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 few years. Individual buildings were torn down or subjected to 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 historically 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 German 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 that 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 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 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 both 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 thier residence – 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. 

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….

(From Westend pp. 254-255)

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

By Marcel Proust

Translated and introduced by John Pepino

Afterword by Peter Kwasniewski

2021 Wiseblood Books, Milwaukee, WI

In 1904 the Catholic Church in France faced the imminent loss of all her possessions. The churches were to be nationalized by a state controlled by atheists and the Masonic lodge; subsequently their conversion to secular use was entertained. Ultimately, however, the continued use of the church buildings by the Catholic Church was conceded. It was in the midst of this crisis that Proust wrote the essay Death comes to the Cathedrals.

Proust makes some elementary aesthetic and historical points. The cathedrals do not merely serve as a utilitarian facility to house the gathering of a congregation, but are a symbolic restatement of the Christian faith. Building on the work of contemporary scholars and writers such as Émile Mâle, Proust writes of how each seemingly insignificant detail in a cathedral  is laden with symbolic meaning. And this all relates back to the rite celebrated in the cathedral: the (traditional) Catholic Mass. For Christian worship to cease in the cathedrals would deprive them of meaning – to leave these buildings empty shells. A museum is not a living thing. In Paris just look at the Pantheon or “Napoleon’s Tomb” to see the sad results of alienating Catholic churches from the purpose for which they were created. As Proust writes:

Today there is not one socialist with taste who doesn’t deplore the mutilations the (French) Revolution visited upon our cathedrals: so many shattered statues and stained-glass windows! Well: better to ransack a church than decommission it. As mutilated as a church may be, so long as the mass is celebrated there, it retains at least some life. Once a church is decommissioned it dies, and though as an historical monument it may be protected from scandalous uses, it is no more than a museum.

…

When the sacrifice of Christ’s flesh and blood, the sacrifice of the Mass is no longer celebrated in our churches, they will have no life left in them. Catholic liturgy and the architecture and sculpture of our cathedrals form a whole for they stem from the same symbolism. 1)

Such a loss is not just a private Catholic matter but should be a concern for all humanity – but especially for the French nation. For the great series of cathedrals, beginning with the basilica of St. Denis and culminating in the extraordinary but unachieved (and unachievable) Beauvais,  is the chief glory of French – and even of world architecture. What Proust is suggesting – and what French traditionalists – both Catholic and non-Catholic – have insisted upon ever since is that Catholicism is so integral to the French national identity that any attempt to purge it strikes a blow at the nation itself. Just look at the recent statements of Eric Zemmour – a secular Jew – for a passionate (re)presentation of these principles. Contrary to the views of Catholics influenced by Vatican II,  liberalism and ultramontanism, this bond between the Catholic faith and the nation is not weakness, but strength! Just look at the Poland in the last century for a similar example.

Peter Kwasniewski contributes an afterword linking the events in France in Proust’s day to those of our own time. He tells of his own enthusiasm on first encountering Chartres. Then he compares the ritual vandalism after Vatican II with the measures of the Freemasons of the Third Republic. Today the Church herself largely accomplished what the anticlerical politicians of yore stopped short of achieving – the expulsion of the Roman Catholic rite from the architectural masterpieces to which it had given life. Indeed, these great cathedrals began to be viewed as aberrations from what should be the new Catholic architectural norm: some kind of utilitarian shed. In the cathedrals themselves the clergy place puny blocks in the transepts on which to celebrate their new form of liturgy.

Under such circumstances, Catholics can only be grateful for the de jure or de facto state control of church buildings in France, but also in Italy and Germany. Otherwise a wave of destruction – like that which swept over the sanctuaries of most churches in the United States –  would have done irremediable damage to the far more significant artistic heritage of Europe.

And this struggle continues to the present day. After the highly symbolic destruction of the roof of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris a conflict has broken out between the archdiocese of Paris and scholars, artists and preservationists. For the archdiocese wants to adapt parts of the restored cathedral to a new didactic plan to make the Catholic faith “comprehensible” to the visitor, using in part projected images. 

The journey continues past 14 side chapels of the cathedral. Those existing chapels, … are to be reconfigured so as to “create a fecund dialogue between contemporary creation and the church.” Each is to receive a yet-to-be-created work of art, which is to be juxtaposed with a historic work, such as a painting or stained-glass window, while a text is projected onto the wall. These chapels are hardly the 14 traditional Stations of the Cross, the sequence of the Passion that culminates with Jesus being laid in the tomb. Here the 14th chapel is to be dedicated to the theme of “reconciled creation,” a phrase taken from Pope Francis’s encyclical “Laudato Si’,” which addressed environmentalism and climate change .2)

 Pope Francis and environmentalism, not God, thus become the focus of this media presentation – which in any case has a didactic message utterly foreign to that conveyed by the Gothic architecture of Notre Dame itself.  But are the bright lights and television screens, the souvenir machines and explanatory placards in St Patrick’s Cathedral in New York any better? (At least here though, offending modernist statues and altars have been removed and an attempt has been made to restore the stylistic harmony of the chancel and the side altars of the nave).

Speaking of St Patrick’s, the St. Hugh of Cluny Society has always tried to advance the unity of architecture, liturgy and music primarily in the greater New York Area. Of course, not even New York’s great church of St. Vincent Ferrer matches its European models – let alone our small Victorian neo-gothic parish churches. But the Catholic Church in America once had a vision of reproducing on these shores masterpieces of Catholic architecture – as a means for promoting and celebrating the faith. That is why we work for their preservation. And when in any such church the Traditional liturgy is celebrated with full ceremony and fitting music one gets a glimpse of the real meaning of all the elements of art and of the faith working together. Some (like Cardinal Dolan) may mock such old churches as “museums” but, as Proust so eloquently points out, a Catholic church celebrating the traditional Mass is the exact opposite of a museum!

I too have experienced the power of the French cathedrals. Since the 1980’s,  the annual traditionalist pilgrimages between Paris and Chartres have once again filled that great cathedral with life through the presence of so many young people at the celebration of the traditional Mass. On such occasions, Chartres, as large as it is, cannot accommodate all the pilgrims!

Chartres has spires, the statues and stained glass. But it has also suffered a number of harsh unfeeling restorations and also attracts, given its easy accessibility from Paris,  a relatively large number of tourists. Other cathedrals like Laon, Bourges or Beauvais – largely unrestored, silent and mostly abandoned to themselves in the midst of their semi-deserted towns  – afford the visitor a more evocative impression of artistic grandeur, loss and the ravages of time. 

(Above) The cattle on the towers of Laon cathedral. Proust: “We know that since the oxen of Laon had christianly drawn the construction materials for the cathedral up the hill for which it rises, the architect rewarded them by setting up their statues at the feet of the towers. You can see them to this day as, in the din of the bells and in the pooling sunlight, they raise their horned heads above the colossal holy arch towards the horizon of the French plains… .” (Below) The atmospheric old town of Laon.

