I must admit to you, my dear Jean Madiran, that I have been tempted more than once to leave the Catholic Church wherein I was born. If I have not done so, I give thanks to God and to the good peasant’s common sense with which he has blessed me. The Church—I murmur to myself at this moment—is like a sack of wheat infested with weevils. However numerous the parasites are—and at first glance, they are swarming!—they have not sterilized all the kernels. Some, no matter how few, remain fertile. They will sprout and the weevils will die once they have devoured all the others. Bon appétit, gentlemen, you are eating your own death.
Meanwhile, we suffer from famine, starving for the supernatural. The number of priests who distribute the bread of the soul to us dwindles at an alarming rate. In the hierarchy, things are even worse. And at the very top, whence we might expect some solace, they are disastrous.
I confess that I was fooled by Paul VI for a long time. I thought he was trying to preserve what is essential. I kept repeating to myself Louis XIV’s words to the Dauphin: “I fear not telling you that the higher the position, the more things there are one cannot see or know except when holding it.” Being neither a pope nor even a cleric, I told myself, “He sees what I cannot see, because of his position. Therefore, I trust him, even if most of his deeds, attitudes, and statements do not sit well with me, and his constant (seemingly constant) manœuvering makes my head spin. Poor man, he is to be pitied, especially since he is obviously not up to the task… But still, with God’s help…”
However—and this is to the glory of mankind—there is no example in history of a deceiver who does not eventually unmask himself. By trying too hard to be what one is not, one ultimately reveals one’s true nature. Too much cunning backfires. Men are willing to tolerate a bit of trickery, especially when it has an Italian flair. But there is a limit, and beyond it one stops being a good actor and becomes a prisoner of one’s own charade, entangled in one’s own feats of illusion.
The turning point for me came with the controversy over the Holy Mass. Until then, one could be fooled, deceived, and duped. That was the price of the honours owed to established powers. But now the time for “playing games with me,” as my old teacher used to say, is over. It is a phrase he used when we were in the countryside, where such bluntness comes naturally, and he was much more energetic. Father Cardonnel, filled with literature and spewing it out at everyone, lacks this delightful spontaneity of language, that proud and manly assertion of one who can no longer stand being deceived for even a moment. “It’s over. It’s. O. VER. OVER,” he would go on to say to the imprudent fellow who had pushed things too far.
I say this very calmly and thoughtfully, with all the confidence of a man of peasant stock, where Catholicism is passed down from father to son, where the supernatural is itself tangible, who has moved from cultivating fields like his ancestors (of whom he is quite unworthy) to cultivating minds, from whom God has taken a son dedicated to the Church, and who feels himself, from head to foot, deeply rooted in the Church. I say so firmly, without the least hesitation: “NO. I have had enough. I will not be taken for a ride. I will not be led up the garden path. I will not pretend that Paul VI is a new Saint Pius X, profoundly transformed, for the better of course, as befits our progressive era.”
How dare one proclaim that there is no “new Mass,” that “nothing has changed,” that “everything is as it was before,” when nothing or almost nothing remains of the Mass that so many saints cherished with love? When the “experts” appointed to work on this demolition project for reasons of public utility have described it time and time again as a veritable liturgical “revolution”? When the simple consciences of the ordinary faithful have been shaken by this upheaval? As an old lady exclaimed when leaving church on the first Sunday of Advent, crushed by the “new rite” (the adjective is Paul VI’s, who likes to play with contradictions), “That! A Mass? You can’t recognize it anymore!” That was so evident that the celebrant, either by distraction or haste, had omitted the consecration of the wine! But what does it matter in a Mass where the concept of sacrifice is, by definition, absent?
I will not repeat here the case against this new liturgy. Others, who are well-informed, competent, and reliable, have already done so and done it well. When expert opinions line up with the common sense of an ordinary Christian, there is no need to add one’s own comments. Everything has already been said by illustrious specialists, experienced theologians and canonists, priests and devout religious, and even by that good common woman who expressed the deepest and most heartfelt protest of the Christian masses against this “transformation”: “You can’t recognize it anymore!” That sums it up perfectly: “You can’t recognize it anymore.” The faithful sense it by instinct: “There’s nothing Catholic about it anymore.”
