A Response to Adam Eitel’s post:
“What Shall We Say of Zargawi’s Death?”
For those interested, see my most recent intellectual and artistic engagements on the subject of war:
Where do we begin? The title of Adam’s post “What Shall We Say of Zargawi’s Death?” points us in a helpful direction, insofar as it points toward a body broken.
Here I will be responding not only to Adam Eitel’s question “How should Christians respond to the death of men such as Mr. Zarqawi, and violence in general?,” but also to some of the comments that his question elicited. Already at this point it would be right for someone to ask, “Who is meant when you say ‘we?’” The importance of the answer to this question will become apparent, but for now my ‘we’ are those who together pray:
OUR Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy Name.
Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, As it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation; But deliver us from evil. Amen. [1]
The
discussion thus far has been interesting and has ranged widely even within a single comment. I will try to explicate what I see as three modes of thinking about violence and war, namely, political realism, just war, and pacificism.
Currently, I find the last two to be the most workable Christian modes of thinking about violence and war. To expedite these discussions and provide for those who may not regularly interact with these different modes of thought, I provide lengthy block quotes throughout. Following is a minimally nuanced introduction to political realism:
Political realism is a theory of political philosophy that attempts to explain, model, and prescribe political relations. It takes as its assumption that power is (or ought to be) the primary end of political action, whether in the domestic or international arena. In the domestic arena, the theory asserts that politicians do, or should, strive to maximize their power, while on the international stage, nation states are seen as the primary agents that maximize, or ought to maximize, their power. The theory is therefore to be examined as either a prescription of what ought to be the case, that is, nations and politicians ought to pursue power or their own interests, or as a description of the ruling state of affairs—that nations and politicians only pursue (and perhaps only can pursue) power or self-interest.
Political realism in essence reduces to the political-ethical principle that might is right. The theory has a long history, being evident in Thucydides' Pelopennesian War. It was expanded on by Machiavelli in The Prince, and others such as Thomas Hobbes, Spinoza, and Jean-Jacques Rousseau followed (the theory was given great dramatic portrayal in Shakespeare's Richard III). In the late nineteenth century it underwent a new incarnation in the form of social darwinism, whose adherents explained social and hence political growth in terms of a struggle in which only the fittest (strongest) cultures or polities would survive. Political realism assumes that interests are to be maintained through the exercise of power, and that the world is characterized by competing power bases. In international politics, most political theorists emphasize the nation state as the relevant agent, whereas Marxists focus on classes. Prior to the French Revolution in which nationalism as a political doctrine truly entered the world's stage, political realism involved the political jurisdictions of ruling dynasties, while in the nineteenth century, nationalist sentiments focused realists' attentions on the development of the nation-state, a policy that was later extended to include imperialist ambitions on the part of the major Western powers—Britain and France, and even Belgium, Germany and the United States were influenced by imperialism. Nationalist political realism later extended into geo-political theories, which perceive the world to be divided into supra-national cultures, such as East and West, North and South, Old World and New World, or focusing on the pan-national continental aspirations of Africa, Asia, etc. While the social darwinist branch of political realism may claim that some nations are born to rule over others (being 'fitter' for the purpose, and echoing Aristotle's ruminations on slavery in Book 1 of the The Politics), generally political realists focus on the need or ethic of ensuring that the relevant agent (politician, nation, culture) must ensure its own survival by securing its own needs and interests before it looks to the needs of others. [2]
For me, political realism lacks internal restraints to violence inherent to the system of thought itself. Of course one could provide external reasons why restrained violence might be in the best interest of the agent in question, but this is an external addition to a mode of thought which on principal should not exclude any means which would lead to the desired end of maximized power.
