The Heresy of Formlessness

The Roman Liturgy and its Enemy

By Martin Mosebach

Foreword by Robert Spaemann

Translated by Graham Harrison

Revised and Expanded Edition

(Angelico Press, Brooklyn, N.Y. 2018)

This year we welcome a new edition of a book that is, for the Catholic Traditionalist, one of the most basic books of all. Since 2002, The Heresy of Formlessness has remained the best introductory text to Catholic Traditionalism. It provides the substantive reasons for adhering to the Old Rite. Instead of the usual Roman Catholic focus on legal questions of validity and authority, this book takes as its starting point how the Mass – Traditional, “Novus Ordo” and Eastern – is experienced today. For Mosebach combines a novelist’s gift of depiction with great knowledge – both practical and theoretical – of the liturgy in all its forms.

This new edition is a revision of the previous 2006 translation published by Ignatius Press, augmented by six essays, some of which have been published (and translated) before. Jettisoned is Fr Fessio’s unique foreword which criticized the very book it was introducing. But much has changed since 2002 when The Heresy of Formlessness first appeared in German! In those years, the Traditional liturgy – especially in Germany – was very much an underground phenomenon, the province of “outsiders.” Today, especially in the United States in the wake of Summorum Pontificum, the Traditional Mass can be encountered more or less frequently – often celebrated with great ceremony and splendor.

This edition has a new, important foreword by Robert Spaemann – to whom the book is dedicated.  Spaemann outlines for us the German context of The Heresy of Formlessness. In Germany, the opposition of the clergy to the Traditional Liturgy remains fierce and unbroken to the present day. Moreover, the spirit of progressivism has maintained absolute, quasi-totalitarian dominance In Germany for decades now. Spaemann illustrates this with examples of the Novus Ordo liturgies he has experienced everywhere. Given such a closed, asphyxiating environment, in 2002 Mosebach’s book broke all the taboos. Mosebach opened a discussion on the liturgy that the establishment has not been able to silence since.

I don’t see the need to say anything more on the main thrust of this book beyond what I wrote in my original 2003 review.  The new essays in this edition are gems. Consider “Why the Holy Mass must be Sung.” Mosebach starts from the soft fluttering of flights of starlings over Rome, proceeds to considerations on the participation of angels in the liturgy, then draws on the Byzantine liturgy to illustrate how the congregation “represents” the angels – who sing – all leading to and supporting the conclusion that the primary form of the Mass is the sung liturgy! Or “The Last Gospel” where Mosebach argues that its appearance at the end of the mass in the 13th century coincided with the perfection of Eucharistic devotion in the Corpus Christ liturgy of St Thomas Aquinas. This Eucharistic devotion created a renewed focus the Incarnation – it was thus fitting that St John’s Gospel should be read at the end of every mass, where Christ has appeared again. Moreover:

“Those who are committed to the Last Gospel will not agree, either, with the widely accepted custom of permitting the congregation to sing a hymn while this Gospel is being read.  It makes sense for the acolytes to take their places at the foot of the altar during the reading of the Last Gospel in the same way that the Gospel of the day does. As a text that is constantly being read and that many people know by heart, the prologue of St John can be read (un)self-consciously sotto voce while the members of the congregation follow it in their missals. The aim of the prologue is contemplation, the retrospective beholding of a lived reality. At the end of Mass there should be an appropriate silence, as during the confession of sin at its beginning.”

Here we see Mosebach drawing out the meaning of details that even in current celebrations of the Traditional Liturgy are often given summary treatment. But, at the same time, does this discussion not show how far we have come from the days when an indifferently celebrated Low Mass was the best we could hope for? For nowadays in most places the goal is not just survival of the Roman liturgy but to make it as perfect as our poor human efforts can achieve. Let us not delude ourselves: even in the United States the Traditional liturgy remains suspect to the establishment, an anxiously monitored phenomenon. And I do not have to review for the readers of this blog developments elsewhere.  But despite all these shadows, we can affirm that what Martin Mosebach in The Heresy of Formlessness celebrated, predicted and advocated as a lone voice in 2002 has to a not inconsiderable extent been realized. Those who have not read this book owe it to themselves to do so!

Verteidigung der Tradition: Die unüberwindbare Wahrheit Christi.

(In Defense of Tradition: The Invincible Truth of Christ)

By Roberto de Mattei (German translation by Wolfram Schrems)

Foreword by Martin Mosebach

2017 Sankt Grignion Verlag, Altötting

(Original Italian edition, 2011)

The current age of the Church is of unmatched doctrinal confusion. Every dogma, every rule of morality is directly challenged by those within the church. And those claiming supreme teaching authority are exacerbating the confusion. Pope Francis has formally taught doctrines hardly reconcilable with the prior course of Catholic teaching. He has also confirmed, “with magisterial authority” the practices (presumably liturgical) of the Second Vatican Council. And then there is the series of canonizations of the heroes of Catholic modernity. This has left Catholics – particularly those who imagined themselves papal loyalists – in an increasingly dire situation. Professor Roberto de Mattei in this slim volume offers intellectual assistance.

The first half of In Defense of Tradition is a review of pre-conciliar church history. Critical moments are highlighted in which the institutional church and specifically the papacy initially failed to stand up to political and theological challenges. These existential crises finally were surmounted or contained only by the joint action of all members of the Church: the ordinary laity, the doctors of the church, the councils, the episcopate, the new religious orders, the papacy – and, we should not forget, the secular rulers. In the course of these conflicts issues such as the possibility of papal heresy and the duty to correct hierarchs and even popes were freely discussed and acknowledged.

