october 2009

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“Instaurare omnia in Christo”

A Journal of Roman Catholic Tradition

inside

Archbishop Lefebvre:
The Problem of Liberty, PART 2

st. paul of tarsus

Tales of Foreign Lands: The Pirate’s Prisoner, PART 1

Ed Faust: Working Like Crazy

damien The leper

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“Instaurare omnia in Christo—To restore all things in Christ.”
Motto of Pope St. Pius X

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October 2009
Volume XXXII, Number 10

• Kansas City, Missouri 64109

English-language Editor and Publisher
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Letter from the editor. .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 2

PublisheR

damien the leper, Damien of christ. .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 3

Fr. Arnaud Rostand
Editor

Fr. Markus Heggenberger
Assistant Editor

Mr. James Vogel
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Ed Faust

st. paul of tarsus . .Christendom
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Angelus Press Edition

Fr. Jean Bayot, SSPX

the pirate’s prisoner . .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 19
Fr. Joseph Spillmann, S.J.

the problem of liberty: part 2 . .Christendom
 .  .  .  .  .  .  . NEWS
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Angelus Press Edition

Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre

Working like crazy. .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 32
Ed Faust

Church and world . .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 36

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catechism of the crisis in the church . .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 39
Fr. Matthias Gaudron

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2

Letter
from
the
Editor

A chapter has been closed at Angelus Press with
the departure of Father Novak, our editor for the past
17 years. Father is now serving the souls at the SSPX
priory of Jesus and Mary Chapel in El Paso, Texas.
He has been mentoring the new editor (myself, Fr.
Markus Heggenberger) during the past year in the
editorial duties of a demanding book program and of
the traditionalist journal The Angelus.
After 17 years of leadership by Fr. Novak, Angelus
Press is an established traditional Catholic publishing
house that draws on many resources, especially on the
expertise of the Priestly Society of St. Pius X.
Nobody will be surprised, therefore, that the
superior of the US district, Fr. Arnaud Rostand, takes
great interest in the activities of Angelus Press. He
does not have the time for a time-consuming editorial
role, but he provides many ideas and leadership which
is much appreciated. Many of our faithful read The
Angelus in order to know the official position of the
SSPX on religious subjects, especially those that are
discussed by dissident groups who distort things for
their own agenda.
It is also true that Angelus Press has an international
presence in the movement of Tradition. The reasons
for this are numerous:
l First, the universality of the English language. If
it is true that Americans sometimes do not learn
foreign languages (in contrast to some other
nations, for example, in Switzerland, where the
knowledge of at least one foreign language is very
common), it is because English is one of the most
widespread languages in the world.
l Second, the seminary in North America is growing.
At the most recent ordinations, in June 2009,
there were more ordinations for the SSPX in the
US than anywhere else in the world (that means
more than in Ecône [Switzerland], Zaitzkofen
[Germany], La Reja [Argentina], or Goulburn
[Australia].) This might not always be the case in
the future, but it testifies to the growing emphasis
on education inside the American District of the
SSPX.
l Last but not least, there are the efforts of many
young people and families to grow up in a
traditional culture. I use this expression not so
much in the religious sense of “Tradition,” but
more in the sense of “culture” versus “pseudoculture” represented by the modern media, such as
THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

the computer and television. This latter conveys,
under the appearance of information, a caricature
of knowledge that poisons the human mind and
produces a void, leaving the individual without
the traditional skill of independently reflecting
and meditating on important subjects of daily life,
for example, education or how to spend money
reasonably.
This last point seems to be the most important
aspect of all, because habits of personal culture can
(and often have to) be changed. A simple example is
the culture of reading (good) books. It is incredible
what treasures are today more available than ever–
including books on tape. But it is equally incredible
how many people no longer read or have never
developed this habit. Our generation is a generation
of pictures, of moving pictures, of strong and passing
impressions, rather than of meditation and reflection.
Consequently the media consists of television and the
computer rather than the printed text. Gutenberg (the
inventor of the first mechanical printing press) has
been outdone by Bill Gates…
This is not the place to lament the loss of culture
in general. It suffices to say about this topic that our
society is advancing in the creation of more and more
powerful technical means (which could be used in the
service of truth and the discovery of reality), while the
use of those means is more and more challenged by
moral dangers of all kinds. It is possible today to live
in a complete illusion of artificial reality without having
any kind of serious relation to people (real persons) or
things (reality). Would it be, then, astonishing if one
day “Big Brother” (George Orwell) rules us?
The challenge consists in ordering things according
to their inherent value, in teaching the real value of
Christian culture to those who are open to it, and in
using the single most important structure of society,
the family, to bring about a healing process. This
demands many small efforts. Angelus Press, though
not perfect but realizing the necessity of a common
effort, wants to contribute to this great end, which is
one of the natural means that will lay the groundwork
for the supernatural restoration of the Spouse of
Christ, the Church.

Instaurare Omnia in Christo,
Fr. Markus Heggenberger

3
E d w i n

F a u s t

the Leper, Damien of Christ

Advice to Be Read on Shipboard. To find the good in a thing
at once is a sign of good taste.…They have the luckier taste who
amongst a thousand defects seize upon a single beauty that they
may have hit upon by chance.–Given by the Superior General of
the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary to the
missionaries departing for Hawaii in 1863
Having been raised when the news was still
delivered with the evening paper, the reading of
which was a somber ritual reserved for fathers and
barred to sons, my boyhood vision did not encompass
the doings of the larger world. There were great
advantages to this limited perspective, to seeing only
those things that were close at hand, but they must be
set against certain needless fears to which a narrower
knowledge made me vulnerable. I did not know, in
1957, that there was little likelihood of contracting
leprosy in South Philadelphia. Such ignorance
became a source of secret anxiety in my young life, as
I watched carefully the slow healing of small wounds
and worried about any lack of feeling I seemed to
experience in my extremities. This misplaced concern

was the result of stories told my third-grade class by
Sister Josephita, an ardent admirer of Father Damien
of Molokai.
I remember sitting at my desk while the late
September sun poured through the large windows
of the classroom and Sister Josephita recounted for
us the horrors of a leper colony on an island half a
world away and a century removed in time, but so
intense was her devotion to Damien and so vivid her
narrative that I thought of the scenes she described as
unfolding in the present. I would look out the window
and imagine farther off the peaks of Molokai reaching
into the sky, high above the huddled settlement where
Father Damien was washing and bandaging the open
sores of his flock. Damien was a hero to me: a man
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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

4
whose courage was to be envied and emulated. He
was also a figure of dread: one whose example I might
be called to follow. Doubts about my own bravery ran
deep, and I wondered darkly whether I should fail
when my moment of trial arrived.
And, as I say, I wondered about the health of my
own flesh, which I then realized was rather dear to
me, perhaps more so than it should have been. Lepers
featured prominently in many of the stories I heard
as a young boy. They appeared frequently in the
Gospels and in the lives of the saints. Their affliction
struck me as among the real and terrible possibilities
of life, and the fear that I might be marked for such a
fate left me torn between resignation and revulsion.
Indeed, sometimes I was seized by a kind of panic at
the idea of becoming a leper. All this may seem rather
silly now, a bit of juvenile melodrama that a more
sensible nature would have dismissed, but I cannot
deny that I sometimes tossed on my bed at night,
thinking of Molokai, of being surrounded by creatures
with fingerless hands and crumbling lips and holes
where noses had been. I imagined them staring out at
me from the dark corners of my room. I asked God
for strength, and for deliverance from the horrors I
envisioned, then felt ashamed of my cowardice as I
thought of Damien.
More than a half-century has elapsed since
I lived in fear of leprosy, and, at the time of this
writing, Father Damien is about to be raised to the
honors of the altar. Were a child today to find himself
wondering about his susceptibility to the disease, he
would likely “google” it and, within minutes, have his
fears allayed by the facts on the screen: the nature
of the bacterium leprae; the numbers and locations
of those afflicted; the contagion, progression and
treatment of the disease; its history through the
centuries and in various societies. I had no such
resources available to me, and perhaps it is good that
I was left to wonder about my fate and to exercise
my young mind in trying to understand the heart of a
man such as Damien. I sometimes lament the presentday loss of such innocence as I possessed and think of
the lines from T.S. Eliot’s Choruses from the Rock:
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?