Pope Francis has now launched a vast campaign to eradicate the traditional Mass, to try once again to achieve what the atheists of Proust’s day had sought to accomplish – ultimately unsucessfully. Death comes for the Cathedrals thus takes on a relevance perhaps unanticipated when this book’s introduction and afterword were written. And in addition to the religiously motivated Traditionalists, just as in Proust’s day, defenders of our common artistic heritage once again have risen up to defend the Mass. Michel Onfray, a self-described atheist, wrote last year:

The Latin mass is the patrimony of our civilization. It is the historical and spiritual heir of a long series of rituals, celebrations and prayers, all crystallized in a form that offers a total spectacle: a Gesamtkunstwerk, to use a word from German romantic aesthetics.3)

Proust too had evoked Wagner, in his view the only modern artist who in works such as Parsifal approached the beauty of the Catholic Mass! Yet, Proust affirms, a Catholic Mass celebrated in Chartres cathedral exceeds anything produced in Bayreuth.4)  It is incumbent upon us to defend and preserve this heritage for the sake of the Faith and also for all mankind. And strangely enough, in so doing is not Catholic traditionalism practicing the truest kind of ecumenism?

1. Proust, M, Death Comes to the Cathedrals at 10.

2. Lewis, Michael J., “An Incendiary Plan for Notre Dame Cathedral” The Wall Street Journal 11/30/2021

3. Onfray, Michel, “Ita Missa Est” in From Benedict’s Peace to Francis’s War, (Peter A. Kwasniewski, Ed.) at 68 (Angelico Press, Brooklyn, NY 2021)

4. Bayreuth is the location of the theatre which Wagner created to present his operas.

From Benedict’s Peace to Francis’s War: Catholics respond to the Motu Proprio Traditionis Custodes on the Latin Mass

Peter A. Kwasniewski, Editor.

Angelico Press, Brooklyn, 2021

Since July 16, 2021, a cultural war has exploded in the Church. On that day Pope Francis declared his intent to eliminate the Catholic Tradionalist movement.  This was the latest step, moreover, in an assault on the principles of Catholic identity in liturgy, morality and ecclesiastical organization that has been proceeding for eight years now under this pontificate. One immediate consequence of this unprecedented papal action was an outpouring of critical commentary.  Except for sources controlled by the Vatican or directly or indirectly in the pay of the Roman Catholic Church, the authors were largely sympathetic or  favorable to the traditionalists – or at least unconvinced by Pope Francis’s assertions. 

Peter Kwasniewski, perhaps the most tireless literary advocate of traditionalism today, has gathered up and published in From Benedict’s Peace to Francis’s War a selection of these first responses. This book includes 69 contributions and concludes with a “public statement”  – an international open letter in support of the Traditional Mass. 

The contributors represent a broad spectrum of opinion. The dedicated  traditionalists are to be found, of course: Fr. Claude Barthe, Martin Mosebach, Dom Alcuin Reid – Peter Kwasniewski himself contributes a preface and five articles. But there are also “conservatives,” cultural pundits and those who previously viewed themselves as occupying a position in the middle of the road, liturgically speaking. Fr. Hunwicke is a member of the Ordinariate. And there are writers who are not Catholic at all. Dr. Kwasniewski subtitles this collection Catholics respond to the Motu Proprio  but I doubt that anyone would consider Michel Onfray a Catholic (as he himself points out in the first sentence of the essay reproduced in this volume). But the presence of such a thinker is of the greatest significance: Traditionis Custodes is a direct challenge not just to a parochial religious rite but to human culture in general.  

These essays were first published not just on the internet but also on major mainstream media throughout the world: Le Figaro (France), The New York Times, ABC (Spain). Among the contributors are noted authors and intellectuals.  I also note with pleasure the presence among the contributors of priests, bishops and cardinals: e.g., Cardinals Sarah, Müller, Burke, Brandmüller and Zen. I regret to say, however,  that subsequently certain of these clerical authors either complained about their presentation in this volume (Cardinal Sarah)  or relativized their views (Cardinal Brandmüller). This demonstrates the grip that ultramontane discipline still holds on the (conservative) Catholic clergy and the continuing inability of most of the Catholic leadership to accept open discussion or diversity of views. (Conspicuously absent from this volume – except for one anonymous priest from an anonymous institute – are contributions from the “Ecclesia Dei” institutes.).

The essays of this volume address Traditionis Custodes from many different angles. Some discuss its legality and focus on specific language.  Others take a more principled, philosophical approach, trying to discern what, in substance,  is going on. Ross Douthat seeks broad historical parallels. But this collection is not at all a mere critique of, and response to,  Traditionis Custodes.  Rather,  it is a summary of the arguments for traditionalism, a kind of miniature encyclopedia of what traditionalist Catholic and their supporters actually believe. 1) Pope Francis might have been hoping  to elevate Vatican II and the new mass rite beyond all rational analysis and inquiry but, as many the essays of this book show,  he is having exactly the opposite effect. 

The same is true for this book’s recurring theme of the relation of papal infallibility and papal governance  to Catholic tradition. For with Traditionis Custodes – as with Amoris Laetitia – Francis has radically put in issue the scope of his own authority. Regardless of Francis’s purported revocation of Summorum Pontificum, the pope’s authority to abolish the Traditional rite has been squarely raised (and denied  (Mosebach)).

Many of these early reactions have a refreshing,  fiery immediacy. In the face of papal legislative aggression, couched in language even more hostile and extreme, it’s no time to hold back. At decisive points in history one has to show one’s colors. As the old song goes:

Praise the Lord and swing into position,

Can’t afford to be a politician,

Praise the Lord, we’re all between perdition and the deep blue sea. 2)

The need of the day to formulate and express deep convictions clearly and directly, combined with the participation of several renowned authors, raises the level of this book far above that of the usual Catholic prose. One can discover throughout pages of great power and conviction – at times this book makes for great reading! 

At this moment we should be rallying all forces in defense of tradition, regardless of our prior differences. I nevertheless feel compelled to comment critically on aspects of certain contributions which, I think, reflect attitudes which I would have hoped to have disappeared after the impact of Traditionis Custodes. For example, here and there are traces of Roman Catholic servility  –  certain contributors feel obliged to balance their criticisms with praise for the pope’s other initiatives or to express understanding for the provocations he has allegedly endured from Traditionalists. One piece, by Christophe Geffroy and Fr. Christian Gouyaud, even spends paragraphs ranking and attacking traditionalists! (Another essay, Traditionis Custodes:  Divide and  Conquer? by Jean-Pierre Maugendre directly responds to this article’s assertions). Another contributor, like pre–1917 Russian peasants,  writes of Francis being misled by his advisors. Indeed, contrary to the more forthright views I previously described,  the hope is expressed by some that somehow the furor around Traditionis Custodes will die down, that some kind of equilibrium will reassert itself. 