We may wonder about the purpose of the first half of this book. Is it addressed to those few remaining true blue Catholics (like Opus Dei soldiers?) who conceive of church history as one triumphant progress under the day-to-day direction of an always infallible papacy? For I would expect that readers interested in a book like this (and who perhaps have read previous works of de Mattei and Mosebach) would be familiar with most of these historical facts. Rather, I think this historical outline “lays the foundation” for the specific discussion of tradition in the second half of this book. For it shows that exclusive concentration on the actions and pronouncements of the hierarchy and the papacy is an inadequate historical and theological basis for understanding the Church and its history. Yes, the Church and the papacy did endure these assaults in the past. But what then was the principle that enabled the Church to survive?

Now the most significant part is de Mattei’s theological exposition of the meaning of tradition in the second half of his book. For it was though faithfulness to tradition that the prior crises of the Church were overcome. What is tradition? It is the deposit of faith handed down from Christ to the Church. Indeed, for the first decades of her existence, the Church had to rely exclusively on tradition – the first scriptures were only gradually being written. This tradition is the true “rule of faith” made manifest in many ways over the course of history but above all in the liturgy.

Relying on extensive theological literature, de Mattei in particular takes pains to distinguish tradition from the Church’s teaching authority or magisterium (itself a very late concept to develop). The magisterium is not a “source” of truth or creator of tradition, but rather an authority or “function” bestowed upon the Church.

De Mattei clearly expounds and defines the sources of theological truth, the meaning of “Church” and the meaning of magisterium. He warns against the concept of a free-floating magisterium as the ultimate criterion of truth. Outside of the “solemn magisterium” the so-called “ordinary magisterium” can acquire a character of infallibility only when it is in harmony with tradition. De Mattei also takes issue with the notion of “hermeneutics” as the key to discerning tradition. For that concept introduces a “subjective” element which shifts the focus from objective tradition to the interpreting subject.

This precious second half of In Defense of Tradition provides the Catholic reader with the clearest and most succinct exposition of these issues of which I know.

Marin Mosebach has contributed a forceful introduction to the German translation of de Mattei’s book. For there has been a very significant shift in the ecclesiastical context since 2011, the year of this book’s original publication. At that time, the author did have to define and justify tradition against the claims of the Second Vatican Council and its implementors. But he also had to defend the authority of Pope Benedict XVI against a renewed tide of anti-papal rage fostered by the Catholic progressives and specifically by the Catholic church in Germany. Today, under Bergoglio, we have both the greatest rupture with Catholic doctrine and practice since the 1960’s combined with unlimited assertions of the scope of the magisterium.

Mosebach brings out some points more explicitly than in the original text, e.g.,

“After the First Vatican Council a papalist theology arose that greatly exceeded the definition of the papal office in Catholic tradition. The consciousness of the strict anchoring of the pope in tradition faded – the excesses of the political claims of the medieval popes found their equivalent in the exaggeration of their spiritual authority in the 19th and 20th centuries. It could appear to the naive believer that infallibility extended to every imaginable aspect of life and that the plenary authority of the pope permitted even the abolition of tradition. As this then actually occurred at a most sensitive spot – I am referring to the liturgical reform of Pope Paul VI – the first doubts arose regarding this theology…”

Mosebach then provides a frank discussion of the reign of Francis, in which it often appears that the pope is less concerned about transmitting what is specifically Catholic than in following the agenda of the mass media. Mosebach states:

Roberto de Mattei wants to show his readers how to remain a Catholic loyal to the pope without as a consequence becoming deaf and blind.

In Defense of Tradition answers a real need. This brief handbook and guide will serve well in this time of crisis. Evidence of the interest in this text was the presentation of this book on July 9 at a well-attended conference in Munich with both de Mattei and Mosebach (among others) speaking. Fortunately, we understand an English translation will be forthcoming shortly.

(Translations are mine for which I ask the reader’s forbearance)

The Age of Secularization

By Augusto del Noce

Edited and translated by Carlo Lancellotti

(McGill-Queen’s University Press Montreal 2017)

At times we have to turn away from the current dramatic situation in Catholicism: the ever-increasing radicalism of Bergoglio and his associates and allies accompanied by the continuing spread, at a lower level, of traditionalist countercurrents in liturgy and morality. To understand what is going on now we have to get to the philosophical and historical roots of the current crisis. It is a grave weakness particularly of Americans to want immediate action in the absence of a solid intellectual foundation. Over the next several weeks I’d like to review some recently published or republished books that, in my judgment, help to provide that basis.

Augusto del Noce was a distinguished Catholic philosopher whose works, thanks to the sterling efforts of Professor Carlo Lancellotti of the City University of New York, are only now appearing in English translation. The Age of Secularization, prompted especially by the tumultuous years of the 1960s, was published in Italy in 1970 and our translation appeared in 2017! But we can think of many other key Catholic authors who remain largely or totally untranslated in English: Roberto de Mattei, Martin Mosebach, Gómez Dávila, etc. The Catholic traditionalist still has to be a polyglot if he wants to discover the breadth of Catholic thought.

Augusto del Noce resolutely champions the primacy of philosophical reflection. In conformity with the classical tradition, it is philosophy that provides the necessary means to understanding current society and events. In these respects, as in many others, del Noce will remind the reader of the late Thomas Molnar. Indeed, Professor de Mattei informs me that on at least one occasion they both appeared together at a conference. And The Age of Secularization is more directly reminiscent of several works of Molnar published around the same time (e.g., Ecumenism or New Reformation aka Dialogues and Ideologues, 1968) The intellectual background and approach of the two authors differ though. Thomas Molnar operates in the French and general European intellectual world and favors a lengthy historical analysis of any topic. Del Noce is more focused on the 19th and 20th centuries and lives within the Italian philosophical tradition. He devotes much time to Italian history and national favorites such as Croce, Gentile and Rosmini. I don’t think the intellectual context of the author, however, is a barrier to the non-Italian reader – Prof. Lancellotti’s excellent footnotes help greatly. And del Noce also draws on and analyzes St. Thomas, St Augustine, Simone Weil and various Marxists as well.

