CHAPTER TEN

World in Crisis (January 1961–September 1962)

Pope John XXIII promulgated another encyclical, Mater et magistra (Mother and Teacher), on May 15, 1961, on the subject of Christianity and social progress. It was issued on the seventieth anniversary of Pope Leo XIII’s Rerum novarum (On the New Things), which has defined Catholic social teaching for more than a century.

John’s 25,000-word encyclical starts off after its customary greeting with “Mother and Teacher of all nations—such is the Catholic Church . . .” and invokes the Church’s “maternal care” toward both individuals and nations.

Although this did not garner notable headlines at the time, it is part of a continuum of John’s reaching out to the broader world. He does so through the gospel, at the very outset noting that although Christ was foremost concerned with the eternal salvation of people, “He showed His concern for the material welfare of His people when, seeing the hungry crowd of His followers, He was moved to exclaim: ‘I have compassion on the multitude.’ And these were no empty words. . . . He proved them by his actions, as when He miraculously multiplied bread to alleviate the hunger of the crowds” (para. 4). As if to underscore “these were no empty words,” the entire remainder of the encyclical serves as a mandate and a how-to manual, as it were, for fulfilling Christ’s compassion on the multitude as told in Mark 8:2.

A significant portion of the encyclical reaffirms prior teaching, especially of Leo XII in Rerum novarum, but also of Pius XI in Quadragesimo anno (In the Fortieth Year) and Pius XII in a radio address. Mater et magistra ultimately strikes out on its own in tone and substance. It reaffirms the principle of subsidiarity and gives a blessing to socialization, a term widely misinterpreted. Regarding socialization, Pope John was “aware that the mindset of the modern state is toward what he calls ‘socialization’—‘the fruit and expression of a natural tendency, almost irrepressible in human beings, the tendency to join together to attain objectives which are beyond the capacity and means at the disposal of single individuals.’ But socialization does not necessarily turn men into automatons. ‘For socialization is not to be considered as a product of natural forces working in a deterministic way. It is, on the contrary, as we have observed, a creation of men, beings conscious, free and intended by nature to work in a responsible way.”

In restating elements of Rerum novarum, John recognizes the right of workers to associate, as in unions. And he declares two extremes as being contrary to Christian principles and the nature of man: “unrestricted competition in the liberal sense, and the Marxist creed of class warfare.” Citing Pius XI, he restated opposition even to what was termed “moderate Socialism,” criticizing it for a sole focus on material well-being and production. Describing the Great Depression, he tells how capitalistic

 

unregulated competition had succumbed to its own inherent tendencies to the point of practically destroying itself. It had given rise to a great accumulation of wealth, and, in the process, concentrated a despotic economic power in the hands of a few [to quote Pius XI] “who for the most part are not the owners, but only the trustees and directors of invested funds, which they administer at their own good pleasure.”

 

John was also prescient and attentive to the growing importance of emerging nations in Asia and Africa, specifically mentioning them as they broke from colonial rulers. As with Pacem in terris, he underscored the growing importance of economic interdependence. He saw a global village well before it was a commonplace.

In giving his purpose for the encyclical, the pope notes he is not merely commemorating Leo XIII or his successors. His job is to clarify and build on their work. Right away, he endorses the “principle of subsidiary function,” which Pius XI laid out in Quadragesimo anno. In plain terms, the principle sets up a pyramid whereby the individual is the first recourse in private enterprise, scaling upward to communities and governments only after these first options are tried. Yet John does not stop there. He expressed “unbearable sadness” over mass unemployment and “subhuman conditions” and urgently called to redress terrible inequities within nations and between nations.

In Economic Justice, John Pawlikowski, O.S.M., and Donald Senior, C.P., wrote:

 

Pope John was severely criticized by right wing authors because he understood the principle of subsidiarity as a basis for government intervention on behalf of those who need help. Nevertheless this was a legitimate development. Pope John did not take away initiative or creativity from persons or small groups. He simply recognized that subsidiarity means help and help is often badly needed.

