I suppose that when one states, as we did in our first issue, that ones goal is to save the world, it ought to be expected that some people are going to view the enterprise as unrealistic and utopian. When one goes on from there to print essays which, among other things, question the modern world to the extent of criticizing the invention of the automobile or recommending farming with horseswhich we do in this issueit is only natural to expect that some people will respond by rolling their eyes, or at least raising their eyebrows. While noting that the writings in these pages dont always necessarily speak for me, and without presuming to speak for our writers, who reflect the diversity of our readership, I would like to address some of these reactions.
That initial essay (which we have come to call our manifesto) also stated our desire that Caelum et Terra become a locus of conversation. If we print an essay it is because we consider it a thoughtful contribution which is within the limits of the conversation. Some of our readers may wish the limits were wider, others that they were narrower but alas, it is the burden and the privilege of editorship to set those limits. The letters section, on the other hand, knows no such bounds. That said, I would like to address the eyeball-rollers.
When the reaction to an argument is one of incredulity it means one of two things: either the arguer is wacky or the listener is refusing to think about something simply because the argument is new and unfamiliar. There are some arguments obviously in the former category: The problem with the Church is that the Pope is really a Jewish Masonic CIA agent from outer space, for example. Others are clearly in the latter category, as when pro-lifers ten or fifteen years ago argued that the acceptance of legal abortion and its underlying principle (that there is no societal obligation to protect innocent human life) would lead inevitably to the acceptance of euthanasia. This prediction was met with derision, yet many who derided it are now on the forefront of the pro-death movement. We can think, too, of many ideas in recent times that went from being considered bizarre and radical to finding widespread acceptance: recycling, healthful foods, homeschooling, and (at least among Christians) the rescue movement. Other opinions may be somewhere in the middle, but I would hold that the views expressed in this journal are reasonable ones and deserve consideration and thought.
Ideas ought not be dismissed simply because they are startling. One of our starting points, after all, is the belief that Christians are insufficiently critical of modern American culture, are too easily at peace with it. We are thus attempting quite consciously to be radical in our approach, in the literal sense of that word: we are trying to get to the roots of things. In doing so we must envision perfection and then critique the contemporary milieu in light of that. In this context, perfection is a righteous and harmonious social order, a sacramental culture permeated by the presence of Christ. We realize that many people are not used to this way of reasoning. In this age the general approach to things is to accept what is as a given and then to attempt an appropriate response to it. In ethics, this is called consequentialism or situation ethics and such an approach has had disastrous results: rationalization of nuclear warfare, abortion, sexual immorality and economic injustice. Equally disastrous consequences follow when Christians accept the cultural status quo as a given. As Pascal said, One must have a fixed point in order to judge movement. It is our conviction that we are called to view all things in light of the fixed point of Christs Gospel, so our standards are necessarily very lofty ones.
Is this unrealistic and utopian? People have pointed out that a perfect world is unattainable, that historyespecially American historyis largely a record of failed attempts and that hope of transformation is foolish. I understand the skepticism and to a large degree share it and yet I still refuse to make peace with the world. The situation is parallel to one closer to home: just as we are called to transform society, so we are called to be transformed ourselves, called to personal conversion in Christ. Now, there is plenty of evidence in my life to suggest that I will never attain heroic sanctity, never be a saint, let alone overcome the familiar sins I confess in every confession. So what should I do? Discard the standard of holiness to which Christ calls us? Accept the situation and make peace with my sinful heart? Give up on trying to reform? God forbid. To do so is to take the first step on the path to hell. It is the same with the state of the world as with the state of ones soul. Pope John Paul II recently addressed a group of young pilgrims with these words: Become builders of a new world: a different world founded on truth, justice, solidarity and love. We consider these words to be marching orders, in the same sense as our Lords instructions: Be perfect, as your Father in heaven is perfect. We are called to turn the world upside down, and instructed to do so from the inside out.
To deny that such goals should be pursued is fundamentally an act of despair, a denial of grace. For the grace is given for societal transformation just as it is for personal conversion. In both cases the obstacles are the same: the weakness of the human will, the incredibly deep root sin has in our hearts and in our world, the sleepy complacency with which we accept the present state of things. It is how one reacts to the reality of these obstacles that determines if one is utopian or not. Everyone knows young idealists who set out to change the world and end up as tired cynics. And everyone knows young religious zealots who expect to be canonized in a month or two and end up rejecting the Faith in bitter disappointment. They expect too much too easily; are in fact too proud to deal with their failures. We must distinguish between hope and expectation.
There is, in Christian spirituality, a sort of paradoxical dance of striving for the highest perfection, while not expecting much of oneself (yet hoping in God). It is a dance of mercymercy toward oneself and, hence, toward other struggling sinnersand is familiar to anyone who, after confessing the same tired list of sins for the hundredth time, still walks out of the confessional with renewed hope and determination. Hope is, after all, a theological virtue and is thus infinite. Expectation is neither. We are calledcommandedto save the world, to incarnate the Kingdom. At the same time we must have mercy on, and expect little from, a fallen world enslaved to sin.