If anything is generally known about Damien
these days, it is likely to have been discovered
through the Internet, that dubious yet largely
unquestioned satisfier of universal curiosity. There
are several books, including Damien the Leper by
John Farrow, my personal favorite. There is also a
documentary film and a star-studded Hollywood
movie. Both have some merit, but neither is
entirely accurate. The 2003 documentary, narrated
by Robin Williams, even quotes a tour guide at
Molokai proclaiming that Damien cared only about
people and was not interested in “pushing religion.”
THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

The assumption is that caring about people and
pushing religion are somehow antithetical, and that
a missionary priest who passed his seminary days
praying to St. Francis Xavier had little interest in
converting souls to Christ. The preferred popular
portrait of Damien is that of a humanist. He must
be fitted into the category of the social-worker saint
whose natural virtues are separable from his religious
faith. The late Pope John Paul II, in beatifying
Damien in 1995, fell in with the fashion and declared
him to be “a servant of humanity.” The term would
have puzzled Damien, who understood himself to be
a servant of God.
But it is never easy to describe a saint. We can
only discern the evidence of an inward life that must
remain largely hidden, for God alone can know the
heart of one of His creatures. Those who attempt
to tell the stories of saints must rely on whatever
dramatic detail is offered by external events. The
story of Father Damien is rich in drama, but such
richness can be either a source of edification or
misunderstanding, depending upon the perspective of
the storyteller.
The details of his early life are few and simple.
Born in 1840, Damien grew up amid a large family on
a farm in the Flemish village of Tremeloo (in modernday Belgium), but his father had ambitions for young
Joseph de Veuster and sent him to school to learn
French so that he might pursue a career in commerce.
Joseph, however, had a vocation. Although as a boy
he was wont to get into a bit of mischief, his high
spirits were grounded in a serious nature. When he
was moved, he was moved deeply, and nothing could
dissuade him from a course of action he had resolved
to follow. After attending a Redemptorist retreat,
Joseph decided he was called to the religious life. His
father eventually became resigned to his joining his
brother Pamphile as a member of the Congregation
of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary. He was first
marked out to be a lay brother, but he learned enough
Latin from Pamphile to become a candidate for the
priesthood. Like everything else in his life, however,
his path to the priesthood was to be an unusual one.
Pamphile had been ordained and was among a group
of young priests about to disembark for the missions
in the Hawaiian Islands, but he became ill–too ill
to travel. Joseph, who had taken the religious name
Damien, after a fourth-century physician and martyr,
violated protocol and wrote directly to the superior
of the order in Paris, begging permission to take his
brother’s place. It was surprisingly granted.
Not yet ordained, Damien found himself aboard
a ship in Bremerhaven about to begin a five-month
passage under sail to the South Pacific. He loved life
aboard ship and was a good sailor, even climbing
into the rigging to help set canvas. If anything ever
frightened him, he never gave evidence of it; nor
did he ever appear fatigued. Gifted with immense
courage and strength, both physically and morally,

5

Altar of repose
prepared by the
leper colony and
decorated with
flags from around
the world

Fr. Damien’s grave marker

Blessed Fr. Damien after
he had succumbed to the
deteriorating effects of leprosy

St. Philomena’s Church

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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

6
Damien was about to put his talents to use climbing
mountains, crossing volcanoes, tramping through
forests, building churches and making converts
to Christ and his Church. He was ordained at the
cathedral in Honolulu two months after he arrived,
in May 1864, and began his missionary work on the
large island of Hawaii. He labored with great success
for almost a decade when, in 1873, Bishop Maigret
addressed the priests of his diocese and made what
was for him a difficult request.
The government of Hawaii, then a monarchy
largely controlled by American administrators, had
been combating a virulent outbreak of leprosy and
decided to establish an isolation colony on the island
of Molokai. Lepers, by law, were required to report
their condition to local authorities. They would then
be transported to Honolulu and confined until ships
took them to Molokai. Once there, they were never
permitted to leave the colony. For some years, the
Church had staffed a small chapel for the Catholic
lepers with a rotation of volunteers: each priest would
serve for a short period, then be replaced. But the
Board of Health decided on a policy of complete
isolation: no one who entered the leper colony would
be allowed to leave it. The bishop was in consequence
compelled either to abandon the Catholic souls
afflicted with the disease or to ask one of his priests to
consign himself to Molokai for the rest of his life and,
as seemed certain, to the fate of eventually becoming
a leper.
Bishop Maigret, a hardy soul with a tender heart,
could not bring himself to order anyone to accept
such an assignment. As it turned out, there was no
need. Immediately after explaining the situation to
a gathering of his priests, four volunteers stepped
forward, including Damien.
The other three priests were newly arrived.
Damien argued convincingly that his experience
made him the best qualified among the volunteers.
Reluctantly, the bishop agreed, thus condemning
this healthy, young man to spend the remainder
of his days looking upon scenes that the rest of the
world regarded with the utmost terror and revulsion.
Damien discovered that a leper ship was leaving
that very night and proposed to board it. Maigret
could not bear to let him make the journey alone and
accompanied Damien to the island, where he stood
on the beach, announced to the gathered lepers that
he had brought them a spiritual father to care for
them, then blessed the flock, stammered a few parting
words to Damien and returned to the ship, leaving his
priest behind in a circle of hell that Dante could not
have imagined.
There was no place for Damien to live, so he slept
outside beneath a tree near the dilapidated church
of St. Philomena, which he immediately began to
clean and repair. He spent his first days surveying the
scenes on the peninsula of Kalaupapa, a windswept
strip of land cut off from the rest of the island by
THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

sheer cliffs rising 3,000 feet above the settlement.
The lepers lived in conditions that would have been
hideous for any human being, but they suffered the
added torments of their disease and the emotional
desolation of family separation: mothers had been
torn away from their children, and children from their
mothers; husbands and wives were separated, never
to see each other again. The lepers were considered
as already dead, removed from the land of the living
and left to rot in oblivion. Most lived in filthy, lean-to
shelters with no bedding. Food was scarce and
medicine non-existent. Their sores were unbandaged.
Some became so morally abandoned that it was said
no law of God or man existed at Molokai. There
were no police. Drunkenness and prostitution were
common.
There was a belief prevalent among the largely
Protestant establishment in Honolulu that leprosy
represented the fourth stage of syphilis, so there was
little sympathy for its sufferers, who were seen as
pagans being justly punished for their immorality. The
truth was otherwise, and leprosy, along with syphilis,
was introduced to the islands by the white man. The
Protestants also bore a great resentment toward the
Catholic missionaries. Bishop Maigret, as a young
priest, had for a time been expelled from the islands.
The Protestants, mostly from America, controlled
the government, including the Board of Health. The
official plan, absurd as it was, had envisioned Molokai
as a self-sustaining agricultural community, and the
lepers were blamed for failing to implement the plan.
Of course, most of them had only four or five years
to live; some less. As the disease progressed, they
became lame and blind and weak–hardly fit to follow
behind the plow, if there had been a plow.
Damien did what he could with whatever he
had, and he became a relentless advocate for the
lepers, forever petitioning the Board of Health and
church officials in Honolulu for help. The lepers
were eventually granted a $6 annual allowance. This
enabled Damien to obtain for them inexpensive
clothing and other necessities. Meanwhile, he spent
the greater part of his days baptizing, burying and
bandaging. He cut strips of cloth to wrap wounds,
but the shortage of bandages required him to wash
the cloths again and again for reuse. He refused to
abide by the admonitions he had been given against
touching the lepers or sharing their food. He had no
fear of contracting the disease and would not allow
his parishioners to see him shrink from them. As he
wrote to his brother Pamphile in Paris, he had already
sat under the funeral pall when he took the vows of
his order, so he had died in Christ a long time ago.
In the evenings, he set aside time to build coffins,
as never a day passed without a burial, sometimes
several.
Damien never complained about his own lot,
only that of his parishioners and his catechumens in
spe, i.e. all the lepers he hoped to convert. He became