Now del Noce seeks to situate the events of the postwar period in their spiritual and intellectual context. And were not the 1960’s the period of most profound social and moral change? We note – surprisingly or not – that for this task del Noce does not feel the need to cite the texts of the Second Vatican Council and more recent Papal pronouncements (except for a tangential and actually critical reference to Gaudium et Spes). That would seem odd for a “Catholic” philosopher – given that the fathers of the Council claimed for themselves the ability to read “the signs of the times.” But then del Noce’s assessment of modernity does not agree at all with the Conciliar optimism. Indeed, much of The Age of Secularization is a critique of progressive Catholicism – Teilhardian or otherwise -which del Noce’s identifies with a renewal of the Modernism condemned by Pope Pius X.

Del Noce identifies Western secular society – the society of well-being, or the “technological” or “affluent” society – as the dominant force today and the absolute antithesis of religion. For it utterly denies the very possibility of a religious dimension. In that regard it surpasses Marxism as a foe of Christianity. For that ideology, although inherently atheistic, retains an inverted religious element in dialectical materialism.

Del Noce describes the “age of secularization” in these words: We started from the ideals of universal liberation, and it seems the world is moving towards the organization of oligarchies and sociocratic castes like have never been seen before. The words freedom, democracy and justice are untouchable, and rights are constantly declared, but this does not alter the fact that actual reality is marching towards a synthesis of all the forms of despotism that ever appeared in history.

Del Noce’s perspectives are original and creative. For example, the post-World War II era should be seen as not a crisis of faith, but a crisis of the secular alternatives to faith: “philosophical” secularism, fascism, Nazism and communism. One would think that this crisis should open the door once again to the transcendent. In del Noce’s view, the student protests of 1968 were in their origin an understandable uprising against the dehumanizing affluent society. Tragically, though, these movements were imbued from the start with anarchistic, totalitarian and libertine elements so that the revolts ended up reinforcing, rather than abolishing, the affluent society.

Del Noce addresses the issues of “Christian democracy” – the author acknowledges a tension between the two concepts – especially as practiced in Italy after World War II. This period of Christian democratic hegemony saw the greatest decline in Christian moral values – not in favor of Marxism but hedonism and eroticism. Del Noce still advocates the notion of a “Catholic” party – against Catholic progressives who were condemning it- but on the basis of a radical reinvestigation of its own principles. But then del Noce is not one to offer “solutions” or a political program. He stakes out for himself a unique political stance: liberal (in the European sense), Maritainian, but not as these terms were commonly understood in 1970. I do have here one criticism of Prof. Lancellotti’s otherwise outstanding work as editor and translator. In the chapter dealing most directly with question of Christian democracy the translator had deleted a number of passages in which del Noce turned his attention to concrete political issues of his day. Admittedly these paragraphs would require footnotes to explain exactly what was going on in those years – but also might enable us to get a better sense of del Noce’s judgment as a political actor.

Finally, let me quote del Noce who (apparently relying on Max Scheler) defines the characteristics that distinguish the “traditional” idea of man (which “achieved its fullness in Christian thought”) from the “instrumentalist” understanding of the current age:

(A) man possesses in himself an agent whose essence is divine, which every nature does not contain subjectively;
(b) this agent and the power that eternally shapes and organizes the world are in their principle one and the same – hence reason’s aptitude at knowing the world;
(c) as logos and human reason, this agent is capable of exercising power and realizing its own ideal content, without any intervention by the inclinations and sensations that men and animals share in common – that is in history itself there is a priority of ideal causality.

A bit challenging? – perhaps. But it summarizes del Noce’s unshakeable conviction of the primacy of the spiritual, of contemplation and of philosophical reflection. I can only mention in this review a few of the innumerable insights of del Noce. The Age of Secularization is essential reading for anyone who wants to find out what is driving developments, not just in 1970, but now. And, perhaps, also find insights and principles that provide a foundation for Catholic spiritual survival.

from Martin Mosebach in the New Liturgical Movement. A continuation of the debate occasioned by the liturgical “pastoral adaptations” in the concluding mass of this year’s Chartres pilgrimage. Somebody finally scrutinized what is going on….

Letter from Martin Mosebach Responding to “Pastoral Clergy”

NLM is delighted to be able to share with our readers an exclusive translation of a refreshingly direct letter written by the German novelist Martin Mosebach, who is well-known to lovers of the traditional liturgy for his book The Heresy of Formlessness, recently back in print in a revised and expanded edition by Angelico Press (see here).

Mr. Mosebach’s letter, which appeared in Die Tagespost on July 28, was prompted by an article of Fr Engelbert Recktenwald FSSP that had appeared in the same paper exactly one month before. (Readers may recall that Fr Recktenwald’s charges of aestheticism, rubricism, and purism have been the subject of two rebuttals at NLM: this and this.) Those who love the usus antiquior will find this letter a most succint and elegant statement of the essence of the matter. Our thanks to Stuart Chessman of the Society of St. Hugh of Cluny for his translation, and to the author for his permission to publish it here.

Peter Kwasniewski

Lefebvre Provided Emergency Aid to the Church

Martin Mosebach
60322 Frankfurt am Main

SOURCE: Pastoral Clergy

Lost Shepherd: How Pope Francis is misleading his Flock

By Philip F. Lawler

(2018 Regnery Gateway, Washington DC)

Many of us know Philip Lawler as a sharp-eyed critic of the media and Catholic institutions. On his Catholic Culture site and in his book The Faithful Departed, he provides perceptive and honest commentary on the press and the (pathetic) state of the institutional Church. He shows a special talent in dissecting official pronouncements and press releases to reveal what is being said or not said.

In Lost Shepherd he attempts to make sense of the pontificate of Pope Francis. But it is one thing to provide running commentary on current developments. It is quite another to attempt to understand a revolutionary movement and put in its political and historical context. The recent Dictator Pope made a commendable first effort to do just that. Lost Shepherd is less successful.

