I first encountered Daniel J. Mahoney when I reviewed his 2018 book The Idol of Our Age.  There he expressed guarded criticism of Pope Francis but still felt the need to “balance” his negative comments. In an article written for National Review two years later Mahoney was far more direct in his characterization of Francis. Today Mahoney is speaking out loud. After cataloguing with prophetic urgency the Vatican’s misdeeds in theory and practice,  he concludes:

 Today, papalotry is not an option for faithful Catholics. To fundamentally “change the Church,” as Francis surely intends, is to undermine her authority and her very raison d’être. The Catholic faith is not the religion of humanity, and the Holy Spirit is not an agent of the Historical Process, no matter what some Catholic progressives think. As with the Arian crisis of the fourth century, when most bishops succumbed to heresy, the task of Catholics is to defend the truth unalloyed. We owe the papal office filial respect. But no pope is an oriental potentate. His “private judgment” cannot take precedence over the moral law, the apostolic inheritance, and the unchanging teachings of the Church. Today, alas, unthinking papalotry reinforces theological and moral subversion. Self-deception of this kind only lead to the abyss. At this critical moment, Catholics have an obligation to see things clearly.

Mahoney, Daniel J., The Church over the Abyss. (Americanmind.org 9/20/2022)

Now Daniel Mahoney has done significant scholarly work on the legacy of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn for whom he professes great admiration. Pope Francis and Solzhenitsyn – these are mutually exclusive personalities:

“either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other.”

Curious – I had just reacquainted myself with how another thinker, Thomas Molnar, had in 1980 been inspired by Solzhenitsyn (as opposed to any of the representatives of the official Catholic Church) in formulating his thoughts on the relationship of Church and State. Rod Dreher too has moved from the self-satisfied, quietist Benedict Option (2018) to a Solzhenitsyn-inspired assault on the current apocalyptic state of the West as exemplified by Live not by Lies: a Manual for Christian Dissidents (2020). That transformation includes increasingly savage attacks on Pope Francis – for whom, by the way, Dreher had initially expressed admiration. For Dreher’s current views see, for example, “Pope Francis, McCarrick and Maciel” (The American Conservative, 5/29/2022). The prophetic voice of the great Russian writer lives on!

State and Church, “libertarian” and “truth-oriented” government – these topics once again stir up controversy. In the United States, by 1960,  Catholics were fantasizing that conflicts over such issues were, for them, a thing of the past. Since then, the government of the United States at Federal, state, and local levels has increasingly adopted policies overtly hostile to Christianity; thus, the debate – in the context of actual political conflicts – reemerged. On the practical level, we might cite the development and successes of the vast pro-life movement; in the realm of political theory there is the esoteric and specifically Catholic “integralist” discussion.

I think it might be of interest to turn back to Thomas Molnar (1921 – 2010) to shed light on the subject. He was a thinker who frequently dealt with the roles of both state and Church.  One of his few (the only?) books to have been reprinted in English since his death is The Church and the State: The Catholic Tradition as an integral Element of Western Political Thought (Cluny, 2018) – originally published under the more accurate title of Politics and the State: a Catholic View (Franciscan Herald Press, Chicago 1980).

I would not suggest this work as an introduction to Molnar’s thought. Much of it is the author’s critical confrontation with schools of thought from which Molnar seeks to distinguish the Catholic tradition – like the main strands of “conservative” political science in his day (Federalist, Straussian and “Voegelinian”) or an array of post-Thomistic political thinkers of the past, from Marsilius of Padua to Hegel. One does not find in The Church and the State the originality of Molnar’s pioneering works of the 1960’s such as The Decline of the Intellectual (1961) or The Counter-Revolution (1969). Nor do we encounter the passionate intensity of his increasingly savage dissection of the liberal ”civil society” now dominant in the US and Western Europe, as set out in a whole series of books such as Le Modèle Défiguré: L’Amérique de Tocqueville à Carter (1978) or The Emerging Atlantic Culture (1994). And a much more detailed discussion of the post-Conciliar Church can be found in The Church: Pilgrim of Centuries (1990). In contrast, The Church and the State has a more disengaged, abstract character. Many of Molnar’s arguments and opinions seem to me to be only sketched out or to presuppose the reader’s familiarity with his other works. Perhaps Molnar’s heart wasn’t in this book.  Whereas the other works previously mentioned focus on very concrete political, cultural, or historical situations, in 1980 the question of the relation of the Catholic Church – as it existed after the Council – to contemporary American state and society was of necessity highly theoretical. 

Nevertheless, the Church and the State, like any book of Molnar’s, offers a wealth of insights. The author, in marked contrast to our current integralists, avoids proposing “solutions” or a specific course of action. He is aware of the limited applicability of precedents from the ancient or medieval world to the unprecedented secular age of modernity. Yet he insists on the superiority of the Catholic philosophical tradition in analyzing the role of the state. Not unexpectedly, Thomas Molnar proposes the synthesis of ancient and Christian thought achieved by Thomas Aquinas as the standard for a Catholic view of the state.

This book is in fact largely a defense of politics and the state (as the original title implies). Both are natural to man. Indeed, the state derives its authority either directly or indirectly, through the people, from God. Yet, after Christianity, the state can no longer demand from the individual citizen total loyalty such as did the Greek polis. Similarly, although monarchy remains the preferred form of government – certainly in Aquinas’s judgment –   in Christendom the state also incorporated democratic features. 

The Church has an objective that is supernatural and primarily directed toon the salvation of each unique, individual person. Now the state is (or should be) oriented towards the temporal common good. It needs, however, the presence and cooperation of the Church to achieve these ends. But the Church as an incarnate institution also needs the state. Molnar views the two realms as coexisting in harmony. One is not subordinated to the other – but for the integrity of both a link must be maintained. Otherwise, despite its ever-growing size, the modern state drifts aimlessly, in subjection to the forces of contemporary civil society (the non-state, non-Church institutions). What form this connection should take and how is to be reestablished Molnar does not tell us. The Church’s “temporal power” or the overtly political linkage of “throne and Altar” from the age of Christendom have little or no relevance today.

”In contemporary pluralist societies, the power of the Church can only moral and spiritual, but it must so emphasize the moral and spiritual domain that it should be evident that society’s integrity and survival depend on it. The result would be a modicum of mundane power as well…..” (p.141)

Moreover, Molnar asks how the Church can impart moral direction to the state, when it too is in subjection to the same secular ideologies that dominate the state and society? At the level of the local national hierarchies, complete doctrinal confusion reigns – both in Molnar’s day and today. Molnar is somewhat coy on the role of the papacy.  But it is interesting – given his later views on the subject – that he does seem mildly optimistic in regard to the initial actions of Pope John Paul II.  It’s indicative, however, of Molnar’s overall judgment on the Catholic Church in 1980 that the contemporary Christian thinker he quotes most often in this book is not a pope, bishop or religious but Aleksander Solzhenitsyn (not Roman Catholic at all). 

For according to Molnar, it is above all through the action of the lay faithful that Christian influence on the state will be exercised. Moreover, Molnar sees a leading role for the laity in saving the Church as well. Indeed, as in many other issues, he was prophetic!  In the very year this book was published the Solidarity movement took off in Poland, And hasn’t the United States Catholic laity – collaborating with many others – achieved what was called impossible, the reversal of Roe v. Wade?  Counter-cultural Catholic political movements are active at this moment in Hungary, Poland and even Italy. I don’t need to tell the readers of this blog about the role of the laity in the traditionalist movement. With the exception of Solidarity, all these movements faced a hierarchy and Vatican that were ambiguous or even hostile to their aspirations.

Perhaps The Church and the State is too inconclusive and tentative in its conclusions – this book is no “manual” for action. But Molnar was aware of the complexities of politics and life, and of the chaotic situation both of the Catholic Church and of Western state and society circa 1980. 42 years have not improved matters. On the contrary – Molnar’s narrative of the dire moral challenges facing the Church from a state that has been subordinated to contempoary secular society reads like it had been written yesterday! And perhaps just clarifying the issues and freeing the discussion from the clutches of hostile ideologies is itself no mean achievement.

(I have been working on the following post on and off for months. First it was “Eight Months Later,” then “Ten Months Later” and now the first anniversary of Traditionis Custodes has passed!  My “writer’s block” was occasioned by the difficulty of saying anything new and a distaste for certain of the events I must describe. But, for what it’s worth, here are my thoughts.)

What has Happened so far.

More than a year has passed since Pope Francis issued Traditionis Custodes (“TC”) on July 16, 2021, in which he declared war on Catholic Traditionalism.  He aimed to isolate the Traditionalist faithful – priests and laity, young and old – from the rest of Church, to penalize and eventually eliminate them.  TC was followed by regulations issued by close allies of Francis – whatever their ecclesiastical position might be – Archbishop Roche, Cardinal Cupich, and Rome’s Cardinal De Donatis (although the latter, like some other former “friends of Francis” is reported to have very much fallen out of favor) These edicts radicalized the provisions of TC, imposing new and onerous burdens on clergy and laity. All these actions, like TC itself, were couched in contemptuous and hostile language. It is a campaign of unprecedented violence in recent Church history. 

Yet, the celebration of the Old Mass and the other sacraments continued unmolested and uninterrupted in so many places.  Traditionalists celebrated Holy Week this year – even in dioceses like Rome and Chicago where the most stringent anti–traditionalist measures had been first implemented.  Traditionalist priests and deacons continued to be ordained. Traditional Catholic pilgrimages, events and conferences in Chartres, San Francisco and elsewhere have proceeded on schedule. Many bishops were understandably reluctant to unleash a liturgical war in their dioceses regardless of the Pope’s urging. 

Already last February the TC onslaught experienced its first official reverse when Pope Francis announced the exemption of the FSSP from TC’s restrictions on the celebration of the Traditional Mass and the other sacraments. There were even vague indications that this decision would be incorporated into canon law – whatever meaning that has in today’s Church – and extending it to the other Ecclesia Dei (“ED”) communities. This was a clear about-face for the Vatican. Let us recall that the opening shot of Pope Francis’s war against Catholic Tradition – even before the promulgation of TC – was the dissolution of an FSSP apostolate in Dijon, France. 

