Les Sept Sacrements : d’Hier à Aujourd’hui

(A brief critical examination of the New Rituals)

Fr. Claude Barthe

Preface by Bishop Athanasius Schneider

(Contretemps, Versailles, 2025)

98 pp. (in French)

Father Claude Barthe always can be relied on for outstanding contributions to the self-understanding of the traditionalist cause. The battle over Catholic tradition has up till now focused primarily on the celebration of the Traditional Mass (the Eucharist). Father Barthe points out, however,  that there are six other sacraments. In this short, succinct book,  Fr. Barthe examines each of the sacraments of the Church as it is administered in the Novus Ordo.

The traditional Roman liturgy, writes Fr. Barthe, is a coherent whole. The seven sacraments in the traditional rite mutually reinforce each other and embody the same theology.  But the sacraments of the Novus Ordo also represent a unified whole. Fr. Barthe’s thesis is that the flaws inherent in the Novus Ordo Mass – which traditionalists have described and endlessly discussed – are present in varying degrees in each of the other sacraments as well. Fr. Barthe examines how a different theology produces different liturgical forms. He then inquires how successful the sacramental forms of the Novus Ordo have been in preserving the meaning of the sacraments  and transmitting the Christian Faith. Indeed, have the post-Vatican II changes even affected these sacraments’ viability?`

To start with baptism, Fr. Barthe notes the new form is distinctly longer than the older. A great deal of the time is given to talk: the ceremony includes a liturgy of the word, readings and a virtual homily. The message that is delivered, however,  is weaker on at least one point – the struggle against the demon which characterizes so strongly the traditional form is blurred,  notably by the disappearance of the exorcisms, properly so-called, and other rites having the value of an exorcism.  Instead of a struggle against the devil the emphasis is on the joyful welcome of the new Christian to the community The entire ceremony is less sacred –  the new form of baptism is preceded by a formula of welcome which reminds one of a secular meeting. The numerous variations that are possible also have an a-ritualistic effect.

Regarding the sacrament of penance, the most noteworthy fact is its virtual disappearance in parts of the world, notably in Fr. Barthe’s France. A disappearance which contrasts with reception of communion by almost everyone attending a Novus Ordo Mass. Although the words of absolution are the same as in the old rite – or largely so – the surrounding prayers have been changed, with, as always, the addition of a variety of choices.  The emphasis is not on judgment, satisfaction for sin, and penance, but on  dialogue. Indeed, the suggested norms in France would seem to presuppose, by reason of their length,  a drastically reduced number of penitents.  

Extreme unction (the “Anointing of the Sick”) is another endangered sacrament.  The anointing of the sick in its new form has been “reinvented”  – Fr. Barthe says “devalued.” As in the new rite of baptism, the specific prayers against Satan and that the sick individual may avoid hell are gone.  On extreme unction,  Fr. Barthe quotes Guillaume Guchet as follows:

[Satan] is the one most repressed by the conciliar reform (he has also, along with the exorcisms, vanished from baptism).  It’s as if, at the same time that his kingdom (hell) has been discretely taken away from him,  the devil also has been the victim of an operation of rampant demythologization which doesn’t say its name.  (p.64)

These issues raised by the new rite of the anointing of the sick, Fr. Barthe continues, are in the context of changes made to the funeral rites,  which also weaken the witness of the lex orandi regarding the particular judgment, purgatory and the risk of damnation. This is accentuated by banning from the liturgy all signs of sorrow, speaking of the deceased as if he were already in heaven, the use of inappropriate music, etc.

These three sacraments may give the reader an idea of the approach of Fr. Barthe. He reviews the changes to the text and rubrics of the sacraments. As a rule, these eliminate or tone down dramatic references to evil and spiritual struggle. The texts are more verbose and provide numerous options. Fr. Barthe states makes this disturbing conclusion: “The entire problem of the new lex orandi [is that]: what is clear is replaced by the vague; what is true by the blurred. “

Then thereis is also the “pastoral” atmosphere in which the Novus Ordo sacraments are celebrated. If every sacrament is presented as a joyful event between a person and the community,  or, in matrimony, two people, the rituals are denatured. They resemble more and more purely secular social exercises. And, especially in Europe, the interest of the dechristianized populations for such rituals is rapidly decreasing. (See, for example,  the  2025 statistics for Germany.)

Fr. Barthe recommends that traditionalists, to the extent possible, should practice only the traditional forms of the sacraments. As a persecuted minority, it is extremely dangerous for them to enter into negotiations or compromises regarding their principles. (Under the new pope, such tactics are once again being advocated in certain circles). And the idea of celebrating the Novus Ordo sacraments in Latin is an illusion because it is the content, not the language,  of the New Rite that is the problem. 

Last year the Seven Sacraments stirred up a storm among certain groups in France that support the TLM but, in their reverence for ecclesiastical authority, correspond more to the Catholic conservatives here.  Why is this?  I don’t think Fr. Barthe makes any unusual or incendiary points beyond those raised in prior discussions on the TLM. Is it his forthright presentation of the Traditional liturgy and the Novus Ordo as two distinct, incompatible worlds?   Is it his implicit denial  of “validity” and “authority” as the exclusive interpretative keys to interpreting liturgy?   Is it his insistence on the unity of the seven sacraments and that the traditionalist should seek them all rather than just the “Latin Mass”? The Seven Sacraments is an important book that every traditionalist should read. I understand that Os Justi publishers will be issuing an English translation later this year.

Durch Habsburgs Lande

Ronald Friedrich Schwarzer

Second, expanded Edition

2025 Karolinger Verlag (Vienna, Leipzig)

155 pp.

(in German)

In the foreword to Through the Lands of Habsburg Lothar Höbelt describes the author, Ronald Friedrich Schwarzer, as a well-known “character”  in Vienna. Ronald Schwarzer, our author, was born in 1965 – just outside “Boomer land.” In his “day job,” he is involved in the management of an old, established Viennese jewelry firm. In that regard,  he resembles that leading Catholic traditionalist of New York, unfortunately deceased,  Alex Sepkus. 

Schwarzer’s book, combining history, travel, politics, art and religion,  reminds me too of the late Arkady Nebolsine of New York – like Schwarzer, also a “character.” The world views of the two men are strongly aligned – monarchist, proud of their heritage, and traditionalist in religion and culture – even if their specific interests differ. Arkady Nebolsine revered the great traditions of Russia in art, literature and music,  the Russian empire and people and especially the Orthodox church. Schwarzer is devoted to the House of Habsburg,  the Austrian people and culture and the (traditional) Catholic faith. In Through the Lands of Habsburg, moreover, he covers half of Europe in addition to territories within the pre–1918 Austrian Empire

For, starting out in the 12^th-13^th centuries from what is now Switzerland,  the Habsburg family eventually reigned over, at one time or another, almost all of Western and Central Europe except for France and Scandinavia. Starting in the 13^th Century until 1806 the Habsburgs provided (with some significant interruptions) the Holy Roman Emperors.  The Habsburgs reigned until 1700 over the vast Spanish domains in Europe, but also in the Americas, Asia and Africa.  Through this connection Schwarzer is able to include in his book Portugal, which was only Habsburg between 1580 and 1640. A further extraordinary fact –  although Schwarzer doesn’t mention it – is that Philip II of Spain was recognized as king of England between 1554 and 1558 by reason of his marriage to Mary I.

The last phase of Habsburg rule was the new “Austrian Empire” after 1804/06. It was, in a certain sense, as extraordinary as its predecessors: what of an empire that by 1847 ruled Vienna, Prague and Salzburg; Milan and Venice in Italy; Cracow and Lemberg (Lvov) from the former Polish kingdom; Budapest and Dubrovnik further south and east? It was a dazzling collection, under one ruler, of many of the great cultural centers of European history!  Schwarzer’s book is, however, most specific and detailed when the covers those areas in or adjacent to today’s Austria.

Schwarzer comes to grips with his almost unlimited subject matter by focusing one or more features of each city or landscape of which the writes.  It can be a church, a painting, a sculpture, the memory of a historical event or the entire current population of a locality. Or it can even be an individual. Schwarzer tells us of Polyxena von Lobkowicz of Prague. It was she who rescued the Catholic representatives of the emperor after they had been “defenestrated” by the Protestant rebels – an event which ignited the Thirty Years’  War. And it was she who gave the  statue of the Infant of Prague to the church of Our Lady of Victory, where it still resides.

Schwarzer covers large, famous cities like Prague, Milan or Venice but also isolated towns, country churches and (formerly) out-of-the-way valleys. He has a particular fondness for the former resort towns of the 19^th century Austrian empire. This is an opportunity for him to describe the lifestyles and tell us the gossip of that era. For, regrettably, as the 19th century progressed and especially as the fateful year 1914 approached the number of scandals in the imperial house increased. It was but one aspect of the decline of the Austrian state and the Habsburg monarchy. 

Schwarzer is a clear and forthright writer. He is not afraid to violate the taboos governing the current German- speaking  world. For the intellectual culture of Germany and Austria is stifled  by conformism, Denkverbote and thought crimes. So, Schwarzer describes the trashing of formerly German neighborhoods of Slovakia by their new gypsy inhabitants. He describes for us a major late Medieval fresco that includes a very uncomplimentary depiction of a (symbolic) synagogue. Schwarzer wonders  why this depiction of the “elder brothers in the faith” still is visible  – other such images have been covered up by now. 

The same could be said of his review of the tragedies of the 20th century. He describes how the German populations of Brunn (Brno)  and Slovakia were either expelled or massacred at the end of World War II. He recounts the heroic defense against the Red Army by a pickup mountain division in April of 1945. He depicts vividly the horrors of the Isonzo campaigns in the First World War on the Italian/Austrian border. The murderous struggle, in which Austria generally fought against overwhelming odds, did produce in 1917 a tremendous German-Austrian victory. A certain young officer from Württemberg named Erwin Rommel accomplished a particularly heroic exploit in that battle. A tragic reminder of those days is a church, still standing, that was built in 1916 by soldiers of the imperial army, In it the names of thousands of Austrian soldiers  – names from every nationality of the empire – are commemorated.

