"I was publishing when I was 20, 21. And it really never stopped"
About this Quote
There is a disarming casualness in Berrigan’s timeline flex: “publishing” at 20 or 21, then “it really never stopped.” It reads like a career anecdote, but the subtext is vocation. For a Catholic cleric best known not only for poems and essays but for civil disobedience against war, the line quietly collapses the usual separation between spiritual life and public speech. Publishing isn’t treated as a phase, a youthful ambition, or a bid for literary standing; it’s framed as a continuous practice, almost like prayer or liturgy: steady, daily, unromantic.
The intent is partly testimonial. Berrigan is telling you that his moral imagination was public from the start and that he never chose the safety of silence. The absence of drama in the phrasing is the point. He doesn’t announce himself as prophetic; he makes the work sound inevitable. That rhetorical restraint doubles as credibility: a man who has been arrested for protest doesn’t need to “perform” commitment. He just reports persistence.
Context sharpens the stakes. In mid-century America, a priest who publishes relentlessly is not merely producing text; he is contesting state power, church caution, and the polite rules of dissent. “Never stopped” hints at costs without enumerating them: surveillance, controversy, ecclesial pushback, the fatigue of being “that priest” who won’t stay in the sacristy.
It’s also a subtle corrective to the myth of the late-blooming activist. Berrigan implies continuity: the radical wasn’t invented by Vietnam-era crisis; he was already writing, already choosing an audience, already making faith legible as argument.
The intent is partly testimonial. Berrigan is telling you that his moral imagination was public from the start and that he never chose the safety of silence. The absence of drama in the phrasing is the point. He doesn’t announce himself as prophetic; he makes the work sound inevitable. That rhetorical restraint doubles as credibility: a man who has been arrested for protest doesn’t need to “perform” commitment. He just reports persistence.
Context sharpens the stakes. In mid-century America, a priest who publishes relentlessly is not merely producing text; he is contesting state power, church caution, and the polite rules of dissent. “Never stopped” hints at costs without enumerating them: surveillance, controversy, ecclesial pushback, the fatigue of being “that priest” who won’t stay in the sacristy.
It’s also a subtle corrective to the myth of the late-blooming activist. Berrigan implies continuity: the radical wasn’t invented by Vietnam-era crisis; he was already writing, already choosing an audience, already making faith legible as argument.
Quote Details
| Topic | Writing |
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