on a deep respect for the personal dignity of each man. ~Christ's incarnation and redemption, he continued, has dignified not only the human race, but each individual of the race. For if He has so loved the individual as to give Himself for him (Gal 2:20), then each man deserves to be given an absolute respect. This attitude is fundamental to all the Church's social teaching, according to which wealth, economy,, and the state are for man, and not man for them. The internal peace of nations, he warned, is threatened by treating men as mere instruments, simple means of production. Contrariwise only by recognizing the dignity of man will a natioa be able to dissolve civil discord. The Vicar of Christ then discussed the third type of peace, inter-national peace. The basis for this peace according to the Pope's message ¯ is truth. The Christian saying that the truth will make men free is also valid on the level of international relations. Hence in the pursuit of peace on the international level, force, nationalism, and the like must be sur-passed; and attempts towards peace must be based on rational and Christian moral principles. From truth, he added, proceeds justice; and justice in turn must be sustained by Christian charity which by its nature embraces all men. Then only will there be a real international life and not merely a coexistence. In the second part of the message the Holy Father pointed out errors b~eing made today by those who are striving to bring peace to the world. Peace, he said in this connection, is indivisible; hence it must be present in all its elements. Accordingly social and international peace are impossible without peace of heart. For true peace men must first of all 232 ROMAN DOCUMENTS be "men of good will." Hence the first step towards peace must be to remove the moral obstacles to it, especially in view of the present dis-equilibrium between scientific progress and moral progress. In the third part of the message the Pope spoke of the work of the Church for peace. He pointed out that she prays for peace; moreover she uses all her means, especially the treasures of her doctrine, to produce peace. It is indeed in and through her doctrine that she has been able to formulate the leading causes of modern international disturbance. These causes are the following: violations of the human person, of the family, and of labor; a disregard of the true and Christian idea of the state; the deprivation of the liberty of other nations; the systematic oppression of the cultural and linguistic characteristics of national minorities; a selfish use of economic resources to the damage and injury of other nations; and the persecution of religion and of the Church. In the fourth and final part of the message John XXIII called on all Catholics to be active in the work for peace and to be conscious of the fact that they have a command from on high for such activity. He then expressed his best wishes to all men especially the poor, the humble, and the suffering. The Consistories On December 14 and December 17, 1959 (pp. 5-24), the Pontiff held three consistories for the creation of eight new cardinals. In the first consistory, which was a secret one, the Pope delivered an allocution in which he stated that his choice of the new cardinals had been governed by a desire to show forth not only the unity of the Church but her univer-sality as well. The rest of his allocution was concerned with a summary of the principal events in the preceding year of his pontificate. Thereafter there took place the creation of the new cardinals; Cardinals Cicognani and Copello changed their cardinalatial churches; appointments to the hierarchy since the last consistory were read out; and the consistory closed with the postulation of the pallium b y newly appointed archbishops. In the second and public consistory the Holy Father imposed the red hat on the new cardinals. In the third consistory, which again was a secret one, the latest appointments to the hierarchy were announced and cardinalatial churches were assigned to the new members of the Sacred College. To the Laity On January 10, 1960 (pp. 83-90), His Holiness addressed an allocution to members of Catholic Action of the diocese of Rome. In the first part of the allocution the Pontiff detailed his long interest in Catholic Action, remarking that he has been actively associated with it since the year 1922. He also expressed his utmost confidence in Catholic Action for the future. In the second part of the allocution the Vicar of Christ developed some of the characteristics of Catholic Action. He told his listeners that Catholic Action was first of all a help to the clergy, as its classic definition 233 R. F. SMITH Review for Religious as the collaboration of the laity in the a~ostolate of the hierarchy shows. The work of Catholic Action, he pointed out, is an effort towards the ful-fillment of that part of the Our Father which reads,."Thy kingdom come." This work of the laity began already in ~he time of the apbstles; it was in this time too that the principle was laid down that nothing should be done without the bishop. The work of Catholic Action, however, can never be achieved without a solid spiritual formation of the individual member. Hence he exhorted his listeners to a life of habitual prayer accompanied by a deep liturgical spirit and a profound sense of the Church. Catholic Action, the Pope continued, is also a spectacle of disciplined unity. The unity of the Church, he said, has an irresistible attractiveness for men. Accordingly Catholic Action must be and appear an organization of union and concord; and this harmony must be shown simultaneously on the level of ideas, of plans, and of execution. Finally the Pontiff said that Catholic Action must be a luminous sign for modern times; it must be the angel in Apoc 14:6 wl~ich carried aloft the eternal gospel. Catholic Action will be. such a sign by defending the fundamental principles of Christian social order, by safeguarding the rights of man, and by validating the things that constitute man's dignity, his liberty, and his inalienable rights. The subject of education was also treated by the Pope in another written message of January 10, 1960 (pp. 100-103). This message was directed to the Interamerican Congress of Catholic Education held at Ciudad de San Josg in Costa Rica. In the message he told the congress that every true and deep education is the work of grace; hence the chief work of the educator is to cooperate with that grace. In order that an adolescent will persevere in the spiritual life given to him by the school, it is necessary, said the Pope, that the school develop in the child a spirit of initiative and an atmo~sphere of spontaneity and sincerity. Moreover, religious training must be directed not only to the intellect but to the will and heart as well. Furthermore, the Pontiff continued, religious culture should parallel the youth's growth in literary and scientific matters. Finally, religiou~ training should prepare the youth for his future family~ civic, and professional responsibilities; it should also provide him with an exercise of the apostolate and of charity. On November 25, 1959 (pp. 54-55), John XXIII directed a written message to the International Federation of Catholic Youth, meeting in Buenos Aires. Among ~other pieces of advice to them, the Vicar of Christ urged them to a great love and respect for their priests and chaplains, telling them that it is these priests who will open to them the sources of Christian doctrine, imbue them with the spirit of sacrifice and self-mastery, and lead them to a generous life of prayer and self-giving. A written message of December 8, 1959 (pp. 96-98), was directed by the Vicar of Christ to the meeting of Pax Romana held in Manila and devoted to the theme of the social responsibility of the student and the intellectual. He told the group that they should be proud of having been. chosen by 234 July, 1960 ROMAN DOCUMENTS Christ to be His witnesses even to the ends of the world. They must, he wrote, make themselves worthy of their call by living a profoundly Christian life; and they must endeavor to gain the respect of their col-leagues by their professional and moral competence. He also bade them to direct their studies to the Church's social doctrine, since the countries of Asia are now in a period of rapid economic growth. Finally he urged them to translate the message of Christian truth into forms appropriate to the Oriental soul. On February 9, 1960 (pp. 158-60), the Holy Father sent a written message to the school children of the United States asking them to pray for the needy children of other lands that they may be kept free from sin and have the strength to overcome temptation. He also asked them to be generous in contributing gifts, clothes, and money to such children. On December 8, 1959 (AAS, pp. 45-50), His Holiness addressed a group of Italian Catholic lawyers. Since the group had previously dis-cussed the subject of freedom of the press, it was this subject that the Pontiff considered in his allocution to them. He disclosed to his listeners his grave anxiety over much that is being printed today and its effects on the young and the innocent. In the matter.of the liberty of the press, he continued, it is always.necessary to have a clear conscience as well as one that is balanced, not insensitive, and not lax. The right to truth, he said, and the right to an objective morality based on the permanence of divine law is anterior and superior to every other right and need. Accord~ ingly there are necessary limitations to the freedom of the press and these limitations are found especially in matters that may do violence to the innocence of the child and the adolescent. Is it ever licit, he asked his listeners, to make a criminal deed the occasion of description and narration that are nothing else than a school of sin and an incentive to vice? In this area, the Pope insisted, the limitations of the press must be rigorously defined; and he called on his audience to study the matter carefully. He also told the lawyers that they should not fea~ to reprove the press and should endeavor to subject it to a human, civil, and Christian discipline. They should especially see to it that the press does not violate fundamental human rights. It would, he concluded, be the legalization of license, if the press were fred to subvert the r.eligious and moral foundations of the people. On December 30, 1959 (pp. 57-59), the Holy Father sent a written message to a meeting at Utrecht of the International Office of Catholic Education; the meeting had been called to commemorate the thirtieth anniversary of Pius XI's encyclical on education, Divini illius Magistri. The encyclical, the Pope told the group, has lost none of its truth; today as then the Church still declares the rights of herself and of the family in regard to education to be anterior to those of the state in the same matter. He also mentioned that since at the present moment national and international authorities are anxious about the intellectual and moral elevation of the human race, it is now more important than ever to have active members of the Church who are ready to explain and defend 235 R. F. SMITH Review for Religious the Church's point of view. They should also strive to adapt the principles of the encyclical to the new situations that have arisen since its publica-tion; and on the personal level they should strive to become the profes-sional and moral elite which the world and the Church need. Miscellaneous Documents On December 18, 1959 (pp. 166-69), the Sacred Congregation of Rites officially affirmed the heroicity of the virtues of the Servant of God, Elizabeth Ann Seton (1774-1821). On February 17,' 1960 (pp. 91-94), the Pope delivered an allocution at the solemn obsequies h~ld for Cardinal Stepinac in St. Peter's, telling the congregation that the deceased cardinal gave a modern example of Christ's words that a true pastor gives his life for his flock. By the Apostolic Letter, Maiora in dies, dated December 8, 1959 (pp. 24-26), the International Marian Academy was made a Pontifical Academy. On February 17, 1960 (pp. 152-58), the Pope delivered an allocution to the faculty and student body of the Pontifical Biblical Institute on the fiftieth anniversary of its foundation. After recalling the Institute's work and success during the last fifty years, he told the Institute to look forward to the future. He urged them to a life of scientific serious-ness which would employ all modern means of investigation and work and which would have the courage to face the problems aroused by recent research and discoveries. Their work, however, should also be characterized by prudence and sobriety, so that they do not propose as definitive that which is only a working hypothesis. He pointed out to the Institute and its members that their work was not merely to form Biblical specialists, but also men who are filled with sacredotal zeal and who brave the souls of prophets and apostles. The work of the Institute, therefore, is a truly priestly work. In all their work they must also have an absolute fidelity to the deposit of faith and to the teaching authority of the Church. Finally in their efforts to understand the pages of Scripture," they must recall the advice of St. Augustine: "Pray in order that you may understand." On December 6, 1959 (pp. 51-52), the Pontiff broadcast a message to the faithful of the Philippines at the beginning of their national mission year. On December 13, 1959 (pp. 52-53), the Pope sent a radio message to the people of Ecuador on the occasion of their presentation of a crown to a statue of our Lady of the Rosary. On January 1, 1960 (pp. 98-100), he sent a written message to the people of Nicaragua on the occasion of the nation's consecration to the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary. On January 22, 1960 (pp. 90-91), John XXIII addressed an allocution to Konrad Adenauer, Chancellor of Germany, and on February 22, 1960 (pp. 95-96), to President Manuel Prado of Peru. Under the date of December 22, 1959 (pp. 61-62), the Sacred Apostolic Penitentiary issued the text of a prayer composed by the Pope to be recited by members of newly-founded churches. Faithful of such churches can gain an indulgence of three years each time they recite the prayer devoutly and with contrite heart. Moreover once a month they 236 July, 1960 VIEWS, NEWS, PREVIEWS may gain a plenary indulgence under the usual conditions provided they have recited the prayer daily for a month. 0n.December 14, 1959 (p. 105), the Sacred Consistorial Congregation named Cardinal Caggiano, archbishop of Buenos Aires, as military vicar of Argentina. A decree of the same congregation dated December 29, 1959 (pp. 164-65), provided for the continuation of ecclesiastical jurisdiction in the military vicariate of Colombia when the office of military vicar becomes vacant; it also assigned the proper tribunals for ecclesiastical cases of the same military vicariate. In a decree of January 5, 1960 (p. 60), the Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office placed the follow-ing anonymous volumes on the Index: Il Poema di Gesu and Il Poema dell'UomooDio (Isola del Liri: Tipografia M. Pisani). Views, News, Previews Institute Jesus Magister Brother Cecilius, S.C., who is presently stationed in Rome at the Generalate of the Brothers of the Sacred Heart, has sent the REVIEW information concerning the Institute Jesus Magister (Jesus the Teacher). The Institute, .which is now an integral part of the Lateran University, was founded by Pins XII with the purpose of providing for the intellec-tual, cultural, and religious development of teaching brothers. The foundation of' the Institute was announced in the summer of 1957; in the fall of the same year the Institute held its first academic courses°. Accordingly the academic year 1959-1960 was only the third in the history of the Institute. The president of the Institute is the rector of the Lateran" Univer-sity, who at present is Msgr. Antonio Piolanti. The vice-president and director of Jesus Magister is BrotKer Anselmo, F,S.C. The faculty for the academic year 1959-1960 was composed of twenty-six professors, nine of whom were diocesan priests, eleven were .religious 'priests, and six were brothers. During the same year ninety-five brothers attended the Institute. The brothers in attendance came from twenty-three countries and from nine different religious institutes as the following tables show: 237 VIEWS, NEWS, PREVIEWS Review for Religious Countries Represented Among the Students of Jesus Magister Number of Number of Country Students Country Students Canada 13 Mexico 3 U.S.A. 11 Chile 2 Spain 10 Nicaragua 2 Italy 9 Peru 2 Brasil 8 Ruanda 2 Australia 5 Cuba 1 France 5 Ecuador 1 Eire 5 Malay 1 Argentina 4 Portugal 1 England 4 South Africa 1 Colombia 3 Venezuela 1 Vietnam 1 Religious Institutes Among Students of Jesus Magister Institute Number of Students Brothers of Christian Schools 38 Marist Brothers 26 (Irish) Christian Brothers 11 Brothers of the Sacred Heart 7 Brothers of Mary (Marianists) 4 Brothers of Christian Instruction (Ploemel) 3 Xaverian Brothers 2 Brothers of Christian Instruction of St. Gabriel 2 Josephite Brothers of Ruanda 2 From the tables it can be seen that besides the intellectual development imparted to them by the Institute, the brothers also profit by contact with fellow brothers of other countries and institutes. At the present time the. Institute offers a four-year course. The first year of the course is chiefly devoted to Thomistic philosophy and fundamental theology; the last three years are concerned principally with dogmatic and moral theology, Sacred Scripture, ecclesiastical history, and catechetics. The courses are presently given in both English and French; other languages will be added as the need arises. At the end of two years of the course, the students are made bachelors in re-ligious sciences; and at the successful completion of the entire four-year program they are given a licentiate in religious sciences. There i~ a possibility that, as the Institute grows, an additional program leading to a doctorate in religious sciences will be added. Brothers interested in studying at the Institute must have a degree which permits them to enter a graduate faculty or a university of their own country. Moreover they are expected to have a sufficient reading knowledge of Latin to be able to handle the texts necessary for their 238 VIEWS, NEWS, PREVIEWS studies in the Institute; such texts, for example, would be the Vulgate, the works of St. Thomas, and the code of canon law. The candidate must also make a written application for admission into the Institute; with the application he must include a birth and a baptismal certificate, copies of degrees held, written authorization of his major superior, and two photographs (passport size). Auditors, that is, students not studying for a degree, are also admitted with the permission of their superiors. Finally laymen who are engaged in teaching religion on the primary or secondary level are admitted, provided they 'have the necessary quali-fications for the Institute's program. Persons interested in the Institute can obtain more information about it by writing: Ill.mus Fr. Anselmo Balocco, F.SoC. Instituto Jesus Magister Pontificia Universith Laterano Piazza S. Giovanni in Laterano, 4 Rome, Italy Christ to the World Founded three years ago, this "International Review of Apostolic Experiences" has spread to 125.countries and is contributing in a very efficacious way to the work of the apostolate among unbelievers. The aim of the review is to promote the apostolate in pagan and dechris-tianized environments by pooling apostolic experiences and making known the most fruitful apostolic efforts undertaken throughout the world. In presenting these experiences, the review stresses the method followed, the means used, the difficulties encountered and how they were overcome, the results obtained and the lessons drawn from the experience which will prevent future repetitions of the same mistakes. A sample copy of an issue dealing with the problems one indicates interest in will be sent on request by Reverend L. P. Bourassa, Circulation Manager, Christ to the World, Lungotevere dei Vallati, 1, Roma. Brothers' Newsletter: Menus and Recipes The Brothers' Newsletter reported in its November issue that Brother Herman Zaccarelli, C.S.C., has published a book on menu-planning and recipes for Catholic institutions. This is the first book ever to be written taking into account the specialized food problems of the vow of poverty, feasts, and fasts of the Church year. In the summer of 1960, Brother plans to direct the first school of culinary arts for religious at Stonehill College, North Easton, Massachusetts. He hopes to build this summer course up to a regular three-year program. For his work on the book, Brother received grants from several food com-panies serving Catholic institutions. 239 QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS Review for Religion,s The interesting facts and events relating to the life and training of brothers which the Newsletter contains are available without subscrip-tion fee. Write to Brother William Haas, S.J., West Baden College, West Baden Springs, Indiana, or to Brother Walter, S.V.D., Divine Word Seminary, Techny, Illinois. )uestions ond Answers [The following answers are given by Father Joseph F. Gallen, S.J., pro-fessor of canon law at Woodstock College, Woodstock, Maryland.] 24. I was teaching a summer course to sisters from several congregations. Canonical questions on the religious life occasionally arose. One sister told me that her constitutions state that a parish convent cannot be a canonically erected religious house because at the commencement of the scholastic year the community of such a house may be composed of new members. Another sister stated that in her congregation all houses of less than four sisters are filial houses, those of four or more are canon-ically erected houses. Difficulties on obedience, according to this sister, arise in filial houses because of the fact that the one at the head of a filial house is not a real superior. To avoid this, higher superiors strive to have all houses canonically erected; and they believe that this is accomplished by the mere fact of assigning at least four religious to a house. They also believe that the'sole fact of assigning three or less sisters to a house makes it filial. My reply to both sisters was in the negative. Was I correct? A canonically erected religious house, because it is a moral person, can cease only by suppression or extinction. A moral person in the Church is of its nature perpetual. If only one member remains in it, all rights of the moral person devolve on him. A moral person and therefore a religious house becomes extinct only when it has ceased to exist, that is, has had no members, for a hundred years (c. 102)'. As a collegiate moral person, a canonically erected house must consist of at least three religious at the time of its erection. Since a moral person is of its nature perpetual, it is evident that the continued existence of a religious house does not depend on the permanent residence. 5f the religious who originally constituted the community. These may constantly change, as they do in other moral persons, for example, an institute or province. The same juridical perpetuity proves that a religious house continues to exist as such if the number of religious assigned to it after its erection becomes less than three. The superior of such a reduced religious house remains a superior in the proper sense of the word, Since he is a superior of a canonically erected house. A higher superior cannot change a canonically erected house into a filial house merely by assigning less religious to it (cf. Larraona, Commentarium Pro Religiosis, 3 [1922], 48, note 176). This 240 July, 1960 QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS change demands an extinction or the formalities of a suppression and the permission to open a filial house. Neither may he change a filial house into a canonically erected house merely by assigning more religious to it. This change requires the formalities for the canonical erection of a house. Goyeneche (Quaestiones Canonicae, I, 115) anal Jone (Com-mentarium in Codicem Iuris Canonici, I, 404) deny that such formalities are necessary in this case. They maintain that the change of a filial into a canonically erected house is a mere internal change and conse-quently demands no permission of external authority (cf. Question .17). But such a change certainly and evidently implies the erection 5f a moral person. Canon 497 does not grant the right of erecting a moral person, solely on their own authority, to the superiors of any religious institute. The law on internal and external changes presupposes an existing moral person and its purpose is to determine whether the change has so altered this existing moral person as to make it a different moral person. In the opinion of Goyeneche and Jone, an exempt in-stitute could open a filial house with th.e permission of only the local ordinary; and then, merely at the will of its superiors, with no further permission of the ordinary and no permission whatever of the Holy See, could canonically erect an exempt religious house. But canon 497, § 1, demands the permission of the Holy See for the canonical erection of any exempt religious house. A house becomes a new moral person when it undergoes a formal external change (Question 18) or is moved to such a distance (Question 19) that the formalities of a new erection are necessary and are obtained. It need not be mentioned that religious owe the same reverence and submission to delegated as to ordinary authority. The ultimate source of the authority is the same and the motive of religious obedience is the same in both cases. 25. If we are able to suppress the religious house mentioned in Question 23, to whom does the property of the suppressed house belong? Unless the particular constitutions contain a different enactment, the property of a suppressed or extinct house appertains to the im-mediately higher moral person, that is, to the province or, if there are no provinces, to the institute (c. 1501). The property of a sup-pressed or extinct separated establishment already appertains to the house to which it is attached. All obligations of justice, all rights ac-quired by others, and the intentions of founders and donors are to be respected and observed. 26. Are parish school convents of sisters in fact ~anonically erected or merely filial houses? It is presupposed that the house had the antecedent requisites for a canoncially erected house at the time of its erection (cf. Question 3). If so, such convents are canonically erected religious houses unless the 241 QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS Review for Religious explicit or implicit intention of the local ordinary in particular cases was merely for a filial house (cf. Questions 11-13). This follows from the fact that such convents are only exceptionally filial houses. Parish convents are termed houses in approved constitutions equally with other canonically erected houses, for example, academies, colleges, and hospitals. Their superiors are in the same way superiors in the proper sense of this word, and not mere delegates of a higher superior or another local superior. Their superiors are held to the limit of the three-year term and to two such consecutive terms in the samehouse (c. 505). These same superiors are also equally ex officio members of the provincial or general chapter. Parish convents have their own councilors and bursar or treasurer, and these are proper to canonically erected houses (c. 516, §§ 1-2; cf. Question 6). Furthermore, some constitutions make this general sense clear by stating that only the smaller houses of two or three sisters are to be filial houses (cf. Question 6). It is true that a moral person, by the positive law of the Church, should be perpetual (c. 102, § 1); but the sense is that it may not be erected for a definite time, for example, five years. It is perpetual in the sense of the law when it is erected for an indefinite time (cf. Michiels, Principia Gen-eralia de Personis in Ecclesia, 535). The particular constitutions may add requisites for a canonically erected house. If so, the petitioning of the consent for the establishment of houses is made according to such norms and the houses are canonically erected or filial according to the same norms. 27. What do you think of the enactment of our constitutions that the portress should every night carry the keys of the convent to the superioress? This enactment was contained in article 319 of the Normae of 1901, on which the constitutions of practically all lay congregations are based. However, it was not repeated in the similar norms of the Sacred Con-gregation of the Propagation of the .Faith of 1940, nor is it by any means contained in all constitutions. In some convents, the superior would be the nocturnal custodian of a sufficient number of keys. The efficiency and practicality of this practice are at once questionable. Its necessity is equally doubtful. I personally have never heard of any alarming number of attempts to break into convents at night. The doors should be securely locked at night, but it is not the custom in the United States to use locks that can be operated only by a key from inside. We may also question whether this type of lock is more secure, and a door is not the only means of entrance favored by burglars. The principal objection against the practice is the danger of fire and the fire regulations. To repeat what we have already stated on two occasions: "All doors used in connection with exits shall be so arranged as to be always readily opened from the side from which egress is made. Locks, if provided, shall not require a key to operate from the inside. Latches or other re-leasing devices to open doors shall be of simple types, the method of 242 July, 1960 QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS operation of which is obvious even in darkness" (REVIEW FOR RE-LIGIOUS, 15 [1956], 284-85; 18 [1959], 165). It seems evident that all doors leading to the outside should be capable of being used as exits in case of fire; and an exit door locked from the inside, with the key in the superior's room, is a fire hazard of the first order. II. Local Superiors 28. Is a minimum age prescribed for local superiors? Every canonically erected religious house must have a local superior in the proper sense of this term. The prescriptions of canon 505 on the term of office and reappointment affect only minor local superiors. A minor local super