Schwarzer has a keen understanding of the symbolism ever present in works of art or buildings before the “modern age.” It was a world laden with meaning. Let me give you some examples of his writing on this subject. These sections – and there are others –  should be mandatory reading for those who are currently carrying out a witch hunt against Sebastian Morello for his laudable attempt to rediscover the symbolic meanings of the world.

(Above) The crown of Rudolf II.

Schwarzer describes the “house crown” created by order of the Emperor Rudolf II between 1598 and 1602; the “imperial crown” of the Holy Roman Empire was preserved separately.  After 1806 Rudolf’s crown served as the crown of the Austrian empire. 

Typical of these “house crowns” is the combination of  the royal circular band with the miter, set crosswise, of the high priest and the imperial arch which symbolically encompasses the world. With this crown,  the emperor raised his rank above that of the kings as a secular and spiritual lord of the world, as king and high priest in the succession of Christ. (p15)

( The diamonds in the royal band), as the hardest of all gemstones, were intended to symbolize the invincible Christ. The great red spinel on the central lily, which rests on the forehead, the seat of the monarch’s spirit,  symbolizes the fire of the Holy Ghost. At the top of the imperial arch, the great sapphire represents God the Father  – it is set  above the cross as a sign that only through the cross of Christ can one  come to the Father. (p.16)

In the baroque library of Vorau monastery,  every aspect of the architecture and decoration has symbolic meaning: 

In the east where the sun rises the image of Christ as Salvator Mundi dominates the space and shows who rules here. Then there follows on the ceiling a depiction of the judgment of Solomon (jurisprudence), at the West End of the library we recognize the queen of Sheba requesting knowledge from the wise Solomon (philosophy).

The emblematic depictions on the North and South sides of the library play exactly with that tension between the spiritual and the profane. The theological books are displayed on the South side of the room where the sun’s rays rest. The profane works are on the cold north wall. One sees as the very first image in the west a medical bleeding  under which are the words “vulnerat ut sanet”   – it wounds in order to heal. This represents preaching, that with severe words brings the sinner to repentance and so heals his soul. As the counterpart on the opposite wall,  we recognize a trumpet and the words “clangit et tangit”  – it resounds and touches –  this leads to the practical methods of preaching, in other words, the art of rhetoric.  Like a trumpet it sends out well-crafted words into the world. (pp. 77-78)

Then Schwarzer takes us through the secular palace of Eggenberg, built after 1620. 

In the chaos of the 30 Years War there arose a model of a world in order. A moat that was never filled with water separates the palace like an island from the crazy world of madness. 365 external windows represent the days of the year, 31 rooms on each floor the days of the month. In the piano nobile, 12 state rooms stand for the hours of the day and night;  together they have 52 windows for the weeks of the year.  if you count the 52 windows of the state rooms with the eight of the “ planetary room” we arrive at 60 minutes/ seconds of time. The four facades show the four seasons, the four directions of the wind, and the four elements. Enclosed in the innermost part of  central tower is the chapel where rests the Most Holy,  God himself, as the center of everything. (p.85)

As is the case with any book,  I can’t agree with everything the author states  – this is particularly true for such a dense, highly factual work as this. I don’t think that the Vorau bible is the first German language translation of the bible. Schwarzer seems to have a dislike for the Duomo of Milan that I don’t share and don’t understand. He tells us a legend of the derivation of Wiener Schnitzel from Cotoletta alla Milanese in the 19^th century.  I’m not totally sure that scholars of culinary history agree with his story.

Schwarzer concludes on a somewhat apocalyptic note with a visit to Fatima. For the visions of Fatima in 1917 occurred the year of the Russian revolution and one year before the end of the Austrian monarchy. In 2007 arose the “new” basilica, ”an orgy of steel, stone and glass,” with space for 9,000 people, and, before it, the largest paved church square in the world. Dominating everything is a distorted cross of structural steel, 34 meters high, which Schwarzer calls an “optical blasphemy.”  He points out that all this is worthy of the liturgies that are celebrated there today (describing an ecumenical celebration).(Schwarzer doesn’t mention the huge mosaic of Fr. Rupnik which still presides over the interior of the basilica –  the management  is defiant on this point.) Schwarzer concludes with the thoughts about what the content of the Third Secret of Fatima might be (mentioning Cardinals Kaspar and McCarrick) ….

Schwarzer has given us a comprehensive tour of those parts of Europe where monarchs of the Habsburg house ruled at one time or another. I think he has demonstrated the validity and continued relevance of the political form of monarchy by showing that in all these countries amazing things were achieved in art and culture –  things that the current generation cannot understand, let alone match. I would love to see this book translated into English. But I think it might be necessary to have a set of footnotes equal in length to the present text of the volume in order to explain it to English-speaking readers!

Towards Dawn: Essays in Hopefulness

2025 Word on Fire, Elk Grove Village, IL

141 pages

I have been hearing all kinds of good things about Bishop Eric Varden in recent years. A Trappist monk who became the Bishop of Trondheim in his native Norway, he has appeared as an advocate of orthodoxy and sensibility in the Roman Catholic Church of Francis. In Towards Dawn, Bishop Varden offers his readers spiritual advice in the context of the issues, controversies and even the “buzzwords” of the present day. This slim volume gives us a selection of his thought and style.

Bishop Varden has a laudable awareness of reality and willingness to confront unpleasant facts, yet at the same time he remains within the limits of clerical discourse. Therefore, he has attracted favorable attention from the establishment. Consider, for example. the publisher of this book,  Bishop Barron’s Word on Fire,  or that Pope Leo invited Bishop Varden to give the meditations for this year’s Lenten retreat at the Vatican.

His writing is clear, careful, and erudite. The essays in this book often have the flavor of a sermon. At times one senses the author is not a native English speaker; indeed, some of the essays have been translated by the author from the originals he himself wrote in several other languages! Like many Roman Catholic ecclesiastics, he feels compelled to adorn his writing with Greek words: kath’holon, evangelion, topos, eschaton, synodos, and, of course, kerygma. A more serious stylistic barrier is his German-like inclination to approach issues by discussing in detail relevant words and their etymologies.

Bishop Varden wants to give Christians a message of hope –  he begins his book by denying that we are in post-Christian times.  For a Chrisitan, such a statement makes no sense – for Christ is always with us, He is the perennial Dawn.  Rather,  the Bishop thinks we are entering a “post-secular” era.(p. ix) 

Such a time of “epochal change” is admittedly stressful. Yet, Bishop Varden asks, isn’t this focus on the uniqueness of the transformations of the present age, in essence, narcissistic? For the Christian, there is only one decisive paradigm which:

inheres in the fullness of the Church’s faith in Christ, defined by the councils and transmitted through a patrimony of theology, liturgy, culture, and charitable action.(p.15)

Here Bishop Varden is implicitly critiquing utterances of Pope Francis and his circle.

Bishop Varden is unafraid to mention some of the failings of the Church today. For example, although very cautiously, he suggests the “post-conciliar bringing-up-to-date” exhibited “considerable shortsightedness.”  

In many instances, it has not borne the fruit it was intended to bear. After decades of self-affirmation, it is time to admit this.(p. 13)

Then he considers the topic of abuse, and of the catastrophic results connected with it, specifically, the  referendum of May 2018 in once-Catholic Ireland which legalized abortion: 

How has such fearful fury been stirred up? Alas, the answer is at hand. The collapse of the Church’s credibility not just in Ireland but worldwide has been massive. Revelations of abuse – abuse of power, abuse of status, sexual and violent abuse – have driven large segments of the Irish nation, and of many other nations, to look on the Church with revulsion…. (p. 80) 

What can be done to address the situation?  Bishop Varden cites, interestingly, the example of the construction in France of the Basilica of Montmartre, dedicated to the Sacred Heart, after the disasters of the Franco-Prussian war and the Paris Commune.

The Basilica was built as a penitential pledge, a space dedicated to uninterrupted prayer before the Blessed Sacrament to call Christ’s Eucharistic grace down upon a broken nation. (p. 82)

(Above) Inside the Basilica of Sacre Coeur with perpetual exposition of the Blessed Sacrament, offered by “Gallia Poenitens.”

Bishop Varden draws on his own Cistercian (Trappist) experience when he rejects nebulous subjective “spiritualities.”  “I sometimes think ‘spirituality’ has become a designation for subjectivized religion freed from dogmas and commandments  – and to a  large extent from revelation.”  (p.116) Instead, we have to return to the concrete, objective encounter with God  in nature, in scripture and in the liturgy.

Bishop Varden is particularly insightful in this collection’s key essay “The Body at Prayer” in which the author contrasts pre-Conciliar liturgical usages with the practices of today. Today both Catholics and Protestants are seeking in the Far East “a spirituality grounded in ritualized physical discipline,” coinciding “with a thoroughgoing deritualization of inherited forms of worship at home.”

This topic is a hot potato now, at any rate in Roman Catholic circles, where young people are keen to rediscover aspects of liturgical and ascetic practices abandoned the wake of the Second Vatican Council… Today’s young seekers find themselves reprimanded  by a predominantly elderly establishment formed by the thrills and anxieties of that revolutionary time, which, to state the obvious, is chronologically further removed from them than the Treaty of Versailles was from youth waving banners on Parisian barricades in 1968… (pp.45-46)

Bishop Varden emphasizes the prior importance of fasting and confession prior to receiving communion. A communicant who experienced the pre-Conciliar discipline of fasting knew that the state of one’s body is not indifferent to the state of one’s soul.  As for the priest, rubrics required him to recite Vigils and Lauds and spend time in silent prayer before celebrating Mass. Bishop Varden describes the rituals of vesting and the rules prescribing the appropriate demeanor of the celebrant when he approached the altar.  Our author, also citing the examples of musicians and ballet dancers, states:

The most venerable of human functions, the confection of Christ’s Body and Blood in an act of rational worship, surely calls for no less a degree of deliberation and concentration. It is this intuition, I believe, that stirs the hearts of young women and men today. I cannot see that it is false. No, in a time weighed down by artificiality, leaden rhetoric, dud personality cults, and frantic “innovations” of terrifying banality in stagecraft, political campaigning, and liturgical practice, a quest for objective, oblative expression in sacred functions appears to me sound and forward-looking.(p.51)

Bishop Varden links the explosion of priestly abuse in the 1960’s with abandonment of  “physical, ritual and moral discipline in life and worship.” What followed the revolt of the priests at the time of the Vatican Council against the old liturgical forms was “the often tedious, sometimes destructive emergence of the priest as personality.” This was a “megalomaniac illusion.” (p.52)

All of us are susceptible to such megalomaniac illusion. The more closely we are associated with a sacred office, the more potentially lethal and Luciferian, this tendency becomes inflating our perception of self. (p.52)

Certain of the bishop’s efforts are decidedly less successful – for example, his essay “The Monastery as Schola DEI.” To the best of my knowledge only one particularly dumb American bishop has seen fit (repeatedly) to canonize DEI by linking it to “Dei” (of God). I’m surprised to see a man of such obvious education as Bishop Varden employing the same analogy. Of course, Bishop Vardon’s purpose is quite different from that of his American colleague: he wishes to show that Benedictine monasticism achieves, in a much truer sense of these words,  “diversity, equity and inclusion.”  I admit I find this form of apologetics singularly ineffective. For a political concept like DEI has a very specific significance in the current society.  Diversity, equity and inclusion are not mere words to which we can arbitrarily assign meanings. Among its many shortcomings, DEI, insofar as it mandates “gender equality,” excludes fundamental principles of Christian morality. A Benedictine monastery (all Catholic, all male (or female), all celibate)seems to me to be the exact opposite of an institution organized on DEI principles. For the Church to claim the slogans of today’s society as its own seems like pandering to the controlling secular world.