7
an increasing nuisance to the officials who preferred
to forget about Molokai. Damien thus earned a
reputation as a difficult and obstinate man. He would
not be cowled or silenced when it came to his lepers.
The colony had no water supply, so Damien bothered
officials in Honolulu until they sent a shipment of
pipes to Molokai that he and his lepers connected to
a spring on the mountainside. A storm blew away the
filthy shelters under which the lepers had huddled, so
Damien petitioned and obtained lumber with which
he was able to construct decent huts. He managed
to get hold of musical instruments, recruit and train
choirs and form burial societies. He established a
makeshift orphanage. And always, always, he taught
the faith, and he fought a ceaseless battle against those
who tried to take his parishioners away from him.
At one point, a shaman of sorts who had acquired
a knowledge of voodoo in the West Indies began
a campaign to rid Molokai of Damien’s influence.
Fewer people were appearing at Mass and cold looks
were replacing smiles in certain quarters as Damien
made his rounds. At night, he would lie awake and
listen to the drums beating for the pagan ritual in the
hills, until one night he decided to act, to take the
fight to the enemy. For a long time, he made his way
through the dark, stumbling amid the thick foliage as
he climbed higher toward the sound of the drums. At
last, he arrived at the mouth of a cave whose interior
was lighted by torches. There, the followers of the
voodoo priest squatted. Damien spied his nemesis at
the head of the assembly, looking down on a bowl of
blood that had just been drained from the body of a
dog. The shaman held in his hand a doll dressed in
black with a white face and a rosary wrapped around
its middle. As Damien advanced toward the voodoo
priest, some of the men rose to attack him, but in the
confusion, the bowl of blood was spilled and the men
jumped back in alarm. Damien then grabbed the doll
out of the hands of the shaman, ripped it to pieces,
then threw it on the ground and stomped on its head.
So much for the power of voodoo. No one was to
snatch out of Damien’s hands what God had given
him.
Although Damien never sought any publicity,
it came to him unbidden. His brother Pamphile
published one of his letters, and he quickly became
famous throughout Europe. His reputation among
some of the good people in Honolulu also began to
grow. Eventually, the princess-regent, Liluokalani,
against the advice of her entourage, decided to visit
Molokai. The planned hourlong stay became a
daylong visit, as the princess became overwhelmed
by the suffering she saw and reluctant to leave her
people. As she was at last rowed back to her ship,
she wept uncontrollably. The princess later awarded
Damien the Order of Kalakaua, the highest honor
her government could bestow. The honor did not
immediately bring Damien the aid he sought for his
lepers, but it did help to make their plight known, as

the newspapers took note of the event and reports of
Father Damien’s work gained international attention.
What he most wanted was a companion in his labors
and nuns to help care for the dying and the orphans.
He eventually, but rather late in his short life,
obtained both.
The companion came from an unexpected
quarter. Ira Barnes Dutton had been a calvary officer
for the Union Army in the War Between the States.
He had also wedded unwisely and his wife, after
several infidelities committed in the first year of their
marriage, abandoned him for another man. He later
divorced her. Little is known about his conversion to
the Catholic Faith, which occurred in mid-life, but it
caused him to forsake a lucrative government post
and to devote himself to a life of penance. He read
about Father Damien and decided that Molokai was
where he belonged.
He was known as Brother Joseph, although
Dutton never took any religious vows. He and
Damien got on well from the start, and Dutton
brought his military training to bear on Damien’s
affairs. He had a talent for organization and a
dedication to the work that approached Damien’s
own. It was sometimes said of Damien that he was
headstrong and intractable; incapable of working
with others. Dutton gave that the lie. Damien only
appeared difficult to those who did not share his
commitment to the physical and spiritual welfare of
his lepers. Eventually, some priest helpers also came
to the island and, what Damien had longed for most,
nuns. But Blessed Mother Marianne Cope and her
Franciscan sisters arrived near the end of Damien’s
life, a sort of parting gift to show that his prayers had
not been in vain.
Perhaps the most important day for his
parishioners occurred on a Sunday in June 1885.
Damien stepped to the altar rail, as usual, to deliver
his sermon, but then, instead of using his customary
salutation, “My Brethren,” he began by saying, “We
lepers.” Damien had finally become one with his
people.
The years of his decline were, perhaps, the busiest
of his life, as donations and helpers began to arrive.
He finally had beds, a hospital, an orphanage, sisters
to care for his people, the good Brother Joseph to
carry on his work and more priests from the mainland
to administer the sacraments. He worked until the
end; until he could no longer walk and had difficulty
seeing through one eye. He died the Monday of Holy
Week, April 15, 1889.
In his last years, he had been visited by Edward
Clifford, an English Protestant artist who was greatly
moved by Damien’s work and who wrote what
became a popular book about the priest of Molokai.
In a way, Damien became more famous in death
than he ever was in life, thanks in part to Robert
Louis Stevenson, another Protestant. Stevenson
had intended to visit Damien, but arrived a month
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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

8

A Hymn of the
Lepers of Molokai
When, oh when shall it be given to me
To behold my God?
When,
Oh, when shall the captivity of my wretched soul
Cease in this strange land where night and day
Weeping,
Weeping alone is my portion;
When, oh when shall I leave this valley of sorrow
Where the only bread I eat is my continual tears?
When, oh when shall I see my well-beloved Lord?
Prince of the Heavens is He,
Guardian of my soul, my Hope, my Savior,
My all.

too late. Still, he was able to spend some time with
Mother Marianne and Brother Joseph and the people
of Molokai. He was amazed at what Father Damien
had accomplished and wrote a beautiful poem of
tribute to Mother Marianne and her sisters. Shortly
after Stevenson’s visit, there was published in a
Protestant ecclesiastical journal a letter by the Rev.
C.M. Hyde, of Honolulu, to a fellow minister in
Australia who had enquired about the work of Father
Damien. Hyde dismissed Damien as “a coarse, dirty
man” who had been given credit for care that had
been provided the lepers by the Board of Health
and the Protestant authorities. He further said that
Damien’s leprosy was his own fault, the result of
his “vices,” stating that Damien had not been “a
pure man in his relations with women.” Hyde thus
reinforced the false notion that leprosy was a stage of
syphilis and viciously defamed a holy and chaste man.
His slanders did not go unanswered.
There are some unenviable people who earn
renown in this world by being chastised by a great
writer. No one would remember Colly Cibber if he
had not annoyed Alexander Pope. No one would
remember Mr. Hyde if he had not angered Robert
Louis Stevenson. In an open letter that was published
in several newspapers throughout the world,
Stevenson defended Father Damien and exposed
Hyde as a malicious liar. Stevenson pointed out that
although the Protestant missionaries had failed to
evangelize the Hawaiians, they had succeeded in
making themselves rich; that the proud houses of
the Protestant clergy, including Hyde’s own mansion
where Stevenson had once been a guest, were a
cause of mockery among the poor in Honolulu.
He concluded his open letter by telling Hyde that
Damien was “my father…and the father of all who
love goodness; and he was your father too, if God had
given you the grace to see it.”
THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

Poem written by Robert
Louis Stevenson after his
visit to Molokai, 1889
To the Reverend Sister Marianne
Matron of the Bishop Home, Kalaupapa
To see the infinite pity of this place,
The mangled limbs, the devastated face,
The innocent sufferers smiling at the rod,
A fool were tempted to deny his God.
He sees, and shrinks; but if he look again,
Lo! beauty springing from the breast of pain!
He marks the sisters on the painful shores,
And even a fool is silent and adores.