“This Mass represents, both as a whole and in its details, a striking departure from the Catholic theology of the Holy Mass, as it was formulated in the twenty-second session of the Council of Trent, which, by definitively fixing the ‘canons’ of the rite, erected an insurmountable barrier against any heresy that might attack the integrity of the Mystery.” Cardinal Ottaviani’s stern words can hardly be disputed by anyone of good faith who has studied the new Ordo Missæ and considered all its details. No one of good faith can ignore their grim reality after having heard, as we did in Belgium after 30 November, every Sunday and on Christmas, “the new Mass,” prefabricated by technocrats of the faith. Squeezed between a pompous and theatrical Liturgy of the Word and a “self-service” Liturgy of the Meal, the HOLY SACRIFICE OF THE MASS, in other words, the ESSENTIAL, is dispatched in the blink of an eye by a cleric who, nine times out of ten, in my experience, does not seem to believe in what he is doing for a single moment.
I repeat: this has been thoroughly demonstrated, and against this evidence and arguments nothing has been offered in response but serpentine rhetoric and jeremiads.
This “new Mass” MUST BE REJECTED with all the energy and courage of Father Roger-Thomas Calmel, O.P. and according to the guidelines set by Jean Madiran, even if they need to be adjusted individually as needed, with due caution and depending on the circumstances, with the twofold intention, always present in mind, to reject what is heretical in the Office and to accept only what is orthodox.
For my part, I carefully block my ears with wax. I hide at the back of the church behind a curtain, which screen I thicken by sitting in the lowest chair I can find. I read the Holy Mass in the Missal my saintly mother gave me after the previous one she had already given me had been used to shreds. I read the Imitation of Christ in Latin during the drivel that now passes for a sermon. I participate with all my heart at the renewal of the Sacrifice of Calvary. I force the priest who distributes communion into the hands of the “sheep” he has been instructed to domesticate to give it to me at the communion rail, where I kneel. And during the final racket, I go outside to meditate, praying that the Lord might make me even more deaf to the world’s clamour, both literally and figuratively.
I must say that I sometimes rage when I hear some idiocy reach my ears, like this one, whose authenticity I guarantee: “Let us pray, my brothers, that among young men and women gathered together by their similar hairstyles and clothing, there may be no longer any difference of sex.” But one can get used to anything, even to the most ridiculous nonsense. As Léon Bloy rightly said, one must be sparing with one’s contempt, because there are so many who deserve it.
Let us not disguise the truth. Our refusal implies a judgement on Paul VI’s actions and words, and even on his person, with whom we are must, against our will, practise the virtue of “fraternal correction,” which Saint Thomas Aquinas considered an extension of the virtues of almsgiving and of charity, and which, he says, one must even carry out publicly with one’s superiors, after having exhausted all hidden means of doing so (II-IIae, q. 33). One can safely presume that an inferior as respectful of papal authority as Cardinal Ottaviani did not make his memorial letter to Paul VI public without having first exercised all possible diplomatic prudence. “If a superior is virtuous,” writes a commentator on the Summa, “he will gratefully accept any warnings that might give him clarity. He will be the first to admit that it is right to warn him and that he is not untouchable in every regard.” And he adds, following Saint Thomas, that the warning must be public “when, for instance, a superior publicly declares manifest heresies or causes great scandal, thus endangering the faith and salvation of his subordinates.”
Cardinal Ottaviani is certainly not alone in thinking that Paul VI, by his words and deeds, is “departing strikingly from the Catholic theology of the Holy Mass.” It is indeed inconceivable that the Pope merely skimmed over such an important document and carelessly signed it. The Ordo Missæ and the New Mass we vigorously reject are willed and imposed by Paul VI upon all Catholics.
How can such an attitude be possible from a Pope during such a critical time in the Church’s history? I cannot help but ask myself this question. And I can no longer keep my answer silent. The stakes are too high for laymen to let priests of all ranks to fight alone, without the support of some of the faithful they have alerted to the danger, against the “scandal” of the new Mass.