The core proposition of realism, its scepticism as to whether moral concepts such as justice can be applied to the conduct of international affairs, will return—though for different reasons—when discussing the strand of pacifism which Adam has started to find compelling. Realists tend to believe that moral concepts should never prescribe, nor circumscribe, a state's actions. Within the framework of Christian Realism, Reinhold Niebuhr, often acknowledged as its primary advocate, became a supporter of US action in World War II and the development of nuclear weapons. I don’t have the space here to argue at length against Niebuhrian realism, but what follows may give some intimation about why I find it unhelpful. Perhaps in lieu of a longer discussion it’s worth quoting Thomas Hibbs’ piece on Stanley Hauerwas:
Niebuhr's insistence on the reality of original sin and his rejection of pacifism in the face of the Nazi threat are often seen as a public reassertion of distinctively Christian doctrines. Hauerwas strongly disagrees. Since Niebuhr thinks the effects of original sin are obvious, he can deploy the notion of original sin as the basis for promoting a general virtue of humility, understood as liberal toleration. Niebuhr's project is thus only another means (like James's) for constructing a "liberal Christianity acceptable to liberal culture and politics." Theology becomes "ethics and ethics becomes an investigation of the conditions to make liberal society work." Like James before him, Niebuhr ends up confirming the atheistic thesis--put most famously by the nineteenth-century philosopher Feuerbach--that "theology is a disguised way of talking about humanity. [3]
Those who read what I write or interact with me on a regular basis, know that I’m a pacifist, and often am quite heavy handed when it comes to my anti-war rhetoric. I’ll try to avoid that here. So, I will turn first to Just War theory letting Jean Bethke Elshtain speak in her own words before proceeding to a brief pacifist questioning of Just War theory. After this perhaps a clearer answer to Adam’s query, “What Shall We Say of Zarqawi’s Death?,” will emerge.
Jean Bethke Elshtain is a political philosopher whose task has been to show the connections between our political and our ethical convictions. Her works include
Augustine and the Limits of Politics and an edited volume,
Just War Theory.
Less than a month after the attacks which took place in New York and Washington, D.C. in September of 2001, Jean Bethke Elshtain, Stanley Hauerwas and, James Turner Johnson were at the National Press Club in D.C. to discuss the topic “Just War Tradition and the New War on Terrorism.” What follows is part of Dr. Elshtain’s opening remarks at that event:
From President George W. Bush to the average man and woman on the street, Americans are evoking the language of justice to characterize our response to the despicable deeds perpetrated against innocent men, women and children on September 11th. When they do this, they tap into a complex tradition called Just war. The origins of the just war tradition are usually traced to St Augustine’s fourth century masterwork “The City of God.” In that text, Augustine grapples with the undeniable fact that Christian teaching challenges violence. He comes to the conclusion that wars of aggression and aggrandizement are never acceptable, but there are occasions when resort to force may be tragically necessary; not a normative good, but tragically necessary. What then makes the use of force justifiable? For Augustine, the most potent justification is to protect the innocent, and the innocent in the scheme of things are those in no position to defend themselves, to protect them from certain harm.
If one has compelling evidence that harm will come to persons unless action involving coercive force is taken, a requirement of neighbor love may be a resort to arms. Self-defense is trickier. According to Augustine, it is better for the Christian to suffer harm rather than to commit it. But are we permitted to make that commitment to non-self-defense for others? I would say not.
The upshot of Augustine’s reflections, refined over time, is that a primary rule for those committed to just war is non-combatant immunity, or the so-called principle of discrimination, meaning that non-combatants must not be the intended targets of violence. A further implication is that a carefully worked out act of terror against non-combatants of one’s own country is an injury that demands a response. That response involves just punishment, not in order to inflict grievous harm on the non-combatants of a country or a group whose operatives have harmed your citizens, but to interdict in order to prevent further harm and to punish those responsible for the harm that has already occurred. And this, of course, takes place in a world that international relations theorists called a world of self-help. That is, there's absolutely no guarantee that anybody else is going to do this for you. So it’s an obligation of government to respond. And in responding in a way that abides by certain limits, one reaffirms a world of moral responsibility and justice…The Christian tradition also tells us that government is instituted by God. This does not mean that every government and every public official is godly, but rather that he or she is charged with a solemn responsibility for which there is a divine warrant.
...
[The just war tradition] attempts to steer a course between, on the one hand, the sort of anything goes ethic of realpolitik, often associated with thinkers like Machiavelli and Hobbes. But the just war tradition rejects as well an effort that forswears action, if that action commits the country to the use of armed force in a responsible and limited way.
...