Much has been learned about leprosy since
Damien’s time. Millions are still afflicted, most in
India and Southeast Asia, but effective treatment in
now possible. Lepers are no longer segregated by
law, nor do they bear the moral stigma from earlier
misunderstandings about the cause of the disease. But
to think of Damien only in relation to leprosy would
be to miss the import of his life, as do those who
regard him as a social worker.
Now and then, in a manner that the world is
compelled to notice, God gives us someone who
shows us what it means to be a disciple of Christ, who
reminds us of the essence of our religion by living
it in as perfect a way as an imperfect creature can.
Now and then, there appears among us a St. Francis
of Assisi or a Father Damien to wake us from our
sleepwalking in the Faith and to show us the face
of Christ on earth. And, at the risk of presumption,
I would say that to Father Damien the sores of his
lepers were as nothing compared to the hideousness
of sin he saw among the so-called healthy people of
his day. What would he think of the open, running
spiritual sores of our own time, and even in our own
Church?
There is a cure for leprosy, but where is the cure
for modernity? It is there, in Damien, as in Christ.
It is love, and love is sacrifice, not social work. St.
Damien, pray for us.
Edwin Faust is a retired newspaperman who writes for Traditional Catholic
publications and lives in New Jersey with his wife, Kathleen.They have three sons.

Several books have been written on Damien. I recommend
Damien the Leper by John Farrow, published by Image Books
in 1954 and, before that, I believe, by Sheed and Ward. It is
beautifully written in a manly style and avoids all the pitfalls
of hagiography.

9
F r .

J e a n

B a y o t

St. Paul
of Tarsus
Christendom
NEWS
Angelus Press Edition

I would like to take a glance at the subject of Christian
subversion. I did not want to mention this in the title
because it would have scandalized those who judge the
contents of a text by the title–even when it is paradoxical.
Rest reassured! I am not going to subvert your
religion or criticize what you have learned. In fact, when
I first imagined this topic, I thought of dealing with the
subject in quite a different manner from that which I am
actually going to do. I had planned to use St. Paul as
a starting point and go as far as the fall of the Roman
Empire to show that Christianity was not the agent of
its destruction–the termites!–as it is sometimes said to
be. It is a vast subject, and it was obviously going to
be impossible to cover briefly. So, despairing a little,
I looked for a shortcut which would enable me to
reach my conclusion. As it happens, just recently
I overheard a couple of statements which made
me prick up my ears and have made me partly
change the objective I had originally set. Hence the
somewhat improvised character of this for which I
pray you will excuse me.
The old statement of our common master, Mr.
André Piganiol–“The Roman Empire did not die,
it was murdered”–still resounds in our ears. But
it was just a quip. His other habitual discourses
mostly denied this paradoxical and provoking
assertion. It would seem, however, that he has
epigones1 far less educated, intelligent, or subtle
than he was. For instance, the other day, one of
his successors at the Sorbonne said, by way of
an allusion during a lecture on Roman History,
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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

10
whilst commenting upon the famous text of Tacitus
about the fire of Rome, a text famous among all
(Annals, Book XV, 38-45), that we do not really
know who set Rome on fire. It had been said that
it was the Christians, a fact later refuted. Tacitus
himself did not seem to be quite sure about this fact.
But after all, from such people as the Christians you
could expect anything, and the very fact that it had
been imagined that it could have been the Christians
given the fact that they are–and not were!–spoilsports
and troublemakers, it seemed to be quite likely
that it was their work after all. They were feverish,
they had just been converted, they did not have the
audience to which their silly pretension aspired; so
in order to get some publicity and draw attention
to themselves, they set Rome on fire! This is what
I heard gravely uttered on a peremptory tone by
an eminent professor at the Sorbonne. This is quite
curious given the fact that for many years now no
one has granted any credit to this ridiculous fable.
Another fellow professor said, while
commenting with much more erudition and
subtlety on the reforms of the Council of Trent and
their possible repercussions on our times, that she
was not taking sides concerning such or such an
aspect of the reform, because she wanted to get
out of the classroom alive and that there might be
some convinced Catholics present at the lecture.
Consequently, she took all oratory precautions
possible to make sure that she would be able to
leave the room in one piece, alive and well! Once
again, we are considered as decidedly dangerous
folk. So, I told myself that maybe I should make
known the truth of the matter. Consequently, we
are going to proceed from the beginning and aim
to show, using existing texts, whether or not these
first Christians were indeed dangerous people or
revolutionaries as some still wish to portray us even
now.
The first meeting between Christianity and the
Roman State took place not in Rome but in the East,
where Christianity was born.

Origin of the Word “Christian”
It may not be completely pointless to recall
whence we got our name: from Christ, of course,
but that was not our first designation. During the
first decades of the existence of Christianity, local
or Roman magistrates considered Christianity as
one of the Jewish sects. There were many; you
have heard about the Pharisees and Sadducees, for
instance. And then there were these newcomers,
whom the Jews called Nazarenes. I am looking at
things from the viewpoint of the power which was to
become opposed to Christianity: the Roman State.
For them, it was just a Jewish sect! Hence, contrary
to what we might believe a little naively, it was not
THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

going to cause alarm to the suspicious eyes of any
Roman civil servant. The Jewish religion was what
they called a religio licita, a licit, permissible religion
within the Roman State. It was among those which
could be freely practiced in the Roman Empire.
Thus incipient Christianity–under cover of this
alleged Judaism–first benefited from ambiguity, and
consequently from the permission granted to the
practice of the Jewish religion. Even better, the first
Christians were protected by the Romans because of
this confusion. Thus we observe great optimism with
regard to temporal power in the texts from the first
Christian generation: the Gospels, the writings of
St. Luke, and of St. Paul in the Acts of the Apostles.
The inspired writers praised the sense of justice
of the Roman State, its juridical organization: the
emperor was just because he punished evildoers,
and representatives of this just emperor, the
magistrates, were also thus regarded. (I leave aside
the case of Pontius Pilate, the Roman Procurator
who condemned Christ, because this is quite a
different issue, and I do not want to launch into the
exegesis of the trial of Christ.)
The first Christians, once established after
having left the hiding places in which they remained
until the day of Pentecost, practiced their worship
freely with respect to the Roman State. However,
it was soon necessary to distinguish between the
Jewish sects and the new religion. Hence, they
needed a name. Between themselves, the very first
Christians–the term is anachronistic at that time—
simply called themselves brethren, the disciples, the
saints. The Jews called them Nazarene because it
was general public knowledge that Jesus Christ had
been born in Nazareth, and they were the disciples
of Jesus of Nazareth. As far as we know, the pagans
“christened” our fathers in the faith with the name of
Christians. This word was born in pagan circles and
in the context of pagan conversions following the
apostles’ preaching.
This took place in Antioch. We can be very
precise about this fact because we have the first
occurrence of this name in the Acts of the Apostles.
It did not come from the Jews and could not have
because christianos—christianus in Latin–means
disciple of Christ. Now, what is the meaning of
the Greek word Christ? It is the Greek translation
of the Hebrew word Messiah; consequently, to call
these newcomers Christians was to acknowledge that
they were disciples of the Messiah under its Greek
name, and hence admit that Jesus was indeed the
Messiah–a fact denied by any Jew. This is blatant
linguistic proof that the name “Christian” could
not come from the Jewish community. This word
was coined in a community whose members were
in majority pagan and not Jewish; they had no
opinion concerning a true or false Messiah. What
they desired was to become followers of this already

11
resplendent personage with his divine prestige who
had come to bring them truth and salvation. So
they were going to be called christianoï. There is
something strange here, however, because christos
is a Greek word, and the ending is Latin. So they
added a Latin suffix to a Greek word and the result
was a kind of hybrid word. This simply proves that
the social circle where the word was coined was
bilingual, but not very refined as to the linguistic
purity of the words it used. Thus we have a Latin
suffix appended to a Greek stem, translated from
Hebrew: all three sacred languages are there.
The coining of the word “Christian” comes from
the pagan world, which proves that Christianity
had been first and foremost received into pagan
circles as the light they had been expecting. Hence
the conversions. At first the name was a nickname;
it meant “the disciples of Christ.” It had no official
value, and in the primitive Church, they were
not yet calling themselves Christians. It was a
nickname given by others, by those from the other
side who were wondering what to call the disciples
of this Christos, whether they were following them
or merely observing them. The name was at first
unknown to the judicial service. As no other name
was suggested, the popular nickname was adopted.
The name spread far and wide with speed. From
the very beginning it had the meaning that it still has
today. For instance, when Paul appears before the
Procurator Festus, King Agrippa, and Bernice during
one of his trials in Cæsarea, King Aggripa, upon
hearing Paul, told him: “In a little thou persuadest
me to become a Christian.” Such was the word used
by this unconverted foreigner before whom Paul
stood as an apostle and a propagandist of the Faith.
St. Peter, in his first Epistle (4:12-16) says:
Dearly beloved, think not strange the burning heat
which is to try you, as if some new thing happened to
you; But if you partake of the sufferings of Christ, rejoice
that when his glory shall be revealed, you may also be
glad with exceeding joy. If you be reproached for the
name of Christ, you shall be blessed: for that which is of
the honour, glory, and power of God, and that which is
his Spirit, resteth upon you. But let none of you suffer as
a murderer, or a thief, or a railer, or a coveter of other
men’s things. But as a Christian, let him not be ashamed,
but let him glorify God in that name.