This latter interpretation (or rather wishful thinking) has been put to an early test. The preface to this volume is dated October 7, 2021. Since then we have seen the instruction of the Vicariate of Rome (signed October 7, 2021!), the “Responses to the Dubia” of Archbishop Roche and the implementation decree of the Archbishop of Chicago, Cardinal Cupich. All of these documents emanate from close allies of Pope Francis and are obviously coordinated with him and with each other. These measures confirm that, as far as Francis is concerned, there will be no truce or slacking off but only a fanatical fight to the death with Catholic traditionalism. 

Yet, on the other hand,  since October 7 the flood of essays, articles and posts defending the Latin Mass has also not let up.  It seems Traditionis Custodes has triggered a long dormant urge for traditionalists to proclaim their beliefs to the world. This literature, taken together, is a grand “apology” – in the original sense of the word, an explanation and defense – of the traditional Catholic faith. I would hope Peter Kwasniewski will set to work soon on From Benedict’s Peace – Volume II!

1. I look forward to a publication of an anthology of these contributions, each of which illuminates the issue from a different perspective and the whole representing a veritable encyclopedia of Traditionalist belief.  It will be an invaluable reference for Catholic Traditionalists – or for the curious outsider who wants to discover what motivates these people. (“Traditionis Custodes: Dispatches from the Front” The Society of St Hugh of Cluny, 8/18/2021)
2. Frank Loesser, “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition” (1942, referring to the attack on Pearl Harbor)

During the papacy of Pius IX the theory and, to a great extent, the practice of the modern ultramontane regime were perfected.  This system did secure internal unity and stability, leading the Church through one of the most pivotal periods of world and European history. Yet the lead-up to the Second Vatican Council,  the course of the Council itself and the implementation of its decisions revealed all too clearly the deficiencies of ultramontanism. The extreme centralized structures and absence of any real exchange of ideas in the Roman Catholic Church privileged the influence of “experts,” cliques and behind-the-scenes intrigue. At the pope’s command, the bishops, clergy and laity, unable to think for themselves, accepted blindly the destruction or relativization of that which they had only yesterday held sacred and immutable. 

But the “Conciliar Church” itself bore the hallmarks of the ultramontane past that it affected to despise –  provincialism, authoritarianism,  pervasive bureaucracy and remoteness from the life of men and women today.  The hundreds of pages of Conciliar decrees and the literary productions  of the Conciliar champions (Rahner, Ratzinger, Kung, Schillebeeckx, etc.) made, outside of the clerical bureaucracy,  little impression in the Church –-  and none on the world outside it. Indeed, far from being an avenue for establishing new communication with the world and the laity,  Vatican II – its interpretation and defense – became just one more burden on the Church establishment. 

Within the Church itself, however, all the institutions so carefully built up since the 1830’s – the schools, seminaries, monasteries, religious congregations, hospitals, universities –  experienced a more or less universal existential crisis. Entire national churches (e.g., the Netherlands, Quebec)  collapsed virtually overnight, while most others in the developed world commenced a continuous decline of religious practice.  Conflict within the ecclesiastical establishment itself broke into the open, as the Vatican and the Church’s dominant intellectual leadership fell out on a broad spectrum of issues. 

It became increasingly apparent that the positions of the progressives were irreconcilable with Catholic doctrine and morality, at least as previously understood.  The post-Conciliar popes up to Francis, however, could not face the consequences of either adopting the progressive agenda or condemning it.  The result was a deadlock between the progressive institutions and the Vatican which lasted for the next 45 years.  In the actual practice of  ruling the Church the ultramontane papacy more and more assumed a merely administrative role. 1)

In the midst of the post-Conciliar conflicts over the faith,  Catholic traditionalism was born. The new Conciliar model was manifestly not working;  a return to – or preservation of  – the past recommended itself. Contrary to what Pope Francis asserts, the attitudes of the traditionalists to the authority of the Council varied greatly – as did their understanding regarding ultramontanism. Clearly the establishment of the FSSPX and their consecration of bishops in 1988 were utterly contrary to the ultramontane system. By placing Catholic doctrine and tradition above obedience to authority, Archbishop Lefebvre in effect challenged ultramontanism’s foundational assumptions. I am not sure, however, that the FSSPX (and later the FSSP) fully grasped what was happening. I get the sense they adhered to a paradigm that all was perfect in the Church prior to Vatican II  – that the Church’s afflictions were attributable to infiltrators and dissenters. And,  after achieving reconciliation with the Vatican, the FSSP certainly labored to project an image of alignment with an authoritarian and infallible papacy. 

To the traditionalists could be added the “conservatives”  – which the progressive establishment hardly distinguishes from the traditionalists. From the late 1960’s onward they espoused a radical ultramontanism, understanding the progressives primarily as “dissenters” from authority. For the conservatives, just like their 19^th century predecessors, the papacy is a defender of Christian morality in the secular world, and the omnipotent guardian of doctrinal purity within the church.  This was often juxtaposed to the feebleness of the national hierarchies, which the conservatives usually viewed as ineffectual bureaucrats. Yet in fact,  the papacy itself, not just the bishops of the local churches, was usually reluctant to be directly drawn into conflict with either the liberal forces in the Church or the governing powers of the Western secular world.

Pope Francis has attempted to revive progressive Conciliarism and make it final and irreversible. To do this,  he has made the most extreme assertions of ultramontane authority in history. So far, his most salient “achievements” de jure in ruling the Church have been the attempted institutionalization of divorce within Catholicism and the launching of a campaign of repression of Catholic traditionalism. He has also adopted or tolerated the policy positions of the ruling secular powers on a broad range of issues – totally in harmony with the Catholic liberals.  His actions are very often accompanied by intemperate language denouncing perceived adversaries – similar to the rhetorical style of many progressives. 2)

Yet,  after 8 years,  the pope’s actions still fall short of the demands of his progressive allies.  Further papal initiatives – to introduce married and female clergy,  to regularize homosexuality, to explore a “synodal” system of  governance – have stalled. The hierarchs of the Catholic church remain, in general,  extremely unwilling to criticize publicly Pope Francis.  We do not fully know what is going on behind the scenes. Whatever its source, however, internal Church resistance has obviously slowed the progressive onslaught. Once again, in the eyes of the progressives,  the stagnation of the post-Humanae Vitae Church has returned.  In places like Germany they therefore feel empowered to take matters into their own hands – with, so far, a feeble public reaction from the Vatican. 

We must remember, after all, that the Catholic Church rests on the voluntary adherence of the faithful throughout the world. National and family support for remaining Catholic continues to erode – even in Poland.  In most places the Church also lacks the resources to offer the valuable patronage of an establishment (like that of the Church of England). In the aftermath of the Council the majority of the Catholic laity in the developed world have ceased to practice their faith. In some places many have gone further and declared their public exit from the Church (Germany) or become evangelical protestants  (throughout Latin America and to some extent in the United States). Even the remaining  practicing Catholics often have little understanding of Catholic doctrine; their adherence to the rules of the Faith regarding sexual morality is also limited. 