The point is not to get outraged—however tempting that might be—but to understand.
Paul VI is a man full of contradictions. This is a man who extols the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass in grand and traditional terms in his “Credo of the People of God,” but who downplays it in the new Mass he imposes on Catholic Christendom. This a man who signs and promulgates the Council’s official declarations regarding Latin, “the liturgical language par excellence,” and Gregorian chant, a treasure to be zealously preserved, and who, moreover, commits publicly to preserving them, but who reneges on his signature and word after consulting, in a matter as important the mode of expression of the worship offered to God, only liturgical experts, some of which are suspect while others belong to dissident Christian communities. This is a man who sees to it that the Dutch Catechism is censured, but who tolerates the spread of the dogmatic errors it contains. This is the man who authorizes the French Catechism, whose errors, omissions, and distortions of revealed Truth are all the more serious since it is intended for children, but who investigates deviations from the faith around the world. This is the man who proclaims Mary Mother of the Church, but who allows countless clerics of all ranks to tarnish the purity of her name. This the man who prays at Saint Peter’s and in the Masonic-style Chamber of Reflection at the United Nations. This is the man who gives audience to two actresses deliberately and provocatively dressed in miniskirts, but who then speaks out against the growing wave of sexualization in the world. This is the man who tells Pastor Boegner that Catholics are not mature enough for birth control with “the pill,” but who publishes Humanæ vitæ, while allowing it to be challenged by entire bishops’ conferences.
This is the man who proclaims that the law on clerical celibacy will never be abolished, but allows it to be questioned endlessly, while making it easy for priests wishing to marry to do so. This is the man who forbids communion in the hand, but who permits it, even authorizing certain churches, by special indult, to have laymen to distribute the holy Hosts. This is the man who bemoans the “self-destruction of the Church,” but who, despite being its chief and head, does nothing to stop it, thus letting it happen through his own consent. This is the man who issues the Nota prævia regarding his powers, but who allows it to be dismissed at the Synod of Rome as outdated and consigned to oblivion, etc.
One could go endlessly listing the Pope’s contradictions. The man himself is permanent contradiction and versatility, as well as fundamental ambiguity.
Hence, there are two possibilities.
A man who is unable to overcome his own internal contradictions and who openly displays them for all to see is unable to overcome the external contradictions he encounters in governing the Church. He is a weak and indecisive Pope, like others in the history of the Church, who conceals his vacillations behind a flood of the rhetoric that the emperor Julian, called the Apostate, called, speaking of the Arian bishops of his time who practised it so skilfully, “the art of downplaying what matters, exaggerating what does not, and substituting the artifice of words for the reality of things.” Sometimes, in a single phrase of a papal address, black and white are combined and reconciled by syntactical tricks.
The second hypothesis is no less probable: the Pope knows what he wants and the contradictions he shows are merely those that a man of action, driven by the goal he wants to achieve, encounters along his path and is not in the least concerned about, carried away as he is by the force of his ambition.
In this respect, one can presume, especially after the new Ordo Missæ and the new Mass, that Paul VI’s intention is to bring together in a single liturgical action clergy and laity from the various Christian denominations. Like any seasoned politician, the Pope knows that it is possible to unite people with fundamentally different “philosophical and religious opinions,” as we said at meetings in my youth. If this is the case, we can expect in the near future further manifestations of pontifical ecumenical action, modelled on political manœuvering.
It is true that the two interpretations of Paul VI’s behaviour can be combined. A weak man flees from his weakness or, more precisely, from himself, and plunges into action where contradictions are merely different phases of the changes essential to the action itself. Such temperaments are clearly focused on the world and the metamorphoses it implies, which influence one’s actions therein. One can then without any difficulty accept a “new catechism,” irreconcilable with the catechism of old, “because there is a new world,” as the French bishops say, and, in the language of the world, “a new world” has nothing in common with the previous one, just as a new fashion has nothing in common with a old one. “It is therefore no longer possible,” they add, “to view rites as permanently fixed in a rapidly evolving world.” We have been put on notice: the new Mass is akin to the permanent revolution that appeals to all adolescents and adults who have not yet moved past their crises of puberty, since it masks the contradictions they cannot overcome, precisely because these contradictions are integral to them.