Scopo di questo lavoro è proporre una comparazione a livello tematico tra l'Odissea e il poema I Lusiadi, cui dà vita, nel 1572, Luìs Vaz de Camões, il maggiore scrittore di lingua portoghese. Dopo questo primo capitolo introduttivo, l'esposizione si focalizzerà sulla relazione che sussiste tra la cultura portoghese e quella classica. Nel secondo capitolo verrà introdotta l'episteme storica e culturale entro cui si situa il secolo de I Lusiadi: il secolo delle scoperte, delle Gesta Dei por Lusos, che vede assurgere ad eroe primario un Ulisse nuovo, dantesco, che con il suo "fatti non foste a viver come bruti" spinge a seguire nuove rotte e diviene - diremmo oggi, idolo, di naviganti e navigatori. Poi verrà introdotta, nel quarto capitolo, una sinossi del poema di Camões, funzionale all'indagine comparatistica. Dopo aver individuato riprese, riformulazioni e novità prenderà avvio lo sviluppo delle correlazioni individuate: nel quinto capitolo verrà analizzato il transito marittimo ed il suo fine, nel sesto capitolo il ruolo degli dei, nel settimo la struttura delle narrazioni e degli espedienti tecnici messi in opera per strutturarle (mise en abyme, flashback e flashforward). A seguire vengono dunque presentate, nel paragrafo 1.2, le peculiarità che fanno de Lusiadi un poema epico. In 1.3.1, la presentazione del cronotopo de I Lusiadi permette di avvalorare queste affermazioni. Nel paragrafo 1.4, infine, viene presentata la componente più innovativa del poema camoniano. 1.2 L'epica de "I Lusiadi" Nell'introdurre lo statuto epico del poema camoniano, vanno considerate non solo le radici profonde che legano quest'opera cinquecentesca all'epica classica, ma anche le variazioni sul tema che permettono al poema di rispecchiare in pieno la propria epoca. Camões canta il viaggio di Gama considerandolo molto più di un avvenimento concluso: quel viaggio rappresenta il culmine non solo delle esplorazioni della costa africana occidentale, iniziate con il vigoroso impulso dell'Infante Dom Henrique, ma della storia stessa del Portogallo che con tali esplorazioni si identifica a partire dal 1415. L'essenza ultima del poema non è però solo questa. Si è discusso a lungo, infatti, sulla natura simbolica del viaggio che viene rappresentato nei poemi epici. Questo schema definisce i tre momenti fondamentali della chiamata, del viaggio propriamente detto e del ritorno. Di contro, dal punto di vista della comunità, il ritorno dell'eroe costituisce l'obiettivo e l'unica giustificazione della sua lunga assenza. 1.3 Il cronotopo dell'epica Nel riflettere sulla capacità di autoanalisi di una comunità, è interessante notare come l'epica letteraria, a giudicare dalle sue migliori produzioni, non sbocci mai nei tempi d'oro di una nazione, ma nel momento del suo declino. Se ciò accadesse solo in un caso, potremmo ascriverlo al temperamento del poeta e considerarlo nei termini di tale specifica occorrenza. 1.3.1 Il cronotopo de "I Lusiadi" Camões vive alla fine di grandi avventure e all'alba di grandi cambiamenti. Così decide di cantare la grandezza della sua nazione e di coloro che l'hanno costruita. 2. Dalla follia di Ulisse alle gesta Dei por Lusos: esegesi di una rivoluzione mentale 2.1 Il Portogallo Rinascimentale Non è semplice riuscire a comprendere pienamente l'ascesa e il declino dell'Impero coloniale portoghese rinascimentale. Il Portogallo detiene una posizione di preminenza nella storia delle scoperte geografiche grazie a tre grandi imprese: l'apertura delle rotte oceaniche verso Oriente, la colonizzazione del Brasile e la diffusione della cristianità in terre lontane, soprattutto ad opera dei Gesuiti. I portoghesi del Rinascimento non erano tutti grandi pensatori; molti di loro, come Álvaro Velho e Pero Vaz de Caminha, erano uomini semplici, non colti, che presero parte con modestia alle scoperte e che, senza dubbio, sapevano come resistere alle difficoltà marittime. Intelligenze acute, come il vate Camões, combinarono una innata capacità di resistere alle avversità della vita con una disincantata, realistica visione del mondo, degli uomini, del Portogallo, che sottende l'apparente ottimismo patriottico dei Lusiadi. Forse queste qualità possono aiutarci a capire come tali uomini siano riusciti a raggiungere quasi tutti i lidi del mondo perseverando nel sacrificio. Molti della ciurma erano in realtà veterani dei viaggi di Dias. È probabile che questo resoconto di viaggio sia il diario di bordo di uno dei quattro vascelli – il São Rafael – che salparono dal Restelo, il porto di Lisbona, alla volta delle Indie. Eccone l'incipit: Nel nome di Dio. Uno degli scopi dei viaggi portoghesi era quello di scoprire se e che tipi di evidenze cristiane vi fossero in India. L'ideale sarebbe stato trovare qualche monarca cristiano e stringere alleanze politiche e religiose con lui, per quella convinzione secondo cui le navigazioni intraprese sotto l'egida della diffusione del Cristianesimo potevano avere buon fine e portare prestigio alla madrepatria. 2.2 Un caso tardomedievale: l'impresa dei Vivaldi In epoche anteriori al Rinascimento, comunque, si rendeva già manifesto un cambiamento culturale che, considerando superata l'idea del non più oltre, tentava la via del mare alla ricerca di nuove rotte. Vi furono già nel Medioevo alcuni che, salpati alla volta dell'Atlantico suscitando la meraviglia di chi li vide partire, non fecero più ritorno. Come sostiene Nardi, non è inverosimile che Dante abbia avuto notizia dell'accaduto e, ispirandosi a questa storia, sia riuscito ad animare della stessa intraprendenza la figura del suo Ulisse. Se l'Ulisse di Omero, al sicuro nella propria reggia, può lì attendervi una decorosa vecchiaia, tale sorte non si addice all'eroe dantesco, che personifica la ragione umana insofferente ai limiti e ribelle al decreto divino che interdice il trapassar del segno . L'Ulisse di Dante non nasce dallo sforzo erudito di un tardo umanista, abilissimo nel riprodurre fedelmente modelli; quanto poi il dantesco sia lontano dall'omerico è visibile al primo sguardo. Forse spira veramente, nel pathos con cui Dante dà ali al discorso del suo Ulisse, il futuro spirito dei viaggi intorno al mondo. L'oceano era la parte del globo terracqueo negata ai viventi, dove l'unica terra emersa era la montagna del Paradiso Terrestre; nessun mortale l'aveva impunemente violata. Dante sceglie di seguire un cammino differente da quello del suo Ulisse, una strada luminosa, non folle, ma sublimata da una visione cristiana delle cose e del mondo. L'Ulisse trecentesco incarna la nascita del mondo moderno e lo fa grazie ad una poesia di altissimo valore che sgorga dalla realtà dei fatti, da un evento tanto impensabile allora quanto la grandezza dei sogni e delle speranze umane. 2.4 Colombo e Vespucci: dall'arte alla vita. La realtà del Nuovo Mondo affonda l'incubo dantesco: la poesia si inoltra nel mare, seguendo stavolta Ulisse senza biasimarlo, diventa vita, vissuta e vera. Le gesta dei Portoghesi ricevono così il sigillo di Dio. 3. Ulisse e Lisbona: un legame da sempre 3.1 Le radici leggendarie Al fine di introdurre l'eziologia della città di Lisbona pare opportuno riportare l'episodio mitologico seguente che narra della fondazione della città . Nel frattempo, il nemico sconosciuto e occulto era in cerca di Ulisse. Si avvicinò alla donna che gli parlava. La regina, consapevole del proprio trionfo, continuava a incantarlo nel suo sguardo enigmatico. Aveva nostalgia del mare e sete di nuove battaglie. La presenza femminea, in primo luogo, rimanda all'archetipo del matriarcato, tipico delle civiltà mediterranee arcaiche. In seconda istanza, la presenza dei serpenti. Il serpente, nelle società matriarcali africane, viene considerato signore delle donne e della fecondità. Lorenzo Valla, tra il 1445 ed il 1446 al servizio del re di Aragona, afferma che in Portogallo si usa una forma del nome di Lisbona a pretesto di una derivazione etimologica da Ulisse, e sostiene che la referenza greca può notarsi al massimo in un ipotetico, sebbene infondato, elemento finale della parola, ossia in –hìppoi , in cui mito e realtà si incontrano . / Ulisse è quel ch' alza la sacra casa / alla dea che gli diè lingua faconda. / Dopo aver Ilio in Asia al suolo rasa / su terreno europeo Lisbona fonda) . In questo passo Paolo da Gama illustra al catual di Calicut gli stendardi di seta che svettano sulle navi portoghesi, su cui è dipinta la storia del Portogallo. Rodrigues parte da un'osservazione sul titolo del poema camoniano, sostenendo che Resende fu uno degli innovatori della parola Lusiadae, impiegandola per la prima volta – in vece della forma Lysiadae, molto usata dai latinisti rinascimentali – proprio nel seguente passaggio del Vincentius: …urbemque [ Olysses] suo de nomine primum Finxit Odysseiam, quae nunc carissima toto Cognita in orbe, ducem fama super astra Pelasgum Tollit. 3.3 Una Laudatio Urbis: letteratura apologetica a sostegno del mito. La laudatio si articola in maniera peculiare: si esaltano la strategica posizione della città, l'opulenza del porto, la salubrità del clima. 3.4 L'Ulisseia: Lisbona mulher à espera Se si guarda al secolo XVII, infine, Gabriel Pereira de Castro, autore nel 1636 dell'Ulisseia, altro poema epico con l'intento di narrare le avventure che portarono Ulisse alle sponde lusitane, ricorre all'Odissea come modello. L'evolversi di questa programmaticità è ben visibile fin dall'apertura, con l'invocazione alla musa, la dedica al re e l'inizio della narrazione in medias res, passando attraverso l'utilizzo della mitologia, il ricorso alla profezia ed una certa varietà stilistica che stempera il tono epico talvolta con episodi lirici, talaltra con inserti bucolici. Questa aspirazione letteraria incontra, nel Portogallo del secolo XVI, fatti grandiosi appena occorsi. Fin dall'esordio del poema è enunciata la poetica della verità e realtà dell'epos narrato. La varietà di inserimento della materia è strutturata in maniera armoniosa: è possibile notare infatti una lunga analessi costituita dalla narrazione di Vasco de Gama ai canti II – IV; seguono l'ekphrasis delle scene rappresentate sugli stendardi portoghesi al canto VIII e la profezia al canto X. Questi tre blocchi narrativi sulla storia portoghese sono assai istruttivi perché mostrano il procedere del poeta. Oggetto della narrazione è il passato portoghese, fino ad anni prossimi alla composizione del poema; l'ottica che caratterizza questo incedere muta di continuo: nel primo blocco dona una visione travagliata della monarchia portoghese, nel secondo è colma d'ammirazione verso i più fulgidi esempi di eroismo dei suoi servitori, nel terzo guarda alla colonizzazione futura. Il passato portoghese appare segnato dalla fragilità umana; non va mai dimenticata la situazione psicologica in cui de Gama è narratore. Canto I – il poeta dichiara la sua intenzione di cantare le gloriose imprese d'Asia e Africa dei portoghesi. Invoca per questo le ninfe del Tago e dedica il suo poema al giovane don Sebastiano. Bacco, dal cielo, non tollera la buona sorte dei portoghesi. Canto II – all'arrivo a Mombasa, un messo del re locale invita de Gama a sbarcare; i due degredados che de Gama manda in perlustrazione a terra sono ingannati dagli abitanti e da Bacco. Gli infedeli lasciano le navi insieme al pilota mozambicano che teme sia stato scoperto il suo inganno. Vasco de Gama invoca la Divina Provvidenza e Venere, per soccorrerlo, si reca da Giove chiedendo al padre di confermare l'aiuto ai portoghesi. Qui il re accoglie favorevolmente i portoghesi, e chiede di essere informato sulla storia del popolo lusitano e sulle traversie affrontate dai naviganti per giungere fino alla sua città. Canto III – Vasco de Gama dà avvio alla sua lunga risposta al re di Malindi. Inizia descrivendo la collocazione geografica del Portogallo e, dopo un cenno alle antichità portoghesi, tra mito e storia, ricostruisce la nascita del regno a partire da Enrico di Borgogna e dal figlio di lui, Afonso I, le cui vicende sono descritte in dettaglio. Il pianto del gigante, sotto forma di tempesta, segna la fine dell'angoscioso incontro. La narrazione al re termina con l'esaltazione della veridicità delle scoperte dei portoghesi. Camões canta infine a sua volta la grandezza delle opere portoghesi, esaltando il valore della poesia che le celebra. All'alba viene avvistata Calicut, meta tanto sospirata; de Gama, in ginocchio, rende grazie a Dio. Il poeta conclude il canto esaltando l'onore raggiunto grazie al valore individuale e al rischio della vita, non tra le mollezze e fondandosi sulla nobiltà dei propri predecessori. Canto VII – Camões celebra con ardore il valore dei portoghesi, introducendo poi una descrizione sintetica dell'India e dei suoi abitanti. Monçaide riferisce le principali vicende del regno del Malabar, a partire dalla conversione all'Islam del re Perimal, illustrando anche gli usi sociali e religiosi degli Indù. De Gama viene accompagnato fino alla reggia da un catual mandato dal re e, nella sala del trono, propone allo zamorino l'alleanza con i portoghesi; l'indiano rimanda la decisione all'incontro con il suo consiglio, facendo ospitare i portoghesi negli appartamenti del catual. Il poeta interrompe allora la descrizione per rivolgere alle ninfe del Tago e del Mondego una nuova invocazione in cui ricorda l'impegno profuso per la poesia e la scelta di cantare gli eroi che misero a repentaglio la vita per Dio e per il re. L'animo del re è mal disposto verso i portoghesi sia per i responsi degli auspici, che ne predicono il dominio, sia perché Bacco, assunti i panni di Maometto, appare in sogno ad un sacerdote musulmano esortandolo a contrapporsi ai cristiani, provocando così i maneggi dei musulmani e dei catuali. Venere, mentre i portoghesi sono sulla via del ritorno, appronta per loro il meritato riposo: una splendida isola oceanica in cui i naviganti possano provare le gioie dell'amore con le ninfe del mare. Canto X - Un sontuoso banchetto è pronto nel palazzo di Teti, che canta le future glorie dei lusitani, ricordandone le più brillanti figure: tra gli altri, Duarte Pacheco e Francisco de Almeida, Afonso de Abuquerque e João de Castro. Infine Teti conduce de Gama – privilegio straordinariamente concesso ad un mortale – a contemplare la macchina del mondo, illustrata secondo il modello geocentrico tolemaico, retta dalla Provvidenza Divina, mentre gli dei sono, dice Teti, solo bei nomi di cui Dio si serve per le cause seconde. Il poema si conclude con la dura invettiva contro l'insensibilità nazionale nei confronti della poesia e con l'invito al re a ricompensare i suoi fedeli servitori che rischiano la vita per lui; la poesia del poeta non cesserà di celebrarlo. La tematica dell'attraversamento, del transito, del viaggio che si compie in un moto dalle più disparate sfaccettature è stata numerose volte oggetto d'indagine e di riflessioni. Ad esempio, finita la narrazione al banchetto di Alcinoo, così possiamo leggere tra i primi versi del libro tredicesimo: [….] Ricordo e ritorno costituiscono un'endiade in cui i due termini sono inscindibile rinvio dell'uno all'altro: dimenticare il ritorno equivale alla perdita della propria identità, della propria destinazione, equivale alla condanna allo smarrimento errante senza un fine. Nel libro dodicesimo, ai versi riportati nel paragrafo precedente, riguardanti l'episodio della terra dei lotofagi, l'oblio è una terrificante evenienza che viene oggettivata da Omero nel loto. Tale meccanismo rimanda inferenzialmente ad un'altra oggettivazione presente in un altro mito: la mela offerta ad Eva nel giardino dell'Eden oggettivizza in sé la possibilità della conoscenza del bene e del male. In corrispondenza ossimorica con questa oggettivazione troviamo appunto il loto: se la tentazione propugnata ad Eva conduce alla conoscenza del bene e del male, quella offerta dai lotofagi porta all'oblio. ( Odissea, IX, 224 – 225 / 228 – 230 ) Possiamo vedere come contenga il germe del mito dantesco di Ulisse: "O frati", dissi, "che per cento milia perigli siete giunti a l'occidente, a questa tanto picciola vigilia d'i nostri sensi ch'è del rimanente non vogliate negar l'esperïenza, di retro al sol, del mondo sanza gente. La continua ridefinizione e rielaborazione di se stessi attraverso l'acquisizione dell'ignoto permette di prendere coscienza della propria finitezza, di avvertire l'urgenza della conoscenza, di spostare i baricentri epistemologici dagli infiniti celesti alla limitatezza mortale, che però racchiude in sé l'infinito della mente umana. 6.Il ruolo degli déi In questo capitolo verrà esposta in maniera sistematica la funzione degli dei all'interno dei due poemi presi in esame. 6.4.1 Atena. Per sollecitare la capacità decisionale del padre, Atena sottilmente agisce suscitando la commozione di Zeus. La dea, nel perorare la causa del proprio protetto, nel primo libro dell'Odissea dispiega in toto la propria capacità intellettuale e, appunto in sede di concilio, la vediamo fare leva in maniera incalzante proponendo il suo argomento preponderante: Ma il mio cuore si spezza per Odisseo cuore ardente, misero!, che lunghi dolori sopporta lontano dai suoi, nell'isola in mezzo alle onde, dov'è l'ombelico del mare: [………………………………….]Se però tale attributo avvicina ad una dimensione umana il dio, eccolo nel V libro riportare l'adorata figlia glaucopide alla lungimiranza divina, con una risposta che riguarda la punizione che attende i pretendenti. Infatti ai vv. 21 – 27 ricorda alla figlia che proprio a lei è affidato il compito di punire le malefatte degli usurpatori della casa di Odisseo. È ciò che Ermes, su comando del Cronide, riferisce a Calipso nel V libro, quando il messaggero degli dei viene inviato dalla ninfa per comunicarle la decisione del concilio riguardo all'eroe itacese: Ma certo il volere di Zeus egìoco non può Un altro dio trascurare o far vano. Quando infatti il Sole, nel XII libro, si lamenta del sacrilegio compiuto ai suoi danni ad opera dei compagni di Odisseo, ossia l'aver osato cibarsi delle vacche sacre a lui, protesta in maniera clamorosa ed estremistica: abbandonerà la terra per trasferirsi negli Inferi qualora i Greci non venissero puniti. (XII, 385 - 388) Oltre che le lagnanze del Sole, Zeus riceve anche le rimostranze di Poseidone, che, progenitore dei Feaci, si sente tradito da loro perché hanno reso troppo facile il ritorno di Odisseo, che pure il dio del mare sa di non potere impedire, in quanto assicuratogli dal destino e quindi dallo stesso Zeus che ne è garante. Che pietrifichi una nave al suo ritorno in patria, quando è già visibile dalla città, e copra la città stessa con un gran monte. Nel libro XX troviamo Odisseo in ascolto del pianto di Penelope, finalmente ritrovata e accanto a lui; crede sia una fantasia, e chiede a Zeus conferma del lieto presagio; vuole un segno divino ed uno umano che lo rassicurino sulla contingenza dell'evento che sta vivendo. (XX, 102 – 105 / 111 - 119) L'epifania gratuita garantisce la validità del segno, e risulta gratuita in quanto proveniente, nella sua manifestazione umana, da persona estranea al conflitto. Tale evenienza svolge una funzione maieutica nel procedere degli eventi; Odisseo comprende che è l'ora di agire, che il fato e gli dei lo accompagnano. L'ultima performance del padre degli dei ha luogo nel libro ventunesimo, e decreta la fine dei pretendenti dando il via alla gara con l'arco: […………….] 6.1.3 Poseidone Il ruolo di Poseidone può essere considerato quello dell'antagonista primario, portatore di distruzione, ma sopra ogni cosa figurazione del caos, della furia devastatrice che, nella propria ira, diviene causa primaria del lungo peregrinare. All'inizio, nel libro I, durante il concilio degli dei, il dio non è in sede: sta smaltendo i bollori nel paese degli Etiopi, dove gli vengono tributati lauti sacrifici. Così Camões, affidandosi al proprio amore per l'antichità, sceglie di reintrodurli, e di dare loro una posizione preminente nel proprio schema principale. Gli dei sono comunque reali, nel senso che incarnano forze potenti nel cuore umano e nello scorrere della vita. Nel Rinascimento questi due mondi potevano convivere fianco a fianco. Non è il dio del vino e dell'estasi dionisiaca, ma lo spirito orientale nella propria vanità, astuzia e disordine. A Giove - come a Zeus nell'Odissea - spetta la decisione finale, ma egli è al di fuori della battaglia. A Mozambico diffonde cupe voci, ma viene frustrato nel suo intento dall'accortezza di Gama. Camões si concede una fantasia bizzarra nel rappresentare Bacco rogante all'altare. Tutto ciò non è mera fantasia; ha delle basi nella storia. Determinato nell'impedire che la flotta raggiunga l'India, Bacco invoca i poteri del mare affinché scatenino una tempesta. Avendo sofferto a causa della malignità degli uomini, adesso soffrono per la malignità degli elementi. Una volta ancora Venere e Bacco fanno le veci dei poteri sovrumani che aiutano o ostacolano i portoghesi. Le benefiche forze del mondo che nascono dalla civiltà non vengono spesso mostrate in natura; le forze del male, che riempiono il cuore dell'uomo di nefandezze e menzogne sono simili alla violenza dei poteri naturali che gli esploratori devono affrontare. In Venere e Bacco Camões mostra una dicotomia fondamentale del mondo, una lotta tra gli opposti nella quale uno dei due deve necessariamente cedere il passo all'altro. Alla fine Venere vince. Nella propria mitologia pagana Camões crea nuovi simboli per mostrare la reale situazione che intravede come sostrato del viaggio di Gama. Dall'apertura del concilio degli dei nel canto I alle ultime parole di Venere nel X non smette di prendere il massimo da ogni opportunità che gli si presenta. La prima riunione degli dei avviene in un immenso aere olimpico. ( I, 20, 5 – 6 ) Qui, Giove, assiso sul trono; e quando gli dei si dispongono secondo l'ordine previsto si rivolge loro con un linguaggio che si addice alla loro olimpica posizione: O Eterni Abitatori del lucente Polo e del vasto chiaro Firmamento. I poteri che lavorano nell'universo hanno la gloria e la maestà che l'entusiasmo dei giovani conferisce all'oggetto della propria devozione. In questi esseri, al di sopra del tempo e delle altre limitazioni proprie della finitudine mortale, Camões trova l'antitesi delle proprie tribolazioni e il fulcro dei suoi desideri. La protettrice del Portogallo è ancora la dea dell'amore e della bellezza, ed il poeta è fiero del fatto che il suo Paese sia favorito da lei. Gli uomini hanno la loro gloria, ma la gloria degli dei è al di sopra delle possibilità umane. Libero dalle inibizioni teologiche del Medioevo e duramente colpito dalla controriforma, egli lavora in maniera certosina al fine di inserirli nel proprio poema. L'accanita lotta degli esploratori portoghesi è una parte del racconto; l'altra parte contiene tutto ciò che gli dei rappresentano: la gioia e la gloria che portano con sé, l'ordine che istaurano. Aderendo a questa convenzione della poesia epica Camões ottiene un successo trionfale. Come Correggio e Raffaello, Camões comprende gli antichi numi e adatta il loro significato al proprio tempo. 6.4 Che posto per gli Dèi? Il Vate tuttavia non è pagano ma cattolico, suddito di un re cristiano, ed il suo Portogallo doveva gran parte della propria dignità al baluardo della causa cristiana contro gli idolatri, mori ed orientali. Ad ogni modo la spiegazione viene resa inconsistente con ciò che Camões sostiene in un altro momento del poema, parole che non possono ricevere lo stesso trattamento riservato alle sue ultime. Nel canto X l'idea è elaborata. Che questa sia la concezione di Camões è provato dal modo in cui cesella le sue divinità all'interno del poema. Quando Venere o Mercurio intervengono ad aiutare de Gama, non è a loro che egli rivolge le proprie preghiere e le lodi, ma al Dio dei suoi padri. ( II, 65, 3 – 4 ) Quando Venere salva la flotta, de Gama attribuisce l'impresa alla provvidenza e termina con una solenne preghiera al suo Dio: Tu solamente puoi, Guardia Celeste Salvarci dall'insidia che c'investe. ( II, 31, 7 – 8 ) Ancora più impressionante è la grande preghiera di de Gama durante la tempesta nel VI canto. ( VI, 85, 1 – 4 ) Quindi segue l'intervento della dea ed il mare si placa. Poseidone è irato a causa dell'inganno perpetrato da Odisseo nei confronti del figlio Polifemo, Bacco teme che il proprio regno, l'Oriente, in cui ha istaurato il regime del caos, venga paradossalmente scosso da eventuali contaminazioni dell'ordine occidentale. Risulta però interessante notare come gli schemi narratologici che sottendono l'agire delle forze del bene siano sempre diversi tra loro: nel loro intreccio, nel loro svolgersi, nelle dinamiche che li attraversano. L'agire del male, invece, è sempre caratterizzato dalle stesse dinamiche, dallo stesso svolgersi dei fatti, come una iterazione che si ripete in un continuum e che è destinata a non centrare i propri obiettivi. Se le variatio che marcano l'agire del bene possono essere ritenute meno capaci di suscitare l'attenzione del lettore a causa della difficoltà di acquisirle, allo stesso modo le si può ritenere specchio delle infinite risoluzioni di stasis che la vita reale paventa. 7. Struttura delle narrazioni In questo capitolo verranno prese in esame le narrazioni di Odisseo e Vasco de Gama. 7.1 Odisseo narratore Risulta molto utile ai fini di questa comparazione esaminare la funzione assolta, nella costruzione dell'Odissea, dalla figura di Odisseo narratore alla corte dei Feaci, nel libro XI. Dal punto di vista della conoscenza dell'oggetto del canto, l'eroe è nelle condizioni ideali: il lungo racconto dei suoi "errores" è narrazione di una esperienza personale. Odisseo non è visto solo come narratore della propria personale vicenda: all'interno del suo stesso racconto ad Alcinoo lo si vede esporre κατά μοιραν quanto gli viene richiesto, (Ilio e le navi degli Argivi, e il ritorno degli Achei). Quando, nella cortese replica, il re itacese acconsente alla ripresa del racconto, la lega al desiderio degli ascoltatori e accenna, secondo consuetudine, al tema iniziale prima di riprendere il racconto nel punto interrotto. Le mitiche creature posseggono il dono del canto che consente di partire conoscendo più cose: l'oggetto della scienza delle sirene è precisato, non si tratta soltanto del racconto tradizionale delle gesta degli Argivi e dei Teucri, le Sirene conoscono tutto quanto avviene sulla terra. L'eroe canta κατά μοιραν perché ben noto gli è l'oggetto del canto, note gli sono le imprese degli Achei sotto Troia la cui narrazione di Demodoco l'ha mosso al pianto. 7.2 Vasco narratore. L'eroe inizia così la sua narrazione al Re di Malindi, nel III canto: Stavano tutti attenti per udire Quello che Gama avrebbe raccontato. L'eroe afferma di non riuscire a dire tutta l'eccellenza della propria terra, in una ripresa del topos della falsa modestia, qui utilizzato in rapporto alle straordinarie imprese del popolo portoghese e dei suoi re. Più volte, nel quinto canto, con anafora al primo verso delle ottave 16, 17 e 18 questo concetto viene ribadito: vidi i casi che i rudi marinai (….); 7.3. Strategie della metanarrazione. Il procedimento della mise en abyme accomuna infatti anche i due testi presi in esame: la narrazione delle proprie vicende da parte di Odisseo ai Feaci, e quella della propria storia compiuta da Vasco de Gama al Re di Malindi, si configurano come una vera e propria mise en abyme, una narrazione omodiegetica che si inserisce all'interno della più ampia narrazione che è lo stesso poema. Situazione similare si verifica alla corte del Re di Malindi ne I Lusiadi. 8.1. Polifemo Nell'avventura nel paese dei Ciclopi ( libro IX ) si fondono la violenza sanguinaria e l'alterità straniante; può essere davvero considerata il vertice del terrore di tutto il poema. La prima avvisaglia è data dalla definizione dei loro usi che Odisseo dà con l'occhio di poi, descritti come " ingiusti e violenti"; visione che appartiene cioè al narratore Odisseo e non al personaggio che vive la vicenda. La funzione strutturale di quest'isola nella vicenda è quella di permettere ad Odisseo di rischiare una sola nave nell'esplorazione della terra dei Ciclopi. Si trovano ben presto davanti alla grotta di Polifemo, la cui paurosa descrizione è ricavata da dati acquisiti successivamente da Odisseo – personaggio: Polifemo porta alle estreme conseguenze l'isolamento dei Ciclopi, non ha una famiglia, e alto com'è quanto una montagna, appare come un massiccio isolato dagli altri. La prima è il rumore di un immenso fascio di legna, che determina l'arretrare di Odisseo e dei compagni nel fondo della caverna – un movimento che assomma all'angoscia l'automatismo del riflesso. La richiesta di sopravvivenza intrinseca alla supplica è appesa al filo dell'onnipotenza del capriccio del Ciclope. Di fatto, la risposta alle suppliche sta nel gesto violento con cui il mostro afferra due uomini e si ciba di loro. Ai portoghesi in viaggio verso le Indie appare la mostruosa figura di Adamastor, il Capo delle Tempeste, che racconta la sua storia. Esattamente a metà del poema, l'incontro di Gama con Adamastor marca, geograficamente, il passaggio dall'Occidente all'Oriente, dall'Atlantico all'oceano Indiano, ossia dalla fine del mondo conosciuto all'inizio del mondo sconosciuto. L'eroe entra nella regione delle forze indomate. Con riso onesto Rispose Teti: "Quale dea può tale Gigante ricambiar con forza eguale? ( V, 53) Imprigionato nella roccia in cui si trasforma nel tentativo di violarla, Adamastor rimane eternamente carceriero della propria prigione, guardia dei segreti nascosti in cui si è intrappolato. Dunque, il colosso orrendo gli permette l'accesso alla conoscenza delle cose segrete del mare. Dubbio al quale sorgerà Adamastor come risposta, provocando la seconda domanda: [……………….]"Chi sei tu, così tremendo - dissi – all'immensa mole ed all'aspetto?" ( V, 49, 3 – 4 ) Di contro al lungo discorso del gigante, questa breve domanda racchiude, nel suo laconismo, un intenso potere significativo. Lungi dal tradire tremore, la voce del capitano manifesta stupore ed esprime, proprio per queste ragioni, la vittoria del coraggio sulla forza e sulla paura. Non vi è un tentativo di attacco in difesa del bene che gli appartiene, ma il riconoscimento del valore di quella gente che merita non solo di vincere, ma anche di essere testimone del suo dolore e delle sue lacrime. (IX, 317–318; 326; 331–333; 345–347; 361; 366; 372; 382-383) Il primo proposito di Odisseo di fronte alla brutalità del Ciclope è ispirato allo statuto della violenza eroica: pensa di trafiggere il Ciclope con la spada, ma questo proposito non viene realizzato, perché lucidamente l'eroe si rende conto che assieme a Polifemo condannerebbe a morte sé e i suoi compagni, non essendo in grado di rimuovere il masso dalla porta della caverna. L'offerta del vino al Ciclope, e l'accettazione da parte di Polifemo di questo dono, marca fortemente il primo passaggio in cui notiamo il mostro avere un ruolo attivo nel compiersi dell'inganno ai suoi danni. (V, 54, 5–6; 55, 1 – 6; 56.) La similarità sostanziale, sta, credo, nell'identico abbandono da parte dei due giganti ai piaceri sensoriali. Questo abbassamento della soglia di lucidità permette l'interpretazione di un ruolo "attivo", Polifemo e Adamastor divengono coadiutori del loro inganno. Vengono ingannati da Odisseo e da Teti, ma si prestano alla loro parte, partecipano attivamente. .l'agire convulso del Ciclope, il suo scagliare massi contro le navi, l'impossibilità di requie denotano una follia che, lungi dall'essere sterile, produrrà l'ira funesta del padre Poseidone, persecutore senza sosta dell'astuto Odisseo La cifra stilistica di Adamastor diviene invece l'irreversibilità statica della sua nuova condizione,. 