That “break in the action,” however, appears to me to have been a temporary tactical move on the part of the Pope. A confrontation with the ED congregations this Eastertide was simply too early on the schedule. More recently the Vatican has resumed its attack on Traditionalism with redoubled intensity.  Several American dioceses this year have restricted or even abolished the traditional mass, in some cases reversing previous statements, either delegating the “dirty work” to subordinates or, in one case (Savannah), to the Vatican itself. 

Most significantly, the anti-Traditionalist campaign has now invaded dioceses where Traditionalists have had a long-standing presence. Cardinal Cupich has ended the apostolate of the Institute of Christ the King in Chicago (the location of their American headquarters!).  Cardinal Gregory, like Cupich, a special protégé of Pope Francis, has terminated the Traditional masses at the six parishes of his Archdiocese at which it was celebrated. And now, the neighboring Arlington diocese, with one of the most significant traditionalist presences in the United States, has also imposed similarly drastic restrictions. We hear ominous muttering regarding restrictions in our immediate area as well.

It is reliably reported that Francis’s nuncio in Washington is directly involved in these actions, even threatening bishops with deposition if they are recalcitrant. We have heard that every request by priests to celebrate the Old Mass, forwarded to Rome pursuant to TC, has been rejected with Francis’s personal participation. The pope continues to conduct an aggressive publicity campaign against Traditionalists – exemplified by the rabid, insulting denunciations in several interviews during his just-concluded visit to Canada. The war against Traditionalism preoccupies the pope and, increasingly, the entire Roman Catholic leadership.

But of course, the Vatican’s war is not confined to liturgical “Traditionalism” but extends, in varying degrees, to the entirety of Catholic Tradition. For the Pope’s denunciation of “restorers” and “restorationism” is by no means limited to adherents of the Old Mass. And the progressive forces in the Church have been quick to seize the advantage of Pope Francis’s favor. The so-called “German” synodal path with its deviations from Catholic theology, sacramental discipline and morality is now spreading to France, Ireland, Italy and beyond. “Abuses” in the celebration of the Novus Ordo continue unchecked. A confrontation is ongoing between large sections of the American episcopate and Catholic progressive forces – both in secular society and in the institutional Church – regarding concrete, not verbal, opposition to abortion.  Most recently, building on the precedent of Amoris Laetitia, there is agitation emanating from the Vatican itself for “revising” Humanae Vitae. In all these cases Pope Francis either explicitly condones the progressive developments, says nothing about them, or offers nebulous, contradictory and non-binding guidance.

What is the meaning of this?

It has been asserted that opposition to “The Council,” the New Mass and the authority of the Pope prompted the Pope’s motu proprio. By “The Council” I mean the totality of the changes made between 1962 and 1978, whether found in the Conciliar documents themselves, in the texts of implementing legislation (like the Novus Ordo) or in the officially sponsored or tolerated practice of the Church. I think Pope Francis has the same understanding of these words. Let us examine what the turmoil unleashed by TC reveals about each of those pillars of the Catholic establishment.

Starting with the Novus Ordo, to judge from the need the Pope feels for a war against Traditionalism and the available public data on Catholic participation in the sacraments throughout the Western world, the Novus Ordo liturgy has clearly and completely failed to revitalize or even stabilize Catholicism. Periodic attempts to combat “abuses” have not gained general acceptance.  Well before TC, Pope Francis had expressly prohibited even the term “reform of the reform.”  Indeed, the TC war against Traditionalism includes measures designed to confirm the Novus Ordo as a break with the past. So, for example, contrary to the liturgical texts, in several dioceses priests now need permission to say the Novus Ordo ad orientem. In other places the interpolation of older elements in the Novus Ordo has been specifically prohibited. Of course, from the first days of his pontificate Francis has arbitrarily disregarded liturgical rubrics, thus himself establishing a clear “hermeneutic“ of the new liturgy. 

Second, TC and its implementation enable a whole new generation of Catholics to experience what “The Council” was in actual practice. Just as in the 1960’s, the Church is coercing liturgical changes, tolerating and even encouraging doctrinal confusion, denouncing her own allegedly corrupt past and the recalcitrant lay faithful and finally initiating the friendliest dialogue with the avowed enemies of the Church. (such as the Communist regimes) Passages of Francis’s documents are virtually identical to those of Pope Paul VI. In both eras the papacy and clergy pose as the enlightened leaders guiding the Church out of a dark past. 

Traditionalists and especially conservative Catholics have tended to very much underestimate this aggressive, destructive ideological thrust behind “The Council.” The self-understanding of “The Council” was that of a break with a corrupt and antievangelical past – in liturgy, in government, in discipline and even to some extent in theology. If internally “The Council” was revolutionary, externally, it was completely conformist to the culture of the modern Western world. These have remained the ideological constants of “The Council” – even if the conciliar advocates subsequently diverged greatly on what form the “Conciliar“ Church would take.  To believe that these convictions would dissipate with time, or that some type of lasting peace could be achieved with such an ideological movement was in retrospect wishful thinking. Similarly, in arguing for Traditionlism it is useless to point to the youth of Traditionalist congregations, their new apostolates, their many vocations or just the financial contributions they make to parishes or dioceses. Against ideological thought appeals to reality are without effect. 

From the 1960’s onward, the Catholic educational institutions, mainstream religious orders and, depending on the diocese, the hierarchy and a great percentage of the lower clergy as well absorbed this vision of “The Council” regardless of what was in fact happening. So, although, over the decades, Traditionalists, even with papal support, were expanding their presence in churches and parishes and celebrating more and more splendid masses, there was a continuing, relentless opposition – often fanatic – from the established religious orders,(especially but not only the Jesuits), the Catholic colleges and news media, much of the hierarchy (especially in Europe) and the more ideologically committed among the clergy and the laity.  I could tell of a whole series of unpleasant encounters with such forces just in our little apostolate in the New York area over the last 15 years.

It is revealing that, even though only a minority of the clergy actively desires to become persecutors in Francis’s war, TC has nevertheless achieved some significant early results, compared, let us say, to Humanae Vitae, Ex Corde Ecclesiae, ED or Summorum Pontificum. For TC, in contrast to these previous papal actions, is aligned with the above vision of ”The Council,” the institutional Church and indeed the demands of the “modern” world.

Third, none of this would be possible without the ultramontane constitution of the Roman Catholic Church. For TC rests entirely on the authority of Francis. He has made no attempt to convince traditionalists or anyone else of the correctness of his course – instead offering only slogans (“there’s no turning back!”) and personal invective. 

Pope Francis is doing exactly what previous critics of the Catholic Church – Protestant, Orthodox, and agnostic – had always claimed the ultramontane papacy would do.  Francis has sought to manage the Catholic Church in the United States, if necessary even down to the parish and individual level.  He intervenes directly in the American political process with “Catholic” politicians (Although these earlier critics could hardly have imagined the direction the Pope’s interventions have taken!).  The Pope has substituted his magisterium for Catholic Tradition, including the notion that this magisterium or “living tradition” can reverse the treatment of matters already settled by Tradition or prior magisterium.  Francis-friendly commentators explain that the Pope, after all, can do whatever he wants. 

But the most reprehensible aspect of TC is that the Catholic Church is once again resorting to coercion in spiritual matters.  We hear of “reeducating” Traditionalists, of subjecting them to lectures, of requiring statements of adherence to the Council and the New Mass from congregations and individual priests. Rights and institutions of many years standing have been summarily revoked.  As for those who may drop out of the system, one establishment commentator explains that Francis does not necessarily need to show concern for those he harms or “leaves by the wayside.” Recent utterances of the Pope betray a truly paranoid fear of Traditionalists infiltrating the Church. A pervasive dishonesty dominates Church documents and the official Catholic media. The regime of TC obviously resembles more and more the spirit of past and present totalitarian societies – the last two decades of the Soviet Union come to mind.  

The current regime of the Catholic Church of course gives the lie to the endlessly repeated statements, in the Vatican II documents and elsewhere, regarding lay participation, dialogue, freedom of conscience, subsidiarity, etc. I certainly hope no one in the Catholic Church is laboring under the illusion that TC will increase the prestige of the papacy or the Catholic Church in this un-evangelized world!  Especially since this is occurring while the practice and understanding of the Catholic faith among the laity are at an all-time low, the number of Catholic priests, religious and of Catholic institutions continues its downward plunge, corruption of all kinds at the Vatican and elsewhere is rampant and the Church appears totally confused and conflicted about her Faith and mission. The results of TC for the institutional Catholic Church will be dire!

What are the Traditionalist faithful doing – and what of the future?

More important than any protests, publications or hierarchical (in)action, Traditionalist priests and laity must continue to celebrate the Mass and the other sacraments. If I can trust the evidence of my own eyes – and some local data recently released – participation at Traditional Masses in my immediate neighborhood has increased since TC – as indeed has been the case ever since Francis ascended the papal throne.

Courage has not been universal among Traditionalists, however. Some have despaired of the institution under the current circumstances. The canons regular of St. John Cantius in Chicago (who do not benefit from ED protection) immediately ceded to the demands of Cardinal Cupich. Their pastor wrote, as they prepared to celebrate this year’s Holy Week in the Novus Ordo:

This year, things may appear to be different. But the marvel is beheld not merely in what we see, nor how the liturgy is celebrated.

If that statement is true, why did they ever resume celebrating the Traditional Mass in the first place?

Yet most Traditionalists have strived to preserve their liturgy and the other sacraments. In dioceses where bishops have forcefully implemented TC, public protests are beginning (these have already been underway in Paris for a year). And after some initial waffling last summer in France, it seems the ED communities are insisting on the rights granted to them in their founding charters. Depending on the course of events, Traditionalists will have to organize more effectively and build up networks within and outside of the official Church.   I already read of clandestine masses being celebrated.  Experience gained negotiating official restrictions during the Covid panic will help here. The FSSPX, which providentially rejected a Vatican offer in 2012, will also necessarily play an important role.

Catholic Traditionalists must continue to speak out forcefully for the truth and against the Pope’s actions. TC has triggered an unending stream of articles and books. Going beyond merely recycling polemics, this outpouring of commentary should help Traditionalists understand better who they are and what they stand for.  In this search for understanding they are assisted by many non-traditionalists and even non-Catholics.  Many intelligent non-believers are horrified by the self-destructive cultural movement initiated by Francis and seek to comprehend what is going on in the Catholic religion. Similarly, many non-traditionalists – the “Catholic conservatives” – are dismayed by the wholesale assault on all aspects of Catholic Tradition, and especially on the legacy of Popes John Paul II and Benedict XVI. As in the case of the FSSPX, in the face of this crisis it is time for all of us to set aside the grudges and rancor of the past.

