Living Symbols

Any newspaper on any given day reminds us that violence abounds in the world. The arms race, repression in Central America, homeless people in our own country, all call to mind that violence appears in many forms. Yet the causes, as well as the results, are interrelated. How can we respond to it? How can we strike at the roots of this pervasive evil?

While there are many ways in which we might act, Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., Dorothy Day, and others have taught me through their lives and their words that civil disobedience is an important and at times necessary way to confront power when that power protects injustice. They have also taught me that such a step can be effective in a profound sense, whether or not it "works" in the world's eyes, if it stems from and contributes to a genuine search for truth and justice.

Their witness teaches me that if we want a better world, we must act to build it. They teach, too, that the end is the result of the means. If we would build a society where justice and truth prevail, our efforts must be rooted in these qualities, not in those we reject.

The many manifestations of violence stem from the powerful judging who is to live, and under what circumstances. If we oppose what is violent, we must also reject the greed, deceit, injustice, and judgment on which it is based. Self-sacrifice, honesty, justice, and respect for all people, even if we disagree with them, even if we challenge their actions, must mark our efforts.

I think about these things because it is all too clear that the roots, if not the fruits, of violence are not only in the Pentagon and the Kremlin, but are also in all of us. Nuclear weapons and all the forms of violence that threaten and take life have not been developed in a vacuum. They exist to protect our way of life. They will not disappear unless we challenge and change the values and attitudes which justify them, as well as work to eliminate the weapons themselves.

In Loaves and Fishes, Dorothy Day writes:

The greatest challenge of the day is: how to bring about a revolution of the heart, a revolution which has to start with each one of us ? When we begin to take the lowest place, to wash the feet of others, to love our brothers and sisters with that burning love, that passion, which led to the Cross, then give can truly say, "Now I have begun."

Many good things, some of them unexpected, can happen if we shape our lives, our homes, our work, as well as our demonstrations, to witness to our belief in a world where love is active and justice practiced. Such an example says more than any leaflet. A life of service and sharing is in itself a challenge to a greedy, materialistic society. Such a life offers a visible example of "what to do," an invitation.

Changing our lives can break down some of our own fears and prejudices. I have seen in myself that my hesitation to perform civil disobedience comes perhaps more from my fear of the unknown, my fear of breaking my routines, of appearing foolish or ineffective, than from hesitation about breaking a civil law that protects or promotes injustice. Through embracing a life where people are more important than things, my perspective has changed. Living at the Catholic Worker house in New York City, I come into daily contact with victims of rampant injustice. This shows me a human face of the injustice I oppose. My need to act comes from the heart; the urgency of the situation is no longer academic, and silence is more clearly a luxury. Civil disobedience and other efforts signify a continuation of my work rather than a break in my routines.

There is also a tempering effect in a life such as we live at the Catholic Worker. While our need becomes stronger to challenge and confront values and institutions, our daily life confronts us with our own weaknesses. Our life together has helped me see my own violent tendencies and self-righteousness, and has led me to be much more cautious about pointing a finger. Though our life is often rich and rewarding, revealing the possibilities of people of different backgrounds and points of view living in relative harmony, we are constantly reminded of the hard work and patience required for getting from where we are to where we want to be.

Seeing the homeless, the refugees, the unwanted at our door day after day has also made me think twice about blocking doors. It's not that I won't consider it; I blocked doors at the Pentagon during my only arrest. But too many doors, as well as hearts, are closed in our society, and we need to learn how to open them.

Seeing blood spilled senselessly on the Bowery, knowing how much blood flows in Central America and elsewhere, makes me pause at the thought of throwing blood. Though I can appreciate the intent of those who find in such an action a potent reminder of the use for which the weapons of war are intended, I think about how Jesus' blood was shed for us as a gift, not as a threat. I think of my hemophiliac nephew and those who are injured, for whom gifts of blood are necessary for life. Such thoughts lead me to seek ways of living and symbols which might invite others to be better, rather than move them to make what might only be outward change.

There is no single, right way to address the violence in our world. Yet we must address it, or suffer the consequences, spiritually as well as physically. In the face of widespread evil, our responses need to be varied, creative, and constant.

Clear public actions can be valuable in calling attention to societal actions that transgress God's laws. Refusing to be complicit with violence and being willing to suffer the consequences of our actions can give courage to others. Yet if we strive to build a world "wherein justice dwelleth," we might shape our efforts so that they communicate a yes to a world based on love as strongly as they register our no to killing.

When this article appeared, Peggy Scherer was editor of The Catholic Worker and had worked in the New York City Catholic Worker house for nine years.