Epigones manifest this trait most clearly, even exaggeratedly. Marx said that history repeated the tragedy of Napoleon I as a comedy under Napoleon III. Likewise, a certain Belgian bishop, who seems to me a sort of mini-Paul VI, has just been given the task of introducing the new Mass to the bewildered public. “This,” he declared in laughable terms, “marks the first final chapter of the liturgical reform ongoing since Vatican II.” We are assured there will be a second final chapter, and then third one, and so on endlessly. The man who tries to flee from himself through change never catches up, despite his sometimes comical efforts.
From this perspective, it is hard to find two popes in history who differ more radically than Saint Pius X and Paul VI.
I recently re-read the encyclical Pascendi. On nearly every page, I notice that what the former rejects, the latter accepts, tolerates, and endorses.
Saint Pius X was the rock of doctrine, a man who did not abandon his post or his people during the storm, and who evaded none of his responsibilities, as Paul VI admits doing in the remarkable speech he delivered on 7 December 1968: “Many expect dramatic gestures and energetic and decisive interventions from the pope. The Pope does not believe he should follow any line other than that of trust in Jesus Christ, to whom his Church is entrusted more than to anyone else. It is he who will calm the storm.”
Saint Pius X was not the man of solely pastoral government Paul VI claimed to be in his speech of 17 February 1969, where he said he was “open to understanding and indulgence.” Rather, he was a pope who heeded the example of his predecessors, who defended sound doctrine with extreme vigilance and unwavering firmness, committed to safeguarding it from any harm, “remembering the Apostle’s command: ‘Guard the good deposit’” (2 Timothy 1:14)
For Saint Pius X, “Jesus Christ taught that the first duty of the popes is to guard with the greatest vigilance the traditional deposit of the faith, rejecting the profane novelties of words,” against “those who disdain all authority and, relying upon a false conscience, attempt to ascribe to a love of truth that which is in reality the result of pride and obstinacy.”. He would never have conceded, as Paul VI has often implied, that “truth is equally found in the religious experiences” of other religions, and that the same God is common to Jews, Muslims, and Christians. He never “bestowed honours on the teachers of error,” such as Marie-Dominique Chenu and his ilk, “so as to give rise to the belief that their admiration is not meant merely for the persons, who are perhaps not devoid of merit, but rather the errors they openly profess and champion.”
Saint Pius X would never have suggested that “worship is born from a need, for everything in the modernists’ system is explained by inner impulses or necessities.” How many texts by Paul VI we could list here that state the exact opposite, especially his speech of 26 November 1969, where he justified his repudiation of Latin and Gregorian chant in the new Mass by invoking the people’s supposed need to understand their prayer and participate in the office “in their everyday language.” Saint Pius X did not approve of the modernists’ “great anxiety to find a way of conciliation between the authority of the Church and the liberty of believers,” as Paul VI constantly does. He did not profess “that most pernicious doctrine which would make of the laity a factor of progress in the Church” nor did he seek “compromises and transactions between the forces of conservation and of progress in the Church in order to bring about the changes and progress demanded by our times.” Similarly, Saint Pius X did not follow the “purely subjective” method that drives modernists “to put themselves in to the position and person of Christ and then to attribute to him what they would have done under like circumstances,” as Paul VI does when he affirms, having unilaterally decreed the use of the new Mass, that his will “is the Will of Christ, the breath of the Spirit calling the Church to this transformation,” adding, pathetically, to show that his inspiration coincides with divine inspiration (although he specifies that it is not the case in his Credo), that “this prophetic moment passing through the mystical Body of Christ, which is the Church, shakes her, wakes her, and compels her to renew the mysterious art of her prayer” (26 November 1969). “What is safest and most secure,” said Saint John of the Cross, “is to flee from prophecies and revelations, and if anything new regarding the faith is revealed to us [the lex orandi is also lex credendi, and any manifest novelty in worship is novelty in the faith] it should in no way be consented to” (Ascent of Mount Carmel, 1. II, ch. 19 and 27).