Catholic Traditionalism is the voluntary dedication of the ordinary faithful to the fullness of Christian truth. They understand that the objective truths of the Catholic Faith are more completely and precisely embodied in the Traditional liturgy. They are not individualistic or charismatic but follow an objective discipline.  Their motivation is not aesthetic, emotional or the product of some personal “attachment,” but the preservation of the Faith for themselves, their families and ultimately for the whole Church.  That is why they have sacrificed so much: the long journeys many must make to attend a Traditional liturgy; the burdens they must assume to homeschool their children or educate them at independent Catholic schools, the disfavor and repression directed at by them in dioceses, parishes and schools that they must sustain. 

The institutional Roman Catholic Church, which thinks only in secular political, ideological and materialistic terms, cannot understand such dedication. Pope Francis and his friends talk of “ideological” and “rigid” laity and young priests, of Traditionalists only “following fashions,” and of “restorationism” (itself a secular political concept).  For a further example of this materialistic outlook, consider Bishop Michael Burbridge of Arlington, who implicitly justifies his restrictions on Traditionalists by claiming that “approximately 2.5% of local, Mass-attending Catholics … prefer this liturgical form.” (“Where two or three are gathered together in My name…”). But it will be exactly from among such minorities that, God willing, the future recovery of the Church will proceed.

The Road from Hyperpapalism to Catholicism: Rethinking the Papacy in a Time of Ecclesial Disintegration

By Peter A. Kwasniewski

2 Vols.

(Arouca Press, Waterloo, ON, 2022)

It’s remarkable that a book from an author on the Traditionalist spectrum features a title contrasting “hyperpapalism” and “Catholicism” – implying a conflict between at least some aspects of the Church’s governing structure and the Christian religion itself. Such titles have been almost innumerable on the progressive side since the 1960’s – e.g., Infallible?: An Inquiry (1971) and Can we save the Catholic Church? (2014) (both by Hans Kueng). Yet those on the right were until recently perceived as being necessarily staunch supporters of the Church’s post-1870 constitution. For example, Peter Kwasniewski quotes the “ultramontanist” Cardinal Antonio Bacci on the papacy, in a remarkable passage originally published in 1959: 

There is in the world… one man in whom the greatness of God is reflected in the most outstanding way of all. He participates in the authority and in a certain sense in the personality of Christ. This man is the vicar of Jesus Christ, the Pope….. His power extends to the ends of the world and is under the protection of God, who has promised to confirm and heaven whatever he will decree upon earth.  His dignity and authority, then, are almost divine.  Let us bow humbly before such greatness. Let us promise to obey the Pope as we would Christ…. We cannot dispute or murmur against anything which he teaches or decrees.  To disobey the Pope is to disobey God. To argue or murmur against the Pope is to argue or murmur against Jesus himself. When we are confronted with his commands, we have only one choice – absolute obedience and complete surrender. (Hyperpapalism Vol. 1 at 24)

Now perhaps we could dismiss some of these statements as quaint exaggerations emanating from the pen of a professional Latinist and curial courtier undoubtedly inspired by the panegyrics that past ages addressed to emperors, rulers and, yes, popes. Yet I think there is a declining but still not inconsiderable Catholic population that accepts these statements as literally true.  I am not sure, however, whether Cardinal Bacci was accurately describing the situation of the Catholic Church even in 1959. And as it later transpired, Cardinal Bacci himself, like the arch-ultramontane Cardinal Louis Billot, SJ, before him, was unable to support all the twists and turns directed by papal authority.  (Bacci, on the promulgation of the Novus Ordo; Billot, on the condemnation of Action Francaise). So, a potential conflict between the ultramontane papacy and, not just so-called “dissenters,” but also the defenders of orthodoxy themselves has been long present. 

But with the advent of Pope Francis a much wider section of Catholics has become aware of this calamitous dilemma – the possibility (the reality?) that the highest ecclesiastical authority, claiming direct divine authorization, may no longer be proclaiming the Faith.  For the present pontiff has directly linked progressive political ideology and theology with an unprecedented assertion of papal power.  Since July 2021 Traditionalists have been designated as the official adversaries of the Vatican. But, as Philip Lawler points out, conservative and even “orthodox” Catholics now find themselves the targets of Francis and his team – indeed, they had become “enemies of the Pope” and even “tools of the devil” even earlier than the traditionalists. (“The Pope indicts ‘restorationism.’ I plead guilty.” Catholic Culture, 6/23/2022)

 In Hyperpapalism, Dr. Kwasniewski squarely confronts the situation of the Church today. Hyperpapalism is a major addition to the ever-growing critical literature now appearing on the crisis in the Church. (I should mention that I have known Dr. Kwasniewski for some years and have collaborated with him on several projects. Indeed, works familiar to me are cited in the first footnote of this book (Hyperpapalism, Vol 1 at xi).

The work is divided into two volumes. Volume 1 (“Theological Reflections on the Rock of the Church”) deals with the papacy itself. It defines the nature – and limits – of the pope’s authority.  A historical review shows how exaggerations and abuses crept into the governance of the Church. The author addresses various objections raised by conservatives still troubled by any discussion of papal authority. He rebuts the sedevacantist “temptation,” that seems to emerge in any such discussion. Dr. Kwasniewski’s prose is clear and understandable but also forthright and direct. I’m sure those qualities will be appreciated by the ecclesiastics (including Pope Francis) whose drastic statements have so exacerbated the crisis.  

The second volume (“Chronological Responses to an Unfolding Pontificate”) is a review of the papacy of Pope Francis from the year 2013 onward. It depicts the conflicts between Catholic tradition – including the Scripture itself – and the words and deeds of the Pope that have squarely raised the issue of the scope of papal authority discussed in the first volume. Dr. Kwasniewski emphasizes the theological and moral aspects of the Francis pontificate. But a cursory review of the same period in a source like Sandro Magister’s Settimo Cielo blog, which concentrates more on administrative, governance and personnel issues would produce an additional, even lengthier list of abuses!  Indeed, Magister recently has published an article on this very subject. This illustrates the depth of the problem.  The second volume is largely a chronological arrangement of material previously published online. As I wrote regarding another book, this has the advantage of capturing the immediacy of the flow of events.  

Let me single out two passages that particularly struck me. In Vol. 1 Dr. Kwasniewski describes his personal journey from “ultramontanism to Catholicism” quoting his own youthful writings on the subject. (Hyperpapalism, Vol 1 at 6-7) They reveal the revived pro-papal enthusiasm promoted in conservative circles during the reign of John Paul II. Tragically, those who had climbed on the papal bandwagon found themselves disowned, not just later by Pope Francis but in part even under John Paul II himself (the Assisi conferences, the Legion of Christ scandals….).

In volume 2 the author takes to task The Pillar online news service. Now The Pillar has featured incisive reporting of uncomfortable facts extremely damaging to the reputation of the Vatican, individual American bishops and the American Catholic establishment in general. At the same time, however, regarding matters of policy its writers often affect an obsequious, deferential attitude to ecclesiastical authority. In Is the Pope the Vicar of Christ or the CEO of Vatican, Inc. Dr. Kwasniewski castigates The Pillar for its article on the arbitrary deposition of the bishop of Arecibo in Puerto Rico. In that article, , after enumerating at length the theological difficulties connected with this action, The Pillar nevertheless concluded that, after all, the pope has the power to do whatever he wants. (Hyperpapalism, Vol 2 at 266-71) 

What will be the outcome of all this? That we cannot predict. Any “restructuring” of the Church and the Papacy will be the product of future events – but is not the course of history is the hands of Divine Will? In the meantime, this book will serve as a resource for the afflicted Catholic. It will help him maintain confidence in his faith and tradition in the face of official persecution. It will provide a wealth of arguments aginst his adversaries. And perhaps it will give him hope for better days – for he will realize the current state of the Church is not the final “end of history.”

Histoire des Traditionalistes

By Yves Chiron

(Tallandier, Paris, 2022)

637 pages

At long last we have a major history of Catholic Traditionalism. We should offer thanks to Yves Chiron, author of a vast series of works on modern Catholic history, for providing us this much needed account. Chiron’s review is by far the most thorough work on the history of Traditionalism available today. For anyone who wants to explore the roots of Traditionalism, I would highly recommend this book.

For Traditionalism has developed from a fringe phenomenon that both the Church establishment and the media could safely ignore, to a force having a major impact on life of the worldwide Church. Isn’t the best evidence of this presence the declaration of war against Traditionalism issued by Pope Francis? For the Pope and the Vatican judge Traditionalism, and none of the other adversaries in and outside the Church today, as their mortal enemy.

Histoire des Traditionalistes concentrates almost exclusively on French Traditionalism. That is not really a disadvantage, for it was in France – or at least the French-speaking world – that the Traditionalist movement was born and reached maturity. It was only later that other countries-most notably, the United States, joined France as focal points of Traditionalist life. But it was in France that the first Traditionalist critiques were written, where the first leaders like Archbishop Lefebvre arose, where the FSSPX, its allied institutions, and later the Ecclesia Dei communities were established. It is in France where great public events like the Chartres pilgrimages take place.

As someone who has written a history of the Traditionalist movement in the United States – a situation in many respects far simpler and more straightforward than France – I can appreciate the magnitude of Chiron’s accomplishment. For he has chronicled, relying heavily on primary sources, a diffuse movement extending over some seventy years sharing the same overall “spirit” but with many different and various directions, objectives, leaders and organizations. It was illuminating to read for the first time the full background of so many legendary figures. And the author concludes this book with an extremely valuable 125-page biographical dictionary of (mainly French) Traditional Catholics. 

