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Category: Roles and Duties of a Catholic Man

  • The Call to Unity in the Spirit

    The Call to Unity in the Spirit

    Transcript of a talk to the Highland Catholic Men’s Conference, 19th September 2020

    Gentlemen, it is a pleasure to be with you in spirit at this conference for Highland Catholic Men. I always feel a great stirring of the soul when I hear the word Highland. This is not simply because I’m a great lover of whisky, though my preference is indeed for the scotch of that region, but because it conjures up all the romance of wild beauty, of a resilient people and of pride in one’s homeland.

    To an Englishman who cannot trace his roots much beyond three generations, there is something deeply desirable about the heritage and kinship seen in the gathering of the clans, each with their defining names and tartans and each with their common traditions and mythologies. What a wonderful sense of belonging! What confidence must be inspired in every kinsman who feels himself a part of something so much bigger than his own individualism! What pride must be felt in every heart at the presentation of such a family to the world! What fire must grow in the soul of every boy when he hears the stories of his forefathers, those great examples of heroism and manly virtue!

    There is something so compelling about knowing who we are, where we come from, who and what we belong to, and our role within this great, interwoven legacy of kinship.

    When the rallying call to arms went out to the clans, all men able to fight were expected to gather, armed and ready for action. They knew what it was they were fighting for. As Chesterton says, “The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.”

    I would like to use this time with you to talk with you about unity, primarily using the words of St Paul to the Ephesians, particularly chapter 4.

    Since establishing Catholic Man UK – now with the inclusion of Ireland – it has been an enormous joy to see Catholic men in these isles gathering in physical groups and, latterly, online in great numbers. The recent period of lockdown saw our facebook group membership double in a few months and now, as we slowly make our way back into the physical world, I sense a great desire among our members to meet up in the flesh and to share tangible fellowship.

    But do we really share, yet, a deep sense of brotherhood, rooted in our Catholic heritage?

    I know I shouldn’t have been surprised at the level of antagonism online between Catholic men, but I was extremely disappointed when I first set up the facebook group and men began to arrive there. Liberals versus conservatives, anti-Pope Francis versus pro, Old Rite versus New – the aggression in the comments! and men’s desire to be seen to hold the moral high ground or to have the last word; it was soul-destroying. There was no awareness that the walls were being torn down from inside; each man was arriving to the conversation like a restless, self-centred pinball, crashing destructively from one flashing comment to another, and then disappearing down a hole as soon as they’d arrived, with no idea of the complete havoc they’d wreaked. Or maybe they did know, but didn’t care.

    And that’s what we’re like! We arrive twitchy and agitated to the gathering with no sense of who we are in relation to anyone else, or what we should be doing with ourselves. And should we blame ourselves for this?

    We have a great following from Ireland and Northern Ireland, and I’d been in touch via messenger with a Catholic man from Belfast who’s carrying out an excellent ministry with a series of podcasts called The Holy Joes. We agreed to meet on Zoom and record a podcast together, and the man himself, Joe, admitted to me later that he was somewhat nervous about speaking with me with regard to my English accent. An English accent had so many connotations for him growing up in Belfast that it gave him conflicting feelings prior to our call. And should he be blamed for this? Not at all. Each of us arrives at a point of relationship not only struggling under the weight of our own past but also under the weight of each other’s.

    What must change for Catholic men, from this point of meeting onwards, is how we work to relieve each other of the burdens of the past.

    It is in deep sorrow and forgiveness, and by holding in loving and painful tension the wounds of each man, that we begin to see we belong to a family, that we share a heritage and that we have a common legacy to protect.

    So, before my conversation with Joe from Belfast could reach any fraternal depth, I needed to say to him how sorry I was for the actions of my English forefathers that had caused him and his kinsmen much pain. I needed to hear from him that he recognised and accepted my sorrow and that, at least between the two of us, we could hold in tension the fraught history of our nations and not let any animosity spread further than ourselves.

    And though in this context you and I cannot reciprocate in the same way, I say the same to you – I am sorry for the actions of my fellow Englishmen that caused pain to the people of Scotland.

    To my own, secular, countrymen, and perhaps even to Englishmen of faith, this is a foolish weakness, a loss of the moral high ground, but for me, we will never unify the Catholic men of these isles unless we first pause in sorrow and forgiveness, starting at the level even of our own families, our parishes and communities and then our nations. We will never build the walls of the Church in these isles all the while we are tearing them down from the inside. We will never trust that our fellow Catholic man is looking out for us, that he has our back, that he wants the best from us, all the while we hold on to our long-standing fears and divisions. We will always be twitchy and agitated in each other’s presence, trying to score points at the other’s expense, cautious of the other’s possible duplicity.

    Why am I making this point so strongly?

    To continue stretching the metaphor, we have arrived at a moment in time where it is necessary to make the call to arms. Now is the time to gather the clans. Indeed, “Now is the time” is the very call itself: St Paul says, “I tell you, now is the time of God’s favour, now is the day of salvation!”

    Do the men of the United Kingdom hear this call? Do the men of England and Scotland hear this call? Do the men of the Highlands hear this call? We must all hear this call rippling across the nations. Beacons of hope must be lit from Ipswich to Inverness and over to Enniskillen and beyond, and the message must be: now is the favourable time!

    This is no new call; this is the echo of a call made centuries ago by St Paul to the early Church in his letter to the Ephesians:

    I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received. Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to one hope when you were called; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.

    Let’s unpick this for the next few minutes. In this letter, St Paul makes an urgent plea for each of us to earnestly pursue our vocation.

    As you know, if you have read or watched anything previously from me, I emphasise the core characteristics of every man’s vocation in fatherhood, whether this is biological or spiritual. Every man finds his identity and his path to holiness – and brings others to understand their identity and holy path – in living out his vocation of fatherhood as an image of God the Father to everyone in his care or who he meets.

    How do we live a life worthy of this calling? As men, in particular, we do so by a commitment to the virtues, a commitment we can make here and now. Now being the favourable time! The Catechism of the Catholic Church defines virtue as “a habitual and firm disposition to do the good” and St Paul gives us the nod to these virtues in his letter to the Ephesians. The Church defines the seven Christian virtues as combining the four cardinal virtues of prudence, justice, temperance, and courage (or fortitude) with the three theological virtues of faith, hope, and charity. Perfection in the virtues as Catholic men is an intrinsic part of our call to arms, and I speak and write about this elsewhere. If you want a good book for men on the virtues, then look up Virtuous Leadership by Alexander Harvard.

    As I said earlier, the biggest surprise for me moderating a Catholic social media group was the level of personal confrontation between members that accompanied their defence of various topics or views. When I highlighted this to individuals, I regularly received the response that pugnacious debate is manly and that anyone who can’t take it is soft.

    St Paul calls the Ephesians – and us – to maturity in the virtues. Later in his letter we read that we should ‘put off the old man’. The new, mature man is the man of humility, gentleness and patience in regard to his relationship with others, bearing their faults and annoyances with love.

