Emma Goldman in Exile: From the Russian Revolution to the Spanish Civil War. By Alice Wexler. Beacon. 301 pages. $24.95.
Deported from the U.S. in 1919, Emma Goldman, Americas most loved and hated anarchist, ended up in the Soviet Union. But she was not happy in the land where the future was said to have arrived. Agreeing with Michael Bakunins dictum that socialism without liberty is slavery and brutality, she was appalled by the machine of repression that Lenin and his henchmen had fabricated. In legitimating the totalitarian state, Marxism had fulfilled its destiny, Goldman argued. In her commitment to the values of the future, which she defined as the sanctity of human life, the dignity of man, the right of every human being to liberty and well-being, Goldman transcended sectarianism and entered the company of those courageous men and women who have labored to stanch the hemorrhaging of decency in the 20th century.
But Goldman is less than heroic to Alice Wexler, who is distressed by the near cult of personality that surrounds the anarchist leader. Wexler convicts Goldman of an obsessive anti-Communism and anti-Marxism that anticipated the harsh rigidity of later Cold Warriors. By refusing to distinguish among Marxism, Leninism, and Stalinism, Goldman helped lay the foundations for a caricature of Russian history that served interests profoundly hostile to her own. For Wexler, Goldmans most flagrant sin lay in her failure to recognize the beauties of Soviet socialism as it briefly flowered during the NEP era under Lenin. Her analysis of an enslaved, brutalized, terrorized country with no breath of freedom greatly exaggerated party control over many domains and denied benefits for example, to the peasantry that even she would later acknowledge. In reality, the Soviet 1920s were an era of unprecedented social and cultural freedoms prior to the great reversal of 1928-1929, when Stalin assumed power over the party. In order to exonerate Marx and Lenin, Wexler denigrates one of the most humane and engaging figures to grace the Left in the 20th century.
Catholic Colleges and Federal Funding. By K.D. Whitehead. Ignatius. 115 pages. $7.95.
How many of the 230 or so Catholic colleges and universities in the U.S. are truly Catholic? Not many, one suspects, for as K.D. Whitehead points out, Catholic educators plead that they must jettison Church control in order to obtain federal funds. The argument wont wash, as Whitehead proves definitively and he ought to know, for until just recently he served as Assistant Secretary for Postsecondary Education in the federal governments Department of Education.
The federal government bases eligibility for aid upon accreditation, and the various accrediting agencies have always recognized the unique mission of church-related colleges and universities. Catholic educators could have their cake and eat it too: could remain truly Catholic and receive federal monies. But as Whitehead suggests, this concern for government funds is a mere subterfuge. Total freedom from Rome and the American hierarchy that is what is really wanted.
Mother of All Nations: Visions of Mary. By Joan Ashton. Harper Row. 223 pages. $9.95.
Like fundamentalists hanging on the edge of expectation, feverishly scanning the heavens for signs of the apocalypse, some Catholics burn with longing for a spectacular apparition of the Virgin that will settle the unbelievers hash once and for all. But our Lady refuses to co-operate. Instead of popping up on the front lawn of the White House, descending upon the pinnacle of the Eiffel Tower, or flashing into sight at high noon in Red Square, she most often materializes in out-of-the-way places tiny towns and remote regions in Portugal, France, Mexico, the Central African Republic and manifests herself to obscure people, to such insignificant individuals as peasants, shepherdesses, and small children.
Although Joan Ashton, an English writer, recounts the astonishing phenomena dancing suns and such that have accompanied the Virgins appearances, she concentrates more on interpreting the messages the Virgin brings. They seem surprisingly commonplace, almost banal, at first glance. Our Lady speaks of peace, love, hope, mercy, and brotherhood: all the virtues we have heard preached interminably, to the point that we affirm their desirableness without thinking seriously about them. But then one grasps the salient and stunning fact: This is our Mother Mother of God and mother to all men and women, to people of every race, religion, creed, and nation who is trying heroically to help save us, to communicate to us something of the most epochal importance. Have we no ears to hear? Have we broken her heart one too many times? Have we ignored her once too often? Almost as an aside, Ashton mentions the startling news the Virgin is said to have conveyed to the visionaries of Medjugorje: this is the Last time that she will be seen on earth.