A Catholic Conservative is at a distinct disadvantage here. Since 1968 or so his entire “ideology” (a perhaps inexact term) has been unswerving loyalty to the papacy. He saw his mission as defending it and (depending on the writer)other Church institutions against both the attacks of so-called dissenters and the all too frequent failings of the local hierarchy. This framework of analysis and the a priori positions it entails are totally inadequate to deal with the phenomenon of Francis. For the fundamental problem is that, after his initial reluctance to face the truth, Lawler has to admit:

[E]very day (I am exaggerating, but only slightly ) the pope issues another reminder that he does not approve of Catholics like me.

Indeed, as chronicled in this book, Pope Francis and his team have specifically rejected all the characteristic positions of Lawler and his fellow American Conservative Catholics. The pope even may be a “radical.” But for Lawler to acknowledge that the papacy has gone over to the progressives would be too much; instead, he has to speak of Francis “misleading” or “confusing” the Church.

One largely misses Lawler, the biting commentator, in this book. Only here and there do we encounter his usual style:

His (the Pope’s – SC) warning about being “obsessed” with abortion and contraception made many loyal Catholics uneasy; it hardly seemed necessary to complain about a “obsession” with issues that are rarely even mentioned in a typical parish.

Instead, in an attempt to be even-handed, we are offered blander prose, studded with quotes from fellow conservatives and “centrists.” Now and then Lawler even falls into sycophantic church-speak, such as, when discussing Evangelii Gaudium:

Francis provides a rich variety of useful suggestions for pastors and for lay people who wish to share their faith.

Lawler discusses the 2013 papal election, the failed economic and organizational reforms at the Vatican, Amoris Letitia and the reaction thereto and Francis’s style and leadership. I didn’t find his analysis of any of these topics particularly insightful. At no time does he provide a detailed comparison of the policies of Francis with the reigning ideas of progressive Catholicism or indeed of the secular establishment. That would show that Francis’s policies are a lot less confusing than Lawler makes them out to be.

The author provides only sketchy historical background. And what he does provide is incomplete and superficial – such as his contrast of a supposed age of stability and sanctity under John Paul II and Benedict with the current regime. For as Lawler himself acknowledges in Lost Shepherd, this prior era of Vatican excellence may not always have made any difference in the life of Catholics at the parish level. Moreover, when our author praises the laissez-faire appointment policies of John Paul and Benedict, we must question his judgment. For are not their incompetent appointments one main reason that we have the Francis pontificate today? And if Lawler finds that:

Pope Francis has not taught heresy.

he has done so without having stated or responded to any arguments of those who presumably think he has.

It is of course a welcome development that yet another conservative feels compelled to disassociate himself very publicly from what is going on at the highest levels of the Church today, And readers wanting a reasonable summary of the last 5 years of Pope Francis may appreciate this book. It’s certainly miles ahead of the Francis biographies put out by the Pope’s media claque. But Lost Shepherd is unlikely to satisfy those seeking for real answers to how things could have come to this state.

Among the Ruins: the Decline and Fall of the Roman Catholic Church

by Paul L. Williams

Prometheus Books, Amherst, New York 2017

We seem to be “on a roll”: new books on the manifold Catholic crises appear now almost weekly. No sooner had I written about the Catholic “decline and fall” genre when a new candidate comes across the transom. Paul Williams’s  Among the Ruins takes us through the phenomena of the post-Conciliar collapse of Catholicism: the interminable financial and sexual abuse scandals, the disintegration of doctrine and liturgy,  the Vatican chaos. He writes as a reporter summarizing facts that have already been disclosed and published.  His forcefully and clearly written book has the merit of not focusing primarily on Pope Francis. Rather, Mr. Williams takes us back 50 years and more and recapitulates facts that we may have been aware of at one time but have conveniently discarded.

Having said that, I have to rate Among the Ruins as one of the least of the entrants in this field.  Like most reporters, Paul Williams concentrates on superficial if revealing factoids instead of trying to identify underlying realities. He is often uncritical in the use of sources. In his eagerness to present damning facts about the current Church he at times espouses opinions more commonly associated with the Church’s progressive wing.

He takes strong positions, typical of the more extreme right wing of Catholicism, but without sufficient development to make them convincing. Yes, Masonic infiltrators are definitely an issue – especially in Italy and certain other places in Europe. But what is their significance compared to the very public influence and manipulation of the Church by the news media, the universities, the corporations and even the secular governments? Paul Williams brings up facts that show Pope John Paul II was not at all the “rigid” defender of Orthodoxy that both critics and proponents of Pope Francis make him out to be. But to qualify successfully the last years of John Paul II’s papacy as bearing “the mark of the antichrist” requires much more background and explanation than what Mr. Williams gives the topic. Absent that, such statements only contribute to a loss of credibility.

Paul Williams brackets his book with profoundly pessimistic descriptions of services at his parish in West Scranton in Northeast Pennsylvania in 1958 and in the same area today (the author’s own parish in 1958 closed some twenty years ago). It’s no surprise that his writing grows more eloquent as he describes things he himself has seen. Mr. Williams concludes his book with this:

How had it come to this? A time when Saturday night became Sunday morning, when the sacred altar transformed into a common table, when potted plants replaced the statues of the Saints…. When the majestic Mass that inspired many of the worlds greatest thinkers, artist, and composers, transformed into a religious travesty.

The congregants walked from the church to the descending darkness. Many had come in search of some hint of transcendence, a measure of sanctity, a sense of spiritual belonging that they had experienced in the church of their childhood.  What was lost could never be recaptured. It could only be remembered.

It was time to leave.