Finally, is it not evident that behind Paul VI’s interventions on the world stage there lies the conviction, which Saint Paul X rejected as pernicious, that “God’s kingdom has gone on slowly developing in the course of history, adapting itself successively to the different mediums through which it has passed, borrowing from them by vital assimilation all the […] forms that served its purpose”?
As John H. Knox noticed in a penetrating article in National Review (21 October 1969), there is no doubt that “there never was and probably never will be a pope who has tried so hard to please the liberals and who so sincerely shares so many of their beliefs.” And yet Paul VI, in an act of supreme contradiction, labels this progressivism as modernismus redivivus!
In any case, Paul VI evidently shares the modernists’ main goal of making the Catholic Church acceptable to non-Catholic churches and even to all atheist régimes, as his recent Christmas address (and many previous ones) suggests: China and Russia now deserve Catholics’ deference and esteem! Let us remember his enthusiastic support for the Chinese youth Mao mobilized in the “Cultural Revolution”!
This is a dream, an illusion whose vanity the Gospel itself reveals to us: the Church, no matter how appealing she might try to make herself, will never be loved by the world. As harsh as our assessment of Paul VI might be, we must say, in the final analysis, that despite the undeniable qualities of his heart, the current Pope consistently sees things differently than they are. His is a false spirit.
Like all false spirits, he is unconsciously cruel. While a contemplative is gentle, a man of action who, like Paul VI, views the goal of his action through a dreamlike lens, is pitiless towards the poor souls of flesh and bone he cannot see or, if he does, considers to be obstacles. This explains the inflexible nature of Paul VI’s character, seemingly at odds with his inability to govern the Church. A man of action is almost always inhuman, but when he moves in a millenarian and spiritually triumphant atmosphere, one must then be afraid… Paul VI will move forward, without looking back, crushing all resistance…
Unless God opens his eyes… That would be a miracle…
Nothing remains but to try to incorporate into our lives the obligation Saint John of the Cross mentions in one of his letters: “In order to have God in all things, we must have nothing in all things.” The Church has entered the Dark Night of the senses and of the spirit, the gateway to the Dawn. Her condition invites us to enter into our own.
This eternal fountain is hidden deep,
Well I know where it has its spring,
Though it is night!
*
This “new Mass” MUST BE REJECTED with all the energy and courage of Father Roger-Thomas Calmel, O.P. and according to the guidelines set by Jean Madiran, even if they need to be adjusted individually as needed, with due caution and depending on the circumstances, with the twofold intention, always present in mind, to reject what is heretical in the Office and to accept only what is orthodox.
*
For my part, I carefully block my ears with wax. I hide at the back of the church behind a curtain, which screen I thicken by sitting in the lowest chair I can find. I read the Holy Mass in the Missal my saintly mother gave me after the previous one she had already given me had been used to shreds. I read the Imitation of Christ in Latin during the drivel that now passes for a sermon. I participate with all my heart at the renewal of the Sacrifice of Calvary. I force the priest who distributes communion into the hands of the “sheep” he has been instructed to domesticate to give it to me at the communion rail, where I kneel. And during the final racket, I go outside to meditate, praying that the Lord might make me even more deaf to the world’s clamour, both literally and figuratively.
*
I must say that I sometimes rage when I hear some idiocy reach my ears, like this one, whose authenticity I guarantee: “Let us pray, my brothers, that among young men and women gathered together by their similar hairstyles and clothing, there may be no longer any difference of sex.” But one can get used to anything, even to the most ridiculous nonsense. As Léon Bloy rightly said, one must be sparing with one’s contempt, because there are so many who deserve it.
