Suchergebnisse

Stenelo, L.-G. Prediction and Foreign Pclicy Heritage. Cooperation and Conflict, XVI, 1981, 3-17. The author attempts to demonstrate that certain modes of prediction may have a conservat ory and stabilizing effect on the foreign policy of a state, and cause the foreign policy actor to accept the political heritage from previous generations of decision-makers. U.S. Vietnam policy is used as an illustrative case. The hereditary mechanisms treated are strategic evaluation systems, historical analogies, and theories such as the U.S. Domino Theory and Aggression Theory. It seems possible to discern a chain of hereditary links with the strategic evaluation systems maintaining a unifying function. Theories are less sensitive to disturbance and hence more capable of survival than single historical analogies.

Ever since the 10th Party Congress in August 1973, what had been a rather quiet anti-Confucian campaign has been combined with a much fiercer anti-Lin Piao campaign to make a very broad onslaught on all who are backward-looking and opportunistic and who seek to "restore capitalism." In many respects, there is nothing new in this. China has gone through many campaigns since the 1950s and 1960s, and attacking Confucius is something that dates back almost continuously to 1915. Also, using the past to criticize the present, using historical analogies for current political ends, praising or condemning contemporary figures by likening them to historical heroes and villains – all these the Chinese have been doing for centuries, sometimes crudely, sometimes with sophistication. But there is at least one refinement in the present two campaigns which is new and deserves attention. This is the juxtaposition of two historical processes in the combined campaigns which are not so much Chinese as Marxist. That is to say, apart from the moral judgments and the comparisons between Confucius and his disciples and Lin Piao and his followers, there is a new consciousness about comparing two periods separated from each other by more than 2,000 years but both marked by revolutionary transitions from one kind of society to another. In the case of Confucius, the period is described as one of transition from slave society to feudal society; in the case of Lin Piao, the present is marked by the transition from capitalism to socialism. For both periods, there is the common danger of class "restoration," that is, from restorationist forces wanting to arrest the changes and turn the clock back. Furthermore, unlike past analogies which applied to China alone, this setting side by side of two dynamic processes discovered or determined through the application of Marxist theory is not confined only to China. The present campaign warns that the same dangers that confront China confront the rest of the world as well and thus seems to serve the additional purpose of stimulating Chinese awareness of the relevance of universal history.

The LGBT rights are lately one of the aspects of a social and political discourse both in the Russian Federation and in Ukraine. In these countries of a common historical heritage there are some analogies in the perspective on human rights and their realization. It may be also noted that the LGBT rights have become an instrument of politics. In the following article the authors present a comparative analysis of the way in which the LGBT rights are respected in the Russian Federation and in Ukraine. They will depict the similarities and differences between these two countries which result from historical conditions, and will provide an analysis of the current perception of non-heterosexual people in both countries.

The LGBT rights are lately one of the aspects of a social and political discourse both in the Russian Federation and in Ukraine. In these countries of a common historical heritage there are some analogies in the perspective on human rights and their realization. It may be also noted that the LGBT rights have become an instrument of politics. In the following article the authors present a comparative analysis of the way in which the LGBT rights are respected in the Russian Federation and in Ukraine. They will depict the similarities and differences between these two countries which result from historical conditions, and will provide an analysis of the current perception of non-heterosexual people in both countries.

I Papers Presented at Plenary Sessions -- Die Kantliteratur 1965–1969 -- Anhang / Kant-Bibliographie 1965–1969 -- The 'Analogies' and After -- Good Conscience, False Consciousness, Judging Reason -- From Kant to Peirce: The Semiotical Transformation of Transcendental Logic -- The Naturalistic Fallacy in Kant -- Kant und das Problem einer wissenschaftlichen Philosophie -- Kant and Anglo-Saxon Criticism -- The Conception of Lawlikeness in Kant's Philosophy of Science -- Absolute Space and Absolute Motion in Kant's Critical Philosophy -- On Buchdahl's and Palter's Papers -- II Papers Presented at Concurrent Sessions -- Transcendental Affinity — Kant's Answer to Hume -- Concepts, Objects and the Analytic in Kant -- The Aim of Kant's Critique of Pure Reason -- Action and Reason; Aristotle vs. Kant -- The Copernican Revolution in Hume and Kant -- La 'Position' structurale d'existence -- Non-Pure Synthetic A Priori Judgments in the Critique of Pure Reason -- Kants 'Ich-denke' und Nietzsches 'Wille zur Macht' -- Kant's Regulative Ideas and the 'Objectivity' of Reason -- Nietzsche's Use and Abuse of Kant's Philosophy -- Kant on Duties to, and Duties Regarding, Oneself or Others -- From Plato to Kant: The Problem of Truth -- B 132 Revisited -- Über das Moment der Allgemeingültigkeit des ästhetischen Urteils in Kants Kritik der Uteilskraft -- The Kingdom of Ends -- The Problem of Truth in the Critique of Pure Reason -- Kant's Theorie des Praktischen -- Maimon's Criticism of Reinhold's 'Satz des Bewusstseins' -- Kant's Attitude toward Human Perfection as a Moral Determinant -- Nietzsches Kantkritik und ihre Voraussetzungen -- Extensional and Intensional Interpretation of Synthetic Propositions A Priori -- Kant and Racism -- Kant's Theory of the Structure of Empirical Scientific Inquiry and Two Implied Postulates Regarding Things in Themselves -- Sprachphilosophische Erwägungen zur Funktion von Signum und Symbolum in Kants kritischer Philosophie -- The Problem of an Ultimate Determining Ground in Kant's Theory of the Will -- The Meaning of 'Space' in Kant -- Kant's 'Deduction' in the Grundlegung -- On Kant, Frege, Analyticity, and the Theory of Reference -- The Unknowability of Things in Themselves -- Die Probleme der Deduktion des kategorischen Imperativs. (Ein Vorbericht) -- Kant's Theory of Criminal Punishment -- Imagination as the Productive Faculty for 'Creating Another Nature…' -- Bemerkungen zu Kants Theorie der Erfahrung -- Noumenal Causality -- Kant and Goethe -- The Restrictive and Proliferative Function of Kant's Regulative Ideas -- Are Transcendental Deductions Impossible? -- On the Development of Kant's Transcendental Theology -- The Ptolemaic Counter-Revolution -- Kant's Thesis about Being Anticipated by Suarez? -- Phenomena and Noumena: On the Use and Meaning of the Categories -- Kant's Conception of the Autonomous Dual Self -- Wie sind Synthetische Urteile a priori Möglich? -- Kantkritik und Kantrenaissance im Neupositivismus -- Die Struktur der transzendentalen Apperzeption -- Early Reactions to the Publication of Leibniz' Nouveaux Essais (1765) -- On the Subjectivity of Objective Space -- Kant as Philosophical Anthropologist -- Elements of Practice in Kant's Reconstruction of Theory -- The Status of Kant's Theory of Matter -- On Kant and the Refutation of Subjectivism -- Kant and Hobbes Concerning the Foundations of Political Philosophy -- Kant on False Promises -- III Contributions from the Kant-Archiv, Bonn -- The 'Allgemeiner Kantindex'. (Abstract) -- The Kant Index. An Experiment in Modern Lexicographical Methods. Its Development and Present State -- Applications of Information Theory to the Analysis and Interpretation of Kantian Texts -- The Automatic Construction of a Theme Index -- Considerations on the Production of an Intrinsic Lexicon -- Kant's Critique of Pure Reason and Trivial Literature. A Comparison of 'Open Texts' -- On the Examination of Forms of Statement and Argument in Kant's Language -- On Genitive Sequences in Kant and Their Automatic Recognition -- Results of the Work on Kant's Index of Persons -- Kant's Correspondence with Women. A Contribution to a Statistical Evaluation of Kant's Correspondence. (Abstract) -- On the Development of the Term 'Intuition' in the Pre-Critical Writings of Kant, and Its Significance for Kant's Aesthetics, with Particular Reference to the 'Wortindex zu Kants Gesammelten Schriften' -- Comment on Heidegger's Interpretation of Kant. (Abstract) -- IV Abstracts of Papers Read at Concurrent Sessions -- Index of Names and Subjects.

Why did Hungary, a country that shared much of the religious and institutional heritage of western Europe, fail to replicate the social and political experiences of the latter in the nineteenth and early twenties centuries? The answer, the author argues, lies not with cultural idiosyncracies or historical accident, but with the internal dynamics of the modern world system that stimulated aspirations not easily realizable within the confines of backward economics in peripheral national states. The author develops his theme by examining a century of Hungarian economic, social, and political history. During the period under consideration, the country witnessed attempts to transplant liberal institutions from the West, the corruption of these institutions into a "neo-corporatist" bureaucratic state, and finally, the rise of diverse Left and Right radical movements as much in protest against this institutional corruption as against the prevailing global division of labor and economic inequality. Pointing to significant analogies between the Hungarian past and the plight of the countries of the Third World today, this work should be of interest not only to the specialist on East European politics, but also to students of development, dependency, and center-periphery relations in the contemporary world

A little more than fifty years ago, French medievalist Marc Bloch (1928) tried to persuade his fellow historians of the importance and usefulness of the "comparative method." Explanations, he argued, based on "those proverbs of common-sense psychology which have neither more nor less validity than their opposites" had to be replaced by causal explanations arrived at with the help of systematic comparison. In response to these exhortations, most historians, as Bloch himself noted, "express polite approval and then go back to work without changing their habits." Nevertheless, the last decades have seen a remarkable growth in comparative studies in history as well as in the social sciences in general. Since 1959, the journalComparative Studies in Society and Historyhas played a crucial role in this regard. Yet the results of comparative historical studies have not been such as to challenge the skepticism of many historians who associate comparative approaches with facile analogies, pseudo-similarities, and questionable generalizations. Comparison too often seems to imply the sacrifice of the unique and differentiating features of each situation in the past for the sake of some broad scheme. Many historians are put off by social scientists, such as sociologist S. N. Eisenstadt (1963), whose ambitious comparative schema seem marked by typologizing with little empirical basis. To quote Bloch once more, the empirical historian will probably never become a philosopher of history or a sociologist although "he may, according to his state of mind, grant them admiration or a skeptical smile."

I translated this Bengali short story into English as much for the sake of its villain, Senanayak, as for its title character, Draupadi (or Dopdi). Because in Senanayak I find the closest approximation to the First- World scholar in search of the Third World, I shall speak of him first. On the level of the plot, Senanayak is the army officer who captures and degrades Draupadi. I will not go so far as to suggest that, in practice, the instruments of First-World life and investigation are complicit with such captures and such a degradation. The approximation I notice relates to the author's careful presentation of Senanayak as a pluralist aesthete. In theory, Senanayak can identify with the enemy. But pluralist aesthetes of the First World are, willy-nilly, participants in the production of an exploitative society. Hence in practice, Senanayak must destroy the enemy, the menacing other. He follows the necessities and contingencies of what he sees as his historical moment. There is a convenient colloquial name for that as well: pragmatism. Thus his emotions at Dopdi's capture are mixed: sorrow (theory) and joy (practice). Correspondingly, we grieve for our Third-World sisters; we grieve and rejoice that they must lose themselves and become as much like us as possible in order to be "free"; we congratulate ourselves on our specialists' knowledge of them. Indeed, like ours, Senanayak's project is interpretive: he looks to decipher Draupadi's song. For both sides of the rift within himself, he finds analogies in Western literature: Hochhuth's The Deputy, David Morrell's First Blood. He will shed his guilt when the time comes. His self-image for that uncertain future is Prospero. I have suggested elsewhere that, when we wander out of our own academic and First-World enclosure, we share something like a relationship with Senanayak's doublethink. When we speak for ourselves, we urge with conviction: the personal is also political. For the rest of the world's women, the sense of whose personal micrology is difficult (though not impossible) for us to acquire, we fall back on a colonialist theory of most efficient information retrieval. We will not be able to speak to the women out there if we depend completely on conferences and anthologies by Western-trained informants. As I see their photographs in women's-studies journals or on book jackets-indeed, as I look in the glass-it is Senanayak with his anti-Fascist paperback that I behold. In inextricably mingling historico-political specificity with the sexual differential in a literary discourse, Mahasveta Devi invites us to begin effacing that image.