Yves Chiron devotes considerable space to the early years to help us understand how the movement arose. He delves back even before World War I. His narrative only reaches the Second Vatican Council on page 125! He usefully points out that not all Traditionalists had their roots in the “Maurassian” (Action Francaise) movement – although some certainly did (like the great Jean Madiran) Others spent World War II and the occupation in the Resistance. He shows the origins of future conflicts in the struggles of Catholic thinkers against the leftward drift of the Catholic Church in France after World War II. Thus, the initial clashes were over political, economic and theological – not liturgical – issues. These first conflicts prompted denunciations of “integralists” by the clerical establishment. Out of these debates arose leaders, publications and organizations that were soon put to a much more severe test. For an American analogy, one thinks of William F. Buckley’s Mater non Magistra (punning on the title of the 1961 left-leaning encyclical of John XXIII) and the initial focus of the Triumph magazine team.

The battle intensified during and after the Second Vatican Council. For it soon seemed that the whole doctrinal structure of the Church was collapsing. It was now that Archbishop Lefebvre started to assume an ever-greater role. And it was now that the Church establishment took its first repressive measures against Traditionalism. But the real turning point was the promulgation and imposition of the Novus Ordo. Archbishop Lefebvre and others were inspired to take direct action to preserve the Traditional Mass. The organized Traditionalist “resistance” was born. Chiron sets forth in detail the role of laity, secular priests and members of religious orders in the developing struggle.

Although it is not the primary focus of his book, in passing Chiron reveals much about the dysfunctional operation of the ultramontane Church. The work of devising the Novus Ordo was conducted by a committee of experts reporting directly to Pope Paul VI, bypassing the responsible functions in the Vatican. At no time prior to the 1980’s was there any real attempt by the establishment in Rome or France to “dialogue” with the Traditionalists. The actions of the French (and Swiss) bishops were limited to bureaucratic edicts and condemnations. It is no wonder that such bitterness arose in the relationship of Traditionalists and the hierarchy.

The main motive force behind Traditionalism in France became Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre and his Society of St. Pius X. The “dialogue” between him and the Vatican increasingly becomes the main theme of this book. Now our author seems to be of an irenic bent – sympathetic to Traditionalism, but also anxious to maintain good relations with the Pope and the hierarchy. This accords with the author’s mild, dispassionate, at times almost noninvolved style.

So, for example, when Archbishop Lefebvre felt compelled to ordain priests for his society (in 1975) and later to consecrate bishops, Chiron quotes abundantly from other followers of Traditionalism that advise against these steps. Of course, if Lefebvre hadn’t taken these decisions, there hardly would be any Catholic Traditionalism today. And in these years, he was not alone in feeling the necessity of taking drastic acts contrary to authority. Consider the seizure of St. Nicolas-du-Chardonnet in Paris! It remains a Traditionalist parish to the present day.

I do have some reservations regarding this magisterial work. Although I approve it in principle, the focus on France, with marginal references made to Brazil, the United Kingdom and the United States, does have its limitations. I have quibbles, for example, with some of the author’s implied judgments on developments in the United States. Father Gomar DePauw was a great pioneer of Traditionalism on these shores already in the 1960’s; he did not, however, found a nationally significant movement. The fact that Una Voce United States handed the Pope a petition in 1994 does not at all imply that it was speaking for U.S. Traditionalists as a whole (as their own petition makes clear!). Like other French Traditionalists who have written about the situation in America, Chiron ascribes too much importance to sedevacantism. Although that tendency is perhaps stronger here than elsewhere in the world, it in no way plays a leadership role among American Traditionalists.

Yves Chiron makes persuasive arguments and often reaches convincing conclusions (although I might not agree with all of them). He at times, however, falls into the mere reproduction of contemporary statements and petitions, without interpretative commentary, as if these were the essence of what went on in historical reality. But that is where the historian’s judgment is required.  In a work of history, we look for not the mere recital of facts, but the author’s interpretation of them.

Chiron’s book lacks at times a wider historical context. The struggles of the Traditionalists did not occur in a vacuum but in the larger Church. At all times after the Vatican Council the Catholic Church in Europe was in a state of chaotic decline, bordering in certain places on total collapse.  France is one of the leading examples. This dire situation is what motivated the Traditionalists. The lack of this context puts the Traditionalists in an unfavorable light, making them appear obstinate, aggressive and belligerent. Yet they were only reacting to the wasting away before their very eyes of the faith that they loved. A principled man often appears strident and opinionated compared to those indifferent or conformist.

Chiron also does not fully convey the militancy of the “Conciliar” establishment. From the 1960’s to the present day the Vatican, the episcopate and a large percentage of the clergy and religious lived through a revolutionary “conversion” to the “Council” abandoning much or all of a Tradition now understood as a barrier to the faith. Pope Paul VI’s discourse on the benefits of sacrificing the Catholic culture of the past is exemplary. And much of the laity (that minority who continued to frequent the churches, that is) followed the path of their spiritual leaders. This explains the animosity, even the hatred, felt by all these forces – and not just formal “progressives” – against Catholic Tradition and especially the Traditionalists themselves. It is the origin of the Church’s readiness to use coercion and intimidation against Traditionalists – but not against opponents allied with the secular establishment. For if you have given up everything in pursuit of a dream which has not materialized you do not look kindly on someone who, by his words or life, is reminding you of that fact. This is even more so when the governing powers of this world are applauding you at every moment. Again, Chiron’s failure to highlight these tensions and passions within the wider Church puts the entire Traditionalist struggle in the wrong light. I would admit, however, that many Traditionalists themselves have been reluctant to admit the truth about these divisions within the Church.

I regrettably have more significant reservations about the final two chapters on Popes Benedict XVI and Francis – particularly the last. These two also seem to have been written in a more summary manner than the rest of the book. This is a shame, because the motu proprios and other accompanying actions of Popes Benedict and Francis are the most crucial events of the post-Conciliar period regarding Traditionalism. As to Pope Benedict, I don’t think the author fully captures the significance of Summorum Pontificum. Perhaps that is because the embedding of Traditionalism in the ordinary life of the Church that Benedict’s motu proprio intended and, at least in some places, accomplished, had its greatest consequences not in France but in the United States. Chiron’s account of the final breakdown of negotiations between Benedict’s Vatican and the FSSPX in 2012 is both blander and more favorable to the Vatican than my previous understanding of the facts.  Regardless of this, Chiron very accurately points out that at the end of the day Benedict was unable to achieve a full reconciliation of the FSSPX, just as he was utterly incapable of making any progress on the liturgical “reform of the reform” he supposedly favored.

Chiron’s chapter on Pope Francis completely misses the mark. The author’s desire to advocate peace between Traditionalists and the Roman Catholic establishment gets in the way of his judgment. Just the title of this chapter “Pope Francis – a Pastor above all” is ludicrous; I wouldn’t use the term “pastor” to describe a progressive ideologue and a tyrant – an extreme version of Francis’s own hero Paul VI. And when Chiron describes Traditionis Custodes as a “regression” compared to the acts of his predecessor, that is the understatement of the century. For it directly contradicts them; the Pope therein explicitly states his desire to annihilate traditionalism. And that is entirely in accord with his prior words and deeds both as Archbishop of Buenos Aires and Pope. Yes, it is true that, generally speaking, the Pope, prior to Traditionis Custodes, had focused his attention on things other than liturgy. But this was only to promote progressive initiatives in morality, theology and politics equally incompatible with Traditionalism. He did grant further legal accommodations to the Society of Pius X – but what does that matter in relation to the Pope’s implacable conceptual hostility to Traditionalism, so abundantly displayed in public, and his repeated measures against individual Traditionalist apostolates? Characteristically, Chiron quotes, apparently favorably, the first craven response of the French Ecclesia Dei communities to the French bishops in August 2021 – positions from which these organizations subsequently entirely departed. To fully explore the impact and implications of Traditionis Custodes, however, would have required Chiron to rethink and largely rewrite his prior conclusions on the reconciliation of the Church establishment and Traditionalism after 1982 – something he was understandably reluctant to do. 

In his concluding thoughts, Chiron summarizes the significant influence, scope and numbers attained by Traditionalism in the world today. And the Traditionalists are unlikely to disappear anytime soon – Chiron himself thinks “some” bishops will apply Traditionis Custodes in a non-confrontational, relaxed manner. Broadly speaking, that has indeed been the experience up till now. Chiron ends his book by quoting Jean Madiran, who describes Traditionalism as a “way of life,” a “profession” a “devotion” and a “state of mind.” All this is very true – in a certain sense! But we would be mistaken if we understood this to mean that Traditionalism is some subjective mood, attitude or emotion. For what motivates Traditionalists is the fight for the objective truths of their religion, for the restoration of the Church and, in the climate of today, even the existence of objective reality about the nature of Man and the world. As Madiran states, this is not just an intellectual affirmation or an ideology but, like Christianity itself, informs and shapes the entire “way of life” of the believer. That is why Traditionalists have been fighting for 70 and more years – as Chiron chronicles in such detail. And it is why they will continue to do so.

Krass

By Martin Mosebach

(Rowohlt Verlag, Hamburg, 2021)

(525 pages)

Krass, Mosebach’s latest novel, is more tightly focused than the “epic” Westend written some thirty years earlier. It is divided into three sections, each with its own style and coloration, much like the movements of a grand musical composition. Their titles reflect that: Allegro Imbarazzante, Andante Pensieroso and Marcia Funebre. The action of the novel is concentrated at three specific points of time – even if the first and last “acts” are separated by two decades.

However, while Westend is restricted to Mosebach’s native German world, Krass roams much further afield – sweeping from Naples to the French countryside to Cairo.  Krass has similarities to Mosebach’s more recent novels. For example, in Krass we find a wonderfully detailed description of a third world culture (Egypt). Mosebach has done the same for Morocco (Mogador), India (Das Beben) and, again, Egypt (Was davor geschah and the non-fiction The 21). This allows Mosebach to make all kinds of contrasts between the world of Europe today and the more permanent (and in a certain sense more spiritual) life of these traditional cultures. Dr. Jüngel, one of the leading personages of Krass, also recalls a certain kind of grasping, manipulative yet ineffectual modern personality encountered elsewhere in Mosebach’s work – such as the German “anti-hero” of Mogador.