 

It might be mere semantics and revisionism to ask how John himself might comment on the contemporary issue of so-called same-sex marriage. We know he did “solemnly proclaim that human life is transmitted by means of the family, and the family is based upon a marriage which is one and indissoluble and, with respect to Christians, raised to the dignity of a sacrament.” But it is more intriguing to wonder how he might apply these words to modern mores, including artificial insemination and other fertility measures: “The transmission of human life is the result of a personal and conscious act, and, as such, is subject to the all-holy, inviolable and immutable laws of God, which no man may ignore or disobey. He is not therefore permitted to use certain ways and means which are allowable in the propagation of plant and animal life.”

We might even wonder whether the Good Pope would today be weighing in on such matters as genetically modified organisms (GMOs). What we do know is that Mater et magistra spends a great deal of time talking about agriculture, rural development, family farms, price protection, credit banks, social insurance, taxation, and economic structures affecting farming. In fact, in a sense no other topic arguably receives as much verbal volume as agricultural issues. The pope not only saw the critical connection of food production to world economic conditions, but also, possibly because of his own country roots, saw firsthand the human values inherent in working the land.

As John tackled the issue of population growth, he rejects it as an opportunity for artificial birth control. In what some might consider a too-sunny view of science and technology, the pope finds optimism in the “almost limitless horizons” afforded by science and technology in service to providing the necessities of life.

Yet again, though, he scolds nations for their lack of solidarity or their deficient economic systems and organizations. “Attention must then be turned,” he wrote, “to the need for worldwide co-operation among men, with a view to a fruitful and well-regulated interchange of useful knowledge, capital and manpower.” Without understanding the coded references to existing political systems, one might argue that the proposed solutions lack sufficient clout and specificity. Is the pope arguing that essentially the world has enough goods, including food? That it is merely a matter of equal and fair distribution? Perhaps experts would see validity in that, and the debate surely continues.

However, John naturally sees—and faces squarely—the abhorrent dangers wrought by technology, especially nuclear weapons. “We are sick at heart, therefore, when we observe the contradiction which has beguiled so much modern thinking. On the one hand we are shown the fearful specter of want and misery which threatens to extinguish human life, and on the other hand we find scientific discoveries, technical inventions and economic resources being used to provide terrible instruments of ruin and death.”

Although critics and supporters alike make much of Mater et magistra’s positions on issues of economics and social justice, one hears very little about making Sunday holy. The pope devotes six paragraphs (248–53, inclusive), a significant segment, to this topic. It rarely, if ever, gets mentioned in any contemporary discussion. He frames the discussion in terms of ancient biblical prescriptions (the Third Commandment) pitted against the secular world, in the context of labor and society and human dignity:

 

Free from mundane cares, he [man] should lift up his mind to the things of heaven, and look into the depths of his conscience, to see how he stands with God in respect of those necessary and inviolable relationships which must exist between the creature and his Creator.

In addition, man has a right to rest a while from work, and indeed a need to do so if he is to renew his bodily strength and to refresh his spirit by suitable recreation. He has also to think of his family, the unity of which depends so much on frequent contact and the peaceful living together of all its members.

Heavy in heart, We cannot but deplore the growing tendency in certain quarters to disregard this sacred law, if not to reject it outright. This attitude must inevitably impair the bodily and spiritual health of the workers, whose welfare We have so much at heart.

In the name of God, therefore, and for the sake of the material and spiritual interests of men, We call upon all, public authorities, employers and workers, to observe the precepts of God and His Church and to remember their grave responsibilities before God and society.

 

The pope’s words are worth pondering. How does the Christian carve out this sacred time in an increasingly secular world? Is it reasonable to expect Christians to take the Sabbath as seriously as brothers and sisters in other religions? What are the responsibilities of employers in this regard? And ironically, though the passage encourages recreation, should Christian parents whose children are forced to participate in sports protest when it conflicts with worship times? Such strong words from a pontiff about making Sunday holy may seem archaic to many ears in the twenty-first century. But there is no denying that John saw it as an important issue, worthy of serious attention—attention that has ostensibly been missing for more than fifty years.

Mater et magistra altered the course of Catholic social thought, not only opening the way for future dialogue with other ideologies but also setting the tone for conciliatory discussions—and even serving as a precursor for topics that would be addressed in Vatican Council II.