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

Issue 36.5 of the Review for Religious, 1977. ; REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS IS edaed by faculty members of St LOUIS University, the editor,al offices being located at 612 Humboldt Braiding, 539 North Grand Boule-vard; St. Louis, Missouri 63103. It is owned by the Missouri Province Educational Institute; St. Louis, Missouri. Published bimonthly and copyright © 1977 by REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS. Composed, printed, and manufactured in U.S.A. Second class postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri. Single copies: $2.00. Subscription U.S.A. and Canada: $7.00 a year; $13.00 for two years; other countries, $8.00 a year, $15.00 for two years. Orders should indicate whether they are for new or renewal subscriptions and should be accompanied by check or money order payable to REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS in U.S.A. currency only. Pay no money to persons claiming to represent REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS. Change of address requests should include former address. Daniel F. X. Meenan, S.J. Robert Williams, S.J. Joseph F. Gallen, S.J. Jean Read Editor Associate Editor Questions and Answers Editor Assistant Editor September 1977 Volume 36 Number 5 Renewals, new subscriptions, and changes of address should be sent to REVIEW Fon REL1c~ous; P.O. Box 6070; Duluth, Minnesota 55802. Correspondence with the editor and the associate editor together with manuscripts andbooks for review should be sent to REVXEW YOn REL~CIOUS; 612 Humboldt Building; 539 North Grand Boule-vard; St. Louis, Missouri 63103. Questions for answering should be sent to Joseph F. Gallen, S.J.; St. Joseph's College; City Avenue at 54th Street; Philadelphia, Pennsyl-vania 19131. The First Week of the Spiritual Exercises and the Conversion of Saint, Paul Carolyn Osiek, R.S.C.J. Sister Carolyn is on the faculty of Catholic Theological Union, Chicago, where she teaches New Testament. Most recently, she had been Research/Resource Associate in Women's Studies at H~rvard Divinity'School. Her address: Catholic Theological Union; 5401 S. Cornell; Chicago, IL 60615. The title ~ays in a general way the topic of this article. Actually, however, it is somewhat the other way around, for another way of expressing the topic would be: Paul's decisive "First Week" experience, or, the "First Week" in the life of Paul. The present investigation Will be an attempt to focus, examine, and understand the personal experience of Paul which parallels and reflects the process experienced and planned by Ignatius for his followers in what he later came to call the "First Week" of the Spiritual Exercises. There are some obvious limitations to such an undertaking. First, if as is generally accepted, Paul's initial conversion experience took place some-time between 33-36 A.D., and if what is preserved of his Philippian, Ga-latian, and Corinthian correspondence was written between the years 54 and 57 from Ephesus, there is a 20 year gap between the.experience and the description. 1 Second, Paul had no intention of writing an autobiography.' He alludes to his own spiritual experience only insofar as it helps him convey ~The chronology of the letters is disputed. Here I follow J. A. Fitzmyer, "A Life ~Jf Paul," Jerome Biblical Commenthry, ed. R. E. Brown. J. A. Fitzmyer. R. E. Murphy (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.:Prentice Hall, 1968), pp. 218, 221. 657 6511 / Review for Religious, .Volume 36, 1.,977/~5 his point to others, usually in terms of the bankruptcy of the Mosaic laW vis-a-vis the grace of Christ--a religious situation far removedin actuality from the experience of most of us, whatever figurative applications can be made. Third, the one source in which Paul's spiritual conversion-is graph-ically and formally portrayed (in triplicate)--Acts 9:22 and 26~could be utilized in a consideration of New Testament theology of conversion, but in the light of modern scriptural source criticism cannot responsibly be used to shed light on Pauline spirituality or spiritual experience. Some of the elements picked up by Luke in.his triple narrative will be used as illustrative of the Pauline experience in the wider dimension of familiar religious symbols, but it must be kept in mind that for Paul they are secondary. This brings us to a statement of the broader scope of the present under-taking. The purpose of the investigation is not historical. If it were, it could well stop with the Pauline data. Rather, the full scope is an attempt to understand Paulis wounding and healing as exemplary of a common spir-itual journey through death to new life for a purpose. The expanded ar- .ticulation of that process is drawn from personal experience as retreatant and as a spiritual director. It might be well to begin by describing the structure of the "First Week' '~ process as it will be treated here. Basically it is a movemrrit of entering into death in Order to have life, of descending into the depths 0nly to find there new inspiration to arise, of going down with the old and familiar and coming up in newness, as the ancient ritual of baptism by immersion so clearly portrays. It is wodnding and healing, alienation and reconciliation as the person comes face to face first with human evil and then with divine good-ness. Precisely where these two currents cross is the point of greatest pain because the comparison becomes nearly unehdurable. But out of the con-flict engen.dered by that pain comes the energy to begin anew, and thus the paradoxical cycle of death and rebirth is once again lived out. Ignatius' term -confusion" is not a bad word to describe the growing sense that something is wrong, both in its literary meaning of "shame" and especially in its more common sense of "losing one's bea.rings." There are three stages that can occur as defenses are stripped away and the sense of confusion sharpens. Ignatius described these three stages one way in n. [63] of the Exercises: first, a deep knowledge of-pers~onalo sin and a feeling of abhorrence; second, an understanding of the "disorder of my actions" and a resulting feeling of horror; third, a. knowledge of the sinfulness of the world ~.and, again, a.sense of horror. Abhorrence and horror are strong enough terms, yet they imply a primacy of activity on the part of the retreatant though, it must be added, the grace to have such feelings is clearly seen as something to be asked of and freely bestowed by God. The terminology used by Ignatius here, at least as we can understand it four centuries later, does not adequatrly desc.ribe the passive nature of the First Week experience as it is sometimes encountered when, without active The Spiritual Exercises and the Conversion of Paul / 659 pursuit of desire for sorrow for sin, and so forth, rational defenses and affective supports ~reviously relied upon suddenly disappear. Disorienta-tion deepens as awareness of sin increases. The revelation of sinfulness progresses; as Ignatius.described it, in three stages. The first is that of felt guilt over specific acts for which the person is respohsible, guilt that has been accumulating perhaps over a long period of time, the full impact of which suddenly bursts forth with unexpectedly painful sharpness as the reti'eatant faces God and himself in solitude. Crnfusion is balanced only by the fi~m witness of the mercy and forbearance of God in allowing the person t~J come to this point. The second stage occurs if the layer of the conscious mind can be sufficiently peelea off to-reveal the underlying basic tendencies to evil for which a perso~n is only partly responsible at the conscious level. The feeling of confusion, pain,, a~nd alienation increases and a ne'w factor eri(ers in: helplessness-sthe inability to do what one Would want to do about vast areas of life. ,;The realization deepens that one is unable to Consciously regulate tendencies to grab for security, love, and control that diminish both victims and subject. The person is painfully aware of not being in control of his own motivation. At this point feelings of guilt mix with a newly discovered fear of one's own innate destructiveness. Mistrust of oneself can be countered by trust in the God who has kept him from becoming worse than he is. In the third stage the probe of the ~pirit goes deeper still until it reaches the 16vel at which personal responsibility is no longer at stake. It is .the experience of total powerlessn~ess, helplessness, total inability to act in any way.to save oneself. The forces of disintegration seem to be triumphing and God seems to have left the person totally to his own resources which have consequently cru'mbled. Here it is no longer a question of guilt and merc~,, but of the ability to live with fear and to cling to some memory of the love of God. The familiar theological maxim that God sustains all things in existence at every moment becomes a crushing reality, for the person is This "confusion." flowing from the sense of being judged by God, is not the result of a rational process: it is total loss of face before a situation which cannot be long endured with the usual supports of reason and prudence. We find ourselves con-fronted by ttie cross of Christ placed in the presence of unmeasuredness itself, that which is "madness to the world" (I Co 1:23).2 Z"La 'confusion.' fruit spirituel de cejugement divin, n'est pas le r~sultat d'une argumenta- 'tign logique: elle est perle totale de contenance, devant une situation qui pr~cis~ment ne peut ~tre plus Iongte.mps support~e avec !es ressources habituelles de la raison et de la pru-dence. ~Nous voici, devant la Croix du Christ. mis ,en presence de la d~mesure m~me, qm est 'folie l~our le monde" (I Cor 1:23) . La premiere semaine des Exercices." Christus, vol. 6. no. 21 (1959), pp. 22-39 (translation mine). 660 / Review for Religious, Volume 36, 1977/5 sure that nothing within himself is preserving his being, .and yet it seems to be God himself wh6 is crushing him. Ignatius understood [53] that only the total powerlessness of Christ on the cross as he is destroyed by force.s beyond human control can give any meaning to this experience, W. de Broucker describes this state of soul in a way that sums up the whole triple movement: It is precisely the attitude expressed by the dying Chris.t that marks the beginning of the movement upward: "Into your hands I commit my spirit." Surrender into the hands of God, the cessation of struggle against the force that seems to be annihilating the self, goes against the basic instinct of human nature. It is natural for us "to fight for life, to hang on tenuously to the familiar. If the shred of self that is left can be given up, a new self can be formed. With surrender comes trust that there is someone or something to surrender to, and that something other than total chaos can result. Once trust has been given, a dim hope can begin to arise, an assurance that dawn will~ome and that a reason for the suffering and death of the experience may be that something greater is coming to birth. With a new confidence given to the force that is at work within, further insight into one's personal responsibility may result. There may be deep-ened realization of how one's total helplessness before God, now a.~vivid reality, creates subconscious defenses in the form of root tendencies to turn away from God in order to avoid pain, conflict, or unwelcome truth. New awareness of personal orientation away from God then leads to a whole new outlook about personal sinfulness. The avoidance, neglect, anxiety, and self-seeking expressed in everyday~life as sin are seen with much more understanding and insight into one's personal motivation.s and weaknesses. At this point a healing of pain and guilt can take place and the mercy of God becomes an invading presence _bringing with it the experience of reconcil-iation leading to a deep sense of peace and eventually of joy. The new clarity of understanding leads inevitably, for the person who remains faithful in following the new way where God is'leading, to a trans-formation of attitude and behavior. This transformation is a psychiC and spiritual change that invades the whole person, btit rarely does it happen all at once. It involves the abandoning of certain accepted values and untried assumptions regarding personal autonomy, perception of truth, or need for affectivity. Realization of what God is asking in these areas and consequent surrender and acceptance of change usually happen gradually over a period of at least several months. What is happening simultaneously is the ac-quisition of a new set of personal values to replace the old ones, values usually founded on sharpened awareness of the fragility and weakness of the self and a deep sense of awe an~d gratitude at the ways that God's power is at work in weakness. Mary Esthei- Harding describes the psychological change that is taking place at this point: The Spiritual Exercises and the Conversion of Paul / 661 Whenever there is an upsurge of highly activated unadapted material into conscious-ness, the task of assimilation becomes urgent. This holds true whether the new material is valuable, creative stuff or merely alchaic phantasy that bespeaks more a morbid exuberance than a prolific creativity. The assimilation of the new material demands a fresh standpoint, which implies a recognition of the relativity of all former judgments. What was formerly considered unqualifiedly good must'now be judged in the light of,the new and enlarged understanding; the same must be done with that which has been considered bad? The whole experience might be summarized as an awareness of: the goodness of God gratitude sinful actions guilt. need for mercy, forgiveness sinful tendencies fear struggle need to experience love of God powerlessness surrender trust hope And a new awareness of: sinful tendencies new awareness of mercy love motivqtion for sinful power of God acts , need to change There follows a healing and reconciliation peace, joy and a gradual transformation of values, attitudeS, behavior As 'was stated at the beginning, the primary focus of this paper is the spiritual experience of Paul, aRd the previous discussion of the process is by ~ay of setting the stage. Patil's change Of heart is classically spoken of as a "conversion;" The limitation inherent in the use of this term is the restricted sense in which the word is most often used: change of faith or religion or, somewhat more broadly, emendation of a wayward moral life, while the root meaning of the word "conversion' ~ is really something closer to an "about face~'--a total turning of the person from one orientation to another. While Paul's "conversions" certainly did entail a change of reli-gious affiliation, though probably not a change of moral conduct, it must be Understood. primarily in the broadest sense of the term, as a complete overthrow and turn-about of personal values. Because of the ambiguities aPsychic Energy: Its Source and Its Transformation, 2nd ed. Bollingen Series X (Washington, D.C.: Pantheon, 1963), p. 285. 662 / Review for Religious, Volume 36, 1977/5 present.in the word "conversion," it might be preferable to ~pe~ak of the "transformhtion" of Paul in his encounter with the li~,ing Christ.4 Contrary to, what much p0pu,!ar arid undiscrimina.ting piety (and perhaps even the a~uthor of Acts)would,have us think, Paul's transformation did not happen.overnight or even in three days as a careless reading of Acts 9:18-30 might suggest. Paul himself speaks of three years (Ga 1:18).