Let us not disguise the truth. Our refusal implies a judgement on Paul VI’s actions and words, and even on his person, with whom we are must, against our will, practise the virtue of “fraternal correction,” which Saint Thomas Aquinas considered an extension of the virtues of almsgiving and of charity, and which, he says, one must even carry out publicly with one’s superiors, after having exhausted all hidden means of doing so (II-IIae, q. 33). One can safely presume that an inferior as respectful of papal authority as Cardinal Ottaviani did not make his memorial letter to Paul VI public without having first exercised all possible diplomatic prudence. “If a superior is virtuous,” writes a commentator on the Summa, “he will gratefully accept any warnings that might give him clarity. He will be the first to admit that it is right to warn him and that he is not untouchable in every regard.” And he adds, following Saint Thomas, that the warning must be public “when, for instance, a superior publicly declares manifest heresies or causes great scandal, thus endangering the faith and salvation of his subordinates.”
Cardinal Ottaviani is certainly not alone in thinking that Paul VI, by his words and deeds, is “departing strikingly from the Catholic theology of the Holy Mass.” It is indeed inconceivable that the Pope merely skimmed over such an important document and carelessly signed it. The Ordo Missæ and the New Mass we vigorously reject are willed and imposed by Paul VI upon all Catholics.
How can such an attitude be possible from a Pope during such a critical time in the Church’s history? I cannot help but ask myself this question. And I can no longer keep my answer silent. The stakes are too high for laymen to let priests of all ranks to fight alone, without the support of some of the faithful they have alerted to the danger, against the “scandal” of the new Mass.
The point is not to get outraged—however tempting that might be—but to understand.
*
Paul VI is a man full of contradictions. This is a man who extols the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass in grand and traditional terms in his “Credo of the People of God,” but who downplays it in the new Mass he imposes on Catholic Christendom. This a man who signs and promulgates the Council’s official declarations regarding Latin, “the liturgical language par excellence,” and Gregorian chant, a treasure to be zealously preserved, and who, moreover, commits publicly to preserving them, but who reneges on his signature and word after consulting, in a matter as important the mode of expression of the worship offered to God, only liturgical experts, some of which are suspect while others belong to dissident Christian communities. This is a man who sees to it that the Dutch Catechism is censured, but who tolerates the spread of the dogmatic errors it contains. This is the man who authorizes the French Catechism, whose errors, omissions, and distortions of revealed Truth are all the more serious since it is intended for children, but who investigates deviations from the faith around the world. This is the man who proclaims Mary Mother of the Church, but who allows countless clerics of all ranks to tarnish the purity of her name. This the man who prays at Saint Peter’s and in the Masonic-style Chamber of Reflection at the United Nations. This is the man who gives audience to two actresses deliberately and provocatively dressed in miniskirts, but who then speaks out against the growing wave of sexualization in the world. This is the man who tells Pastor Boegner that Catholics are not mature enough for birth control with “the pill,” but who publishes Humanæ vitæ, while allowing it to be challenged by entire bishops’ conferences.
This is the man who proclaims that the law on clerical celibacy will never be abolished, but allows it to be questioned endlessly, while making it easy for priests wishing to marry to do so. This is the man who forbids communion in the hand, but who permits it, even authorizing certain churches, by special indult, to have laymen to distribute the holy Hosts. This is the man who bemoans the “self-destruction of the Church,” but who, despite being its chief and head, does nothing to stop it, thus letting it happen through his own consent. This is the man who issues the Nota prævia regarding his powers, but who allows it to be dismissed at the Synod of Rome as outdated and consigned to oblivion, etc.
One could go endlessly listing the Pope’s contradictions. The man himself is permanent contradiction and versatility, as well as fundamental ambiguity.
Hence, there are two possibilities.
A man who is unable to overcome his own internal contradictions and who openly displays them for all to see is unable to overcome the external contradictions he encounters in governing the Church. He is a weak and indecisive Pope, like others in the history of the Church, who conceals his vacillations behind a flood of the rhetoric that the emperor Julian, called the Apostate, called, speaking of the Arian bishops of his time who practised it so skilfully, “the art of downplaying what matters, exaggerating what does not, and substituting the artifice of words for the reality of things.” Sometimes, in a single phrase of a papal address, black and white are combined and reconciled by syntactical tricks.
The second hypothesis is no less probable: the Pope knows what he wants and the contradictions he shows are merely those that a man of action, driven by the goal he wants to achieve, encounters along his path and is not in the least concerned about, carried away as he is by the force of his ambition.