    For emphasis, read Galatians: ‘For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.” But if you bite and devour one another, watch out that you are not consumed by one another’.

    Maintaining a level of restraint, this action I spoke about of holding all things in loving tension, can be a far more difficult and manly task than unleashing one’s frustration or contempt upon others.

    It is dispiriting to see so much division around us; division between ourselves and our spouse, between our children, our parishioners, our fellow Catholic men, let alone among our politicians and leaders! We think peace ought to come easily, if only other people would just let go of their self-centred prejudices.

    As men, however, we should be enthused and challenged by St Paul’s use of the word ‘maintain’. It has a workmanlike quality about it, a practical, hands-on approach. We need to tap into our masculine genius of craftsmanship, resilience, problem-solving and leadership to eagerly work out how we maintain the unity of the Spirit among ourselves. God wants us to be active participants in establishing His family on earth.

    When we look around us, it doesn’t take much to see how people’s fears and anxieties cause them to isolate or to put themselves into conflict with others. Men have a particular gift of stepping into situations and providing reassurance and direction, but many times we lack the courage or conviction to see a situation and know it’s up to us to make a difference. That’s why it’s so admirable to hear of groups like the Highland Catholic Men and the work that you are all doing through it.

    In Romans we read, “May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you a spirit of unity”. St Paul was no stranger to the fortitude required to bring the early Christians into a bond of peace. Working to establish peace and unity is a tough job.

    But let’s return to Ephesians. St Paul tells us that “there is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call.”

    To understand more about this ‘one body’, we need to go back to the second chapter of Ephesians:

    “For he … has made us both one and has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility … that he might create in himself one new man in place of the two, so making peace, and might reconcile us both to God in one body through the cross, thereby killing the hostility”.

    He has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility. In a mysterious way, those of us who share in the Eucharist become one whole, unified body through the broken body of Christ.

    Cardinal Ratzinger, in his book, The Meaning of Christian Brotherhood, says: “the Eucharist must again become visibly the sacrament of brotherhood in order to be able to achieve its full, community-creating power.”

    He further explains: “this is a sacramental but also an ethical process . . . . The belief that we have all become a single new man in Jesus Christ will always call us to let the separating particularity of our own egos, the self-assertion of human selfhood melt into the community of the new man Jesus Christ.”

    The ‘separating particularity of our own egos’ is perhaps the first battle we face in this call to arms, even before we enter the fray of division in search of unity.

    It is a huge challenge to look inside ourselves and to identify the long-standing grudges, the grave wounds, and the lack of forgiveness for past offenses against us. It takes courage to search deeply for what is hurting so profoundly inside of ourselves – those hidden things that surface in our anger, our addictions, our cowardice and insecurities – and to face up to them and to root them out. We are so shackled by our deprived childhoods, insufficient parenting, fractured families and aimless growth into adulthood, that we often do not see the prison we are in. Getting to grips with these issues is what some psychologists call, facing the dragon, a phrase that draws on the many mythologies of the hero who sets out on a journey which leads him to fight monsters in dark places, to undergo a death, and to return miraculously to life with the strength to restore hope among the people.

    This, of course, is a familiar story and one we’ve heard in fairy tales from childhood. Tolkein uses this image to great effect in The Lord of the Rings when Gandalf the Grey faces death at the hands of the Balrog but returns with great power as Gandalf the White. We see it too in Frodo’s epic journey into deepest Mordor where his constancy in the face of utter despair brings salvation to the whole of Middle Earth. Gollum, in contrast, is a great symbol of what men can become when they hold tight to bitterness and entitlement.

    Indeed, The Lord of the Rings is one glorious story of unity among races achieved through personal denial, humility and great sacrifice for a cause beyond mere altruism. The peoples of Middle Earth were being cleverly divided and conquered, and were turning in hatred towards each other over ancient grievances. Dwarves hated elves, kingdoms of men mistrusted one another, towns were fortified and doors were closed. Yet the heralded coming of a King to lead all races to victory brought great hope, and people marvelled at the sight of the Dwarf Gimli riding in friendship with the Elf Legolas. This was a sign that times were truly changing.

    Tolkein’s mythology points us in one direction – to the true King and the true unity of the family of God. St Paul continues his rallying call to the Ephesians, summoning them around the flag of “… one Lord, one faith, one baptism”.

    This brief verse adds three more ‘ones’ to the ‘one body, one spirit and one hope’ in verse 4. These repeated references to unity highlight our intended harmony. We are meant to conduct ourselves as members of a single universal community of believers: the Church.

    Thus, from the idea of the calling at the beginning of the chapter we pass naturally to Him who calls: the one Lord, and to the method of His calling to Himself: first, by the one faith and then by the one baptism – at which a profession of that one faith is made.

    St Paul’s call to unity culminates in the acknowledgement of “one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all” –  one God who stands at the beginning of all creation, transcendent in power and governance, but immanent in his paternal presence and agency.

    People who worship many gods cannot hope to be united; their affections are directed to different objects: the god of wealth and pleasure, the god of race and nationalism, the god of individualism.

    In Christ, however, we are ‘being built together into a dwelling place for God’. We are His temple and He abides in us. As the same God dwells in every heart, we ought to be one, echoing Christ’s beautiful prayer, ‘that they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us.’

    St Paul encourages us though his letter to the Ephesians that through the gift of Christ’s grace we each have a part to play in building God’s dwelling place. The Father, who stands in so blessed and gracious a relationship to the united whole, also sustains an equally gracious and blessed relationship to each individual in that whole. It is because each receives His individual gift that God works in all.

    So Christ himself gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ.

    Gentlemen, each of us has a part to play in these momentous times. As you return to you group of Highland men, consider how it is that you should be answering the call to your vocation as men, the call to virtue and the call to the unity of the body of Christ.

    May God the Father bless you in that calling.

  • Fathers: The Great Adventurers of the Modern World

    Fathers: The Great Adventurers of the Modern World

    CLAYTON C. BARBEAU | This article first appeared on catholicexchange.com 28th June 2016

    The great adventurers of the modern world: with these words Charles Péguy, the great French Catholic poet of the early twentieth century, honoured the fathers of families. Péguy was killed in the first of the modern world’s global wars, but if he were alive today, he would probably feel the need to underscore his statement.

    What soldier of fortune faces a greater challenge than that confronted by the father, in partnership with his wife, navigating the ship of the family through the currents of modern life?

    Erupting from the depths of life’s sea, raging storms — seen only as warnings on the barometer in Péguy’s day — now crash full against the seams of the family ark, tearing at its white sails of holiness, pounding against its bulwarks that are the unity and indissolubility of marriage. If at any given time the parents underestimate the danger or fail to respond adequately to the challenge, the ship may founder.