[T]his basic civic peace—tranquilitas ordinis it’s called in the tradition—is a great good. It is not, of course, the peace of the kingdom promised by scripture. That awaits the end time. Beating swords into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks, a world in which nations shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more, is a vision connected with certain conditions…For the prophet tells us that the condition of eschatological peace is one in which the Lord’s house has been established everywhere, and all go up to the mountain of the Lord, for out of Zion shall go forth the law and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. So it assumes a kind of unity of order and the rule, a singular rule of a law that applies to all of that distinction. Well, we are not there yet, to put it mildly. As Martin Luther observed, if the lion lies down with the lamb, the lamb must be replaced frequently.
...
Saint Augustine taught us that we should not spurn worldly vocations, including -- and his famous example is the vocation of the judge; tragic because he or she can never know with absolute certainty whether punishment is being meted out to the guilty and not the innocent. But we depend on judges and on others to uphold a world of responsibility; a world in which people are not permitted to devour one another like fishes, in Augustine’s pithy phrase…Now, responding justly to injustice is a tall order, for it means that it is better to risk the lives of one’s own combatants in certain situations than to intentionally kill non-combatants of the society with whom one is in conflict. It is often difficult to separate combatants from non-combatants, but one is obliged to try.
...
Now, just punishment that I’ve been talking about, to seek out those who have perpetrated an evil deed and to punish, is very different from revenge. Revenge repudiates all limits. Just punishment observes restraints. The course thus far chartered by the administration is admirable in its complexity, its nuance and its restraint. The use of military force is planned, at least at this point, as one part of an overall strategy that involves, as you all know, decoding messages, cutting off money flows, and many other ways to go about dealing with this issue.
...
In the dark days of Nazi terror, there was a brave young German theologian, known to many of you I hope and trust, named Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who had been moving toward pacifism, which was a rather remarkable thing for a German Lutheran under that era to be doing. And he committed himself to a conspiracy to assassinate Adolf Hitler, to “cut off the head of the snake,” as he put it. And he asked in his letters and papers from prison, "Who stands fast?" "Who stands fast?"
Bonhoeffer observed that the great evil that had appeared among the German people had played havoc with all our ethical concepts, and he was particularly severe in his criticism of those who, in his words, flee from public altercation into the sanctuary of private virtuousness. But anyone who does this must shut his mouth and his eyes to the injustice around him. Only at the cost of self-deception can he keep himself pure from the contamination arising from responsible action. [4]
Elshtain brings up many of the important conditions that the Just War tradition considers necessary to fighting justly. She mentions the need to discriminate between combatants and non-combatants. Elsewhere in her comments she discusses right authority, another vital dimension of the Just War tradition and one aimed at limiting freelance opportunistic and individualistic violence. But we could talk further about other often cited considerations: last resort, proportionality, probability of success, right intention, and just cause.
In Just War discussions, just cause is often the first question handled. For example, in the statements concerning the wars in Iraq made by the
United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, one sees that they make this move. Yet, the question of right authority is always prior to the question of just cause. The mistake of handling just cause first is understandable since international structures have seemingly done much of the work of defining right authority. The result may be that the question of right authority loses its preeminence practically, even though it should be retained logically. The question of determining right authority has everything to do with the expectation that an authority serves the good of its people. This, however, becomes complicated in a democratic politic concerned for personal rights and interests and suspicious of the hegemony of anyone defining a common good for everyone.
At this point, I think it worthwhile to bring in a pacifist critique of what has already been said. Adam has noted that he has “grown increasingly sympathetic to the kind pacifism espoused by the likes of Stanley Hauerwas, John [Howard] Yoder, and Miroslav Volf.” He has also noted my friendship with (and that I received my second master’s degree studying under) Stanley Hauerwas.
Stanley begins with the priority of non-violence which he gets through tradition and scripture. He would argue that when the Christian tradition started to develop Just War theories, it was developing exceptions to the background assumption of Christian non-violence. Said differently, there would be no need to provide justification for the use of violence if there were not already the assumption that Christians should not engage in violence. Once Christ dies upon the cross and the gentiles are grafted into God’s people, Israel, Hauerwas finds both a return to political theocracy impossible and a God who commands his people to kill unimaginable. As he says, “I am a pacifist because I think nonviolence is the necessary condition for a politics not based on death.” [5]
Stanley Hauerwas, of course, is the Gilbert T. Rowe Professor of Theological Ethics at the Divinity School of Duke University. He holds a joint appointment in Duke Law School. He has delivered many lectures across the U.S. as well as overseas, and delivered the Gifford Lectures at the University of St. Andrews, Scotland in the year 2000-2001. Though he is often identified as an ethicist, his work is more properly described as theology. His primary intent is to show in what way theological convictions make no sense unless they are actually embodied in our lives.