In this respect, one can presume, especially after the new Ordo Missæ and the new Mass, that Paul VI’s intention is to bring together in a single liturgical action clergy and laity from the various Christian denominations. Like any seasoned politician, the Pope knows that it is possible to unite people with fundamentally different “philosophical and religious opinions,” as we said at meetings in my youth. If this is the case, we can expect in the near future further manifestations of pontifical ecumenical action, modelled on political manœuvering.
It is true that the two interpretations of Paul VI’s behaviour can be combined. A weak man flees from his weakness or, more precisely, from himself, and plunges into action where contradictions are merely different phases of the changes essential to the action itself. Such temperaments are clearly focused on the world and the metamorphoses it implies, which influence one’s actions therein. One can then without any difficulty accept a “new catechism,” irreconcilable with the catechism of old, “because there is a new world,” as the French bishops say, and, in the language of the world, “a new world” has nothing in common with the previous one, just as a new fashion has nothing in common with a old one. “It is therefore no longer possible,” they add, “to view rites as permanently fixed in a rapidly evolving world.” We have been put on notice: the new Mass is akin to the permanent revolution that appeals to all adolescents and adults who have not yet moved past their crises of puberty, since it masks the contradictions they cannot overcome, precisely because these contradictions are integral to them.
Epigones manifest this trait most clearly, even exaggeratedly. Marx said that history repeated the tragedy of Napoleon I as a comedy under Napoleon III. Likewise, a certain Belgian bishop, who seems to me a sort of mini-Paul VI, has just been given the task of introducing the new Mass to the bewildered public. “This,” he declared in laughable terms, “marks the first final chapter of the liturgical reform ongoing since Vatican II.” We are assured there will be a second final chapter, and then third one, and so on endlessly. The man who tries to flee from himself through change never catches up, despite his sometimes comical efforts.
*
From this perspective, it is hard to find two popes in history who differ more radically than Saint Pius X and Paul VI.
I recently re-read the encyclical Pascendi. On nearly every page, I notice that what the former rejects, the latter accepts, tolerates, and endorses.
Saint Pius X was the rock of doctrine, a man who did not abandon his post or his people during the storm, and who evaded none of his responsibilities, as Paul VI admits doing in the remarkable speech he delivered on 7 December 1968: “Many expect dramatic gestures and energetic and decisive interventions from the pope. The Pope does not believe he should follow any line other than that of trust in Jesus Christ, to whom his Church is entrusted more than to anyone else. It is he who will calm the storm.”
Saint Pius X was not the man of solely pastoral government Paul VI claimed to be in his speech of 17 February 1969, where he said he was “open to understanding and indulgence.” Rather, he was a pope who heeded the example of his predecessors, who defended sound doctrine with extreme vigilance and unwavering firmness, committed to safeguarding it from any harm, “remembering the Apostle’s command: ‘Guard the good deposit’” (2 Timothy 1:14)
For Saint Pius X, “Jesus Christ taught that the first duty of the popes is to guard with the greatest vigilance the traditional deposit of the faith, rejecting the profane novelties of words,” against “those who disdain all authority and, relying upon a false conscience, attempt to ascribe to a love of truth that which is in reality the result of pride and obstinacy.”. He would never have conceded, as Paul VI has often implied, that “truth is equally found in the religious experiences” of other religions, and that the same God is common to Jews, Muslims, and Christians. He never “bestowed honours on the teachers of error,” such as Marie-Dominique Chenu and his ilk, “so as to give rise to the belief that their admiration is not meant merely for the persons, who are perhaps not devoid of merit, but rather the errors they openly profess and champion.”