Thus, just as after the French Revolution, the fundamental challenge to the Church –  evangelizing the modern world  – still remains outstanding,  Now, however, the majority of the Catholic clergy and faithful stand in need of evangelization as well!  Ultimately this is a spiritual problem – a crisis of faith. A spiritual challenge can only by addressed by spiritual answers. Such a need cannot be met by a return to ultramontane centralization, strong-arm tactics and publicity tricks. Let us think also of our duty of evangelization to non-Catholics and non-Christians. For those outside the Church, ultramontanism is like ”preaching to the choir”  – absolutely incomprehensible. Endlessly reiterating Conciliar and progressive platitudes of the 1960’s and 70’s, that themselves are derived from prior secular ideologies, will have just as little success.  These policies have been imposed for decades in one way or another and have failed. 

In my opinion traditionalism is this answer, the real path of reform, the way out of the ultramontane/progressive dead end. That is because it rests not on the authority of the clergy or the support of the secular world, but on the individual commitment of the laity – not to some self-constructed world-view or to an image of the Church as it appeared in any one era, but to the fullness of Catholic tradition as it exists in every age. The traditionalists of the last twenty years or so  – laity, priests and families –  have become such because they experienced and then voluntarily lived the traditional mass. Thus, Catholic traditionalism fully respects the freedom of conscience of the individual believer and even presupposes it. It is not a sect, a cult, a “group” (Pope Francis) or an ideology but is a way of life and of faith that is freely available to all. Yet its practice so often works a total transformation of those who fully undertake to live according to its precepts. The traditional Catholic faith is thus the spiritual answer that believers and non-believers are secretly awaiting in this age of unbelief. It is now up to this who have lived it to make it available to the whole world. 

1. The situation of the Church under John Paul II and Benedict thus recalled that of Austria-Hungary in the years 1866 to 1918. It was a monarchy that had progressively lost its prior spiritual or ideological raisons d’etre ( such as ruler of the Holy Roman Empire, the advocate of Catholicism in Central Europe, the leader of an embryonic German national state).  What remained to the central authority were the cult of the house of Habsburg-Lorraine (Emperor Franz Josef) and ongoing administrative responsibilities.  Meanwhile, ideologies that called into question the very existence of the Austro-Hungarian state (e.g., liberalism, socialism, Hungarian, Czech, Polish and even German nationalism as well as religious unbelief in general) proliferated – unchallenged and unrefuted.
2. Now in the many volumes of Pastor’s History of the Popes one certainly finds, particularly in the period between 1294 and 1559, papal utterances and deeds that are violent, extreme or even insane. These, however, occur most often in the context of papal secular political ambitions and the audience was political rivals, officials and ambassadors. Papal words were not broadcast all over the world – let alone published at the parish level. Nor were the popes of those years holding themselves out as spiritual leaders of the laity.

By 2013 – the year of Pope Benedict’s resignation  – the stalemate that has arisen at the end of the 1960’s had lasted for 45 years. The popes had not dared to force a showdown with the progressive forces on a significant issue. That would have called into question the Council. But neither would they adopt the progressive demands to explicitly adapt Catholic theology and morality to the dictates of the modern world,  which would render dubious the Church’s claims of continuity with its perennial traditions. The result was that the Vatican’s authority declined to a merely administrative role, while the pressure of secular society on the Church steadily increased.  The Church disguised this through the activity of John Paul II’s papacy and otherwise strove to maintain an image of infallibility, omnipotence, harmony of past and present, and agreement among all elements of the Church. The result was best described as “managed decline.” 

Pope Francis’s election brought a recommitment to the progressive agenda of the 1960’s along with a radical revival of ultramontane authoritarianism. Thus, his regime strongly resembles the reign of Paul VI – at least as it existed up to 1970. In one extreme recent example, if Paul VI had imposed on the entire Church radical changes in liturgy, so Pope Francis has now undertaken to compel the traditionalist Catholics to adopt the Novus Ordo. An entire population of Catholics – priests, religious orders, monasteries schools and laity  – previously in official good standing with the Church, have been reduced overnight to outcasts.  Prior papal legislation, commitments and agreements to the contrary – such as the regimes established for the Ecclesia Dei communities –  have been revoked. The Vatican has published a set of implementation measures that have centralized authority to an unheard-of degree – regulating even the content of parish bulletins!

And this anti-Traditionalist “crusade” is but one example among many. From the first day of his pontificate,  Pope Francis rejected the application to himself of any of the customs, laws and rules of the church. He routinely disregards the rulings and statements of his own Vatican officials.   A whole series of Catholic congregations and orders (like the Order of Malta) have been placed under the rule of papal commissioners. The same is now true of the entire Italian church in regard to Francis’s legislation on divorce. The pope has received the resignation of one entire country’s episcopate (Chile) and later of individual bishops in other countries (Germany and France). A class of bishop emerged that, after proferred resignation, continues in office only at the discretion of the pope. The Vatican has asserted centralized control over contemplative religious monasteries and orders, on the establishment of any new religious congregation and, most recently, on the term of office of the leadership of the so-called movements. In the United States, Francis has intervened directly and repeatedly in the affairs of the national bishops’ conference and even in American domestic politics. (e.g., the management of USCCB meetings, the status of politicians who promote abortion, the recognition of New Ways Ministry)

Pope Francis has added to his 1960’s progressivism publicity techniques borrowed from the repertoire of John Paul II. Gigantic papal events and voyages continue.  Papal statements, interviews and books proliferate.  A vast papal public relations apparatus has come into being at the Vatican and beyond – often in league with the secular press. (e.g., Vatican Insider, Crux, Rome Reports)   Francis has progressively refined this system over the years to focus it ever more closely on its designated role as a vehicle for propagating his image and thoughts.

The centralizing tidal wave at the Vatican has been reproduced down to the lowest level of the Church. The existence of Catholic Church’s traditional organizational form at the base – the parish – was increasingly called into question. The Archbishop of New York has openly speculated about a reorganization in which all Church property would be vested in the Archdiocese – a step that would, when combined with the current term limits on pastors, effectively transform all New York parishes into chapels. In dioceses in Germany and in the United States (such as the Cincinnati and Hartford Archdioceses) plans are being implemented that provide for radical reductions in the number of parishes. In response, the Vatican has feebly tried to uphold parish rights under canon law. 

The changes in rhetoric and style are as significant as the concrete measures. The pope has divided the Church into friends and enemies.  For example, in the American context,  the pope has made absolutely clear what he thinks the role of Catholic media should be –  by singling out for praise the eminently conformist Catholic News Service while accusing its competitor, the “conservative” EWTN, of doing the work of the devil. His publicists carry on this campaign further, denouncing those who “criticize the pope” and, in the last month or two, speculating on how Francis can neutralize “rogue” prelates (his critics in the hierarchy ).  They also explain that Francis really shouldn’t care about those in the Church he hurts or “leaves by the wayside.”