~tran~spiring before he began to preach Christ. There is no reason' to suppose that the process moved along with remarkable speed. We tend to clothe Paul's transformation~ixperien~e in'a thick ~overirig of the miraculous, leaning too heavily on the clear triple account of Acts and too lightly on Paul's own illusive comments. The flash of light, the heavenly voice of the reveals/r, Paul's being struck to the ground, and the mysterious three-day blindness are all stock elements of narrations of divine epiph-anies. For some, miraculous revelations are a stumblingblock and a source of conflict. But for most people today, they are something else: an invitation to disregard. And so what happens°is that someone like Paul, who leaps out at us so humanly in his own writings, becomes relegated to the dim past, to the gallery of "saints" who are not quite as human as the rest of us, to the realm of the "supernatural" dichotomized from that realm in which we ourselves live and struggle. The reason for all this is 'not surprising: we do not have to have the uncomfortable experience of seeingourselves reflected in such a "saint." The ways of God with humanity are as varied as are the persons who seek to know them, and yet there are qualities of our common humanity that remain very much the same. It is for this reason that an analysis'of the transformation process a~ given above, and an attempt to see that process as it happened in Paul are worthwhile. We may be able to see something of ourselves in him and so better understand the ways of God in us. It is a mistake to think of Paul as changing f.rom hardened persecutor to egthusiastic mystic, from~his, blind cruelty to a Christian sensitivity, as though: his transformation, were from sinner to saint. Paul was not a hard man; .he was a sincere and generous man. His pursuit of Christians sprang 4An important article or] the structure and Western interpretations o"f Paul's conversion ex-perience appeared long ~go and attracted considerable nOtice in Protestant Scholarly circles, coming as it did out of a Lutheran interpretation of~Paul; I refer to Krister Stendahl'.s "The Apostle Paul and the Introspective Conscience of the West," Harvard Theglogical:Revi~ew 56:3 (July, 1963), pp. 199-215, an article well worth reading. In recent conversation betwe_en the author arid rfiyse!f there was agreement about Paul's "clear conscience" regarding his former way of life in Judaism (see ~specially pp. 200-201); however, I would not want to stress the idea of "introspection" as the search for personal sin, but would rather emphasize the seeking after awareness of God's action within the person. In contrast to Dean Stendahl's interpretation (pp. 204-205) I would distinguish two aspects of Paul's change of ways: first, a personal transformation, and second, the directing of that new energy toward evange Jzat~on of the Gentiles. The Spiritual Exercises and the Conversion of Paul / 663 not from cruelty but from enthusiasm in the service of God. He was the good and tlpright man whom the Lord loved, and because the Lord loved hii~ so much, he called him to give more. Paul says of himself (Ph 3:5-6) that his family and religious credentials were impeccable and that he had done far more than the minimum required to be a son of the Law. He was without fault in itg r~gard,'fully aware of its value as gift bestowed upon Is-rael as a proof bf God's love. Hi~ sincere thirst for justice miast have led him periodically into the self-scrutiny of the just which produces an awa(eness of personal failings anti sinful tendencies that only deepens devotion as it deepens-an ap~areciation of God's mercy. ,.Then something happened. Whether his encounter with the living Christ was as dramatic as Acts 9 portrays it is doubtful, for Paul nowhere alludes to~,,his experie]ace as containing elements of the sensational,but rather de-scribes it qui[e simply: "Have I not seen Jesus our Lord?" (1 Co 9:1); "I did not receive [the gospel] from a human source nor was I.taught by any but a revelation from Jesus Christ" (Ga 1:12); "God who had set me aside from my mother's womb called me through his grace and revealed his son in me" (Ga 1:15; see Is 49:1; Jr 1:5). There is an undeniable sense of personal encounter and ,call, even for a specific mission, but ~very little impression of fanfare. He found himself at point zero, knocked off his horse more internally than externally, with no patterned defenses or conditioned responses to fall back on that had not been stripped away by a new presence that was relentlessly pursuing him. ,When the realization of whathad happened began to take hold of him, Paul knew he had been changed. Luke's image of blindness approximates in physical.terms what must have been his psychic,state for a period of time: confusion, loss, fear, inner chaos, spiritual paralysis, the terrifying~feeling that hig whole world was coming apart. As he began to surrender to the force that was invading him, he would have become aware that it was a new and unwelcome presence that of Jesus of Nazareth, suddenly: intruding upon his well-ordered world. This is in fact the heart of the experience of brokenness: that Christ manifests himself in a new and unexpected way, and before his demanding presence all pre-conceived structures of life must be put aside. '~ Onc~ he had accepted what was happening, he would have begun to see h~ms~lfin a new way, feeling within himself the slowi3i-dawning and terrible realization that he had misplaced his devotion and misdirected his zeal, the frustration of knowing for the first time that he had beeri turned in a di-rection which, in the light of a new awareness, he had to judge as the wrong way. New understanding Would .have brought about new se'lf-knowledge and a new capacity for radical honesty about the movements of his life, enveloped in deepened awe at the sustaining and patient love of God re-vealed in Christ who was now calling into question the whole meaning of his life. ,664 / Review for Religious, Volume 36, 1977/5 The realization that the love of God has been constant when our re-sponse has been anything but constant, that his forgiveness was extended even before we knew for what to ask it, can be a crushing blow from which the security of the ego never fully recovers. The wound inflicted on it is not cured, as if the tearing never happened; rather, it is healed, brought to new wholeness- not in spite of, but because of the rending. As is often the case, Paul's healing and reconciliation with God were not for his sake only., but that he might lead many others to the same point: "The love of Christ overwhelms us when we realize that one died for all., so that the living should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again., for everything is from God who has reconciled us to himself through Christ and given us the ministry of reconciliation" (2 Co 5:14-18). What is cautiously born then is a'self that must undertake the painful task of she~lding and leaving behind as so much debris much that the former self deemed of value, in order to make room for new value to come. In the case .of Paul the reversal which he had to endure to be faithful to newly-given grace was dramatic and loaded with not only personal but also social consequences: "But whatever was formerly gain to me, I have com~ to consider it loss because of Christ; mor.eover, I now consider everything loss because of the overwhelming knowledge of Jesus Christ my Lord, for whom I have let go of eve~:ything and consider it rubbish in order to gain Christ and be counted with him" (Ph 3:7-9). For him it meant giving up a worldview, religious affiliation, a certainty of being right, a reputation, family and friends, the whole fabric of personal and social relationships that had formed the pattern of his life. Few are called to so drasti6.a change. Yet the most fundamental change must have been one with which many can resonate: the need to reconstruct from broken fragments.a new self, a much more fragile self, like an earthenware jar hollowed out at the center in which "the overflowing power comes from God and not from us" (2 Co 4:7). It is the need to understand and accept the voice of Christ addressed to the prostrate human spirit, "My grace is enough, for strength is brought to fullness in weakness," and to respond by saying, "Joyfully then I will openly share my weakness so that the power of Christ may be revealed through me" (2 Co 12:8-9). It might be argued that the above account of Paul's conversion .and transformation is a fanciful extrapolation based on insufficient data. Yet the essential human experience underlying it is so basic and .universal that no matter in how many myriad forms it is manifested, a true experience of transformation from one spiritual state to another (as opposed to a super-ficial "conversion" that is only temporary because self-induced) has certain fundamentally similar components. Certainly Paul's experience was a trans-formation of this kind. Though he leaves many things unsaid, the pain and fear, the bewildering search, and ultimately the ecstasy of discovering that it is precisely in crucifying weakness that the power of the risen Christ is manifested, come through in the few literary traces he has left. The Spir!tual Exercises and the Converison of Paul / 665 For Paul transformation meant a radical break with the past, with family, home, and faith. For most of us, the break is not so abrupt, and yet the need to abandon old habits of thinking and feeling to make room for new ones still only dimly perceived is a common element. Spiritual directors are plentiful these days, but guides and models in one's spiritual experience are not always easy to come by. An ability to find echoes of one's own life in the jolting experience of Paul may give encouragement and be a cause for that movement of hope in darkness which affirms with him that no matter how chaotic may be the experience of finding out what we really are, for the person who continues trying to hang on the way Christ has hung onto him neither height of blind pride nor depth of despair--both of which can co-exist in the same person--nor any creature of the imagination can ever wrench us away from the love of God that is expressed to us in Christ Jesus our Lord.5 ~See Ph 3:12; Rm 8:39. REPRINTS FROM THE REVIEW Profile of the Spirit: A Theology of Discernment of Spirits by J. R. Sheets, S.J. .50 Retirement or Vigil by B. Ashley, O.P. .30 The Confessions of Religious Wom~en by Sr. M. Denis, S~.O.S. 30 The Four Moments of Prayer by J. R. Sheets, S.J. .50 The Healing of Memories by F, Martin .35 The Nature and Value of a Directed Retreat by H. F. Smith, S.J . 35 The Teaching. Sister in the Church by E. Gambari, S.M.M. .30 The Theology., of the Eucharistic Presence by J. Galot, S.J. .30 The Vows and Christian Life by G. Greif, S.J. .30 New Reprints° Centering Prayer--Prayer o~ Quiei by M. B. Pi:nnington, O.C.S.O .50 Colloquy of God With a Soul That Truly Seeks Him .30 Prayer of Personal Reminiscence by D. J, Hassel, S.J. .60 Orders for the above should be sent to: Review for Religious 612 Humboldt Building 539 No. Grand Blvd. St. Louis, MO 63103' Please include remittance with all orders less than $5.00 A Theology of the Religious Life Local Church and Ladislaus Orsy, S.J. Father Orsy teaches Canon Law at the Catholic University of America. He resides at Carroll House; 1225 Otis St. N.E.; Washington, DC 20017. The text of this article is the keynote address given in New Orleahs at the annual convention of the National Conference of Vicars for Religious, on March 21, 1977. The notes were added later to try to dispel some ambiguities in the text and, elucidate further the author's mind. Saint Thomas Aquinas introduced one of his famous works with the Sen-tence: "A small error in the beginning leads to a great one in the end.''1 In the same spirit of wise caution we can say that the wrong question ~n thee beginning is likely to lead to the wrong answer at the end. Let us transform, therefore, the terse words of the title, "A :Theology of the Local ChUrch and Religious Life," into a question rightly construed, that can lead us securely in our inquiry toward the ans~ver~s that we do not know at the point of our departure. Indeed, the title breaks up quite naturally into three queries: 1. What is our understanding of the local church? (By under:standing we mean tides quaerens intellectum; faith seeking underst.and!ng. Here we mean the knowledge of the local church that is givew t.hroughfaith, and is deepened through our reflection on the data of faiths)z ° ~ ~ 2. What is our understanding of religious life? (Understanding means, here again, knowledge through faith and reflection.) , 3. What is, and what should be, the right relationship between the two? The questions spring quite natur~ally from the title. Yet, I am still not satisfied with them. They shouldbb focused with more care, sharpened with greater precision. Also, they should impose a limit on our rather broad topic, and thus make the discussion of it more manageable for our specific purpose. Let us try again to set the right questions. 666 A Theology of the Local Church and Religious Life / 667 1. What is our understanding of the fact, of the ~event, of a particular church ? There are two significant changes in this new formulation. We seek a better understanding of the fact or event of the church; that is, our'focus is not on an abstract concept, but on an actually existing community of Chris-tians who form a church, although not the:universal Church. Our focus is concrete and existential. Our understanding will develop more from .the observation of the living body than from the analysis of texts. Also, we substituted the term "particular" for "local." The reason for this isthat local church has a geographical connotation and tends to point to a parish or to a diocese, hardly to more than these. The term "particular" allows greater flexibility; it points toward the natural unity of a group of Christians inside the broad,universal community. Such unity may well emergedn a diocese, .but it may well go beyond it and extend as far as an ecclesiastical province, a region, or a country.~ It may even spread over several countries. To seek the understanding of a "particular" church, instead of a "local" church, frees us from narrow boundaries and will allow us to examine the issue in a broader context? But we must impose a restriction on ourselves. We do not intend to exhaust the mystery of a particular church by investigating all its dimen-sions. We want to understand its life in relationship to religious commu-nities. That is all; but, it is a lot. 2. What is our understanding of the fact and event of religious com-munities? Here, too, our focus is concrete. Our primary interest is not in the concept of religious life, but in the real life.of religious communities.4 With a well-defined limitation: we seek the understanding of the life and work of religious communities in their .relationship to a particular church in which they exist, and where they give themselves to the service of the universal church. 3. What is, or what should be, the relationship between the two, a particular church and religious commutiities, in it? We intend to reflect on the living relationship that exists, or should exist, in the b6dy of the church between two diverse members. We seek ihis understanding in view oflntelligent Christian action, with the intention of ¯ finding norms and guidelines for such action. Let us turn now to the first q,uestion. First Question: How Can We Come to,a'Better understanding of the Particular Church? All understanding begins with the perception of facts. For facts about the particular church we must turn to the awareness of Christians through-out- the centuries, from the beginning to our days. Review for Religious, Volume 36, 1977/5 Some historical pointers about the development of the particular church; or, how did the Christian community perceive the particular church throughout its history? In the early centuries, Christian communities developed maihly along the great commercial routes of the Roman Empire. Soon they structured themselves; the bishop presided over the congregation. The local com-munities were closely knit; those were the times when Christians knew each other by name. While they were aware of the universal dimension of their religion, they enjoyed a certain amount of local autonomy,. Yet, right from the beginning, there was a ,movement to bring the smaller communities around the bishop into a larger unity, either under the supervision of a traveling bishop, or under a metropolitan residing in a larger city, usually the capital of a province. Particular churches with their own language, liturgy, discipline and customs, developed, not so much in each~city, but in larger territories that represented a natural cultural unity, They developed different understandings of Christian faith; they created different practices. Of course, those differences did not go so far as to deny or contradict the unity necessary for universality, but they certainly went far enough to give a different character to each of those particular churches.'~ Such trends are clearly discernible well into the Middle Ages. Individual dioceses in most places were too small to give a specific ex-pression to their faith, to create their own discipline; culturally, they were ¯ ¯ absorbed into a larger unity, into the ecclesiastical province or the national church. Thus, the Irish church, from the beginning, wa.s quite different from the continental churches, yet there was not much difference from one diocese to another. The English church, too, had its own characteristics under the leadership of Canterbury. On the Continent, the legal customs of Germanic peoples gave a certain unity to many churches. In Spain, the Mozarabic rite developed and united many dioceses in worship. In France, churches around Lyons formed again a vital unity, distinguished by their liturgy. We could continue the enumeration of such developments, but for the purpose of this article, let us content ourselves with a general statement, that I believe is historically correct. If by particular church we mean a church that has its own specific charisms, its own mind and its own heart within the universal Church, then only a few dio.ceses were truly.particular churches,n Differences in theology, liturgy, and discipline could be found much more between ecclesiastical provinces, regions and territories of nations, than between dioceses. The source of such variety is much more in human culture than in the understanding of faith. With the waning of the Middle Ages, a change takes place. The power of the metropolitan see in the Western church is reduced to a minimu~m. Liturgical worship, preaching, and discipline become strongly unified in the whole Church, even to the point of exaggerated uniformity. The role. of A Theology of the Local Church and Religious Life / 6159 particular churches, be they dioceses, regions or provinces, is reduced to a minimum. Vatican Council II wanted to restore the dignity of the particular church and the bishops sti'essed its importance repeatedly,r ~'et the council was not in a position to do much reflection on the nature of the particular church, on what it has been throughout different periods of.history; it did not tell us how the term should be understood in the future. Indeed,°the developments after the council reflect some confusion, even some contradiction in these matters. In many theoretical writings and commentaries on the council, it is assumed that the particular church is the diocese. Its unity, its specific character, its distinctive vocation are em-phasized. Yet recent developments in liturgical and disciplinary legislation do not give,.much importance to individual dioceses; they give much more power to larger :tinits represented by national or regional episcopal con-ferences. While differentiation on the diocesan level is virtually impossible, ex-cept in insignificant and minor matters, privileges, exemptions, special permissions are easily granted to a larger unit such as a region or a nation. It is clear now that the term "particular church" can be used in two distinct ways. It may refer to an individual diocese, to one congregation around its bishop, or it may refer to a larger unit that comprises several dioceses and possesses a unity that springs from human factors such as culture, history, national inheritance, and so forth. Both uses are legitimate and important. But the meaning ought to be clarified in each case. Reflecting on the relationship of religious communities to the particular church, we cannot sweep away this problem of meaning, calling it purely semantic. The issue of relationship is alive on both levels and brings up different problems that we must face. There is the issue of the rela~tionship of.religious communities to a diocese. But there is also the issue of the relationship of religious com, munities to a larger unit, e.g., ~to the national church, that has its own particular characteristics. In the United States, both issues are alive. Theological reflections on the fact or event of the particular church, or, what is our understanding of a particular church? 