The Center Cannot Hold

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
—W. B. Yeats, The Second Coming

In last month’s editorial I offered some rueful reflections on my short-lived political career, and lamented that most Catholic voters seem unmoved by the pro-life cause. I concluded that “the Catholic Church has failed to sway the political opinions of her own faithful,” and that “we cannot expect reform in society at large until we achieve reform within our own Church.”

That editorial seems to have struck a chord with many readers. In addition to a fair number of letters to the editor, I received several supportive personal letters, for which I am grateful. (The letters that were intended for publication will appear in our February issue.) However, in reading those letters I have been struck by the number of my correspondents who interpreted my editorial as a criticism of the American hierarchy.

In fact the word “hierarchy” did not appear in that column. (Nor did I use “bishop,” “priest,” or “clergy.”) All of us who make up “the Catholic Church,” laymen and clerics alike, share some responsibility for our current plight. All of us should be involved in the necessary reform. And insofar as we are speaking of political affairs, it is the laity, not the clergy, who must take the lead.

Underfunded, understaffed
During the past 20 years I have become acquainted with dozens of crisis-pregnancy centers. Without exception, these admirable institutions are always scraping for cash. Where they are not operated entirely by a few generous volunteers, these centers rely on a small, overworked, and underpaid staff.

I cannot fault these workers for their failure to raise adequate financial support; in fact I cannot praise them enough! But their competitors—the proprietors of the abortion mills—are lavishly funded. While private clinics rake in their enormous cash receipts, non-profit groups like Planned Parenthood add to the war chest of the abortion industry by attracting tens of millions of dollars in “charitable” donations. Worse still, the American taxpayers also subsidize these purveyors of death; the pro-life movement has been unable to end that hideous injustice.

Millions of Americans claim to be pro-life, and millions more insist that they support “a woman’s right to choose.” So why isn’t money pouring into the crisis-pregnancy centers, where women in distress really are presented with choices? Millions of taxpayers would recoil at the suggestion that they were underwriting the death of unborn children, yet by paying their taxes without complaint they do exactly that. How is this all possible? The blame cannot all be dumped on the bishops’ doorsteps.

The problem in the mirror
As Yeats noticed the better part of a century ago, there is a dangerous centrifugal force in modern society. We often take a keen interest in affairs that are completely beyond our control, while neglecting our true responsibilities.

The mass media and the cult of celebrity tempt us to become emotionally involved in the lives of people with whom we have no relationship whatsoever, to the detriment of our own relatives and neighbors. How many parents could answer without hesitation if we asked what Princess Diana was wearing on the night she died, or which brand of golf ball Tiger Woods prefers? How many of those same parents would be unable to say with any certainty what their teenage children were doing last night?

It is easy—so very easy—to find other people who might be blamed for any given problem. But the most important battles in life are always fought within our own souls; the source of our greatest difficulties can be found in the mirror.

It was actually an American bishop, the late Austin Vaughn, who persuaded me to make a radical commitment to the pro-life cause. Speaking to a large audience near my home, Bishop Vaughn asked us all to imagine that, some years in the future, a grandson asks, “What were you doing, Grandpa, back in the days when they were killing babies.”

I was afraid of going to jail. I was afraid of losing my job, and of losing an election. But I was—and still am—much more afraid of facing my grandson, and telling him that I spent my time criticizing the inaction of others.

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