The novel commences (Allegro Imbarazzante) in late 1988 beginning, most appropriately, with a magic show in Naples. We are introduced to Ralph Krass, an intimidating German businessman, wheeler-dealer and “macher” whose personality differs in every respect from Eduard Has, the protagonist of Westend. Krass is domineering, imperious, controlling and decisive. He surrounds himself with an entourage of mainly middle aged and older individuals who he has reduced to total dependance. We also meet the second major character of the novel, a younger man, the aforementioned Dr. Jüngel. An art historian, he has made a “pact with the devil,” becoming Krass’s famulus and facilitator. His letters to his feminist wife chronicle much of the doings of the Krass’s coterie. 

It’s an indulgent, carefree life, with Krass providing his retainers lavish food and drink as well as tours, shows and boating excursions in and around Naples. With Jüngel’s assistance, Krass is pursuing the purchase of a villa on Capri – the legendary island of hedonism. He also bent on attaching to his entourage a young Belgian woman, the unfaithful Lidewine, as a kind of mistress. For sex is also a part of the entertainment of Krass and company.

Yet amid the luxury and lavish amusements, some of the characters have disturbing premonitions. Jüngel lectures on the Alexander mosaic in the Naples Archeological Museum and, in particular, on one detail: an image of death. Krass himself, while swimming off Capri, is stung by a jellyfish and is nearly swept away by the current. His intended new villa is a mysterious ruin. And we gather that his business (arms trafficking?) rests on shaky and perhaps illegal foundations. So, the uninhibited lifestyle of Krass – and of Europe today – carries within it the seeds of its own destruction. Et in Arcadia ego! We view the beginning of this unraveling already in the last pages of this section.

Andante Pensieroso takes place in a remote corner of Central France late in the following year. Jüngel has taken refuge in the house of a friend after his world has collapsed. He has been expelled from Krass’s circle, his wife (whom he had left behind to join Krass), has deserted him and he has lost his job in Germany. He is flat broke and for want of a functioning CD player cannot even distract himself with (classical) music. He faces an emotional breakdown and, seeking a way out, desperately tries to contact Krass. It’s a traumatic fall from his previous fantastic, extravagant existence under the direction of Krass.

Yet in his isolation from the stimuli of the modernity, Jüngel is now open to a whole new world of reality.  He perceives more directly the nature that surrounds him. That includes, in a very Mosebachian touch, meaningful encounters with two parakeets, a cat and a white wagtail (an Old-World bird). He visits a functioning monastery, ancient but rebuilt in the 19th century, in which the Latin plainchant is still sung:

The compulsory musical abstinence made me receptive to the severity and sobriety of this chant, for its renunciation of polyphony, atmospheric magic and 3/4 and 4/4 time. One can’t dance around to this music or march to it. Singing here was a higher form of speaking.  The objective appeared to be the purification of the senses from confused emotions. That fit well with the chill of this church that made me shiver after a while – although I didn’t think of returning to the warm air outside.  The half-light in the hall faded away; the two candles that were lit for the singing of the chant still shone as golden dots until a monk returned and extinguished them. Now it was night. (p. 238)

He is befriended by a cobbler, Desfosses, living in a room adjacent to that monastery. Desfosses, like Jüngel, is a refugee from the vicissitudes of modern life – if for other reasons. He is an upholder of older habits and customs, a practicing Catholic and happens to be a devoted fan of Marshal Petain. This man teaches Jüngel the lesson that not one shoe or tool should be thrown away – everything can be repaired and reused. In travels over the countryside the earthy Desfosses shares with the impecunious Jüngel hearty meals (Lievre a la Royale) and potent drinks. 

Jüngel eventually succeeds to getting a call through to Krass who challenges him to go off on his own. A chance remark by Desfosses gives Jüngel an insight into the interrelationship of all things and events. These incidents, along with the “education” he has received in his exile, enable Jüngel to break free from both his dependance on Krass and his grief at his broken marriage.  After this “resurrection” (as he calls it) Jüngel can face life again. 

The scene of the novel’s final act, Marcia Funebre, is Egypt. It’s 2008 – 20 years later. We meet again Krass, but the supremely self-assured “master of the universe” of the past is gone; instead, he is a man desperately attempting to re-establish contact with his former friends in the government to order to stave off disaster. As the novel progresses, Krass is stripped of everything: his business, his money, his hotel room and, confined to a hospital bed, even the control over his own body and finally his very life. The account of his lingering decline is a fearful narrative. Krass’s only consolation is the devoted friendship of an Egyptian lawyer who strangely comes to consider him his “father.” The unselfish Mohammed, like Desfosses a sympathetic if flawed individual, is Krass’s only support in his last days. 

Jüngel and Lidewine also have ended up in Cairo – for different reasons. Jüngel’s “resurrection” in France has unfortunately failed to bear lasting fruit. He has become a professor of “urban studies” at one of the most undistinguished of German universities. He is in the Middle East on a grant and is on the hunt for another. He has lived through two further divorces. Lidewine has taken up the art business of her parents. In Cairo she is pushing the work of a fraudulent local artist – and otherwise continues her promiscuous ways. Jüngel and Lidewine thus remain emblematic representatives of decadent Europe today.

After learning of Krass’s presence the pair set out to find him. Too late – his body has been taken away for burial! In an oppressive and disturbing scene Jüngel and Lidewine roam in the gathering dusk the endless “city of the dead” of Cairo, searching for his grave. But the body of Krass has disappeared completely among the anonymous myriads buried there – as if he never had existed.

Krass thus contrasts the superficial fantasy world of Western Europe, focused on food, sex, travel and entertainment – and, for some people, social climbing by linking up with those holding economic power – with the permanent values of the surviving remnants of Christian culture in provincial France and of the unchanging world of Moslem Egypt. And above all, with the final reality: death. 

Strewn about this novel is the wreckage of Western civilization. Krass’s villa, appropriately named Faraone, is a decayed ruin – just crumbling “stage scenery.” The abbey in which Desfosses resides is, in large part, a not very successful mid–nineteenth century restoration – the original nave had been destroyed in the French Revolution. And a grandiose but dilapidated Cairo apartment to which Mohammed takes Krass is the haunted, empty relic of a half-Western, half-Oriental past. Mosebach enjoys depicting the decrepitude of structures that once were modern. For, as he writes, contrasting the quality of the abbey’s surviving medieval choir with that of the nineteenth century nave:

Ancient things cannot become old fashioned, that which is ancient has learned to wait. Before it, the fashionable continually passes away, even though it is the expression of life. As if only that which has thoroughly died can pass the real test of permanence. (p. 237)

Am I reading Krass in an excessively allegorical manner? Perhaps! In America – after Poe, Hawthorne, Melville and their successors – this perspective is second nature to us. And after all, Krass is not a treatise but a novel with colorful scenes, memorable characters and a fascinating narrative. Yet it seems to me that Mosebach is indeed showing to Europe – and the entire Western world – a great warning sign. He is holding up a mirror so that we in the West can gaze on our own terrible reflection. And is that not, returning to the start of these reviews, also a task of a Catholic writer?

Westend

By Martin Mosebach

( Rowohlt Verlag, Hamburg 2019)

New Edition, 895 pages

Most readers of this blog are well acquainted with Martin Mosebach, internationally perhaps the most tireless advocate of traditional Catholicism. Yet Martin Mosebach’s day job is primarily that of novelist. In fact, he is one of Germany’s leading practitioners of that genre. Yet as far as I am aware only one of his novels has been translated into English: What was before (2010; English translation 2014). To remedy this defect, I’d like to bring to your attention two of his most remarkable works – one first published 30 years ago, another in 2021.

What is the connection between Martin Mosebach’s faith and his novels? He has specifically rejected any understanding of the role of the Catholic novelist as that of an explicit advocate for the Catholic Church and its clergy. In his novels there are no conversions, deathbed or otherwise, and no visions or miracles either. In fact, he has written of his dislike for the conversion of Lord Marchmain at the conclusion of Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited. Yet he maintains that he is a Catholic novelist – but that means a novelist having a Catholic sensibility which informs all his writings. Now especially a novelist must start his work with what he sees about him. Martin Mosebach is the product of an overwhelmingly non-Catholic and even non-Christian environment. Similarly, I don’t recall that Flannery O’Connor, also the resident of a non-Catholic culture – if one very different from that of Martin Mosebach – included many Catholics in her writings.

Westend , a 1992 novel, deals with Mosebach’s own country, city, and people. The title is the name of a late 19th century neighborhood in Frankfurt. This district of splendid mansions and townhouses enjoyed its golden age prior to the First World War. Then came the chaos of inflation in the 1920s, the exile or worse suffered by the large Jewish community in the 1930s, and the allied bombing in the 1940s (which, however, largely spared the Westend). After World War II the once wealthy area endured further traumatizing changes in economics and direction. The grand houses were subdivided into apartments or even workshops. There was even a descent into a red-light district for a few years. Individual buildings were torn down or endured the “simplification” of their facades and decoration. All the while visions swirled among real estate speculators, politicians and city planners of leveling the Westend entirely and building a totally modern district of offices and apartment buildings. But at the end of the day this did not happen.  Starting at the 1970s the value of these buildings was recognized and that part of the Westend that had not been destroyed was placed under architectural preservation. And today it flourishes once again as a luxury residential area.

Now in this novel the Westend is dominated by certain patently symbolic images. The bombed-out Christuskirche with its empty Gothic windows serves as the visual and spiritual focus of the neighborhood. For God is no longer here – in the course of this book we learn that His presence had become attenuated even before World War I. Over the facade of the nearby natural history museum stands a figure of Chronos (time) – or of Death – with hourglass and scythe. Within the houses of the neighborhood themselves we encounter paintings and furnishings which serve to anchor and link the succeeding phases of the novel. 

The saga of the Westend reminds me of a place very familiar to me – Brooklyn, New York. There too, relatively intact neighborhoods built between 1865 and 1900 survive, like Park Slope, much of Brooklyn Heights, Clinton Hill, and more besides. They also, if on a somewhat different timeline and sometimes in a much more drastic fashion, went through a cycle like that experienced by the Westend: splendor in the 1890s, decline, as the 20^th century advanced, into apartments for the middle classes and in some places even into outright slums, followed, starting in the 1970s, by the rediscovery of these attractive streetscapes.  Now, the “brownstones” (as they are generically known) of these gentrified districts are among the most desirable dwellings in New York City.

