I am deeply honored by the opportunity to be with you on this occasion of such importance to the Columban Fathers, to join with you in paying tribute to their inspiring work and to share with you the pleasure of observing the program just completed. Although the unusually long session of the Congress, and the necessity of a heavy schedule of commitments later in the Fall, had earlier persuaded me to reserve this time for a brief period of relaxation with my family. I felt upon receiving Father McGrath's very gracious invitation of less than a month ago that I could not turn him down. I say this for many reasons. I knew that this annual Benefactor's Day and festival were events of considerable importance to Milton, to Massachusetts and to New England, as well as to the Fathers themselves; and I wanted to assist in any way I could. I wanted also to demonstrate again my deeply felt respect and admiration for those who have dedicated themselves to the work of the Saint Columban's Foreign Mission Society. And finally, if I may inject a still more personal note, I wanted to repay a debt long owed to the Christian Missionary movement.
As many of you know, in August, 1943, the PT boat I commanded was rammed and cut in two while attacking a Japanese destroyer. A week later, all survivors – some badly hurt – were living on the thin edge of existence on a narrow Pacific reef, drinking rain water, eating a few raw coconuts, freezing at night and wondering, how it all would end.
On the seventh day we saw our first signs of human life – an islander offshore in a small canoe. Somewhat fearfully he approached us. He spoke no English, gave little sign of understanding. Carving out a message of our approximate position on a green coconut shell, we repeated over and over the name of our base – Rendova – Rendova – and pointed east. Then he disappeared over the water and we wondered whether we could expect help from one who seems so different from us.
One day later a large war canoe arrived – seemingly out of nowhere – loaded with islanders. They built us a shelter; they made us our first fire; they gave us food. Then they took me to another island, occupied by a New Zealander "coast watcher" in a small jungle camp. He told me that our friend had come by, informed him of our troubles, arranged for assistance and left the same evening to row many miles to our home base at Rendova.
Next day a PT boat came to pick us up – and there in the stern stood our first benefactor. He rode silently back to Rendova with us, smilingly shook hands with each of us as we got off the boat, then disappeared as silently as he had come – back into the jungles and inlets of the Solomons.
We came from the powerful United States, he from a jungle home in the islands – from a different race, a different culture, a different stage of civilization, and speaking a different language. And yet, as the result (we later learned) of the good work of the Christian Missionaries, that native and many of those who joined him in our rescue were willing to save the lives of total strangers at a great risk to their own. They had learned well the teachings which the Columbian Fathers have helped to spread around the world – teachings on the brotherhood of all men under God, on the help to be given one's neighbor, on the love to be shown even to strangers. I think you can understand why I felt impelled to be here today to pay tribute to that government.
The Columban Fathers, in far flung parts of the world – of the Far East, South East Asia, the Pacific, and Latin America – are, with your help, carrying on this work at great sacrifice to themselves. They fight against materialism, ignorance, selfishness, poverty, hunger, disease, despair, and the twisted axioms of Marxism on many a lonely battle front that is never mentioned in the headlines. They have withstood imprisonment and hardship of every kind in order to devote their energies and lives to the great fundamental concepts in which we all believe. The Seminary here in Milton serves as a wellspring from which Columban Fathers everywhere – and, indeed, all of us – may gather direction and inspiration. In these difficult times, when great nations clash in the battle for power and for the minds of men, the Milton Seminary of the Columban Fathers stands as a bulwark in the battle for the preservation of Christian civilization.
I say this not because I believe Christianity is a weapon in the present world struggle, but because I believe religion itself is at the root of the struggle – not in terms of the physical organizations of Christianity versus those of Atheism, but in terms of good versus evil, right versus wrong, in terms of "the stern encounter" of which Cardinal Newman so prophetically wrote:
"Then will come the stern encounter when two real and living principles, simple, entire, and consistent, one in the church and the other out of it, at length rush upon one another contending not for names and words or half views, but for elementary notions and distinctive moral characteristics."
Cardinal Newman spoke of this conflict as yet to come. Doubtless its climax is yet to come, but in essence the conflict has been going on for 2,000 years. The issues, the slogans, the battle flags, the battlefields and the personalities have been different. But basically it has been the same encounter of opposing principles, a struggle more comprehensive, more deep-rooted and even more violent than the political and military battles which go on today.