The pope often employs against his conservative opponents the language and techniques of ultramontanism. In Traditionis Custodes, for example,  the pope sets up Church unity and the inviolability of the Council as absolute values.  Indeed, the Second Vatican Council  (and its implementing decrees) are described as  “dictated by the Holy Spirit.”  The pope has canonized representatives of Catholic modernity ( like Pope Paul VI!) thereby seeking to invest their polices with an aura of infallibility. Pope Francis himself claims to teach “with magisterial authority.”  One often gets the sense Francis is mocking the legalistic and traditional diction of certain of his enemies, as when he titles his motu proprio seeking to abolish traditionalism Traditionis Custodes  (“Guardians of Tradition”!)

The culture of the Catholic Church under Francis has been rightly described as Orwellian.  The great advocate of dialogue never communicates with those who question his policies or who are the recipient of his attacks. Effeminate rhetoric (tenderness; accompaniment) contrasts with brusque commands and coarse denunciations.  Advocacy of a “synodal” church proceeds hand-in-hand with extreme centralization. The apostle of unity within the Church excludes whole sections of believers without a second thought.  Truly the regime of Francis can be called totalitarian ultramontanism!

Yet the pope’s totalitarian ultramontanism has a radically limited scope.  The most obvious constraint on Francis is the power of the Catholic progressives,  the media, and the institutions of Western civil society. Francis is absolutely dependent on their support. But their backing is not at all unconditional but depends on the pope continuing to advance their agenda.  Whenever Francis’s Vatican has been perceived as wavering in this mission,  the progressive powers, like the German church, have summarily rejected its (and his) authority. Just recently, Francis and the leadership of his upcoming conference on synodality have had to abjectly apologize to the progressive New Ways Ministry in the US.

In his direct interactions with the institutions governing the Western world, the pope pursues policies that are both totally secular and largely identical with the positions advocated by the media. So, Pope Francis has precisely implemented the dictates of the establishment regarding suspension of religious services because of Covid. I should add that the relationship – often scandalous –  between the Vatican and the Western financial powers has never been closer.

Resistance within the Church to Pope Francis has, however, also emerged from the other end of the spectrum, even if it is, in contrast to the progressive challenges, most often not publicly disclosed. Only a few prelates from this quarter – generally retired or previously removed from their positions – criticize the pope openly. Nevertheless, the publication of a book by the “pope emeritus” and Cardinal Sarah helped to derail Francis’s push for a  married clergy. The pope’s acceptance of divorce in Amoris Laetitia and his accompanying measures have by no means been received enthusiastically everywhere. Indeed,  it took blatant manipulation by the Vatican to obtain in the first place from the synods on the subject something that Francis could call approval of his marriage policies. Francis has had to publicly employ strong-arm tactics with the American hierarchy to block their policies on opposition to abortion. Finally, bishops throughout the world generally have been slow in signing on to Francis’s war against traditionalists. 

Thus, certainly in the opinion of certain progressives, the organizational deadlock that existed prior to Francis’s papacy has reemerged.  The tug-of-war continues between the advocates of radical change and the upholders of some form of Catholic tradition.  The debate on synodality in Rome and  in Germany  – which really often is about other substantive issues such as married and female priests – may well bring this conflict to a head. 

What a strange fate for ultramontanism! A set of policies that was supposed to secure the doctrine of the Church from internal enemies and preserve her independence from secular control has instead facilitated the greatest crisis of belief in the Church’s history along with her most abject subjection to the “temporal power” – not that of monarchs as in the past, but of the media, banks, NGOs,  universities and, increasingly, “democratic” governments (including China!). The most extreme assertions of ultramontanism (such as those by Pope Francis) coincide with today’s total humiliation of the Church. Is it a failure of trying to achieve spiritual objectives through the application of organizational techniques?  In any case, the need for evangelizing the world that arose after the religious collapse of the French Revolution remains unmet even today, as a whole, by the institutional Church.   

In the first installment of these historical reflections, I briefly reviewed the triumph and maturity of “ultramontanism” in the Catholic Church. Fundamentally a defensive strategy, it aimed at block-like unity, centralized control and absolute subordination to superiors. Especially up to 1945, its catalogue of achievements was remarkable. Yet,  like all defensive stances, it could not be prolonged forever.  At some point a counterattack must be undertaken  – for otherwise the enemy, having familiarized himself over time with a static opponent, will find a path to break through….

The Second Vatican Council convened in 1962. In no prior council had both the freedom from overt secular control and papal dominance over the proceedings been so assured. 2) The course and outcome of the council was determined by a new alliance of the papacy with internal progressive forces. Paul VI then enjoyed almost unlimited scope of action in implementing the council throughout the Catholic world.

The management of the Council and its subsequent implementation were truly the greatest triumph of ultramontanism. For no previous pope had radically and systematically changed the liturgy and the forms of Catholic piety  (e.g., the rules governing fasting,  the architecture and decoration of churches) virtually overnight. Paul VI found active supporters for his mission of change. A whole legion of clergy was inspired to forcefully drag into the modern Church the benighted sectors of the laity and their own less “enlightened” fellow clergy and religious. But, on the whole, resistance was minimal – so effective had been the inculcation of ultramontane obedience over the generations.  Of course,  the customs and traditions of the Church had likely lost their grip on much of the Catholic world through the ultramontane understanding of obedience to authority and adherence to legal rules as the source of their legitimacy. 

But even while still in session, the Council had unleashed forces that shattered the closed ultramontane world.  For the progressive clergy, empowered by Paul VI,  undertook to directly reverse the theology, teachings on personal morality and the governing structures of the Church – all the things that hindered complete reconciliation with the world. For internally, the Council and its aftermath may have been revolutionary. But viewed from outside, these changes were completely conformist, as the Church adopted the worldview, vocabulary and even the dress of the secular world of the 1960’s. The guiding Conciliar principles of aggiornamento and “reading the signs of the times” had in fact subordinated the Church to secular society far more thoroughly than had been conceivable under the European monarchies of the 18^th century, the Holy Roman Empire of the Gregory VII’s day,  or the Roman empire in the 4^th century. None of these historical powers had disposed of means (such as news media in the modern sense) capable of reaching into the life of each individual Catholic.  Truly,  it was a new, monumental  “Constantinian shift!”  And it was in these very years of the Council that the Western establishment’s attitude to the Church began to progressively change from a politically dictated posture of respect to an overt, intensifying hostility: starting with Rolf Hochhuth’s 1963 drama The Deputy and culminating in an across-the-board critique of  “retrograde” Catholicism, above all, the Church’s teachings on sexual morality.