Westend is set against the background of Frankfurt in the 1950’s and 60’s. Now Frankfurt, as I mentioned, is traditionally a very Protestant town – historically a free “Imperial City.” Yet even though the Reformation had triumphed in Frankfurt, a Catholic minority flourished under the protection of the nearby Elector (prince-bishop) of Mainz. In the 18^th century the Catholic house of Thurn und Taxis ran the postal system of the Holy Roman Empire out of Frankfurt.  In those same years the Catholic Brentano family rose to prominence – Clemens Brentano, the Romantic poet and champion of Anna Catherina Emmerich, was their most distinguished representative. And some of the main churches of Frankfurt remained in Catholic hands, above all the “Imperial Cathedral” of St Bartholomew’s, where the Holy Roman Emperor was elected, and, from the 16^th century onward, crowned in magnificent ceremonies. 

Mosebach refers frequently to the historical context in which his story takes place. His understanding of German history is vastly more subtle and profound than the simple dichotomy of evil Nazis and good modernity that governs thought in Germany today. Yet Westend is in no way a detailed social and political treatise on life in Frankfurt between 1950 and 1968. The author provides only such information that is relevant to his characters’ story. Key details – such as the exact date of certain events or the age of some of the main characters – is only given far into the novel or not at all. This creates now and then a feeling of timelessness.

The narrative of Westend begins after World War II in which the medieval city center of Frankfurt had been utterly destroyed. The novel tells of two families and two houses in the Westend. The first, the Labontés, are the heirs of the owner of a former grand wine, cigar and gourmet food business. Two maiden aunts manage the family’s ornate old mansion which has survived the war intact. The interior is crammed with magnificent pre-1914 furnishings and seems shrouded in a perpetual twilight or half-darkness. The household is run with proverbial German thoroughness and order by these aunts. A ne’er-do-well son of the family regrettably seems entirely lacking in admirable qualities but exits the novel early, leaving behind a son, Alfred Labonté. Since his mother also died young, his two aunts must take charge of his upbringing. 

The second family – the Olenschlägers, represented by Eduard Has, has had a totally different experience. Their old home was bombed out in the war. But thanks to clever investments by Eduard’s mother, their fortune has survived intact. Eduard was able to ride out the war in Switzerland thanks to his posting to one such family-controlled company which, we gather, was of significance to the German war effort. Eduard thereby avoided the unpleasantness of the war years in Germany: the deportations, the bombing, the fighting, captivity or death at the hands of the Allies. He returns to Frankfurt committed to modernity. Has sets out to create a grand collection of German expressionist art. The ruins of the old family mansion will be replaced by a six-story apartment building. And the new building will be crowned by a stark glass penthouse in which he can dwell with his collections. All this activity is underwritten by his family’s firm which harbors dreams of totally rebuilding Frankfurt and plunges into the speculative real estate boom of the post-war years.

Eduard Has thus is representative of the higher bourgeoisie of Frankfurt and West Germany after the Second World War: conformist, anxious to be considered modern but driven by the need for self-display of earlier generations. Utterly lacking in judgment, vacillating and indecisive, he allows himself to be dominated in his choice of art and architecture by advisors who seek their own advantage. His morals are also extremely fluid – he collects other men’s wives as easily as he does pre-World War I expressionists. He does have great – perhaps excessive – affection, however, for his daughter Lilly.

We see his grand new house and gallery take shape. Of course, like all modern art, his rooftop residence is stark and bare. It also is totally inappropriate for the city’s weather conditions and as a dwelling for the family. The sun blazes in without hindrance. It is hard to find one’s way round the rooms given their arrangement and frequent mirrors. The specially designed furniture is impractical. Smells from cooking in an apartment in the basement waft up to the 6th floor. It is the greatest possible contrast to the comfortable old Labonté mansion of 1897!

Alfred Labonté is now growing up in the atmospheric surroundings of the latter house.  Although Martin Mosebach has denied any autobiographical angle to this book, Alfred seems from an early age to be endowed with insights regarding his house, his neighborhood and art far more sophisticated and perceptive than anything Eduard ever expresses.  Moreover, Alfred is raised as a Catholic, if only in a perfunctory manner, due to the obligation his aunts feel they owe to his dead mother. Other than the case of several minor characters, Alfred’s Catholicism is unique in the world of Westend.

Alfred early appreciates the ornate Victorian decorations of the facades and railings of the neighboring townhouses. Although he does not fully understand it, he is drawn to the beauty of the Catholic Mass (see the passage below). He experiences a spiritual vision of the Westend one evening in which the entire neighborhood seems ordered to, and subsumed into, a blazing sunset behind the ruined Christuskirche. But especially he is drawn to the 19^th century paintings (of a “Victorian” local artistic school) on the walls of the LaBonte mansion, especially one specific work: The Departure of the Knight of Cronberg for the Holy Land, in which a crusader from the vicinity of Frankfurt bids farewell to his lady. The work fascinates the young Alfred and he gradually comes to see himself in the role of the knight, and Eduard Has’s daughter Lilly as his lady.

Yet, like life itself, there are many twists and turns to the novel.  Both Alfred and Lilly stray from their apparent destiny, handicapped by their superficial education and weighed down by the “sins of the fathers.” Meanwhile Eduard Has continues his triumphant career, managing his wife, his mistress, his artistic and architectural influencers (as we would call them today), the people in his family firm who in fact control his business as well as a variety of colorful local characters. Externally it is a life of grand success: due to his collection of art, he and his wife receive upper society’s accolades, prestigious memberships and coveted invitations. His firm meanwhile is developing a grand plan to raze and totally rebuild the Westend to be an exemplary modernistic district – perhaps like La Defense outside of Paris.

(Above and below) In a dream Eduard Has sees, in the midst of a horrifying infernal landscape, two black marble busts of him and his mistress. He reads in bronze letters under his image NIHIL and under that of his mistresss UMBRA. Was Mosebach inspired by the white marble busts of the far more pious Altieri family in the Church of St Maria in Campitelli in Rome?

Mosebach writes in clear, “classical” prose, now elegant and sophisticated, now using colloquial speech. The analysis of what is going on the minds of the protagonists can be at times extraordinarily detailed. But Mosebach also draws on other techniques. He constantly accompanies and illustrates his story with symbols and images drawn from art, nature and Catholic tradition. The narrative switches abruptly again and again from one character and location to another without warning – one must keep reading carefully! Information is frequently laid out in a nonlinear manner:  details foreshadow events only occurring later in the novel, while other incidents are only fully described much later than their first appearance. At times the author hints that he (and apparently one or two of the novel’s characters as well) are gazing back at these events from a point in the future – which must be 1992. 

And, opera-like, the discursive “recitative” of the characters’ mental states, conversations and comings and goings is interrupted with startling effect by great visual “set pieces.” For example, Alfred’s father rows a boat dreamily down the river Main (on which Frankfurt is located) – and sees a murdered infant floating towards him. Eduard has a long emotional dialogue with his Swiss dealer in which both explore the nature of collecting art.  Both Alfred and Eduard have extended, revelatory dreams. In a heart-rending sequence of scenes, Alfred experiences the greatest grief at the sudden death of a beloved aunt – all the more traumatizing for him since she had suffered a disabling stroke at her own birthday party which he had disdained attending. Alfred is not comforted when he is told how fortunate his aunt was to have a “merciful’ and “peaceful” death.  

For Alfred felt the horror of a sudden and unprepared death expressed in the petition in the litany – long forgotten by him: a subitanea et improvisa morte libera nos domine. (pp. 722-23)

There follows a forceful depiction of a nonreligious “ceremony” for his aunt in a crematorium where a “pastor” delivers a bizarre, half-philosophical, half-pagan sermon. Amid this oppressive spiritual desolation, Alfred realizes that this entire “ceremony” is the greatest insult to his dead aunt. 

But Eduard must face a day of reckoning. His company has overextended itself financially and its plans for the Westend are thwarted – apparently by a political switch in favor of the budding historical preservation movement. Eduard discovers to his horror that, like Madame Bovary, he “has signed too much paper.”  The management of his own company pushes Eduard to the brink of financial ruin, his wife finally deserts him, his paintings are removed to the vault until the legal situation is resolved, and he must return to people he has come to despise. His world having collapsed, Eduard can only look forward to a meaningless void.  In his deserted penthouse, only his daughter Lilly remains.

Alfred’s world too has turned upside down after his aunt’s death. As Mosebach has subtly pointed out to us now and then earlier in the novel, the aunts’ commitment to German tradition – symbolized by their venerable residence and its contents – is only the product of superficial habit. The surviving aunt brings in a television, substitutes snacking on “health food” for the substantial, regularly served mealtimes of the past, auctions off the entire contents of the Labonté house and finally moves out entirely. The painting of the Knight of Cronberg is donated to the Frankfurt art museum, where, we are told, it resided in the vault for many years. Alfred is left alone in a small room amid the empty and deserted spaces of the LaBonte residence – which he in fact has ended up owning. But his fate then takes a different turn from Eduard’s. He finally comes to realize who he is, and that he is destined in some mysterious way for Lilly. And the next day he in fact receives an imploring call from her – besieged in her rooftop home by one of her father’s consultants. Like the Knight of Cronberg so familiar to him, Alfred resolutely advances to her rescue. 

What happens next, we are not told.

So, can we say Westend is a “Catholic” novel? It certainly testifies eloquently that “God is not here.”  But many great novelists have made the point that God is absent in the modern world, without thereby necessarily being considered Catholic. We have to look for additional indicia of a Catholic sensibility. Mosebach shows in this work a great appreciation of the intrinsic value of things, of history and of people – even those individuals for whom he otherwise lacks sympathy. He admires that which has organically developed, in contrast to the modernist ideal of a clear break with the past; he supports reality against ideological dreams. He detests phonies and manipulators. Like Dostoevsky, he does not fear to assert the importance of beauty to life. I already mentioned this book’s numerous liturgical and spiritual references. But for me, Mosebach in this book conveys a definite sense that there is an underlying providential will present in this world.  We usually perceive it only dimly or in fragments.  We are free to reject its promptings.  But is not such an affirmation preeminently Catholic?