8.4. Tracce di un'evoluzione La riformulazione di contenuti della tradizione epica con una feconda capacità stilistica è uno dei tratti più suggestivi dell'opera di Camões. Le dinamiche di attuazione dell'evento sono simili, nel primo caso avvengono realmente, nel secondo si tratta di una proiezione nel futuro: e proprio in quel punto Scilla ghermì dalla concava nave sei compagni, i più vigorosi per la forza del braccio. Come osservato nei precedenti paragrafi, molte sono le caratteristiche che accomunano il Ciclope ed Adamastor, ma la collocazione topografica e l'atrocità dell'agire nei confronti dei naviganti rendono possibile un accostamento del Capo Tormentorio al mostro che abita lo stretto. se nell'Odissea questo percorso viene compiuto dall'eroe in persona ( XI libro ), ne I Lusiadi è l'antagonista, Bacco, a raggiungere un altro posto, il fondo del mare, regno di Nettuno, per chiedere al dio del mare di aiutarlo nella sua lotta contro le navi portoghesi ( VI, 6 – 34 ). Odisseo necessita della sapienza di Tiresia, e tutto ciò che è in suo potere per riuscire ad accedervi egli lo compie senza esitare, esegue alla lettera le disposizioni di Circe ( X, 504 – 540). 9.1. Odisseo: discesa e profezia di Tiresia Odisseo raggiunge i confini della terra, dei Cimmerii che è "avvolta nella nebbia e nelle nubi" (XI, 15 ) e presso il fiume Oceano, al limite dell'esperienza degli uomini, scava una fossa in cui versa – dopo riti di libagione propiziatoria con latte, miele, vino, acqua e un'offerta di farina d'orzo – il sangue delle vittime che Circe gli ha indicato. Merita fermarsi un attimo per far notare il molteplice registro dei simboli. Il sangue, elemento liquido della vitalità, permetterà alle ombre dei morti una effimera ripresa di contatto con il mondo dei vivi. È un contatto limitato alla comunicazione: il morto non può prescindere dalla propria incorporeità. Ciascuno vuol sapere quello che non sa, ciascuno ritaglia una porzione di conoscenza contornata dalla dimensione del proprio universo affettivo. Le pene in casa consistono nella presenza arrogante e dissipatrice dei pretendenti, di cui il lettore già sa, ma Odisseo non ancora. Lo sguardo del profeta si estende poi ad un futuro ancora più lontano, in cui Odisseo si riconcilierà con Poseidone a mezzo di un sacrificio; per un bizzarro contrappasso, l'uomo che ha sconfitto il mare deve rendere omaggio al dio del mare in luogo che gli sia radicalmente estraneo, dopo una lunga peregrinazione alla ricerca di una terra che ignori tutto della civiltà marinara. Nella morte che viene dal mare è forse possibile leggere una allusione alla leggenda della morte di Odisseo per mano del figlio avuto da Circe, Telegono che, sbarcato a Itaca, uccise il padre. È accreditata tuttavia un'interpretazione diversa del passo nel senso che la morte sopravverrebbe a Odisseo "lontano dal mare". (………………………………………………) Scende d'Olimpo infine disperato Per liberarsi della grave soma, e va spedito alla divina corte di chi dei mar l'imperio ha avuto in sorte. ( VI, 6, 5–8; 7, 5–8; 28, 1–4;35, 5–8) La discesa di Bacco negli abissi marini è per il dio, così come è la catabasi per Odisseo, necessaria alla realizzazione del proprio fine. Il dio è disperato poiché vede gli dei del cielo, suoi pari, essere tutti favorevoli alla riuscita dell'esplorazione portoghese che mina il suo reame. Dopo l'introduzione della decisione, vi è nel poema una lunga digressione che descrive il regno di Nettuno, oltre ad una raffigurazione del dio stesso. Vi è un raddoppiamento dei concili divini ne I Lusiadi: il primo, nel I canto, riunito in cielo; il secondo, in fondo al mare. Altro motivo simmetrico è che nel primo il discorso diretto, pronunciato da Venere, era riservato a fiancheggiare i portoghesi; qui, al contrario, Bacco manifesta direttamente le sue recriminazioni contro l'incedere della flotta lusitana. Le invettive del dio fomentano rabbia nel concilio marino, tanto è vero che risulta impossibile prendere una decisione frutto di saggi avvisi: l'intemperanza del momento porta Nettuno ad agire d'impulso. Come considerare a livello strutturale questa evenienza? La profezia fondamentale del poema verrà proferita da Teti nell'isola degli Amori. Il viaggio di Da Gama e dei suoi eroi si conclude, nei canti IX e X, nella migliore maniera possibile, con tutta la gloria che è dato agli uomini di acquisire e con una rinnovata e maggiore esperienza di se stessi, degli altri e del mondo. L'Ilha dos Amores è un'isola divina, sorta in mezzo alle acque come la stessa Venere. È un prodotto dell'Essere primordiale, un locus amoenus la cui descrizione scorre lungo tutto il canto IX, intrecciandosi al rincorrersi dei marinai e delle ninfe e alle loro schermaglie amorose. La chiusa degli amori con un matrimonio collettivo dà l'abbrivio all'incontro tra Gama e Teti, che porta alla visione grandiosa del canto X. L'isola è simbolicamente un punto d'arrivo. Coronati dalle "spose eterne", i naviganti ritornano alla patria. Non si separeranno più da quel sapere acquisito che le ninfe rappresentano; loro, e soprattutto Teti, la loro regina, sono forme di presenza divina, finalmente manifesta a Vasco, ai suoi compagni e, per bocca del poeta, ai portoghesi e al mondo. La differenza di livello è simbolicamente rappresentata dal monte su cui Gama e la dea salgono, da una catabasi che segnala una variatio rispetto al procedere tradizionale della narrazione in caso di rivelazioni. Se infatti, nel caso di Odisseo, è la catabasi a marcare il momento della rivelazione, Camões compie una innovazione facendo sì che de Gama salga sul monte per ricevere la rivelazione della dea. L'atmosfera di elevata aulicità del palazzo di Teti ben introduce alla rivelazione della dea a de Gama, scandita nei modi della profezia in una prima parte, e nell'esposizione descrittiva della macchina del mondo nella seconda. La profezia funzionale allo svolgimento dell'azione, alle vicende dell'eroe – come lo è stata quella di Tiresia – si sviluppa, diviene altro; la conoscenza attraverso l'aiuto della dea sopravviene dopo due altri elementi: la giustizia e l'amore. Una eccezione strutturale dunque, che marca ancora di più la particolarità dell'opera camoniana Una possibile lettura di questa variazione può essere svolta considerando quanto Camões sapesse bene che l'apice della propria storia passata può dalla sua vetta guardare ai posteri, al tempo del vate dunque, carico di aspettative verso un continuum nella stessa direzione. Speranza disattesa, disillusa; al suo tempo il poeta non risparmia le proprie tirate veementi. Eppure conclude con la speranza che la sua Musa ispiratrice, cantando le glorie del suo re, riceva l'accettazione che merita. Questa connotazione contraddistingue Vasco de Gama, l'ansia di seguire la propria curiositas, mediata dall'Ulisse dantesco, si trasforma nel Rinascimento in quello che sarà il pungolo che spinge alle scoperte geografiche, al nuovo mondo, e, ovviamente, a un nuovo uomo. È un umanista anche nelle sue contraddizioni, nell'associare la mitologia pagana ad una visione cristiana del mondo, nei suoi sentimenti conflittuali verso la guerra e l'Impero, nel suo amore per la patria e nel suo desiderio di avventure, nel suo apprezzare il piacere estetico e nella richiesta di uno statuto eroico che fa ai suoi personaggi. Ma è soprattutto un Umanista nella sua devozione agli ideali classici, e nel suo considerarli la forza vitale dell'immaginario europeo del suo tempo. Racconta il suo Portogallo servendosi sia della cristianità che della tradizione classica. Sebbene Camões abbia molto della magnificenza rinascimentale nel suo incedere narrativo, la stempera con una sensibilità che sa sempre quando fermarsi, senza sfociare in pericolosi funambolismi estetici.

Issue 46.1 of the Review for Religious, January/February 1987. ; R~.\'~l~w ~oR R~.~;iotJs ( ISSN 0034-639X), published every two months, is edited in collaboration wflh faculty members of St. Louis University's Department of Theological Studies. The editorial offices are located at 3601 Lindell Blvd., Room 428; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. R~.:w~.w FOR R~,~;Iou.~ is owned by the Missouri Province Educational Institute of the Society of Jesus, St. Louis, MO © 1987 by R~-:vw:w ~.'OR R~-:~.~t;n)tJs. Composed, printed and manufactured in U.S.A. Second class postage paid at St. Louis, MO. Single copies: $2.50. Subscription: U.S.A. $11.00 a year; $20.00 for two years. Other countries: add $4.00 per year(surface mail). Airmail(Book Rate): $18.00 per 3'ear. For subscription orders or change of address, write: R~:\'~r:\v ~'t)a REl.~;IOtlS: P.O. Box 6070; Duluth, MN 55806. Daniel F.X. Meenan, S.J. Dolores Greeley, R.S.M. Iris Ann Ledden, S.SoN.D. Richard A. Hill, S.J. Jean Read Editor Associate Editor Review Editor Contributing Editor Assistant Editor Jan./ Feb., 1987 Volume 46 Number I Manuscripts, books for review and correspondence with the editor should be sent to Rl.:VlEW FOR R~:l,lc.mt;s: Room 428; 3601 Lindell Blvd., St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Correspondence about the department "Canonical Counsel" should be addressed to Richard A. Hill, S.J.; J.S.T.B.; 1735 LeRoy Ave., Berkeley, CA 94709. Back issues and reprints should be ordered from REv~:w you R~:~,w.~ot~s: Room 428; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. "Out of print" issues and articles not published as reprints are available from University Microfilms International; 300 N. Zeeb Rd.; Ann Arbor, MI 48106. A major portion of each issue is also available on cassette recordings as a service for the visually impaired. Write to the Xavier Society for the Blind; 154 East 23rd Street; New York, NY 10010. Review for Religious Volume 46, 1987 Editorial Offices 3601 Lindell Boulevard, Room 428 Saint Louis, Missouri 63108-3393 Daniel F.X. Meenan, S.J. Dolores Greeley, R.S.M. Iris Ann Ledden, S.S.N.D. Richard A. Hill, S.J. Jean Read Editor Associate Editor Review Editor Contributing Editor Assistant Editor REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS is published in January, March, May, July, September, and November on the twentieth 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 © 1987 by REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS. A major portion of each issue of REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS is also regularly available on cassette recordings as a service for the visually impaired. Write to the Xavier Society for the Blind; 154 East.23rd Street; New York, NY 10010. Christ: the Heart and Soul of Vocation John R. Quinn On October 4, Feast of St. Francis of Assisi, Archbishop Quinn addressed the fol-lowing homily in the course of a Eucharist celebrated for religious of San Francisco. It provides a fitting celebration of the conclusion of his commission's work. Archbishop Quinn may be addressed at: Office of the Archbishop; 445 Church Street; San Francisco, California 94114-1799. One week from today I will arrive in Rome. A few days later I will present to the Holy Father the final report of the Pontifical Commission on religious life in the United States. One of the tasks assigned to the Pontifical Commission was to under-take a study of the reasons why young people do not enter religious life in greater numbers. It was a long and exacting study involving a large number of priests, religious and lay people. Clearly, it is excessive to believe that any one single cause can explain the phenomenon of the decline in vocations. Just as obvious is the fact that there are causes internal to the life of the Church as well as causes which touch all of human society. Yet there is one striking factor in the decline of vocations which emerged in our study and it seems to me very fitting to touch on it in the context of this Feast of St. Francis. One of the first things that comes to mind when we think of St. Francis is poverty. Poverty was to be one of the hallmarks of his sanctity. But what was the meaning of that poverty for Francis? Was it a protest against the excesses of the rich? A statement about social justice? A wit-ness of solidarity with the oppressed? There may have been some of these factors, of course. But the overwhelming and consuming reason for the poverty of 3 4/Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 Francis was his love for Christ Jesus our Lord. His poverty was a power-ful witness that those things I used to consider gain I have now reappraised as loss in the light of Christ. I have come to rate all as loss in the light of the surpassing knowledge of my Lord Jesus Christ. For his sake, I have for-feited everything; I have accounted all else rubbish so that Christ may be my wealth and I may be in him . I wish to know Christ and the power flowing from his resurrection; likewise to know how to share in his sufferings by being formed into the pattern of his death" (Ph 3:7- 10). For Francis, poverty was his witness to the centrality and Lordship of Christ. In our study of the decline in vocations, we did not hear much about poverty. But we did learn that if we want to attract vocations, the reli-gious dimension of our lives must be unambiguous, and that religious must be more willing to share that dimension than they have been. It is not that American religious are not contemplative and spiritual men and women. They are, and our study shows that they are increas-ingly so. Yet Americans are somewhat inclined to regard religion as a private, interior affair not to be discussed. And this is the weakness. The rich treasure of our relationship with Christ and his meaning for us has to come out more. The story needs telling. But how can we tell the story of a relationship we do not have? And so the contemplative dimension of our lives is the foundation of every-thing else. It is the contemplative dimension that makes it possible for the religious to say to Christ what the lover said in Christopher Fry's play: "Everything I loved before has come to one meeting place in you. And you have gone out into everything I love." So deep was this reality in Francis that he spent whole nights repeat-ing the simple prayer,,,"My God and my all!" When we look at the per-vasive contemplative dimension of Francis' life, it is significant to recall that there are few saints who have had a more universal impact in all cul-tures, an impact that is strong and enduring even today. We need not fear that the contemplative dimension of our lives will reduce the effectiveness of our witness for justice or our service to the world. It will only enhance it. Think of the human service given by Francis himself, but think of the tremendous inspiration he has been for justice and peace through seven centuries. That inspiration cannot be sep-arated from his holiness, and his holiness is rooted in his union with Christ. The path of discipleship is perfectly articulated in a few brief words: Christ: The Heart and Soul "Those whom he foreknew he predestined to share the image of his Son" (Rm 8:29). Francis showed that one and only path of discipleship when he grew into the mystery of the Cross. Fittingly the Church brings to mind on his feast the words, "May I never boast of anything but the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ" (Ga 6:14). Without the Cross it is impossible to "share the image of his Son" who freely chose the Cross for himself as a witness of love and obedi-ence, as a witness of poverty and humility. Without the Cross there is no discipleship. But we should not forget that without the Cross there is no vision, no understanding. The Cross is the key to understanding the Church and human history. How can one learn the difficult grammar of the Cross without years of persevering and serious prayer? Thoreau, when asked why he was living in the wilderness, answered: "I do not want to come to my death and dis-cover that I have never lived." At death we will discover we have never lived the Christian life unless we have learned through the contemplative dimension to love and understand the mystery of the Cross. But what is this Cross for us? It is not wood. It is persons, places, circumstances, situations. Just as for the Lord, so for us, the Cross is what is absurd, ridiculous, frustrating, the unexplainable. The Cross is when we are powerless: no matter what we do, it makes no difference. The Cross is pain, it is loneliness, it is lack of support. It is confusion, uncertainty. But the Cross is also death -- it is letting go. It is surrendering every-thing into the Father's hands, and knowing that he will be glorified in us and in Christ Jesus. This mystery of the Cross we suffer both in the Church and in the world. We suffer before the tensions and divisions in the Church. We suffer before the massive and overwhelming injustices in the world. But in the midst of the Church and in the midst of that world, reli-gious are called to be the bearers of hope because they have lived and understood the Mystery of the Cross, and have personally discovered that the message of the Cross is complete absurdity to those who are headed for ruin, but to us who are experiencing salvation it is the power of God . Yes, Jews demand "signs" and Greeks look for "wisdom," but we preach Christ crucified. Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God (I Co 1:18; 22-25). It is the serious, prayerful contemplation of the Mystery of the Cross that yields the kind of love which is "patient; love [which] is kind., love [which] is never rude, [which] is not self-seeking, [which] is not prone to anger" (1 Co 13). It is this contemplative dimension which makes it Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 possible to say that "there is no limit to love's forbearance, to its trust, its hope, its power to endure" (ibid). And so it is this contemplative dimension that imparts the vision of the Church described by Gregory the Great some thirteen centuries ago: Because the daybreak or dawn changes gradually from darkness into light, the Church. is fittingly called daybreak or dawn. While she is being led from the night of infidelity to the light of faith, she is opened gradually to the splendor of heavenly brightness, just as dawn yields to the day after darkness. The Song of Songs says aptly: "Who is she who moves forward like the advancing dawn?" Holy Church, inasmuch as she keeps searching for the rewards of eternal life, has been called the dawn . The dawn intimates that the night is over; it does not yet pro-claim the full light of day . While it dispels the darkness and wel-comes the light, it holds both of them, the one mixed with th6 other. Are not all of us who follow the truth in this life daybreak and dawn? While we dp some things which already belong to the light, we are not free from the remnants of darkness. And so to Christ Jesus, crucified in weakness but risen in power, be glory in us and in the Church now and forever. Amen. From Tablet to Heart: Internalizing New Constitutions I and I! Address: by Patricia Spillane, M.S.C. Price: $1.25 per copy, plus postage. Review for Religious Rm 428 3601 Lindell Blvd. St. Louis, Missouri 63108 "1 Have Called You Friends": The Priest Today John Paul H On July 5, 1986, Pope John Paul ordained ninety-two men to the priesthood in Medellin, Colombia. In the eucharistic celebration, the theme of which was "Fidelity to the Priestly Vocation," the Pope offered the following reflections. This article is based on the text which appeared in L'Osservatore Romano (18 August, 1986, pp. 4-5). Beloved brothers in the priesthood of Christ: "No longer do I call you servants., but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you" (Jn 15:15). During the celebration of the Last Supper Jesus addressed these words to the apostles as he instituted the sacrament of his body and blood and charged them: "Do this in memory of me" (Lk 22:19). These words are linked in a most particular way with the priestly voca-tion. Christ makes the apostles priests, entrusting into their hands the sacrament of his body and blood. That body which will be offered upon the cross, that blood which will be shed (now under the species of bread and wine), constitute the memorial of the sacrifice of the Cross of Christ. In the Upper Room, Jesus calls his apostles friends because he has given them his body and blood. From that moment on, sacramentally real-izing this sacrifice, they were to work in his name, representing him per-sonally, in persona Christi. In this consists the essential greatness of the ministerial priesthood -- in which, today, you, sons of the Church of Colombia, of the Church of Medellin, will be made participants through the Sacrament of Orders. It is a very important day in your lives and in the life of this Church which, on this occasion, I wish to greet cordially. 7 Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 I affectionately greet the Christian people that has assembled this evening. The Christian nobility of your families -- nurseries for priestly and religious vocations -- and their deep adherence to the Church have been the characteristics of this beloved region of Colombia. The Priest's Vocation Is God's Initiative Today's liturgy indicates to us in a particularly profound way the truth about the priestly vocation. A vocation is first of all an initiative of God himself. God continuously calls individuals to the priesthood, just as in the past he called the prophets. How striking is the description of that call given by Jeremiah: "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you" (Jr 1:5). The "knowledge" of God signifies election, the call to partici-pate in the fulfillment of his salvific plan. In the light of the Mystery of the Incarnation, this choice is closely linked with Christ as Priest: "[God] chose us in him even before the foundation of the world" (Ep 1:4). "Before you were born I consecrated you" (Jr 1:5). Consecration to God is full and total dedication for one's whole life to a charge or mission, under the action of the Spirit of the Lord who anoints and sends (Is 61 : 1). Through Holy Orders the priest participates in the anointing and mission of Christ the Priest and Good Shepherd: "He has anointed me to preach good news to the poor"(Lk 4:18). For Eternity From this it follows that the mission of the priesthood carries the seal of eternity. You are consecrated forever. It is not a decision that is sub-ject to the fluctuations of time or the vicissitudes of life. It cannot be founded upon transient sentiments or feelings. It involves, as authentic love, permanence in fidelity. You are called to remain always with the Lord, tO perpetuate friendship with him day after day, in order to model yourselves after his heart. Only in the light of this love can the evangel-ical requirements that the priestly ministry involves be understood and lived. You must put your youth fully and without reserve at the service of Christ in order to become instrumenis of salvation without frontiers. "Be not afraid of them" (Jr 1:8), we are told in the first reading from the prophet Jeremiah. There is no room for doubt and discouragement. "For I am with you" (Jr 1:8), the prophet repeats to us. Human weak-ness is not an obstacle when we know how to recognize it and place it faithfully and confidently in the hands of God. The Risen Christ empha-sizes this presence: "It is I" (Mt 28:20). Thus is it possible to carry out the mission of the Lord: "to all to whom I send you, you shall go" (Jr 1:7). I Have Called You Friends "Behold I have put my words in your mouth" (Jr 1:9). These are "words of eternal life" (Jn 6:68) which sustain the generosity of the one sent and assure the fruit of the apostolate, even if through the Mystery of the Cross. Is it legitimate to fear the word and the call of God? No! One may fear human weakness, but God's call -- never. In fact, it always indicates a marvelous path: it calls one to a particular participation in the "great things of God." It is thus wise to listen attentively to the words of the Apostle in the letter to the Ephesians: "I, therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all lowliness and meekness, with patience" (Ep 4:1-2). Biblical Poverty Beloved sons, consider as well that the journey towards priestly holi-ness and the apostolate is one of biblical poverty. When we recognize our weakness, it is then that we are strong (see 2 Co 12:10). This attitude of humility, which is authenticity and truth, will lead you to recognize with joy that the priestly vocation is a gift of Christ's heart and a choice that reaches the depths of one's heart and mind. In the priestly vocation one experiences the contrast between the power and holiness of the Master who calls and the fragility and littleness of those who have been chosen. You have surely experienced within your-selves a sense of awe before the sublimity and the greatness of the mission that is being entrusted to you; but feel also the security and joy of knowing that it is Jesus who calls, that he will always be with you and give you the strength and joy to be faithful in his service. And he never abandons his disciples. Priesthood: A Gift for the Church The priestly vocation is a gift for the Church. In the Church there are diverse gifts, as the Apostle teaches us: "Grace was given to each of us according to the measure of Christ's gift" (Ep 4:7). All of these different gifts constitute an essential and unrepeatable "part" of "Christ's gift." In reality, all graces and charisms serve jointly "for building up the body of Christ" (Ep 4:12). Among these gifts, the ministerial priesthood takes on a particular importance. We participate in a special way in Christ's priesthood. Even if "from his fullness have we all received, grace upon grace" (Jn l:16), each participates in "Christ's gift" (Ep 4:7) according to particular graces and charisms, always at the service of the ecclesial community, which is the Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 communion of all the faithful. It is necessary to recognize, love and live the diversity and particularity of the gifts, precisely in order to build up the "one Body" of Christ that is the Church, animated by "one Spirit" (Ep 4:4). To the extent that you joyously love your priesthood, you will feel called to appreciate, respect, awaken and cultivate the other charisms of the ecclesial community in order to build up the Body of Christ unto perfection and fullness (see Ep 4:i2). The priestly identity is thus a joyous reality which we experience when we love the gift received in order to serve and improve others, with the commitment to "lay down our lives" like the Good Shepherd (see Jn 10:15). Give Yourselves in Love for Christ, for the Church If the priestly vocation is such a great gift for the Church, this means that you no longer belong to yourselves, but have become the property of Christ, who lives in this Church and awaits you in the many fields of the apostolate. You belong to Christ andto the Church, his "spotless Bride," whom "Christ loved . . . and gave himself up for" (Ep 5:25). This is what is asked of you: that you love. Love of Christ and love of the priesthood would not be possible with-out deep love for the Church, which, notwithstanding the limitations proper to her pilgrim state, does not cease to be the Body of Christ, his Spouse, and the People of God. Serve the flock as priest "not by constraint but willingly, not for shameful gain but eagerly., being examples to the flock" (1 Pt 5:2-3). May the community be able to see in you heralds of the Gospel, ded-icated to this mission of which the world has such urgent need -- a full time dedication, without invading other fields and secular occupations that do not concern you. May you be found in the place assigned to you by the bishop, whose collaborators you will be, in loyal unity, as solic-itous pastors, who in everything reflect their sacramental condition: in the soul's depths, in pastoral activity and in external behavior. To follow Christ also means to fee! truly Church, with filial love, ready for responsible collaboration and with a prompt and generous adher-ence to her discipline and norms, loyally cooperating with your bishop. Only through remaining with Christ, living with him, letting your lives be formed by him, will it be possible to proclaim him with decisiveness, frankness and ardor, communicating the experience that one lives in the mystery of and in communion with the Church, "the universal sacrament of salvation" (Ad Gentes, 1). I Have Called You Friends / 11 Abide in My Love In this way, beloved brothers and sisters, we today experience in a special way -- all of us here present -- the Father's love of which Christ speaks to the apostles on the eve of his death: "As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you" (Jn 15:9). In Christ, the Father's love becomes for us an inexhaustible source of life