Again I’ll reproduce a text which I find both expedient and essential to understanding Hauerwas’s pacifism. Dr. Hauerwas writes:
John Howard Yoder is the great representative of Christological pacifism. He developed his account of Christian nonviolence in his great book The Politics of Jesus, but his account of the distinctiveness of Christological pacifism is perhaps best found in his book Nevertheless. In that book he outlined over twenty types of pacifism, each of which he describes for their virtues as well as their limits.
Most forms of pacifism in modernity developed after World War I. The assumption was that war, given the experience of WWI, was simply irrational. So pacifism named the rejection of war because war could not accomplish its declared purpose, that is, peace. Yoder, like Reinhold Niebuhr, was a relentless critic of that kind of pacifism. He was so because such an account of nonviolence was too easily defeated by showing the necessity of violence in this or that circumstances to produce limited ends.
[I recently wrote about
Dada and Exasperation with War and pointed out that we can still learn much about how to talk about about the absurdity of war from the Dadaists. However, one of the limits of Dada and pacifism in the post-WWI context is that violence cannot be dispensed with
simply by calling it rediculous.]
In contrast, Yoder developed an account of Christian nonviolence which depends on the doctrine of God. Yoder certainly thought that there are numerous New Testament texts that require Christians to live nonviolently. We are expected to forgive our enemies, and Paul requires in Romans 12 that Christians do not retaliate. But Yoder’s account of Christian nonviolence does not turn on any one text. Rather Christian nonviolence is made possible by the Son of God suffering on the cross, thereby revealing that the Father refuses to save the world through violence. Rather the Father in the Son takes upon himself our violence so that violence might be forever ended.
That is why in Nevertheless Yoder observes that his account of nonviolence is:
- "the only position for which the person of Jesus is indispensable. It’s the only one of these positions which would lose its substance if Jesus were not the Christ and lose its foundation if Jesus Christ were not the Lord."
- "Since Jesus is seen in his full humanity as responding to the needs an temptations of a social character, the problems for our obedience to him are not problems in the interpretation of texts. Nor is the question of our fidelity one of moralism, a stuffy preoccupation with never making a mistake."
- "The question put to us as we follow Jesus is not whether we have successfully refrained from breaking any rules. Instead we are asked whether we have been participants in that human experience, that peculiar way of living for God in the world and being used as instruments of the living God in the world, which the Bible calls agape or cross."
Therefore, Yoder speaks of the pacifism of the messianic community. Nonviolence names not just a response to the violence of the state, but rather a way of life of a community that lives through practices of reconciliation and forgiveness. So Matthew 18 becomes crucial for this account of nonviolence because Christians must be willing to expose and have exposed their sins to one another in a way that their community can live in peace.
The nonviolence that is Christologically displayed is also an ecclesiological position. Christians are called to a community of nonviolence in a world of war thereby creating the division between Church and world. Therefore, Christian nonviolence is not a strategy to end war, though of course it certainly wants to make war less likely. Rather Christians are called to nonviolence in a world of war because they can do nothing less as faithful followers of Christ. Christian nonviolence is an eschatological position that reminds Christians that we live in a new age begun by Christ yet not yet consummated. Accordingly, Christian nonviolence is the exemplification of God’s patience as found in the cross to redeem us so that we might be for the world his promised people. [6]
This is a succinct and helpful summary of Dr. Hauerwas’ pacifism (or what he would prefer to call his Christianity, since he doesn't want pacifism to sound like something separate from following Jesus). It should be clear that people subscribing to both Just War and Christian non-violence are willing to allow innocent people die for their beliefs. This is worth noting because the most common critique that arises in conversation about pacifism is similar to Dru Johnson’s
comment:
"Even pacifists and people against the death penalty can see the common morality in having to use deadly force in the above situations. It’s sad and we shouldn’t be exultant, but rather know that the necessity of particular situations will require someone’s death. (If you need to, think of catching someone attacking your daughter. You would act out of necessity; pacifist or not).”