I have the same observations, in the ecclesiastical realm, on Bishop Varden’s “Synodality and Holiness.”  Our author traces an “authentic” synodality from the Old Testament to the New and to the present day.  Thus, synodality becomes just a nebulous cliché. Yet, synodality in today’s Church has a very specific meaning: the adoption of democratic and bureaucratic forms of governance, the recognition of homosexuality (including homosexual marriage), women priests, married priests etc. It leads inevitably to the adoption of the full panoply of rights mandated by the modern world (like abortion and euthanasia).  

I do have a more fundamental issue with this book. As we have seen, Bishop Varden explicitly recognizes the continuing  importance of the traditional forms of worship and that a return to them should not be discouraged. He acknowledges “wounds of the Church,” the existence of which are still denied by the papacy and the hierarchy. Yet he seems to think that through personal spiritual conversion a new dawn for the Church can arise. I get the impression Bishop Varden assumes we have, in today’s Church, all the tools; we have the structures in place for a recovery. I think, though,  that the Church’s problems are such that a radical institutional and spiritual reform will be necessary in order to restore her to health.  Consider the Gregorian reform of the 11th century, of the Counter-reformation of the 16th,and lastly the unfortunately incomplete recovery of the 19th century. Bishop Varden speaks of the Benedictines and Cistercians as potential anchors and models in these times. But where do these communities stand today? Bishop Varden writes: 

I am indebted to Dame Gertrude Brown, a nun of Stanbrook, for a brilliant insight. In the early 1980s she was sent to the United States to assist a community reconciled to the church after embroilment in what came to be called the Boston heresy case. Dame Gertrude was glad to accompany a broadening of outlook among the sisters and brothers. (p.5)

A footnote indicates this information came from a private communication with a nun of the Stanbrook community (with which Bishop Varden has had contacts) Now, once upon a time, Stanbrook had been perhaps the largest and best-known monastery of women in England,  with wide resonance in the secular world(In this House of Brede!) But to what has the “broadening of outlook” led there? The community, which numbered some seventy as recently as 1970, by 2024 had been reduced to 15 active members and one postulant. 1) And these figures understate the decrease, since two other Benedictine monasteries had been closed and liquidated into Stanbrook. The grand Stanbrook monastery complex was sold years ago and is now a luxury hotel. The nuns built for themselves a horrendously ugly modern monastery in a remote location. The same “progress” is true of Bishop Varden’s own Trappist order. Just last week I read that the original house of the order in France (la Trappe) is to be closed in 2028. 

Yet there are exceptions to the sad story of decline. One of the Benedictine monasteries liquidated into Stanbrook, Colwich Abbey, has been sold to the Benedictines of Mary, Queen of Apostles, from Missouri. 2) And the grand Trappist monastery of Mount Melleray in Ireland, which closed in January 2025, has been acquired by Ave Maria University. 3) Thus, healthy American institutions – conservative or traditionalist – on the fringes of the Roman Catholic establishment are picking up the torch from the dying, mainstream religious communities of Europe. For a true spiritual recovery to occur, the liturgical tradition and asceticism of Catholicism must be not just the subject of learned observations or a reluctant concession to the enthusiasts of a younger generation but must become the law of the Church once again.

1.  Stanbrook 400  (“a commemorative Issue of the Stanbrook Benedictines”)  at 127 (2025). An alternative count presented in the same document adds seven more nuns in nursing homes or otherwise not part of the active community)
2.  Id. at 9
3. Elhabbal, Madaleine, “Ave Maria University To Send First Student Group To New Ireland Campus At Former Abbey,” ewtn.co.uk  (3/15/2026)

Jean-Baptiste Le Brun des Marettes

Edited and translated  by Gerhard Eger and Zachary Thomas

Foreword by Fr. Claude Barthe

396 pages

(Os Justi Press, Lincoln NE 2025)

 Os Justi Press offers us a new edition and translation of the Liturgical Travels of Jean-Baptists Le Brun des Marettes. It’s a unique journey through the Catholic Church of France as it existed in 1718. Thus, it describes the liturgical situation of France after the impact of the Protestant Reformation, of the Counter Reformation, of the Gallican and Jansenist controversies but before the simplifications made in the Church as reconstituted in  the wake of the French Revolution. This perspective is unique. I had previously written about the account of Wilhelm Wackenroder, a later German writer, who also described a liturgical visit at the end of the 18^th century to Bamberg, a Catholic diocese where the ancient rite still flourished. But that writer was a Protestant, completely unfamiliar with Catholic culture and the rituals the witnessed. Le Brun des Marettes, however, writes not only as a convinced Catholic but also as a representative Jansenist of that era. 

Now the author unfolds an amazing picture of the practices of the French Catholic Church in those days. For La Brun des Marettes liturgy is not just the celebration of mass, but also blessings, chanting of the divine offices and above all processions. Above all the ceremonies of Holy Week receive detailed treatment. Throughout Le Brun des Marettes provides many curious details. He claims, for example, that in one monastery in Poitiers, nuns formerly served as acolytes vested in surplice and maniple.  And we repeatedly read in Liturgical Travels of the employment of the rood screen, where it still existed,  for the chanting of the readings of the Mass. Le Brun des Marettes frequently enriches his discussion of the various liturgical uses he encounters by reference to the practices in Rome, Milan (the Ambrosian rite) and the Byzantine liturgy

Furthermore, the performance of these French liturgical rites was inextricably intertwined with the secular culture  – ecclesiastical ceremonies might be the occasion of the distribution of gifts or remuneration, the acknowledgement of feudal obligations or the administration of charity. Truly this is a perfect picture of integralism! 

The commenters in the New Liturgical Movement of some years past, who scrutinized and critiqued every detail of the ceremonies described or photographed on the pages of that blog, would find this book informative. Indeed, Shawn Tribe, the founding editor of that website, has contributed a very fine essay to this volume. Yet these amateur critics will find within nothing corresponding to their vision of a uniform, fixed, immutable set of rubrics governing everything. 

For the liturgical diversity described by Le Brun des Marettes is the product not just of the conflicts of the two centuries preceding his own era but, in some respects, dates back to late Roman times. It is all the result of organic development, not of dictates from centralized authority. More recent influences on the national and international level had been incorporated into the existing local tradition.

Nor will the Vatican and the Catholic Church establishment find in this book support for their current certitudes. For, contrary to what Pope Francis and his acolytes claimed, after the Council of Trent Pius V did not repudiate all prior uses and establish liturgical uniformity throughout the Western Catholic Church. Total liturgical uniformity had never been implemented even in the Western Church. This book demonstrates that , contrary to Cardinal Roche’s recent assertions, while diversity existed and development was possible, all was regulated by the exact performance of  historic tradition – there was no formless flux of change.

Of course, this situation described in Liturgical Travels depended on the existence of many subordinate institutions within the Catholic Church: monasteries, collegiate churches and above all the cathedral chapters of canons, all richly chronicled in this book. The canons of the cathedrals were the guardians of the local liturgies. This liturgical diversity disappeared largely because the institutions described in this book also has been swept away or radically transformed after 1789. Later, such cathedral chapters seemed completely alien to the Catholic clergy themselves:

We (in the United States in 1930 – SC) have attained to our full ecclesiastical stature. Prelates, robed for ceremony, should adorn our more solemn religious functions. The Roman purple is now necessary to give character and color to our Pontifical occasions. The stately cathedral demands the purple stall. We have not and let it be devoutly hoped that we never will have, cathedral canons, but we have and we should have a growing number of monsignori  – men who have led distinction to religion in their own parishes and who are intellectually as well as ecclesiastically an ornament to the church. 1)

Now Le Brun des Marettes is a Jansenist. Our author writes particularly complimentary descriptions of certain Jansenist monasteries. This tendency also is evident in his consistent advocacy of simplicity and of returning to supposedly ancient practices. So, he commends those churches where the altar remains bare prior to the Mass and refers to the famous discussion of the purpose of candles in Catholic services – are they symbolic or do they merely provide illumination? Thus, our author touches on topics that many years later were taken up by a more extreme generation of Jansenists and then by the liturgical movement in the 20th century. Indeed, they reflect a radical change in the spiritual outlook of Westen Man. 

However, Le Brun des Marettes is in no way an early representative of the culture of Vatican II. In true Jansenist manner, he repeatedly advocates, not the relaxation of norms,  but a return to earlier,  more severe forms of devotion and penance. Above all throughout the book our author constantly returns to the exact performance of rite. The variety within the French church may have been great, but everything in every individual church was precisely governed by law and custom, not by the exercise of flexibility or creativity. 

Now our author is by no means perfect. His selection of churches is unsystematic,  with some (notably Rouen) receiving far more attention than others. There’s a fair degree of repetition. At times it is unclear whether a particular ritual described by Le Brun des Marettes was actually being practiced in the author’s day  – or whether it was something he had found in an early manuscript. The author helpfully describes now and then architecture, inscriptions and monuments, often Roman, but in not in any methodical manner. And obviously some of his conclusions have been overtaken by liturgical scholarship in the last 300 years. 