and light. "The priesthood is the love of the Heart of Jesus,'" said the holy Cure d'Ars, the second centenary of whose birth we celebrate this year, the year of your ordina-tion. Truly, "greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends" (Jn 15:13). It is Christ himself who lays down his life for us. And this "laying down of his life," this sacrifice, remains in the Church and, through the Church, remains in humanity from one gen-eration to the next. It remains through the word of the Gospel and in the Eucharist, the sacrament of the death and resurrection of Christ. It remains, therefore, through the ministry of priests. And through this ministry it renews itself and makes itself present in all ages. From the height of the Cross and from the heart of his salvific sacri-fice, Christ continues to say to us: "Abide in my love" (Jn 15:9). The Lord today tells each of you in a very special way, dear priestly candidates: "If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love" (Jn 15:10). Yes! "Just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his .love" (ibid). In these words the divine bond or relationship transposed to the dimension of human existence is truly manifested. We know well the commandments that constitute the solidity of this permanent bond in the love of Christ. We know very well the principles of priestly life, the requirements of priestly discipline that constitute the firmness of this response. It is truly a matter of sacrificing oneself in following Christ, and this excludes any form of self-establishment, and demands the greatest possi-ble readiness, as is required of him who has nowhere to lay his head (see Lk 9:57-62). It is a commitment that embraces all one's existence, as the Messiah, the Son of God, demands, who with his word calms the tem-pest, heals the sick, evangelizes the poor, drives out demons, reconciles humanity so as to regenerate it to life. He demands full submission to the will of his Father, who may lead you, like Peter, where you do not wish to go (see Jn 21:18). But he always leads the way, lovingly carrying the same cross that he places upon our shoulders and lightens. In fact, the Lord says: "My yoke is easy and my burden is light" (Mt I 1:30). A life faithful to these requirements, a life lived with this love, simulta-neously opens before us the prospect of divine joy. "These things I have 12/ Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full" (Jn 15:11). "This is true paschal joy" (Presbyterorum Ordinis, 11), characteristic of the priestly identity and the prelude to the flowering of priestly vocations. This is the meaning of the priestly vocation and of the service~of, or priestly ministry to, the People of God. "You Did Not Choose Me, But I Chos~ You" "You did not choose me, but I chose you" (Jn 15:16), says the Lord. These words we have all had branded on our hearts, you and I! They are Jesus' words in the familiar and intimate context of the Last Supper, when the Lord lovingly opens his heart to his disciples. It shows the gratuitous nature of his choice of those whom he constitutes his ministers, those to whom he entrusts a mission of particular importance. It is God who initiates the dialogue in salvation history, interwoven with the mar-velous reality of his love. It is he who takes the initiative with the trans-forming power of his Word that re-creates everything. "He first loved us" (Jn 4:9). For this reason the Lord adds: "I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide" (Jn 15:16). Just as the fruit of the first sowing of the Gospel in this land and on this continent has abided in an admirable way, so will your fruit abide today, in these last years of the second Christian millennium, as the fifth centen-nial of the beginning of evangelization in Latin America approaches. Why does this fruit of Christian life abide? Perhaps because those who sowed it knew, at the same time, how to pray, to ask in Christ's name: "So that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you" (Jn 15:16). And he will give it to us as well. Fraternal love will be the guarantee of our union with Christ and the efficacious sign of evangelization: "This I command you, to love one another" (Jn 15:17). The efficacy of the Gospel produces fruit that our eyes often do not see. The Lord's grace waits secretly in men's hearts. Today we are living off the seed which generations of generous missionaries planted in the fer-tile Colombian soil and God's grace has caused to sprout and bear fruit. Beyond Frontiers On this day which is so important for the Church, let us look to the future with confidence. The Church thanks you for the work that you are doing, beloved brother bishops and religious superiors, in the realm of vocations, with the cooperation of solicitous and suitable experts in forma-tion, attentive to the norms of the Church and the integral spiritual, academic and pastoral formation of candidates to the priesthood and reli- 1 Have Called You Friends gious life. I thank and bless you for the enormous amount of work which has been carried out in the vocations apostolate. The increase here must bring about the generous opening of hearts with a missionary spirit and a sense of co-responsibility, so that necessary help can be given to the other sister Churches which today suffer a shortage of priests. Looking to Mary, Mother of the Church and loving Mother of priests, in this extremely solemn moment, each of us will feel invited to imitate her motherly love: "In her life the Virgin has been a model of that motherly love with which all who join in the Church's apostolic mission for the regeneration of mankind should be agnimated" (Lumen Gentioum, 65). "The form of this world is passing away" (1 Co 7:31). The genera-tions of all peoples and nations pass away. But the words of the Lord do not pass away. Jesus' words pronounced at the Last Supper will now be made a reality through the Sacrament of Orders that we are about to confer upon the candidates here present. The entire Church of Colombia assembled around her bishops, the universal Church assembled around the Successor of Peter, raises its confident prayer to the Father for these deacons who today, in the city of Medellin, will receive the order of the priesthood. On Mirrors Mirrors can tell me only what I know, That with the rub of time all thing~ grow old. Nothing they hold to stir the still conviction, This must be -- Must wisely be. Wherefore, my summer over, In my skies the first sharp hint of snow, I turn all mirrors to the wall. Let come what may, This is a season now of no surprising -- Nearer the promised Springtime past surmising When God who gave me life Will claim it. Sister Cecilia Ward, S.C. Sacred Heart Convent 6225 Walnut Street Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 15206 Mythology, Revitalization and the Refounding of Religious Life Gerald A. Arbuckle, S.M. Father Arbuckle, well known to our readers, will be directing a workshop on the sub-ject of the refounding of religious orders this summer under the auspices of REVIEW FOR RE~Jr~OUS. Just completing a sabbatical year of study and formative prayer expe-rience, he returns to the East Asian Pastoral Institute (P.O. Box1815; Manila 2800; Philippines), where he may be addressed. A myth is a story or tradition which claims to enshrine a fundamental truth or inner meaning about the world and human life. Contrary to popu-lar belief, myths are not childish stories nor mere prescientific explana-tions of the world nor are myths to be equated with falsities or fantasies. Myths are deeply serious insights about reality. Without myths we are unable to determine what things really are, what to do with them, or how to be in relation to them. We come to this conclusion in more recent times because of the writ-ings of people like Raimundo Panikkar,' Karl Jaspers and Paul Ricoeur,2 but particularly because of the careful research of cultural anthropologists into the role of myths in traditional religions. Scripture and theological studies have benefited from this rediscovery of the role of myth in society.3 Myth is recognized as essentially the way we talk .about our religious encounter with God and with the spiritual world. "Unlike historical or abstract truth," writes Avery Dulles, "mys-tery cannot be described or positively defined. It can only be evoked."' The use of symbols and mythical language is crucial for the evoking of mystery. The role of myths in the revitalization of a religious congregation is also acknowledged. For example, in a recent significant reflection on the 14 Mythology, Revitalization and Refounding Religious Life future of religious life it is said that "Central to the project of revitalization is the need to deepen the mythic roots of one's own life and those of one's community. ''~ But the nature of myths and their precise function in revitalization is poorly researched. This article is an introduc-tory attempt to respond to this paucity of research into the function of myths within religious-life revitalization. I will aim -- to clarify the nature and types of myths and the ways in which they are interpreted especially by cultural anthropologists; -- to reflect on the role of myths for religious-life revitalization and refounding. Myths, Truth and History Anthropologically a myth is a type of narrative which seeks to express in an imaginative or symbolic form a belief about the human person or culture, the world or deity, which cannot adequately be expressed in ordi-nary language. Myths reveal the "meaning and significance of spiritual reality, and how it interpenetrates and affects the familiar physical world. ,,6 Myths are concerned about the meaning of human existence at the deepest possible level, about the problems of evil, the source of crea-tion or how chaos became cosmos, the origins of different cultures. By mythically defining and structuring the world, the human person is able to grasp to some degree or other the regions beyond human control which deeply influence well-being and destiny. Like sacred icons, myths are the "medium of revelation rather than of man's self-expression . They are accepted., as handed down from the gods themselves.''7 Sometimes individuals, e.g., Old Testament prophets, are seen as the agents of the revelations of the gods in the estab-lishment or revitalization of myths. But the myths remain as the revela-tions of mysteries rather than clever illustrations or didactic entertainments on the part of mere human persons. Like all symbols, myths can evoke deep emotional responses and a sense of mystery in those who accept them, simply because they develop out of the very depths of human experience of birth, life, death. No matter how hard we seek to deepen our grasp of the meaning of myths, they still remain somewhat ambiguous and mysterious because they attempt to articulate what cannot be fully articulated. Myths can maintain their influence even though people do not con-sciously accept them. Take the first myth of Genesis, the creation story. Most Western peoples, whether they adhere to the Jewish/Christian faith 16/Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 or not, accept the myth's conclusions that people are sacred and have inalienable rights. Myths articulate attitudes toward reality. These atti-tudes can maintain a powerful influence on behavior over a long period.8 Myths, then, are about reality. They are efforts to explain what usu-ally is beyond empirical observation and to some degree or other outside human experience. They speak of reality and experience other than the physical world. This is an important point that needs to be understood if confusion is to be avoided. Myth and empirical truth do not contradict one another. Myths, remember, reveal truths that cannot be grasped through empirical observation. Likewise myth and history do not contradict each other. Each relates to facts from its own standpoint; history observes facts from the "outer physical side, myth from the inner spiritual side. ,9 It can happen that the symbols used to express an inner meaning or truth about life are histor-ically untrue. For example, in the Genesis story we are t01d the vital truth that God created the world. The symbols used, e.g., the number of days for creation, are not all necessarily historically true. But the myth in this case is not out to tell about an event with total historical accuracy. That is not its purpose. Sometimes a myth is totally false historically, even though it is described as though it were an historical event, e.g., the story of Job, Noah's ark. Recall the key insight: myths are out to reveal truths that'mere human observation itself cannot grasp. All kinds of symbols are used to express these truths. Myths sometimes include actual historical events but in order to give them special significance. For example, in Disneyland, Los Angeles, Abraham Lincoln is brilliantly re-presented in the Main Street Opera House, delivering a speech on liberty~ An actual historical event is portrayed. But the props used are not historical, e.g., the dramatic use of lights, the nobility of the furnishings. But these props are rightly used to convey an atmosphere of reverence for one who is "above the normal human person." Lincoln is now seen to embody key virtues of the nation's founding myth, e.g., respect for liberty, democracy and human dignity. The myth gives an inner meaning to an actual historical event. Lincoln saved the nation because he embodied the virtues on which the nation is built. Interpretation of Myths Commentators generally interpret myths in one of three different ways: functionally, symbolically or structurally. Sometimes authors blend aspects of two or all three ways of interpreting myths. This blending is in-valuable. Myths are too rich to allow only one method of interpretation. Mythology, Revitalization and Refounding Religious Life / 17 According to the functional way of interpretation, myths justify exist-ing social institutions or ways of doing things,'° People feel a deep need for an authority that transcends rational argument to justify what is happen-ing. The rise of democracy was justified in part by the myth of the "social contract." In Nazi Germany programs of vicious race-hatred were justified in part by a revival of the ancient German mythology of race superiority.'~ Symbolic interpretations assume that mythology is a poetic way of com-municating; the meanings of myths are to be found beneath the surfaces of stories. Carl Jung, Sigmund Freud and their followers support this form of interpretation. Jung believes that "the primitive mentality does not invent myths, it experiences them.''~2 There is a "collective uncon-scious," the psychic background which is common to all people, though at the same time supra-personal. There are archetypes, "forms or images of a collective nature," which are active in every mind, remnants of "his-torical mental states" which have been transmitted by traditions, migrations and heredity. These archetypes are identical with the themes of myths. Jung concludes that myths are not charters to legitimate cul-tural institutions, but psychological realities or expressions of the archetypes or primordial images of the collective unconscious. They rep-resent inherited forms present in every human person. Myths give a "local habitation and a name" to these general forms and give them "real-ity" by revealing them to the consciousness. Anthropologists, however, criticize Jung for treating myth as an irreducible mental property.'3 His explanation of myth "denies to culture any formative role in its symbol-ism.'"' For Freud and his followers myth is a type of daydream. It uses the symbolism of dreams articulating unconscious desires and conflicts. But the likening of myth to a daydream does not explain why people build myths in preference to just any daydream and why the sharing of myths is a significant social and cultural fact.'S As w~th Jung, Freudians fail to acknowledge the cultural influences in the evolution of myths. The source of myth for them is far too much dependent on the individual.~6 Many contemporary anthropologists approach the analysis of myths from a symbolic point of view. They claim however that the meanings of symbols are strongly influenced by cultural, rather than individual, experiences. The structural interpretation of myths is a rather recent development. A myth is broken into its different parts, its incidents and motifs, and the interpreter reflects on the ways in which they are interrelated. The aim is to uncover the underlying structure of a myth like a cross-section of the Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 geological strata beneath a landscape. The significance is not sought in the narrative but rather in the arrangement of the underlying strata. One structural pattern common in myths is the interplay of opposites and their resolution. For example the present state of things is the opposite of what was "in the beginning.'''7 In the Genesis story of the fall, Adam and Eve (and their descendants) must work hard to survive. Not so in the begin-ning. In a later myth the opposition will be resolved: "The wolf shall be ¯ a guest of the lamb .The baby shall play by the cobra's den"(Is 1 1: 6,8). A leading structuralist, anthropologist Claude Levi-Strauss, sees in myths "the emergence of a logic operating by means of binary oppositions and coinciding with the first manifestations of symbolism."'8 One of the prime functions of myth is to reconcile apparent contradictions in cultural life. Anthropologist Victor Turner has a quasi-structuralist approach to myth. Myths are for him liminal phenomena; they are recounted fre-quently at a time or in a state that is "betwixt and between," that is, when people are confused or without their traditional cultural supports. Myths recount a period in which the uncertainties and tensions of being in a state of confusion do not exist.'9 For example, the psalmist in the midst of desolation turns to the mythical expression of the Lord's great-ness and concern for Israel. The recounting of this myth gives him con-solation: "I remember the deeds of the Lord; yes I remember your won-ders of old . You led your people like a flock under the care of Moses and Aaron" (Ps 77:12,21). I will return to this insight later. Types of Myths Creation and Regeneration Myths Here are several relevant types of myths: While all cultures have specific myths through which they respond to questions of identity or behavior, it is in their creation myths that the most basic answers are to be found. Not only are creation myths the most all-embracing of mythic proclamations, addressing themselves to the widest range of questions of meaning, but they are also the most pro-found. Take, for example, the New Zealand Maori myth of creation, a myth that is extraordinarily dramatic and rich in language. Being- Itself evolves "from the conception" through thought, spirit and matter to the great peak, the "blaze of day from the sky. ,20 Creation myths like this speak about first causes; in them people express their primary understanding of mankind, the world, time and space. Mythology, Revitalization and Refounding Religious Life By way of summary,2~ many old creation myths place an absolute real-ity as the very foundation of all life. This reality is both transcendent, i.e., true for all times and places, and immanent, i.e., true in the here and now. To be both transcendent and immanent, the reality is believed to be eternal. While this absolute reality, in whatever way it is defined, is behind all myths, it is most obviously so in strict creation myths. These myths are concerned about the relation of the known to the unknowable, e.g., in the Genesis myth the relation between the world and God. Often the original reality out of which the Absolute created the world is consid-ered divine chaos. It is a chaos out of which order and dis-order can develop. Rather than being "something" negative, chaos is vigorously positive inasmuch as order can emerge from it. Anthropologist Mircea Eliade believes that there is a creation dimen-sion behind every kind of myth. Myth, he says, "is always the recital of a creation; it tells how something was accomplished, began to be. It is for this reason that myth is bound up with ontology; it speaks of realities, ~ ,~22 of what really nappeneu. For him "reality" means "sacred reality." And the sacred reality belongs to sacred time, the time when creation took place. In profane time people carry on the ordinary business of daily living. It is sacred time. which gives meaning to life; sacred time breaks into people's lives through rituals in which people re-enact, re-live the holy or the original creation, their emergence out of chaos. In short they relive the founding myths of their cultures. The reliving of the founding myth is called a regeneration ritual. It is particularly relevant when a people's cultural identity seems to be falling into chaos or is threatened with chaos. People feel the need to relive their original founding, and thus win back their identity. Regeneration rituals are not commemorative. They are always founda-tional or re-creative in their demands on people. That is, people are expected to undergo a deep interior and exterior change or revitalization; they must experience a new creation out of chaos. They are to be passive and active in the presence of the revealing absolute.2~ To use Eliade's lan-guage, in regeneration rituals sacred time breaks into profane time. Sacred time is ritual time, the brief transcendence through festival. It con-sists of those rites in which people re-enact the holy, aboriginal events of their culture. The escape into sacred time intimates immortality, a rescue in any case from the meaningless. Charter Myths These myths legitimate actions in the present or in the future. For example, people who are influenced by the Genesis myth of creation feel 20/Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 legitimated in their work of dominating nature.2' The American political system of checks and balances is legitimated in the Constitution myth. Identity Myths These myths, intimately related to creation myths, provide individuals and cultures with a sense of belonging. The Old Testament is filled with myths that give identity to the Israelites, e.g., the Exodus narrative. In identity myths there are often heroes, including historical figures, who symbolize this identity and whose lives indicate how this identity is to be achieved or restored, e.g., Old Testament prophets, Abraham Lincoln, J. E Kennedy. Eschatological Myths These are myths about the end of an age or the end of time. They speak about key issues of life, death and resurrection, future rewards and punishments, even an apocalyptic ihsight into a future age of peace and plenty.~ These myths often tell of a former age of peace and contentment that was lost but is to be restored if people act rightly. They are the driv-ing force behind the way people live their morality and institute revolu-tionary movements. Communism offers its golden age of the classless soci-ety, one to be shared by those who battle against oppressors. The col-lective champion, or culture hero, in this myth is the proletariat which struggles against and, eventually overcomes, the bourgeoisie. Dominant, Supportive and Directional Myths In the narrative story of a people, different myths may be intercon-nected into what is called a mythology. Generally, one myth will stand out over the others in the mythology. This is called a dominant myth. The other myths complement or support this dominant myth. Some myths, called directional myths, indicate how the foundational or creation myth is to be lived out. The written American Constitution, which established the political system, could be considered a directional myth. Myth Management New myths are created and old myths are maintained in existence, are constantly revised or die out because of a variety and flow of forces, changing needs and new perceptions. We call the creation, revision or disappearance of myths myth management. Myth management occurs through such processes as myth extension, substitution, drift and revitaliza-tion. We will briefly examine each of these processes. Mythology, Revitalization and Refounding Religious Life/91 Myth Extension When people ransack the past to find legitimation for the present, there is myth extension. For example, American politicians are apt to quote great politicians of the past, or other cultural heroes, in order to legitimate what they are saying about the present situation. In the process of extension the myth is applied to new needs. Sometimes revision or extension occurs if only the meaning of the specific myths, not the words themselves, is changed. The American foundational myth -- which includes the "revelation" that "all men are created equal," -- for exam-ple -- is still vigorous, even though we have come to include blacks and all women in an originally very restrictive assertion. Although the mean-ing of the myth is much extended, the "fact" of equality is still consid-ered to be unchallenged. Notice that the community itself is involved in one way or another in revising or extending the myth's meanings or emphases. Myth Substitution Myth substitution is a difficult and often painful process. Marxist Rus-sian leaders seek to manipulate their people, often under the threat of violence, by inventing new myths to legitimate their power and suprem-acy. 26 Sometimes a new myth becomes acceptable through a process of education, persuasion and example. Paul VI deliberately used ritual experi-ences to help people grasp Vatican II mythology. For example, in order to stress the servant role of the papacy he put aside the use of the regal tiara. For his funeral he willed that he be buried in a simple wooden casket. Myth Drift Drift occurs when myths change, degenerate or disappear without deliberate planning on the part of individuals or groups. Fairy tales and legends are sometimes secularized myths; they have lost their original sacredness because over time they have ceased to be important to people in answering key questions about life and its meaning. In our contemporary world there is a strong tendency to equate "literal-ness" with "truth." When this happens the power of myths is undermined. For example, if the metaphor referring to the ascension of Jesus to the Father is taken literally in spatial terms, then God is assumed to be resident in space, at a certain height in the atmosphere. Once this literal interpretation is brought into question, however, the danger is that the inner meaning of the myth is also called into question. But the reli-gious symbols of myth cannot be reduced to purely factual or intellectual 22/Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 terms. Truth is bigger than what can be empirically analyzed.27 Sometimes the dominant myth is distorted because a secondary or directional myth assumes an exaggerated position. This has happened to the Genesis creation myth. Extreme capitalism with its emphasis on indi-vidualism displaces the original stress in the mytl~ on our responsibility to be co-creators with God in this world. Social consciousness thus is downplayed in what has become a distorted myth. Marxism, with its stress on the future communist golden age, is a secularization and vulgarization of the same creation myth; for, remove God and individual dignity is unprotected.28 One of the most powerful barriers to an understanding of myth, and it~ survival, is the fact that people may no longer share the kind of faith which had originally given rise to it. As T. Fawcett says, "The myths embody a religious outlook on the world. If this is not shared by one who seeks to interpret the myths, there is at least a strong possibility of misunderstanding. Myth Revitalization Myths can articulate "how chaos became cosmos.''3° When a people or culture is threatened with chaos or experiences chaos it feels the urge to rediscover the original creation myth, to relive it. Iri the reliving of the myth, it seeks once more to achieve identity and self-worth. Take the example of the American foundation myth. This myth exalted the potential of the human person to grow in strength and human perfection. During the late 1960s and 1970s the nation experienced cultural turmoil. Antiheroes abounded: people burned the sacred flag, presidents failed to live up to the American spirit of pride in the nation's prestige, the nation suffered a disastrous war in Vietnam and was humiliated in Iran. There was needed, said Time, "a reassertion of man as shaper of the world rather than the '70s model as victim or passive partner.''3~ The 1984 Olympics at Los Angeles gave many Americans the chance to relive their founding myth: "The belief was reborn that Americans can do, well, any-thing."~ 2 There were other events also: "It was a year of ceremonies . Some of the rites played a kind of sacramental role., conferring a heal-ing reassurance."~ And there were cultural heroes: the organizer of the Olympic Games, the participants themselves, thecountry's actor-president. Notice the key factors in revitalization: a feeling of chaos/confusion, the emergence of cultural heroes in touch with creation roots and the will-ingness of people to participate in the reliving or reappropriation of the founding myth. The myth can be updated, distorted or purified in the pro-cess. Stallone in Rambo and Rocky is, an updating of the American mythic Mythology, Revitalization and Refounding Religious Life hero; he is the modem cowboy, now dressed for contemporary deeds. In light of the Gospel, and indeed of the creation myth of America itself, this updated mythic hero is a moral distortion of what the hero should be because of the senseless use of violence .34 Notice, finally, that for revitalization to occur the myth should come alive in new symbols, e.g., in the American case, the "Games Extrava-ganza." If this does not happen, then the supposed revitalization is a regressive and fundamentalist movement, such as happened in the Iranian revolution. There is a failure to adjust to the realities of change. Summary: Key Anthropological Points in Myths Despite the divergent approaches to the study of myths, there are important points of agreement among anthropologists. Here are some of them: Myths Are Symbolic Revelations of Truths A symbol is any reality that by its very dynamism leads to another deeper reality through a sharing in the dynamism that the symbol itself offers. Symbols speak not just to the intellect, but more especially to the heart, to the feelings. Symbols arouse strong emotional responses. The one symbol can contain many meanings at the same time, even contrary meanings, e.g., the cross connotes both death and resurrection. ' Symbols do not just point to the things signified (as simple signs do), but they truly represent them. This is why symbols operate at the level of metaphor, not of simile. The metaphor articulates not merely a like-ness, but an identity. Such a metaphor insists on being taken seriously at a very deep level, that of personal commitment. So a myth, expressed in metaphorical symbolism, demands that people identify with its inner mes-sage and accept the consequences in action of this inner conversion.