These developments came to a head with the storm over Paul VI’s 1968 encyclical on contraception, Humanae Vitae. The pope could not obtain obedience to his decree – not only from the “rebels” but also from the religious orders, Catholic universities and even entire episcopal conferences. For Paul VI found himself confronting not only internal opponents,  but also modern “civil society” and its media, which stood behind the rebellious elements. It was a previously unthinkable breach in ultramontane discipline.  Truly, the Council, which had marked the high water mark of ultramontanism, had now administered to it its greatest defeat!

As to papal authority,  the result was deadlock. Paul VI would not withdraw his encyclical  – but neither did he attempt to insist on its enforcement.  The same impasse was true of many other doctrines and rules of the church.  A state of permanent, unacknowledged “civil war” from now on  prevailed in a Church in which a substantial part of the Catholic establishment either denied or understood in a new non – literal way what had been previously fixed and certain doctrine.  To give just one example, papal infallibility  – a foundation stone of ultramontanism  – was widely either denied outright (Hans Küng’s Infallible? – an Inquiry (1971)) or, more subtly, had its origins called into question (Hubert Wolf ’s The Nuns of Sant’Ambrogio (2013)). The progressives did not necessarily see any need of respecting the “views” (Eamon Duffy) of the Vatican.  

Of course, some leaders of the Church – and not just those resident in the Vatican – continued to resist these interpretations and tried to preserve Catholic doctrine as traditionally understood.  Popes John Paul II and Benedict took numerous actions and made frequent statements on the liturgy, Catholic education, Catholic doctrine on sexual morality, etc.  Like Humanae Vitae, these were mostly ignored.  Disciplinary measures to impose order on the Jesuits (under John Paul II) or on American religious sisters (under Benedict) ended in capitulation by the Vatican.  For there was very little the popes could do. To directly confront the progressive establishment would in short order draw the media into the fray. That would reveal clearly that the alleged Conciliar reconciliation of the Church with the modern world had failed. Moreover, I suspect the popes feared that a large portion of the laity would likely follow the media.  

This reluctance of the popes during this period (1970-2013) to act against the progressive forces and their institutions was not just dictated by tactical considerations.  All these popes shared at least to a limited extent the opinions and goals of the progressives. And they were also desirous of a favorable presentation by the media. Peter Seewald’s biography of Pope Benedict reveals this obsessive concern of the Vatican with the pope’s image in the press.

There was no longer any question of recreating the pre-conciliar unity of belief and practice. At most, the popes could achieve a “tilt” in the direction of Catholic tradition – mainly through episcopal appointments. Even here the results were erratic. Yet, within the constraints outlined above, under  John Paul II there was an “ultramontane revival.”  John Paul II gained prestige from his role in the collapse of communism and his charismatic public persona. He adopted to a great extent the style of secular politicians and regimes. That even extended to features imported from the repertoire of the totalitarian states of the Eastern bloc (e.g., youth days and festivals; massive orchestrated public appearances).  The result was a renaissance of the papal image – appealing to so many at the time. The cult of “John Paul the Great” was born. 

The “neo-ultramontane” wave generated an immense amount of activity on the part of the partisans of the “Polish Pope” – especially in the United States and mostly among those outside the clerical establishment. Papal infallibility was reemphasized by these activists and now extended far beyond the 1870 definitions.  The election of the pope was now “God’s choice.”  The articles contained in Civilta Cattolica, because they were cleared by the Vatican Secretary of State, took on an aura of infallibility. The infallibility of Humanae Vitae was proposed. The stalemate of the post-Conciliar Church was recast as a struggle between papal authority and “dissenters.” Although such positions remained unofficial, they are indicative of the pro-papal surge under John Paul II. 

The new papalism, however, had to account for the tolerance of John Paul II for the progressive forces. The explanation that was found was the Pope’s need to avoid “schism.” This is, of course, a degenerate ultramontane understanding, in which preserving the external appearance of unity takes precedence over ensuring its actual substance. 

Another aspect of the neo-ultramontane era – sparked by the style and restless activity of John Paul II – was the obsession with the political aspects of the papacy and the Vatican. A whole legion of reporters, “information entrepreneurs” and, later, internet personalities concerned themselves with the internal affairs of the Vatican. In considering any issue of Catholicism it became usual to include speculation on Vatican personnel moves. Actions having the greatest importance for each individual Catholic were portrayed as the product of changes in the leadership of, and even within, Vatican dicasteries. Do I need to mention all the Vatican novels published in this era? – some of them informative, others ludicrous. Whatever might be the Vatican’s actual authority over the Church, this focus on Rome demonstrated that an unhealthy ultramontanism was alive and well.

We should mention at this point the ever-growing bureaucratization of the Church after the Council. Despite all the disorders within the Church,  offices, “apostolates” and administrators increased. As the ranks of clergy and religious declined in the post-Conciliar chaos, the number of lay employees grew exponentially. The clergy were also assimilated to bureaucrats. A retirement age was now set for bishops, and they increasingly were moved about from diocese to diocese.  At the local level, term limits began to be imposed on pastors. Added to this mix was an extreme degree of legalism. The result was an increased perception of the Church as a secular organization like the United Nations, a governmental agency, the EU headquarters or, later, a very large NGO (non-governmental organization)

Towards the end of John Paul II’s papacy, and during the whole of Benedict XVI’s reign, the Church and in particular the Vatican had to face ever increasing difficulties. The fundamental issue of the decline of belief and practice of the Faith within the Church herself had not been resolved. The Vatican bureaucracy became a cesspool of careerism, incompetence, and financial corruption.  The documentation that has been disclosed on the career of Cardinal McCarrick reveals how little John Paul II understood of the appointments he was charged with making.  The scandals of sexual abuse, the conduct of the leaders of the Legionaries of Christ and financial misdeeds at the Vatican opened up new fronts for relentless secular attack on the Church from 2002 to the present day. Pope Benedict was utterly unable to contend with either the media or his own Vatican bureaucracy.  Indeed,  the pope’s enemies in the latter organization resorted to outright treason to block Benedict’s initiatives. 

Faced with rising tide of challenges,  these popes seem to have slipped into a fantasy world – at least if popular biographies are any guide.  According to George Weigel’s Witness to Hope (1999), John Paul II seems to have been of the opinion that his innumerable voyages thorough the world were having major political effects (only in Poland was that conclusion perhaps justified). In Seewald’s biography (Benedict XVI: ein Leben (2020), pope Benedict is reported to have thought, upon ascending the papal throne, that all issues of the Church already had been favorably resolved by his predecessor. To quote another example, at several Vatican-sponsored conferences it was proposed that excess priests be shifted from the developed to the third world – this, at a time when the churches of these “advanced” countries were in fact relying more and more on imported African, Asian and Latin American priests.