Nevertheless, I found this book a clear and interesting read – also thanks to the translator. This edition is supplied with notes that are a great aid both to one familiar with the liturgy and to the reader completely unfamiliar with the topic. Furthermore, there are helpful introductions and essays included in this edition. Some valuable illustrations dating back to the 19th and 18th centuries complete the presentation.

I see Liturgical Travels as being of greatest interest to the Catholic traditionalist who has long personal experience of participating, as celebrant, minister or member of the congregation,  in the celebration of the traditional rite – especially in the solemn Mass and vespers. In Liturgical Travels he will find a multitude of insights into the practices with which the has become familiar. Indeed, the presentation of the many alternatives found in this book will only increase his appreciation of his rite. Those who have the good fortune to be able to participate in Sarum use or Dominican liturgies will be especially grateful to this book– for these alternative liturgical uses have survived to the present day and indeed have points of resemblance to the liturgies of the French cathedrals described in Liturgical Travels. 

1. Duggan, Thomas S., The Catholic Church in Connecticut, at 203 (The States History Company, New York City, 1930). The author was vicar general of the Hartford, CT, archdiocese.

Father Claude Barthe has written a response (Tradilibéralisme et catholicisme intégral) to a polemical review of his recent book on the seven sacraments.1) The review in question (Abbé Barthe : une position ecclésiale intenable) appeared in the magazine La Nef. The author, Fr. Laurent Spriet, if I am understanding the facts correctly, is an alumnus of the Fraternity of St. Peter and for years has been active in trying to sustain the cause of the traditional mass within the “established“ Catholic Church of France. He speaks of a “love” for the traditional forms of the sacraments. Yet, Fr. Spriet repeatedly accuses Fr. Barthe, among other charges, of fomenting disobedience to “legitimate authority” by finding inadequacies in the revised sacramental rituals. For obedience to authority is for La Nef the ultimate criterion of Catholicity. 

In his review, for example,  Fr. Spriet refers to the authority of the pope over the “forms” of the sacraments as opposed to an unchanging doctrinal “core” (quoting approvingly an allocution of Pius XII!)  But this understanding  – which essentially renders form meaningless – has been absolutely fundamental to Catholic liberalism. According to Fr. Spriet, whether one follows the old or new rites is an option or preference. So ultramontane absolutism and Catholic post-conciliar liberalism find here common ground. Indeed, Fr. Spriet proceeds to hold traditionalists responsible for Traditionis Custodes. Accordingly,  Fr. Barthe qualifies the writers of La Nef as tradiliberals.

We would be tempted to interpret this debate as an altercation between traditionalists and conservatives. But this perspective is too American. For the Catholic Conservatives of this country are in their majority adherents of the Novus Ordo liturgy and of the other Vatican II changes. Their activity is focused generally on public policy issues  – especially pro-life work. La Nef, in contrast, while endeavoring to maintain ties with the clerical establishment, has featured articles favorable to the traditional mass. It also offers sharper criticism of contemporary society than is generally found today in conservative publications in America. What does unite La Nef with the American Catholic Conservatives is reverence for the papacy and the institutional Church. 2)

For both La Nef and the Conservative Catholics try to reconcile respect and even reverence for elements of Catholic tradition with unconditional obedience to ecclesiastical authority. Both tendencies find themselves in an extreme crisis prompted by the policies of Pope Francis and, up till now, those of Pope Leo. But that does not at all mean that the Tradiliberals or the Conservative Catholics are going away. Indeed, as the La Nef review of Fr. Barth’s book demonstrates,  attacks on traditionalism by conservatives and even by those within the traditionalist movement have in fact multiplied over the last year. 

1. Barthe, Claude, Les sept sacrements d’hier à aujourd’hui: Bref examen critique des nouveaux rituels (Preface by Bishop Athanasius Schneider) (Contretemps Ed, 2025).
2.  The only American writer I can think of who regularly attacked traditionalists while asserting that he was one himself was Michael Warren Davis (who is now Eastern Orthodox).

Charles-Gaffiot, Jacques, “In the Earthly City of Emmanuel: the Liturgy of Heaven Dwells among Mankind” in Salomon, Xavier F., Charles-Gaffiot, Jacques, and Constensoux, Benoit, To the Holy Sepulcher:Treasures from the Terra Sancta Museum (The Frick Collection, New York and D.Giles Limited 2025)

Is it not remarkable? A catalog for the exhibition of liturgical treasures from the Terra Sancta Museum in Jerusalem is published by a secular institution, the Frick Collection. Yet it contains in an essay of some 17 pages, one of the most succinct and theologically rich explanations of the Roman Catholic Mass I have ever encountered. Perhaps this clarity and honesty are attributable to the secular nature of the hosting institution, which needs to explain to visitors what the exhibits were used for and what their meaning was to their donors and creators. Assuming that the average visitor knows nothing about such matters – a good assumption –  the Frick museum has to provide a basic introduction to the subject. And it has little incentive to advance modernist and secularist agendas. 

The author, Jacques Charles-Gaffiot,  bases his analysis almost entirely on the Traditional Latin Mass. Indeed, he emphasizes the continuity of the Tradition embodied by this Mass from early Christianity to the splendid liturgical celebrations at the court of Louis XIV (contemporaneous with the creation of many of the exhibits that can be seen in this show) to the clandestine liturgies of Fr. Maximilian Kolbe at Auschwitz. The author’s analysis of the Mass as primarily a sacrificial act is eminently Catholic. The same is true of his equation of the Mass with the heavenly liturgy. Throughout his essay Charles-Gaffiot develops the symbolic meaning of the Mass and of the sacred objects used therein and on display in this exhibition. As he writes:

The pieces of gold and silver assembled in the exhibition this book accompanies find the understanding and legitimization of their existence in liturgy, particularly in Catholic liturgy. The decorators and goldsmiths who designed these pieces and gave them shape adhered to canons that were profoundly and widely understood in their day, allowing and facilitating their use during specific religious ceremonies, which were also painstakingly established. (p. 97)

Charles-Gaffiot describes in great detail the parallels between the Mass and Jewish rituals. For the Church had always seen Christian worship as the fulfillment and completion of the worship of God set out the Old Testament. Then, especially regarding liturgical dress, there came influences from pagan Rome (or example wearing of the stole or the adoption of the basilica by the earliest churches.) 

This passage is a good example of the author’s approach:

Since the seventh century, a crucifix has been placed on top of the altar indicating that with each celebration of mass the place becomes the new Calvary, where Christ sacrifices himself. Moreover, the lighting on or around the altar conveys a particular symbolism. During Mass, at least one candle must be lit on each side of the altar:  the one to the left of the crucifix represents the holy figures of the Old Law; the one to the right those of the New. They also symbolize the two cherubim placed on the Ark of the Covenant (the seat) as well as the two seraphim that Isaiah heard singing three times to honor the Thrice Holy God. During solemn Masses, the six candles on the altar are lit; a seventh is added behind the crucifix on the occasion of a pontifical Mass. These lights recall not only the seven-branched candlestick but also the seven golden lampstands placed before the throne of God as described in the Apocalypse.(pp.100-01)

This essay alone is well worth the substantial ($89) price of the catalogue! The exhibition only lasts untl January 5, 2026. I have written a review: The Legacy of Christendom.

Teokratia: The Theocratic Principle in Russia, 1917 and Today

By Matthew J. Dal Santo

527 pages

2025 Angelico Press, Brooklyn, NY

Teokratia is a unique contribution to the Christian theory of the state and society. Right at the start I should say that “Teokratia’ – theocracy –  in the East is not the same as its Western equivalent. In the West theocracy has connotations of rule by the clergy: the papacy in the High Middle Ages or the Calvinist clergy in Geneva or, later, colonial New England. In the East theocracy means, literally,  the rule of God over the Church but also over the ruler and the state. The ruler derives his authority directly from God. Therefore, the ideal is harmony between these two powers –  church and state  – without the one dominating the other. You don’t have to be an expert in history to realize that this resembles strongly the relationship between the eastern Roman emperors and the Christian Church that developed after Constantine. Of course, as in ancient Constantinople,  in Russia the state was by far the stronger partner.

Dal Santo structures his book around several distinct narratives. First, he sets forth Russian theological theory and attitudes towards the state as exemplified by the works of Sergei Bulgakov. Second, Teokratia is a history of the reign of the last tsar, Nicholas II,  and attempts to understand and to a great extent justify his rule. Third, the author  recounts his personal journey to Russia  – and some adjacent areas that were in the Russian Empire in Nicholas’s time. Dal Santo follows the trail of Nicholas II and his family by visiting the places decisive in their life, such as the Crimea, where they lived,  and Yekaterinburg where the Tsar and his family were killed. This journey is not just a travelogue of historical sights but also, in a series of discussions with ordinary Russians,  a quest to gauge the relevance of “Teokratia” to  Russia today. What do present-day Russians think of Nicholas II? And what is the role of the Orthodox Church in present day Russia?

Of course, starting with the Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia, Nicholas and his family have now been glorified (canonized). The author finds their icons in churches homes and chapels. And the imperial family is the subject of increasing  devotion. Indeed, Dal Santo attributes the resurgent Christianity of Russia today to the presence and intercession of these saints. It is noteworthy that the patriarchate of Moscow, at least initially, distinguished the Romanov family from “martyrs” by calling them “passion-bearers,” a somewhat lesser title. That does not seem to make much of an impression upon the many devotees of the imperial family. 

The author interprets this recovery of interest in the Romanovs as a development consequent to the collapse of the Soviet Union, which had repressed all inquiries into the life of Nicholas II. I’m in a position to offer a minor correction in that regard. For in 1973 upon my own visit to the Sts. Peter and Paul fortress in then-Leningrad I heard an ordinary Russian directly inquire of the official guide if Nicholas II was buried there. He was told that, no, he was not resting there among his ancestors.

A leading figure in this book is Sergei Bulgakov who, following the experience of a personal epiphany, turned from a secularist to a  fervent believer in the Orthodox Church and in autocracy. Throughout the book the writings of Bulgakov provide commentary on the course of Nicholas’s reign.  Although he became a fervent supporter of the principle of autocracy, Bulgakov was hardly uncritical regarding the political decisions of the Russian government. 