Alfred and the Mass. (from Westend at pp. 254-255)

by Martin Mosebach

In the half year (of his preparation for First Communion) Alfred had been overwhelmed with impressions, but he had no vessels to capture the overwhelming riches. He was sprinkled with Holy Water before Mass began; he saw the pyramids of candles on the altar, the many white, lace trimmed altar cloths, the entrance of the priest in brocaded vestments and the black biretta with the black pompom on his head. He saw the deep bows, the prayers whispered while the congregation sang loudly and drowned out the words spoken at the altar. Alfred heard the language, foreign, musical and full of vowels, in which he later learned to navigate very assuredly. He heard the chanting of the priests, which ran like a creek snaking through a landscape without any restrictive rhythm, like water, which avoids obstacles, which sometimes is still, sometimes overflows, then in a thin jet falls one step lower and finally flows wide and gently. Alfred heard the little bells, at whose signal everyone dropped to his knees; he saw the cruets with water and wine which were brought up to the altar; he saw the tiny spoon with which the priest took a drop of water for the chalice, he smelled the incense, the fresh aroma of the first burning grains and the heavy clouds  which had something of the odor of burnt sugar and which hung about in the front of the church towards the end of the Solemn Mass.. He saw the swinging thurible, the brief washing of the hands from the elegant water cruet and the fine white towel, hardly bigger than a handkerchief. Then came silence, the whispering at the altar, then the church bells began to ring, and the little handbells as well, and then there hovered above the head of the priest a small white disk. Alfred could never get used to the idea that this was bread since the white disk had nothing to do with the bread that he ate at breakfast.

Alfred’s extraordinary, profound emotion prevented him from understanding what he had beheld with the greatest amazement. After the Te Deum of the Corpus Christi procession Toddi Olsten (Alfred’s friend in school) observed that it really was first class. “My father says that nobody can equal the Church in this kind of production. Organ and bells together – it’s a terrific effect….” (Alfred) never would have had the idea of calling ringing the bells during the great hymn as a “terrific effect.” He excluded the possibility that calculation was at work here – everything happened the way in which it had to be done. What happened escaped his understanding, but it was obviously beyond any arbitrariness which would allow one to speak of a “production.” Given his temperament he could have grown into the liturgy of his Church without any difficulties. But for this he would have needed steady direction – in other words, education – just as the Church once understood her cult as a life-long education. But there was nobody who took up the education of Alfred beyond that provided by his aunts….

Sire

Éditions de Fallois 1991

L’anneau du pêcheur

Éditions Albin Michel 1995

By Jean Raspail

Jean Raspail, who passed away in 2020, is best known to the English-speaking world for his 1973 novel The Camp of the Saints. Here he presented in startling detail a scenario in which a decadent Europe is overrun by third world migrants and simultaneously undermined by libertine progressive forces. As a kind of aside, Raspail depicted the ineffectual activity of the debilitated Roman Catholic Church in the face of this apocalyptic confrontation. Could the author have guessed that forty years later his vision of a grand migration would be literally fulfilled on the southern border of the EU and the United States – with a Western world in the grip of total moral and political chaos and the pope of the Roman Catholic Church actively furthering the movement of decomposition? Rod Dreher called attention in 2015 to this most amazing prediction. Of course, Mr. Dreher also had to dutifully register his horror at the “racism” of Raspail’s book, at its “offensive” language that makes one “cringe.” 1)

Jean Raspail, however, continued to write books in a prophetic vein. He loves to describe causes that seem to be lost and the hidden spiritual forces that still dwell behind the façade of modern life.  His admiration is clearly for those who adhere with unshakable loyalty to outdated and “reactionary” crusades in the face of all the odds and all calculations of success. Is it at all surprising, then, that I read in the notices of the author’s death that he was friendly to the traditional mass community?

In Sire, Raspail tells a fantastic tale of how Philippe Pharamond, the young heir to the French throne,  accompanied by a handful of companions, travels over present-day France on a journey to Reims cathedral to be anointed king of France. The odyssey, at time bordering on the supernatural, is a large part covered on horseback. Raspail surrounds the narrative of the group’s travels with marvelous descriptions of nature (or whatever of it is left today). The progress of the royal party is actively helped by an unlikely group of supporters: a mysterious monk and former Cardinal, a leading French industrialist; a black female security guard at the basilica of Saint Denis, a taxi driver – and many more. Others seem to be mesmerized against their will into facilitating the anointing. There are adversaries and persecutors too – especially one particularly repulsive ex-Jesuit in the employ of the state security forces. For the French government perceives this crowning as a threat. 

Raspail gives us a vivid description of the decayed and dying French Catholic Church. Her clergy are characterless eunuchs without personality. The present-day treasury of the cathedral of Reims is but a collection of junk. The churches – regardless of the support of the state –  can be at any moment a scene of vandalism or even murder.

Throughout there are haunting,  phantasmagoric images. In incredibly violent scenes, we witness the  leaders of the French Revolution systematically desecrating the graves of the French monarchs at Saint Denis and then destroying – or so it seems – the vessel containing the holy chrism at Reims. Prayers are secretly recited in the early morning darkness in the Basilica of Saint Denis – surrounded by a decrepit, hostile and grotesquely ugly modern town and menaced at every moment with vandalism – before the tombs of the French kings. (The basilica has indeed recently been vandalized in March 2019 and January 2022)

These images culminate in an apocalyptic nighttime vision in which Pharamond is forced to confront France as it is today (that is in 1991 – in 2022 it is far worse). Pallid wraiths sit in a fast food-type chain restaurant by the highway devouring vile food. Endless rows of identical high-rise apartments extend out from Paris whose inhabitants sit glued to their flickering TV screens (today it would be their computers). Pharamond faces the temptation of despair before this realization of how little his calling and dignity means to the Frenchmen of today.

Yet Pharamond overcomes this challenge and continues onward to his destiny. And this is the significance of the anointing and of the search in this novel for the last drops of the oil brought down by the Holy Spirit for the crowning of Clovis, the first king of the Franks. For Pharamond is king by divine right – it matters little how many accept him. This to Raspail is the nature of royalty. He describes beautifully too the personal relationship that the subject of a king has with his sovereign and the rules of etiquette incumbent upon both. The author reflects movingly on the nature of fellowship and the beauty of sharing risks  – and meals. 

The novel actually builds up a fair amount of tension – we really await with trepidation for the anointing to be accomplished. We feel for the royal party and their heterogenous entourage. At the end, after the rituals have been accomplished,  Pharamond departs. We are not told what the next chapter of his story will be. But it seems that something necessary in some hidden way to the French nation’s spiritual equilibrium has been achieved.

L’anneau du pêcheur (The Ring of the Fisherman) turns to the spiritual world. The novel is based on the extraordinary premise that the Avignon papacy never came to an end; that a line of Avignon popes has endured unto our day. Now, I admit that, outside of France perhaps,  the Avignon papacy does not enjoy the best of reputations. But Raspail gamely goes to bat for the home team. In contrast, he depicts St. Catherine of Siena’s “sweet Jesus on earth” – the murderous Urban VI, restored to the city of Rome- in the darkest of colors. 

Raspail forcefully makes the case for Avignon in the Western schism. Much of the narrative deals with Pedro de Luna (Benedict XIII) and his stubborn fight against all odds for his papal rights regardless of what the Councils of Pisa and Constance, the French King and his own sovereign in Aragon may be saying and decreeing. For him truly, fiat Justitia et pereat mundus.

Now according to Raspail, after Benedict XIII and a couple of succeeding pretenders, a hidden series of Popes continued the Avignon line to the present day. These became poor men – vagabonds perhaps – but true men of God and endowed with the gift of miracles. But Raspail implies that these have been the true popes. And the last of this line now undertakes a journey to Rome (which attracts the attention of the Vatican). And this pope, like all his predecessors in this lineage,  bears the name “Benedict” ! 

 Of course the uncanny prophetic gifts of Raspail himself are here once again demonstrated. For who, reading this book, cannot avoid thinking of that lonely, hidden Pope Benedict of our very own day  – Joseph Ratzinger – and the contrast of his quiet spirituality with the brutal carnival show presided over by the current occupant of the see of Rome? A Pope Benedict who, once again, is suffering savage attacks in his country of birth.

Actually, The Ring of the Fisherman does not dwell on criticism of the the present-day Church. Rather, the novel contrasts the authentic spirituality of the humble man of God  Benedict with the great void of today’s secular France, insensible to spiritual things. In this novel, it seems that the battle for the soul of France has already been fought long ago –  and won by the present age. Much of the story involves the travels of  Benedict and his retinue about ruined cathedrals, mysterious chapels and isolated monasteries in the south of France. Criticism of the Vatican II Church is mostly subtly implied – such as by depicting a supposed Vatican secret security agency. Only in a brief but memorable description of the yowling crowds at a gigantic “event” in a South American stadium can be found overt satire of today’s Church. Engulfed by the chanting of the mob which surrounds him, John Paul II’s feeble voice is drowned out. (Raspail does not mention that this kind of show was largely instituted by John Paul II in the first place).There’s also a final sentence in this novel mentioning the imprudence of John XXIII in calling the Vatican Council, similar to that of his predecessor John XXIII,  a pope (or antipope) of the Western Schism, of agreeing to  the Council of Constance. Do I need to add that everyone -including the last Pope Benedict – seems to be using the traditional liturgy?

In my opinion, although its premise is fascinating, The Ring of the Fisherman is less successful, as a novel, than Sire. It is far more static – the basic conflict is evident very early on. The contrast running through the novel between the world of Pedro de Luna (Benedict XIII) and that of his modern-day descendant holds our attention but has certain monotony.  And Raspail’s descriptions of Vatican officials and departments   – a la Malachi Martin – are not really developed. In contrast,  J-K Huysmans’ Là-Bas also is structured around an alternating narrative of the late middle ages(Gilles de Rais) and the modern day (occultist circles)  but builds up to a dramatic climax of both threads. 

The Pope Benedict of the novel dies before reaching Rome. Yet Pope John Paul II arranges that his body be brought to St Peter’s and buried simply in the catacombs, with a low Mass,  before a small congregation but with the funeral honors of a Pope. There, in a simple white marble sarcophagus, resides the last of the Avignon Popes with this simple inscription:

BENEDICTUS

1. Dreher, Rod, “It’s Jean Raspail’s World Now” The American Conservative (9/7/2015) 

Just joking! But I saw Bruce Frohnen’s great essay after I discussed some of the same points here.