    ”There is only one adventurer in the world, as can be seen very clearly in the modern world: the father of a family. Even the most desperate adventurers are nothing compared with him. Everything in the modern world is organised against that fool, that imprudent, daring fool, against the unruly, audacious man who is daring enough to have a wife and family, against the man who dare to found a family.” – Charles Péguy

    “The Great Adventurers of the modern world,” indeed. And called to an adventure of no little importance: the pitting of ourselves against all the enemies of fatherhood; the warding off of all the daily advances of a multibillion-dollar advertising industry devoted to making us and our children avaricious, lustful, and proud — all of this, yes, but more.

    Ours is not only a defensive action; we must at the same time take the offensive. We fight against storms, but for the sake of arriving at our destination. The enemy without must be held off while each day sees new attacks of the enemy within.

    And yet, for all this, the call to sanctity remains and is one conditioned to each person’s state in life: for fathers of families, it is in and through our fatherhood that we are to achieve our fullest holiness. Not in spite of marriage and our family will we become holy, but because of them. Our parental work, when performed in Christ, is our holy work, as holy a work as that of any celibate religious who works full-time in a parish ministry, cares for the poor, houses the homeless, or prays unceasingly in a cloister.

    There is particular relevance for us, as fathers, in that incident which occurs in the Gospel of Mark: And He sat down and called the Twelve; and He said to them, ‘If anyone would be first, he must be last of all and servant of all.’

    It is in and through the experiences of marriage, and in the labours of rearing a family, of welcoming God in the children we are given, that we are to advance in the spiritual life. We were called to the vocation of Christian marriage. We are laypeople, and our care for our families, our domestic churches, is at the very heart of the life of the Church as a whole.

    Our daily work, whatever it may be, our bill-paying and our bedtime reading, is holy already; there is no need for us to think up ways to make it holy. It remains for us only to remember the holiness of all that we are about, to recognise and appreciate this fact and celebrate it in ways natural to family life.

    This is the glorious adventure upon which we are embarked. Yet, how often we fail! Our resolutions seem so quickly shattered under one or another of the day’s poundings. We are human beings, not angels; we are the sons and daughters of the fallen Adam and Eve, and we ache with the bruises of all our own falls. “Out of the depths I cry to Thee, O Lord . . .” and cry we must, but we must not become discouraged, for our major conquest is intended to be ourselves.

    All of the pounding to which we are submitted on the anvil of our daily lives is intended to form us in the image of Christ. Like iron that, to be shaped, must be heated and pounded, heated and pounded, so we are heated with the flames of daily life and shaped by the life of God in us.

    “It is for discipline that you have to endure,” the letter to the Hebrews says. “God is treating you as sons; for what son is there whom his father does not discipline? . . . He disciplines us for our good, that we may share His holiness. For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant; yet it yields peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it. Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed. Strive for peace with all men, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord.”

    In Christ, even our failures become a source of grace when we accept them in imitation of His humility and courage; even our anxieties become a path to holiness when we ally them with His sufferings. All that we do and say, if it is done and said in Christ, is done and said well, for true wellness is life in Christ.

    In light of this, the father’s recognition of the way in which his family impinges upon him, far from being the source of any malice toward those who are a drain upon his resources and time, is seen as the way in which he is being transformed in Christ. Such a man takes joy in receiving the living souls entrusted to him with patience and kindness, remembering the words of Jesus: “I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.”

    Our homes become schools of love for all who live there, a love that of its nature radiates outward, first to the receiving of all guests as Christ and then to the meeting with equal love those who lack sympathy with our beliefs and our way of life. We can will the good of all our enemies. All those who are dedicated to ideals destructive of all we hold dear have a call upon our prayers.

    Perhaps through the love we hold for such people, the example we set for them in Christ, we will one day be privileged to hear the words that St. Augustine addressed to St. Ambrose: “I was not convinced by your arguments, but by the great love you showed me.”

    Editor’s note: This article is adapted from a chapter in The Father of the Family, which is available from Sophia Institute Press.

  • St Joseph the Great

    St Joseph the Great

    Dr. Tom Neal | 19th March 2020 | This article first appeared at wordonfire.org

    St. Joseph: foster-father of God’s Son and spouse of the God-bearer.

    When I ponder the fact that he bore the fearsome role of being the earthly image for Jesus of the heavenly Father, it fills me with wonder and awe. When Jesus first said Abba, he meant Joseph. And, as with all fathers, the vocation of Joseph was to provide for Jesus as seamless a transition from father to Father as possible. Joseph was a craftsman, working by the sweat of his brow and teaching Jesus the dignity of doing the same. He was a just man, a man who walked in dark and pilgrim faith, the protector of and provider for his family and a man of humble silence.

    All that said, what stands out to me most, especially in our time, as most remarkable is that he was placed as guardian of his bride’s God-sealed virgin chastity, which he secured, no doubt, by the furious virtue his own heroic chastity. The joyful burden that this must have placed on him to love the Tota Pulchra (All-Beautiful Woman) in purity of body and soul must have been immense.

    But his singular call to such manly virtue toward the Virgin Mary is by no means unique to him.

    All men are called by the eternal Father to guard women’s chastity by guarding first their own, and here I mean chastity in the broadest sense of placing one’s red-blooded erotic desire in service of the full truth of human sexuality as it exists in its God-given meaning. And for men, this can be a cause for great, great heroism. In fact, I am absolutely convinced that men who commit themselves to this work of chaste guardianship can become, though much prayer and fraternal support, great saints of postmodernity in suffering its often great demands in the face of a super-eroticized culture.

    Here I would also add that men who indulge in pornography, extra-marital sex, abusive/using sex, or contraception have gravely compromised the guard-post God entrusted to them and have failed to be men of St. Joseph. To such men the Church of Jesus Christ, son of Mary, says: Repent and pray fervently to this patron of heroic chastity!

    And yes, obviously women have their own distinctive, essential, and unique role in this guardianship of chastity—but I am speaking of men, as a man.

    Last Thought

    St. Teresa of Avila had a special devotion to him, and argued that Joseph, the man of listening silence, was a special patron of the “interior life,” that life of seeking God in the deepest centre of our heart. And let me also recommend to you St. John Paul II’s inspiring Apostolic Exhortation on St Joseph here.

    I’ll let St. Teresa finish my thoughts :

    I wish I could persuade everyone to be devoted to this glorious saint, for I have great experience of the blessings which he can obtain from God. I have never known anyone to be truly devoted to him and render him particular services who did not notably advance in virtue, for he gives very real help to souls who commend themselves to him. For some years now, I think, I have made some request of him every year on his festival and I have always had it granted. If my petition is in any way ill directed, he directs it aright for my greater good.

  • Fathers, Reflect the Dignity of God’s Fatherhood

    Fathers, Reflect the Dignity of God’s Fatherhood

    21 June 2020 |From The Catholic Family Handbook by Fr. Lawrence G. Lovasik

    Nature and Christian Tradition tell us that the father is the head of the home. That alone should suggest the dignity of fatherhood.

    Your dignity as a father rests, first of all, upon the fact that Almighty God has bestowed upon you the privilege of cooperating in the greatest natural mystery: the creation of human life.

    Sons and daughters are yours in a sense that nothing else you may ever possess can be called your own. That thought carries with it a unique honour.