Here, at the local level, we get to experience the true, terrible cost of the clerical aberrations of the last 50 years. Yet, also proceeding from the local level, readers of this blog will know that we cannot concur that the Catholic cause is hopeless. For, contrary to what Paul Williams implies above, the Traditional Mass continues to be celebrated. A Mass, I should add, that very often is celebrated today in a more dignified and complete manner than in 1958. And it is from that Mass, in some way we now cannot visualize, that rebirth will come.

(Above) Image of the Twenty-one in a revived “Coptic” style. The common people usually prefer cruder but more expressive images.

Die 21: Eine Reise ins Land der koptischen Martyrer
(The 21: A Journey to the Land of the Coptic Martyrs)

2018 Rowohlt Verlag G.m.b.H. Reinbeck bei Hamburg

The image on the cover of a magazine had attracted me. It showed the head of a young man, apparently a Mediterranean type, surrounded by some orange-colored material. He’s a thin young man with brownish skin, a low hairline, and a not very thick mustache, the eyes half closed. The narrow lips are slightly open and let a little of the teeth be seen. It’s not a smile, rather a sign of deep relaxation, in which the mouth involuntarily opens for a deep breath or a sigh.

But then I discovered that the cropped image shown on the magazine had misled me. I hadn’t realized at first that the head had been separated from the body.

Martin Mosebach opens his new book with this startling image. Die 21 tells of his pilgrimage last year to the land of the twenty-one Coptic men who were killed in 2015 by ISIS in Libya. Part reportage on current events, part travel narrative and part modern day hagiography, Die 21 also addresses liturgy, art, history and theology. Stylistically, Die 21 ranges from precise, almost scientific, descriptive prose to images alternately poetic, shocking and surrealistic. The only work I know that resembles it somewhat in both subject matter and style is Joris-Karl Huysmans’s Les Foules de Lourdes (1908).

Mosebach takes us on a journey of exploration to another world, where the spiritual remains a dimension of ordinary life. For those whose understanding of Christianity is derived from the moribund Roman Catholic Church of the West – the decadent clergy, the “mature Christians” of the financial centers and well-to-do suburbs, the enthusiasts of the “new movements” – Mosebach’s book will be either a destabilizing confrontation with a world thought overcome or a welcome revelation that the Christian Faith still lives on upon this earth.

Mosebach first tells of the martyrdom itself by minutely describing the main evidence of it: the horrifying, very professional video prepared by ISIS of the beheading of these men. The martyrs show no signs of excitement or anguish and above all do not plead for mercy. On their faces only quiet resolve and recollection are visible. The last word on the lips of several was “Jesus.” Twenty were Copts – Egyptian Christians – most of them from a single village. A stranger, a black man from Ghana, had joined them in martyrdom.

Mosebach in the course of the book strives to give each man a separate character and individuality. It is a difficult task. But is that not the case in so many martyrdoms? There are the forty martyrs of Sebaste, frozen to death. Mosebach himself refers to the martyrs of the entire Theban legion (from Thebes in Egypt, that is) who, strangely enough, unite Egypt and Germany. The coat of arms of Cologne still commemorates St. Ursula and her eleven thousand companions. And as recently as 2013 did we not celebrate the canonization of the eight hundred martyrs of Otranto? What is important is not the martyrs’ individuality, but their total identification with Christ. Mosebach records one of the martyrs saying as his confession of faith: “I am a Christian.” Not something enunciated as a concept or only as an article of belief but what he had become through the rite of baptism. And, as a Coptic priest tells us in this book, “Every Christian must have a cross, one real and one symbolic, neither may be lacking. Every Christian must relive Christ’s life.”

In the most moving part of his narrative Mosebach visits the village from which most of the martyrs hailed. They were just “ordinary guys.” Some could not read. Their families live in what we might consider extremely modest circumstances: farm animals dwell together with their owners in the same dwelling, swallows fly through the house during interviews. In his conversations with the martyrs’ families Mosebach records very little emotion – no enthusiasm, outward grief, rancor or desire for vengeance. Rather, similar to the attitude of the martyrs themselves, there is a quiet acceptance and a kind of modest pride in having now such advocates in heaven.

For among the Copts the spiritual is still an omnipresent reality. The martyrs’ families tell of the premonitions and signs that they now understand foretold the martyrdom of their children or husbands. Indeed, some of the men themselves seem to have had a presentiment that they would never return from Libya. And now, through the martyrs’ intercession, miracles and cures are taking place as well. Devotion to the 21 is spreading throughout Egypt. Even Muslims come by to request their help.

Yes, the world of the Copts is in so many ways that of the early Church. Persecution is a daily reality. Heavily armed guards are ubiquitous around Coptic institutions and villages. A bishop is unavailable to speak to Mosebach because he has been called to another location to care for girls who have been raped. A priest Mosebach is interviewing somewhat reluctantly admits to having been beaten severely in Libya – and then having been freed by a guard who apparently was impressed by this steadfastness. The priest immediately compared this to St. Peter’s escape form prison through the intervention of an angel. For the Copts are always ready to refer to the words of scripture, of which they have a great living knowledge, for analogies to their present trials and crises. Even though many cannot read, the bible is held with great reverence.

The source and center of the Copts’ spiritual life, however, is their liturgy. The Coptic Mass lasts three hours. It is celebrated in Greek and Coptic, languages nobody today “understands.” Yet the often-illiterate martyrs drew great spiritual treasures and strength from it. The entire Divine Liturgy is sung. Six of he martyrs were ordained “hymn-singers” – the others knew the Mass by heart. “They were totally absorbed (Mosebach states)by the rite – which in many cases in the Western world isn’t possible anymore even for monks.” Is it surprising that monasticism also remains of preeminent importance in Coptic spirituality?

The Coptic Church today is booming. New churches, monasteries, hospitals and schools are springing up everywhere. Formal instruction in the faith is expanding. Attracting the young people is no problem (perhaps not that difficult in a country where half the population is under 25). What the West perceives as contradictions: magnificence of the Traditional liturgy, service to the poor, martyrdom – are understood by the Copts as self-evidently inseparably linked.