1. Christian people throughout their historY were aware of belonging, as it were, to two communities: one, universal, the other, particular. The universal' community is world-wide; it springs from the action of the one Spirit of God, who was poured out on the face of the earth. The entrance into it is through one baptism that is the same everywhere. The particular community is the local one~ For some, the local church means the parish, for some others the diocese, for others again, it may well mean the church in a country. 2. The temptation always existed, and will probably never leave us, to Review for Religious, Volume 36, 1977/5 oppose the two to the point that one is considered important at the expense of the other. But any such consideration is wrong because it tears up the visible body .of Christ. When we speak of the universal Church and the particular ones we. do nothing less.and nothing more than to describe an existing differentiation in the social, body of Christ. His body is one, but it is composed of parts; the whole could not exist without the parts;-and the parts have no life .in themselves. Any separation means death for all; any destruction of natural harmony brings sickness to the whole organism. 3. Paradoxes can be helpful inour attempt to understand such complex differentiation. It can be :said that there is both autonomy and dependence in each member of the body. The particular church is autonomous and yet it depends on the universal Church. The universal (~hurch is itself the source of life for all other churches; yet its vitality comes entirely from the local churches. We may think of the autonomy of the heart in bur body. It will not ~ perform well unless all the other organs let it do what its spec!fic task is; any unwarranted intervention with. the heart,may bring subsequent disaster for the whole body. Yet the heart is totally dependent in its function on the whole body. The rhythm of its beat, the strength of its action, are carefully regulated by numerous other factors and agents present in the living body. If they,.cease . to function, no life-giving blood will flow into the heart. We may not be able to reach~a precise definition for the local church, but reflection through symbols and images can give us a great deal of, under-standing. 4. If we ask now what precisely the source.of differences is among the local churches, we find that it is mainly in the humanity of those Christians who form them, that is, not so much in any specific Christian belief, but in th~ human traditions; history and culture of those who believe. Thus, initially, the Jews and the Greeks and the Romans all received the good news equally, but they built up churches that were marked by their own culture, national customs and characteristics. Thus there were soon Jewish churches, Hellenistic Churches, and churches of the Romans, all part of the "same universal Church, yet all different. .Later, the inhabitants of Ireland, of England, of the Iberian peninsula built their churches on the universal elements of Christian faith, worship, " and discipline, and on the particular elements of tl~eir own inheritance. 5. The situation is not much different today. Here and there, an isolated di6cese may be found that has its own distinctive life as a diocese. The Christian community of a Pacific Island may well develop.distinctive traits that no other diocese in this world can possess. But such cases are rare today. More often there is a regional unity. The dioceses of Alaska form a natural unity that is quite different from their sister churches in the South. A Theology of the Local Church and Religious Life / 671 There" might also be a national unity. The dioceses of Japan are not mark-edly different from each other; the strong unity of the culture and traditions on the four islands is manifest in the particular church of Japan. Even a whole contir~ent can display a unity. How many times in recent years we have. heard the churches of South America speaking with voices that were strikingly similar to one another. There are foundations in South America for a specific particular unity that embraces the Christians of many dio-ceses, numerous provinces and several nations. 6. °Such re°flecti0ns and considerations do not leave us with a clear concept'and definition of what a particular church is; but they leave us with a good working understanding of the complex nature of our Church that is both universal and particular at the same time. Our undei-standing reflects the true state of things and.~e do not become captive of romantic ideas that are definitely present in the .post-conciliar writings. Father Karl Rahner himself stresses that there is church whenever the bishop celebrates the Eucharist, surrounded by his community. Such a ViSion certainly corre-sponds to our earliest traditions, but it is simply not realistic today. Few of the faithful ever partake in the Eucharist'celebrated by the bishop, and the size of the dioceses geographically or numerically makes any such cele- I~ration virtually iml56ssible. Our understanding it not in adopting clear theories. It is much more the perception of the changing, shifting realities of the Chi~rch. That is how it should be. The duty of Chri~tia.ns to uphold the particular church; or, how must we confess in word and deed our belief in the particular church? At this point, two facts stand out. One is that there is no Christian Church without particular churches, as~there is no human body withotit members. The other is that there is no Christian who does not belong, somehow, to a particular church, as there is no individual cell that does not belong,to a distinct organ in the human body. No one can; therefore, belong to the Christian Church without assuming the duty to uphold a particular church, although this duty may well be differentiated according to the condition of each one, as we shall see. There is no direct and immediate entry, into the universal Church, since it is the communio of local churches. Interestingly enough, not even the pope him-self, who traditionally has been called the "Bishop of Rome," or the "Uni-versal Bishop," belongs exclusively to the universal Church. He is not residing in a territory detached from all particular churches, as the Presi-dent of the United States resides in the District of Columbia, detached from any allegiance to any state. The pope is the Bishop of Rome and belongs to that particular, church, while he is also the head of the universal Church. The very structure of the (2hurch demandsthat there should be aduty on every single person to uphold his own local or particular church. The support to a,memb.er church must always be in harmony and good 679 / Review for Religious, Volume,36, 1977/5 balance with the belief and support given to the universal Church. There is no precise measure to determine how much a Christian should give tohis particular community and how much to the universal congregation of the Church. Such measure can only be determined by taking into account a call and a mandate: the vocation of an individual person or of a distinct com~ munity. Even in the case of the same person, of the same community, the contribution can be shifting and changing according to needs, and their existing capacity to give. Now we have come to the point where we can speak .more explicitly about the duty of religious communities to uphold the local, particular church. It is a duty from which there is no exception and no exemption. But the duty is not the same in every group. Religious ins'titutes that are exempt from the jurisdiction of the local or~linary and subject to the direct supervision of the Holy See, have a f9ndamental universality, a call and a mandate to go to local churches where the need is greater.8 They are freed from the power of the local,.bishop, not in order to be total free-lancers in the Church, but to be free to serve~ anywhere in any local church. Because of the universal call and mandate of such religious institutes, their world-wide organization, their capacity to move from one place to another should be respected. But once they are settled within the boundaries of the local church or in the territory of a particular church in the broader sense, they must blend into the local scene; they must even strike roots in the local soil in order to bring forth good fruit. They should not be a source of disruption, but a source of strength.9 Similar considerations apply to'various communities of pontifical right. As a rule their vision goes beyond the limits of a particular church, their aspirations often stretch far and wide. But they too, are at some place and have the duty to serve the people of God there. Then there are the institutes of diocesan right. They dedicate them-selves to the service of the universal Church through serving exclusively near a local church. They are not superior or inferior to the others; they simply have their own distinctive vocation and dedication. The duty to respect.and to serve a particular church SpringS not only from a law imposed by God through the structures of the Church, but also from the respect due to differences manifest in our human nature and in our historical traditions. The upholding of the local church originates in a deep belief in the Incarnation; in the blending of divine and h6man elements in the Christian community. The gift of God may be similar all around but it takes different shapes and forms in various ~places. Second Question: How Do We Perceive Existentially, Understand Rationally, and Be at Home Practically With Religious Communities? The question sounds broad but the focus of our inquiry is strictly cir-cumscribed again. We do not wish to reflect over all the aspects of the A Theology of the Local Church and Religious Life / 673 existence and life of religious communities. We want to know, to under-stand and help them in their relationship to the local and particular (hurch. This is the proper scope of our inquiry. A short survey of the development of religious communities in their rela-tionship to the local or particular church will be good grounding again for further reflection. Our survey will be limited to a few facts arising in the history of the Western Church. The birth and expansion of the monastic movement from the sixth into the ninth century can be described in a somewhat unusual way: the au-tonomous monasteries that sprang up first in Italy, and then on the con-tinent of Europe, also in the British Isles, had much of the characteristics of a local church. The monasteries were cities of God, distinguished from the cities of man. The brethren gathered around the Abbot to offer their praise and thanksgiving to God.~° In some places, the bishop exercised a certain amount of power over them. In other places, due oftrn to distance, the monks lived and died Within their own monastery, with no interference from any ecclesial au-thority. By the eighth century however, the weakness of being alorie and not being in communication with a broader ~egment of the Church became manifest. Signs of decline and decay were setting in. The eighth century that witnessed the movement of Cluny also saw an increasing awareness of the need forgreater unity am?ng religious com-munities. Monasteries of different places, provinces, regions and countries placed themselves under the power of the Abbot of Cluny. Such close unity clearly constituted a new relationship to both the particular and universal Church. In fact, without the help of the church of Rome, that is the pope, they could not have achieved what they did. With Cluny, an organizational breakthrough had been made. In the eleventh century, the movement of Citeaux brought about again a new type of union of monasteries built more on a bond of love than on any legal structure. In the thirteenth century, Francis and Dominic were certainly dedicated servants of local churches, but soon they moved beyond this: they em-o braced the whole of Christendom. They brought their own new approach toward serving both the local and the universal Church. They had a strongly developed sense of universality, without, however, turning their backs on local needs. ~ ~ The sixteer~th century is the time when new continents opened up. Discoverers and colonizers set out to conquer new lands. That is the time of the foundation of the Society of Jesus. The Jesuits seemingly had no allegiance to any local church. They were devoted to the pope. But further examination shows that while they set out on their apostolic journeys, often 1574 / Review for Religious, Volume 36~ 1977/5 sent by the pope himself, for the sake of the universal Church, once they arrived, they went to extraordinary lengths to build and to uphold local churches in India, in Japan, in South America. Paradoxically, they left thei,r native churches to become all to the natives in faraway places.~z The nineteenth and the twentieth centuries bring a new development. There are many apostolic foundaiions; some more for the sake of the universal Church, some definitely for the sake ofparticular churches. Both trends are represented: to serve the universal Church, and to work for the welfare of local churches. Here our historical survey ends and our reflections begin. The ecclesial Character of religious communities; or, hdw are they related to the Church? Our .aim here is to articulate with some clarity an understanding of the obvious fact of history that religious communities exist in the Church and they are in the service of our Christian people. 1. The birth, the development, the existence and the work of religious communities is nothing else than a particular manifestation of the life of the Church.~3 A religious com,rnunity, independently .from the ~:hurch, has no life. When a community prospers, it is growing in the life that was given to the Church. This statement should be stressed today ~ince some religious comn~unities have become soinvolved in reflecting on their own life that they hhve lost sight of the source of their life. They work within a- narrow horizon, and never find what they are seeking so anxiously. Also, once we understand the fact that there is no life in religious communities except what comes from the Church, it is easier to understand the history of those communities which once prospered spiritually but later grew old arid died. There is not necessarily any shame~in that. Human persons too. are born, develop, prosper, grow old and die. God may well call a community into existence to provide for the needs of the times; he may well call another one for new needs. We are not privy to his designs. We should give praise for the vocation we have and should not covet what we do not have. Those who are ~nxiously asking whether or not religious life will survive lock themselves in(o the limits of a wrong question. The right question is: is there an abundance of life in the Church? If so, that life. will manifest itself in new ways that we cannot foresee. There will be always foolish persons around, such as were Francis of Assisi, Ignatius of Loyola, Teresa of Avila, to surprise us, to shock us, and to entice us to follow them. If we put our hope. where it naturally belongs, that is, in the Church, our anxieties may well disappear.