    Even modern society, which has striven to forget the sanctity of marriage, retains this basic recognition. Your children are your dependants. They bear your name. They imitate many of your mannerisms, gestures, and modes of thought.

    Much more: if you are a worthy father, and they are worthy children, they carry with them through life the training in virtue that you alone can impress on their young minds.

    Pope Leo XIII reminds each father that he is “the head of the family” and stresses that “the right of property which has been proved to belong to individual persons must also belong to the man as the head of the family.

    This follows logically, because “it is a most sacred law of nature that a father must provide food and all necessities for those whom he has begotten, as well as what is necessary to keep them from want and misery in the uncertainties of this mortal life….

    The father’s power is of such a nature that it cannot be destroyed or absorbed by the State, for it has the same origin as human life itself.

    St. Thomas Aquinas  wrote, “The father according to the flesh has in a particular way a share in that principle which is in a manner universal found in God…. The father is the principle of generation, of education and discipline.”

    Exert your fatherly authority early on

    You should exert your authority as a father even when your children are babies. Your word should be something strong, good, and a little to be feared.

    If your children learn to respect your authority even from their tender years, they will find that authority a tremendous power to guide those difficult, almost uncontrollable years of adolescence.

    But if you let your wife do all the bossing, and are content to be another child yourself, you will be able to make only a feeble protest to youth’s tendency to disobedience and independence.

    It is never too soon for you to take up your position of authority as a father if you wish to have it established as a guide for your youngsters later on.

    Reflect the dignity of God’s Fatherhood

    Your children should enjoy the strength of your kind paternal authority. It gives them security. What is more, they are given security by the knowledge that their mother and father are united in matters of discipline.

    It is dangerous when a child can obtain from a softer parent something that he has failed to obtain from a stricter one, or when parents quarrel in front of children over points of conduct.

    In the full program of domestic education, you must take great care that you use your authority properly.  Pope Pius XI said that normally a vocation to the priesthood is the result of the example and teaching of a father “strong in faith and manly in virtues.”

    Therefore, fatherhood is a vocation in God’s service, to be held not lightly or frivolously, but with the serious determination of serious men.

    Since it is a life’s work in His service, God offers His aid at every important step along the difficult road.

    On your part, though, He expects cooperation with grace, which in turn calls for persevering good will, a spirit of sacrifice, and conscientious observance of God’s law made known by the Church.

  • Reclaiming a Father’s Presence at Home

    Reclaiming a Father’s Presence at Home

    John A. Cuddeback | 21st September 2017 | This article first appeared at ifstudies.org.

    I would like to make what is perhaps a radical suggestion: we need to rethink, re-imagine, and reinstate a different model of family life.

    At the centre of this model is a husband and father whose very success in life is fundamentally, though not solely, seen and judged in terms of what he does in the home. Indeed, a central measure of his manhood is the quality of his presence in the home.

    A New Look at an Old Understanding of Household

    Let us go back to Aristotle. Setting aside some notable shortcomings in his understanding of the household, the man that Thomas Aquinas calls “the Philosopher” nonetheless expresses its fundamental principles with remarkable clarity. In life itself, as well as in the more particular areas of human action, the good man must put first what is truly first, that is, the end. In other words, his intention of the true end should be the driving and guiding energy behind what he does.

    Oikonomia is the Greek word for the art of ruling or ordering the household (the oikos), and, at least traditionally, a father’s duty as head of the household was to excel in this art. The central question that Aristotle and Aquinas would have us ask about one who exercises the art of oikonomia is, what should he intend?

    What is the end the willing of which gives meaning and concrete direction to what the husband and father does in the household? In commenting on Aristotle’s Politics, Aquinas writes: “Aristotle infers that the chief intention of the householder concerns these two relations of persons in the household,” namely, the relation of husband and wife, and the relation of parents to children.1

    It sounds so simple; but the power of this truth can shatter false conceptions of family and household. What is the principal concern of the husband and father of a family? His relationship with his spouse and their relationship with their children. Through his providence, his work, and his presence, he is the first principle of real human flourishing in its most foundational instance, namely, the flourishing relationships that are the core of a household. Aristotle’s profound assertion is rooted in the simple truth that a wife or child or husband who stands in such healthy relationships is verily an icon of human happiness.

    We can be so bold as to ask, if a married man is not succeeding in these relationships, how can he be said to be succeeding as a man?

    Our second point from Aristotle is his conception of the household community as, in the words of Aquinas, “a community constituted by nature for everyday life, that is, activities that have to be performed daily.”2 What at first seems a rather pedestrian point begins, on further examination, to shine like a diamond.

    Humans are made to live in relationships and in community. There is one community which, by its very nature, reaches into almost every corner of life. It knits together our days by being the place, the context for living together every day. The very notion is thrilling, even though the word “quotidian” – literally, “daily” – has the connotation of the pedestrian and mundane. We get to live with certain people, every day! When a young man and a young woman fall in love, what better can they imagine than being able (being allowed!) to be together every day – literally, to make a life together.

    There are indeed human activities that require a broader community, such as the village or the state, but by and large, those activities are not daily ones. Eating and working, and the resting and playing that punctuate the working – these are done every day. And they are done together with those with whom we share a home. This is where life happens every day.

    What is the principal concern of the husband and father of a family? His relationship with his spouse and their relationship with their children.

    An Historic Transformation

    If we are to grasp and address the situation of the family today, it is crucial that we note certain significant changes in family and home life that have been anything but random. There are certain readily discernible patterns in this transformation. And Aristotle and Aquinas can give us an excellent vantage from which to consider them.

    Christopher Lasch was a noted historian and social critic who gave much attention to the plight of the traditional family. To many, his findings might be somewhat surprising. Lasch writes: “The history of modern society, from one point of view, is the assertion of social control over activities once left to individuals or their families.”3

    Lasch sees what he calls the “socialisation of production” as a fundamental, even if oft-missed, cause of the demise of the traditional structure and practices of the household. In essence, this “socialisation” refers to how, on the whole, the day-to-day work that produces the material things needed for human existence left its native soil – the household. One can recall here how Aristotle and Aquinas conceived of the household as a place where precisely such work was done. A hallmark of this “socialisation” was the migration from farm and workshop, themselves often attached to households, to employment in the factories of the industrial revolution. While in recent generations factory work has been largely replaced by other industries, the fundamental reality remains, as men – and also now most women – are engaged in work that is neither in the context of the household nor has any real connection, other than through the money it produces, to life therein.

    It is the stock-in-trade of defenders of the traditional household to decry the general movement of women out of the household and into the “workforce.” Most, however, are mute on the issue of the parallel and prior male exodus. And yet the very notion of the “workforce” as something fundamentally outside of the household (significantly, women are said to “leave” the home to “join” it) exemplifies a fundamental shift from both the theory and practice of household life once standard in our civilisation.