Sergei Bulgakov was one of a group of thinkers and writers, associated with the publication of the collection of essays Vekhi in 1909, who fought for a recovery of the Russian spiritual tradition. They built on the legacy of Dostoevsky and Solovyov, among others. This group of intellectuals was, however, too late to breathe new intellectual and spiritual life into the Orthodox Church before disaster struck. 

Throughout this book Dal Santo takes us though critical stages in the reign of Nicholas II. It’s less a political than a spiritual journey – often focusing on major liturgical celebrations. Teokratia reveals the sincere piety of Nicholas and his overwhelming sense of duty. 

Of great interest to Catholic traditionalists should be the objective,  liturgical nature of the Tsar’s religious life.

From a young age, participating in the liturgies of Church and observing the feasts and fasts of the liturgical year, Nicholas was captivated by the sensuous beauty of the chants, incense, candles, and icons, and only later was he instructed in the intellectual tenets of Orthodoxy. Indeed, having absorbed the elements of Orthodox family life at home with his parents, Nicholas seems to have approached Orthodoxy as a ritual world to be enjoyed, rather than as an intellectual proposition to be assented to or a moral code to be rigidly observed.(Teokratia, p.39)

In this “aliveness” to the Divine Liturgy, and their response to the Church’s sacramental and liturgical rites as something utterly real and transformative, Nicholas II and Bulgakov were one, and they were so often in isolation from their contemporaries, even Orthodox ones, who tended to downplay it as an empty, malleable ceremony. Indeed, if we have lingered so long here on the liturgy, it is because looking for the source of Nicholas’s own conception of Russia as a Teokratia, it is to the liturgy that we should turn. (Teokratia  p.164)

The narrative culminates in a lengthy, horrifying but often moving description of the imprisonment, suffering and ultimately murder of Nicholas and his family in 1917-18.

Dal Santo defends Russia and Russia culture, now subject to such calumny and denigration by the dominant media, political, and academic forces of the West. In Western caricatures Russians today play a demonic role similar to that traditionally reserved to the Germans (or Confederate Southerners).Dal Santo, however, describes an entirely different picture – also in territories recovered by Russia, like the Crimea. Throughout the book there are entertaining accounts of meetings with ordinary Russians. Above all, Dal Santo demonstrates by many examples the religious recovery currently in progress everywhere in Russia. 

Now at times Dal Santo takes his enthusiasm for Nicholas II and his defense of Russian history and culture a bit too far. In the case of Nicholas, for example, a principled feeling of dependence upon God and the rejection of atheistic alternatives to rule by divine delegation do not necessarily translate into competent decision making in political affairs. Nicholas’s choice of ministers, generals and advisors was extremely mixed.   If Nicholas wished to return to the spiritual foundations of Russia also in political matters, that policy was undermined by his continuing alliance with freemasonic France, the most overtly atheistic power at that time in Europe. 

We cannot say that the actions of Nicholas in pursuing the war against Japan in 1904 and, even more so, entering the war in Western Europe in 1914 were anything but disastrous. Interestingly, the much-maligned Rasputin seems to have had a much clearer insight into the consequences of latter decision than did Nicholas and his government.  I doubt that the occupation of Galicia by the Russian army in 1914-1915 was in all respects the triumphant popular progress Dal Santo describes.  Nor do I think that many military historians would share Dal Santo’s opinion that in December 1916 the Russian army had finally reached a successful stage in its 2 1/2 years of war.

Above all, Nicholas seemed utterly unable to convey to his officials his spiritual vision for the Russian state and people. The ruling circles of Russia completely misunderstood their emperor. Later, in the case of many, this alienation hardened into contempt and even outright hatred.

The traditionalist Catholic writer Cristina Campo had, already in 1971, eloquently summarized the spiritual vision of Nicholas II as well as the tragic dilemma he lived through:  

“In a celebrated photograph, the last emperor of Russia wore the costume of one of his holy ancestors [Tsar Alexei Mikhailovitsch of the 17^th century]. The high symmetry of the ample sleeves of purple satin is mysteriously replicated on his breast by the golden wings of a two-headed eagle…. All this speaks more than many pages of the mystical audacity of this unhappy sovereign, the last purely Muscovite Tsar, who tried, without intellectual arms, without political genius, without the help of a single human being,  to return the Enlightenment autocracy of the Romanovs of St. Petersburg to its Russian archetype of a pure religious destiny… Empires fall when the education of princes yields to bourgeois inertia with its obstinate superstitious ignorance of the spiritual roots of all rule.” 1)

Dal Santo outlines an understanding of the role of the state and of the church radically different from that which prevails in the West today. Teokratia is completely at odds not only with the modern regimes of the West,  but also with the political theories, such as “sound laicity,” which, after Vatican II, the Catholic Church has adopted as its own dogma. For instance, what would Russell Hittinger of the Catholic University think of this book?– he has proclaimed “separation” (of church and state) as being the founding political principle of Christianity.  

Teokratia makes clear the impossibility of establishing a Western secularist regime in Russia. And that is a good thing!  For, beyond the spirituality and political philosophy of Russia, Teokratia has much wider relevance. For Dal Santo describes the course of history as essentially a theological struggle. Drawing on the thought of Augusto Del Noce, Dal Santo Shows that the atheistic principles manifested in the Russian revolution have actually been  more completely realized in the modern secular West. Moreover, since the West’s “victory” in 1989-91, the logic of revolutionary secularization has been ever more widely extended (Teokratia at pp. 21-22). For example, the revolutionary movement in the West has led to the total loss of symbols, destroying man’s ability to perceive reality – including political reality. In the East, however, symbols (like the icons!) and symbolic theology are indispensable in Orthodoxy.  The above-mentioned Cristina Campo would have acknowledged the similarity of these thoughts to her own! But we are going too far afield. I do need to end my discussion of the remarkably rich book – I leave the rest to be discovered by the reader.

1. Campo, Cristina “Con Lieve Mani,” in Gli Imperdonabili at 98-99 (Adelphi Edizioni, Milano, 1987).  (my translation). Campo seems to be mixing together several photographs of Nicholas II  – such as those taken in1903 at a grand ball in 17^th century Russian costume. See, e.g., 1903 Ball in the Winter Palace, Wikipedia.  I think the specific image Campo is describing is this: https://tsarnicholas.org/2025/08/06/moscow-artist-breathes-new-life-into-russias-last-tsar/nicholas-ii-in-old-russian-falconer-costume-николай-ii/(All accessed 12/7/2025)

Dr. John Rao delivered this presentation at the reception following the Solemn Requiem Mass for Msgr. Barreiro on Saturday, November 15 at St. Mary’s parish, Norwalk CT. We are grateful for his remarks!

A Priest According to the Order of Melchisedech

By Dr. John Rao

         “If you are an idiot before you are ordained”, a priest whom I knew, now deceased, regularly told the seminarians that he taught; “you will be one afterwards as well”. 

         Some years ago, I went to the wake of a well known priest of what seemed to be an ingrained, ornery, pre-ordination temperament from the Archdiocese of New York. The late Fr. Benedict Groeschel opened the gathering—attended by an enormous number of clergy and laity—by stating quite authoritatively: “You all know that this man was a priest; and if all priests were like he was the Church would now be in wonderful shape”. 

         Indeed, we all did know what he meant, and it was accurate also because his naturalorneriness continued in his hundred percent priestly existence after ordination, but then with respect to anything that stood in the way of his happily, fully, and immediately doing what to him was not only his clerical duty but greatest joy. I remember the cleric in question shaking his head sadly when dealing with obstructions caused by a fellow member of the First Estate that he did not believe to be pastorally fruitful. “I learned long ago not to interfere in another man’s priesthood”, he regretted in my presence. And the crowd at the wake was there out of loving gratitude for his own brilliant priesthood, served by an earthly orneriness that had been transformed in Christ. 

         Meditating on both idiotic and ornery natural characteristics gives me my starting point for remembering our dear friend Monsignor Ignacio Barreiro-Carámbula, who, in his pre-ordination existence, possessed neither the one nor the other. He was, on the contrast, a man whose personal natural background offered him many gifts which—taken up and transformed through the grace of his priestly vocation—-gave to his priesthood a sophisticated shape in general, and an understanding of the problems of what the title of an old radio program of Dr. William Marra called “The Drama of Truth” in particular. Nature, Supernature, and Drama of Truth: it is these three themes that I want to use in order to recount what I know of the life of the extraordinary person whom parishoners here also came to know in his last years. 

         Everyone is aware that Monsignor was born in Montevideo in Uruguay, but not all of you may know that his “natural” background was a noble one. His family passed on a title from the Spanish Government, which his brother holds, but what I really mean by noble is what this signifies in the fullest sense of the word. A noble individual signifies a “known” quantity; a man conscious of who his ancestors were, what they accomplished, and the responsibility that he now has, in consequence, to live up to the deeds and the reputation that they have handed down to him. A truly Catholic noble family makes certain that its offspring take seriously their duties to protect the religious, political, and social order that honored their forbears, and that they have the education and personal military-like discipline allowing them to grasp and carry out those obligations fully and properly. 

         This sense of duty, excellent education, and disciplined soldierly spirit were all passed onto our friend and guided him on the purely natural plane. What I want to mention about that now, however, concerns solely his response to his vocation. Monsignor told his friends that he always felt a pull to the priesthood. Nevertheless, a definite family preference, reaffirmed, personally, by his own sense of horror over the revolutionary direction down which Uruguay was headed and confirmed by his relief over the military’s halt to it led him to see a need for a secular fulfillment of his duty to the common good. He cooperated with this earthly vocation at first by openly supporting the military’s traditional policies among his comrades at his university, and then, after earning a degree in Civil Law, joining the nation’s Foreign Service. He would come to be fluent in English, French, and Italian, alongside his native Spanish, in the course of this part of his vocational life and beyond.

         It was at the very end of Monsignor’s service as a member of the Uruguayan delegation to the United Nations from 1978-1983 that I met him, at the Sino-American Amity Fund on Riverside Drive in New York City. This historic organization,  guided at the time by Fr. Paul Chan, S.J.—-another “priest according to the Order of Melchisedech”—-accompanied its defense of Chinese Catholicism by giving shelter to a priest or two fighting for the Catholic Magisterium in those early and particularly dreadful postconciliar decades, as well as by providing meeting rooms for a number of academic and devotional societies engaged in the same conflict. 

