Change Everything To Change Nothing

I was recently in a discussion about the Church's role on earth, specifically how the Church can be in the world but not of the world, and what this means for the Church as an institution. The person I was discussing with made the point that the Church has to "incarnate" the faith throughout time, and that this requires at least some institutional structure. Of course, he would also say that this "incarnating" is not primarily institutional, but also cultural, charitable, etc. I thought this was an interesting point, and it perhaps allows me to make some peace with the Church as an institution, even if it is an imperfect peace.

In reading about Danilo Dolci, I again encountered this idea of "incarnating":

Of the Sicilian clergy Vinay has said: 'They are souls of their traditions and of their past. They are unable to understand that the task of the Church is to incarnate the words of God in the life of the people—are unable to understand. They are keeping, saving, preserving—and personally I think that the greatest sin of the Church is the sense of preservation; where there is preservation there is not faith.

...

Vinay was not surprised to learn that I [James McNeish, Dolci's biographer] had to work in Cammarata anonymously, chiefly because the priests—and therefore the ruling clique—considered Dolci a militant Communist. 'It is the same in Riesi,' he said. 'It is easier for the clergy to condemn Communism than to incarnate the faith they profess.' (McNeish 78, 247)

I'm putting aside Vinay's argument about "preserving" (because I think that preserving orthodoxy and orthopraxy is one of the Church's central roles, although I agree with Vinay's basic point that the Church should not be entangled in social structures that manipulate people). But the primary aspect of Dolci's life that strikes me is that he did incarnate his ideas. He may not have had all the right ideas, and he may not have always made the right practical decisions, but he was a man of action. And perhaps just as importantly, he was a man of action in his specific context. He did not have to go halfway around the world to find a cause; instead he found it in his own country. Moreover, his cause did not depend on a future (or a past) that could never be realized; his immediate objective was the building of a dam, which was a realistic goal. Gandhi, too, is an example of dealing with what is right in front of you.

In my last blog post I asked what are we to do in the present moment, when we can neither recover the past nor live in a future that cannot be realized in our lifetime. Danilo Dolci's life helps answer that question. In an earlier blog post I quoted Kelly S. Johnson's summary of John Milbank's argument that "Gift can only really flourish within the confidence of 'marital fidelity,' for there the delay and inequality inherent in gift exchange do not become injustice" (Johnson 170-171). The act of marriage is a limiting act; the spouses limit themselves to one person, but in doing so they participate in a relationship in which they are always giving themselves anew as gifts. Without first limiting themselves to one person, they could not take part in such a limitless relationship. In the context of the Samaritan vocation, I think Dolci illustrates how limiting yourself within your own life's context is necessary in order to even begin serving others. Whether it's the man in front of you on the road to Jericho, the Sicilian woman whose infant child dies of hunger, or the "untouchables" of Indian society...that is where your service must begin.

One of the difficulties with men like Dolci and Gandhi, however, is that even in limiting themselves to one cause, it becomes extremely difficult for them to have true relationships. Dolci's father upbraids him for taking care of others when he has a family of his own to take care of. Gandhi expresses regret at his own failures as a father. These two men limited themselves...but did they limit themselves enough? It could be argued that the solitary hermit in his cell is shunning relationships...but I think what the hermit is really doing is going as far as a person can go in limiting himself to one relationship (i.e., his relationship with God). The more people an individual seeks to serve, the more difficult it becomes for him to form true Samaritan-Jew relationships. Dolci and Gandhi, as individual persons, could serve others in a way that an institution never can...and yet, did they themselves not become sort of institutions of their own? They became symbols for others, they were the glue that held others together; even people who did not know them personally would rally around them. This brings us back to Lewis Hyde's point that beyond a certain limit, the personal dimension of community is lost. Dolci disagreed with Don Zeno for turning people away from Nomadelphia, but perhaps Don Zeno understood that there are necessary limits to community. The "global village," perhaps, is not just imaginary, but also a threat to true community.

This issue of limiting one's self interests me in light of globalization. Consider, for example, the earthquake in Haiti. There was an outpouring of global aid after the earthquake. The assumption behind appeals for money is that we have an obligation to help the people of Haiti. And I think many Americans do feel compelled to give money in such situations. And I think part of the reason why is because they see it as a global effort. We want to save the world. But the more local and individual the need gets, the less urgent it becomes. We have a vague obligation to "the homeless." But the individual beggar on the street is not as much of a concern, because we help "the homeless" in general. We will send money to the earthquake victims of Haiti, but it would never occur to us to help Haitian immigrants in our own state. This is really a thorny question to answer. What obligation do I have to the beggar on the street if I donate money to charities for the homeless? What obligation do I have to the earthquake victims in Haiti if I help the beggar on the street? If I limit myself to face-to-face Samaritan-Jew relationships, am I still being my brother's keeper? What about my brothers who I will never meet face-to-face, but whom I am still able to help (e.g., through monetary donations)?

What I take from Dolci and Gandhi is that these questions are impossible to answer. We will always have to live with the tensions and uncertainties of what it means to be my brother's keeper, what it means to be a Good Samaritan. The only thing we can do is define our starting limit: it may be the slumdwellers of Sicily or the "untouchables" of India. It may be the mentally retarded. It may be homeless women. It may be the person sitting next to you on the train. These chosen limits may grow, and you may need to eventually draw back the limits. But if you never define a limit, then you will never get started. Dolci liked the quote, "Change everything to change nothing." I'm not sure what it means, but it sure sounds like what happens if you never define a starting limit.