Die 21 ends on a more somber, ambiguous note as, in the final chapters, the scene shifts to Cairo. Mosebach lets us experience the truly infernal quarter where the Coptic rag pickers of the city dwell – but this “ghetto” has given birth to a grand cathedral–like shrine and new residential areas. Yet, only a short drive away from the chaotic city of Cairo, an alien force, a new shopping mall, has set down in the desert. It offers to a traditional society a Western fantasy world of air conditioning and unlimited merchandise. For here and there throughout this book we are shown that Coptic and Egyptian life is changing: new homes, new churches, changing economic conditions. In a sense, Mosebach tells us, the Egyptians live between two ages – one coming to an end and the other not yet formed. And, for the Copts, the threat of attack is ever-present. In a country where Islam is the state religion, the government is unpredictable – now protecting, now harassing or even persecuting the Christian minority.

In Die 21 Martin Mosebach has given us his most significant work of religious non-fiction since The Heresy of Formlessness. It must have been a source of great satisfaction to the author to present to the world a flourishing Christian culture that in many ways confirms the theses on the traditional liturgies and their role in the Church for which Mosebach himself has argued for many years. Of course, from another perspective, Die 21 can be read as a point-by-point critique of the institutional Roman Catholic Church as it exists today in Western Europe and the United States. Die 21 indeed is an extraordinary commemoration of the contemporary martyrs of Egypt and of the Church and community that formed them. But at the same time it stands as a stern challenge and rebuke to us who have so much more than the Copts – at least as the world understands it – yet, as we must confess to our shame, have allowed our faith to dwindle away.

(We understand that Die 21 may be appearing soon in English translation. And our Society expects to to welcome Mr. Mosebach back to New York once more in November of this year.)

L’Arte di Dio: Sacri Pensieri, Profane Idee

Edited by Cristina Siccardi

(2017 Edizioni Cantagalli S.r.I., Siena)

Art and Religion, Beauty and the Sacred: topics that have received ever-increasing attention among Catholic Traditionalists as their movement matures and, moving beyond the mere survival of the liturgy, addresses fundamental issues of our culture. In general, Traditionalists now understand that some necessary connection exists between the realms of the sacred and beautiful. Again, generally speaking, Traditionalists tend to look for their models for a successful interaction of the two spheres in the historic styles and masterpieces of the past.

This is in stark contrast to the policy of the Church establishment, which usually takes one of two forms. More prevalent on these shores is aggressive hostility towards “mere aesthetics” in liturgy, art and music, while instead promoting anti-artistic tendencies like those of evangelical Protestantism. Alternatively, one encounters, especially in Europe, the direct importation of contemporary “elitist” artistic trends into the Church. To the extent new churches are built at all, for example, their architecture usually is informed by a modernist ethos. Cardinal Ravasi may serve as the “patron saint” of this approach. There are and have been laudable exceptions to these dominating tendencies, but as a whole the institutional “Conciliar” Church tends to dispense with the idea of the “beautiful” as a criterion of ecclesiastical art.

The fossilized continuity of institutional Catholic Modernism. (Above) Church of the Epiphany, New York (1967). (Below) The chapel of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary, New York (2009). (2nd below) The chapel of the NYU Catholic Center (2012)

Yet are there not clear historical precedents for the experience of the beautiful leading to religious conversion and renewal? Did not Prince Vladimir of Kiev convert to Eastern Orthodoxy after his emissaries had encountered the magnificence of Hagia Sophia and its grand liturgical ceremonies? Vladimir Soloviev in turn used this example to defend François-René de Chateaubriand’s Genius of Christianity (1802), which argued the case for Christianity based on religion’s role in creating Western art and culture. Also in the early 19th century, the first generation of German romantics rediscovered the art, architecture and literature of the Middle Ages. Many of these writers progressed from an appreciation of Gothic art to an understanding of the Catholic religion, resulting in a series of prominent conversions. The German Romantic Movement in no small degree laid the foundation of the spiritual revival of German Catholicism.

To address this complex of issues in the contemporary Church, Cristina Siccardi has assembled a most distinguished group of contributors: writers, artists, performers, historians, museum administrators and theologians. Here are both theoreticians and hands-on creators of art. Not a few have a distinguished place in Italian culture; some, like Martin Mosebach and Roberto de Mattei, should be already well known to readers “over here.” The contributors are both secular and Catholic and not everyone speaks with the same accent – but that’s only as it should be! What unites them all is their engagement for art, the sacred and the beautiful – and their opposition to the destruction or at least deterioration of these values in modernity and in the modern Church.

Each contribution takes the form of an interview and discussion with Cristina Siccardi; in addition, there is a good-sized appendix with important, previously published pieces from people like Jean Clair and Fr. Uwe Michael Lang. There’s also a set of illustrations that serve to highlight the contrasts between “traditional” (in a range of styles) and modern ecclesiastical art – a picture is worth a thousand words.

It’s hardly possible for me to summarize the riches to be found in this book. Among the many noteworthy contributions, let me single out a few to give you an idea of the contents:

In her introduction, Cristina Siccardi writes of the disaster of ecclesiastical art in Italy today – the product of Vatican II. “Is it possible in sacred art that the good can be expressed by the anti-aesthetic? Since the second Vatican Council this has become possible.”   To the extent churches are built at all, they are iconoclastic spaces conceived with the express intent of breaking with the past. Historic buildings, on the other hand are increasingly reduced to museums – like Castel Gandolfo under Pope Francis or the convent of St. Mark in Florence.  Even those cathedrals, churches and monasteries that still have clergy and can function as places of worship usually welcome mostly tourists today.