~4 ~ 2. A religious community may have many goals, all of them good and right. But there is a built-in purpose in .every community that seeks and obtains approval from the Church. They. publicly proclaim that the words of life are with the visible Church. They want to be publicly recognized by the Church, they want to have their way of life authenticated as good enough to follow Christ. A Theology of the Local Church and Religious Life / 675 The legal formalities of obtaining approval for a new religious com-munity have a deep theological significance. As often happens in the Church, the beauty is all within. A community asks for public incorporation into the strtictures of the Church. Such a quest is the fruit of an act of faith in the wisdom and the power of the Church. When such incorporation is granted, behind the test of the document there is a quiet recognition that the Church has seen grace operating in the community. It is an approval of the way of life of the group, of their service to thee community. The foundation. for the understanding of government and obedience in religious commu-nities is their ecclesial character. The Church gives them a public mandate. When they accept it, they obey the call to service.1'~ 3. Ye~, the mandate from the Church does not make all the ]zommunities the same. Each retains its own particular character and personality. Each is called to serve both the universal and local church in different ways. There are and there will be communities Who have their origin and the scope of their life within a local or particular church. There they were born, there they live, work and die. We all know such groups. Their gift is precious beyond telling.In Lesotho, who can serve the local church better than a congregation of native sisters? There are communities whose organization may spread throughout the ~niversal Church. Members are easily transferred from one place to an-other, according to need. Their vocation is to blend the universal mission with service in one place. The Franciscanor Dominican friars or the Jesuits would be typical examples of'suchcommunities. But let us recall that when a Eurbpean is sent to Japan, and takes up some apostolic work there, his mandate is to affirm and uphold through every available means the church of Japan. Missionary adaptation or "incuituration" is really an effort.to-ward building the local church. No matter how universal the vocation of a commu,nity is, eventually service must be given at a place that is the local or particular church. The duty of the Church to uphold religious communi.tiey; or, how can religious communities be "affirmed by the Church? The Church affirms a religious community through the act of public approval. But that is just the beginning. The initial act should be followed by unceasing help and encouragement to promote the integration of reli-gious into the life of the Church, both universal and particular. Respect for the ,way of life of each group should be the fundamental rule that governs the attitude of the Holy See or of the diocesan bishop. There is no single rule to say how this respect should go. , In the case of a contemplative monastery, respect may ~nean the ap-preciation of the prayers~offered by those monks and nuns, of the sacrifice of their lives. In the case of an apostolic community, the situation is dif-ferent; they are taking part in the practical work of evangelization. The 676 / Review for Religious, Volume 36, 1977/5 Church mandates them to preach, and to perform deeds of charity. They should be given an opportunity to share their experience with others. I.n the diocese, they should=be taken into the planning, even into the decision-making, process. Indeed, there is an ancient tradition to invite abbots of independent monasteries and, a newer practice, to invite superiors general of exempt religious, orders, to an ecumenical council. To have religious present at synods, held either on regional or diocesan levels, would be not only fair and just, bfit it would be according to our traditions, too. Such can be the affirmation of religious life in practice. At this point it is interesting to note that the development from synods to episcopal con-ferences is somewhat a departure from the old tradition of the Church. Surely, the episcopal body has a unique position in the universal Church, and the residential bishop is in charge of his diocese. But the bishop needs the religious to carry out well their own mandate received through their consecration. I~t is, necessary for them to be in steady contact with religious who carry so much of the burden of daily work in the Church and the churches. If reiigious share the pastoral work of the bishops, they should also have some part in planning and evaluating the same work.~ Third Question: What Is the Relationship Between the Particular Church and Rer, ligious Communities, and How Should This Relationship Develop? The relationship between a particular church and religious communities is a dynamic living relationship that must be created anew all the time. Legal norms cannot do more than give a framework that is always in, adequate .to generate life, but good enough to protect life that comes from deeper sources. Legal norms by their very nature are abstract, impersonal, and general. They are meant for typical cases irrespective of the persons inv61ved, and of their historical circumstances. But in real life there are only concrete situations and living persons and communities. The relationship depends on the personality of the bishop on the one side, of the religious community on the other side. They must work out their relationship concerning particular issues,lr Perhaps this.relationship is best described through analogies. The ob~,ious analogy of call and response can be used. The bishop calls on the religious community and asks for help to build the Church, to announce the good news, to do the good deeds of charity. When the re-ligious hear this call they must respond out of their own resources. The response of an enclosed community may well be in offering prayers for the needs of the diocese; the response of a group of Dominican friffrs may well be in preaching in' the diocese. The religious too, may call 'on the local church for help and encouragement; they may well need it. A Theology of the Local Church and Religious Life / 677 They may play another role in the diocese. They may call people to a better service of the Lord. They can act as the conscience of the com-munity. Their independence and freedom allows them to do so, provided they can do so without presumption.18 The analogy of the body can be recalled also. The religious community must find its own identity in the body of the church, before it can function properly. The community is a member of the local church, with its own structure and role. It would not be in the interest of the local church to weaken a member group. On the contrary, it must promote their welfare, It must respect theii- identity, must use them properly for the purpose they have been created.19 Such relationship cannot be regulated 'by the rules of justice only, Justice gives birth to rights that must be respected, and certainly should not be bypassed and neglected: Nonetheless, a living dynamic relationship cannot be created if both sides stand on their rights. Such an attitude would lead to a dead end where all the participants become captive to their own rigidity and: dedication to strict justice:2° ~ Good relationships between the local church and religious living and working in it must be created'continuously by both sides. There is no other way of creating it than by charity thiat means to give. Neither side should ask first what is due to them, but rather what is 'it that they can give to-the other. Only then will there be a new spirit that builds the church instead of destroying it; a new spirit that brings unity to the whole body instead 6f fraffmenting it. ~ Conclusion As we reach our conclusion we may well experience contradictory feelings. On the~one side, we experience frustration. After ali we did not succeed in finding precise rules and fixed principles tO determine ihe relationship of the local church and religious communities. We found only changing ,and shifting patterns and the need to create relationships where they do not exist according to our expectations. On the other side we experience contentrhent because we are guided by the Spirit of God and the intelligence of believers rakher than by rigid rules. After all, the Lord himself did not give many detailed instructions to his disciples. He gave them his Spirit to guide them in all. With the help of the Spirit they have built the Church. They were guided more by a person than by words. Our hope, too, is in a person, in the same Spirit of Christ. He is with us, in the local church and in the religious communities. Yet, our hope is also in the dedication and intelligence of Christian people on both sides, in the local church and in religious communities. They; together, can create their relationship anew. 678 / ReOiew for Religious, Volume 36, 1977/5 By dOing it, they will experiencethe joy of the Incarnation; they will share theagony of the Cross. Yet, throughout it all, they will 'be blessed and will know a contentment that is in a small way the anticipation of the gift of the Resurrection. Notes I. Parvus error in principio magnus est in fine in "De ente et essentia," begin~ning. ~ 2. Such understanding is the fruit of both contemplation and rational reflection. We must first accept the mystery through faith and then seek the understanding of it. 3. We do not intend to down-play the importance of a diocese. It is a natural unit in the church, ,sacramentally and organizationally. Nonethe-less, the life of a given diocese ordinarily does not differ significantly, if at all, from the life of neighb.oring dioceses. But, often enough,.a group of dioceses displays significant differences from the way another group .lives. The local churches of Holland form a unity that is quite distinct under many aspects from the d!oceses of Germany. Organizationally, the division of the universal Church into dioceses is of permanent importance; but, histori-cally, the larger units have played a more importapt role. The term "par, ticul,ar" is used in our text loosely; its meaning is to be determined from the context. At times, it refers to a diocese. More often it refers to a larger unit: to several dioceses grouped together, displaying a common understanding of the mysteries, using similar rites in worship, cooperating closely in apostolic work. 4. The theological principle cannot be stressed enough. We do not begin with a definition; we begin with the contemplation of an event in the history of the Church. We seek to reach some understanding through the con-templative perception of the mystery. Therefore, our vision will never be so complete as apparentlya definition is. Even if we are able to reach a good understanding, it remains incomplete and leaves plenty of possibility for further pr.ogress. 5. As succeeding generations of Christians may focus on different as'- pects of the same mystery, and give practical emphasis to their vision, in a similar way, churches existing in the same historical period may build up differing~understandings of the same mystery, and order their practices acc.ordingly, not in the sense of Contradicting each other, but rather, in the sense 6f completing each other's perception. The same mountain can be looked at. by explorers from the North, and by explorers from the South. Their differing vision of the same mountain is complementary, not contra-dictory. The contemplation of God's mighty deeds in our history, deeds that are certainly permanent, gives rise to perceptions and understandings, that are diStinct and complementary. We see the origin of particular churches in such different perceptions, followed by different practices. A Theology of the Local Church .and Religious Life / 679 6~ At any time of Christian history, a diocese can be called a particular church organizationally. There is one community, with a bishop presiding over it_But beyond any Organization, there is a sacramental unity in the diocese; if the universal Church is a sacrament, so is the diocese. "This Church of Christ is truly present in all legitimate local congregations of the faithful which, united with their pastors, are themselves called,churches in the New Testament" Lumen Gentium, 26. 7." Vatican Council II strongly upheld th6 dignity of, and the right of, the local church.' For instance: "That Church, Holy and Catholic, which is the Mystical Body of Christ, is made up of the faithful .who are organically united i6 the Holy Spirit through the same faith, the same sacraments, and the same government and who, combining into various groups held together by a hierarchy, form separate churches or rites. Between these, there flourishes such an admirable brotherhood that this variety within.the Church in no way harms her unity, but rather manifests it. For it is the mind of the Catholic Church that each individual church or rite retain its traditions whole aiad entire, while adjusting its way of life to the various needs of time and place" Orientalium ecclesiarum, 2. 8. A paradoxical statement; nonetheless it is true; Exempt religious orders mostly used their freedom from local episcopal jurisdiction-to go from,one place to another, either to help the churches most in need, or through missionary activity, to give birth to new churches. Sometimes the privilege of exemption helps specific activities in the service of the universal church, such as, to :sponsor an International School of Theology in Rome or elsewhere. 9.' The strength they give to the local church eventually rebounds to the strength of the whole. 10. To describe the monastic movement in terms o'ffuga mundi, that is flight from the world, only~ is to do injustice to history. Granted that to flee the world was an important motive for people who wanted to join the monastic community, still theii" main motive was to build the city ~of God among the cities of man.°The monastery was as self-contained as the Small cities built on the tops of the hills and mountains of Italy. Yet, there was a difference: praise and thanksgiving were offered, t9 God, day and night. The task of th'e earthly city wasopus hominum, the work of man; the task in the city of.God° was opus Dei, work thai belonged to God. Admittedly, the theme 'of "fleeing the world" is stressed in contemporary monastic lit-erature. But such writings must be contrast+d with documents, such as the Rule of St. Benedict, where the ongoin, g praise of God and his service takes the central place; also, with the fact that the monks did not hesitate to go out into the world "of barbarians in central and northern Europe to bring them the good news of Christ, and to teach them all that they found precious in human culture. A monastery could truly be called a,"local" or "partic-ular" church except, perhaps, for the fact that it was not presided over by 6~!0 / Review for Religious, Volume 36, 1977/5 a bishop. But the monks were dedicated to the service of the universal Church0probably more than they realized. Without understanding their universal orientation, we cannot understand the conversion of Europe. For a wisely controversial book on the rise and fall of religious com-munities, see Vie. et mort des ordres religieux by Raymond Hostie (Paris: Cesclee de Brouwer, 1972). For a classical exposition of the development of religious orders, see From Pachomius to Ignatius by David Knowles (Oxford: Claredon Press, 1966). 11. The Middle Ages, also, saw the foundation of religious orders that were principally devoted to the works of the universal Church. There were orders' to promote the Crusades, or to take part in them; to protect the possession of the Holy Land; to give themselves for the redeeming of the captives, and so forth. 12. Thi~ history ofthe Jesuits shows eloquently that the service of the universal Church can never be separated from the service of particular~ churches, and vice versa. They could not have been more dedicated to the universal Church. They accepted a mandate from the pope, and the pope only. Yet once they established themselves at a given place, they did everything to enter into the culture of the natives. They helped them, in every way that was compatible with Christian faith and the universality of the. Church, to build new churches with strong particular traditions. In China, they devised and fought for specific rites in the vernacular suitable for the Chinese culture and mentality. They attempted to do the .same in India. In South America, they sided with the natives against the con-quistadores, and gave life to local churches within the framework of the so-called "reductions," that is, autonomous Indian settlements leading a strong community life reminiscent, somewhat, of the early church of Je-rusalem. History shows that to serve the tiniversal Church redounds to the good of Particular churches. 13. We like to stress that the life of religious communities is nothing else than a particular manifestation of the life of the Church. There is no such thing as the Church on one side and religious communities on the other, eitherhelping each other inharmony, or being in open conflict. The member is not .separate from the body; all life of the member is the life of the body, Religious life cannot be conceived of as charismatic life independent and separate from the institutional life of the Church. Charisma and structures, although distinct, can no more be separated from each other in the Church than the flesh and blood of a human person can be separated from his bones: The skeleton, ugly and unfriendly as'it is, gives support and proportion to the beauty of the flesh that covers it. Charisma and institutions must work' together. ~ 14. There is no need that is as. great today as the need for purification of our faith in the Church, and the right understanding of what ,kind of A Theology of the Local Church and Religious Life / 681 community Jesus has founded. One conception should be discarded right from the start (in the terms of Karl Rahner, it could be called a "silent heresy"): the Church is a community of holy persons throughout. While it is true that there will always bepersons of extraordinary holiness raised by God among his people, there will always be many in the Church who are sinners, and glorify God by proclaiming his mercy. The Church is a human community, a community of sinners. Yet, because the Spirit of God is faithful to her, she will never lose or corrupt the word of God, provided the proclamation of the word takes place with ~'ull apostolic authority. Human limitations and fragility, however, will always be present and manifest in the Church till the end of time, be it in the hierarchy, be it in the people. To love the Church means to love the community as it is, and above all, to have the internal disposition to give what we can to this community. There is little love in those who continually expect to receive. There is love in those who know how to be compassionate. A religious community is one with the Church if the members are steadily asking themselves what they can give to her so that she can grow in goodness, into a greater likeness to Christ. For a more detailed explanation of these principles, see "How to Be One With the Church Today" in Blessed Are Those Who Have Questions, by Ladislas Orsy (Denville, N. J.: Dimension Books, 1976). Perhaps the best and most rewarding way of acquiring the right theo-logical understanding of the Church is to read and study its history. The real Church, suppprted by the Spirit, is there in its beauty and fragility. A merely conceptual and systematic approach may lead the unwary to a dream--beautiful and unreal. Once a person surrenders to,the dream, he will be frustrated by the harsh and true reality, that is, by the Church as it exists. 