So if there are young idealists out there who, inspired by Caelum et Terra, decide to sell their cars, buy a team of horses and some acreage and think that in two or three years they will have created a little utopian circle of Catholic cultural wholeness I would say: Slow down. Keep your car. Buy the land, by all means. Buy the horses. But get to know them and their ways well before you make yourself dependent on them. Keep a job for a while. And prepare yourself. You are going to learnamong other, more beautiful, thingshow abysmally ignorant you are. I was once part of a similar experiment and it collapsed disastrously within a year in a rather grand and painful way. Start thinking in terms of two or three generations and you may be on the right track.
Traditional rural culture and its attendant wisdom, after all, can be lost in one generation but it probably takes several to be re-acquired. Your bemused neighbors will probably try to help (if they have not themselves adopted the industrial model of agriculture). But you will still probably lose crops, see your hay rot in the field and watch a good part of your livestock sicken and die because you lack the most elementary knowledge of the ways of the earth and its creatures, knowledge that most of our grandparents learned on their mothers knee or at their fathers right hand. But learn you will. So by all means strive for the highest good and aim for the highest goal. But be humble, have mercy on yourself; hope for the best, but expect some failure. And if I have painted too grim a picture, let me also assure you that you will experience beauty and depth and wonder that you will never be able to explain to those who have not known them. And do keep in touch.
I should point out hereas I sense the rolling of eyesthat we dont suggest that the Christian response to the current cultural darkness ought necessarily be a univocal one. We are trying to initiate thought, conversation, and action. But ones response must by necessity be individual and prudential. Do I think farming with horses is a good idea? Yes, I do. It makes sense ecologically, economically and aesthetically. Do I farm with horses? No, I dont even own land (and in fact that goal has been postponed by the costs of publishing Caelum et Terra). Do I think everyone is suited by temperament or calling for farming (or carpentry or fishing or the priesthood or whatever)? No, of course not. But I do think many people are called to these vocations. In particular I think monasteries ought to practice sustainable agriculture: the cessation of farming, along with the introduction of television and the hiring of servants to do manual labor are largely undocumented factors in the massive decline of religious life in the West in the last generation. And the natural rhythms and beauties of primitive agriculture are inherently conducive to contemplation.
And do I think that even among those who are sympathetic to such a life many will be able actually to attempt it? Probably not. Most of us are tied by economic necessity, vocation, and other strings to the suburbs and the cities. So we are attempting to carry practical articles about the struggle to build Christian culture wherever we find ourselves, as well as articles by those who are trying, or at least dreaming of, the alternatives.
Thus while we are firmly countercultural in our approach we are not (or at least, I am not) recommending the radical separatism of, say, the Amish. The Amish have much to teach us culturally and agriculturally but for most of us the stance must be more missionary, and a missionary by definition must be conversant with the culture he or she is trying to evangelize. The point of this whole thing, after all, is the furthering of Christs Kingdom. I will grant that some people are thus called to penetrate the dominant culture in ways that others are not. I think, for instance, of the musical group The Innocence Mission, whose hauntingly evocative music (played mostly on electric instruments) is strongly informed by their Catholic faith. They are not evangelists in the strict sense, and probably ought not to be, but they take their music and their faith seriously. So within the cultural context there may be a variety of good responses: I think it good that there are Catholic families in Kansas farming with horses and living without electricity. And I, anyway, think it good that the Innocence Mission plug in their guitars and bring light to a mostly benighted corner of the culture. Different responses to the problem are possible, after all.
Finally, I want to address the several readers who wrote with some version of: There is a great chastisement coming, the end is near, so your efforts are in vain. Well, yes. These are times that cry out for an apocalyptic interpretation. And America certainly seems overdue to harvest the fruit of its sins. But what is the point? That we should sit around and wait for the collapse? Maybe say a few prayers in the meantime? It seems to me that the doctrine of the Apocalypse can serve the same function for a Christian that the doctrine of Karma can for a Hindu: that of an excuse to do nothing in the face of evil or to retreat into a purely personal religiosity.
The story is told of Saint somebody-or-other who was out in the monastery orchards planting peach trees with his brothers. A conversation began about the Last Days and the question arose: What would we do if we knew the world would end tonight? One brother said he would rush to the chapel to pray, another would seek out a priest and make a general confession, a third would run into town to preach repentance. Finally the saint was asked what he would do and he said: If I knew the world would end tonight I would finish planting these peach trees.
I hope my response would be similar: If I knew the world was going to end tonight I would finish this essay and try and get this issue ready for the printer.
No, we are not utopians. Our expectations, tempered by many disappointments, are modest ones. But our hopesdancing paradoxicallyare infinite.
As always, your comments are welcome.