In the U.S. Catholic Church, Mater et magistra arguably marked a line in the sand in the debate over the Church’s social justice positions. In a foreshadowing of the acrimonious tone that would mark political discourse in the United States some fifty years later, the Jesuit magazine America and the conservative flagship National Review jousted publicly over the import of John’s Mater et magistra—a far cry from the almost universal acceptance that would greet Pacem in terris two years later. Christian liberals and conservatives still cite this 1961 encyclical as they stake out positions on the role of government and seek intellectual fodder for their case. Most would likely agree with this early assessment of the encyclical by the Economist: “The encyclical represents a shift to the left in the Church’s attitude.” By opening the door to more government action for the common good and taking a less strident approach to doctrines opposed by the Church, the encyclical was seen as a softening of some traditional views espoused by Leo XIII and succeeding popes. Although the Church continued to oppose naked capitalism (economic “liberalism” in the words of the pope), critics like William F. Buckley Jr. were suspicious, to say the least, of the shift in emphasis. In the July 29, 1961, issue of his National Review, Buckley wrote, “Whatever its final effect, it must strike many as a venture in triviality coming at this particular time in history.” He lamented that “insufficient notice is taken (of ) the extraordinary material well-being” of countries like Japan, West Germany, and the United States and complained that little attention was paid to the economic failures of communist nations.

A few months later, in the August 12 issue of National Review, a small item read, “Going the rounds in Catholic conservative circles: ‘Mater si, Magistra no.’ ” This phrase was later revealed to have been jokingly coined by columnist Garry Wills in a phone conversation with Buckley. (The phrase was especially volatile because rallies by Fidel Castro featured chants of “Cuba si, Yankee no.”) A salvo was returned by America magazine. “It takes an appalling amount of self-assurance for a Catholic writer to brush off an encyclical of John XXIII. . . . Mr. Buckley was equal to the challenge. It takes a daring young man to characterize a papal document as ‘a venture in triviality.’ ” Later Buckley explained his stance:

 

The editorial in question spoke not one word of criticism of the intrinsic merit of Mater et magistra. Our disappointment was confined to the matter of emphasis, and timing, and by implication, to the document’s exploitability by the enemies of Christendom, a premonition rapidly confirmed by the encyclical’s obscene cooption by such declared enemies of the spiritual order as the New Statesman and the Manchester Guardian, which hailed the conversion of the pope to Socialism!

 

Later in life Buckley conceded he would have preferred the heading had not found its way in print.

Tit for tat continued. Philip S. Land, S.J., in America: “As one whose life work has been the assimilation and the teaching of Catholic social doctrine, I can say with absolute certainty that no collaborators Pope John might have turned to—European or American or other—could have or would have prepared an encyclical that would be acceptable to the editors of the National Review.”

Commentaries in the mass media were typically more amicable, and more positive.

TIME magazine extensively quoted Protestant theologian Reinhold Niebuhr’s essay in the Christian Century: “From the standpoint of the Mater et magistra encyclical, what could be clearer than that the path from the Thomistic theory of a just price based upon labor value, to the theory of Adam Smith, guaranteeing social justice by the automatic balances of a free market, descends steeply from the heights of justice to the morass of private greed?”

Pope John’s encyclical ignores its own indebtedness to some of the moral achievements of the welfare state and foreign aid, says Niebuhr, but “before we ungenerously attribute to conscious and unconscious cribbing from a culture it ostensibly abhors the massive achievement of modern Catholicism in adjusting to the realities of modern industrialism,” it is necessary to recognize that Catholicism has traditions that make this adjustment possible.

The Roman Church, according to Niebuhr, balances concern for the individual with concern for the health of the community, which is to be achieved by what the encyclical calls “objective justice and its driving force, love.” Says he, “To assert that justice is the norm and ‘love the driving force’ is certainly a theory of the relation of . . . love to the social order preferable to some Protestant and secular theories.”

Niebuhr, who has long lashed out against the perfectionist strain in Protestantism, further admires the Roman Catholic Church for having relegated its perfectionists and ascetics to the monasteries, where they cannot mess up the proper processes of society, full of contingencies and compromises.

John’s encyclical displays “dated rather than eternal wisdom,” Niebuhr believes, in opposing birth control and ignoring the fast pace of population increase. But he refrains from laboring the point, “lest the professional anti-Catholics take too much courage. They regard the Roman church as a monster. It is really a very impressive survival from medievalism, which has managed to apply its ancient wisdom to the comfort of a harassed generation in a nuclear and technical age.”