15. Indeed, the roots of a theology of obedience in religious life are there in the mandate that the community receives from the Church. There is a sacramental character to such a mandate, since the Church itself is a sacrament. (The seven signs are particular manifestations of the life of the Church.) Obedience to such a.great mandate should not be confused with ob~eying ordinary human rules and regulations that are part and parcel of the life of every community, religious or not. Through the v6w of Obedience, a person gives himself or herself explicitly, visibly, to the Church~ It is the sacrifice of legitimate freedom to accept a mission from the Church in which, behind human~structures, the Spirit of God lives. 16. There are few countries where the health and progress of the Church depend so much on education as in the United States. Much of this ~ork is sponsored, directed, or done by' religious men and women. Yet, when the most important policy-making body for the pastoral life of the Church meets, that is, when the episcopal conference deliberates, or de-cides, religious are absent and are given only a very limited opportunity to Review for Religious, Volume 36, 1977/5 contribute before, during, or after the meeting--a lack of balance, and the Church is poorer for it. °17. It is interesting to note that, with all the ingenuity of canon lawyers at .her disposal, the Church never succeeded in working out clear and entirely satisfactory norms to regulate the relationship between the local ordinary anti,religious communities of pontifical right, or those enjoying the privilege of exemption. Why? Because it is easy to state some theological principles such as: the bishop is the supervisor of~all apostolic works in the diocese; or, religious must be free to i'egulate their internal affairs, and to carry out their apostolate according to their constitutions. But, it is difficult t0 make detailed norms applicable everywhere. Nor will the new proposed legislation overcome this problem. If anything, history proves the insuf-ficiency of strict legal solutions. 18. A religious community of international dimensions can do much to bring a local church out of its own isolation, and to make it aware of the universal Church. The very presence of the members of~a community that works world-wide for the Church is a reminder ~to the faithful that they too belong to a community over which the sun never sets. 19. This implies respect for the particular charism of an institute. The local church should not try to use the religious for work contrary, or alien, to their own calling. 20. While it isright to work for justice, we should never lose sight of the ¯ fact that justice is the minimum of charity. Justice can proclaim what is due to each person and group and does establish a balance in the life of a human community. Yet the stability of an organization built on justice only remains precarious.To achieve contentment and happiness, it is necessary to ttave charity all around. By charity, we do not mean charitable handouts, but strong love that consists in giving, not only advice or things, but ourselves. A society in which each vindicates his or her own fights is built on a shaky foundation. A society in which each one is intent on giving what he has to others, is like a house built on a rock. This is obviously true of the Church, but it is equally applicable to any secular society. The great national'heroes of the past were those who were able to give to others, not counting much what they were giving. From what we just said, rio one should conclude that ttie cause of justice is not urgent, and that we should not work for it. Quite simply, as Christians, we must say that justice, in itself, i.s not_enough. The strength and perfection of love is a vital need for every human being and every"human society. The great idea of balance and welfare through the virtue of justice ought to be completedby the foolishness of love that God revealed through his Son. See the Conclusion in Morale Internationale, by Rene Coste (Paris: Desclee, 1964). For general orientation about the great problems of the world, and for spiritual recreation, all at once, see Return to the Center, by Bede Griffiths (Springfield, IL: Templegate, 1977). From the Center will those actions flow that bring love, peace, and justice to all men. Prayer: Adventure Into the Unknown Cecile Godreau, M.M. Sister Cecile worked for eighteen years in Bolivia where she was active in spiritual direciio~ for young religious. Presently she resides with the M.aryknoll Sisters; Maryknoll, NY 10545. Today there is a thrill at the very thought of the unkno~,n. Is there life on Mars, on Jupiter, or on the planets around other suns? If there is life, is it more advanced or more perfect than the life forms we know? What about our own planet? Are there life forms we have not yet explored? What about ¯ those areas on earth where men have never or rarely ventured?.What secrets do they hold? There was a time when the knowledge of the unknown would have inspired us to build protective areas, or at least, to introduce taboos for safety's,sake. Today we want, and are drawn to venture into, the heart Of the unknown. I would suggest to anyone with a bit of explorer's blood, and ~,h~ has a heart desirous of giving beyond what is often a dull, everyday existence (called life), to join me in a consideration of a great adventure. This ad-venture is so unique and so intensely personal that it is different for each -one. It is so thrilling that the one who goes on this journey will need an eternity to finish it to discoger its source. I mean prayer, God's version of p~ayer, called spiritual life by some, mysticism or i:ontemplation.by others. I call it adventure: God calls: maybe, he proffers a mind-blowing call, the kind of call that, as in the life of St. Paul, knocks us down when we are riding high. Maybe it is a call as quiet as an evening calm. Or, maybe it is a call after a powerful experience in a Common pCayer situation because of, or with, an unusually charismatic person's approach to our weak defenses. Again, maybe it is merely the movings quietly within that crumble all our preconceived plans and leave 683 684 / Review for Religious, Volume 36, 1977/5 us stunned by silence, or the slow and burning love that somehow separates us from our past. It is impossible to mention every situation, for from the time of this very conversion, it is different for each. God knows how best to invite us into the great adventure. Once we have been converted, we are left to find our way into God's country. Like the prophet Elijah, we realize that God is not in the con-version, not in the earthquake or thunder, but in the whispered breeze. Even trees, whose job it is to let us know when a breeze is near, are often u~nmoved by the gentleness of a tiny breeze. But we are made with hearts attunedif we will but go into our hearts to see and hear what is taking place therein. Some stop here. It is difficult to go within. Our culture has worshipped the extraverted, the active, the expressed word. Our people are expected to tell the world how they feel about everything. So it is almost impossible to have a silent center within us. We are not accustomed to going deep within where God is waiting for us. We are afraid to find out how it is to meet God in our'hearts. We are afraid to discover life within because someone may think we are not socially-minded. People may think we are not committed. "Alone in our hearts where God resides" has a scary sound to it, or, perhaps, even neurotic. What is God doing inside when we have been shouting to him from afar? Some break through and come to the God within. For them, He is Father, or Jesus, or maybe an inner awareness or "presence." Here we are bound to kneel in silence. Even our vocal prayer and meditations come to a halt. As the silence deepens, we wonder if it is right to be here. And we need help so often to just sit and enjoy what it is to be with God. Here we need often to be assured like children. We are moved to love so deeply, we may think we are a little "different." We search for others to understand. Often there are few around who dare to talk about this. We are alone and happy, deliriously in love, or quietly secure. Our God is like a mother nursing its child, a child being embraced by a loving mother, or held like an infant to a father's cheek. As we settle down like Peter to build tents for our experience, Jesus reminds us it is time to go back down to the bustle of the city. Our first reaction to move on is, "I thought this was it!" We balk at being born, and we refuse to leave this hallowed place. So God "puts out the lights" so to speak. Here many get discouraged. Yes, they lose heart. Why? Because all was so comfortable. Here people try to find other loves and ways. They are frightened because they think they have lost their faith. "Faith," of course, is the name mistakenly put on the experience of God within. Faith,-in fact, is the stepping out into the darkness that God directs us toward. We "explore" Faith by putting our hand into the hand of the resurrected Jesus to go out and discover what it is to be Jesus, Son of God. We are going to have to molt our skins of the intense joy and the security Prayer: Adventure Into the Unknown / 685 that we had, and we realize that we are vulnerable. To put our hand into the hand of Jesus is not a journey deeper within. It is a journey beyond our human limitations. Here Jesus who directs our adventure gives us self-knowledge. We might get discouraged and have the feeling of one who has climbed too far, too fast. We are aware of our smallness. Yet, Jesus who helps us on our journey is intent on leading u~ onward. When we reach the place he means us to explore, he does a very strange thing. He lets us see our world through his eyes. We might find ourselves somehow knowing what Jesus means in his gospel. Somehow, we tread through life as Jesus did. We, little by little, begin to know ~vhat it meant for Jesus to have been driven by the Spirit. Now we no longer seem drawn within. Our eyes are cast out onto our world! How terribly important each person we meet becomes! We are not sure we are loving others as our-selves, or as Jesus, because we are somehow filled with a compassion beyond our own. We are almost sure our small selves are being used by Jesus. Yet, all along the way, we are aware of the difference. Our real selves come to light. We find fewer and fewer excuses for ourselves, and we are driven deeper into our faith. For some this step is done very quietly, almost imperceptibly. Some cry, "I no longer know if it is me or Christ living in me," while others go deeper into faith, knowing only that they must go on seeking a water to quench the thirst of "Everyman." Here each one is given something of Jesus to use for Others. Little by little, the awareness of self is lost in the dream of bringing solace to others. 'Here we lose touch with our world because it claims to do what we, in fact, are made ~over~ tiy Jesus to really accomplish. We talk a different language, and our agony is this language. We no longer speak as men do who have tongues in cheek. Our new simplicity makes us a target for the clever and the powerful. Yet we seem to be drawn to quietly go on. our wills and intellects, no longer bound up in our feelings, are sharper. We are able to see our. way better than before, and our way takes us, like/Jesus, into the Father's will. We delight in our brothers, whether large, smzll, sinful or ~,irtuous. We ar~ at last able to see the God hidden in each. We know what it is to be Jesus. We begin to desire with all our strength to build a temple to our new-found religion. Jesus will be our Master, and we will do our worshipping strongly for a new world. We will be the Jesus of this world. It seems we have arrived, and yet--yet, God has just brought us to a new faith. It is as though all the experiences we have had were pu! in a vast sea, and we were set afloat in the tiny boat of our new faith. No longer do we feel the strength of God, nor see the glory of Jesus. We are asked to ride a stormy sea in a skiff. There is only one thing to do: trust. We are terrified by our nothingness, as we are compared, not with men, but with God. This death experience is the most terrible and the most beautiful experience of our lives~this realization of what we are without 686 ,/ Review for Religious, VOlume 36, 1977/5 him. The deep peace that has seen us through that dark and light of our lives is a must now, and we hope it is real in this stage of our adventure. Here, too, each person is different, and comes to this at different times. Once we have opted for death, we are given a faith that we never thought possible: No longer a faith held up by our deepest feelings, nor one seeing the progress of Jesus in our lives, but the faith that believes because one holds on to God beyond any reason. We go into the darkness to be pulled out now not trusting ourselves, our "faith," our ways, even our religiosity. We are pulled out swinging from a thread like a string puppet. We go from anger, to despair, to surrender. Surrender, which once sounded so terrifying, is the beginning of life. A dark faith is given us. No longer do we explain, or sing to it, orhold it as a precious keep-sake, for we realize.it is simply gift. We are now ready to walk back with a song to our native home. Nothing can really make us fear again. Our wordless love is for God, the Great Unknown. God, who lias been badlyexplained over and over by ourselves and others, takes us into himself. It is as though welook for our small boat, only to see it has disappeared. We are at the beginning of an intense desire. Longing and homesickness set in to show us how intense ourodesire is for God. Yet, he turns us back to live again among his people. He gives us each a seed to nurture, and when grown, to share the fruits with others. Some are so overwhelmed by this that they fall into silent prayer, agonized with the weight of their message. Others are filled with speech, a babbling speech, yet a speech that can be recognized as a song of God. One can open one's eyes and God has grown unlimited. We hasten to meet him, only to find that at this point, he spreads out in all directions. One is surrounded by God, silence, and it will take an eternity to begin to explore, to begin our adventure into this great unknown. How much we desire to begin to go towards our deepest love, and at least arrive at the first steps toward an eternity of ~urprises, peace, and our Source. We are willing to live a thousand years, if that be what he desires. We ~ealize that creation needs our new song which we, like God's trou-badours, will sing, with hearts somehow free and waiting, in this new-found peace, his last call. An Apostolic Spirituality for the Ministry of Social Justice Max Oliva, S.J. Father Oliva is the Director of Social Ministries for the California Province of the Society of Jesus. His special interests are the theology and spirituality of Social justice. He conducts workshops on these two themes as well as on. other aspects of social justice. He is also Associate Director of Field Education at the Jesuit School of Theology at Berkeley. He ~resides at the Jesuit School of Theology at Berkeley; 1735 LeRoy Ave.; Berkeley, CA 94709. Introduction We hear a lot of discussion today about the need to promote justice in economic, social and political structures. It takes only a cursory reading of the Bishops' Synod Statement, "Justice°in the World," tofind the Church issuing this call: Listenihg to the cry of those who suffer violence and are oppressed by unjust systems and structures, and hearing the appeal of a world that by its perversity contradicts the plan of its Creator, we have shared our awareness of the Church's vocation to be present in the heart of the world by proclaiming the Good News to the poor; freedom to the oppressed, and joy to the afflicted) How does one pursue social justice in the light of one's faith? How do we in.corporate and integrate the important ingredients of our own need for personal contact with marginated and oppressed people and the ongoing process of conversion that each of us must undergO? Row do we bring about a balance between our faith and our practical efforts for changing structures? This article offers some reflections on an apostoli~ spirituality for changing social structures, a ministry which can be a part of anyone's life and ministerial vision. The thoughts expressed here are the result of the tSynod of Bishops, 1971, "Justice in the World," page 1. 