    This change – the demise of the household as a centre of production – is one that many defenders of the traditional family either dismiss with a shrug, or even approve with a nod in the direction of “economic progress.” Yet I think it is clear that, regardless of an admixture of genuine advantages, this shift was a blow to the very essence of the household community as, in Aristotle’s words, “constituted by nature for everyday life.”

    Why? Work, especially in the sense of the production of things necessary for human life, is the very stuff of daily human life. Though not the most noble or important activity done in the household, it is naturally the skeleton around which other activities spring – be they meals, prayer, study, leisure, or play.

    Here, history can be helpful. From time immemorial, the basic structure of the household included a man and woman working together on a daily, even hourly, basis. A significant amount of this work would have been done in close proximity to, and often with participation by, children. Such work in the household likewise afforded both parents the time and context for personal mentoring of children – formation in perhaps its most foundational sense: by presence and example.

    Are we to conclude that the chief intention of the man of the household – the flourishing of relationships, especially spousal and parental – is essentially tied to work in the home? This is a central issue about which we should be concerned. The work of Lasch and others points, in any case, to a key lesson from the last 200 years. History seems to establish a connection between the daily absence of the father and the general weakening of familial relationships. It behoves us to consider how we might take a practical approach to this conundrum, turning again to ancient wisdom for assistance.

    Toward a Solution

    Economic necessity today usually requires that at least one spouse work outside of the household. Allow me to be clear: I am not suggesting that men abandon their jobs outside the home. For the vast majority of us, that will not be possible, and for some, in any case, it would not even be desirable. We must find a way to live according to ancient wisdom in our current environment.

    I suggest that we take as a starting point that the father whose main “work” is outside the household should realise that he has a handicap he must overcome, namely, the absence of substantial, daily work in the home. He does not have this obvious and natural context for contact and presence with his spouse and children. And it should be noted that “working from home” does not necessarily address this situation. Many who work from home are engaged in a labour that remains utterly distinct from and foreign to the household in every way other than bodily presence in a home office.

    A central way a man loves and is present to his children is by loving and being present to his wife.

    How then might fathers who work remotely seek to address this situation?

    Investing in Home. The first and most significant action—one within the power of any father—is to take possession of his household by investing it with his intention and attention. The old saying should perhaps be taken as prescriptive, not descriptive: “Home is where your heart should be.” The words of Wendell Berry come to mind: “I do not believe that there is anything better to do than to make one’s marriage and household, whether one is a man or a woman.”4

    To be precise, this statement needs qualification, for there are some things a person can do that are better than making one’s household. Nonetheless, these striking words point to a wisdom that we need to recover in an age in which so many men, following the lead of society itself, measure themselves by their success in business or other such areas of life.

    Loving His Wife. A critical feature of a man’s presence in the home is that it begins with his presence to his wife. When Aristotle notes that the spousal relationship is the source of the parental relationship, he is not simply referring to the fact of bodily generation. Rather, the character of the spousal relationship is especially determinative of the character of the parental relationship. A central way a man loves and is present to his children is by loving and being present to his wife. That is the natural order of the fabric of family life.

    Since most of their work today is removed from the household, fathers will need to be creative in finding the time and the avenues of presence. Here are a couple of concrete suggestions.

    • Home “Work.” A first avenue to consider is some kind of manual labour, preferably one requiring an art that can be learned and shared by family members. This includes specifically “home arts,” such as gardening, cooking, animal husbandry, etc., as well as more general arts, such as carpentry, carving, engine mechanics, plumbing, landscaping, etc. As children grow older, higher arts can be added and studied together, such as reading, writing, and the liberal arts. It is worth noting that while some of these latter arts are at times beyond the capabilities of households, some manual arts are within the competence of all.
    • Real Leisure. As Josef Pieper has pointed out, good leisure and good work are closely tied through nourishing one another, so they should be addressed together. Here is an area where any father can take the lead, even when his work often removes him from the home, by putting a priority on shared, rich activities in the household. It will be arduous. Regular meals together, which should be a mainstay of presence and communion, too often fall by the wayside. Common custom now replaces real leisure with mass-produced amusement, and communication technology intrudes into all spaces, making simple together-time difficult to achieve. We are losing a sense of how to be together in deeper activities, and more and more we turn to some device any time we have a free moment. But real freedom is in having habits of being together in richer ways – reading, singing, hiking, praying. A father’s leadership here may well make all the difference.

    I have suggested that we need to do more to rethink and re-form our family life. A deeply anti-household cultural environment should prod us to rediscover household life in its fullness. Households can still be a vibrant organ, even if the body politic is wasting with disease. To understand the ideal of true fatherhood – and the contemporary challenges to living that ideal – is already to be halfway to success. Issues concerning the role and presence of husband and wife in the household need to be considered with nuance, recognising that particular conditions can warrant modifications and adaptations. Nevertheless, exceptions do not invalidate general principles; indeed, often they corroborate them.

    At the heart of a renewal will be husbands and wives, fathers and mothers, united in the intensity of their intention to focus on relationships in the household and to embody that intention in daily life.

    John Cuddeback, PhD is chairman and professor of Philosophy at Christendom College. His writing and lectures focus on ethics, friendship, and household.

    Editor’s Note: This essay is an abbreviated version of a longer essay originally published in the journal, Principles. 

    1. Commentary on Aristotle’s Politics, I, 10.4

    2. Ibid. I, 1.12

    3. Haven in a Heartless World: The Family Besieged (Basic Books, 1979), p. xx

    4. “Feminism, the Body, and the Machine” in What are People For? (Counterpoint, 2010), p. 182

  • A stepfather, adoptive father, and biological father, Thomas More is a model for all dads

    A stepfather, adoptive father, and biological father, Thomas More is a model for all dads

    Evan Holguin and William Nardi | Jun 19, 2020. This article first appeared in aleteia.org.

    St. Thomas More is remembered for his fidelity to his conscience, but his example of fatherhood is sometimes overlooked.

    Patron of lawyers and public servants, St. Thomas More is honoured today as a 16th-century martyr. As the faithful did during his life, many continue to look to his selfless example as a powerful member of the English government, but his strong example of fatherhood is often overlooked and underemphasised. 

    This year, the feast day of St. Thomas More falls on the day just after Father’s Day. It is fitting that we remember the difficult position that he was in, as a dad forced to choose between compromising his conscience for a tyrannical king or submitting to God.

    Commitment to marriage

    Many know about St. Thomas More from the Academy Award-winning 1966 film, A Man for All Seasons, which highlights the last days of his life. 

    Fatherhood begins with a strong commitment to the sanctity of marriage, something More modelled in the most powerful way – by defending the sanctity of marriage even unto death. 

    When Henry VIII and his wife couldn’t conceive a son, the king petitioned the pope for an annulment. The pope refused—he couldn’t grant an annulment for a valid marriage—which led Henry to split the Church of England from the Catholic Church, paving the way for his divorce and remarriage. 

    Pressure mounted in England to show enthusiasm for the king’s new wife, and the king required the entire kingdom to swear an oath acknowledging the legitimacy of his second marriage and the king as the head of the new “church.” 