Christina Sourgins give an admirable summary of the critique of “contemporary art” that has been developed largely by French authors. She exposes the government-subsidized and art market-oriented fakery of “performances” and “installations.” But what is far worse is that this “art” has all too frequently found a home in churches and cathedrals. Deliberately blasphemous and provocative, these works contradict the form and purpose of the magnificent spaces that surround them.  “Contemporary art acts as the contrary of the gospel: honor to him through whom scandal comes!” To dialogue with such art leads Christians only to a “quiet apostasy.”

Martin Mosebach writes of the “attack on the Catholic rite.” Mosebach emphasizes that although the ancient rite has generated an incredible quantity of art, music, painting architecture and sculpture, these are not its essence, which is independent of these great cultural treasures. Rather, the main element of its beauty is the form of the rite itself. Any celebration of the Traditional mass, even in the most wretched of chapels, has an incomparable beauty – the rite itself “creates its own space.” “The splendid art of the most beautiful churches has absolutely no value if it cannot enter into direct correspondence with the rite for which it was created.”

Mosebach: The primary beauty of the Mass is the rite itself, not the embellishments (architecture, vestments, music etc.) with which it may be surrounded. (Above) Easter liturgy in the tiny one room Russian Catholic chapel of St Michael, New York). (Below)  A Missa Cantata celebrated in the basement church of St Mary’s Greenwich before a small congregation of young people.

But through art man gives greater glory to God. (Above) A solemn Requiem Mass celebrated recently in the church of St. Vincent Ferrer, New York. (Below) Cardinal Burke celebrates Mass in the Karlskirche, Vienna. 

Andrea de Meo Arbore develops intriguing ideas regarding architectural archetypes that are or should be constitutive of a Catholic Church such as the tower, the monumental portal and the dome. Citing medieval theorists such as Durandus, de Meo Arbore finds that each of these elements articulates a semantics that refers to the spiritual world. “Thus, the cupola may be the symbol of heaven or of the pregnant womb of Mary.” Vittorio Sgarbi in a similar vein writes that post-sixties church architecture lacks the cupola and the vault: the cupola is heaven and the vault is the dimension which stands above men’s’ heads. The lack of architectural forms like the verticality of the Gothic or the cupola and vaulting of the Renaissance eliminates their symbolism –  equivalent to a “renunciation of heaven.”

A specific cause of dismay mentioned by several contributors (like Vittorio Sgarbi) is the ” liturgical adaptation” of churches and cathedrals to the new mass in Italy resulting in the gutting of sanctuaries (chancels) and the elimination of altar rails, altars and pulpits. Antonio Natali states “what … has happened in our churches to adapt the architecture of the past to the new liturgy doesn’t have even the shadow of a cultural justification.” In this regard, Pietro de Marco writes of modernity’s specific horror of the baroque, the fascination with the allegedly “pure” and of the destructive force and anti-baroque vandalism that succeeded the Council.

(Above and below) Vandalism in the sanctuary – the baptismal “swimming pool” installed before the former high altar of the Jesuit church of St Francis Xavier, New York.

(Above and below) Jesuits again: “Liturgical adaptation” in the sanctuary of the Jesuit church of Vienna.

This book represents an exhaustive compendium of opinion and commentary on truth, beauty and art in the Church and the world. Appropriately enough for (using the term broadly) traditionalists, the various contributors identify and clarify issues and problems but do not necessarily offer “solutions” or role models. But L’Arte di Dio is an indispensable resource for anyone concerned with questions of the liturgy and ecclesiastical art. The book has its own website; we would welcome the day when it is translated into other languages.

(Above)The sanctuary of the Church of St Martha, Enfield. The Hartford Courant explains : “An altar rail is a hallmark of St. Martha church and is used by parishioners to receive communion during Latin Mass.” Photo by John Woike | jwoike@courant.com (John Woike / Hartford Courant)

We have rejoiced in the continued vitality of the Catholic Traditionalist movement, particularly in this corner of the world. That should not blind us, however, to the depth of the opposition that remains extremely active within the Church establishment. We have heard of recent incidents and indeed have experienced others ourselves – emanating primarily from the clergy but also from the “churchy” element of the laity who have absorbed the progressive clergy’s view of the world over the decades. A noteworthy recent published example comes to us from the Archdiocese of Hartford.

St. Martha is a parish in Enfield ( a town the northern part of the state of Connecticut), which,  as you know if you have been following our listings of announced Holy Day masses, regularly offers the traditional liturgy. Not too long ago it was merged with two other parishes in the course of the Archdiocese of Hartford’s current course of drastic downsizing. Now that merger has been undone. The cause? Although there seem to be other issues for the split, including control of the school, the discussion focuses on the fact that St. Martha’s celebrates the traditional mass. This was unacceptable to the congregations of the other two merged parishes .

“Clash of culture leads to failed Parish Merger in Enfield” Article in the Hartford Courant (November 19, 2017)by Jordan Otero Sisson.

“Parishioners and archdiocesan leaders agreed that a difference in culture was a major point of contention when the parishes were merged. St. Martha is a more traditional church, while St. Patrick and St. Adalbert, considered more contemporary, with strong social justice ministries and outreach efforts, and that clash caused some tensions, they said.”

Walter Wojciehowski, the former parish council president at St. Adalbert, and Tim Fiore, the former St. Patrick parish council president, said … many parishioners felt as though the culture of St. Martha was transplanted to the new parish without consultation of the other communities, creating what Wojciehowski described as a “toxic atmosphere.”

The Courant adds: “One of the main points of contention was where the new parish would offer a traditional Latin Mass, which had been celebrated at St. Martha.” For the traditional mass was now proposed to be celebrated in St Adalbert – the more “traditional” venue among the three churches of the merged parish, at least in terms of architecture.

The Hartford Courant reporter then helpfully explains some differences between the Traditional Mass and the “Norvus Ordo” (sic) (His explanation is actually quite fair.)