         Our encounter was at a gathering of the then flourishing conservative-minded New York Catholic Forum. It was here that I also came to know many other full-fledged New York Traditionalists, including Stuart Chessman and the future Fr. Richard Munkelt. The latter, who had not yet even dreamed of entering seminary, became Monsignor Barreiro’s closest friend. All three of us got to know more about one another at dinners at Fr. Munkelt’s apartment on the Upper East Side, during which the now former diplomat’s ability to converse on any topic from ancient Roman coins to current day members of both branches of the Spanish Aristocracy, to the quality and quantity of whiskey that it was appropriate for Catholic gentlemen to consume all shined forth. 

         It was Fr. Munkelt who reminded me that alongside the continued attraction of an already once perceived higher calling and the disappearance of the family obstacle to following it that I recollected, Monsignor himself saw a third reason for finally heading down the clerical route. New revolutionary waves were rocking the military regime that had nurtured the more traditional values that his ancestors valued, and the idea of continuing diplomatic service to a regime that dpromote left wing goals was loathsome to him. Disciplined, intelligent, militant service to the greater common good—that of the work of Redemption—was the future to which he was being inevitably called. 

         The fact that this involved his entry, in 1983, into the New York Archdiocesan Seminary in Dunwoodie was not a surprise. Our retiring diplomat had come to love our quirkly city. Moreover, its training ground for priests had gradually improved—certainly compared to many, many others wedded to an ever-evolving Catholicism in the United States and in South America—during the tenure of Terence Cardinal Cooke (1968-1983). Monsignor took the plunge, fought through whatever remained painful in his seminary years with a noble’s soldierly fortitude, and was ordained a priest by JohnCardinal O’Connor on November 14th 1987 in St. Patrick’s Cathedral. 

         While working in a parish on the Upper West Side, Monsignor continued his association with the whole of the orthodox Catholic world in New York City. These included the already mentioned conservative Catholic Forum. More important for his own future was his association with the downright Tradiionalist focused Roman Forum, which was founded in 1968 by Drs. Dietrich and Alice von Hildebrand, Dr. William Marra, and the Rev. Dr. Vincent Micelli, S.J., and whose Director I myself became in 1991. Most significant of all was to be his concern for the Pro-Life Apostolate, whose cause the newly ordained priest supported with time and zealous passion.

         But at this point we must move forward to the second part of my argument: supernatural grace’s enhancement and transformation of one’s natural character and strengths. In Monsignor Barreiro’s case, this meant his becoming a still more rounded and refined lover of all things beautiful. What stands out most in my memory about him in this regard from the intellectual standpoint is a discussion that I had with him when I was engaged in a study of Werner Jaeger’s massive, three-volume work on Greek education, Paideia: The Ideals of Greek Culture and also his Greek Paideia and Early Christianity. The first of these works showed how the crucial classical contribution to Western Civilization is built upon the passion for learning what “the Beautiful” really fully means, how men can gain possession of it, and why it also forces us to understand what is “Good” and “True” to reach that goao. The second teaches how many of the Church Fathers grasped the fact that Christianity offered the final piece of the puzzle; that is was only by becoming part of the Mystical Body of Christ that men could build an honestly beautiful civilization, where everything natural fit together in the proper hierarchy of value, aiding them, as much as was possible in a world of sin, to eternal possession of the True, Good, and Beautiful, through the Beatific Vision.

         Monsignor had always been attached to the Traditional Liturgy, but, now, engaged in the practical realities of parish work in a world that was falling farther and farther away from any connection with all three of these essential pillars of a true civilization, he understood more than ever, why its return to the center of the life of the Church was absolutely necessary. Good theologian that he was, he knew that the Novus Ordo was valid. Still, as von Hildebrand said in 1970 when committing the Roman Forum to the restoration to primacy of the entirety of the Traditional Liturgy, he recognized that it was hopeless as a tool for creating that beautiful kind of earthly community that could aid us in every natural way to cultivate a desire for the  possession of Beauty, Goodness, and Truth for all eterniy.         Any well meaning attempt merely to “dress it up” simply drew attention to all of its other inadequacies, with its insistence on shaping worship on the perceived emerge“needs” of the all too corrupt environment around just being its central flaw. The Traditional Liturgy, with its fixed focus on the Creator God who knew best what nature was intended to be, allowed us properly to scoop up all of the literary, musical, artistic, and generally sacred longings of our fallen earthly souls to be guided, harmoniously, from above and not from below, and then to use created nature to help draw all of us still further upward. 

         Because of Monsignor’s love for his parishoners in New York, he tried his best with the tool he had available to him as a diocesan priest. But very quickly, after the establishment of the Ecclesia Dei communities in 1988 and afterwards, with the promise of at least a partial freeing up of the Traditional Rite, he courageously explained his position to Cardinal O’Connor. He joined the newly created Fraternity of St. Peter and left for an introduction into the life of this community in their recently opened seminary in Wigratzbad in Germany. I visited him there soon after his arrival and realized that his “charism” was not that of the monastic existence in which he was for the moment immersed in Wigratzbad. He never had anything of the monk about him, and needed to cultivate his mind to pass on the desire to raise all of nature to the greater glory of God in some pastoral capacity. 

         Luckily, he soon gained permission to move to Rome for further studies. In 1991 he entered the University of the Holy Cross in Rome, obtaining his license in 1993 and his doctorate in Theology in 1997 with a dissertation on The Experience of God and of the Faith in God according to St. Thomas Aquinas. While doing his studies, he was able to say a public mass at the Church of San Luca e Martina at the Forum in Rome and undertake some pastoral work. He lived at the Church of Santa Maria della Scala until after his doctorate, joined there in 1992 by the future Fr. Munkelt, who had by this time begun his own studies for the priesthood and the doctorate. 

         The Roman Forum began its Italy program in Gardone Riviera in 1993. Our first chaplain could not help us the following year, and the obvious candidate to replace him was Monsignor Barreiro. He served the Forum in this capacity from 1994 until illness prevented him from doing so, at which point, he was succeeded by his close friend, now a priest, Fr. Munkelt. After his departure from the Fraternity—about which a bit more later—he was named the first Director of the Human Life International Rome Office in September of 1998, and obtained his title of Monsignor, as a chaplain of His Holiness, from Pope John Paul II in 2004. Monsignor offered the Mass of the Ages in a number of places throughout Rome in those years. He enjoyed serving as chaplain also for a group of equally militant minded young Romans engaged in political action for the goal of building the Social Kingship of Christ. Monsignor took part in every pro-Traditionalist event he could, travelling not just in Italy and other parts of Europe but also the United States as well.

         Monsignor lived just a fifteen minute walk away from the Human Life International office, both residence and place of work being very close to the Vatican. The apartment and the office became wonderful gathering places for all sorts of people interested in the Pro-Life and the Traditionalist Movement. His home, filled with fine books and art works, was a place where one could meet literally anyone from archaeologists to visiting patristic scholars and have fine conversation on topics, once again, ranging on anything from the Dead Sea Scrolls  to St. John of God and the glories of the Carlist Wars in Spain. All this was accompanied by good food—I know, because I cooked much of it—-and good wines that more well-heeled fellow travelers brought with them. 

         Among the visitors to office and/or home was Roger McCaffrey, who was working very closely in those years with Una Voce leaders like the great Michael Davies, and who is here with us today. So were Monsignor’s friends from the Roman Forum, alongside dozens of sympathetic cardinals, bishops, priests, academics, and students from all continents. A special favorite of mine was Fr. Gabriel Diaz-Patri, an Argentinian through whom one could meet the few people in Rome whom Monsignor himself did not yet know. 

         One of the outstanding groups of Traditionalist Catholics whom I encountered through this cosmopolitan “salon” were those who took part in the Hispanic Traditionalist network centered round Dr. Miguel Ayuso from the Pontifical Academy Comillas in Madrid. His influence, and that of the organizations he runs, extends not just through Mexico and Latin America at large, but also to the non-Spanish speaking European world as well, including such fine men as Professor Danilo Castellanofrom the University of Udine in Italy, and Bernard Dumont, the editor of the journal Catholica, in France. Monsignor’s militant young disciples from Rome were also often present, especially his devoted Secretary, Serinella Verucchio, who flew with her husband to New York for just a few days to visit him before his death in 2017.

         That brings me to the third part of this talk: Monsignor’s truly Catholic illustration of understanding the reality and complexities of  “The Drama of Truth”. Dr. David White once gave a lecture for the Roman Forum in Gardone Riviera on this subject, in which he explained the Greek discovery of the fact that the fullness of drama required two things: tragedy and comedy. Tragedy was needed to identify man’s sense of broader, higher, and more important actions than quotidien reality, and the inherent problems connected with carryint them out; comedy, to expose the human foibles that often cause each of us to stymie our own actions. After all, it is the very man who entertains and works for something grand—-amidst a sea of inherent troubles—-who slips on a banana peel that he himself has carelessly tossed on the ground before him.

         Age was one reason that Monsignor readily accepted the problems of the general drama of life when becoming a priest, just as it was for me, marrying at forty, the same age that he was at his ordination. At forty, you are pretty much surprised if anything goes right at all. In any case, his acceptance of reality came with a wonderful comic sense. When telling us that his family had a noble title, he added that it came from involvement in the slave trade, about which at least his generation of Barreiro-Carámbulas were not terribly proud. He described in comic detail the unsanitary way in which the morning bread would by thrown by a less than savory truck driver onto the pavement outside his home in Montivedeo, to be picked up sometimes by the gardener, with heaven knows what on his fingertips,  only to be brought out by the family maid in white gloves using prongs to put it on their plates. Familiar as he was in the United States with the Andy Griffith Show and Barney Fife, he told us that he, too, had his tiny Foreign Service pistol with its one bullet to protect himself in the case of left wing assault. He also was amused to be reminded later in life of the pride he took while a layman in his awareness that “women find me attractive”.