    In fidelity to the pope and the Church’s teaching on marriage, More knew he couldn’t swear. He had already resigned from his powerful position as chancellor, one of the highest-ranking offices in the English government. When he refused to sign the king’s oath, he was arrested and imprisoned in the Tower of London, shortly to be executed for his continued dedication to the sanctity and indissolubility of marriage. 

    Discerning fatherhood

    More’s powerful dedication to the sacrament of marriage came in no small part from his prayerful discernment of fatherhood, which began long before he was married.

    A devout Catholic, More spent part of his youth discerning religious life, even going so far as to spend several months in a Carthusian monastery. But More realised he wasn’t called to be a spiritual father only – he had a deep love of family life that pushed him to realise that God was calling him to the vocation of marriage.  

    A year after leaving the Carthusians, More married his first wife Jane, and had four children with her. Undoubtedly, More’s experience discerning religious life with the Carthusians helped prepare him to be a good and holy father – one who showed dedication to his wife, with whom he had a happy marriage, and who cared for the physical and spiritual needs of his four children. 

    In the footsteps of St. Joseph

    More’s marriage to Jane was cut short when she died after just six years of marriage. Soon after, he married a woman named Alice, believing his small children needed a mother to help raise them. Alice was also a widow and had a daughter from her previous marriage. More and Alice didn’t conceive any children together, but More did find himself following in the example of St. Joseph, the foster father of Jesus. He welcomed Alice’s daughter as his own child, treating her no differently than the four children he had with Jane. 

    More’s commitment to fatherhood extended even further. He adopted a neighbour girl after the death of her mother, and also took in another girl, bringing his total number of children up to seven.

    When he was imprisoned, his wife and children would come to visit him, even trying to convince him to give into the king’s demands so that he might return home. More lovingly refused, instead urging his family to stay strong in their faith and to flee the country. One of his adopted daughters, Margaret Clement, was his only child present for his martyrdom.  

    God is first

    More’s final words were a powerful declaration: “I am the king’s good servant, and God’s first.”

    Today, a new video series, Into the Breach, addresses the importance of fatherhood. Produced by the Knights of Columbus, an episode explains “Our culture attacks fatherhood by trying to make it irrelevant.” 

    But St. Thomas More’s witness exemplifies what Catholic men should strive for in their work and family life, and why fatherhood is more relevant than ever in today’s world. As a public servant, a husband and a father of seven, More was well-respected and admired. But he always knew that his primary role as a father was to serve as an example of Christian life to his children – a role which, in his instance, required him to face one of the earth’s most powerful rulers and give his life as a martyr … and become a saint.

  • Behold the Man!

    Behold the Man!

    And they stripped him and put a scarlet robe upon him and, plaiting a crown of thorns, they put it on his head. (Matt 27:28)

    Pilate said to them, “Here is the man.” (John 19:5)

    This is a staggering painting. In real life, it measures twelve and a half feet by nine and a half feet.

    Remarkably, the scene is ‘framed’ from behind, a technique that places the viewer squarely within the canvas, inside the praetorium, as a complicit observer, just steps away from the centre stage. This significant reversal of perspective strews breath-taking light across the background of the painting, where the glare of the sun reflects off the colossal government building and picks out individual faces in the crowd, as if they are the protagonists.

    Inside the cooler, darker chamber all but one of the characters’ faces are turned away from the observer; their inner thoughts veiled and left to the imagination. Strangely, the one illuminated and centrally-sited character is not actually the focus of the painting; he appears transparent and disembodied, his clothing merging with the edifice in the background.

    A number of directional techniques within the painting compel us to look around, perpetuating the impression that we are really present: the position of the chequered floor tiles tells us that we are not face on to the enormous throng; our eyes are quickly drawn from them to a distant point at the end of the crowded thoroughfare. The pillars take our gaze both upwards and outwards to the groups in each annex of the chamber – the praetorian guard to the left, representing the military power of Rome, and perhaps a cluster of lawyers to the right, one with a legal scroll in his hand, representing its judiciary.

    The glances of the peripheral characters cause us to wonder what has caught their attention and we follow their stares; the guards scan the rooftops for signs of trouble while the lawyer appears to give a last look over his shoulder before departing. Maybe he knows his case holds no water. Finally, the gesticulating hand, as the point of convergence for the whole painting, re-centres our attention and introduces us to the man whom all the fuss is about.

    In contrast to everyone else – except, perhaps, the woman by the pillar – he remains still and composed. Standing by the soldiers, his stature, his naked torso and the scarlet military robe reflect something of their own temporal masculinity and power. Yet his hands are tied and his head is bowed; it’s not clear whether his eyes are open. We know his story: he’s on trial for crimes for which the authorities can find no evidence; he’s been brutally flogged, humiliated and denounced, and the people are baying for his blood. But there is neither hopeless resignation in his bearing nor belligerence or resistance, simply acceptance and compliance.

    Behold the man. Behold him. Hold-him-in-being. Hold him before you and ponder. Wonder at him. 

    Amongst all the surrounding opulence, power and moral high ground, what possible examples of manhood are we to take from his meek acquiescence?

    Everything we’ve been taught about what it means to be a successful man, about achieving status, authority and riches is turned on its head by this otherworldly defendant: “If my kingship were of this world”, he says, “my servants would fight that I might not be handed over to the Jews; but my kingship is not from the world”.

    Yet silhouetted against the bright, open sky, bearing the marks and crown of his mistreatment, his presence remains imposing.

    Compare this to the governor in the centre of the scene, frantically occupying the crowds’ attention. Despite asserting his supremacy, (Do you not know that I have power to release you, and power to crucify you?), does he appear manly and authoritative? Other than a foot, the back of his head and a gnarled hand, his spectral body is dressed in a translucent robe robbing him of substance.

    Look at the vacated space around him. Note how distance has been placed between him and his throne, which he has abdicated in favour of pleasing the crowd. You would have no power over me, says the quiet man, unless it had been given you from above. The governor wavers, isolated and afraid.

    Note too, the same distance placed between him and the woman standing tragically behind the pillar; his wife, whose desperate plea he has just ignored: Have nothing to do with that righteous man, for I have suffered much over him today in a dream. Her face, the only one wholly in view in the entire painting, carries the anguish of all abandoned and rejected women.

    Two men – two models of manhood.

    One, a classical representation of worldly supremacy, a tyrant in the limelight, abandoning his duties as leader and husband and hanging on to his power in a moment of self-preservation by condemning an innocent man to death.

    The other, a sacrificial lamb poised quietly in the wings, ready to fulfil a purpose in life that will literally bind him on a cross in duty to God and to the love of his spouse, above any temptations of worldly kingdoms or possessions.

    Later, the epistolist will write, “Love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her”. This silent man will give himself up, totally, freely, consciously, decisively and with unwavering resilience, right to the agonising end. He does not open his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that is silent before its shearers, he does not open his mouth, wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities.

    “For this I was born”, are the few words he says, “and for this I have come into the world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice”.