~5 Within each myth one metaphor will pred6minate over others. This metaphor is called the root metaphor, e.g., in the Way of the Cross, Christ is the root metaphor, while the persons of Mary and Veronica are complementary or supportive metaphors in the narrative.~ Creation Myths Speak of Chaos Creation myths are the most universal kind of myth. They tell us why humans suffer and die, how they establish and maintain social cohesion, how they relate to absolute reality. In many myths an original chaos is depicted, but a chaos that has potential for creativity. In the Judaeo- Christian tradition, the absolute reality is God. When people experience intense confusion, they are apt to experience themselves as reinserted into 24/Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 that original chaos. The retelling of the myth can give them new energy, new hope. Myths, History and Doctrines Are to Be Distinguished A myth is not some kind of mixed-up history. It tells what occurred not in profane or ordinary time, but in the beginning, in sacred time, i.e., in the period of the gods or the creators of the world. It is an account of a primordial event that gives meaning to reality, telling why it came into existence and why it continues to exist. History deals With another type of reality altogether, i.e., the observable world. Historical analysis is invaluable in helping people dis-cover how local history has affected the interpretation of myths. History, however, cannot evaluate the authenticity of the inner meaning of a myth. Special evaluative principles, e.g., from theology or Church magisterium in relating to Christian mythology, are needed to authenticate a myth's meaning. The aim of a myth is to communicate a profound truth in the form of a story. Religious myth achieves a kind of revelatory character through this truth, by uncovering something of universal validity about the nature of life and reality. Neither are myths equivalent to doctrines, though they are both ways of interpreting religious experiences. Doctrines generally use philosoph-ical language to express meanings, whereas myths use highly symbolic language. Myths complement doctrines; they help provide insight into the more abstract content of doctrines.37 Mythical Archetypes and Ritual Assume Conversion Anthropologist Bronislaw Malinowski asserts that myth "is not merely a story told but a reality lived." It is "not an idle tale, but a hard-worked active force.''~ Eliade believes myth is a "sacred history" and hence "saturated with being . . . and power. ,,39 Both authors, experts in the study of myth, are speaking of the "eternal" relevance and dynamism of myths for those who accept them. What does this mean? In all cultures there are some forms of repeated symbolic behavior that are tied by explanatory verbalization to their basic ways of understand-ing human existence. The repeated symbolic behavior is called ritual. The explanatory verbalization is myth. The myth sets out what should be; it .is the archetypal directive to a group of people. In ritual, people "own" or interiorize that directive; ritual provides a way of participating in the myth experience. The key word is archetypal. The Absolute -- in whatever way it is defined -- is immanent as well as transcendent in every creation myth. That is,the Absolute is here as well as everywhere; it is now as well as always. Mythology, Revitalization and Refounding Religious Life The Absolute achieves transcendence and immanence through arche-types; they give shape and form to this or that. Archetypes are always valid, never change, because they are the Absolute and belong to sacred time. Archetypes break into profane time through ritual, giving people the chance to experience sacred time. Jesus, the archetype, rises from the tomb and transcends his relativity at all times. But he is with us now as he was with those who saw him on the first Easter Day.'° This is a key insight especially into creation myths. The archetype is not a prototype. The latter connotes the first of a line; the prototype may or may not con-tinue to influence subsequent events. But the archetype has universal application; it is timeless, it guarantees authenticity, it is the re-presentation of the Absolute of the myth in the here and now. Adam has relevance to us, not just because he is considered the first man, i.e., prototype, but because he represents the essential man, i.e., an archetype. His original sin is therefore ours. It is inherent in the human condition. We inherit the sin to the degree that we inherit our humanity. This is what is meant when we say that a myth is an active force or is saturated with power. For that power or active force to have an effect, people must acknowl-edge its existence; they must own it. For this to occur there needs to be a conversion to the reality of the myth. It is to accept the reality and force of sacred time within our lives. We allow the transcendent Absolute to become immanent, i.e., to take over our lives through the myth. II My task now is to illustrate how this analysis of myth can help us to grasp in more depth what is meant when we, as religious, are called "to deepen the mythic roots of one's own life and those of one's com-munity." The "Creation Myth" of Religious Life We believe as Christians that the Absolute in the Genesis creation myth is God himself, and that Jesus is the Absolute in the redemption myth of the Gospel. We come to these insights through the power and the presence of the Holy Spirit: "The Spirit we have received is not the world's spirit but God's Spirit, helping us to recognize the gifts he has given us" (l Co 2:12). The life, suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus constitute the Re-creation Myth; through Jesus we have a more pro- 42 found understanding of God and his designs for us. The Christian "locks in" on the Re-creation Myth by accepting the 26/Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 same mission that the Father gave the Son, the mission to go out and bring the Good News to all. The call by the Father to mission with the Son constitutes the creation myth of religious life. While all Christian people are committed to evangelical perfection and mission with the Son, religious for their part publicly commit them-selves in faith to be unconditional in their response to the Father's call, in their love of him and of members of their own communities, his Church, and the world he wants to be saved. They openly commit them-selves not to this or that particular demand of the Lord at this or that par-ticular time and place but to be totally available, as other Christs, for the Father's work. They strive to take seriously always the command of the Lord: "Be converted and believe in the Good News"(Mk 1:15). This requires of religious an enduring identification with Christ, an act of love, that should govern all their actions. This describes the identification myth of religious. Religious are drawn by the power of the eschatological myth also, that is, the myth of the 'promise of "new heavens and a new earth where., the justice of God will reside"(2 Pt 3:13). They seek to reveal this new world of justice and love now, that through their example others maydiscover the saving power of the Lord, his mercy and compassion.'3 The commitment through the vows logically flows from the ear-nestness of t:eligious to be available to the Lord and to his Church. Vows place the person at the service of mission; they give religious more free-dom to be totally at the service of the Lord's mission. J. Tillard notes that the vows form a supportive myth. When they are seen as the dominant myth in religious life, religious tend to become inward-looking and hesitant in serving the needs of an ever changing world: One becomes a religious for the sake of the Gospel, not strictly for the . sake of the three classical vows. Although the vows represent elements that are specific to the religious life and therefore indispensable to who-ever feels called to that life by the Holy Spirit, they are not the primary elements in the concrete life of grace of the religious." This was recognized in practice by the Church for centuries; the custom of the now traditional three religious vows comes only from the 45 turn of the twelfth century. As religious commit themselves to be in the forefront of revealing the mythical mYstery of the Lord's redemptive love for the world, the Church rightly expects of them a creative dynamism in searching out new and better ways of preaching this message. Religious, then, are to be special-ists in pastoral innovation, in giving ritual flesh to the myths that motivate them. This charismatic character of religious life ,as being open to the Mythology, Revitalization and Refounding Religious Life / "2"1 Spirit in mission we can refer to as its directional myth. It indicates the how of living out religious life. Theologian Johannes Metz says that religious are to be a kind of shock therapy instituted by the Holy Spirit for the Church as a whole. Against the dangerous accommodations and questionable com-promises that the Church as a large-scale institution can always incline to, they press for the uncompromising nature of the Gospel and of the imitation of Christ. In this sense they are the institutionalized form of a dangerous memory within the Church.'6 Once religious cease to be a dangerous memory within the Church, or once they stop being creatively responsive to the needs of the Church, they cease to be identified with the distinguishing mythology of religious life. Ultimately identification with Christ the Redemptive Myth comes through faith, nourished in prayer. The day-to-day struggle of the reli-gious to be uncompromising in mission will at times fill him or her with "fear and distress" such as Jesus experienced in the garden before his passion, for "the spirit is willing but nature is weak"(Mk 14:34,38). Their fervent prayer is: "My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass me by. Still, let it be as you would have it,,not as I"(Mt 26:39). Zeal with-out prayer cannot survive. In prayer we discover the precipitous depths of our own poverty on the one hand, and the saving presence of Jesus the Myth on the other. With him we speak confidently for strength to the Father. The Mythology of Religious Congregations Individual religious congregations exist in the Church because found-ing persons are deeply shocked to see the gap e~isting between the Gospel and the world. They see people who do not know of the mercy and healing power of Christ. They~see even people who have heard of Christ compromise with worldly values. These founding persons recog-nize how the gap between the Gospel and the woi'ld Can be bridged through particular apostolic strategies. So they act. Inspired by the Holy Spirit, they invite others to join them in living out their new vision. Thus the seeds are sown for a new religious congrega-tion to emerge. Each congregation, then, has its own distinctive mythology--its crea-tion, identity, .directional myths. The myth-maker is the founding person in cooperation with the Holy Spirit. The root metaphor or symbol in the dominant myth will be the particular aspect of the redemptive myth of Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 Christ that is seen to be especially applicable at a particular time and place in the Church's life, e.g., the poverty of Christ, Christ as evangelizer. A religious congregation, when it is true to its mythology, is a medium of God's revealing and redeeming presence in the world. The fervor of the original congregational creation myth, as history shows, is very rarely sustained.'7 Our analysis of myth management helps us to understand how this winding down of enthusiasm occurs. Through a process of "myth drift" religious congregations can, even without realiz-ing it, accommodate their apostolic work and way of living too much to ambient secular values and customs. They neglect the uncompromising nature of the original myth. In the Middle Ages the Benedictines in Europe went into decline. "No one [any longer] looked to them for new ideas or new forms of spir-itual life," comments historian Richard Southern. "Rather they looked to them for stability, pageantry, involvement in the aristocratic life of the upper classes."4~ Gone was the inner commitment to the founding myth of creative obedience through a vigorous spirit of self-abnegation. They became lost in maintenance and forgot mission! Historian David Knowles, reflecting on the decline of the quality of the lives of monks, religious and clergy in the early Tudor period in England, comments: "Monks and clergy alike were children of their age and country; it was this that made the Dissolution [of the monasteries under Henry VIII], and indeed many of the religious changes of the reign, not only possible but relatively easy of accomplishment. ,,9 They had become accommodated so comfortably to the worldly values of the time that they were indistinguishable from the people they claimed to serve. Through the neglect of their founding mythology, religious had drifted to a point of spiritual and innovative enfeeblement. Their extinc-tion was then inevitable, even if Henry VIII had not himself acted with such speed. Sometimes a secondary or directional myth can be substituted for the creation and/or identity myths as a result of unchecked drift on the part of the religious congregation. For example, a congregation established for the pastoral needs of the poor through education services found itself eventually running schools only for the well-to-do. Members of the congre-gation "justified" this movement away from the poor on the grounds that the institute was founded "for education through schools." The mythology of the congregation was being misread. Concern for the poor belonged to the creation and identity myths; the establishment of schools pertained only to a directional myth. The congregation had definitely moved away from its mythical roots. Raymond Hostie believes that a myth substitution through the imposi- Mythology, Revitalization and Refounding Religious Life tion of a semimonastic model of religious life affected many congrega-tions of both men ahd women founded in the two centuries prior to Vatican II. In its defense against the effects of the Reformation and an emerging secularism, the Church turned in on itself. Its "narcissistic pre-occupation," as Avery Dulles phrases it,~° discouraged experimentation. Congregations certainly grew numerically and spread geographically. But the creative insights of founding persons, which should have led to rad-ically new forms of religious-life witness and pastoral action, were unable to be realized. It is not surprising, therefore, that the models of religious life in non-European lands even now remain Western.~' In the period fol-lowing upon Vatican II, religious life inculturation is a slow and very hes-itant process. Case Study of a Mythology: The Marists In this case study I will first describe the mythology system of a particular religious congregation; then I will summarize what has hap-pened to this mythology after the congregation was formally approved. Aspects of the above analysis will be highlighted in the case study. Mythology of the Society of Mary The Society of Mary (Marist Fathers and Brothers) was founded by Father John C. Colin in Lyons, France, and formally approved in 1836. Its aim is to carry on Mary's work in the world. "She is," he writes, "the refuge, the defense, the support, the advocate . the recourse of the militant Church." The creation (and dominant) myth reveals Mary as sup-porting the apostles at Pentecost or at the beginning of the Church, but with an added dimension. That support is to be continued now in and through Marists and other people committed to her seryice. She is recorded as saying: "I upheld the Church at its birth; I shall do so again at the end of time." Mary herself, through the Holy Spirit, decides to found a congregation which is to take her name. Her human instrument in this founding, according to Fr. Colin, is Fr. Colin himself. She remains the first and perpetual superior of the congregation, which is itself committed to be her presence within the Church "at the end of time." The root metaphor is Mary herself, Mother of Mercy. And it is from this metaphor that Marists receive their identity. Marists are to "be Mary" to the world; they are to think, judge and act as Mary does. So they are to be instruments of the Divine Mercy. There are several directional myths indicating how Marists are to be Mary as the support of the Church. As instruments of Divine Mercy, 30/Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 Marists are to stress qualities of forgiveness, tenderness, compassion. A second direction myth is summarized in the phrase "hidden and unknowns" In the early Church Mary acted quietly, aiming all the time to inspire people to grow in Christ. So also Marists are to encourage people to develop their own gifts in the Lord. Hence, Marists must be prepared to withdraw from involvement as those they serve discover their own potential for self-growth. A powerful symbol of this action-principle, "hidden and unknown," is Nazareth. No one can act in a hidden, self-effacing way, unless he or she has the humility, the detach-ment that comes from deep union with Christ in prayer. Nazareth sym-bolizes these key virtues. Only through these virtues will a Marist avoid selfishness and the desire for power that are obstacles which would obstruct Mary's work in the Church. To be Pentecost people, Marists must be firmly rooted in the contemplative virtues of Nazareth. A further directional myth is devotion to learning. Marists are to be concerned for any kind of learning that would make them better instru-ments of the Divine Mercy. There is also a vigorous eschatological myth within the Marist mythology. "The Society of Mary," declares its founder, "must begin a new Church over again." By this he means not an arrogant claim to reform, but rather a challenge to "re-create the faith of the first believ-ers." As the early believers were of one mind and one heart, so there will be the same kind of communion in the fullness of Christ's kingdom. By living in one mind and in one heart, Marists will help transform the Church, aiding it to be now what the world will be in the perfection of the kingdom to come. This eschatological myth affected the founder's vision of how Marists are to relate to lay people and to worldly symbols of power. Colin had the vision of a family, a family of Mary, in which there would also be lay people who commit themselves to be Mary to the world in which they live. Because he stressed the notion of Mary's family, Colin reacted to the evils of clericalism and attachment to worldly distinctions. On the practical level, therefore, Marist brothers and priests are to live together without distinction, showing to a world in which distinctions and unequal differences of lifestyles are commonplace that such behavior patterns are foreign to the kingdom that is to come. The particular object of Marist apostolic concern is those who are the most abandoned, the "little people" of this world, those with whom no one else is involved. The concern for the "little people" belongs to th.e identity myth ofthe congregation. Anthropologist Levi-Strauss speaks of "binary oppositions" within Mythology, Revitalization and Refounding Religious Life myths. Such oppositions exist in Marist mythology. And they are dialectical in quality or tension: Pentecost versus Nazareth, identification with the local Church versus commitment to the more universalist reli-gious life, with its freedom and identity. Take the latter tension. Colin says that bishops must consider Marists "as if they were their own men." On the other hand he insists in word and action on areas of independence from bishops. How are the two to be reconciled? As in all myths, no detailed instructions are given on how such tensions are to be reconciled in practice. It is assumed that their res-olution is possible only through people identifying thoroughly with the mythology. Marists in a spirit of faith will discover how the tensions are to be worked out in reality, thus revealing that people can live together with one heart and one mind. In summary, Colin founded a congregation committed, through its stress on Pentecost, to a service within the Church that is pastorally cre-ative, mobile and flexible, depending on the priority of need. He strongly detested any apostolate that would prevent the congregation from acting according to these qualities. Hence only in very exceptional conditions did he allow Marists to staff parishes. He feared that parishes would pre-vent Marists from being available for works of greater need. Colin believed that the nineteenth century had ushered in the age of Mary. He felt chaos on all sides, both in the civil and in the ecclesiastical spheres. Mary established her congregation to be one instrument of mercy to people caught in this chaos. To respond adequately to this challenge, Marists must possess the creativity of Pentecost and the hidden, contemplative virtues of Nazareth. Implementation of Marist Mythology: Myth Management Did Colin's dream of Pentecostal creativity take place in the congrega-tion he founded.'? For a variety of reasons, the actual interiorization and living out of Marist mythology (as revealed through Colin) up to Vatican II have been very hesitant indeed. Certainly, as with many other congrega-tions founded in France in the nineteenth century, the institute expanded numerically and geographically at great speed. Marists, with extraordi-nary courage and faith, left for remote and dangerous mission fields. The congregation has loyally served local Churches wherever it has been estab-lished. But, as with many other congregations over the last two hundred years, the institute has rarely shown any above-average pastoral creativ-ity, mobility or flexibility--at least if we take the founder's Pentecost met-aphor as the measure of analysies. Powerful internal and external factors militated against the type of pastoral and religious-life creativity that 32/Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 could have been expected to have emerged out of the founding charism. Internally, myth management through substitution and drift par-ticularly dulled the impact of the founding charism. The founder's suc-cessor as superior general had not adequately interiorized the founding mythology. He had a far less exalted vision of what the congregation should be. Hence he proceeded to impose his own mythology on the young congregation. He believed the congregation should be nothing more than a pious association of dedicated people. The founder later had his own vision concretized into approved constitutions. But in practice the institute rarely lived the rich insights of the creation ,and dominant myths. What was a directional myth -- the Nazareth symbol -- became instead the dominant myth. instead of the Nazareth myth ("hidden and unknown") remaining as an action-principle, that is, indicating how Marists are to act apostolically, it became an end in itself. Now Marists were to do nothing apostolically that would in any way attract attention to themselves. This was a tragic distortion. It legitimated mediocrity and dullness. It reinforced the already existing nineteenth-century image of religious life, namely, that it be semimonastic in structure, inward-looking and a vigorous supporter of the status quo. The distortion also effectively killed another key directional myth, namely, the concern that the founder had for learning as an essential means for the living out of the creation myth. Few people were encour-aged to research and publish their findings for fear that they would draw attention to the congregation and to themselves. Inevitably the distortion influenced the initial formation programs of the institute, so that it thus became perpetuated from generation to generation. The overall failure of the congregation to grasp the founder's insights is evident in a review of the general and provincial chapter decrees or legislation from the 1870s to Vatican II. For example, the 1873 general chapter of the Marists established the aims of the provincial chapters: to promote religious discipline according to the Rule and to inquire into the financial administration of houses. No mention was made of the need to. foster new forms of religious-life witness or pastoral action. The 1893 pro-vincial chapter of one of the provinces directed that "Religious [includ-ing pastors] were° prohibited from going out after the evening meal for unnecessary visits." The assumption was that a Marist house is a quasi, monastery; people should respect this, and anyone in need pastorally should be discouraged from approaching Marists "after the evening meal," unless in exceptional circumstances. An examination of provincial visitation reports reflects the same con- Mythology, Revitalization and Refounding Religious Life cern for the maintenance of religious discipline and respect for the Rule, but again no interest in the evaluation of pastoral effectiveness or creativ-ity. For example, just prior to the Japanese invasion of Ne~v Guinea in World War II, a provincial reported on the state of Marists in a particu-larly difficult section of that country: "The fathers, in spite of their pov-erty, must wear socks when saying Mass and be dressed decently, as respectable clergymen ought to be when appearing in public." Nothing was said about the enormous pastoral and cultural challenges which con-fronted the men.5' Externally the congregation was affected deeply by the semimonastic view of religious life referred to above. This model provided very little opportunity for the type of creativity envisaged by the original Marist mythology. It was assumed theologically that the world should adapt to the unchanging Church, not vice versa. The curricula of seminaries of this time allowed for little or no room for positive social-science subjects, e.g., sociology, anthropology. These subjects were not seen to be neces: sary for the apostolate. The above analysis is given not to provide reasons to ridicule the past, but to illustrate the historical way in which this particular congrega-tion, along with many others at that time, found difficulties in interiorizing the founder's vision. The analysis also helps to put into per-spective the adaptive efforts of the congregation since Vatican II. In the 1950s, there began within the congregation an historical in-depth analysis of its mythology. Thus the institute was well prepared to take up the challenge of Vatican II that religious should reflect on their founding charisms. The richness of the original insights of the founder were already being exposed. Through the advances in Scripture and the-ology studies, the congregation was able to deepen yet further its grasp of the meanings of its myths. Thus, through a process of myth extension, it became possible for the congregation to embrace insights unknown at the time of the founder, e.g., insights into Mary as a s~ymbol within the Church, the role of the local Church, confirmation about the creative role of religious life. Marists were now exposed to a mythology that was denied many previ-ous generations. Little wonder that the comment is made today that the congregation, having rediscovered its original mythology, is set for refounding. Mythology, Revitalization and Refounding Religious Life Religious congregations today are experiencing chaos.5~ Twenty years after Vatican II, despite renewal chapters, surveys, renewal programs, 34/Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 congregations remain confused. Recruitment is poor, entrants even nonex-istent in many instances. The average age of religious rises alarmingly. Unless the present trend is checked, extinction for many institutes seems inevitable. Yet, as history shows, this experience of chaos is a potentially cre-ative atmosphere for religious-life growth. New religious congregations have generally emerged not so much when the Church was flourishing, but rather when it was profoundly disoriented and uncertain of itself. The Church is disoriented and unsure of itself at this moment. Hence the urgency to look more .closely at the creative possibilities of the chaos we are experiencing. In the Book of Jeremiah we have an insight into the positive dimen-sion of chaos. Yahweh informs Jeremiah what he expects of him: "See, I place my words in your mouth!. To root up and to tear down, to destroy and to demolish, to build and to plant"(1:10). Before there can be life again among the Israelites, all their securities, their apparently eternally valid ways of acting, must be destroyed and pulled down. The people will feel lost and disoriented. They will look for the consoling help of Yahweh. Then they will realize that they have become too com-placent about life and their institutions: they must again become pilgrims. The message of the book remains highly relevant. We religious are a pilgrim people. There Jan be no permanent security, whether in ideology, apostolates, buildings, ritual ancestry, history, except what comes from our trust in God. While we relate to the past and our roots, we are to be open to the future in constantly changing ways. People tend to react to chaos in one of two possible ways: negatively or positively. When people deny that chaos exists they act negatively. Jesus often reminds the Pharisees and Scribes that they are denying the chaos and confusion within them. He condemns them for distorting the founding myth of the nation. Within their hearts there is but chaos and confusion, and they will not admit it: "You cleanse the outside of cup and dish, but within you are filled with rapaciousness and evil . You are like hidden tombs over which men walk unawares" (Lk 11:39,44). People can refuse to accept the challenge of chaos by attempting to escape into the past. They find comfort in a kind of historical romanticism or nostalgia. The past is idealized, and they hope for a restora-tion without change. Such people will not acknowledge the need for interior and exterior adaptation to a changing world. Nostalgia, however, gives only temporary consolation. Eventually reality must be faced if people are to survive. Positively, people can react to chaos when they acknowledge their Mythology, Revitalization and Refounding Religious Life total dependence on God and enter into a reconversion process. Reconverted, these people live with new and zealous lives of justice and love in Yahweh's service. Often in the Old Testament the longing for con-version grows out of a deep sense of sin, suffering, and frustration, result-ing from an experience of disorientation. All these agonies of soul are cou-pled with prayers for mercy, forgiveness, and for yet another chance to begin all over again: -"A clean heart create for me, O God, and a stead-fast spirit renew within me . I will teach transgressors your ways, and sinners will return to you."