Protestant Thought and Natural Science. By John Dillenberger. University of Notre Dame Press. 310 pages. $12.95.
To the pigheaded secularist, the relationship between Christianity and science evinces no subtleties. Mention Catholicism, and he evokes poor Galileo cowering before the malefic Inquisitor. A reference to Protestantism elicits from him a wisecrack about the Scopes trial and Tennessees gaping primates, as H.L. Mencken tagged the fundamentalists who rallied to the defense of Holy Writ.
John Dillenbergers Protestant Thought and Natural Science (first published in 1960 and now re-issued) reveals that the situation has been more complicated than the secularists threadbare commonplaces would suggest. Dillenberger traces the interaction of science and Protestant theology from the early 16th century, an era that witnessed the simultaneous emergence of classical Protestantism and the early stages of the Scientific Revolution (Luther and Copernicus were contemporaries), to the late 19th century and the hubbub provoked by Darwinism. Regarding his own perspective, Dillenberger declares his distaste for both the fundamentalist and liberal stances of the 20th century, the first because it defied the new science, the latter because it capitulated to its ethos.
Virgil Michel: American Catholic. By R.W. Franklin and Robert L. Spaeth. The Liturgical Press. 161 pages. $7.95.
When Virgil Michel the father of the liturgical movement in America died in 1938 (at only 48), the Benedictines and the whole Catholic community lost one of the heroes of personalism. His friend Mortimer Adler said in eulogy, In the crisis of our times, he saw the need to go straight to the point, leaning neither to the right nor to the left. He was almost alone in this country in his Christian understanding of the position the Church must take toward fascism and Communism in the struggle for a just society
Fr. Michels guiding vision was that in the liturgy, our sharing in the Eucharist, we can find the elements for imagining and constructing a more just social order. In the liturgy we can recognize and begin to overcome the exaggerated individualism of American life. And in the liturgy we can honor the sacredness of each human person. Its no surprise that Michels vision inspired both Dorothy Day and Catherine de Hueck Doherty in their direct-action apostolates among the poor. Michel also introduced Emmanuel Mounier to American Catholics by translating Mouniers A Personalist Manifesto.
But Michels gifts to us exacted their price. Franklin and Spaeth show a man driven to communicate to almost every level of culture. In so doing he again and again jeopardized his health. Michel led the liturgical movement, edited journals, pioneered new catechetical methods, managed The Liturgical Press, taught philosophy, served as the dean of St. Johns University in Collegeville, Minnesota, and somehow managed to meet a demanding speakers schedule. Michel dreamt great dreams and strove mightily to give them life.
What would he make of the Catholic Church in America today? His biographers are properly sober. One observation is telling. Since Vatican II an entire generation has grown up deprived of the history and the traditions of Christian symbolism in music and art. This reminds us that deepening our appreciation of the liturgy is not the work of just one person or one era.
A last and ironic point: The final sentence of Alasdair MacIntyres seminal After Virtue advises that we are not waiting for a Godot, but for another doubtless very different St. Benedict. Virgil Michel, O.S.B., was not that momentous figure. But he made a real difference by looking long and hard at his era in a spirit that breathed the communitarian genius of St. Benedict.
The Thinking Revolutionary: Principle and Practice in the New Republic. By Ralph Lerner. Cornell University Press. 238 pages. $8.95.
Ralph Lerner endeavors both to elucidate the thinking of Franklin, Adams, Jefferson, and other Founding Fathers, and to extol them as models still worthy of our emulation. He discerns their most admirable trait in the key word from the title of his book: thinking. The leading intellects of Revolutionary America were statesmen who took thinking clearly to be their paramount duty. They acted, Lerner points out, as though dedicated intelligence might make a difference. They derived from the Enlightenment its most attractive feature devotion to the powers and possibilities of reasoned understanding while eschewing one of its worst tendencies: the urge to wield abstract reason in the construction of utopian schemes. These thinking revolutionaries saw their task and opportunity in fashioning a new beginning, Lerner maintains, but without presuming a magical transmutation of the species.
In these wonderfully illuminating, elegant, and erudite essays that touch upon a variety of issues faced by the founders, Lerner adheres to the rule he would impose upon all who would contemplate the era of Revolution and nation-building: to make a special effort to rise above our ages maxims and think anew.