Later the word appeared in texts by Suetonius
and Tacitus to designate the adepts of this new
religion, in the modern sense of the word, and which
differentiated them from the Jews.

St. Paul in Antioch and Philippi
The first incidents between Christians and
the Roman State, or at least the representatives of
authority, took place in Antioch of Pysidia in the
years 50-52. Paul and Barnabas were taken in for

questioning by the local magistrates of the small
town of Antioch–“the chief men of the city”–the
text reads. The magistrates were given this idea
by women of good standing, who had allowed
themselves to be persuaded by the Jews that these
individuals were dangerous men, and that they
had to be immediately subdued. The apostles were
cast out of the town of Antioch without any other
formality.
Much more interesting is the affair in the city
of Philippi. This town was a municipus, i.e. a city,
which though in foreign lands, benefited from the
status of a Roman city, and its inhabitants enjoyed
the titles, ranks, and prerogatives of Roman citizens.
For this reason, everything was administered
according to Roman law. There was in Philippi a
young slave girl who was divining, and her masters
were making great profits out of her talents and
charged for consultations with her. Paul and Silas,
on a conversion tour, noticed the phenomenon and
discerned in it a diabolical phenomenon. Paying
heed only to their faith and mission, they delivered
the young slave from the devil. The young girl was
again in her normal state, but this deprived her
masters from their lucrative business. The masters
were enraged against these “troublemakers,” and
not discerning the special social origin of Paul and
Silas, they denounced them as Jews to the local
authorities, the praetors of the town.
And it came to pass, as we went to prayer, a certain
girl, having a pythonical spirit [a spirit pretending to
divine—Ed.], met us, who brought to her masters much
gain by divining. This same, following Paul and us, cried
out, saying: These men are the servants of the most high
God, who preach unto you the way of salvation. And
this she did many days. But Paul being grieved, turned,
and said to the spirit: I command thee, in the name of
Jesus Christ, to go out from her. And he went out the
same hour. But her masters, seeing that the hope of their
gain was gone, apprehending Paul and Silas, brought
them into the marketplace to the rulers. And presenting
them to the magistrates, they said: These men disturb
our city, being Jews; and preach a fashion which it is
not lawful for us to receive nor observe, being Romans.
And the people ran together against them; and the
magistrates rending off their clothes, commanded them
to be beaten with rods. And when they had laid many
stripes upon them, they cast them into prison, charging
the jailer to keep them diligently. Who having received
such a charge, thrust them into the inner prison, and
made their feet fast in the stocks. And at midnight, Paul
and Silas praying, praised God. And they that were in
prison heard them. And suddenly there was a great
earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were
shaken. And immediately all the doors were opened,
and the bands of all were loosed. And the keeper of the
prison, awaking out of his sleep, and seeing the doors of
the prison open, drawing his sword, would have killed
himself, supposing that the prisoners had fled. But Paul
cried with a loud voice, saying: Do thyself no harm,
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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

12
for we all are here. Then calling for a light, he went in,
and trembling, fell down at the feet of Paul and Silas.
And bringing them out, he said: Masters, what must I
do, that I may be saved? But they said: Believe in the
Lord Jesus, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house. And
they preached the word of the Lord to him and to all
that were in his house. And he, taking them the same
hour of the night, washed their stripes, and himself was
baptized, and all his house immediately. And when he
had brought them into his own house, he laid the table
for them, and rejoiced with all his house, believing God.
And when the day was come, the magistrates sent the
sergeants, saying, Let those men go. And the keeper of
the prison told these words to Paul: The magistrates have
sent to let you go; now therefore depart, and go in peace.
But Paul said to them: They have beaten us publicly,
uncondemned, men that are Romans, and have cast us
into prison: and now do they thrust us out privately?
Not so; but let them come, and let us out themselves.
And the sergeants told these words to the magistrates.
And they were afraid, hearing that they were Romans.
And coming, they besought them; and bringing them
out, they desired them to depart out of the city. And
they went out of the prison, and entered into the house
of Lydia; and having seen the brethren, they comforted
them, and departed. (Acts 16:16-40)

This shows you that these very first Christians
were not at all considered as under-citizens, but
rather dangerous either because of their Jewish
denomination first attributed to them, or because
of the fact that they were Christians. Indeed, they
were bearers of a message which was immediately
recognizable on the social level: they freed a young
slave girl and converted their jailer.

In Thessaloniki and Ephesus
Paul continued on his way, went to Jerusalem,
and next arrived in Thessaloniki. This city had a
particular juridical status: it had a Senate composed
of five or six magistrates called politarchs, i.e. chiefs
of the city. Paul and Silas were once again the
objects of an incantation. This time, the Jews drew
in a crowd against them and besieged the house
of Jason, where they had sought refuge. But, as
the Jews did not find Paul and Silas, for want of
anything better, they dragged Jason and the other
Christians before the magistrates of the city. They
accused them of subversive activities, saying: “These
people claim that they do not serve the emperor,
but another personage by the name of Jesus, and
whom they call king.” In other words, they were
revolutionaries. This was one of the reasons why
Our Lord had been condemned. It is the crimen
majestatis, the accusation of fomenting revolution, of
questioning imperial authority, which was liable to
the death penalty. No, stated Paul and Silas, we are
Roman citizens, and consequently we do not have
to answer to a lower authority which is here present
on behalf of Rome to judge natives of the place.
THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

Thessaloniki was not a municipus. The politarchs,
realizing that this was an ambiguous issue which
did not quite fit with revolutionaries of the ordinary
kind, merely demanded bail, and then released
them.
Each time, they were accused of being public
troublemakers or revolutionaries and each time,
after an inquest, they were released.
In Ephesus, at the time when Paul and Silas
happened to be there, all the most important
representatives of the great cities of Asia Minor were
gathered for their annual solemn meeting in honor
of the emperor and of the city of Rome. There
were games and sacrifices. These men were most
important because of their family connections and
fortune. They had been elected by the prominent
citizens of every town to go there. They were used
to coming once a week and conveying requests to
the Roman powers, i.e. requests which were always
taken into consideration, because in Rome the
authorities paid heed to the request of the Asiatic
cities. At that very time, a riot of the silversmiths
took place during which they tried to tear Paul to
pieces. The dignitaries from Asia Minor took care
to warn him not to show himself or to go back to
the theater where there was a raving mob, angered
by Paul’s discourse. They told him: We desire
your good–remain in hiding. The secretary of this
assembly of prominent citizens from the whole
province of Asia astutely managed to calm things
down by speaking to the angry mob, saying: These
men whom you have arrested are guilty neither of
sacrilege nor of blasphemy against the local goddess,
who was Artemis.
Such are the relationships that Paul of Tarsus, a
Roman citizen, had with the provincial magistrates
who were stirred up against him by the Jews. After
having stoned Stephen these latter had unleashed
their hatred against Christians wherever they could
find them. They had no better means of getting rid
of these Nazarenes than to deliver them up to the
Roman authorities accusing them of political plots
and blasphemies against the official religions.