Rather than rehearse the long list of abuses arising from state actors, many of them convinced of their own moral rectitude, it might be best to end with a brief reference to what administrative centralization and the ideology of sovereignty have done within the Church herself. The First Vatican Council, convened from 1869-70, was an attempt by the Church hierarchy to respond to the rise of sovereign states by instituting state-like centralization in the Church.  Observers like Saint Cardinal John Newman feared such motives but took solace in the fact that the “Universal Church” could never act as a concrete, localized state. Unfortunately, administrative and canon law changes over the succeeding century and a half have proved more successful than he predicted. Bishops have become unquestioned rulers of the laity in their jurisdictions, and the hierarchy in the Vatican has become utterly divorced from, and immune to, attempts from clerics and laymen alike to stem corruption, abuse, and ideological fads—all of them trending left. Consider that in the Catholic Church today we have priests giving the Eucharist to radically pro-abortion politicians; parish schools being shut down (over loud lay opposition) in order to pay settlements to victims of pederast priests; a Pope who bemoans global warming but will not mention the massacre of Christians in China or the Middle East; and a hierarchy that continues to cover for active homosexuals while simultaneously working to stamp out the Latin Mass. One would think such events might give traditionalist Catholics pause in their support for the integralist pursuit of centralization. Constitutionalism, both within and outside the Church, grew out of opposition to abuses like these. Its demise, whether at the hands of liberals or anti-liberals, will benefit only tyrants and their hangers-on.

Frohnen, Bruce P., “The Lure of Integralism,” Chronicles: a Magazine of American Culture ( February 2022)

José A. Ureta has responded on Rorate Caeli to our series on Ultramontanism: its Life and Death. What follows are my comments on his response.

My brief overview of ultramontanism attempted to describe what occurred in historical fact. I wrote of ultramontanism as a system of governance of the Church that had achieved its basic form under Pius IX. Its first characteristic was the centralization in the papacy of all authority in governance, theology, liturgy etc. with rights of intervention even on the local level.  Ultramontanist practice recharacterized the role of the clergy of the Church as bureaucrats of a vast administrative structure. Any criticism of the hierarchy and especially of the Pope was prohibited. The scope of de facto papal infallibility increasingly extended to cover even the day-to-day decisions of the Pope. Authority and obedience to it became overriding principles of the Church. Finally,  Catholics began to develop a personal relationship with the Pope as a supreme spiritual leader. 

These characteristics of the actual practice of the ultramontane system were not necessarily fully supported by theology or canon law. They developed unevenly and over the decades.  I am grateful to Mr. Ureta for a reference that shows that at least a minority had perceived theological difficulties with ultramontanist practice early on:

 In an article published in L’Osservatore Romano on February 10, 1942, Msgr. Pietro Parente denounced “the strange identification of Tradition (source of Revelation) with the living Magisterium of the Church (custodian and interpreter of the Divine Word). 1)

In the same vein, hadn’t  Jaroslav Pelikan (certainly not a witness hostile to Catholicism) wondered in 1959 whether “the magisterium has virtually suspended the authority of tradition”? 2)

Mr. Ureta, however, seems to define ultramontanism much more narrowly than I do – as a special subcategory of Catholic ecclesiastical politics and thought. He seems to admit as ultramontanists only those popes and prelates who espoused policies with which he agrees  – especially those relating to combatting social and intellectual revolution. This produces the strange result that, for Mr. Ureta, only two popes, Pius IX and Pius X, seem to have been “true” ultramontanes! Thus the ultramontanes (using Mr. Ureta’s definition) appear to have been singularly unsuccessful in convincing even their superiors in Rome of the merits of their policies. All the other popes of the last 170 years are described by Mr. Ureta as non- or even anti-ultramontanes.

 Further,  it seems these “authentic” Roman ultramontanes were utterly unable to argue effectively against the progressives at Vatican II. Regardless of their at times eloquent objections to what was unfolding before their eyes, they all conformed to the post-conciliar changes – with the conspicuous exception of Archbishop Lefebvre. Thus in their majority, they testified in true ultramontane fashion to the priority of obedience to papal authority and the preservation of external unity over their doctrinal and liturgical convictions.

I also find a lack of historical awareness in Mr. Ureta’s  remarks.  So, for example, he triumphantly points to St. Gregory VII  as a pope who “raised papal authority to an apex” and “victoriously affirmed papal supremacy over civil authority.”  But the world of Gregory VII was not at all that of Pius IX – the historical context was entirely different! Gregory VII reigned as Christendom was reaching its first maturity. By Pius IX’s day, Christendom had already collapsed. Under Gregory VII, the Church was beginning to consolidate her temporal power. Ultramontanism crystallized in 1870 – precisely when the Pope’s temporal power disappeared. Now Gregory VII sought both much less and much more than the 19th century ultramontanes. He had no idea of imposing some kind of centralized administrative regime governing all aspects of the Church’s life (which in any case would have been physically impossible in the 11th century.) For example, Mr. Ureta’s own reference to Cluny illustrates that in the 10^th– 11^th centuries the liturgical restoration of the Church proceeded on its course entirely outside of Rome. (By the way, Gregory VII was most probably not a “confrere” of St. Hugh of Cluny.) 

On the other hand, as Mr. Ureta  points out,  Gregory VII fought not only for the freedom of the Church from secular control – laudably enough – but also for the supremacy of the Church over secular authority. Those latter claims – and the spiritual weapons utilized to enforce them –  had problematic aspects. The Church has avoided raising them in more recent eras. And I don’t think that today anyone sane would want to return temporal authority to the Church. For the Vatican’s management of the limited secular affairs remaining to it is just as abysmal as the exercise of its spiritual responsibilities.

Of course, I never said that ultramontanism was the root of all evils in the Church. Clearly, the loss of faith that spread from the 18^th century onward  has been the Church’s main challenge. Vatican II too is critical both as the product of that loss of faith and an immense accelerant of it. Finally, the formless liturgy of the Conciliar Church is both a further symptom and cause of Catholic decline. 

What I did write was that the essentially defensive regime of ultramontanism had achieved  mixed results even during its heyday of 1870-1958. I described how the overthrow of most aspects of Catholic practice and  liturgical life during and after Vatican II were inconceivable without ultramontane liturgical centralization and the habits of absolute deference to authority. Further,   I pointed out that the conservative heroes John Paul II and Benedict had been unable to do more than preserve the “great facade” of unity despite relentless pro-papalist propaganda.

Finally, with the regime of Pope Francis, we witness the synthesis of extreme ultramontane centralization with progressive revolutionary content. Just in the last year, Pope Francis has intensified his control of the Knights of Malta. He has personally  intervened to endorse a small movement in the United States (New Ways Ministry) that had been subject over the years to various ecclesiastical censures. He has similarly endorsed one political figure (President Biden)  who was potentially coming into conflict with the United States Catholic hierarchy over his aggressive support of abortion.  Irrespective of their formal ecclesiastical position, confidantes of Francis like Cardinals Cupich (Chicago) and Hollerich (Luxembourg) by reason of their blatant political connection enjoy an inordinate influence in the Church. Finally and most extraordinarily,  in Traditionis Custodes Francis has condemned an entire sector of the Catholic clergy, religious  and laity to second class status, exclusion and eventual elimination. To carry out this mission of annihilation, Francis has endorsed rules implementing the anti-Tradionalist campaign even on the parish level. All these initiatives are buttressed by  ultramontane acts and rhetoric – from the canonization of the Conciliar popes to the positing of external Church unity as an absolute goal to the grandiose claims of “magisterial authority.”

Yet while the scope of Francis’s papal power seems to grow endlessly, in fact the far greater power of the left and the secular establishment confines it within narrow limits. The Church is increasingly playing the role of a mere agency of the secular power elite of the West on matters such as Covid, interreligious relations and “migrants.”  The German church is proceeding on its progressive synodal path regardless of what the Vatican says.  All Francis can do is talk of unity and attempt to coopt the German synodal ideas and rhetoric. The same is true for the Church on the local level. For example, in our area, the LGBT parishes of Manhattan proceed on their chosen path – publicly and explicitly –   no matter what Cardinal Dolan says. In the Bridgeport diocese, an attempt by the principal of an exclusive girls school to restrain pro-Planned Parenthood manifestations (with Bishop Caggiano’s backing) ended in total capitulation – by the Church. Thus, the great growth of bureaucratic ultramontane power coincides with greatest weakness of the Church in the face of both secular society and the Church’s own internal progressives.

Catholic Traditionalism in fact had coexisted within the Church with the Vatican II establishment and for some eight years even with the regime of Francis. For hadn’t Pope Benedict with Summorum Pontificum summoned Catholics to set aside their earlier resentments and animosities in the interest of liturgical peace? This was in fact the course followed by most Traditionalists.  Indeed,  some went further and in order to ingratiate themselves with bishops and mainstream religious orders were willing to disguise and censor their own opinions. 

Yet Francis has now revoked that peace. Moreover,  beyond the liturgical realm, he has either made or is fostering drastic changes to fundamental Catholic practices and even the basic rules of morality. All of this is justified as an exercise of papal authority – resting on the arbitrary decision of Francis. And this is largely accepted  – at least publicly and at least by the clergy. Yet, for others,  a stark choice now presents itself.  One must choose between the will of Francis and, not just Traditionalism, but even Catholicism as such. And really,  between the current papal regime and one’s sanity. For as in any totalitarian regime, not even the rules of logic are allowed to restrict the arbitrary will of absolute authority. As a Francis favorite, Cardinal Jean-Claude Hollerich (a Jesuit drawing on Asian “wisdom”) puts it:

The Japanese do not think as in the European logic of opposites. If we say a thing is black, it means it is not white. The Japanese, on the other hand, say: It is white, but perhaps also black.’ In Japan opposites can be combined without changing the point of view.”  3)

It is in this disturbing context that I feel compelled to reexamine the role of  ultramontanism in the Church.

1. Ureta, Jose A., “Modernism, not Ultramontanism, is the Synthesis of all Heresies – A Response to Stuart Chessman,” Rorate Caeli, 1/25/2022
2. Pelikan, Jaroslav, The Riddle Of Roman Catholicism at 83 (Abingdon Press, New York, 1959)
3. Magister, Sandro, “If the Conclave wants a second Francis, Here is the Name and the Program,”  Settimo Cielo 2/10/2022