(Ps 51:12,15). In the midst of chaos the reconverted Israelites retell, and relive, the nation's 9reation myth, e.g., "Aloud to God I cry;o.on the day of my distress I seek the Lord . I remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I remember your wonders of old. And I meditate on your works; your exploits I ponder."(Ps 75:2,3,12,13). Through his recital of the foundation myth the psalmist gains hope, but only on condition that he hir~self is in deep union with Yahweh through reconversion in faith. Faith's hope and reconversion are integral. The archetype of the creation myth is: God saves a humble and con-trite people who cry out for help. When the Israelite is humbly, contrite and cries from the depths for help, the myth is once more revitalized. So also in the New Testament. There are eight occasions in the gospels on which Jesus says "Your faith has saved you," or equivalent words, e.g., the blind man (Mk 10:52, Lk 18:42). In all eight examples there are three characteristics: first, there is a situation of critical need; second, this need is expressed in some action or statement that clearly costs much; third, there is a clear sign that the petitioner abandons himself or herself uncondi-tionally to the will of Jesus. In Gethsemane Jesus himself gives an exam-ple of this prayer pattern when he petitions the Father: expression of dire need, action and statement that costs so much, the expression of his total abandonment to the w¯ dl of the Father (Mk 14:32-42). As with the Israelites, as also with Je~sus, we religious are confronted with a dire need: the urgency to abandon our congregation and ourselves to the will of God. He has allowed our securities -- born of our t~:ust in fine buildings and institutions, and of a never ending supply of vocations -- to be destroyed. What is God asking of us now? What is our future? In times of chaos, positively oriented Israelites retold their mythology, especially their creation myth. The act of obedience to Yahweh became the ritualization of their mythology. As for those Israelites, so also for contemporary religious. In the retelling of our congregational mythology, there must be the carrying out of God's will 36/Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 in the here-and-now. This is the ritual dimension of mythology. The transcendent power of God becomes immanent in this or that particular action. H~wever, for an authentic retelling of congregational myths, the individual religious need to be involved in three processes: 1. The interpretation of the congregational 'mythology.~ Congregational mythology must b~' purified of all distortions and inau-thentic substitutions that have occurred over time. Purification requires a critical, historical analysis. This should be done with due reference to theology and the relevant documents of the Church. For example, if pas-toral creativity has ceased to be a key directional myth in the congrega-tional, mythology, it is to be restored to its correct position. Or if the mythology does not permit of due consultation by superiors of religious, then a correction is required in line with Vatican II and the New Code. This latter eventuality would be an example of myth extension. Interpretation is a long and difficult task. Not all have the expertise to undertake it. However, all are to be critically acquainted with the results of interpretation through personal and community study/reflection. Expert historians should be available for questioning by the congregation. At some point an official group of the congregation may have to' decide on what should be an interpretation of difficult texts -- especially if it is a question of new constitutions. There are two dangers to be avoided at the interpretation stage. First, religious who are insensitive to the power and necessity of symbols, met-aphors and mythology, may want congregational literature, e.g., con-stitutions, presented "rationally, scientifically, literally." The argument of this entire article is that this cannot be done. An attempt to do so will only distort the founding person's message. Second, no matter how many conferences and learned discussions are held to interpret the founding charism or learn about it, this does not mean that congregational revitalization has occurred or will inevitably take place. Remember, the temptation to escape into historical romanticism or nostalgia through frequent references to the founding person's insights without at the same time being prepared to live out the challenge of his charism in contemporary life is very real indeed. Mere discussion can take on an almost magical note: "The more we discuss, the faster we will find our way out of chaos." Expert interpreters come to be viewed as gurus or congregational magicians: they will lead us to the right and ancient ways of doing .things. I suspect that all too many of us fall victim to this temptation. We fear the internal and exter-nal changes that will have' to be made if we take the role of mythology Mythology, Revitalization and Refounding Religious Life / 37 as the way out of confusion seriously. Remember, interpretation is only the first stage in congregational revitalization. Reconversion and discernment have yet to occur. 2. The discernment of the mythology's relevance.55 For discernment to take place there must be a reconversion by reli-gious on three levels: personally (and corporately) to Christ, to the mission of the Church and to the congregation's mythology (which assumes a revitalized theology of religious life). The call to reconversion (or, as it is sometimes called, "second con-version") is the call to transcend previous levels of faith and love, to move toward a mature faith which transforms the person from disciple to steward, one prepared to give oneself without reservation to the mission of the Lord.56 St. Paul explains it in this way: "It is not that I have reached it yet, or have already finished my course: but I am racing to grasp the prize if possible since I have been grasped by Christ . I give no thought to what lies behind but push on to what is ahead"(Ph 2:120. The call to reconversion will invariably bring with it the request by Christ to an ever more radical experience of him--in his suffering, his facing of chaos and a sense of abandonment, his complete commitment to the will of the Father, his death -- before there is the "resurrection" of inner clarity as to what the Father wishes. To live as steward for others means we must first die to self: "He died for all so that those who live might live no longer for themselves"(2 Co 5:15). The poorer we are in spirit, the more preparted we are to spot and abandon our prejudices and our yearning for power over others. Freed from such obstacles we are open to see the Lord in others and in the events around us. Without the cross there can be no reconversion. Historian David Knowles, in the last paragraph of his detailed analysis of the causes of the decline of monasticism in England in Tudor times, warns: "When once a religious or a religious order ceases to direct its sons to the abandonment of all that is not of God, and ceases to show them the rigors of the narrow way that leads to the imitation of Christ in his love, it sinks to the level of a purely human institution, and whatever its works may be they are the works of time and not of eternity.''57 The message is that of the Gospel. It is as valid today as it was in the English Tudor times. There is an ecclesial dimension to the reconversion of the religious. Religious congregations exist to serve the Church. And the Church exists to serve the world that .is today in revolutionary change. Any reconversion will involve a recommitment to the mission of the Church in this world. This means listening to what the needs of the world are; it Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 also includes the commitment to be bold in pastoral initiatives in response to these needs. Finally, reconversion involves the radical recommitment to the con-gregational mythology. The individual religious, united with Christ and inspired by the Holy Spirit, experiences the same kind of outrage that the founding person felt when he or she was confronted by the enormity of the chaos separating the Gospel on the one hand and the world in its need on the other. The reappropriation of the founding charism is first and fore-most the reliving of this original shock. The founding person's spirit breaks into our lives the moment we experience that shock. Anthropologist Bronislaw Malinowski justly speaks of myth as "a nar-rative resurrection of a primeval reality."s8 The primeval reality is the shock, the archetype, that belongs to sacred time or the time of the begin-ning that is relived here and now. The converting religious resurrects and relives the sacred time of the beginning once more in all its radicalness. At that point the founding charism lives again. The mythology is alive and active. Like the founding person, some of the reconverting religious will see what strategies are needed to help bridge the chaos. The people who have such gifts of insight and action are in fact re-founding persons, congrega-tional prophets. They should not be viewed as "loners" or "individualists" who lack a sense of community. Despite the very real danger of rejection by other religious, they retain a deep love of the found-ing mythology. They yearn, as did the founding persons, to draw others with them into a radical faith-community of congregational rebuilders. There is a fire in these people, a Gospel radicality that disturbs the com-placent, the spiritually leth-argic, those who have compromised with worldly values. Not all reconverting religious are called to be significant refounding persons. Most of us are rather called to exercise our discernment in discovering those among us who are gifted to be such people. Once these individuals have been spotted, our task is to join with them in aiding the congregation to move out of chaos into a new integration of the Gospel and the needs of the world.5" 3. Effective commitment to action: myth ritualization Myth is action as well as words. The action is the ritual dimension of the myth. Sacred time, primeval reality, breaks into life here and now. For myth ritualization there is required courage, a boldness of initiative and drive. In brief, an ongoing process of reconversion is necessary. In ritual we grab hold of the inner dynamism of the myth in action that is adapted to changed circumstances of time and place. Mythology, Revitalization and Refounding Religious Life Of course, we need to be open to the fact that in our discernment we may discover it is actually God's will for our community, province or congregation to die. Gospel resignation in the face of even congregational death will be salvific, a badly needed witness to many contemporary cul-tures of how death must be faced. Most Western cultures do everything possible to avoid facing the reality of death-chaos. From a Christian point of view, active submission to the realities of one's own death-bound nature becomes an act of obedient surrender to the Father, a total com-mitment to the full power of faith, hope and love.~° As it is for each Christian, so it should be for a religious congregation that discerns it is God's will for it to die: "Father, into your hands I com-mend my spirit" (Lk 23:46). Summary Myth is always an effort to reveal or articulate, and so to make compre-hensible, some truth about the world and our life in it. This truth cannot be grasped or known fully in itself but is capable of being expressed in and through symbols. The myth should attempt to articulate transcendental reality, to give the meaning behind ever changing experi-ences that influence human life, "to pin down an Absolute in which the human mind can rest with some feeling of security."~' Myths become distorted or cease to exist for several reasons. In particular, myths die because they are no longer relevant or because people refuse the self-discipline required by the myth. Myths are liminal phenomena, that is, their retelling gives meaning and security to people in the midst of personal or cultural chaos. If people are prepared to adapt their myths to new circumstances, then they will break through chaos into new life, and their myths will become vital bnce more. Religious congregations have their own particular mythologies. Today congregations are in chaos. They are confused about what to do, how to revitalize, how to discover what God is asking of them. They may even be fearful of what God will ask, now that their once secure struc-tures have disappeared. For revitalization to occur there needs to be a retelling by religious of their congregational mythologies. This retelling, if it is to be something more than a hollow nostalgic or sentimental recital of past achievements, must emerge out of a process of myth interpretation/ reconversion/discernment. Reconversion is the wholehearted abandonment to the Father's will in imitation of Jesus who "emptied himself., obediently accepting even death on the cross"(Ph 2:7,8). It is the admission that oneself and one's 40/Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 congregation have an absolute need of God who alone is the ultimate source of security and identity. When this abandonment takes place, then the experience of chaos or confusion within oneself and the congregation becomes creative. Through poverty of spirit, the religious finds a way to discover the presence of God, the Absolute, the ultimate figure revealing laimself in the congregational myth. Strengthened by this grace of reconversion, the religious and the congregation itself are prepared to discern God's will in their regard. Through discernment religious may discover that God wishes the congre-gation to die. The free acceptance of congregational death is a salvific action. Or discernment may reveal that the congregation should come alive through reliving the experience that gave birth to the original congregational charism, but adapted now to new needs and circum-stances. Reconversion, discernment and reappropriation of the founding experi-ence will not take place as long as religious are not prepared to face these questions: Do we deny the existence of chaos within and without? If we acknowledge chaos, am I and my congregation willing to acknowledge its positive potential? Are we prepared to face the self-abnegation and abandonment to God, with its naked faith darknesses, as the prerequisite for congregational resurrection? I suspect that many of us still deny the reality of chaos. If some of us do acknowledge the creative potential of chaos, then perhaps our answers to the two last questions are a half-hearted "yes." A pity. If only we could reply with a firm "yes," then we would be on the way to dis-covering the riches of our congregational mythology. The Church, and the world, would be richer for this discovery. In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless wasteland, and darkness covered the abyss . Then God said, "Let there be light. (Gn 1:1-3). NOTES ~ See Raimundo Panikkar, Myth, Faith and Hermeneutics: Cross-Cultural Studies (New York: Paulist Press, 1979). 2 See Paul Ricoeur, The Symbolism of Evil (Boston: Beacon Press, 1967), pp. 161ff, and Interpretation Theory: Discourse and the Surplus of Meaning (Fort Worth: Chris-tian University Press, 1976). Mythology, Revitalization and Refounding Religious Life ' See John L. McKenzie, Myths and Realities: Studies in Biblical Theology (London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1963), pp. 182-200. ' "Symbol, Myth and the Biblical Revelation" in Theological Studies. Vol. 27, No.l, 1966, p. 1. ~ Lawrence Cada, Raymond Fitz, et al., Shaping the Coming Age of Religious Life (New York: The Seabury Press, 1979), p. 6. 6 Morton T. Kelsey, Myth, History and Faith: The Demythologizing of Christianity (New York: Paulist Press, 1974), p. 5. 7 Thomas Fawcett, The Symbolic Language of Religion: An Introductory Study (London: SCM Press, 1970), p. 101. 8 See Barbara Sproul, Primal Myths: Creating the Worm (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1979), p. I. 9 Morton T. Kelsey, op. cit., p. 4. Also see Elie Wiesel, "Myth and History," in (ed) Alan M. Olson, Myth, Symbol and Reality (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1980), pp. 20-30. ~o See Bronislaw Malinowski, Magic, Science and Religion, and Other Essays (Glencoe, Illinois: Free Press, 1948), pp. 100f. " See Donald A. MacKenzie, The Migration of Symbols and Their Relations to Beliefs and Customs (New York: AMS Press, 1970), p. 5. '2Psychological Reflections: An Anthology of Writings, (ed) Jolande Jacobi (New York: Harper, 1953), p. 314. t~ See C.S. Kirk, Myth: Its Meaning and Functions in Ancient and Other Cultures (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), pp. 275-280; and Percy S. Cohen, "Theories of Myth" in Man: Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute Vol.4 No.3, 1969, p. 340. " Victor Turner, "Myth and Symbol" in International Encyclopedia of Social Sci-ences (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1977), Vol. 10, p. 579. ~ See (ed) Richard Cavendish, Mythology: An Illustrated Encyclopedia (New York: Rizzoli 1980), pp. 10f. For Freudian view see O. Rank, The Myth of the Birth of the Hero (New York: Robert Brunner, 1952), passim. ~6 See P. S. Cohen, op. cit., p. 341. ~7 See Richard Cavendish, op. cit., p. i !. ,8 Totemism (Boston: Beacon Press, 1963), p. 104; also Myth and Meaning (New York: Schocken Books, 1979), passim. For critique see Edmund Leach, The Struc-tural Study of Myth and Totemism (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1967), passim. ~ See Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1969), pp. 96f. 2o Quoted in A.W. Reed, Treasury of Maori Folklore (Wellington: A.H. and A.W. Reed, 1963), p. 19. 2~ For overview, see B.C. Sproul, op. cit., pp. 5ft. "2The Sacred and the Profane (New York: Harcourt, 1959), p. 95. 23 See Leonard J o Biallas, Myths, Gods, Heroes and Saviors (Mystic, CT: Twenty- Third Publications, 1986), p. 24. 2, See B. Malinowski, op. cit., pp. 100f. ~ See L.J. Biallas, op. cit., pp. 258-282. 26 See Christel Lane, The Rites of Rulers: Ritual in Industrial Society -- the Soviet Case (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), passim. ~7 See T. Fawcett, op. cit., p. 98. 42/Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 '" Ibid, p. 277. '" Ibid, p. 98. .,0 See Victor Turner, "Myth and Symbol," op. cit., p. 576. ~' 7 Jan. 1985, p. 26. '~" Ibid, p. 20. See insights also by Christopher E Mooney, Religion and the Ameri-can Dream: The Search for Freedom Under God (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1977), pp. 17-60. ~ lbid, p. 23. ~' See lan Craib, Modern Social Theory: From Parsons to Habermas (Brighton: Wheat-sheaf, 1984), pp. 115-119. According to The New York Times (14 July 1985) Rambo was invoked at least a dozen times in the discussion on the aid to Afghanistan. Also comments in The Economist (UK), I I Jan. 1986, p. 12. '~ See T. Fawcett, pp. 52-54. .,6 V. Turner uses the expression "root paradigm." See hnage and Pilgrimage in Chris-tian Culture: Anthropological Perspectives (New York: Columbia University Press, 1978), pp. 248f. 37 See L.J. Biallas, op. cit., p. 20. 3, Op. cit., pp. 100f. '~ Op. cit., p. 95. ~0 See B.S. Sproul, op. cit., pp. 27f. ~ Ibid. ,2 See Andrew M. Greeley, The Jesus Myth (New York: Doubleday, 1971), p. II and passim. ~ See Lumen Gentium, par. 44. ~" A Gospel Path: The Religious Life (Brussels: Lnmen Vitae 1975), p. 101. ,s Ibid, p. 94. ,6 Followers of Christ: The Religious Life and the Church (Exeter: Burns and Oates, 1978), p. 12. ,7 See Raymond Hostie, S.J., The Life and Death of Religious Orders': A Psycho- Sociological Approach (Washington, DC: Cara, 1983), pp. 252-272. ~ Western Society and the Church in the Middle Ages (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1970) p. 237. '~ The Religious Orders in England, Vol.3, The Tudor Age (Cambridge: University Press, 1959), p. 198. so "Vatican II and the Church's Response" in Theology Digest Vol. 32, No. 4, 985. ~' See R. Hostie, op. cit., pp. 248,251,269-275. Also G.A. Arbuckle, "lncultura-tion and Evangelization: Realism or Romanticism?" in (ed) Darrell L. Whiteman, Missionaries, Anthropologists and Cultural Change (Williamsburg: Studies in Third World Societies,1985), pp. 176-186. s2 See G.A. Arbuckle, "The Evolution of a Mission Policy: A Case Study (Marist Fathers)," in Missiology, Vol. 14, No. 2, 1986, pp. 131-145. s.~ See G.A. Arbuckle, "Refounding Congregations from Within: Anthropological Reflections," in REview Fo~ R~.~.l~ous, Vol. 45, No. 4, pp. 538-553. ~' See Francis, E. George, O.M.I., "Founding 'Founderology'," in R~vmw For~ R~t6~oos, Vol. 36, No. I, 1977, pp. 40-48. ' ~s For discernment explanation see John C. Futrell, S.J., "lgnatian Discernment" in Studies in the Spirituality of Jesuits, St. Louis, April, 1970. Spirituality of Jesuits, St. Louis, May, 1982, passim. Mythology, Revitalization and Religious Life/43 ~ See Magic, Science and Religion, op. cit., p. 101. ~" See comments by R. Hostie, op. cit., pp. 257ff. See helpful insights by John W. Gardner, Self-Renewal: The Individual and the Innovative Society (N.Y.: W.W. Norton, 1981), pp. xi-xviii and passim. ~o Johannes B. Metz, Poverty of Spirit (N.Y.: Paulist, 1986), p. 46. 6~ R.A. MacKenzie, S.J., Faith and History in the Old Testament (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1963), pp. 63f. Christ the Center of Our Vowed Life by Boniface Ramsey, O.P. Father Ramsey's three articles on the vows of religion'are available as a single reprint: i - The Center of Religious Poverty ii - Christocentric Celibacy iii - Cruciform Obedience Price: $1.75 per copy, plus postage. Address: Review for Religious Rm 428 3601 Lindell Blvd. St, Louis, Misso~Jri 63108 Images of a Novice Director Melannie Svoboda, S.N.D. Sister Melannie Svoboda became novice director after receiving her Masters in "For-mative Spirituality" from Duquesne University. She may be addressed at Notre Dame Educational Center; 13000 Auburn Road; Chardon, Ohio 44024. For the past four years I have been novice director for my religious com-munity. During these years I have often reflected on what my ministry means to me. I have also shared with other directors our ideas and feelings about our unique role in community. This article is an outgrowth of that personal and shared reflection. It attempts to explore the question, "How does it feel to be a novice director today?" In doing this, I have resorted to the use of images. Although there are many images I could have selected, I have chosen four that I feel convey something essential about the role of novice director. I hope these images provide encouragement for others involved in forma-tion work. I also hope the ideas presented here might help those not directly involved in formation to a better understanding of this ministry. The In-Between Door The first image that comes to my mind when I think of my ministry is "the in-between door." Let me explain. In our provincial house the novitiate is located on the third floor. On that same floor is another wing called St. Anne's where many of our elderly and retired sisters have their bedrooms. Between the novitiate and St. Anne's is a set of double doors. One day, after recreation with the novices, I passed through those doors on my way to another part of the building. As I did, I passed two elderly sisters who were on their way to their rooms. One was using a cane; the 44 Images of a Novice Director/45 other was holding on to the railing along the wail. The sharp contrast between the novices and these elderly sisters struck me. I suddenly thought: being a novice director is a lot like being a door between two very different wings of the same building. In other words, I realized that a novice director is very much an "in-between person." Age wise, many of us directors do stand "in between" the younger and older members of our communities. Ministry-wise, we stand "in between," too. As members of our community, we bring to our ministry years of lived experience as religious. We have a sense of our com-munity's history and traditions, its successes and apparent failures, its struggles and joys, and its hopes and expectations for the future. On the other hand, as directors we come to know the novices well. We learn of their personal histories, their past successes and failures, their struggles and joys, and their hopes and expectations for the future. Thus, we stand "in between." As directors, we are aware of our respon-sibility to communicate to the novices what religious life is in general and how our particular community gives expression to that life. But we also sense a corresponding responsibility, to a certain extent, to convey to the larger community who the new members are and what they are bringing to religious life. Such an "in-between position" can be both painful and exciting. It can be painful because it has its own built-in tension. As novice directors, we sometimes feel "caught in the middle" or even "torn apart." We find ourselves thinking or saying to our fellow religious: "If only you could see how much the novice is struggling with right now, how much goodwill there is in her, you would be far more patient and understand-ing." Similarly, we find ourselves saying to our novices: "If only you could appreciate more what we have gone through as a community and what we have experienced in the past, you would not be so quick to judge." But being "in between" is exciting, too. As novice directors, we have a unique perspective on religious life. Many times we may be asked to explain or defend what the novices may or may not be doing. Like-wise, we may be asked to explain or defend the traditions and attitudes of the professed community. We can welcome this "in-between-ness" since it affords us the challenge to reassess continuously our values and priorities or simply to articulate our beliefs anew. The Big "Meannie" Several years ago I was teaching film study to high school seniors. One day a film arrived addressed to me. But there was a typing error on 46/Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 the label. The letter "!" had been left out of my name, so instead of saying Sister Melannie the label read Sister Meannie. I laughed at that mistake back then, but, since becoming novice director, I have sometimes felt that I had been changed from Sister Melannie to Sister Meannie. Another novice director echoed this same feeling when she said to me recently: "I used to be a nice person. But since becoming novice director, I feel I've become an ogre." There are a number of factors that contribute to this feeling. Within the past several years there has been a movement in many religious com-munities to involve the larger community more in the initial formation pro-cess. Professed members have a greater sense of their personal responsibil-ity for welcoming and encouraging new members. Such a trend is basically very good. Like all of us, the novices need affirmation in order to grow, and today we see the larger community more and more provid-ing this affirmation. But the novices need to be challenged, too. They need to come to a healthy awareness of their weaknesses and shortcomings. Although the professed community does help out in this area, nevertheless, the primary responsibility for doing this lies usually with the director. One director explained it this way: "Novices are so few these days that sometimes the sisters bend over backwards to make the novice feel accepted. They do nothing but praise the novice -- I'm the one who has to tell her the things she doesn't want to hear." A few examples might clarify this. Perhaps a novice is lively and witty -- two characteristics that, in themselves, seem attractive. The pro-fessed might continuously affirm these qualities in the novice. But I, as director, might begin to see that the novice's liveliness reflects a deep need to be the center of attention. Her wit might reveal a lack of sensitiv-ity to the feelings of others. As director, I have to lead her to this aware-ness. That is hard to do. No one likes to bear bad news. No one enjoys confronting others on this level. But what makes it possible for us is to see such a confrontation within the context of love. Often I find myself asking the question; "Do I love her enough to be honest with her?" The Island In her Gift from the Sea, Anne Morrow Lindbergh writes (p. 40): '"No man is an island,' said John Donne. I feel we are all islands -- in a common sea." I agree with Lindbergh that we are all islands. But we novice directors can experience our "islandness" in very sharp and often painful ways. There are several factors that can contribute