Saint Pius X would never have suggested that “worship is born from a need, for everything in the modernists’ system is explained by inner impulses or necessities.” How many texts by Paul VI we could list here that state the exact opposite, especially his speech of 26 November 1969, where he justified his repudiation of Latin and Gregorian chant in the new Mass by invoking the people’s supposed need to understand their prayer and participate in the office “in their everyday language.” Saint Pius X did not approve of the modernists’ “great anxiety to find a way of conciliation between the authority of the Church and the liberty of believers,” as Paul VI constantly does. He did not profess “that most pernicious doctrine which would make of the laity a factor of progress in the Church” nor did he seek “compromises and transactions between the forces of conservation and of progress in the Church in order to bring about the changes and progress demanded by our times.” Similarly, Saint Pius X did not follow the “purely subjective” method that drives modernists “to put themselves in to the position and person of Christ and then to attribute to him what they would have done under like circumstances,” as Paul VI does when he affirms, having unilaterally decreed the use of the new Mass, that his will “is the Will of Christ, the breath of the Spirit calling the Church to this transformation,” adding, pathetically, to show that his inspiration coincides with divine inspiration (although he specifies that it is not the case in his Credo), that “this prophetic moment passing through the mystical Body of Christ, which is the Church, shakes her, wakes her, and compels her to renew the mysterious art of her prayer” (26 November 1969). “What is safest and most secure,” said Saint John of the Cross, “is to flee from prophecies and revelations, and if anything new regarding the faith is revealed to us [the lex orandi is also lex credendi, and any manifest novelty in worship is novelty in the faith] it should in no way be consented to” (Ascent of Mount Carmel, 1. II, ch. 19 and 27).
Finally, is it not evident that behind Paul VI’s interventions on the world stage there lies the conviction, which Saint Paul X rejected as pernicious, that “God’s kingdom has gone on slowly developing in the course of history, adapting itself successively to the different mediums through which it has passed, borrowing from them by vital assimilation all the […] forms that served its purpose”?
As John H. Knox noticed in a penetrating article in National Review (21 October 1969), there is no doubt that “there never was and probably never will be a pope who has tried so hard to please the liberals and who so sincerely shares so many of their beliefs.” And yet Paul VI, in an act of supreme contradiction, labels this progressivism as modernismus redivivus!
In any case, Paul VI evidently shares the modernists’ main goal of making the Catholic Church acceptable to non-Catholic churches and even to all atheist régimes, as his recent Christmas address (and many previous ones) suggests: China and Russia now deserve Catholics’ deference and esteem! Let us remember his enthusiastic support for the Chinese youth Mao mobilized in the “Cultural Revolution”!
This is a dream, an illusion whose vanity the Gospel itself reveals to us: the Church, no matter how appealing she might try to make herself, will never be loved by the world. As harsh as our assessment of Paul VI might be, we must say, in the final analysis, that despite the undeniable qualities of his heart, the current Pope consistently sees things differently than they are. His is a false spirit.
Like all false spirits, he is unconsciously cruel. While a contemplative is gentle, a man of action who, like Paul VI, views the goal of his action through a dreamlike lens, is pitiless towards the poor souls of flesh and bone he cannot see or, if he does, considers to be obstacles. This explains the inflexible nature of Paul VI’s character, seemingly at odds with his inability to govern the Church. A man of action is almost always inhuman, but when he moves in a millenarian and spiritually triumphant atmosphere, one must then be afraid… Paul VI will move forward, without looking back, crushing all resistance…
Unless God opens his eyes… That would be a miracle…
*
Nothing remains but to try to incorporate into our lives the obligation Saint John of the Cross mentions in one of his letters: “In order to have God in all things, we must have nothing in all things.” The Church has entered the Dark Night of the senses and of the spirit, the gateway to the Dawn. Her condition invites us to enter into our own.
This eternal fountain is hidden deep,
Well I know where it has its spring,
Though it is night!
Marcel De Corte
Professor at the University of Liège
(Marcel De Corte was born in Belgium in 1905 and died in 1994. Philosopher, heir to the great Aristotelian tradition, contemporary of Jacques Maritain, Étienne Gilson, Gabriel Marcel, and Gustave Thibon, he taught at the University of Liège until 1975. Frequent contributor to the Catholic periodical, Itinéraires, and author of more than twenty works on philosophical reflection, he was notably interested in social evolutions that stem from the French and Industrial Revolutions, principally regarding the moral and social disintegration of modern man. Two of his books have been translated recently into English: Intelligence in Danger of Death and On the Death of a Civilization, both published by Arouca Press.)