 

John had “grown in confidence and sureness of touch,” according to biographer Peter Hebblethwaite, and with the publication and reception of Mater et magistra, he had found his voice as the supreme pontiff and teaching pastor of the whole Church.

He issued Aeterna Dei sapientia (God’s Eternal Wisdom), on November 11, 1961. From May 1961, when Mater et magistra came out, to November 1961, the world had changed. Cold War tensions had increased in August, when the East Germans built the Berlin Wall. The move further isolated countries behind the Iron Curtain and increased the already grave concerns for the Church in Soviet satellite countries such as Poland, Hungary, and Czechoslovakia.

Although some accounts at the time of the encyclical’s issuance zeroed in on Cold War tensions, the heart of the encyclical lies elsewhere. As for the plight of the Church in embattled areas, the pope invokes the spirit of Leo I the Great (440–461):

 

The same waves of bitter hostility break upon her [as they did in Leo’s time]. How many violent storms does she not enter in these days of ours—storms which trouble our fatherly heart, even though our Divine Redeemer clearly forewarned us of them!

On every side we see “the faith of the Gospel” imperiled. In some quarters an attempt is being made—usually to no avail—to induce bishops, priests and faithful to withdraw their allegiance from this See of Rome, the stronghold of Catholic unity.

To those of you who suffer patiently in the cause of truth and justice, we speak the consoling words which Saint Leo once addressed to the clergy, public officials and people of Constantinople: “Be steadfast, therefore, in the spirit of Catholic truth, and receive apostolic exhortation through our ministry.”

 

Aeterna Dei sapientia’s stated goal, as reflected in its published title with heading, was to commemorate 1,500 years to the day since the death of Pope Saint Leo I, in 461, and to shine a light on the “See of Peter as the center of Christian unity.” The 6,500-word encyclical, the sixth of John’s pontificate, on the surface celebrates the life and death of Leo the Great—“the greatest among the great,” as Pius XII dubbed him—but it was also a vehicle to promote Roman Catholic orthodoxy, the power of the Apostolic See, and to revisit ancient schisms. All this was with an eye toward the Vatican Council that would start within less than a year. (At this juncture, an opening date for the council had yet to be announced.)

Before exploring the broader purposes and impacts of the letter, a summary of its contents is in order.

John spends significant portions of his document reviewing the spiritual biography of Leo I. He presents not so much a chronological, linear biography as a blow-by-blow account of the victories of this great defender and doctor of the Catholic Church. As recorded in history books, no episode in Leo’s life looms larger than his encounter with Attila the Hun, a turning point in the history of Western civilization:

 

Wherein, then, lies the true greatness of this pope? In moral courage?—in that moral courage which he showed when, at the River Mincius in 452, with no other armor to protect him than his high-priestly majesty, he boldly confronted the barbarous king of the Huns, Attila, and persuaded him to retreat with his armies across the Danube? That was certainly an heroic act and one which accorded well with the Roman pontificate’s mission of peace.

 

Then the pontiff considers Saint Leo through three perspectives: as a faithful servant of the Apostolic See, as the Vicar of Christ on Earth, and as a doctor of the Church.

Regarding the first characteristic, servant of the Apostolic See, John recalls how Leo soared from deacon to pope, in 440, on the strength of his theological and diplomatic acumen, with John perhaps identifying with the latter set of skills based on his own diplomatic experience. Dying in 461, Leo was one of the longest-reigning popes—a contrast John surely recognized as he neared his eightieth birthday at the time of the encyclical’s publication.

As for Leo’s tenure as Vicar of Christ, John exults that “rarely in her history has Christ’s Church won such victories over her foes as in the pontificate of Leo the Great. He shone in the middle of the fifth century like a brilliant star in the Christian firmament.” Leo claimed decisive victories over heretics throughout his papacy. In this regard, John compared Leo to the great Saint Augustine of Hippo and Saint Cyril of Alexandria. Augustine famously attacked the Pelagians, who asserted that salvation could be attained by one’s own will, and, as John wrote, Augustine “insisted on the absolute necessity of divine grace for right living and the attainment of eternal salvation.” Likewise, John pointed out, “Saint Cyril, faced with the errors of Nestorius, upheld Christ’s Divinity and the fact that the Virgin Mary is truly the Mother of God.”