to the novice director's Images of a Novice Director/47' feelings of isolation. First, there's the simple fact that there are not too many novice directors to begin with. With the decline in the number of novices, there is a corresponding decrease in the number of directors. As a result, we directors have few "colleagues." This situation can lead to the feeling that no one really understands our unique stresses and frustra-tions. This sense of isolation can be intensified by the decisions we are called upon to make. Perhaps the most difficult decision in our ministry is the decision that a novice does not belong in religious life. Making such a decision, especially when there are so few novices to begin with, can increase a director's sense of aloneness or even rejection by the larger community. Fortunately there are steps we can take to ease our "islandness." In my diocese of Cleveland, for example, we formation directors meet regu-larly not only to plan our inter-novitiate program, but also to share ideas and experiences informally. There are regional and national organizations we can plug into as well as periodicals (such as this one) to which we can subscribe. Support groups are very popular today. Those of us involved in formation need such a support group in order for us to minister effectively and happily. The Gardener When I became novice director, I simultaneously began to grow some African violets. Perhaps something deep inside of me sensed a connection between ministering to novices and caring for plants -- I wasn't sure. But I received a few clippings from my mother and, within a relatively short time, I had a number of healthy looking violets. Now I know for sure: caring for these African violets is very similar to being a novice director. If there's one thing a good gardener knows, it's this: the gardener does not cause the plants to grow and flourish; he or she can only assist in their development. A good gardener is more observer than doer, more admirer than cause. The same is true for novice directors. Over and over again we have to remind ourselves that God is the formation director. We are mere assistants. This attitude of dependence and trust in God is not only fundamental for our ministry, it is refreshingly freeing. As directors, we can worry too much. We can become too impatient with a novice's apparent slow devel-opment. We may find ourselves saying: "She should be farther along by now," or "Prayer should mean more to him at this stage." Sometimes we can be tempted to intervene too much, to say too much, to control too much. Like a bad gardener, we may handle too much, water too much, Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 and fertilize tOO much, thus causing more harm than good. But our experience in formation soon leads us to trust more in God -- in his way, in his time -- than in our own expertise. One of the great-est joys as novice director is being privy to tremendous growth in our directees -- growth thht sometimes occurs not according to the "law," but even seemingly contrary to the "law." This truth was brought home to me recently by one of my "baby" African violets. When I started this plant from a cutting, I knew I would have to wait many months, perhaps even a year, before I could expect to see any blossoms. But this particu-lar African violet surprised me. After only several weeks, although its leaves were extremely tiny, this plant produced not one, but two giant purple blossoms. The plant, by all rules, was far too young and immature to produce such splendid flowers, yet, there they were, beautiful to behold. That "infant" African violet is a reminder to me that, as novice director, I have to be ready for surprises in my ministry. The in-between door, the big "meannie," an island, a gardener. These are four images that come to my mind when I reflect on my ministry as novice director. When we use images to try to explain the essentially unexplainable, we are in good company, for Jesus himself resorted to images time and time again: "The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed., is like a buried treasure., is like yeast., is like a drag-net thrown into the lake." I hope these few images I have used, though incomplete and imperfect, might help draw us more deeply into the mys-tery of our formation ministry. Prayer for Peace Give me to see, O Lord, By Faith's clear vision, Troth that to other sight at best is dim. Grant me to know, O Lord, By Love's deep wisdom, Peace in the Cross, Christ in the Sign of Him. Sister Cecilia Ward, S.C. Sacred Heart Convent-- 6225 Walnut Street Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 15206 Surrender: The Key to Wholeness William A. Barry, S.J. This is Father Barry's third article on the theme of "a peculiar sort of resistance to God." He continues to work in the formation of novices and may be addressed at Saint Andrew House; 300 Newbury Street; Boston, Massachusetts 02115. In two recent articles' I have discussed a peculiar sort of resistance to God, a resistance that seems to be the avoidance of good experiences. Recently in a prayer group discussion I received some more light on this puzzling phenomenon which I would like to share with the readers of this review, z Have you ever wondered about people like Bartimaeus, the blind beggar who receives his sight (Mk 10:46-51)? Did it ever occur to you that they might not want to be healed? Well it has occurred to me because there have been times when I have not wanted inner healing -- the heal-ing of resentment at a personal loss, for example. As a result I have thought that people like Bartimaeus have a rather remarkable kind of courage and hope in the future to want to be healed. Let us reflect on what it must have meant for Bartimaeus as he pon-dered the question Jesus put to him, "What do you want me to do for you?" If he allows himself to want his sight, two possibilities open up. His hopes could be dashed if it proves impossible for Jesus to fulfill his desires. Often enough, I believe, we limit our desires precisely so that we will not be too disappointed. On the other hand, he could actually receive his sight. But what then? After all, he now has an identity that revolves around being a blind beggar. Who will he be if he is no longer blind? He knows how to cope with who he now is; he makes a living and he gets attention and perhaps even pity from others. How will he live as a sighted person? Suppose that a great deal of his vital energy is fueled 49 50/Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 by resentment of the trick life has played on him. What will it be like not to have that resentment? His friends will have to learn new ways of deal-ing with him as well. Indeed, they may not be willing or able to make the transition to relating to a man who is no longer handicapped. All of this may seem quite fanciful. Yet any counselor or spiritual director can testify that there is in us some power that is inherently con-servative, that wants the status quo to be preserved no matter how painful that status quo is. I may be between a rock and a hard place, but it is my rock and my hard place, and I know how to cope with the situation. Leaving it is very difficult, no matter how painful it also is to stay. Can we make sense of this difficulty that works against even desiring a change to something better? I have already pointed to one source of the difficulty. My identity can be wrapped up in my present status, whether that status is "blind beggar," "jil.ted lover," "bereaved husband," "unloved child," "unappreciated coworker," or whatever. To give up the identity may seem like giving up one's only self. Moreover, as already indicated, I have built up around this identity ways of coping with life, and even of earning a living. To change means to face an unknown, and perhaps worse future. There is, perhaps, a more subtle source of resistance as well. Freudian analysts speak of the covert gratification neurotic symptoms bring to the one who has them. There can be covert sexual and/or aggressive gratification, for example, in a wife's agoraphobia (fear of open spaces) because her husband has to stay at home more with her -- and also has to do the shopping. Suicidal people have been known to get gratification from the thought of making others guilty, miserable, even sick by their deaths. It may be that all of the status quos which we find so hard to give up provide some covert gratification. For example, Bartimaeus might well wonder whether anyone will pay attention to him if he is no longer blind. Again, to want to be healed of the resentment caused by a friend's hurtful remarks may mean that I will have to give up the covert hope that my friend is feeling pangs of remorse. We come close to the central insight I received at the prayer group. To want to be healed, to be changed, to become more whole means to surrender to life and to the future. The surrender involves two distinct, but interrelated movements, I believe. On the one hand, it means accept-ing my past as precisely what it is, my past. On the other hand, it means surrendering myself to the mystery of the future, ultimately to the Mys-tery we call God. We will look at each of these movements in turn. Bartimaeus must have accepted his past. He is a blind man, a blind Surrender: the Key to Wholeness beggar. He does not seem to wallow in resentment at what life has done to him; if he did, he would not have been able to ask so forcibly for his sight. To come to this point of acceptance he may have had to go through all the stages of grief described so well by Kubler-Ross.3 He may have denied his blindness, raged at it, at life, and at God, bargained with God, and become depressed. But now he has accepted that he is blind. And yet it is accepted as somehow past, as not controlling his freedom now, his freedom to desire a change. "Master, let me receive my sight." It is important to grasp the full impact of what it means for Bartimaeus, or anyone of us, to accept the past. It does not mean a stoic impassivity toward life. It does not mean a rosy optimism either. Life has dealt Bartimaeus a cruel blow, as it has dealt cruel blows to many people. Children have been subjected to abusive, unloving and unskilled parenting and have been psychically and spiritually scarred as a result. Loved ones have tragically and permanently been parted, and the surviv-ors are wounded deeply. To accept the past does not mean to condone everyone and everything. But it does mean to forgive in some deep way. SCren Kierkegaard makes a powerful statement while commenting on the biblical story of Tobias and Sarah. Recall that Sarah has become a mockery to her own maid because seven men had died on their marriage night to her. Now Tobias has asked to marry her. Many see Tobias as the hero. "No," says Kierkegaard: It is Sarah that is the heroine . For what love of God it requires to be willing to let oneself be healed when from the beginning one has been thus bungled without one's fault, from the beginning one has been an abortive specimen of humanity! What ethical maturity was required for assuming the responsibility of allowing the loved one to do such a daring deed! What humility before the face of another person! What faith in God to believe that the next instant she would not hate the hus-band to whom she owed everything!4 To accept the past as my past brings a freedom from it. But freedom does not mean that I am no longer the person that past has made me. Bartimaeus is who he is because he has been a blind beggar. So too, Sarah is who she is because of her.history of marriages. Another example is supplied by a response of a young man who was born a hemophiliac; at any moment of his life he could bleed to death from a simple cut. He was asked whether he wished that he had not had the illness. "How can I -- or anyone -- wish that the most important thing that ever happened to me had not happened? It is like saying that I wish I had been born on another planet, so different would I probably be. Put it this way: I would not have it any other way." 5 52/Review for Religious, Jan.-Feb., 1987 And yet with this acceptance there also comes a freedom from the past. Bartimaeus is free of the imprisoning identity: "blind beggaL" Even if he does not receive his sight, he is free to become blind Bartimaeus the poet, or blind Bartimaeus the husband of Mary, or blind Bartimaeus the follower of Jesus. Just as the young hemophiliac can, by accepting his past, become a doctor, a teacher, a husband who also hap-pens to be hemophiliac. To accept the past as my past means to accept a future limited by my past, but nonetheless a future. Erik Erikson calls his final developmental stage the crisis between ego integrity and despair. Ego integrity or wisdom is described in this way: "It is the acceptance of one's one and only life cycle as something that had to be and that, by necessity, permitted of no substitutions: it thus means a new, a different love of one's parents."6 Such wisdom, Erikson maintains, leads, to freedom from the inordinate fear of death. And this may be the crux of th

Introducción
El actual desarrollo y crecimiento de las ciudades, crea la necesidad de que la ciudad no sólo sea un espacio en el que residan sus habitantes sino un lugar en el que se ven plasmados los cambios que surgen en ella; es por ello que constantemente se implementan fuentes para el turismo y la exportación de productos que generen el crecimiento económico. Debido a esto y como contribución al desarrollo, se crean estrategias de comunicación visual para representar una ciudad por medio de un sello que la identifique y diferencie de otras locaciones de su región y del planeta.
En la Ciudad Autónoma de Buenos Aires, teniendo en consideración a los tres últimos jefes de gobierno, partiendo desde el periodo del año 2000 al 2015 se ha intentado establecer una marca ciudad, que en todos los casos, ha terminado siendo interpretada por sus ciudadanos como una marca política. Desde la gestión de Aníbal Ibarra (2000-2003), siendo reelecto durante el siguiente período el cual no logró terminar ya que fue destituido de su cargo por un juicio político en marzo del 2006, manejó la marca ciudad con los colores de su partido de gobierno, Frente Progresista Popular. Época en que en el cual la ciudad se vistió con los colores naranja y negro y cuyo signo distintivo se reconoció como "gobBsAs" desplegada por toda la ciudad.
Luego de la destitución de Ibarra asume la gestión de gobierno, Jorge Telerman haciendo leves cambios en la marca que se había instaurada por el líder anterior, por razones de tiempo. Su marca la cual fue considerada un sello marcario multicolor con el nombre "a+BA" y trabajó bajo el claim "actitudBsAs".
A su vez Mauricio Macri quien fue electo como jefe de gobierno por dos ocasiones entre el (2007-2015), impulsó una nueva propuesta de marca ciudad, desde su primer periodo con los colores de su partido de gobierno Propuesta Republicana (PRO), la cual fue y ha sido impulsada durante el período mencionado por la agencia de publicidad Don, dando los primeros pasos con el claim "Haciendo Buenos Aires" hasta su evolución final que es "En todo estás vos".
Según el manual de identidad corporativa de la marca ciudad de Buenos Aires "El nuevo claim de la ciudad proviene de la evolución del anterior 'Haciendo Buenos Aires'. 'En todo estás vos' significa que cada plan de gestión, cada obra realizada o cada evento que se haga, está hecho pensando en cada uno de los vecinos" (Manual de normas / de identidad visual institucional, 2014, p. 51). Entonces para su manual de identidad corporativa la marca ciudad, está trabajada pensando en cada uno de sus habitantes, es por ello que se los incluye en su comunicación.
A partir de los análisis que se exponen durante la introducción de este tema de investigación, lo que se busca es analizar la marca ciudad de Buenos Aires como una estrategia de gobierno, para hacer difusión política durante todo el periodo del proceso ejecutivo.

Planteamiento del problema
Una marca ciudad, es una estrategia de marketing y comunicación para posicionar una ciudad como un lugar turístico y atraer la inversión interna como extranjera. Trabaja como un elemento de identificación, creando un certificado de calidad de un producto o servicio. Estas marcas son administradas o dirigidas por municipios o instituciones públicas trabajando en conjunto con sus habitantes y empresas privadas.
La ciudad de Buenos Aires desde el año 2007 cuenta con una nueva marca, siendo una ventaja competitiva, considerando la efectividad que han tenido otras ciudades en el mundo que han desarrollado su activo intangible más preciado. Dicha marca es dirigida por el gobernador de la ciudad Mauricio Macri.
El autor de la investigación antes de visitar la Capital Federal de Argentina, observó a través de la televisión pagada, un spot promocional de la ciudad de Buenos Aires invitando al turista a conocerla. En dicho spot que tenía como fondo de la canción de Palito Ortega "un muchacho como yo" en el cual aparecía el gobernador de la ciudad Mauricio Macri, haciendo una invitación para Buenos Aires como la ciudad de todos, por su diversidad cultural y su gente, llamando mucho la atención del autor, por esta estrategia de marketing turístico de ciudad.
Al llegar a Buenos Aires lo que más le llamo la atención fueron los colores amarillo y negro que se utilizaban en la marca, llevándolo a generarse una primera pregunta que fue ¿por qué del uso de estos colores? A su vez, al indagar entre los habitantes de la Capital Federal, la percepción de casi todos a los que se le consultó desde su punto de vista empírico fue que era una propaganda política del (PRO).
Fue a partir de ello, que surgió la iniciativa de analizar la marca ciudad de Buenos Aires como una estrategia de gobierno, para hacer propaganda política durante todo el periodo del proceso ejecutivo, haciendo presencia del actor político y sus obras en la ciudad a manera de comunicar a los ciudadanos aquí "en todo estoy yo" en vez de su claim que dice "en todo estás vos".
Es por esto, que durante el proceso de esta investigación se vincula a la marca ciudad de Buenos Aires como una estrategia de marketing de ciudad para posicionar a su actor principal, que en este caso es el gobernador. Siendo así que en este sentido se lo puede definir como marketing político a la "(…) disciplina orientada al estudio de los procesos de los intercambios entre las entidades políticas, su entorno, y entre ellas mismas, con particular referencia al posicionamiento de estas entidades y sus comunicaciones". (Carlín, 2006, p. 7). Lo que se busca por medio del marketing político es posicionar a un actor electoral, para ganar adeptos a una ideología política y conseguir a través de los ellos un lugar en el manejo político de un sector de la población.
Este tema de investigación examina la comunicación gráfica de los contenidos de la marca ciudad de Buenos Aires "en todo estás vos" desde el período 2007 al 2015, con el fin de diferenciar una estrategia de marketing político con el concepto de una marca ciudad en la que la participación política no se vea reflejada en su totalidad con la identidad de la marca. Por lo que surge la pregunta de investigación que es: ¿en qué punto la marca ciudad de Buenos Aires se unifica con la marca partidaria del "PRO"? y si es posible contestar también ¿qué efectos tiene la mediatización de un actor político en una marca pública?, razón por la cual entre sus principales objetivos generales está, indagar la función de la marca ciudad de Buenos Aires (2007-2015) y su vinculación como una marca partidaria. Asimismo, evaluar la participación del actor político en ésta marca ciudad y cómo afecta la mediatización en un proceso de campaña.
Sus objetivos específicos tratan de establecer la vinculación de la comunicación pública con la comunicación partidaria; establecer los principios que fundamentan el diseño y propuesta de la marca ciudad Buenos Aires; relacionar los elementos de la comunicación gráfica de la marca ciudad con las estrategias de marketing político del "PRO"; fundamentar cómo a través de una comunicación pública se puede persuadir a los habitantes.
Por lo que se propone como hipótesis que: El partido "Propuesta Republicana" "PRO" identificó los elementos de diseño y comunicación gráfica de la marca ciudad de Buenos Aires (2007-2015) con una estrategia de marketing político, y de este modo unificó la comunicación partidaria con la comunicación pública.

Estado de la cuestión
Esta investigación surge en la Ciudad Autónoma de Buenos Aires, con respecto al uso de la marca ciudad Buenos Aires "en todo estas vos". El gobernador Mauricio Macri está al frente de la marca ciudad y su comunicación, en los distintos eventos realizados por la gobernación de la Ciudad.
Manuel Cruz (2013), menciona que las ciudades no son sólo poblaciones, infraestructuras a la orilla de un río o a la cercanía del mar, las sociedades se conforman a partir de la participación de los habitantes; el lenguaje coloquial, las costumbres, la forma de habitar, la cultura, forma parte de una ciudad. Con todo esto se puede construir una marca que afiance en su estructura, una esencia de lo que es y la representa. Una marca ciudad es una herramienta utilizada por los países y ciudades por medio de sus gobiernos, para impulsar la economía, turismo e inversión en el sector público y privado y así poder mostrar todos sus atributos ante el mundo.

La obsolescencia de ciertas herramientas de la administración pública local, lleva la mirada hacia nuevas formas de gestión de lo público donde se expone la necesidad de integrar al ciudadano a dicho esquema. Con base en un recorrido por los tres momentos de la marca de ciudad, donde se aportan los ingredientes básicos para el desarrollo exitoso de esta herramienta, nos concentramos en la participación de la ciudadanía como una herramienta insoslayable. (Paz, 2008, p. 184).

Una marca ciudad es un canal en el que se ve reflejada la participación de la ciudadanía. Entre los distintos tipos de uso que se puede tener de ella, ya sea en eventos en la ciudad en los cuales se hace una gran presencia de marcaría, fundaciones públicas, espectáculos públicos, eventos culturales, lo cual crea posicionamiento en los usuarios del sello marcario de ciudad. La socióloga y publicitaria Capurro (2006) se refiere a la Marca Ciudad como una necesidad de diferenciación no sólo en infraestructura sino también en valores.
Añade que las infraestructuras no dejan de ser importantes pero se las da por supuestas en el desarrollo de la misma, pues una marca ciudad logra materializar los intangibles y competir por captar iniciativas que creen mejores oportunidades en sus ciudadanos.
El estudio en Argentina de la marca ciudad se ha desarrollado en la provincia de Buenos Aires, ha tomado en cuenta procesos exitosos como la Marca Tandil y Villa Gesell, donde se hace un estudio de las características, fortalezas y debilidades que se adquieren en los procesos en las ciudades argentinas, visto en tres pasos de análisis: creación, implementación y comparación de otras marcas.
En la Universidad Nacional del Centro de la Provincia de Buenos Aires, Calvento y Colombo (2009), desarrollaron una investigación sobre la marca ciudad.
Plantean que la marca ciudad es definida como una estrategia de gestión de imagen, que ha sido desarrollada en algunas ciudades importantes del mundo e indican que las marcas son administradas y coordinadas por políticas públicas, por el estado subnacional, es decir, por la unidad institucional o nivel del Poder Ejecutivo, componente de un gobierno en un Estado Nacional, como son sus ciudades, municipios, regiones u otros poderes locales. En su estudio comparan a las ciudades de Tandil y Villa Gesell, donde se señala que la marca de Villa Gesell se presenta muy sólida y sigue una metodología consistente con la creación de la marca país Argentina, e indican que mientras que la marca Tandil ha tenido éxito, sufre de fuertes críticas que la muestran como una marca que no hace referencia a la ciudad sino que establece una conexión entre la marca y el gobierno del intendente.
A su vez, Lorenzo y Calvento (2011) investigaron que la marca ciudad de Tandil, no se encuentra parcialmente definida por su marca turística, y que no cuenta con una gestión marcaria integral, que complete y difunda otros aspectos igualmente relevantes de la misma. Indican que la marca Tandil, no posee una orientación estratégica ya que no define sus atributos y no cuenta con los elementos de marketing de ciudades, para promover y generar diferenciación y posicionamiento integral tanto a nivel provincial regional, nacional e internacional.
Hacen referencia a que desde hace algunos años se promueve un proyecto marcario, bajo el lema "Tandil, lugar soñado" el cual está bien posicionado, sin embargo, son acciones enfocadas al turismo y sus precedentes se encuentran exclusivamente relacionados al sector, olvidando hacer referencia a sus valores, su identidad, su gente, su cultura, su educación, sus empresas o su potencial económico y productivo.
A partir de la metodología manejada por las autoras. Utilizaron como herramienta, las encuestas para generar respuestas en su investigación, a través de 25 temas claves que vinculan a la ciudad con el fin de relevar la imagen interna de Tandil, lo que les permitió lograr un análisis estratégico de la imagen interna y externa, y el reposicionamiento de la ciudad a nivel nacional, pero sin embargo a nivel internacional la imagen sigue siendo un poco difusa, y es conocida sólo por algunos países en lo que respecta a logros de personalidades tandilenses reconocidas en el exterior.
El proceso de desarrollo de la marca Mar Del Plata ha tenido un significativo crecimiento en el posicionamiento turístico y ha construido una fidelización de esta, ya que para los argentinos es uno de sus principales destinos turísticos en la época de verano. En la Universidad Nacional De Mar Del Plata, Biasone (2010) realizó el estudio del caso de la marca Mar Del Plata para reposicionarla. Allí indica que el sello marcario se puso en marcha en el año 1996 con un eslogan que contenía un lenguaje coloquial y amistoso. La investigadora plantea que su estudio es de tipo exploratorio y descriptivo, ya que el abordaje de su tema se realiza desde la comunicación institucional turística, a modo que permita conocer las causas que confluyeron y dieron origen a la marca como destino turístico. En su abordaje relata la creación, la evolución y el posicionamiento de la marca Mar Del Plata.
El trabajo de los investigadores: Fernández, Madoery, Gaveglio, Angelone, del Huerto Romero, en la Universidad Nacional de Rosario (1997), se basa en una estrategia que resalta la importancia de la competitividad territorial, por lo que hacen uso del marketing territorial o marketing de ciudades como una maniobra para definir la segmentación y el posicionamiento de la marca en la ciudad de Rosario.
Fernández y Paz en la Universidad Nacional de Quilmes (2005), realizaron un estudio que trata sobre el marketing de ciudades hacia una política pública de diseño y gestión de los signos de identificación de la ciudad. Comienzan haciendo una introducción desde los años 1990, como producto de una combinación de factores socioeconómicos, las modalidades de gestión urbanas experimentaron transformaciones que representaron un gran cambio en el desarrollo de las ciudades, en gran parte de características irreversibles. Aducen que en el marco de las reformas estructurales practicadas y el retiro del aparato estatal de la escena de las políticas sociales y protagonismo económico de las tres ultimas décadas, las estrategias de intervención han cambiado radicalmente, las exigencias actuales en materia de gobernabilidad, competitiva y calidad de vida, en ese sentido las políticas públicas orientadas a crear y fortalecer o reinstalar la marca de territorio se presenta como un poderoso activo de la gestión contemporánea en el camino del desarrollo de una imagen pública, interna y externa, de aceptación en referencia a la ciudad o región.
En su trabajo investigativo se analizan dos de los procesos, que ellos plantean como relevantes al momento de indagar en las causas y consecuencias de las transformaciones del sistema urbano mundial. Como primer punto proponen la adopción de nuevos enfoques de planificación y gestión urbana. En particular consideran el diseño de la imagen y los procesos de construcción de identidad en la definición de estrategias de desarrollo urbano. El segundo punto se centra en las nuevas demandas de saberes e instrumentos que participen a fortalecer los procesos de diseño y gestión de marca desde un enfoque que incorpore la creatividad e imaginación ciudadana a los conocimientos especializados de los técnicos en diseño y comunicación.
A modo de conclusión de toda su investigación, postulan la necesidad de ir más allá de los límites que se ha propuesto originalmente el marketing de ciudades con un enfoque de gestión urbana, ya que en este sentido se intenta ampliar las fronteras del campo de intervención del enfoque de marketing de ciudades en dirección a las problemáticas que consideran propias de la publicidad y la comunicación.
En su artículo, los investigadores abordan una de estas dimensiones, la marca ciudad diseño de las marca territoriales, debe ingresar en las agendas de políticas públicas, como una estrategia de fortalecimiento de los rasgos identitarios de las ciudades y regiones, con el objetivo de promover la localización de actividades productivas e intensificar los flujos turísticos. La marca ciudad es una herramienta para potenciar la devoción cívica de los actuales habitantes, y difundir las bondades de una ciudad entre potenciales residentes, para así enfrentar con éxito los desafíos complejos propios de la realidad urbana, incentivando la necesidad recurrir a enfoques que permiten activar el potencial creativo, que existe en todos los ámbitos de la vida urbana, de manera tal que los actores locales y ciudadanos se transformen en co-creadores de su futuro, fortaleciendo el desarrollo de la marca que se quiere para el futuro; mencionan que la gestión de marca para ciudad y su objetivo prioritario, es fomentar procesos de creación comunitaria de marca y valor de marca, donde se alcance a diseños consensuados de logo y eslogan en términos de un atributo o conjunto de atributos de identidad territorial.