It is easy to envision the struggle as being wholly physical – of men and arms – of stockpiles, strategic materials, and nuclear weapons – of air bases and bombers, of industrial potential and military achievements. This is the material struggle, and the central problem here is to be equal to the sacrifices necessary for ultimate survival and victory. But of far deeper significance is "the stern encounter," the very nearly silent struggle, with no din to be heard in the streets of the world, and with weapons far more subtle and far more damaging than cannons and shells. The encounter of which I speak makes no more noise than the inner process of disintegration which over a period of several hundred years may hollow from within some great tree of the forest, until it is left standing an empty shell, the easy victim of a winter gale.
We can barely hear the stern encounter, and thus too often we forget it. Our minds, like the headlines of our newspapers, are intent upon the present and future conflicts of armed might, and upon the brutal, physical side of that ominous war upon which we have bestowed the strange epithet "cold." We tend to forget the moral and spiritual issues which inhere in the fateful encounter of which the physical war is but one manifestation. We tend to forget those ideals and faiths and philosophical needs which drive men far more intensely than military and economic objectives.
This is not to say that we have overlooked religion. Too often we have utilized it as a weapon, broadcast it as propaganda, shouted it as a battle cry. But in "the stern encounter," in the moral struggle, religion is not simply a weapon – it is the essence of the struggle itself. The Communist rulers do not fear the phraseology of religion, or the ceremonies and churches and denominational organizations. On the contrary, they leave no stone unturned in seeking to turn these aspects of religion to their own advantage, and to use the trappings of religion in order to cement the obedience of their own people. What they fear is the profound consequences of a religion that is lived, not merely acknowledged. They fear especially man's response to stimuli which are spiritual and ethical, not merely material. A society which seeks to make the worship of the State the ultimate objective of life cannot permit a higher loyalty, a faith in God, a belief in a religion that elevates the individual, acknowledges his true value and teaches him devotion and responsibility to something beyond the here and the now. The Communists fear Christianity more as a way of life than as a weapon. In short, there is room in a totalitarian system for churches – but there is no room for God. The claim of the State must be total, and no other loyalty, no other philosophy of life, can be tolerated.
Is this not simply an indication of the weakness of the Communist position? If the ultimate struggle is indeed a moral encounter, then are we not certain of eventual victory?
At first glance it might seem inevitable that in a struggle where the issue is the supremacy of the moral order, we must be victorious. That it is not inevitable is due to the steady attrition in our faith and belief, a disease from which we in the West are suffering heavily. The Communists have substituted dialectical materialism for faith in God; we on our part have too often substituted cynicism, indifference, and secularism. We have too often permitted the Communists to choose the ground for the struggle. We point with pride to the great outpourings of our factories and assume we have therefore proved the superiority of our system. We forget that the essence of the struggle is not material, but spiritual and ethical. We forget that the purpose of life is the future and not the present.
This emphasis on the material shows itself in many elements of our political life. Too often, in our foreign policy, in order to compete with the power doctrines of the Communists, we ourselves practice what Jacques Maritain has called "moderate machiavellianism." But as Maritain pointed out, in the final showdown this pale and attenuated version "is inevitably destined to be vanquished by absolute and virulent machiavellianism" as practiced by the Communists.
We cannot separate our lives into compartments, either as individuals or as a nation. We cannot, on the one hand, run with the tide, and on the other, hold fast to our principles and ideals.
Here at Milton we can understand better that Christianity is a way of life, not a means to an end; that eternal truths and the problems of this world cannot be kept separate. Those who study here know this to be true; and it is the responsibility of us all, as well as our opportunity – by our works and by our example – to stimulate a revival of our religious faith, to renew the battle against weary indifference and inertia, against the washing away of our religious, ethical, and cultural foundations.
If our nation will recognize the spiritual and moral element of "the stern encounter" – if it will direct our policies to emphasize this phase of the struggle – if we will refuse those compromises which have cost us so heavily – which have blurred the nature of the encounter between our enemies and ourselves – then we shall find our way easier, and our success more certain.
Source: Papers of John F. Kennedy. Pre-Presidential Papers. Senate Files, Box 898, "Milton Seminary Benefactor's Day, Milton, Massachusetts, 1 September 1957." John F. Kennedy Presidential Library.