         Obviously, his comic sense did not disappear upon entering the priesthood. He was never cruel when discussing the world around him, just amusing. I loved his recounting of the antics of some of the friars at Santa Maria della Scala and the acrobatics of eating a three course meal in fifteen minutes, as well as one of their more fascist-minded member’s recitation of poems in praise of the Carabinieri’s efforts to keep the Left in place. One of my favorite memories was his sitting me down one day over Campari Soda and peanuts and telling me of what he would do if he were informed that he had a terminal illness with only a few months left to live. He said that he would set up an Apostolate to Assassinate Heretical Bishops. They would be kidnapped and given ample time to repent, before being justly dispatched for the irreparable damage they had already done. 

         When agreeing to become the Roman Forum chaplain, he made me promise to take him on a trip beforehand to see the churches of Ravenna—but also, for historical reasons, the tomb of Mussolini as well. I had to promise that he would not have to eat polenta as well, because he absolutely detested it. His recounting of his visit to the local pastor in Gardone in the second year of his chaplaincy to ask permission for our use of the parish church for the Traditional Mass (we had been saying it in the hotel) was also a gem. Those were the days of what were called “celebrats”, issued with rarity to prove that a priest had permission to engage in such subversive activity. “I will explain to him that my Bishop gave me the authority is in Brazil and there will be no further questions as to why I am here and not there”, he explained. He came back doubled over in laughter, when it transpired that the Pator knew Portuguese fluently, had spent years in Brazil, and knew everything imaginable about the diocese in question imaginable. “The Drama of Truth”, another New Yorker might add”; “ya know what I’m sayin’?”

         Monsignor had many many friends who could joke about some of his more comical personal characteristics. He had a look that he would throw someone when he was miserable and wanted him to know it—as he did to me in Wigratzbad, hiding behind a pillar so no one else could see that he was utterly incapable of singing a note of Sext and Compline. He had a most amusing mumble of unpredictible length which proceeded many of his pronouncements. Almost invariably, when he fully and enthusiastically agreed with something you had just said, he would mumble and then shout “No, no!” , so that you presumed he had rejected it entirely. He would make very pronounced gestures when speaking or preaching so that one had to make sure there was nothing breakable around him to hit and smash with his arms. There was some sort of condition that he had that required him to compose himself deliberately when turning from one direction to another and taking off—which he could then do at great speed. His sense of propriety, combined together with this deliberation-followed-by-speed, created some of our most memorable memories. Once in the Piazza Santa Maria in Trastevere, shocked by the scanty dress of some young ladies whose affect on the friends accompanying him he feared,  he made one of his studied moves, put his head down, took off like a panzer division in Northern France in 1940—- and ran head on into an equally young lady wondering what the priestly visit was all about.

         Unfortunately, Monsignor did have enemies: some, because they were totally opposed to what they knew he believed, which was at least an honest reason; some, because “if you are an idiot before you become a priest, you will be one afterwards as well”. And some could even use the characteristics that endeared him to his friends to mock him. For this and for many other reasons, I never believed he received the due respect for all his dedication, his soldierly discipline, his energy, and his intellect. 

         Monsignor was fully aware of this reality as being part of the Drama of Truth. On the other hand, the reality in this case was shaping the general tragedy of the Church in our times, for which he suffered deeply. I remember the sorrow Monsignor felt when telling us in his office of yet another horrible appointment of someone whom he knew would add another nail to the coffin of the already badly wounded postconciliar Church. 

         Generally, Monsignor was prudent in dealing with the tragedy of the ailing world around him, as was well displayed in his ability to keep as quiet as possible regarding his Traditionalism while in Seminary, so as not to jeopardize the greater good of his Ordination. He was as wise as a serpent when, in 1995, on the 450th anniversary of the opening of the first sitting of the Council of Trent, he decided that the Gardone Summer Symposium had to take a trip to this nearby city with him then having the joy of saying a Mass on the altar used by the Council Fathers in the Cathedral. This was not a propitious time to attempt carrying out such a coup, so I wondered how we would pull it off. “By not saying anything to anyone about what we intend to do”, was the answer. It worked, and with a moving pastoral result, as we shall soon see. 

         On another occasion, his acceptance of the need to find inventive ways of dealing with tragic reality was, once again, downright comical. They reflected Napoleon’s answer to a question regarding how he defined his theory of strategical action. “One engages battle”, he said, “and then sees what happens”. We decided to repeat our Cathedral Coup the year after the Trent success on a visit to Pavia, one of whose purposes—Monsignor’s first—being the celebration of a Traditional Mass on the tomb of St. Augustine in the Church of San Pietro in Ciel d’Oro. An apparently untransformed but ornery sacristan “welcomed” us. He shook his head vigorously “no” when Monsignor announced his attention. “No one says Mass on that high altar”, he said, pulling us toward the parish picnic table.  Monsignor apparently thought that it was panzer time in Northern France again. “But I only say the Traditional Latin Mass, and the ceremonies don’t allow it to be said on your regular altar”. “Well then”, the ornery sacristan unexpectedly responded, suddenly transformed; “I guess you really have to use the Augustine altar”. Grace had triumphed over nature. 

         “First time in my life I have been favored for being an obscurantist”, Monsignor triumphantly whispered to me. We visited the famous Certosa monastery in Pavia immediately afterwards. Michael Davies was with us and asked the monk giving us our tour whether they celebrated the Traditional Latin Mass there. “No”, he answered, taken somewhat unback. “Well they are doing it on St. Augustine’s altar in town”, he responded. “Better jump on the bandwagon before it is too late!” 

         Probably the only misplayed panzer move involved the timing and carrying out of Monsignor’s break with the Fraternity, which took place in Rome and was rather tense. Thankfully, no one on either side wanted to cause any problem that might hurt the common cause. And, here too, Monsignor showed another one of his fine characteristics: that of courageously approaching those with whom he had had a problem so as not to let the difficulty go on forever. One Sunday, after Mass in Rome, I saw him charging, head down, out the door to what to me was an unknown location. When he told me the name of the person he was going to see I almost choked. “You cannot actually be going there, are you?” I cried out. He mumbled for a bit. “No, no, no”, he then answered, meaning “yes, yes, yes”. “Never uselessly multiply enemies”, he taught me, marching off to reconcile himself, a priest with a layman, and that afternoon with one of his most vocal foes. 

         But, then again, everything he did was pastoral in one way or another, and he did what he did well because he liked people, he welcomed them, he listened to them, he was honestly happy with good things that happened to them and was super solicitous in helping them to ensure future good events. He was ready with help for whomsoever needed it. He would take off in the middle of the night, like a soldier in a trench in the First World War, for whatever destination duty demanded, be it a hospital for the sake of the sick, or a private home to hear the confession of someone who believed felt himself to be in sin: even in the middle of the night. Knowing that my father-in-law was near death a good number of years ago, he begged my wife to tell him the moment that he passed way. That moment turned out to be 3:00 A.M. Rome time, and Monsignor got out of bed, vested, and said Holy Mass for him “on the double”. What else could a disciplined, soldierly aristocrat do for a friend?

         Perhaps the most moving “historical” pastoral action that Monsignor was ultimately responsible for from start to finish concerned that 1995 Mass in Trent. During its celebration on the  “Council Altar”, all of us participating heard sobs from the back of the pews. They came from a very elegantly dressed elderly woman carrying shopping bags with her. When the Mass was over, Monsignor and a few others, myself included, went to ask her what the problem was. “I am from Trent”, she said, “and had just finished making my purchases at the weekly market here in the center. I got on the bus to go home and a voice told me to come to the Cathedral where ‘I would find what I had been looking for for so long’. And the  voice was right! I thought this Mass did not exist any longer!!’”. Monsignor assured her of what her eyes had seen and her ears had heard. He told her where it was that what she desperately wanted—-and needed, because it was beautiful and aimed the mind, soul, and body upwards towards possession of eternal beauty in a world tempting us to deny its existence—-could be found the following Sunday.

         We were all shocked when we heard of Monsignor’s illness, but I remember that his room in the rather lovely facility at which he first was treated in Rome had swiftly become yet another Traditionalist Command Center. And this happened at an extremely useful time; that of a conclave, but the one which, alas, ended with the election of Pope Francis and yet another dreadful act in the Drama of Truth.

         That Drama had worsened by the time of Monsignor’s death. Still, I often wonder what he would think about the situation now, when, only eight years later, it is even worse; when the entire goal of our civilization to understand and to take possession of the beautiful has been attacked as far as it possibly can be; when Reason, along with Faith, have both been retired as tools to reach that goal; when an arrogant and stupid Nihilistic Criminal Ugliness has been enthroned as the height and goal of all existence. 

         Of course Monsignor would recognize the tragedy of it and the horror of the complicity of the clergy with the the Reign of Nihilistic Criminal Ugliness. But I don’t think that he would feel as though there were much chance of being quiet about this disaster any longer, in the hope of some greater good emerging through such prudence. Instead, I think that in solid Piazza Santa Maria in Trastevere fashion, he would mumble for a half a minute, say “no, no, no”, turn delibrately, and then, with a “yes, yes, yes” fervor take off across Northern France for a frontal assault on the diabolical enemy. After all, if you are a lion before you are ordained as a priest,  you will be a lion afterwards as well.

Please pray for this good and faithful friend, good and faithful priest, good and faithful soldier of Christ the King.

by Martin Mosebach

2025, dtv, Munich.

Martin Mosebach’s recent novels tend to revolve around an underlying “clash of civilizations.” The inhabitants of Western Europe and specifically Germany are characterized as one-dimensional, manipulative, materialistic,  pleasure-loving, and scheming. The representatives of this European world encounter other regions, where there still exists awareness of the reality of life and death and of the spiritual realm, both in its good and evil aspects.  Mosebach has shown us visions of this more elemental world in present day India, in Egypt and Morocco  – but also even under the bright sunshine of Southern Italy.  The spiritual forces encountered may be positive (Das Beben, 2005) but also indifferent to hostile (Krass, 2021) or even demonic (Mogador, 2016).

In Die Richtige, Mosebach relocates the conflict of these antagonistic realms within the confines of one European city of our day.  For in this book the author returns to his hometown of Frankfurt to tell us the story of an artist.  Louis Creutz is a critically acclaimed painter. He is surrounded by some well-to-do groupies who have followed and facilitated his career. Coming into this circle is Astrid, a woman of Swedish background  – a kind of carefree, thirtysomething quasi-hippy.  Creutz,  whose artistic output so far has been an endless series of female nudes, seeks Astrid as his next model – and more besides. The plot of the novel revolves around this relationship. What starts as a series of leisurely discussions builds to an eventful, shattering climax. 