    From our vantage point on the stage of the praetorium we hear the governor’s question, “What is truth?”.

    We can be grateful to Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI for taking up the reply,

    God is truth itself, the sovereign and first truth. This formula brings us close to what Jesus means when he speaks of the truth, when he says that his purpose in coming into the world was to ‘bear witness to the truth’. Again and again in the world, truth and error, truth and untruth are almost inseparably mixed together. The truth in all its grandeur and purity does not appear. The world is ‘true’ to the extent that it reflects God: the creative logic, the eternal reason that brought it to birth. And it becomes more and more true the closer it draws to God. Man becomes true, he becomes himself, when he grows in God’s likeness. Then he attains to his proper nature. God is the reality that gives being and intelligibility. ‘Bearing witness to the truth’ means giving priority to God and to his will over against the interests of the world and its powers (Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth).

    So I invite you today to look to Christ. When you wonder about the mystery of yourself, look to Christ who gives you the meaning of life. When you wonder what it means to be a mature person, look to Christ who is the fullness of humanity. And when you wonder about your role in the future of the world, look to Christ. Only in Christ will you fulfil your potential.

    Pope John Paul II

  • Loneliness, Isolation and the Need for Friendship – The Choices Facing Catholic Men Today

    Loneliness, Isolation and the Need for Friendship – The Choices Facing Catholic Men Today

    Image: Poe Dameron and Finn from The Rise of Skywalker

    I’m not a great fan of the recent crop of Star Wars films but, during the Christmas holidays in 2020, I took my family to see the finale of the trilogy of trilogies, The Rise of Skywalker.

    As expected, it was a curate’s egg, with even the good elements struggling to lend it gravitas. Nonetheless, a recurring theme that interested me was the desperate need for friendship among the characters and for the skill, courage and – above all – the inspiration and hope of others in order to win the day.

    Of course, it was all underscored with emotional cries of, “We’re not leaving you!” or “We’re coming with you!” or “I can’t do this on my own!” – but it was a quote from Poe Dameron, as a newly promoted General discussing plans for the final stand, that really struck me. He said, “The First Order wins by making us think we’re alone. We’re not alone. Good people will fight if we lead them.”

    Replace The First Order with Satan and you have the key to the devil’s mission – isolate and conquer.

    In the Garden of Eden, God saw that it was not good for man to be alone and so created him a helpmate. Satan’s immediate response was to come between Adam and Eve and to tell them they could be gods, omnipotent and without the need of anyone’s help. But one can only feel godlike by separating oneself from those who are not, leaving them abandoned and isolated in their own way; as always, the devil makes godlike separation an attractive proposition, but the reality is a spiral into self-centred isolation and lonely despair.

    Men, in particular, can fall for this ‘godlike ideal’. At one end of the scale, there is the independent, self-sufficient, invincible alpha male, with his high-flying job, trophy wife and expensive, secluded homestead. But it always surprises people when the more extreme of these types turn on their wife and kids and then shoot themselves in an act of despair when their lives go horribly wrong, often through debt or divorce. They can’t handle the isolation, sudden vulnerability and loss of control – and helplessness quickly becomes hopelessness.

    At the other end of the scale there is the man who wants a sedate, comfortable and uninterrupted life, with his TV, Playstation and takeaways, happy to let his wife carry the burden of raising the family. And somewhere along the spectrum there may be the man who buries his head in work, or travel, or hobbies, or in some other way avoids engaging with the reality of other people.

    The recent admission of loneliness by the British businessman, Mark Gaisford, and the viral acknowledgement it received, simply confirms how endemic isolation is in our society.

    Not all men are like this, of course. And many Catholic men have their isolation imposed on them when they find themselves just about the only male attending Mass. Despite a strong desire for fraternity, they are frustrated by the complete absence of men, let alone those with whom they might share real friendship. Their loneliness stems from being abandoned rather than having deliberately withdrawn themselves from fraternity.

    Yet try to convince Catholic men to join a men’s group and you often meet an extraordinary level of resistance: “I’d love to come but I can’t! The wife, the kids, the job, the house! I have no time! Now is not the right time!” It’s as if we have become too comfortable in the isolation-we-know to muster the strength to commit to the fraternity-we-don’t! Busy individualism has become the new normal to the extent that leisurely fraternity looks like madness.

    Subconsciously, I believe, the real reason is that men know that fraternity will make humbling demands of them. It will challenge them to do the things they should be doing as men, but don’t because there is no one holding them accountable. Isolation makes us inert, inertia makes us susceptible to temptation and sin, and sin further isolates us from our brethren and from God. Ask any man addicted to pornography and he’ll tell you it becomes a lonely and shameful hell. But, surrounded by the deceptive comforts that money and technology bring, we kid ourselves that life is good and that we have all we need to keep loneliness at bay.

    So what’s to be done? You can’t force anyone out of their isolation, but sometimes it takes a devastating or rock-bottom situation to do it for them. A man has to see how awful it is to be alone before he chooses to either end his life or to find it again in the company of others.

    When he comes to that point, however, will there be others ready and waiting to give him hope? As Poe Dameron says, “They’ll come if they know there’s hope”.  

    And when they did come, boy was it impressive!

    The timely arrival of the allied fleet
  • When Fathers Despair, We All Despair

    When Fathers Despair, We All Despair

    This picture of a father in tears at London’s recent Extinction Rebellion demonstration left me troubled.

    “I’m just a father of two children that’s frightened of their future!”

    On the one hand, I was drawn by the heartfelt measures he was prepared to take to protect the future of his children: joining a group of protesters causing disruption in the city to such an extent they were getting arrested. Would I lie on the tarmac to prevent cars passing through if it meant the government would allay the fears over my children’s future?

    On the other hand, I was disturbed by his shaking, emotional outburst while cowering on the floor. It was an image of despair and helplessness; defeat and suppression underscored by his cheek pressed against the asphalt. Would I want my children to see me in this state? I have a feeling that would make them fear more for their immediate future than the possibility of environmental collapse.

    For a long period of their young lives, most children are able to look up to their fathers as bastions of strength and immutability, regardless of the circumstances. When my car broke down on the highway at two o’clock in the morning, on our way to a six o’clock ferry at the start of a holiday, my children were understandably fearful and in tears. I was panicking inside, especially when I found out that my breakdown cover hadn’t renewed and, being the end of the month, I had few assets left in my current account. But it was my job to reassure the kids that everything would be okay, that steps would be taken to resolve the matter and that we’d soon be on our way. And, of course, that turned out to be true (and they didn’t need to know how much it cost me).

    Several years later, my children remember the occasion as one where catastrophe was systematically averted by daddy calming everyone down and going through the steps of getting us rescued, repaired and back on the road for a later ferry. We then had a fantastic holiday. For one of my sons in particular, it was a valuable lesson in bringing his fears under control.

    I have no idea whether we are on the verge of extinction or not but, even if we are, I’m not sure I’d lie on the floor and cry.