In Corinth and Caesarea
In Corinth, the Jews accused Paul of
worshipping God in a manner opposed to the law,
and they brought him before the proconsul of
Achaia, Gallio, the brother of the writer Seneca.
Let us bear in mind that the Jewish religion was
protected by law. So, the trick used by the Jews
consisted of saying: This man, of Jewish origin,
teaches a cult which is contrary to the Jewish
religion, consequently to a religion authorized by
the government. Hence, Paul must be condemned as
seeking to destroy Jewish law and also endeavoring
to destroy Roman law. This was quite clever, but

Principle Cities in the Journeys of St. Paul of Tarcus
Rome

th rac e
italy

mac e d o n ia

Philippi

Thessaloniki
mys ia
lyd ia

Ephesus
Corinth

s i c i ly

Colossae
lyc ia

ac haia

lyc o n ia

Tarsus
C i li c ia

Antioch
syr ia

rhodes
m e d it e r ran ean
s ea

cyp r u s

Damascus

c r ete

Caesarea

j u d ea

Jerusalem

Gallio did not play their game. He merely said: This
is a theological issue, a matter of vocabulary within
the Jewish domain.
But when Gallio was proconsul of Achaia, the Jews
with one accord rose up against Paul, and brought him
to the judgment seat, saying: This man persuadeth men
to worship God contrary to the law. And when Paul was
beginning to open his mouth, Gallio said to the Jews: If
it were some matter of injustice, or an heinous deed, O
Jews, I should with reason bear with you. But if they be
questions of word and names, and of your law, look you
to it: I will not be judge of such things. And he drove
them from the judgment seat. And all laying hold of
Sosthenes, the ruler of the synagogue, beat him before
the judgment seat; and Gallio cared for none of those
things. (Acts of the Apostles, 18:12-17)

Gallio confined himself to violation of common
law, and there was none. There was only a subtle
distinction on the part of Jewish theologians who
did not admit the new interpretation brought by
St. Paul. There was nothing particularly offensive
to the Roman State in the discourses Paul gave in
the town. To the eyes of a Roman magistrate, the
distinction between a christianii and a Jew was not
yet obvious. This Roman magistrate did not have to
make any pronouncement on a question of Jewish
orthodoxy, nor to be used as the secular arm for
Jews who wanted to use Roman justice to get rid of
someone who was a bother to them. The accusation
was without juridical ground, hence there was no
defendant.

When, a little later, in Caesarea, Paul was
brought to the judgment seat of two procurators,
Festus and Felix, he was kept in custody for two
years. Was there then matter to condemn him? No,
we know very well that Felix was a venal magistrate,
and he wanted to draw money from the prisoners
who came into his hands. But there was nothing
in the dossier of Paul when he appeared before
Felix, Festus, King Agrippa, and Bernice. It was
only hoped that after a certain time, Paul would
eventually hand money under the table, and at this
price he would be free to go. However, Paul had no
money and had no mind to sneak through doors that
would be left ajar in return for a bribe. He wanted to
get out gloriously, holding his head up. Paul’s arrest
in Caesarea was once more the Jews’ doing. The
advocate for the Jews, who was a Roman, presented
Paul as the head of the sect of the Nazarenes, and his
accusation consisted of stating that he was brewing
trouble against the Jews everywhere in the world.
Since these Nazarenes attacked the Jews, who were
protected by Roman law, they were subversive.
We see here an official attempt at dissociating the
Jews from Christianity, and at moving the debate to
the political level. There was sedition, violation of
common law, because the Jews had been taken to
task.
After having carried out an inquest, the next
procurator, Festus, acknowledged that Paul was not
guilty of any of the crimes of which he was accused
and that he might only be charged with a religious
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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

14
fault, but this did not come within the competence
of the tribunal of Caesarea. Hence, to be discharged,
Paul should have accepted to stand before a Jewish
tribunal, the Sanhedrin. In order to do this, he
would have had to renounce his Roman citizenship.
Paul refused to take this way out, and asked to stand
before the imperial tribunal. This is the reason he
went to Rome, where he stood before the tribunal of
the Emperor, who did not condemn him either.
Such are the records on file for this
troublemaker, this subversive personage. The first
part of this article has shown that there was nothing
in Paul’s attitude or behavior which could, in the
least, be a sign of revolt, revolution, perversion, or
of subversion of the Roman State.

The Fire of Rome
In the days of Paul, the fire of Rome occurred. It
took place under the Emperor Nero. You know that
the claim was, and still is, that it was the Christians
who set the city on fire. Chapter 44 of Book 15 of
Tacitus’ Annals gave rise to much discussion. The
first remark that must be made is that we are dealing
with a writer, a historian, who loved to dramatize
the events he was recounting with extraordinary
talent. He expounded on the events of a given
epoch as different acts in a tragedy which begin
threateningly and end up in catastrophe. Such is
Tacitus’ art.
Thus, Nero’s reign began with a sinister and
ambiguous atmosphere—I am referring to the
account given by Tacitus–consequent to the murder
of Emperor Claudius, and continues all through the
account with more and more appalling and dramatic
episodes: the death of Britannicus, the death of
Agrippina, the death of Octavia, etc. Then, in the
middle of Book 15, the flames appear which, for
more than a week, were to lay waste to seven out
of the fourteen districts of the city of Rome; three
were completely annihilated and only four were
left untouched. The historian describes the damage
caused by the fire and also speaks of the measures
taken by Nero both to stop the fire progressing
throughout the drama and also to rebuild the
damaged city in a clearer, modern, urban way–
which granted the best areas to the imperial
property.
The Roman people, sorely tried by the disaster,
did not believe in the hypothesis of an accidental
fire, which was the immediate official explanation.
In a popular reaction, culprits were looked for,
and people were not even fearful of accusing
the emperor himself. It was said that people in
the service of Nero, the neroniani, had been seen
sneaking into the streets of Rome and throwing
firebrands into places that had not yet been set
alight, thus preventing the progress of rescue teams.
THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

It was also being spread abroad that during the fire,
Nero had taken his lyre and sung the fire of Troy as
described by Virgil, seated in the private theater of
his palace.
Whether true or false, rumor had it that the
emperor was responsible for the catastrophe. The
emperor, frightened by these threatening rumors,
decided that he had to find a culprit. Tacitus tells us
that the Christians were designated to be the victims
of popular anger and thus the emperor made himself
the executor of popular vengeance by immolating
them in a spectacular and atrocious manner.
Expiatory ceremonies, charges, and torment of
the Christians are thus described by Tacitus:
Human prudence had ordered all that depends upon
its counsels: soon we thought of swaying the gods, and
the books of the Sybil were opened. According to what
was read therein, prayers were addressed to Vulcan,
Ceres, and Proserpina. Roman ladies implored Juno,
first at the Capitol, next on the shore of the nearest
sea, where water was drawn to sprinkle the walls of the
temple and the statue of the goddess. Lastly, married
women celebrated sellisternia and nocturnal rites. But
neither human means, nor imperial lavishness, nor the
ceremonies to appease the gods could silence the public
cry accusing Nero of having given order to set the city on
fire. Consequently, to stifle these rumors, he presented
as culprits a class of men detested for their abominations
and whom lower class people called Christians, and he
made them undergo the most exquisite torments. This
name was given to them because of the Christ, who,
under the principate of Tiberius, was delivered up to
torment by the Procurator Pontius Pilate. Repressed
immediately, this obnoxious superstition was invading
again not only Judea, where it originated, but Rome
itself, where all that the world contains as far as infamies
and horrors flood in and finds partisans. First those
who avowed their sect were seized; and, thanks to their
revelations, an immense multitude was recognized
guilty not so much of the criminal fire, than of their
hatred for the human race. Their torments were an
entertainment: some wrapped in animal skins were
devoured by dogs; others died on crosses, or they were
coated with some inflammable substance, and burnt as
torches when the sun went down. Nero lent his gardens
for this spectacle, and at the same time there were
games at the Circus, during which he mixed with the
crowd sometimes dressed as a coachman, and at other
times driving a chariot. So, even though these men were
guilty, and deserving of the utmost rigors, hearts opened
to compassion, thinking that they were not immolated
only for the sake of the public good, but because of the
cruelty of one man. (Annals, Book 15, 44)