Die Richtige is an excellent read. The action moves at a brisk pace and the transitions from one section of the novel to the next are creative and surprising. Compared to other works by Mosebach,  the main characters have greater believability. The painter Creutz is early on identified as a somewhat sinister figure. There are, for example, repeated references to Mozart’s Don Giovanni in his regard. Yet Creutz has other sides to his character. In his appreciation of the effects of light in his studio or on a winter trip to Venice he reveals the sensitivity of a true artist. He comments on the marvelous patterns of a flock of pigeons in flight and discourses knowledgeably on the unique taste of fine aged Rhine wine. Similarly, Creutz’s entourage, including Astrid, are not (just) caricatures but real personalities. In contrast to the critical description of similar characters in Mosebach’s earlier novels they are portrayed as halfway sympathetic individuals.(At least with the exception of one academic biographer!)

Mosebach’s style is colorful and visual, full of striking images. The painter’s mysterious studio, described in language reminiscent of H.P. Lovecraft, occupies an isolated, rundown building surrounded by modern construction. We witness a dramatic wild boar hunt in the mountains near the city. A strangely dressed madwoman wanders about the town and intervenes at critical moments in the plot. A miscarriage is described in excruciating detail. The parks and gardens of this city become at night sinister locations where youths prowl who victimize the unwary – sometimes in ghastly ways.

Die Richtige, however, also has its satirical elements.  An example it contains of the preposterous writing of an art critic is precious. We learn that the life of a German entrepreneur in 2025 is that of a man constantly out of the country in order to run his business – for his company’s workforce is largely in China. Above all, Mosebach describes the incompetence and indifference of the “guardians of order” in today’s surveillance and therapeutic state. A character under investigation for murder escapes easily from the law enforcement authorities by giving a simple alibi. A team of three men – they need that many today? – chasing fare beaters on streetcars picks up a mentally ill woman who then is promptly dumped back on the street by the incompetent system. A woman suffering a miscarriage endures horrors under the care of supposed specialists. In Mosebach’s eyes, the Germany of 2025 is no longer an exemplar of competence – to put it mildly.

Need we mention that Christianity plays no role in this story? The most we can say is that Creutz eventually receives a lavish commission by a super wealthy private donor to paint a chapel in France. Characters comment on this strangeness of such a subject given what they  – and we –  know about the artist. But have we not read allegations of circumstances even stranger than those of this novel involving a certain church-approved artist in Italy?

But what then does Mosebach’s novel have to say about today’s world to the readers of a traditionalist blog? What is the “moral” of the story? Die Richtige is certainly not a didactic text. For Mosebach is of the opinion that the role of the Catholic novelist is not to preach or conjure up edifying Catholic “role models” but to bring a Catholic sensibility to the description of the world as it is. Indeed, it is Catholicism – or better, Catholic culture – that gives the novelist the capacity to apprehend and depict this reality.

Accepting that definition, Die Richtige portrays a fearsome picture of Europe in 2025, both physically and spiritually.  A society on the verge of collapse is held together by incompetent administrative, legal and medical bureaucracies. A world that is inhabited by pleasant, “nice” but superficial characters who are trying to find a way out of their tedium. The bureaucrats and businessman of modern society are attracted to a cult of the artistic creator who resides far above the gray life of the secular city. But as this novel shows, the world of spirit and of creativity also has its malevolent side.  Dark forces lurk and make their presence felt. Above all to people  – like the ladies and gentlemen of the upper middle class depicted in this novel –  who resolutely refuse to acknowledge their existence.

It is a pity that, as far as I am aware, only one of Martin Mosebach’s many novels (What was before, 2014) has been translated into English!

by Sebastian Morello

Arouca Press, Waterloo ON, 2025

I had no sooner reviewed earlier this year a book by Sebastian Morello-  Mysticism, Magic and Monasteries – than the author published a new volume: Unto the Ages of Ages: Essays on Political Traditionalism. His purpose in this new book is to lay out a positive response of traditionalism to the crisis of today. For Morello states that on the right, there is much criticism of modernity, but not much articulation of a positive alternative to the world of today. To do so, Morello returns to Burke, de Maistre and other “first responders” to the crisis of modernity as it emerged in the French revolution.

Unto the Ages of Ages collects essays published in the European Conservative. The political focus  – or awareness – of Unto the Ages of Ages is reminiscent of the writers of Triumph magazine in the United States (1966-74). This is in contrast to those authors who restrict themselves more to liturgical, cultural or religious issues. But Morello would argue that the Catholic faith has an inherently political aspect. Christianity should not set out to accommodate itself to the “secular age” but:

{R]eject it outright and undergo the hard slog of retrieving a pre-modern mind and heart. (p.xxii)

For Christ’s admonition to “give to Caesar what is Caesar’s”  did not at all support the existence of a separate, autonomous secular “city.” For ultimately everything belongs to God and whatever Caesar has is by delegation. 

It is unsurprising that in this book the hierarchy of the Catholic Church plays a minor role. Morello does believe in the importance of truth and that the Catholic Church is the bearer of truth; indeed, he was active for years in catechetical programs of the ”institutional Church.” But gradually he realized how different his beliefs were from those of many of his co-religionists  – because “the Catholic Church is largely run by progressive activists.”

Morello opposes the leveling and globalist policies of the present ruling powers of the West. So, for example, he argues against mass immigration and for patriotism. He denounces modern Western entertainment culture as found in music, movies and television (compare the remarks on this subject of Solzhenitsyn!). Morello argues for the concrete, the organic, the traditional (in the best sense of the word).  He sees these as inherent features of English culture as embodied in the landscape of England, the customs of England, the institution of the British monarchy, etc.

We see the influence of the late Roger Scruton, but also of Chesterton. For example, reading this book I recalled  Roger Scruton’s book on wine culture:  I drink therefore I am in which he identifies as the unique, defining aspect of wine the specificity of the vineyard’s location and the individuality of the producer. And did not Chesterton’s The Rolling English Road make a point like Morello’s in 1913? Morello too uses a similar image – whether it is totally accurate I cannot say –  contrasting the appearance of the “rationalistic” agricultural landscape of France with the irregular, organically developed fields of England.  

Yet, the United Kingdom today is also one of the most modernistic societies on the planet – a true surveillance state. And political “conservatives” – which in the United Kingdom is, after all, even the name of a political party – have been instrumental in creating and perfecting this regime.  Again and again in this book, Morello returns to the topic of “conservatism.“ Inherently problematic, conservatism as practiced in recent decades has often been a vehicle for imposing, modernistic, and anti-traditional policies on the peoples of the West. That is because, in most cases, the conservatives fundamentally do not disagree with the ideology of the global liberal society. 

There are some gems in Unto the Ages of Ages that should delight the liturgical traditionalist. Morello makes the case for the elaborate Sarum rite – the predominant pre-Reformation use of the Roman rite.  Morello considers the Anglican “Ordinariate”  within the Roman Catholic Church as a potential champion for restoring the Sarum rite. This may be unrealistic – but have we not seen at least one recent instance – in Princeton, N.J. – of Sarum Rite Vespers being splendidly celebrated with the participation of the Ordinariate?  Morello acclaims as a counter-revolutionary deed the building of the basilica of Sacre Coeur in Paris after the tragedies of France’s defeat in the Franco-Prussian war and the civil war of the Commune (1870-71). It was a bold reassertion of Catholicism on one of the most prominent sites in Paris. Furthermore, the devotion of the Sacred Heart has always had a specifically counter-revolutionary aspect going back to the wars of the Vendee. The new church was a celebration of the Catholic identity of France  – not in triumph, but in penance after the horrors the nation had just lived through. And it has been successful – Sacre Coeur has remained an “iconic” image of Paris ever since.

Morello also gives tips on how a traditionalist revival can begin at home – for example, by exposing our children to traditional folk music. For it is highly unlikely that someone raised on the pop music of today, which Morello calls demonic,  can ever have any appreciation of classical Western music. But openness to classical music can be made possible if in the family a foundation is laid through listening to  – and performing – the folk music of the past. Morello tells us how the slovenly or even obscene dress of today conveys a powerful anti-Christan message. With a little imagination, however, one can work against this force. Morello gives hints on how with, the aid of consignment and secondhand stores, any one of us can vastly improve his or her appearance. 

These ideas of Morello ideas resemble those we have already heard, and, in the case of some of us, already practiced. But it is still instructive to find an author who systematically unites these themes and integrates them into a whole. And what Morello argues for is not just an alternative, private,  lifestyle but the beginnings of a political recovery. For Christianity was not meant to be lived as a separate cult, but of necessity must permeate the whole culture, society and politics. Morillo is arguing for such a political movement. But should we call this “conservative” anymore? According to the author:

Perhaps in decades past, the conservative cause looked like an attempt to direct people back into a cage at the very moment they felt themselves emancipated. Now, however, people are crying out to be liberated from the fetters of self-indulgence and reclaim their “roots”. They want to engage in a “meaning-based” discourse, and it is in such a discourse that the conservative tradition can shine like a great beacon leading people into the calm harbor of sanity. This then, is an important moment for a true conservative revival, but conservatives –  calling themselves “conservatives” –  will need to wake up and seize it. (p. 135)

Sebastian Morello, based on Solovyov’s Tale of the Antichrist, even hopes for a “right-wing ecumenism” of Catholicism, Orthodoxy and Protestantism based not on submergence in some kind of uniform, undogmatic liberalism but upon the shared truths of Christianity. Truths that increasingly face the opposition  – and downright hatred – of the despotic society of modernity. 

Is Morello’s political initiative unrealistic? Perhaps! But we are seeing today, both in and outside of the Church, in religion, art, politics and family life, movements underway to return to a sane world.  Can this undercurrent eventually prevail against the asphyxiating grip of the current culture? Ultimately, yes, but we should not be surprised if that eventually requires martyrdom. For the price of returning to traditional Christian culture in the face of the all-engulfing control exercised today by the masters of our society may well be a high one.