Our Stand

Many of our readers ask, “What is the stand of the Catholic Worker in regard to the present war?” They are thinking as they ask the question, of course, of the stand we took during the Spanish civil war. We repeat, that as in the Ethiopian war, the Spanish war, the Japanese and Chinese war, the Russian-Finnish war–so in the present war we stand unalterably opposed to war as a means of saving “Christianity,” “civilization,” “democracy.” We do not believe that they can be saved by these means.

For eight years we have been opposing the use of force–in the labor movement, in the class struggle, as well as in the struggles between countries.

Chesterton in writing about Pacifism (to which he stood opposed) said that there were “the peacemakers who inherited the beatitude, and the peacemongers who profaned the temple by selling doves.” We stand at the present time with the Communists, who are also opposing war. It happens at this moment (perhaps the line will change next week as it is wavering now), that the party line so dictates this policy. But we consider that we have inherited the Beatitude and that our duty is clear. The Sermon on the Mount is our Christian manifesto.

Many Catholics oppose the use of the word pacifism. But Father Stratmann, O.P., writes: “The triumph of Pacifism, the condemnation of war, and the declaration of passive resistance, is just as little opposed to tradition as was the attitude of the Church towards slavery or serfdom, or the dogma of the Immaculate Conception, or the Infallibility of the Pope. Only he who does not realize the wonder of the Church and her life in Christ, can be disturbed that her progress is impeded–not he who believes in Christ and His Church.”

In various issues of the Catholic Worker, we have reaffirmed this stand. We have quoted the Pope on the “fallacy of an armed peace.” We have quoted Pope Pius XI, who urged the press and the pulpit to oppose increased armaments (adding sadly, “and up to this time our voice has not been heard”). We quote Bishop Duffy of Buffalo in this issue, who stands out alone in opposing Roosevelt’s gigantic preparedness program.

Theologians have laid down conditions for a just war (Monsignor Barry O’Toole is writing on these conditions in the last eight issues), and many modern writers, clerical and lay, hold that these conditions are impossible of fulfillment in these present times of bombardment of civilians, open cities, the use of poison gas, etc. Fr. Stratmann, in his book, The Church and War, speaks of how “many fervent Catholics are awaiting a moral definition about war, for a decisive word as to its immorality … That the Church should forbid war belongs to those things of which our Lord says: ‘I have many things to say unto you but you cannot hear them now’.” And how agonizingly true is it when we consider the millions in Europe and China defending with their lives and at untold suffering, believing it the only way their country, their families, their institution and their Faith.

Prayer and Penance

Instead of gearing ourselves in this country for a gigantic production of death-dealing bombers and men trained to kill, we should be producing food, medical supplies, ambulances, doctors and nurses for the works of mercy, to heal and rebuild a shattered world. Already there is famine in China. And we are still curtailing production in agriculture, thinking in terms of “price,” instead of human needs. We do not take care of our own unemployed and hungry millions in city and country, let alone those beyond the seas. There is prejudice in our own country towards Jews, Negroes, Mexicans, Filipinos and others, a sin crying to Heaven for punishment.

“And if we are invaded” is another question asked. We say again that we are opposed to all but the use of non-violent means to resist such an invader.

At a meeting of the Catholic Worker when Maritain spoke a few weeks ago, the question was asked: "What other means are there besides the use of an even greater force than that of the enemy.” Mrs. De Bethune, who has a son in Belgium and a daughter with two small babies in Holland, spoke up from where she was sitting: “Prayer and penance,” she said, recalling what to all should have first come to mind. There had been little mention of it made that evening.

During the Franco-Prussian war, Bernadette considered the Prussians the servants of God. When the Maccabees were being slain, one by one, in defense of their faith, they each testified that they were suffering for the sins of their race. How many Christians think of Hitler or Stalin in this way, as “the servant of God.” Do they remember them as temples of the Holy Ghost, creatures made to the image and likeness of God, two human beings for whom Christ dies on the Cross? Are they praying for them–with love and pity?

The Pure Means of Love

We are urging what is a seeming impossibility–a training to the use of non-violent means of opposing injustice, servitude and a deprivation of the means of holding fast to the Faith. It is again the Folly of the Cross. But how else is the Word of God to be kept alive in the world. That Word is Love, and we are bidden to love God and to love one another. It is the whole law, it is all of life. Nothing else matters. Can we do this best in the midst of such horror as has been going on these past months by killing, or by offering our lives for our brothers?