Consequently, the question is as follows: were the
Christians responsible or not in this affair of the fire
of Rome?
Bibliography on the subject is immense. But
when all has been said, it turns out to have been
a cruel fable. Thus my eminent fellow-professor
who accused the Christians–a people capable of
everything, even the worst public crimes–deserves a

15
short moment of shame. The final touch was given
to this cause some 20 years ago by a specialist of
Roman religious history, Mr. Beaujeu, who, in a
well-documented study, reviewed all the hypotheses
and questions, and stated: No, the fire was the
result of an accident. But the reputation of the
Emperor was so terrible and indeed as a lover of
cruel spectacles (during which he did not hesitate to
show the public capital executions), made it seem
probable that he had indeed been its author. It was
well known that Nero loved this kind of spectacle.
The Christians appeared here only
as unfortunate victims exposed to public
condemnation, because they had nobody to
defend them. They were weird, the butt of general
antipathy, and of some sort of malevolence, because
of the rumors circulated about them by the pagans
as well as the Jews. Let us not forget that Nero’s wife
had many acquaintances in Jewish circles. I am not,
however, saying that she was responsible for the
death sentences passed upon the Christians. They
had a secret way of life, with a lengthy initiation
which, at that time, gave access to the mysteries only
after an abstruse catechesis. They were already fairly
numerous at the time and the Christian community
was growing. Testimonies immediately following
this period speak of a host of people immolated
due to the cruelty of the Emperor. This important
community did not benefit from any support of
sympathizers, nor from any legal support for they
were outside the religio licita. They had severed their
connection with Judaism and the Jews were most
eager to separate themselves from them. They were
thus in an awkward situation, in a complete void
legally speaking.
It was not permissible to practice any
unauthorized religion in Rome. If it were authorized,
the form of worship still had to be accepted by
a decree emanating from the Senate or from the
emperor. Such was not the case for the Christians;
consequently, they benefited from no juridical
support. What had, up to that time, allowed Paul to
benefit from the ambiguity of his Judaic religion in
his encounters with magistrates no longer existed for
the Christians when they lost this Judaic “umbrella.”
There was no protection for them and hence they
were outlaws. How marvelous! From this point on,
no one would defend them, not a single advocate or
magistrate was there to say that no offense had been
committed. There was indeed no offense but there
were no defendants either–because they did not
exist for Christians.
Thus we may justify this gratuitous accusation,
never defended except by protests of innocence.
It explains why the Christians were singled out
by the Roman government. However, it does not
absolutely allow us to say, if we are honest, “they
were condemned and justly so.”

Did Christian Doctrine
Subvert Roman Order?
Let us now examine St. Paul’s doctrine to see if
it and Christianity were subversive. Did Christians
introduce into Roman society ferments which, by
their gradual development, undermined society
and slowly but surely led to the fall of the Empire,
emptied of its substance and beliefs, under the
assaults of the barbarians? Was the Roman Empire
murdered by slow doctrinal and social poisoning?
Here I will take the issue of slavery as a starting
point for more general considerations.
All of ancient society rested on a division
between free men, aristocrats by birth, few in
number, who enjoyed privileges, and by slaves,
a multitude of slaves of all kinds whose condition
was sub-human. Because of this situation, a balance
resting upon the principle of slavery was produced
and maintained until the end. The status of slaves
was such that they hardly had any chance of
escaping from their state of life and there was thus
a cruel aspect of life for two thirds or three quarters
of the human race in the Greco-Roman world. No
reformer, no revolutionary—apart from occasional
uprisings—ever undertook a plan to weaken this
balance. Spartacus is sometimes mentioned, but
he is almost the only one who ever attempted a
systematical uprising of slaves.
It was a horrible condition because a slave did
not belong to himself; he had no juridical existence.
He belonged entirely to his master, who could
do with him what he pleased. The slave had no
rights, not even that of getting married and having
children. He had no right of ownership and could be
sold or killed at any time, in theory at least, by his
master. The slave was an object owned by a master
who could use it at will. These men and women
were branded like cattle so a fugitive slave was
always found.
In actual fact, the ancients were not monsters.
It happened that they would realize that these
slaves were men like themselves, that they were
deserving of some consideration, as those sharing
the same human nature. Sometimes this even meant
a degree of intimacy; they would live in a familiar
way with them. The condition was dreadful, but
they were not always treated with cruelty. We have
many examples of public or private slaves who had
relationships with their masters which–on the level
of conversation, intimacy, and feelings–were not
very different from that of servants in the past, or
even of the maids in Molière’s comedies.
However, metaphysically speaking–and this
makes all the difference–there was the fact that even
if the relationships were kind, familiar, and loving,
they were still slaves. Once feelings were gone,
when old age or illness came about, when the master
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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

16
changed, there always remained the right of getting
rid of them. Even if it occasionally came about that
someone led the life of a pampered slave—it did
happen–he was nonetheless still less than a man.
St. Paul and Pliny the Younger
We have two quite interesting texts which deal
with the condition of the free man and of the slave:
Pliny the Younger, Letters VII, 21, 24; and the
Epistle of St. Paul to Philemon.
The text of St. Paul relates to one of his friends
the fact that a slave took refuge near him:

consequently he had brought true life, supernatural
life, the life of the Lord; he sent this letter to
Philemon because Onesimus, Philomenon’s slave,
had run away and taken refuge with Paul. Normally,
Paul, a Roman citizen and free man, even in prison,
had to return the slave to his master as a matter of
justice. A lost object had to be returned to its owner,
otherwise one was regarded as a thief and a receiver
of stolen goods. Moreover, when it was a matter of a
slave, the case was even worse. Once returned to his
master the slave was punished according to the law.
Paul did thus but with a testimonial letter.

Paul, a prisoner of Christ Jesus, and Timothy, a
brother: to Philemon, our beloved and fellow laborer;
and to Appia, our dearest sister, and to Archippus, our
fellow soldier, and to the church which is in thy house:
grace to you and peace from God our Father, and from
the Lord Jesus Christ.
I give thanks to my God, always making a remembrance
of thee in my prayers. Hearing of thy charity and faith,
which thou hast in the Lord Jesus, and towards all the
saints: that the communication of thy faith may be made
evident in the acknowledgment of every good work, that
is in you in Christ Jesus. For I have had great joy and
consolation in thy charity, because the bowels of the
saints have been refreshed by thee, brother.
Wherefore though I have much confidence in Christ
Jesus, to command thee that which is to the purpose:
for charity sake I rather beseech, whereas thou art
such a one, as Paul an old man, and now a prisoner
also of Jesus Christ. I beseech thee for my son, whom I
have begotten in my bands, Onesimus, who hath been
heretofore unprofitable to thee, but now is profitable
both to me and thee, whom I have sent back to thee.
And do thou receive him as my own bowels. Whom I
would have retained with me, that in thy stead he might
have ministered to me in the bands of the gospel: but
without thy counsel I would do nothing: that thy good
deed might not be as it were of necessity, but voluntary.
For perhaps he therefore departed for a season from
thee, that thou mightest receive him again for ever:
not now as a servant, but instead of a servant, a most
dear brother, especially to me: but how much more to
thee both in the flesh and in the Lord? If therefore thou
count me a partner, receive him as myself. And if he
hath wronged thee in any thing, or is in thy debt, put
that to my account. I Paul have written it with my own
hand: I will repay it: not to say to thee, that thou owest
me thy own self also. Yea, brother. May I enjoy thee in
the Lord. Refresh my bowels in the Lord. Trusting in thy
obedience, I have written to thee: knowing that thou wilt
also do more than I say.
But withal prepare me also a lodging. For I hope that
through your prayers I shall be given unto you. There
salute thee Epaphras, my fellow prisoner in Christ Jesus;
Mark, Aristarchus, Demas, and Luke my fellow laborers.
The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit.
Amen.