One often hears a scenario painted where an agent has to choose between kill or be killed or where someone has a gun to a loved one’s head. Then the pacifist gets the question, “What would you do?” Hauerwas would quickly counter this notion of necessity stating that, “I think that a lot can be done once we free our imaginations from the presumption that the only alternative is capitulation or war. Nonviolence means finding alternatives to the notion that it is ultimately a matter of kill or be killed. [When Christians think about alternatives to the war in Iraq, they] might consider asking the many Christians in Iraq what we can do to make their lives more bearable. A small step, to be sure, but peace is made from small steps.” [7] The person supporting Just War has the obligation to try to uphold non-combatant immunity, but, as Elshtain points out, “[n]o war...can be fought without putting non-combatants in harm’s way.” [8] Thus, the pacifist and just warrior equally have to watch the innocent suffer for their beliefs.
Beyond these conversational queries, Dr. Hauerwas also has deep concern about an incoherence he sees in Just War thinking. In his response to Dr. Elshtain, he says:
The justification that Jean gave of just war is not a series of exceptions to non-violence, but rather assumes the priority of justice to non-violence. This is extremely important, I think, because justice names not self-defense but, as she so eloquently put it, the defense of the innocent. So you only want to use as much violence as is absolutely required to stop the attacker. And all “innocent” means there is they did not deserve the attack.
Just war presupposes that you never live in a world free of war. One of the crucial questions involved here is a question of historicity in terms of the kind of disorder that you’re actually finding in the world. It is one thing for the Roman Empire to think about the kinds of disorder it confronted. It’s quite another thing to think about the kind of disorder that now names the world of international nation-states. That is a new development.
But then that raises the question of what do I mean when I say “justice?” Can you talk about justice and international order? Justice normally presupposes goods that can be named in common that therefore allow you to articulate what is just and unjust.
This indicates, I think, one of the great tensions in modern accounts of just war; namely, how do you square the ability to fight a war justly when, as a matter of fact, you presuppose an international arena [which lacks shared conceptions of the good such that] justice no longer makes any sense? This was the great task of Paul Ramsey, who tried, as a matter of fact, to take a Niebuhrian account of political realism and wed it to just war. Whether that can be done or not still seems to me to be a deep question. And I’m more than willing to enter in as a pacifist into that project, because just war is clearly better than political realism. And so I certainly want to do that. I don’t pretend that that’s their problem. I need to take it on too.
Now, one of the implications, however, if just war is an account to produce justice, one of the implications of this view is that pacifists are not just confused, but we are deeply immoral. Because exactly to the extent that we refuse to take up the project of defending the innocent, then as the matter of fact we have betrayed a deep moral responsibility that shall be incumbent upon anyone; and in particular on the disciples of Jesus. [9]
So, Dr. Hauerwas essentially raises two questions; first, can Just War theory remain a set of exceptions to the otherwise assumed position of Christian non-violence? The answer here depends upon who the comprises our 'we.' The Christological ground for Hauerwas and Yoder's non-violence will likely not be shared by all who are persuaded Just War thinking. As he points out, those who do not start their thinking about violence with "the Son of God suffering on the cross" will likely turn Just War thinking into an account of how to produce justice in a world of violence and not as exceptions to an otherwise held commitment to Christian non-violence. This leads to his second question: If one has dispensed with the ground of Christian non-violence and now assumes a world of war which needs to be restrained by the principles of Just War theory, whose account of justice does one use?
[Here one can see that Hauerwas shares with political realists a suspicion of the use of justice. Political realists tend to think that terms like justice cannot or should not be applied to entities like nation states. Hauerwas wonders whether concepts like justice can be translated across the boundaries of differing cultures and nation states. These suspicions should at least underscore some of the difficulties facing those who support Just War theory.]
I began by stating that a description of 'we' was necessary to answering Adam's question of “What Shall We Say of Zargawi’s Death?” Thus far, I've sketched three positions, namely, political realism, Just War, and Christological pacifism. What I have not done, or at least what I have not done yet, is answer Adam's question. I will try to do that now.