It is hard to write so in times like these when millions are doing what they consider their duty, what is “good” for them to do. But if the Catholic press does not uphold the better way, the counsels of perfection will be lost to the world.

There are many who consider that we are approaching the end of the world, but what are two thousand years in the history of the world? We are still in the beginnings of Christianity. It is true that we are at the end of an era, and we are probably seeing the death throes of capitalism.

“Just as slavery was only put down after hundreds of years of labor by Christian men, so war will never be done away with, or even limited, but by an army of Peace workers who never cease their labors.”

Preparation Must Take In the Whole Man

It is good to conclude with the words of Father Stratmann:

“No young man should consider himself superior to his companion who obeys the call to arms. Yes, he may be very much his inferior for there is a poor, feeble, unmanly pacifism without any strength or greatness, a compulsory pacifism from bodily weakness, or a sham pacifism from cowardice. Such are contemptible and it gives one food for thought that one of the young men of the other camp, Max Boudy says: ‘I have never yet found a pacifist whose pacifism inspired him with such inner beauty as I have found in several men for whom war, under certain circumstances, was a reasonable, justifiable, if tragic necessity.’ Such remarks must be taken seriously. They impose inner and outer obligations. If it is not to be a bloodless intellectualism or a weak, cowardly quietism, or a luxurious epicureanism–pacifism must lay very great stress on bodily discipline, on culture, on bodily and mental development.

“More than all, he who opposes war must be inwardly clean. His passion for justice must not be tainted by hidden uncleanness. As long as pacifists are in the minority, let them begin with a steady fight against all that is evil in themselves.”

Where are the Christians?

“They devoted themselves to the teaching of the apostles and to the communal life, to the breaking of the bread and to the prayers. Awe came upon everyone, and many wonders and signs were done through the apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their property and possessions and divide them among all according to each one’s need. Every day they devoted themselves to meeting together in the temple area and to breaking bread in their homes. They ate their meals with exultation and sincerity of heart, praising God and enjoying favour with all the people. And every day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.” (Acts 2:42-47)

For some Christians, this famous Bible quote from the Acts of the Apostles describes the early Church’s first love— and as someone wrote, sometimes the Church has to rediscover that first love. For other Bible commentators, this image of the early church in Jerusalem is only an ideal; unattainable during our earthly life. The evangelist Luke wrote these words with the eagerness of the Resurrection and Pentecost freshly in mind. Yet, the text has been and still is an inspiration for religious communities old and new: people living and praying together, sharing their gifts and skills to the praise of God; new and old monastic communities, Catholic Worker houses and other intentional communities alike.

Yet anyone who has spent some time in community will know that community life can be challenging as well! And while for some it is healing and empowering, others might wither away if they aren’t careful.

In our different Christian cultures, somehow we have adapted ourselves to accept that what we believe and preach, we cannot always live in our different Christian cultures, somehow we have adapted ourselves to accept that what we believe and preach, we cannot always live up to ourselves. We are not always proud of it, but who actually gives away his second coat to the poor? “Anyone who has two coats must share with the person who has none, and whoever has food must do likewise.” Jesus in the Gospel of Luke. Although some people do, and they do more.

But imagine now someone reading this passage for the first time, someone outside our Christian culture for whom just confessing Christ or simply being baptized means the risk of being jailed or condemned to death: these words probably sound like heaven. These Christians probably are forced to live in solidarity with each other as the first Christians in Jerusalem had to.

On my last visit to the refugee camps in Calais, I met a man like that. A rather small man—middle-aged I think—came to me, and asked if he could have a word. He spoke a bit of broken English and referred to himself as a ‘broken man’ and he ‘hadn’t always been like that’. It was almost miraculous how on that day his Google Translate fluently translated from Arabic to French and vice versa. And he added some English words he knew to the conversation. Now he was in the process of claiming asylum in France.

Ahmed was a Kurdish man who came from Iraq, at some time in his life he had converted to Christ and opened up to a relationship with GOD. He was obviously a man who prayed regularly, and he knew the early church in the New Testament. In confidence he said “in Christ we are all brothers” and “we are sheep of the same Shepherd, aren’t we?” I confirmed yes, but was thinking how he’s now expecting that I might be able to help him.

Ahmed challenged my faith with some of his questions and remarks. He was telling me about some of his current struggles. That GOD has always been there for him, but that now he didn’t understand where GOD was leading him. Looking for a safe country, he had been trying to get to the UK, but now decided to stay in France.