687 61111 / Reviewfor Religious, Volume 36, 1,977/5 author's reflection on his own ministry, both in inner-city Black commu-nities and in efforts to change social structures,z What do we mean when we talk about changing social structures? The most obvious example of structural change that comes to mind is the effect that a state or federal law can have on a whole range of institutions and the people in them. Take, for example, the Equal Employment Opportunity Act, which has had the effect of requiring businesses to hire minority and women workers, in responsible positions, or lose federal contracts or be taken to court in civil action suits. The ordinary citizen's role in promoting such a law might have been to draw attention to the injustices present before the law was passed by some kind of advocacy effort. Another example of structural change, again in the world of business: ~in the 1960's, many companies had as one of the standard questions on their applications forms, "Have you ever been arrested?" To the person ap-plying for work from an economically depressed area, this question was an automatic "No" to a possible job since many had been arrested. However, relatively few people had ever been convicted. Successful efforts were made to convince companies to change the word, "arrested," to, "con- .victed," thus opening the job market to a large segment of the community who had up to then been ex.cluded. Closer to home, changing structures m~ght involve affecting admission policies in a religious school so that more min.ority students might be able to attend, or, influencing a province so that an essential criteria for being a superior would be that she or he is strongly committed to justice. In both of these cases, an individual's action can have results that change the structures involved and thereby affect many people in the process. Basically, structures, systems and institutions of society are the frame-work in which human relationships--personal, political, economic, cultur-al~ take place. Social justice seeks to assess the worth of social structures and systems in view of how they impact the lives of people in them, or exclude people from them, and calls for personal responsibility for these structures. There are many ways to influence social structures, be it through actions to promote just state or national laws, be it efforts to affect international systems, or by way of altering a policy in one's own institution or com-munity. Whatever the means chosen, certain basic dispositions are neces-sary for such efforts to be realistic and, thus, effective. The first and pri-mary disposition is to be on the side of the economically po, or and politically powerless, as an advocate for their rights. In St. Matthew's gospel (15:29-31), we find Jesus sitting on a moun-tainside. There, "large crowds of people came to him bringing with them ~'i'he author is also indebted to Workshop participants who have given valuable feedback to the ideas expressed in this article. A Spirituality for the Ministry of Social Justice / 689 cripples, the deformed, the blind, the mute, and many others besides. They laid them at his feet and hecured them." What is particularly striking about this scene is not so much the cures, though, of course, these are marvelous signs of God's presence, but that Jesus actually, physically, touched these people: the crippled, the deformed, the blind, the mute--the marginated and outcasts of his time. Today, we, because we are Christians, are called to do the same, to touch the poor and oppressed of our day, those who are often different, from us by economic background, by color or culture, by education, perhaps by some kind of physical or mental handicap. To touch these, people means to have some ongoing personal contact with them, in order tolearn from them--their needs, their suffering, their aspirations, and their richness. To touch these people involves, paradoxically, a healing in ourselves, a deliverance from our prejudices, convictions, and attitudes, an escape from apathy, and an awareness that has deep within it a sense of urgency that justice be done. Such personal contact insures that our com-mitment be an "affair of the heart." Such contact is essential if our ministry of changing unjust .social structures is to be realistic, that is, meeting real needs. This ongoing personal interchange with oppressed people and an alert analysis of the structure we wish to change are basic dispositions for a ministry of changing social structures, be our work in schools, hospitals, a parish, retreat house, mass media, social ministry, or whatever,z Some Basic Principles The cycle of poverty is often described as consisting of: apathy--aliena; tion frustration--ignorance--hunger---despair. These words can also be used to describe our own state of mind and heart as we contemplate unjust arid dehumanizing structures. The problems seem so vast, the structures so complex, that we simply despair of moving at all to influence or try to change them. We need to begin our consideration of an apostolic spirituality for social justice ministry by taking a close look at some basic principles: 1. That each of us can be part of the change process for a more just world: by our choices, by our life-style, by our life-stance. No issue is so ambig-uous, no structure so complicated that we are unable to do something to influence it. ,~ 2. That other people--those we live with, those we work with, our stu- 3Personal contact with oppressed people, is also necessary for one-on-one kinds of service, such as spiritual direction, for the purpose of such ministry is to help the person clarify and deepen his relationship with God and challenge, when appropriate, the way the person lives out this faith in relation to the world. The director can be an excellent resource for helping the person being directed to see the intimate connection between faith and social justice and to discover ways she or he might effectively act to change unjust social structures. It is only by realizing this connection in his own life that the director will effectively communicate this message to the one being directed. 690 / Review for Religious, Volume 36, 1977/5 dents, parishioners, retreatants, fellow workers--can be reached and can change in their attitudes, in their values/in their standard and st.yle of life. Why? Because, like us, they are of good will. True, like us, they suffer from ignorance about those who are poor, are often insulated from those who are economically poor and politically powerless, and sometimes accept myths about the poor as truths. Still, they do not deliberately will the destruction and dehumanization of others any more than we do. They, too, seek hap-piness, peace and justice. And, like us, they sometimes get too caught up in self-interest or ignore the social dimensions of their actions. But if we can change, can become more socially conscious, more committed to justice, so can others. 3. That because of God's personal love for each of us, we are each im-portant in the process of building the kingdom of God, a kingdom initiated by Christ and commissioned to us, his followers, to carry on and build, a kingdom which fosters human dignity and equality, and which values hu-man-. development. , 4. That the Spirit is working in and through each of us even as we take small steps to change structures, and can work in ever new ways as we become more resolutely inserted into the world of the marginated and the oppressed. ~. 5. That other people---other religious women and men, diocesan priests, laypeople, Christians of.every denomination, and non-Christians too-are at work, acting for peace and justice, realigning their life styles, taking a critical stance toward the structures of society. This gives us hope. The Center of Our Commitment We are called to this ministry of changing unjust social structures by Jesus Christ, who works with us and whose Spirit is the source of our courage, wisdom, power and hope. God the Father is the center of our lives, the focal point of our identity: his personal love isthe basis of our worth.4 He is our Rock, our Foundation, our Beginning and our End. He is the One for whose sake ultimately we are engaged in the struggle for justice. ~ The more God is our center, the less chance do the idols that attract us and keep us from a commitment to justice hamper our ministry, idols such as popularity, "success," reputation, endless analysis, and the '.;good life." The more God is our center, the more effective will be our ministry of justice, for it will become ever more clearly his work. Because God is the center of our lives, we can develop the kind of apostolic qualities that are necessary for an effective ministry of justice. ~The author realizes that not all people relate to God, as Father,. as the center of their lives. This is the way the author relates to Gbd. To respect this difference, the word "Father" will only be used this once in the article. A SpiritutJlity for the Ministry of Social Justice Let us now consider some apostolic qualities that can help render our actions more fruitful. Apostolic Qualities for Our Ministry of Justice Because God is the center of our lives, we can be radically open: open to growth--intrapersonal, interpersonal and societal (our relationship to human.environments, structures, institutions and processes, especially of asocio-economic-polifico-cultural character). Open to new ~concepts and ideas, such as social sin and social grace, Liberation Theology and the use of Marxist tools of analysis for studying the structures in our socie[y. Open to face uncertainty and fear as we come into personal contact with the marginated and the oppressed people in our society and the environments in which they are forced to live. Open to face our own prejudice, racism and sexism as, they are manifested in attitude and language. Open to face our value addictions as they are reflected in our consumption patterns--the kinds of things we buy and.~why--and in our life style. Open to the pos-sibility of being misunderstood, even rejected, by those ~ith v~hom we speak about issues of justice, be they members of our family, our com-munity, or our constituents. Because God is the center of our lives, we can ~have a capacity for critical reflection such that no ideology, no system or way of life is "sa-cred" (or defines who we are). None can be free of scrutiny, challenge and, if needed, reform, be it: socialism, communism, capitalism, the American way of life and its values, the Church, our own community or the work of our apostolate, Because God is the center of our lives, we are not afraid to face the fact that we are converts to our ideas of justice and the actions we undertake for justice. Thus, we are capable of being ruthlessly honest with ourselves, neither becoming self-righteous nor bitter or cynical. Being honest in this way enables us to have what Thomas Cullinan calls "patient endurance,''~ a uniquely, Christian virtue, which is centered on Christian hope, without losing a sense of urgency that justice be done. Because God is the center of +ur lives, the focus in exercising our ministry of justice is not on "success" as we usually define it. Our success is in the doing or saying what we know we must say to be true to our convictions and the needs of oppressed people. Like the prophets, the doing or not of some word, some action, is not based on peoples' reac- 5Thomas Cullinan, O.S.B,, If the Eye Be Sound (England: St. Paul Publications, 1975), page 121, This is an excellent work of modern spirituality. In particular it uncovers the theological and spiritual foundations on which a socially committed Christianity must be built. Dom Tfiomas Cullihan, O.S.B., is a monk of the Ampleforth community, in England, and a member ¯ of the Commission for International Justice and Peace of England and Wales. Available: Catliolic Institute for International Relations; I Cambridge Terrace; London, NW I, England. 692 / Review for Religious, Volume 36, 1977/5 tions--be they affirmative or negative--not on how many people like us more or not, not on how many people ag~'ee with us more or not, but on being congruent with who we are before God, as we discern it in prayer and consultation. It is the virtue of integrity. Because God is the center of our lives, we can ~possess an habitual facility of discernment. In our ministry of social justice, there are two basic areas of input for our process of discernment. (1) The first element of our input is grasping the "signs of the times," that is, the cries of the poor and the oppressed of our world, their struggles,, their needs, their aspirations, their problems and the causes of these problems. Such knowledge and, more importantly, unders~tanding comes, as we said before, primarily by way'of some ongoing personal contact with economically poor people and those who are politically powerless and is supplemented by books and articles, films, workshops, or whatever means serves to increase our con-sciousness of the problems. Then each of us must lobk closely at her Or his talents, gifts, personality, ministerial strengths and weaknesses, and the kind of ministry she or he is involved in. In a spirit of prayer and with ~:onsultation, then, the discernment-reflection process gradually, organi-cally, and continually enables eiach of us to make action-choices for justice from where we are. For some, such action will involve integrating, social justice into classes taught or into the administration of a school or a hos-pital; for others, it will mean some kind bf political action or public protest. For some, it will mean homilies or retreat talks that show the intimate relationship between one's ~faith and a commitment to act for justice; for still others, it will involve direct service in an inner-city or rural, community or Third World country. Because God is the center of ou~ lives, we can ask him to fashion in us a heart for the oppressor as well as for the,oppressed. Injustice kills the perpetrator since exploitation, tyranny and oppression are sighs of death, spiritual death. We love the oppressor when we oppose with all our strength her or his spiritually suicidal behavior of oppression. With God's help we can enter every heart. For the po. or, we strive to win rights and the freedom to develop humanly; for the rich, we strive to win moral development. It is important to note, though, that the way in which one manifests one's concern for the oppressor will differ according to the kind of ministry one is involved in. The community organizer's way, for example, will be dif-ferent from the high school teacher's. Each develops a heart for the op-pressor in the context of her or his own situation. Because God is the center of our lives, we can have empathy with those who are economically and politically oppressed. Empathy is the'ability'to see life through the eyes of others. In our ministry of social justice it is seeing life through the eyes of the poor. It demands personal contact with people who are poor. It necessitates our taking a "learning stance" in the presence of oppressed people, listening to their needs, their suffering, being A Spirituality for the Ministry of Social Justice / 693 willing to be continu'ally educated by their life experiences and their contact with human misery. Empathy is the key to understanding and thus to be able to demythologize our views on why people 'are poor. Finally, empathy is the way to true solidarity and effective advocacy. Because God is the center of our lives, we can have a freedom from attachment---in the face of anything which is not in line with our primary goal: the will of God and the building of his kingdom, a kingdom which values and promotes human dignity, equality and development. Having our foundation in God allows us to be free from attachment to. any cause or issue, any insight or pre-conceived plan of action, any request, for action, or even our own fear of acting. It is the "single-heartedness" of the Be-atitudes. Finally, because God is the center of our lives, we can have a capacity for suffering--what Jos6 Magafia says in his book Ignatian Exercises: A Strategy for Liberation, "to rejoice in sufferings because they are the hallmark of every ,genuine liberating commitment.''6 Such a capacity en-ables us to make the fundamental Christian option of becoming advocates for the rights of oppressed people. It is also, obviously, intimately bound up with the preceding eight apostolic qualities and with the effort it takes to keep God as one's center. A capacity for suffering is essential for each person~s ongoing process of conversion, and we are all called to conversion: "It is too easy to throw back on others responsibility for injustices, if at,the same time one does not realize how each one shares in it personally, and how personal conversion is needed first.''r Just what is conversion ? One of the clearest descriptions the author has read is the following from Fr. Pedro Arrupe, S.J, Conversion is getting rid of something so that something else can take its place. It is getting rid of everything that prevents us from being filled with the Holy Spirit. Conversion, then, is a change; a change tfiat takes place deep inside us; a radical change. Let us make no mistake about it: there is nothing supdrficial about conver-sion. It is not, for'instance, deciding, after a somewhat more fervent retreat, to "give something to the poor," or to be a little more generous to one's "favorite charity." This is a praiseworthy thing in its way, but it is not conversion. Conversion is not a giving of something that we can well afford to lose. It goes much deeper than that. It is a putting away of something that we are: our old self, with its all-too-human, all-too-worldly prejudices, convictions, attitudes, values, ways of thinking and acting; habits which have become so much a part of us that it is agon.y even to think of parting with them, and yet which are precisely what prevent us from rightly interpreting the signs of the times, from seeing life steadily and seeing it whole.8 ~Jos6 Magafia, S.J., Ignatian Exercises: A Strategy for Liberation (New York: Exposition Press, Inc., 1974), page 117. rPope Paul VI, 1971, "A Call to Action," page 28. 8Pedro Arrupe, S.J., "Witnessing to Justice" (Vatican City: Pontifical Commission Justice and Peace, 1972), pages 25-26. 