Upholding Leo as doctor of the Church’s unity, John inventories Leo’s battles defending the Church’s dogma, most notably on the incarnation. These examples of Leo’s strong leadership included his condemnation of the Ephesus Council in 449 because it held that Christ had only a divine nature, branding it a “robber council.” Two years later, Leo summoned the Council of Chalcedon, but only on his terms and not the emperor Marcian’s terms, marking a strong assertion of the pope’s magisterial authority.

John also highlighted Leo’s sermons and epistles, and his devotion to truth, harmony, and peace.

At this point, it’s not hard to draw parallels with John and his upcoming council. John himself proceeds to build his case for the upcoming Second Vatican Council, standing on the shoulders of Saint Leo, as it were.

 

Venerable Brethren, the time is drawing near for the Second General Council of the Vatican. Surrounding the Roman Pontiff and in close communion with him, you, the bishops, will present to the world a wonderful spectacle of Catholic unity. Meanwhile We, for Our part, will seek to give instruction and comfort by briefly recalling to mind Saint Leo’s high ideals regarding the Church’s unity. Our intention in so doing is indeed to honor the memory of a most wise pope, but at the same time to give the faithful profitable food for thought on the eve of this great event.

 

Was John trying to get in front of his possible detractors in the Curia? Or was he perhaps giving himself strength and encouragement by seeing Leo as an exemplar of papal power? Are his words even partly an exercise in wishful thinking, positive thinking that he hopes will translate to positive outcomes?

John spends significant parts of his encyclical invoking Saint Leo’s vigorous defense of the pope as the Bishop of Rome, of the necessity of Rome as the center of unity, going so far as to describe it as a spiritual haven. He also steadfastly reasserts Leo’s defense of the supreme authority of Peter and his successors.

Of course, none of that was likely to offend Catholics, but what of those separated Christian brethren that the council and the pope himself were reaching out to? How would this sound to their ears? As TIME magazine put it, “Aeterna Dei sapientia forcefully reflected the pope’s own oft-expressed dream of healing the breach between Christendom’s largest branches. But to many Protestants and Orthodox Christians, the encyclical seemed as much a reminder of unacceptable papal claims as a warm appeal for unity.”

It’s as if John was tightrope-walking. He satisfied Church conservatives, and long-standing Church teaching, by aligning with Leo’s endorsements of papal power. At the same time, however, he ardently wanted to reach out to his separated brothers. This dual approach is evident in several key passages and his own actions. That same November, he met with Arthur Lichtenberger, bishop of the Episcopal Church, the first time an Episcopal bishop met with the pope at the Vatican. In other words, he might have toed the line doctrinally, but he was always welcoming personally.

Nor did the great honors paid to Leo by the official representatives of the Eastern churches terminate with his death. The Byzantine liturgy keeps February 18 as his feast day, and most truly proclaim him as “leader of orthodoxy.”

 

Our purpose, Venerable Brethren, in focusing attention on these facts has been to establish beyond doubt that in ancient times East and West alike were united in the generosity of their tribute to the holiness of Saint Leo the Great. Would that it were so today; that those who are separated from the Church of Rome yet still have the welfare of the Church at heart, might bear witness once more to that ancient, universal esteem for Saint Leo.

We are fully confident that this solemn assembly of the Catholic hierarchy [the council] will not only reinforce that unity in faith, worship and discipline which is a distinguishing mark of Christ’s true Church, but will also attract the gaze of the great majority of Christians of every denomination, and induce them to gather around “the great Pastor of the sheep” who entrusted His flock to the unfailing guardianship of Peter and his successors.

 

Finally, John ends on a curiously militant note. The tone makes sense when it comes to opposing totalitarian regimes, but it is potentially troublesome when viewed from a Protestant or Orthodox vantage point, since members of these churches were not apt to rally around the standard that is Rome:

 

We cannot end this encyclical, Venerable Brethren, without referring once more to our own and Saint Leo’s most ardent longing: to see the whole company of the redeemed in Jesus Christ’s precious blood reunited around the single standard of the militant Church. Then let the battle commence in earnest, as we strive with might and main to resist the adversary’s assaults who in so many parts of the world is threatening to annihilate our Christian faith.