It puzzled him he had met no Christians. Where were they? Where is that Jerusalem community Luke writes about?

Although he is not living in Calais anymore, he had come down to the Catholic Day Centre a few times. He said “it is the first time I see you here, where have you been?” while pointing towards my cross and habit (my blue monk’s clothes). I had to explain I live in London, and try to come two days a month. Trying to engage local people, I called one of the Roman Catholic Sisters into the conversation. She proposed he could go to Mass on Sunday (as Catholics do) and speak with the priest after. I knew that wasn’t what Ahmed was looking for. He was looking for the incarnate day-to-day expression of the Eucharist: to gather together (around the table) to thank and praise GOD, to break and share what we have and who we are with each other, as Christ did for us. To be brothers and sisters of the same Good Shepherd. He was looking for Christian community.

It happened that that Sunday was the Sunday of the Good Shepherd, and I had to preach in my community. I didn’t need any inspiration anymore—my sermon on the Good Shepherd was made with this encounter. In my sermon I referred to Ahmed as he who is looking for the Shepherd who brings together people. The Shepherd, who makes the blind see, heals community and redeems. Ahmed was looking for other sheep to share his joys and pains, his faith and to figure out what GOD was calling him to in France. I seriously hope Ahmed finds answers to these meaningful and important questions in his life—and I hope he finds a Jerusalem community to be fully part of.

I love it when people challenge my faith like this, when I am reminded that we are all brothers and sisters in Christ and need to take care of each other.

Why is renunciation important?

From Issue 73, Summer 2023

In our daily lives we are buried beneath mountains of obligations, desires, ambitions. We are buried beneath other people’s ideas, emotions, beliefs. Who we are is lost in the vortex of forces; we are unable to take control of our lives, we are drowned in stress and anxiety, we are unable to know ourselves.

We are covered in the layers of the external world and become so habituated to these layers that they become indistinguishable from us. We believe them to be part of reality, a necessary facet of our lives. This is not to say that these layers are ‘false’ or ‘deceitful’ or ‘wrong’. They are just part of the experiential world. Nor is it to say there is some ‘true self’ which can only be discovered by renunciation – this is just a cliche. I do not see renunciation as some black and white path to ‘truth over falsehood’. Instead I see it as yin to yang; an opposite of participation, which makes up part of our totality. In other words, it is precisely over-participation that makes renunciation so relevant.

Renunciation is a state of cleansing, a stripping away of external layers to reveal to what is left when those layers are not dominant. That part of us that is buried can once more be revealed.

Once you have renunciated the experiential world you can remain in that state or follow the instinct to rebuild your life. But this time you can choose what layers you add with more care. Once you return to nothing, it is much easier to mindfully build back up to something.

Once you recognize that the layers are just layers, they lose their dominance over you; they become contingent, changeable. When you stop identifying so strongly with all of the things you are carrying, you are able to drop them and then only pick up what is actually good for you.

Renunciation can be a daunting process – shaving off the hair which gave you identity, leaving the job that gave you security, cutting off the friendships that you thought were forever, turning away from the promise of romance and love, reducing your power to consume goods, focusing less on pleasures of the world, abandoning the causes that you held to heart, giving up the path to ‘progress’. But is it more daunting than being devoured by externalities, without ever experiencing what you are at your most basic foundation?

Not everyone will follow the instinct to renunciate – not even for a short period of time. These people will find unhealthy ways to resume their destructive course, harming themselves and others. They might try to use therapy or medication to keep themselves ‘stable’ – this is like building a house in a swamp and spending your energy trying to keep it standing. Sometimes the house has to be left to collapse to the ground.

We only need to look at the sick capitalist society we are living in to see how far we have taken this fear of change. The ‘developed world’ drowns in its own meaninglessness, grows ever more unequal and corporate, pits everyone against everyone else, poisons and destroys the living world, burns people out in the workplace, turns spirituality into another commodity.

The path of renunciation is needed now more than ever. Not in the form of some corporate yoga session or ‘guaranteed-results, lifecoaching’ marketed at white professionals, but a real rebellion against that unsustainable life in the first place. This renunciation is a revolutionary act, but only as a side-effect. Striving for political change is, after all, nothing more than an external layer.

The aim of renunciation is to find yourself, in the domain of yourself. It is a place necessarily beyond the good and evil of common morality, beyond ‘progress’, beyond obligation, beyond everything but you. How could it be anything else?