Rodrigues L. (2010) investigó, el marketing territorial en el contexto del subdesarrollo: el caso de la periferia de la región metropolitana de Rio de Janeiro - Brasil. Su estudio se basa en la competencia, entre las ciudades asociadas a los efectos del proceso de globalización sobre el territorio, donde resalta que no quedan dudas sobre la incorporación del marketing territorial como una herramienta potente, para complementar el desarrollo de las ciudades. Sin embargo, cuestiona que las herramientas estratégicas que tuvieron éxito en las ciudades de países de gran economía como países europeos, sean aplicables en las circunstancias a las especificidades de un entorno territorial sudamericano, por lo que analiza bajo una perspectiva crítica las contribuciones teóricas de tres investigaciones de marketing territorial, para ser adaptadas a la realidad de las ciudades subdesarrolladas situadas a la periferia de la región metropolitana de Río de Janeiro.
Cordeiro Braga y Veiga Shibaki (2010), analizan y evalúan cómo los elementos turísticos de una metrópolis, en este caso, la avenida Paulista se destaca como un ícono turístico y se fortalece por el turismo de negocios. Plantean que el desarrollo de su investigación se divide en cuatro ejes fundamentales para su estudio que son el turismo urbano, metropolitano, de negocios y marketing de ciudades, este último favoreció la realización de un estudio exploratorio de los datos secundarios obtenidos, en documentos de organismos y asociaciones relacionadas con la gestión turística en São Paulo. Señalan que incluyeron en su estudio datos ganados en el trabajo de campo de los establecimientos comerciales, elementos culturales, información sobre la estructura hotelera y los atractivos ubicados en la avenida, de esa forma pudo probarse que el carácter del ícono, facilita la difusión de la oferta turística en la región.
Any Brito Leal Ivo (2011), estudió la intervención urbanística y la creación de ciudades en el mundial de fútbol Brasil 2014. En su artículo discute cómo las intervenciones contemporáneas de remodelaciones urbanas intensas y legitimadas han contribuido para la construcción de marca país, y su impacto en la ciudad y espacios, indica que los grandes eventos se convierten en nuevas estrategias de intereses económicos nacionales en un ámbito global, y las intervenciones urbanas pasan a ser clave, para la re significación de la nación en ese contexto.
Quien hace una definición entre marca de producto y marca país, donde la marca producto se asocia a gestión de venta y creación simbólica de producto, mientras que marca ciudad, se relaciona o se puede aplicar al marketing de ciudades y se refiere a la comercialización de un lugar para diversos turistas, inversionistas directos, habitantes y mercado de exportación de profesionales. La investigadora afirma que en ese caso las ciudades se toman como bienes de consumo inmersas en el turismo, la cultura y el entretenimiento entre otros sectores del mercado. Asimismo, pone como ejemplo a ciudades que se venden como productores en sectores públicos y privados de la industria turística nacional e internacional en la que nombra a Salvador en Brasil y Barcelona en España. Indica que según la definición de Simon Anaholt, el mayor desafío para la construcción de la imagen nacional fuerte y competitiva, es conseguir que las diversas formas de divulgación y los agentes, como los actores políticos produzcan mensajes coherentes y uniformes sobre el país, tanto para el público interno como externo, a fin de que las políticas se dirijan a transformar el país según esa imagen diferencial en el mercado mundial. Durante su proceso de desarrollo menciona que pensar en estado nación según marca país, es redefinir el estado como una corporación inmersa en el mercado contemporáneo, fuera del sentido político. Concreta de la misma manera que el estado estaría fundando gradualmente sus estrategias sobre el desarrollo de esos nuevos prototipos del mercado.
Haciendo un análisis de varios autores, Any Brito Leal Ivo (2010), plantea una hipótesis que sostiene que la adopción de nuevos valores en el mercado, como valores nacionales y los daños en los procesos políticos puede ir en varias direcciones, desde un vacío en la imagen creada y la realidad, hasta la dominación y direccionamiento de las políticas culturales. Añade que el Mundial de Fútbol 2014, en Brasil, consolida una nueva imagen del país y que es –"El Brasil que despega"– en el escenario global. Ya que el mundial es un evento de gran importancia que se ajusta a la mecánica de gestión con reputación nacional, que posibilita que los juegos tengan sedes en diferentes ciudades del país, afirma que más allá del marketing de lugares, se construye también una idea de Brasil de acuerdo en expectativas distintivas y se refiere, al intento de forjar elementos claramente identificables, como representaciones visiblemente reconocidas como brasileras, mediante las ciudades escogidas y presentadas como la cara de Brasil.
Agrega que la intención del gobierno brasileño va más allá de ser sede del Mundial 2014 y recibir a los turistas, ya que el evento construye un proceso para el futuro próximo, mostrando la modernización nacional, su capacidad y su fuerza económica, convirtiéndose en proyecto legítimo que busca una nueva posición del país en la geopolítica mundial.
Como conclusión indica que la grandeza y la intensidad del volumen de obras se imponen como objetivo no sólo por el rito y el impacto simbólico de las noticias, sino por los negocios involucrados. La ciudad se libera de las ataduras de la regulación de las leyes, paradójicamente, los nuevos instrumentos legales favorecen la permisividad del uso del espacio urbano y el avance de los intereses particulares sobre los colectivos, así el desarrollo del evento trae nuevos cuestionamientos a la construcción y trascendencia del espacio urbano y la ciudad en la búsqueda desenfrenada de forjar una ciudad global.
En la Universidad de Palermo, Vélez Jaramillo (2008), realizó una tesis titulada: Los circuitos culturales en la construcción de marca ciudad. Caso Medellín. Su estudio se refiere a la construcción de marca en Medellín. Menciona que para el trabajo de desarrollo de una marca ciudad es necesario contar con un equipo de profesionales en varios campos como arquitectos, administradores, sociólogos, empleados del sector publico, diseñadores, comunicadores, que tratan en última instancia, en la elaboración de una propuesta en la que se deben considerar una serie de cuestiones, en lo que refiere al diseño. De acuerdo a los estudios en que se basó, divide al trabajo en cuatro ramas, el diseño de lo simbólico y la comunicación visual, el diseño de materiales para la industria, el diseño de actividades y servicios programados en lo que respecta al uso de espacios públicos para eventos y relaciones públicas, y el diseño de sistemas y entornos físicos, en el que se refiere a la arquitectura y diseño forestal en áreas verdes. Indica que además del trabajo interdisciplinario debe destacarse la importancia del Estado, no sólo en cuanto a la financiación del proyecto, sino más bien para el despliegue de políticas entre las cuales puede ubicarse el crecimiento de una marca ciudad en la integración de los sectores privados.
El enfoque que aporta con su trabajo desde el diseño contempla conceptos tales como marca, submarca y marca ciudad, relacionados con otros conocimientos como es consumo cultural y política cultural, no obstante hace énfasis en que hará proyección de los circuitos culturales de la ciudad de Medellín. Así, plantea como hipótesis que el desarrollo de los circuitos culturales opera como elemento clave para la integración y la dinámica entre las submarcas que conforman la marca ciudad. Entre sus objetivos plantea definir los conceptos de marca, identidad de marca, y marca ciudad, como una aproximación a las manifestaciones culturales en la ciudad antes mencionada. Señala que el relevamiento de actividades culturales durante el segundo semestre de 2006 y el primer semestre del 2007, comprendió un período en el que comenzó a desarrollarse un plan de mercadeo en la ciudad 2006 - 2016 auspiciado por la Alcaldía de Medellín.
En ese sentido según afirma, debe destacarse el papel impulsor del estado municipal, los cambios en el desarrollo urbano registrados en la ciudad durante el año 2000, configurando el contexto en el cual el estado ha trabajado en el espacio público, como política de integración ciudadana y democratización del acceso y la participación en la vida cultural para los diversos sectores de la sociedad, en relación con el panorama de las actividades culturales, que actualmente se observan en Medellín. Su propuesta consiste en una serie de circuitos culturales para la ciudad, para hacer visible los lugares y establecer conexión entre ellos y principiar posibles recorridos a través de distintos medios: sistema de señalización, publicación de mapas y guías impresas, desarrollo y actualización permanente de su sitio web, resulta imprescindible una mirada analítica más amplia y contextual sobre la ciudad, en el espacio en el que se despliegan las actividades culturales.
Señala que en su trabajo investigativo, su hipótesis hizo hincapié en el carácter interdisciplinario que implica la construcción de una imagen marcaria. Uno de sus objetivos contempló el diseño de los conceptos de marca, submarca y marca ciudad, presentó toda una serie de consideraciones al concepto de marca y a la construcción de una marca ciudad y otros elementos que componen submarcas y circuitos culturales relacionando otros conceptos mencionados como consumo y política cultural. Consideró pertinente para el caso de Medellín la construcción de marcas alternas en la imagen marcaria de la ciudad que agrupen diferentes áreas de trabajo o de interés: educación, turismo, cultura, servicios sociales, salud y espacio público. En participación del sector público y privado, ya que por medio de las marcas alternas ayudan a estructurar y clasificar la oferta y servicios ofrecidos por ambos sectores.
Por su parte, Miguel Badillo (2010), realizó una investigación de City-marketing en ciudades intermedias: caso Palmira - Colombia. Su estudio plantea que se basa específicamente en su etapa de diseño, ya que su proyecto surgió de la necesidad de generar acciones diná- micas y metodológicas, a fin de implementar un mecanismo que permita el diseño de un instrumento de gestión y promoción de la ciudad. La población de su estudio se integró con habitantes de la ciudad, visitantes y dirigentes de diversos sectores del Valle del Cauca en Colombia. La metodología empleada se basó en un estudio documental y el uso de instrumentos, cualitativos y se apoyó en cartografías urbanas, estudio de imaginarios y mediciones cualitativas de comunicación publicitaria, por lo cual para su realización, el investigador estableció un eje conceptual para la implementación de un plan de city-marketing en Palmira y una segunda fase donde desarrolló la sensibilización, la caracterización de la ciudad, los lineamientos estratégicos y los parámetros para la construcción de la marca y el diseño del plan de comunicación.
Su proyecto inició en el año 2003 donde a través del Centro Integrado para el Desarrollo de la Investigación (CIDI), conjuntó con un equipo de estudiantes liderados por un docente, quienes estructuraron el proyecto plataforma de posicionamiento Palmira hasta el 2006. Luego pasa al programa de publicidad y es continuado por un nuevo grupo de estudiantes dirigidos por una docente quienes estructuran la primera fase que es la auditoría de la imagen Palmira, para el desarrollo de un proyecto de citymarketing.
Menciona que durante el año 2007 el grupo de investigación publicitaria retomó el tema y realizó una investigación documental, partiendo de los resultados que existían en la misma universidad de estudios anteriores, tomando en cuenta un tema de gran importancia para su caso, por lo cual el investigador indica que la primera fase fue la visualización del tema. En el año 2009 se avanzó en una segunda fase, que fue el proceso de oficialización, donde trabajó en una propuesta integrada como parte de las diversas acciones que el actual gobierno implementaría en el plan de desarrollo.
En la Universidad de Palermo, Carlos Calle (2008), desarrolló un estudió basado en la marca ciudad de Cuenca como un elemento de participación social. Su estudió está basado en la ciudad de Cuenca que es la tercera ciudad más importante del Ecuador y para ello en su introducción se refiere al actual contexto de la globalización que propicia nuevos escenarios, para la comunicación, las exportaciones y el turismo, por lo cual en la ciudad antes mencionada a través de su alcalde se implementó una estrategia de marca ciudad, que comprende un elemento gráfico identificador y una campaña de posicionamiento como punto turístico enfocado en un diferenciador que posee ya que es patrimonio cultural de la humanidad, compuesto por elementos tangibles e intangibles.
Para ello se enfoca en establecer un concepto más claro de marca ciudad, analizando a la misma desde el acoplamiento de la globalización y la mundialización para tomarla como herramienta para fomentar la participación social. Analiza la implementación y promoción de la marca estudiada y su contribución en el marco del turismo, ya que en su trabajo se ejecuta un estudio estructural de los principios que conforman la marca ciudad y su relación con el diseño, su importancia, su interacción con el desarrollo diario de la ciudad. Resalta la importancia de un sello marcario para la misma, dirigiéndose al municipio con miras a mejorar el uso y la actual promoción de la propuesta para reconocerla como un instrumento social que contribuya a la mejor calidad de vida. En su hipótesis plantea desarrollar una estrategia mucho mejor de lo que funcionaba hasta el 2005, donde no se cumplía lo que tenia que dar de una Marca Ciudad, para lo cual piensa posicionarla e instaurarla como herramienta comunicativa real; como elemento gráfico y no como símbolo. Para posicionar a la ciudad de Cuenca como un destino turístico debido a que en la ciudad el turismo representa un rubro muy importante, ya que según menciona existe un estudio que afirma que un 51,7% del ingreso económico proviene del turismo. A través de la investigación se trata no sólo de explotar la parte turística sino también la comercial y lograr la integración de la ciudadanía para el desarrollo de la marca ciudad.
Como aporte se integra su estudio para mejorar la promoción de la propuesta para reconocer la marca ciudad como instrumento social.
En España, Sánchez Moya (2010), efectuó una tesis sobre Barcelona y Estambul y la imagen de la ciudad como valor de cambio. Introduce el tema haciendo una introducción breve al concepto de marca ciudad y su importancia, para luego introducir al lector en la concepción de marca Barcelona. Afirma que los proyectos que se han llevado a cabo en la ciudad la han transformado en una marca. Como prueba de esa transformación aduce que la película de Woody Allen que se filmó en la ciudad de Condal, se presentó simplemente como "Vicky - Cristina Barcelona" entendiéndose la palabra Barcelona como un modelo de ciudad, como una marca. Mediante una construcción visual del territorio, Barcelona se presenta a través de distintas marcas, con la intención de atraer turistas y capital extranjero a la ciudad. En su estudio escogió tres de las marcas de Barcelona que estuvieron presentes durante las cuatro últimas décadas, desde principio de los años 1980 hasta el año 2010.
Comienza por hacer el análisis de la marca Barcelona Mediterránea, explicando el concepto que da inicio al nombre para el desarrollo de la misma, como una ciudad mediterránea donde explica brevemente los proyectos que se llevaron a cabo en el litoral de Barcelona con el fin de abrir la ciudad al mar. Siguiendo con la marca Barcelona fue reinventada y trata de las transformaciones urbanas que se desarrollaron desde la democracia, con el fin de convertir a la ciudad en una metrópolis moderna, como un modelo Barcelona.
En el mismo país, Paz Balibrea (2004), efectuó una investigación sobre el concepto de modelo de Barcelona. Indica que la idea es utilizada de forma dominante en los círculos internacionales de urbanistas, arquitectos, geógrafos, sociólogos, políticos municipales y expertos en políticas culturales, para definir lo que llama una estrategia de regeneración urbana redefinida. Considera que el modelo Barcelona es positivo y se considera como un gran éxito de las resoluciones urbanísticas adoptadas en diseño y arquitectura tenidas como de alta calidad formal y estética. Se propuso hacer un recorrido crítico por la historia del modelo hasta esos momentos, y muestra que el consenso entregado y/o apático que ha caracterizado la actitud de la mayoría de los ciudadanos ante su ciudad y especialistas ante su objeto de estudio manifiesta que existen signos de resquebrajamiento.
Su aporte proviene de la historia y la crítica cultural por lo cual integró dos elementos de análisis en el debate crítico sobre la ciudad, aunque los presenta por separado, se necesitan mutuamente en la argumentación. Uno es la importancia del estudio de la cultura como eje transversal que recorre y da sentido a las transformaciones que constituyen el modelo de Barcelona, y el otro elemento a consideración es su hipótesis, que propone la utilidad crí- tica de distinguir los conceptos de modelo y marca, a la hora de definir la naturaleza de las transformaciones urbanísticas de la ciudad, a su entendimiento y uso desde la transición.
La investigadora se basa en que para construir la imagen modelo de Barcelona, el cine hizo un gran aporte en el modelo de construcción de Barcelona. Por ello en la medida en que escogió seis películas de directores españoles, norteamericanos y europeos, el cine pertenece a las industrias culturales que en los últimos años han aportado al desarrollo de dicho modelo. Indica que Barcelona ha experimentado un crecimiento exponencial desde la segunda mitad de los años noventa. En la ciudad se incorporó un organismo institucional que da soporte a la idea de introducir, el poder de la difusión de la imagen en la ciudad, por medio de espectáculos gratuitos en salas de cines públicas. Lo que crea uno de los medios más eficaces de propaganda infundada en la ciudad y su gran difusión se convierte en un agente ideológico, capaz de contribuir eficazmente en la construcción de un modelo a seguir.
Luego del análisis de las películas de varios directores, la investigadora hace énfasis en que no todas las muestras de cine pueden crear un modelo eficaz, he indica que los aspectos más progresistas en el origen del modelo Barcelona, que provenían de configuraciones socio-políticas catalanas y españolas heredadas del empuje del fin de la dictadura, no deben llevar a los ciudadanos ni a la negación, ni a la nostalgia de su existencia, ya que desde y gracias a aquella época, Barcelona tiene elementos urbanismo democratizante e integrador que siguen presentes en el espacio social y constituido de la ciudad.
La ciudad se regeneró bajo la premisa de conectar la nueva urbanidad con una memoria colectiva arquitectónica muy parcial, de la gran burguesía catalana de la que muchos de los agentes del modelo Barcelona eran, en definitiva, herederos; por no hablar de cómo la agenda terciaria impuesta sobre la ciudad, desvirtúa y resignifica, pero no hace desaparecer lo más socialmente progresista del modelo, vaciándolo en marca. Es por ello que deduce que el modelo ha muerto ahogado por las imposiciones de la marca. Sin embargo, aduce que se recuperó el concepto de modelo como una particular forma de entender la relación con el espacio urbano que consiste en afirmar el derecho de todos los ciudadanos a la ciudad.
Richard Eugenie (2008), expone un tema que no tiene que ver con la marca ciudad, pero aborda un punto que es significativo para el proyecto de investigación, con un tema titulado Álvaro Uribe: la comunicación por la imagen. Principios de marketing político. Menciona que en Colombia en cercanías de los procesos de elección presidencial en el año 2006, Álvaro Uribe Vélez, se lanzaba a la reelección. Los habitantes de Colombia tenían al candidato presidencial como un personaje de imagen política bien fuerte por la construcción sólida a través de los medios de comunicación, en la que se aplicó una campa- ña permanente haciendo uso de los medios de comunicación masivos a su alcance tanto tradicionales, audiovisuales y directos con una posición que lo privilegiada a pesar de las garantías que ofrece la Ley colombiana. Su campaña se dividió en dos etapas en la cual la primera fase, se recolectaron testimonios por parte de los colombianos en apoyo a Uribe haciendo notar en apoyo popular para luego ser utilizados con fines electorales, en su segunda fase se procede a crear la estrategia de comunicación visual para los afiches de campaña, a través del website www.adelantepresidente.com en la que los votantes podían elegir la imagen de campaña por medio de votación. La importancia en el uso de todos estos medios influyeron en la agenda mediática en los meses siguientes, el autor afirma que la construcción de todas estas estrategias construyeron un amplio dispositivo de persuasión a los futuros electores. Es por ello que Eugenie (2008), propone en su investigación un estudio semiológico de los afiches de campaña, para apreciar el alcance que tuvieron las herramientas de marketing político, para explicar el éxito obtenido por el actor político durante el 2002 y la facilidad con la que logró ser presidente en el 2006, examinando las imágenes de campaña en cinco etapas, para lo cual analizó la construcción del sentido de la imagen, las relaciones interpersonales, el relato, modalidades de acción y por último pero no menos importante las pasiones y sensaciones que producían los mensajes en la población. En su análisis de las imágenes reconoce todos los elementos gráficos contenidos en el afiche de campaña en el que destaca la construcción de la imagen en cuanto a simbologías y en la discursiva aplicada en el texto. En todas las etapas de su investigación de la imagen campaña presidencial de Uribe, el autor concluye con que todos los elementos gráficos no fueron puestos por casualidad, ya que la conformación de los mismos construye una realidad que resalta los valores del actor político.
Por otro lado Leyvi Castro Martínez (2012), estudió el caso el caso del presidente Barack Obama, a través de las técnicas del marketing político utilizadas en los medios de comunicación directos, como son las redes sociales, website, mensajes de texto, correo electrónico, etc., con el fin de llegar a más adeptos logrando posicionar al candidato como un producto a partir de toda la constante mediatización, logrando consolidar el voto duro e incursionando en una nueva forma de hacer política.
En el estado de la cuestión realizado se da cuenta de la ausencia de trabajos que aborden la problemática especifica de este proyecto, por tanto se cree que con el desarrollo de esta investigación se contribuirá, a la construcción de una marca ciudad que cumpla con los objetivos que se deben tener para crear una marca que aporte a la edificación de nuevas marcas. Con los interrogantes abiertos en este proyecto de investigación, sobre el tema específico de la marca ciudad de Buenos Aires con las siguientes preguntas ¿en qué punto la marca ciudad de Buenos Aires se unifica con la marca partidaria del "PRO"? y ¿qué efectos tiene la mediatización de un actor político en una marca pública?
Si bien en los trabajos mencionados se abordan las estrategias para la construcción de una marca ciudad y el desarrollo que se ha venido proyectando, muy poco se tiene en consideración acerca del tipo de estrategia que usan los administradores o coordinadores políticos, para el tratamiento del sello marcario de la ciudad Autónoma de Buenos Aires.

Línea temática
Esta investigación se encuentra enmarcada en dos líneas temáticas: 1) Medios y estrategias de comunicación. 2) Diseño y producción de objetos, espacios e imágenes.
Además está como objeto el estudio la marca de la Ciudad Autónoma de Buenos Aires entre el periodo (2007-2015) con el fin de evidenciar una estrategia de marketing político, en el concepto de una marca ciudad unificando la comunicación pública con la comunicación partidaria.
Lo que Brindará soporte a nuevas investigaciones y tratamientos de futuras marcas, en las que la ideología política no intervenga en su totalidad para el desarrollo y creación de las mismas, así de esta forma pueden evolucionar durante cada período de gobierno y continúe siendo administrada por el siguiente gobierno que la dirija.

Orden de trabajo y justificación

Capítulo I: La Comunicación Política desde los medios de comunicación masivos.
En este capítulo, se aborda el tema en referencia al papel que ejercen los medios de comunicación masivos en la comunicación política. Iniciando en la diferenciación entre lo público y lo partidario, para posteriormente dejar en claro la marca pública, la marca partidaria y la vinculación que estas tienen en la participación con los habitantes, como un comportamiento democrático por parte de las políticas públicas de los gobiernos pertinentes. A su vez en este capitulo se pone en contexto, acerca de la comunicación masiva y la persuasión que esta ejerce en el elector dando paso a la opinión pública y la transformación que sufre con los medios de comunicación masivos (llamada opinión publicada), la cual interviene en la agenda setting de los actores políticos y por medio de ésta se da la construcción de la imagen de la realidad social, que puede persuadir al elector de forma directa o indirecta sobre su entorno social.
A modo de cierre, para este capítulo se presentan las campañas políticas en la Argentina y la participación de la prensa en los gobiernos democráticos, a comienzos del año 1983, como un proceso de vinculación de los medios de comunicación masivos con la política.

Capítulo II: Estrategias de marketing político.
En este capítulo se exponen las estrategias que se despliegan en el marketing político para la comunicación electoral, en el que se definen las nociones de esta disciplina, mencionando términos como construcción de la imagen política y como afecta ésta en la percepción del elector. Diferenciación entre marketing comercial y marketing político. Candidato y posicionamiento que definen el papel del candidato y la importancia del posicionamiento en el marketing político, el discurso en la disciplina mencionada y cómo funciona en las estrategias de campaña. A su vez se nombran las características de la publicidad política y las campañas electorales. Asimismo las herramientas del marketing político entre las que destacan las herramientas tradicionales, audiovisuales y de marketing directo, por último el elector y rol en el centro de todas estrategias que se mencionan.

Capítulo III: Construyendo la marca en la ciudad.
En este capítulo se define el concepto de marca e introduce al término de marca ciudad, qué es, y la importancia de sus públicos tanto interno como externo, el funcionamiento de las marcas de ciudad y por medio de quién se gestionan, la construcción de las marcas territoriales como un término que también se les da a estas estrategias de sello marcario, el city-marketing y sus estrategias en la marca ciudad, estrategias de reconstrucción de marcas que apostaron por la reconstrucción desde lo social para posteriormente fortalecerse en su estrategia marcaria, casos que han transcendido como: Berlín, Barcelona, Curitiba y Medellín al mismo tiempo que se hacen referencia de dos casos de comunicación de sello marcario en Argentina, ya que el caso de estudio se sitúa en el país mencionado.

Capítulo IV: Desarrollo Metodológico.
En este capítulo se desarrollan las herramientas metodológicas del tema de investigación que es de tipo descriptivo y de carácter cualitativo, en el cual se desarrollarán entrevistas en profundidad y un análisis de contenido de los elementos de comunicación de la marca pública con la marca partidaria, con lo que se busca comprobar la hipótesis y los objetivos de la investigación.