    As a parent, a teacher and a leader I’m well aware that my despair or my resolve, my hopelessness or my courage, my depression or my optimism quickly rubs off on those in my charge. Then everyone becomes either desperate or resolute, despondent or courageous, depressed or optimistic. As a father, it’s my job to use my masculine attributes to alleviate immediate problems for my family to the best of my capacity. Where the problem is greater than my ability to solve it, I look for help and demonstrate a resilience for my children to emulate. If every father, every man, took that line, we might just find ourselves in a very different set of circumstances.

    Perhaps that was the motive that drove our Extinction Rebellion father out onto the streets? However, what troubled me about the image of him crying on the floor was that, by that stage, he had so surrendered to his own fears he was bereft of any capacity to safeguard his children’s future.

    Maybe I’m being unfair! After the picture was taken, he might have jumped straight back up, dusted himself off and vigorously rejoined the demonstration. However, if the abiding image we have, as children, is one of our father’s impotency, if we see that our own fathers have broken down in the face of adversity – those strong, immutable men – what message of hope does that leave us?

    In contrast, the Catholic man is obliged to present a very different image. Even if we are on the verge of extinction, we have hope! We know there is more to life, more after life, than the material world we inhabit. That’s not to excuse any negligence in looking after our planet; on the contrary, we should shoulder our responsibilities as stewards of creation. However, we shouldn’t be mawkish about the state of the world around us but instead, as St Paul exhorts, “…  boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us”.

    And, because the Lord God helps us, we will not be disgraced. We will set our faces like flint, for we know we will not be put to shame. If ever we find ourselves in a momentous or catastrophic situation, what abiding image will the world have of us? As I write here, our task as Catholic men is not to give up, but to get a grip!

  • Catholic Men and the Abortion Debate

    Catholic Men and the Abortion Debate

    Catholic Man UK recently attended the very joyful March for Life in London. One of the workshops before the main event was entitled, What it Means to be a Pro-Life Man. This article aims to extend the argument provided by the speaker, that we need to transform the narrative of male involvement in abortion and the abortion debate before we will see any real change.

    March for Life, London 2019
    Workshop 5 – Summary

    WE already know that pro-abortionists use the arguments of misogyny and male oppression to create some kind of moral justification for their position. They paint a calculated picture of men as predatory, heartless monsters, abusing the rights and freedom of women. Their deliberate and inevitable conclusion is that men have no right discussing the topic; they should be disenfranchised by total exclusion from the debate. No uterus, no opinion.

    But let’s re-frame the argument. Abortion is a male issue because abortion is essentially about the dethronement of fatherhood.

    While feminists have long railed against the patriarchy, men themselves forget they have systematically shelved their paternal responsibilities and put their women and children in terrifyingly untenable situations.

    How many of the 56 million abortions, annually, around the world have arisen from a lack of fatherly love, duty and commitment to the woman and child involved? Far from it being about women’s freedom; women and children have suffered unimaginably from men’s overwhelming urge for recreational sex, irresponsible one-night stands, sex trafficking, abandonment of ‘unplanned’ pregnancies, their desire for material possessions that encourages a woman to pursue career over family, and their juvenile and selfish behaviours that can’t handle the thought of being responsible for another human being, particularly if it might require special sacrifices.

    56 million abortions represent 56 million occasions where a man has not stepped up to the mark. Every year.

    Take a typical AGI* list of reasons for having an abortion and ask, to what extent has the man so failed in his responsibilities of leadership, protection and provision, that the woman felt she had no other choice but abortion?

    Rape and incest need little explanation. But what about the mother being too immature or young to have a child? Well, where was her own father in all this? We know that an absent father has a huge impact on whether his teenage daughter gets pregnant. And even if she was simply a wilful child, despite the best parenting, her father is still obliged to support her regardless of the shame, aggravation or expense it might bring him. That’s what men must do. And who was the irresponsible young man sleeping with a teenage girl anyway? Where was the education and discipline from his father with regard to paternal duties and responsibilities?

    Other reasons women give for having abortions clearly implicate the man: the husband or partner wants her to have abortion; the woman’s parents want her to have an abortion; the woman has problems with her relationship or wants to avoid single parenthood; she doesn’t want others to know she had relations or is pregnant.

    Where in all this is the committed, sacrificial support of a man? If a man had been present and faithful, would the woman have felt the need to get rid of the child? If her father had been less concerned about family honour, would she have felt the pressure to abort?

    What about reasons for having an abortion that could be classed as a woman’s selfish lifestyle choice? She has all the children she wanted or all her children are grown; she is concerned about how having a baby would change her life; having a child would disrupt work or education; she can’t afford a baby now; she feels unready for responsibility; there is a possibility of foetal health problems.

    In all these instances, the woman is still having sex. With a man.

    Where was his objective discussion with her about pregnancy? Where was his mature decision to hold off intercourse or to continue and commit to what might result? Where was the manly weighing up of the consequences? Where was the masculine genius of planning ahead and apportioning resources? Where was his calm assurance that all would be well? Again, had the man shown love and fidelity, would the woman have felt the need for an abortion?

    Finally, even in that most emotive and difficult situation regarding the life and health of the mother, the faithful support of a good man would provide some courage and confidence in the decision to keep the child.

    At this point, it would be foolish not to reinforce the fact that the circumstances leading up to an abortion are fraught and complex, making it challenging to decide where the faults lie. There are also many exceptions to the rule, where the man has desperately wanted to keep the child and to provide for it, but where the woman has remained adamant that she can’t or won’t, even with the help of a faithful man.

    Are we to blame men here? It would be hard to judge how far an environment in which many men have deserted their paternal responsibilities subconsciously impacts a woman’s fears about bringing a child into the world.

    So, it may well be right that men are shut out from the debate about what a pregnant woman can or can’t do with her body. At this stage, the horse has already bolted.

    The real debate should be about what a man does to a woman and her body before pregnancy even occurs!

    This is where the narrative around men’s involvement in the matter must change. Men need to hear from other men that abortion is a man’s issue, because abortion is the consequence of a man’s abandonment of faithful husbandhood and fatherhood.

    Abortion stems from a man’s ungoverned sexual impulses. Abortion is the result of a man’s lack of self-control. Abortion is the product of a man’s immaturity and his desire for ease. Abortion is caused by a man’s lack of fidelity and commitment. Abortion arises from the absence of trained and disciplined fatherhood. Abortion happens because men do not want to take responsibility for their actions. Abortion endures because men have not been properly fathered, don’t know how to father, and don’t want to father.

    In creating the conditions for abortion, men have surrendered ownership of their nature as fathers. They have allowed abortion to dismantle fatherhood, and now fatherhood has been erased from the debate. The way to make sure a child is never aborted is to rebuild the narrative of men as committed fatherly protectors, disciplined, defensive warriors of the family.

    Abortion is unquestionably a man’s issue and the narrative must be changed by courageous men.

    * The Alan Guttmacher Institute is a research and policy organisation for sexual and reproductive health and rights in the United States. www.guttmacher.org

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