694 / Review for Religious, Volume 36, 1977/5 Our call to conversion as we pursue our ministry of social justice is not a one-time happening, it is an essential element of the Cross-Resurrection dynamic that permeates our lives as Christians. And conversion does in-volve suffering as well as joy. With God as:our center, we can have the courage to face our own need for conversion and the suffering that ac-companies it, Such suffering is redemptive. Conclusion We are,' each, called to a ministry of justice, but our ministry must take place in the rootedness of our faith lest we become simply good humanists or philanthropists. Our commitment must be founded in the love of God and the "Good News" of his Son. Although this may seem to be an evident" premise, it is easy to lose sight of once we become involved in actual work. We depend on one another for support, for.challenge and tolerance. And we are nourished in our commitment to act on behalf of social justice by our prayer and the Eucharist: in prayer, for it is here in the quiet moments that we can face the reality of just who our center is-~ourselves or God; in the Eucharist, because it strengthens us to face our timidity and fears, it calls us out of ourselves to be, like Jesus, persons for others. Now Available As A Reprint Prayer of Personal Reminiscence:' Sharing One's Memories with Christ by David J. Hassel, S.J. Price: $.60 per copy, plus postage. Address: Review for Religious 612' Humboldt Building 539 North Grand St. Louis, Missouri 63103 Taking the Long View Francis X. Hezel, S.J. Father Hezel is director of the Micronesian Seminar. based in Truk; Caroline Islands; Trust Territory, Pacific 96942 Not too long ago a gentleman visited these islands offering a new eight million dollar college as a gift to the Micronesian people from the U.S. Congress. His offer met with an enthusiastic response almost everywhere. At last Micronesia would soon have its own four-year college! Not a con-ventional college, but one that would be specially tailored for providing training in vocational skills or whatever else is judged to be educationally relevant. I was dismayed by the uncritical enthusiasm that greeted the visitor's offer, well-intentioned though it was. Don't people here know, I asked myself, that the new college will cost almost two million dollars a year to operate? A tidy sum, considering that the total amount of local revenues generated in the Trust Territory is only seven .million dollars at present. Isn't this gesture, I thought, a bit like making a gift to a poor friend of a good-sized German shepherd to guard his house, letting him know as you walk out the door that the animal eats five pounds of meat a day? tin any case, would a new four-year college of any kind help solve the burning question of how to promote economic development? Diplomas abound in the Trust Territory and marketable skills are on the increase. The real problem, of course, is jobs; and this won't be solved by adding another expensive education mill. As long as the goal is to develop Micronesia's resources and make the islands more productive, a new college with an increased capacity can only make a bad situation worse. If you want a person to spend his life in a fishing boat or on a farm, the worst thing you can do is plant him in a chair for another four years. He will very likely never get out of it afterwards. 696 / Review for Religious, Volume 36, 1977/5 Its the old story, I said to myself. Another."gift" from abroad; more hidden costs, social and economic; and the dependency rut gets deeper and deeper. How is it, I wondered,th~at this familiar story is repeated over and over again, even by individuals and groups that profess a commitment to self-reliance? Surely some of them must see the long-range effects of these projects. Consider the response to the Headstart and Old Age Programs, to use as examples two federal programs designed to benefit opposite ends of the population. No sooner was the Trust Territory made eligible for federal funds under these titles than every district opened an office, applied for government money, and began an earnest search for ways to spend it. The immediate benefits of the two federal programs were all too obvious: food for the young and the old, an income for those on the payroll, travel abroad for program directors and their understudies, and the promise of other good things to come. But how about the fact that the~palates of the young were being ha-bituated to breakfasts of tomato juice and doughtmts? What about the danger of families abdicating their strongly-felt traditional responsibility to provide for the elderly? Or the risk of weakening family and community ties, as still another responsibility of theirs is surrendered to a government agency? Then, of course, there is again the matter of furthering the eco-nomic dependence of Micronesia on a global superpower that has military interests to maintain. Somehow these last questions were overlooked in the rush to expand the district payroll and get money rolling in. A paycheck and cases of corned beef are just a bit more real than such intangibles as family bonds and ,psychological dependence. - Do I sound a trifle "anti-progress," or possibly even cynical?.Then let me make a public confession. Neither I nor the staff of the small private school of which I am director have altogether resisted the temptations of "easy money" from abroad. We are receiving federal funds from the six-million dollar Federal Feeding Program, as are virtually all public schools and a good many 'mission schools as well. To understand how an abomination of this sort ~might have happened, you would have tO put yourself in the shoes of a school administrator who is wondering how he will make it to the end of May. without going broke. Local support groups have not come through, the school accounts are just about exhausted, and bills continue to pile higher on his desk. Just then, in walks a federal program officer with a sheaf of papers in hand who proudly announces that he has funds to cover the entire cost of the school feeding program for the year. To the beleaguered school.administrator it is a heaven-sent answer to a pressing problem. Naturally he signs on the dotted line, heaves a sigh of relief, and then settles back to wait for the first check to come. ~ Taking the Long View / 697 That, however, is only the beginning.'A year later the school admin-istrator has to decide whether he shall continue to participate in the feeding program. He knows very :well that the 25 thousand dollars he receives will not raise the nutritional quality of the food one bit. Healthy food is some-thing that teenaged boarding students must have in ample quantity, no matter hbw financially hard-pressed the school may be. He knows that the Feeding Program of which his school is a beneficiary can only further re-inforce the "handout" mentality of a people long accustomed to looking to Washington to pay all their bills. He recalls with a shudder all that he has read and heard about the stifling welfarism of Indian reservations. But he calculates that an additional 25 thousand dollars a year would allow him to build a garage, a maintenance shop and new water tanks which he thinks that the school may need. And so, dismissing the uncomfortable concern he feels for remote consequences, he signs on the dotted line just as he did the year before. Like the others in the examples cited earlier, he has responded to the immediate need and left the future to take care of itself. Micronesia teems with persons like him (or should I say me?) whose decisions are based on answering today's needs at the expense of the future. Jobs, schools, roads and the like occupy our exclusive attention while the hidden costs of these "improvements" and the nature bfthe funds that finance them go uncalculated. This preocc~ipation with the sho~'t-term rewards might be called the national disease of Micronesia and it has infected every part of society. The employee who drinks up his paycheck, on Friday and Saturday to the sorrow of his family for the following two weeks shows acute symptoms of it. So does the fish dynamiter who pulls in his haul, rubs his belly, and leaves the shattered reef to repair itself---in twenty years time. Then there is the young college student who spends the two days before his semestral exams emptying Budweiser cans with his friends, and a week hence is looking for plane fare home from college. Is it simply an accident that a couple of years ago the theme song of the islands seemed to be "Help Me Make It Through the Night?" The people of an island press for Congress of Micronesia funds to erect a seawall, conscious only of the money that will make its way into their pockets, but unmindful of the damage to their sense of community that loss Of locally sponsored labor projects will inflict. Congressmen vote to ap-prove high-cost capital impr6vement projects to be funded by the U.S. knowing full well that the cost of maintaining these facilities will be a financial burden to Micronesia in later years. Top,level policy-makers cam-paign for higher wages for government employees, thereby undercutting any real hope of inducing young people to take up less lucrative but much-needed work in commercial agriculture and fishing. And ,everyone-- parents and educators alike---encourages the greatest possible number of 69~1 / Review for Religious, Volume 36, 1977/5 high school graduates to go off to college without the least idea of how they will occupy themselves when they return. Entrepreneurs with an eye for a fast dollar build supermarkets, bars aid moviehouses, thus helping to send the annual level of imports soaring still higher. Prominent businessmen who are. instrumental in bringing tele-vision into their islands make a killing on sales ofTV sets~ leaving the social consequences anti'the economic effects on families for others to handle. Political decisions, I fear, are made in much the same way. Nothing can convince me that the people of the Marianas, when they signed their Cove-nant with the U.S. two years ago, were as fond of the American Eagle as the dollar on which it 'appears. Yet money buys good things, as I have already ungrudgingly admitted. Whether, however, it will also purchase an enduring social bliss for the Northern Marianas remains to be seen. I have never heard or read a cogent explanation of what any of the separatist districts wants politically and I have despaired of ever doing so, although it is well-known what those districts expect by way of fiscal gains. I can only assume that they desire for themselves whatever their generous benefactors~ desire for them--whether these bene.factors be America, Japan, Nauru, or the Sheikdom of Aden. Surely it would be difficult to maintain that their decisions are. models of political far-sightedness, whatever else they may have to recommend them. But the rest of us are in no position smugly to point an accusing finger at those districts that have sought greener pastures---or, to be more exact, greener bankrolls--elsewhere. Which of the remaining' districts can hon-estly say 'tha~it would not have jumped at the chance to do likewise, had the opportunity been offered? We all seem to have fallen prey to this obsession with the immediate pay-off. It may be that this is an all too human weakness, but it is a frightening irony that our failings should be rationalizedqn the name of "progress" or "development." If development implies anything at all, it suggests a forward-looking approach---one that is as concerned with to-morrow and 20 years hence as with today. With the coming of foreign currency to these islands a century and a half ago, Micronesians were for the first time able to accumulate a surplus, to hoard, to save and invest. Money created the possibility of a "tomorrow" in these islands. By a strange irony, however, foreign money is now being used to freeze us securely into the present and to anaesthetize us against a concern for the future. Not that money, jobs, education, material improvements, and even federal programs are evil in themselves. The real problem is that these and other short-range benefits are so alluring that they overpower more distant considerations. And when they are offered to any of us gratis, their at-traction is practically irresistible. An announcment is made that some new federal program is offering funds to establish national parks, buy library books, or develop curricular materials for teaching the metric system. We Taking the Long View / 699 run to our desks' and concoct a proposal that will enable us to receive our share of the funds. Why not take advantage of a windfall while it lasts, we reason to ourselves. The trouble is that the objectives we set down for our programs can all too easily be inconsistent with or even run counter to broader develop-mental goals in ttie Trust Territory. There's certainly no harm in securing federal money to build a museum in which traditional artifacts will be displayed., or in providing emergency assistance for' rebuilding houses after a typhoon, or in putting up a new sports center at U.S. expense. But we must not be surprised if the cu-mulative effect oUall this on the community is to teach people that Santa Clauscomes to Micronesia every day of the year. Over many a desk in headquarters is posted the inspiring adage: "Give a person a fish and he has a meal today. Teach him how to fish and he has food for the rest of his life." It is very easy to understand how this lesson can be lost on our people today in the face of the mammoth give-away program that enervates our com-munities even 'as it showers on'them its material "blessings." Buyit~g canned federal programs is a lot like buying canned fish. It is inexpensive, convenient and satisfying---an eminently sensible thing to do. But there, are still those hidden costs to be reckoned, as we know only too well. Whether we weigh these costs in making any initial decision or not, they are bound to catch up with us in the end. Those of us who ~take a dim view of ~anned programs funded from abroad---and I include myself hereto so on the grounds that their long-term costs usually outweigh their immediate benefits. These "costs" can be conveniently grouped under three bro~d headings: social, economic and political, although some would want toadd "environmental" as a fourth heading. Let me now suggest a few examples of each. Regarding social costs we may say this. Programs that introduce into a community a substantial amount of money to build a road, erect a com-munity center or feed schoolchildren all too often bring about the pyscho-logical or social impoverishment of the community that they are intended to help. This happens when members of the community decide that it is more profitable for them to sit and wait for things to happen rather than initiate devi~lopment projects oftheir own. At this point, cooperative work by families on community projects sharply declines, and so does what we commonly call "community spirit." When most of its responsibilities are pre-empted by government agencies and alien institutions, the community simply loses confidence in its own effectiveness to achieve anything of real value. The same may be said of the family. As it relinquishes its respon-sibility for feeding toddlers, schoolchildren and the aged, the ties among its members will almost certainly weaken. The obvious question that must be asked of every development project, then, no matter what the source of funding, is whether its effects will be to increase or diminish the social fabric and sense of purpose of the community. 700 / Review for Religious, Volume 36, 1977/5 ¯ Micronesians commonly refer to their islands as "poor"--that is, as lacking adequate income to provide for themselves much of what they regard as desirable. For this reason, there is usually a mad rush to obtain whatever haaterial benefit~ the U.S. or any other country might offer by way of assistance. What is often overlooked, however,, is that certain gifts may make us poorer rather than richer. Expensive hospitals, water systems and airports are also expensive to rriaintain year by year--and the future budget of a "poor" group of islands is bound to be very limited. Moreover, some improvements can require an expanding network of expensive facilities and social services to support them (or clean up the social mess they have made). Take,the case of a costly new high school that is built of sufficient size, to allow all school-age youth in the area to enroll. Soon after the new school opens discipline problems multiply, since there are clearly a large number of misfits who have been accepted in the cam-paign to make secondary education universal. To keep the poorer students in school, a special program for potential dropouts is funded through a federal grant. A recreation center is built and new staff is hired to moderate the center's activities. Social therapists are trained---at additional expense-- and hired to counsel "hardcore" problem students. Mental health facilities and referral centers are established through still another program. In short, everything.possible is done, at prodigious expense, to keep in s~chool young people who never wanted to be there in the first place, As social services and physical facilities proliferate along with the pro-grams that support them, Micronesians are gradually led to believe that a society without expensive gadgetry and quackery is entirely impossible. To have a school without sliding classroom dividers or a hospital without sophisticated laboratory equipment becomes unthinkable. It is no wonder that Micronesians have come to believe that they can't live without an extravagant subsidy from abroad! Naturally this means that they will have no recourse but to continue living in the shadow of the American eagle--with all that this implies politically and militarily. Very few decisions today are simple decisions. Most have far-reaching implications on the future social, economic and political order in these islands. We know this only too well, of course, but all of us still must adjust to making decisions at times as if there were no tomorrow. Until all of us learn honestly and openly to weigh the long,term effects of our choices, not just count the immediate gains; we will be deluding ourselves