 

At Christmas 1961, the world stage was fraught with tense players. Algerian nationalists were talking peace in their war with the French. Cuba’s tilt toward communism was rattling America’s nerves. Taiwan’s Quemoy and Matsu islands were flashpoints “almost within the jaws of Communist China.” And the Berlin Crisis was fresh and volatile, with much made of Cardinal Spellman’s walking six feet into East Berlin territory for a Christmas visit.

But there were signs of hope, too. Amid these Cold War anxieties, pilgrims to Bethlehem encountered “the most friendly atmosphere . . . since before the Palestine war of 1948 cut Jerusalem in two.” Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev conceded that “neither he nor the Communist party is infallible.”

Against this backdrop, on December 25, 1961, John promulgated his apostolic constitution Humanae salutis (Of Human Salvation). On one level, the document is formal and technical. It officially convokes the ecumenical council whose planning was well under way and sets 1962 as the date for its start (nothing more specific than that; the actual start date of October 11, 1962, was proclaimed in a motu proprio less than two months later, on February 2). This made official what had been stated in January 1959, when the pope announced his plans for the worldwide assembly. But on a broader scale, the declaration delineated the pope’s intentions for the council and clarified the themes John held dear. In more subtle terms, for those who delighted in reading the Vatican’s tea leaves, one could search the pope’s words for “coded” messages to the Curia as well as to other Christian churches and to the world at large.

Church prelates read the pronouncement in Rome’s four basilicas, first at Saint Peter’s and then at Saint Paul’s Outside the Walls, Saint John Lateran, and Saint Mary Major.

Seen as one pronouncement sandwiched among others, Humanae salutis contained more messages of optimism. John’s Christmas message in these same days referred to encouraging signs in a tense world and cited his own recent Mater et magistra as a basis for hope and peace. Although the official promulgation of the council came amid these hope-filled Christmas tidings, the document is more than a dose of holiday good cheer. It also provided John with an opportunity not only to outline the agenda for the upcoming council but to advance his influence over stalwart and starchy Church insiders who would just as readily have stalled any progress toward the council.

Humanae salutis, in a little more than 3,000 words and broken down into twenty-four sections, put Christ at its center and in the center of the secular world. “The Redeemer of man’s salvation, Christ Jesus” is not only its rhetorical opening but also its heart. In the very first paragraph, John quoted Matthew’s Gospel, “Here I am with you always, until the end of the world,” and this assurance infused the whole message—and John’s hope and prayer for the council. John’s second scriptural reference, from the Gospel of John in the second paragraph, reflected his own brimming optimism: “Be of good cheer, I have overcome the world!”

Some of the pope’s rationale for the council was standard fare for papal documents. He lamented the world’s lack of spiritual progress and its rejection of God and the Church. But he went a step further than usual, calling for a “complete renovation” of the human community. As for confronting the world, he saw the Church’s role as nothing less than “to intervene actively in all spheres of human activity.”

John spoke plainly: the council’s job was to renew the world by first renewing the Church. To use his analogy, a small seed was to grow into a large tree. John saw this renewal as the path to peace and unity.

 

Therefore we are confident that . . . an ecumenical council will . . . not only light up a fervent Christian wisdom and fortify the inner energy of the soul, but also pervade the whole of human activity. [emphasis added]

We gave you the first announcement of the celebration of the Ecumenical Council 25 January 1959. By doing this, it seemed that with heart and trembling hands, threw a sort of small seed. . . . From that day I spent almost three years, during which we saw that tiny seed grow under the breath of heavenly grace into a giant tree.

 

But Humanae salutis also bore the conciliatory imprint of John’s personality that would later be demonstrated most cogently in his master work, Pacem in terris (Peace on Earth). The last several sections were sprinkled with important all-embracing phrases: “Christian” instead of “Catholic”; “Christians” instead of “separated brethren.” Its tone seemed more diplomatic and welcoming than that displayed in Aeterna Dei sapientia, issued only a month before. Other examples abounded, with emphasis added: “We ask for all the faithful and all Christian people to devote full attention to address the council and fervent prayers to Almighty God. . . .” “With these our exhortations intend to consult with the beloved children of both clergy of all nationalities and all Christians in any category.”