In the same vein, as the popes’ real power within the Church declined, papal visions of global leadership grew. The bishop of Rome now was described as the “pope of all mankind,” a kind of worldwide spiritual advocate. Thus, John Paul II presided over interfaith assemblies at Assisi. Pope Benedict lectured in abstract terms on the relationship of faith and reason to the unbelieving German parliament.

Most importantly, the need for a renewed evangelization – now primarily within the Church herself – still had not been met. The opening to the world had been a one-way street in which the world instructed the Church. The marriage of the Council with ultramontanism had produced a culture that was far more provincial than the ghetto of 1958 so derided by the advanced Catholic circles of that time. The art and music of the Church by 2013 was either kitsch or uninspired copies of modern aesthetic orthodoxy. The increasing lack of funds limited even that activity.

The papacy had indeed survived the turmoil it had itself created in wake of the Council. But the Conciliar papacy had not preserved the Church’s unity in doctrine and practice – the reason ultramontanism had been advocated in the first place. The Vatican increasingly functioned as a mere administrative center, while all kinds of developments, heterodox or not, proceeded autonomously. In 2013 Pope Benedict resigned. It was a crushing blow to the papacy and absolutely unimaginable under pre-conciliar ultramontanism.  

1. The window is contemporary with the encyclical. Mater et Magistra is also noteworthy in the history of ultramontanism. William F. Buckley’s public disagreement with the pope’s conclusions – on economics – was up till then virtually unheard of.
2. With the exception of any understandings that may have been reached prior to the Council with the Soviet Union. But in avoiding a specific critique of the communist world the Council was only following the lead of the Western secular establishment which, by that time, had largely committed to an ideology of “peaceful coexistence.”

The actions of present Pope have put incredible stress on the Church’s constitution – the papal absolute monarchy.  I’d like to offer some reflections on this system of government: ultramontanism.   To understand it, though,  we have to go back in history, starting with the reign of Pius IX when the ultramontanist regime received its “classic” form.  I will focus on history  – what actually happened  – as opposed to theological considerations. 

In the wake of the French Revolution the Church seemed to have collapsed when the pope died in French captivity in 1799. She survived  – but never attained again the identification of the Catholic Faith with state, culture and society that had existed prior to 1789 in Catholic Christendom. The Church was henceforward a minority component of European society – even if one that remained enormously influential. The new mission was thus clear:  the Church needed to re-evangelize Europe and the world  – to rebuild the faith and her own institutions.  

By the conclusion of the First Vatican Council in 1870 the face of the Catholic Church had indeed been renewed. What were the features of the new regime?  

The Vatican Council of course was most famous for defining the infallible authority – under certain defined circumstances – of the Pope. But in practice  (the “spirit of Vatican I”)  the pope was henceforward treated as de facto infallible in all his decisions, at least in the sense in that no Catholic could question them. Any kind of discussion, let alone criticism, of the Pope was strictly prohibited.

The Pope’s immediate jurisdiction was extended directly to the entire world. All authority in matters of the faith, organization  and liturgy was centralized in the Vatican. It was expected that normally the pope should have sole right to appoint bishops. Obedience to ecclesiastical authority was elevated to a central position in the Catholic faith. The Church’s independence from secular authority at every level was likewise proclaimed.  Obviously, ultramontanism required adjustments to previously existing structures within the Church that had other organizational principles. For example, Leo XIII established in 1893 a Benedictine Confederation under an Abbot Primate,  headquartered in  Rome,  that embraced the previously autonomous Benedictine congregations. 

Going beyond these rules of governance, the pope assumed the position of chief spiritual leader and teacher of the Catholic Church. His image and personality were made known to Catholics throughout the world. It was expected that devotion would be paid to him. 

Bishop Josip Juraj Strossmeyer (one of the opponents of ultramontanism at Vatican I) summarized the effects of Vatican I:

I went in a bishop and came out a sacristan.

The ultramontane regime was a reaction to the historic Gallicanism of the French Church and to the recent clashes over state interventions in the governance of the Church (e.g., in Prussia, Spain and Russia). To this was added the perceived weakness of  national hierarchies and individual bishops in confronting secular governments. Loyalty to the Pope was cemented by the fierce anti-papal focus of most of the avowed adversaries of the Church – and their subjection to the powers of this world. For example, much of  the opposition to Pius IX was clearly dependent on support from Prussia(a predominantly Protestant state!), on the German secular universities, etc.

But other developments which, at first glance, might have seemed hostile to the Catholic Church, encouraged ultramontanism as well. For example, the French Revolution and its successor, 19^th century liberalism, had overthrown or drastically weakened rival regimes, such as the French monarchy, that previously had claimed a role in the government of the Church. It had expropriated or destroyed vested clerical institutions across Europe.  By default, the papacy stood alone. Of course, in the days of Pius IX the Church rejected such theories ( like Cavour’s “free Church in a free state”). Do we not also detect in ultramontanism the influence of another 19^th century development:  the Napoleonic regimes? Under Napoleons I and III  all power in France had been concentrated in one absolute, charismatic leader  – originally, as a bulwark against revolutionary excesses. 

Now ultramontanism was not achieved in a day. The system took many decades to perfect. Did not the Austrian emperor’s veto of cardinal Rampolla’s candidacy for the papacy – an extreme un-ultramontane action– take place as late as 1903? The Pope himself was still surrounded and framed by the elaborate ritual trappings of the past: the noble guards, the fans, the sedia gestatoria. For the first 60 years after the Vatican council the Pope remined a “prisoner of the Vatican.” 

Yet, as the years went on, the ultramontane elements of Catholicism increased. The last state in Europe that could be considered to be remotely a Catholic monarchy, the Austro-Hungarian empire, dissolved in 1918. In 1929 a new peace agreement was signed with Italy, giving the Holy See once more possibilities of freedom and independence. And as formerly mission territories such as the United States grew in importance the ultramontane element of the Church also increased. Developments in technology and communications (such as radio) also assisted in spreading the message of the Vatican and the Pope throughout the Catholic world and beyond.

Between 1846 and 1958,  the Church accomplished many great things. First and foremost she did not disintegrate under the hammer blows of liberalism in the second half of the 19th century and she survived the far more violent attacks of anticlerical, communist and national socialist regimes in the first half of the 20th century. Aided by the spread of European colonial regimes,  the Catholic Church now became truly universal.  Did not the United States, a former colony, advance between 1840 and 1960 from the status of an outlying mission territory to one of the strongest and wealthiest national churches in the world? Analogous progress occurred throughout the then vast British empire. Innumerable new congregations and orders sprang up, mostly devoted to an active apostolate of some kind: education, health care, the missions, etc. In the Catholic world entire nations sought a new, closer link between Church and state (Ireland, Spain and Portugal) 

By the reign of Pius XII a new level of respect also seemed to have been achieved at least in that part of the world dominated by the United States and its allies. Catholic politicians were playing a key role in many of the nations on the continent of Europe. In the United States itself,  a new era of harmony with the non-Catholic world seemed to have been established.  Concrete evidence of this is the vast number of churches and schools that were built in the 20 years after the end of the Second World War. Did this not demonstrate the great success of the Church – as reformed under Pius IX?