As I've said, I'm a pacifist and. Like Stanley, I don't view this as a way to rid the world of violence, but see it as a way of living in a world of violence as a sign of hope that God's peace is more fundamental than violence. At the same time, I'm glad that Dr. Elshtain brought up Dietrich Bonhoeffer, because I can imagine myself participating in a similar plot. This may be a strange thing for a pacifist to say. Some may even think that saying such doesn't make me a very good pacifist. Of course, being a good pacifist is not something at which I aim. I am much more concerned with being a good, and that is to say, faithful Christian. While Dr. Elshtain is right to say, "Beating swords into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks, a world in which nations shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more, is a vision connected with certain conditions…," I believe those conditions exist even if they do not yet entirely. Mine, however, is not a call for our nation to be a pacifist nation. I'm not sure what that would mean. Instead, I prefer our nation to have as robust an account of Just War as possible. Even though Hauerwas sees some challenges to Just War theory in the context of pluralism, he can still say:
"This was the great task of Paul Ramsey, who tried, as a matter of fact, to take a Niebuhrian account of political realism and wed it to just war. Whether that can be done or not still seems to me to be a deep question. And I’m more than willing to enter in as a pacifist into that project, because just war is clearly better than political realism. And so I certainly want to do that. I don’t pretend that that’s their problem. I need to take it on too." [10]
There may be limits to Just War thinking in a pluralistic society as compared to a more clearly defined tradition, but then again we should neither overestimate nor underestimate what might be called our civic affection that binds us to those around us. Christians, it seems, should prefer our democratic politic to struggle to connect our guiding political realism with just war thinking rather than leaving it to embody a straight political realism. On these terms, we should be glad for the steps taken to minimize the casulties in the strike against Abu Musab al-Zarqawi. Were the two 500-lbs. bombs the least amount of force necessary? Could we have meted out just punishment without killing Sheik Abdel Rahman, another man and three women? It's hard for me to know. As a citizen of the United States of America, I do not feel exultant, but sobered at the news of the death Abu Musab al-Zarqawi. I agree with David Williamson that with my loss of trust in the people who make the determinations on what information to release and what is the right course of action, I feel helpless to know whether this was done in a manner that might be considered just. I would prefer al-Zarqawi to have been taken alive, but realize that was a unlikely outcome. As a citizen of the United States of America, I think it all unfortunate. Perhaps it will increase the
tranquilitas ordinis of our nation. Perhaps. As a Christian and one committed to non-violence, my response is different. I like Hauerwas' suggestion to "drape the altar in black" and to mourn. Mourn for dead victims of terrible crimes, mourn for the dead perpetrators, and mourn for those who were sent to drop bombs. How should Christians respond to the death of men such as al-Zarqawi and violence in general? Hopefully, through our tears, we can pray: "Come quickly, Lord Jesus."
"Let us give our hand to all those around the world who suffer, who cry out and are fearful. Be one in prayer. Let us remember that the smallest gesture of beauty and tenderness done with humility and confidence will bring unity to the world and break the chain of violence." [11]
[1] Thank you to Amy-Marie for reminding me that this would exclude the Friends, an inadvertant mistake on my part.
[2] See: "Poltitical Realism" from The Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy.
[3] Thomas Hibbs, "Stanley Hauerwas's Pacifism: The radical gospel," The Weekly Standard, 05/13/2002, Volume 007, Issue 34.
[4] Jean Bethke Elshtain speaking at the Pew Forum Seminar "Just War Tradition and the New War on Terrorism," 10/5/2001, National Press Club, Washington, DC.
[5] Stanley Hauerwas, "September 11, 2001: A Pacifist Response," The South Atlantic Quarterly 101:2, Spring 2002.
[6] Stanley Hauerwas, "Christological Pacifism," Methodists United for Peace with Justice (website: http://www.mupwj.org/)
[7] Stanley Hauerwas speaking at the Pew Forum Seminar "Just War Tradition and the New War on Terrorism," 10/5/2001, National Press Club, Washington, DC.
[8] Elshtain, "Just War Tradition and the New War on Terrorism."
[9] Hauerwas, "Just War Tradition and the New War on Terrorism."
[10] Ibid.
[11] Jean Vanier, “L’arche Founder Responds to Violence,” Houston Catholic Worker, November 16, 2001.