The opposition of the leaders of the two other parishes to the traditional mass was militant:

“This was a case of the church having moved beyond this in the ’60s, so why are we going back and why are you dragging us back?” Fiore asked. “We have no interest in going back. We were afraid the whole Latin Mass culture would seep its way into the modern Mass church.”

The solution of the Archdiocese? Aside from the usual response (blaming the laity), it has undone the merger, at least for the time being. Not a word is uttered against the outrageous statements against Catholic traditionalism set forth in the above article. And why should there be? The Archdiocese of Hartford emerged early on as a progressive leader; it is now reaping the fruits of decades of progressive dysfunction.

As the parish leader of St Adalbert puts it, employing media buzzwords:

“I think there is enough room for all, but the main issue here has to be to be inclusive and to respect the feelings and the culture of the other parties involved,” he said. “If that doesn’t happen … I don’t see how that could be successful.” (After he himself has showed no respect for the “culture of St Martha.”)

The Dictator Pope

By “Marcantonio Colonna”

The Dictator Pope hit our Kindles (it’s not yet in hard copy) just in time for Christmas. I can tell you, after a quick read, that it’s the best Vatican expose since 1999’s Gone with the Wind in the Vatican by “I Millenari” (indeed, some of the targets in the curia seem to be the same in both these works). But the focus of the Dictator Pope greatly differs from that work. It concentrates not so much on inside “revelations” but on the career, background and circumstances on one individual – namely, Pope Francis. It seeks to deepen our understanding of what is already known, to provide background and to “connect the dots” among people and policies.

The Dictator Pope is streamlined, succinct and well written. Here and there (such as in his discussion of the situation of the Knights of Malta) our author – “Marcantonio Colonna” – does seem to display specific knowledge beyond what has been published previously. Yet, as I noted, this book does not emphasize journalistic “leaks.” We indeed are told Pope Francis directed the contribution of funds to the presidential campaign of Hillary Clinton. But does that supposed fact have any significance given what we already know about the media support, both direct and indirect, given to the Democratic Party by Francis – surely of incomparably greater value to Hillary than any money Francis could put on the table?

For several reasons the Dictator Pope strikes me as reliable. For one thing, Colonna’s description of Jorge Bergoglio’s style and modus operandi agrees very well with what I have been told by those with more direct knowledge than I possess of his doings in both Rome and Argentina. It also corresponds to certain reports that have appeared now and then in the European – never the English language – mainstream press. Curiously, some of these unflattering accounts are found in sources – like the German media – otherwise entirely aligned with Bergoglio.

Marcantonio Colonna shows the stuff of a true historian in creating a narrative of the Bergoglio years and offering his judgment on what he describes. Instead of nonsense about “God’s choice,” the colorful account of the Dictator Pope has the ring of truth: the relentless rise to the top of an ambitious and manipulative man, the making of strategic alliances and political concessions leading to the acquisition of the papacy and the imposition of the Pope’s personal agenda, the ruthless elimination of real or imaginary enemies, the advancement of unworthy and corrupt favorites. The Vatican as described in this work reminds us of the stories of the Renaissance papacy told in the great histories of Leopold von Ranke and Ludwig von Pastor. Indeed, Marcantonio Colonna himself draws comparisons between Pope Francis and certain ruthlessly ambitious, often megalomaniac and, in one or two cases, perhaps even insane popes of the 14th – 17th centuries, as so well described by his illustrious predecessors.

This portrait of Pope Francis outlined in the Dictator Pope, though, requires some qualification. For one thing, the popes of the past to whom Colonna compares Francis may have been lacking in one or more – or many – of the Christian virtues ( and often in sound judgment as well ) but they were strong characters who battled against and among other powerful rival families and factions within the Church and with the great secular kingdoms and principalities of their day. Francis only has to contend with the bureaucratic ninnies of the post – Vatican II Catholic hierarchy. Regarding today’s secular powers – like the news media – Francis pursues a policy of obsequious and abject submission. For, without exception, the policies of Francis are those of the Western secular establishment from whose support Francis derives all his power.

Furthermore, these notorious popes of the past showed rare taste in art and culture. I don’t know what the reign of Francis has to offer in comparison – a homoerotic nativity scene or one of Cardinal Ravasi’s exhibits? And whatever else they were doing, the popes of the Renaissance also devoted great personal attention to the liturgy – the celebration of the papal ceremonial was a major attraction of that period. Pope Francis either disregards the liturgy altogether or “repurposes” it for political statements.

I also must take issue with Colonna’s unduly restrictive characterization of significance of the papacy of Francis. For if Francis were simply one more unscrupulous, ambitious and opportunistic prelate – like Alexander VI – we could consider him simply a regrettable but ultimately remediable failure of the papal election process. But the added dimension of Francis’s papacy is his clear ideological commitment to Catholic progressivism. Whether that is simply a cynical means to the acquisition of power (as Colonna implies) or is a matter of personal conviction is irrelevant  – it is by now an unalterable aspect of his character.  Whatever the origin of his beliefs may be,  Pope Francis is a man with a mission to “unleash” and “make irreversible” the Vatican II – to make permanent what has been done since 1962-65  and to implement further radical changes in Catholic liturgy, morality and theology.  And the policies of Pope Francis are not a bolt from the blue, but the logical culmination of the disastrous trends in theology, morality, liturgy and government in the Catholic Church that have been allowed to develop and fester since 1962-65.  Pope Francis’s progressive agenda involves not just the completion of a revolution within the Church but the final, absolute subjection of the Church to the dominant secular powers of 21st century.

Marcantonio Colonna’s narrative helps us to see the current situation in the Church more clearly. And a clear view of what’s going on is always a major first step forward towards reform. The response of the Vatican to this book, we hear, is a search for the author’s identity. For the rest of us, Dictator Pope is a challenge: to reflect, to pray and to take action.