And the successes of the Church were not merely material or measured by numbers.  New devotions such as Lourdes and Fatima, new saints such as St. Theresa of Lisieux exercised a worldwide influence. A whole new galaxy of apologists testified to their Catholic faith, often using the literary forms of the novel or poetry.   Many individual artists  (e.g., Gaudi, Bruckner) devoted their efforts to the Catholic Church. Furthermore,  the Church rediscovered its treasures of chant and of medieval philosophy. She developed Catholic positions in regard to the totally new economic situation that had arisen in the course of the 19th century. Finally, the 20th century produced legions of new martyrs  – in Mexico, Spain, the Soviet Union, after World War II throughout Eastern Europe and, during this entire era,  across the colonial/ developing world ( e.g., China). 

The Cathedral of Covington contains an unusual series of windows illustrating dogmatic and administrative decrees of popes and councils. They are evidence of the central role that the pope and the Vatican had assumed in Catholic culture by 1914. (Above) The proclamation of the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception by Pius IX; (below) a detail of the window showing Pius X issuing his decree on church music.

But there was another side of the coin. Despite all the successes and the relentless whirlwind of activity there was a palpable narrowing of the Church after Vatican I. The Church seemed to have less and less relevance to the secular world, to be more and more remote and turned in on itself. The great hopes in the immediately preceding period of a grand Catholic recovery and of the reconversion of Europe  – such as those of the Oxford movement,  led by Newman,  or of German Romanticism culminating in the regime of King Louis I of Bavaria – had evaporated. A great uniformity of belief and  practice was achieved – among the believers. But if we expanded the definition of the Church to include the entire baptized population, the  results in key Catholic countries were less impressive. Didn’t communists play a tremendous political role in France and Italy post-1945? And the cultural influence – even dominance –  of these Stalinist parties in those years was even more impressive. 

Perceptive observers noted problems early on in the seemingly solid framework of  ultramontane culture. For example, Joris-Karl Huysmans asked why most of the prominent Catholic apologists of his age were converts – not the products of the Catholic educational system.  He saw the ugliness of much of the art and architecture of the Church of that time as a truly satanic influence. Huysmans also had reservations about the products of Catholic seminaries in France, and early on spotlighted certain abuses that would become all too obvious towards the end of the 20th century. 

These “spiritual” and “cultural”  deficiencies seemed to increase as time went on even though ever greater material resources became available.  As evidence, compare the 1950s edition of the Catholic Encyclopedia in the US with its predecessor of 1907-13, or the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception in Washington with the 1918 church of Saint Vincent Ferrer in New York City. That eminent university president Robert Maynard Hutchins (who had enabled the teaching of neo-scholastic philosophy at the University of Chicago) is reported to have frankly told the assembled presidents of the Catholic colleges of the United States what a mediocre job they were doing. And, as we know now, many individuals of doubtful faith or morality – and sometimes both – entered the priesthood and the religious life in the last great wave of expansion after the Second World War.

Aside from its spiritual problems,  ultramontanism entailed a number of practical difficulties. By centralizing all authority in the Pope the entire Catholic Church now became involved in the issues of any one particular church. Grand, centrally directed  papal initiatives such as the reform of Church music under Pius X also created very negative side effects  – attributable in part to the difficulty of attempting detailed management of local affairs from the Vatican.  The very nature of the ultramontanist regime tended to advance the careers of bureaucrats, builders and administrators rather than spiritual leaders among the bishops.

The claims of papal authority created expectations that could never be fulfilled. There was disappointment – unspoken or not –  at the Ralliement under Leo XIII, the reaction of the Church to the French secularization decrees in 1905, the papal disavowal of Action Francaise, the Vatican’s management in Germany of the relations of the Catholic Church and the Catholic political party with the Nazi regime, among other actions. Sometimes this criticism came from the left and sometimes from the right. But a common thread was the expectation that in the 20^th century the Church needed to  make heroic gestures in opposition to the forces of the world. The cautious and perhaps prudent reserve of the Vatican seemed to contrast with its grand claims of omnipotence.

Characteristic of the last years of ultramontanism under Pius XII was a circa-1960 study that compared  the management structure of the Catholic Church with an American business corporation – General Electric, I believe. The comparison, according to most reports I have seen, was favorable to the Church. Yet  in this analysis, the Church explicitly assumes the role of a minority participant in the ruling secular “civil society” of the West. Similarly,  around the same time the popular Catholic historian Henri Daniel-Rops affected to discern, from the perspective of ultramontanism, a  positive side even to events like the separation of Church and State in France in 1905:

 (I)t marked the end of Gallican tendencies, which was a notable contribution towards Pius X’s effort to strengthen the hierarchy and centralize ecclesiastical government. Henceforward there would be no intermediary between the pope on the one hand and the clergy and Christian people of France on the other. The bishops would be chosen directly by Rome….1)

Late ultramontanism thus was now reaching political conclusions almost the opposite of those of Pius IX. 

By 1930, at the latest, there was also a revival of progressive Catholicism. As always, leftism proceeds from the existence of very real problems and issues. There was a real sense that it was inadequate for the Church to remain a society within a society, separate from the world.  What was necessary was the reconversion of the entire world to Christianity.  But almost from the beginning less wholesome views mingled with these aspirations. What started as frustration with the timid “bourgeois” nature of ultramontanist Catholic witness and the Church’s excessive conformity to this world, developed into at first admiration and then uncritical acceptance of 20^th century secular regimes.  Initially there was undisguised jealousy of the alleged successes of totalitarian movements, especially communism, in inspiring their followers and in “solving the problems” of modern man. Dorothy Day is a case study in this. Later,  of course,  with Jacques Maritain, the focus of these feelings of Catholic inferiority switched to the United States and the democratic society. 

During the reign of Pius XII a pervasive culture of internal criticism emerged within the Church. Given the restrictions on Catholic discourse,  it often took the disguised form of historical, liturgical, philosophical, or artistic studies. By 1959 all aspects of Catholic tradition were routinely depicted as corrupt and purely arbitrary products of historical circumstance. It seemed the entire Church had taken the wrong direction even as early as the 4th century (the famous “Constantinian” transformation).  A truly revolutionary situation was emerging, at least within the Western European churches, when Pope John XXIII succeeded to the papacy.  And the actors in this budding revolution weren’t representatives from the fringes, but the official intellectuals and clerical bureaucrats of the Catholic Church herself.  It was a revolution from above, by the establishment, that was in the making. The regime of ultramontanism at the Vatican itself seemed completely incapable of discerning what was going on even among its own proteges.  

1. Daniel-Rops, Henri, A Fight for God 1870-1939 Vol I at 221( John Warrington, transl.)( Image Books, Doubleday & Company, Garden City, 1967)