St. Paul was reaching the end of his life, he was
in prison, and sent to one of his converts, to whom
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St. Paul (Byzantine ivory relief, 6th-early 7th
century, Musée de Cluny, France)

17
There was another similar case, that of Pliny
the Younger who wrote a letter to one of his friends,
Sabinianus, who had also lost a slave (Letters VIII,
21,24). Sabinianus’ slave had taken refuge with Pliny
because Pliny was his master’s friend, an advocate,
and a man of exquisite character. Pliny was pleasant
and an excellent companion. When visiting his
friends’ homes he left the best of impressions upon
the house staff:
Pliny to his dear Sabinianus, greetings. Your freedman,
whom you lately mentioned to me with displeasure, has
been with me, and threw himself at my feet with as much
submission as he could have fallen at yours. He earnestly
requested me with many tears, and even with all the
eloquence of silent sorrow, to intercede for him; in short,
he convinced me by his whole behavior that he sincerely
repents of his fault. I am persuaded he is thoroughly
reformed, because he seems deeply sensible of his guilt.
I know you are angry with him, and I know, too, it is
not without reason; but clemency can never exert itself
more laudably than when there is the most cause for
resentment. You once had an affection for this man,
and, I hope, will have again; meanwhile, let me only
prevail with you to pardon him. If he should incur your
displeasure hereafter, you will have so much the stronger
plea in excuse for your anger as you show yourself more
merciful to him now. Concede something to his youth,
to his tears, and to your own natural mildness of temper:
do not make him uneasy any longer, and I will add, too,
do not make yourself so; for a man of your kindness of
heart cannot be angry without feeling great uneasiness. I
am afraid, were I to join my entreaties with his, I should
seem rather to compel than request you to forgive him.
Yet I will not scruple even to write mine with his; and in
so much the stronger terms as I have very sharply and
severely reproved him, positively threatening never to
interpose again in his behalf. But though it was proper
to say this to him, in order to make him more fearful of
offending, I do not say so to you. I may, perhaps, again
have occasion to entreat you upon his account, and again
obtain your forgiveness; supposing, I mean, his fault
should be such as may become me to intercede for, and
you to pardon. Farewell.
Pliny to his dear Sabinianus, greetings! I greatly
approve of your having, in compliance with my letter,
received again into your favor and family a discarded
freedman, whom you once admitted into a share of
your affection. This will afford you, I doubt not, great
satisfaction. It certainly has me, both as a proof that
your passion can be controlled, and as an instance of
your paying so much regard to me as either to yield to
my authority or to comply with my request. Let me,
therefore, at once both praise and thank you. At the same
time I must advise you to be disposed for the future to
pardon the faults of your people, though there should be
none to intercede in their behalf. Farewell.

In both cases the situation is exactly the same:
a fugitive slave fears to go back to his master and
has found among friends of this latter someone
who could intercede in his favor. In both cases,
the master’s friend did indeed intercede for the

slave. In the case of Pliny, who wrote a charming
and irresistible letter, the slave remained a slave,
and nothing was changed. Paul did the same with
Philemon, but he asked him, in a letter not devoid of
humor, to take his slave back. In what capacity? In
the capacity of a brother! Without, however, asking
him to make him a free man. He was to be taken
back as a slave, but would henceforth be his brother
in the Faith, in love, in the divine filiation handed
down through Paul’s ministry.
From this, all the philosophy of Christianity, all
the political and social philosophy of Christianity,
and the whole process of Christianity appears in its
slow unfolding which was to result not only in the
Christian Empire and the conversion of Constantine,
but later in medieval Christendom.
The starting point is here: Paul, a Christian, did
not upset anything in the established order. He left it
intact. All structures, even those which were unjust
(like slavery) were maintained–but the Christian
ferment was instilled inside it, as it was in the souls
of those who were the subjects of these political and
social structures, even those that were unjust. As a
result, without upsetting order from the outside by
political or revolutionary action against institutions,
the quality of relationships between men in society
were utterly changed. There was always a master
and a slave, but the slave had become like a brother
to his master and his master would likewise consider
him as his brother. The same thing gradually
occurred in all domains of political and social
life. There was not even a change of vocabulary;
Onesimus was still the doulos, the servus, the slave of
Philemon. Relationships remained unchanged.
Now, let us imagine for an instant that St. Paul,
with the prestige, fire, and enthusiasm he used to
provoke–and St. Peter, who used to convert crowds–
used this conversion to say: “Henceforth, heads
up, rise up, you unfortunate who laid prostrate in
your servitude; the light of liberty has shone upon
you; overthrow everything!” What would have
happened? Quite simply, there might actually
have been a revolution. Masters would have been
changed but the structures would have necessarily
been kept, and everything would have eventually
fallen back, right side up, just as before. It would
have disintegrated into a bloody repression and
general misunderstanding.
Nothing was changed in the established order,
except that this same order was no longer justified
by the same principles. This was necessary since
the subject and the prince, the slave and his master,
the wife and her husband could no longer be
considered as they were before, as being in a state
of utter, supreme and limitless dependence–since
the wife was on a par with her husband as a sister
redeemed by Christ. It must be said that at that
time a woman’s condition was somewhat hard.
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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

18
All those elements which would enable society to
find a new equilibrium were introduced without
upsetting the established order, without even
giving anyone the desire to upset it. All this was
done according to a providential design so that this
evolution could be like the natural order of growth,
of blossoming, of harmonious metamorphosis, and
not a revolutionary, political or social upheaval.
The meaning of words was simply changed: the
master remained the master; the slave remained
a slave–but he was also a brother. The almighty
sovereign remained a sovereign, but he no longer
had subjects submitted to him body and soul; they
were also brethren over whom he must rule. At the
end of this revolution we had a responsible King,
who was responsible for the eternal salvation of the
souls of all his subjects as well as the well-being of
all the families in his country, under pain of his own
salvation. This was obviously to take time but such
was the starting point and the arrival point.
I think we are confronted with genuine
subversion. There was truly a slow and intentional
penetration, a substantial change of meaning of
words and an attempt to slowly reach a superior
condition which completely overthrew the order of
values. Such was the Christian subversion achieved
by St. Paul. However, for this to be a subversion
in the usual sense, it ought to have had an evil
intention; now, in this case there was the intention
to bring salvation. The means was subversive, since,
once again, it introduced to each of the words of
society a new meaning, but not in order to pervert,
as was the case with Satan respecting the society of
Adam and Eve. This time the end was to bring about
something far better than Adam and Eve’s society,
since it was a society of divine life circulating
through the whole network of the social body and in
all the vessels of this social body.
This is what I might be allowed to call Christian
subversion: The desire of the Creator recreating
a society corrupted by the subversion of original
sin, His desire to respect the architecture, life,
and organization of the body He had created by
re-instilling into it renovated principles which
enabled the body to rejuvenate again and to recover
its vitality and youth. Yes, there was evolution
and progress in the slow, natural and supernatural
reconquest achieved by each of us over himself, and
of each member in this renovated society into which
the new principles of eternal life had been instilled,
while respecting God’s paternity, of brotherly life
in Jesus, a spirit of charity thanks to which we
recovered the principle which had been damaged
and subverted on the day when Eve believed that
she would become “like God.” A serious error!
The opposite of this evolution is the revolution
of Jacobinism which introduced calculations in a
human and intellectual manner, where there ought
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to have been an evolution following that of the
rhythm of life such as created by God from one
generation to the next throughout the course of
history. The unfolding of true history is the revival
of a once damaged society (by original sin) and
which, when St. Paul said to Philemon: “I send you
back your brother Onesimus,” was saved without
this short-sighted and feverish revolutionary spirit of
puny revolutionaries. The process remains the same;
we proudly rebuild society, allowing life to blossom
again as God created it at the origin, re-created it in
the renewal of Calvary, and which must be slowly
achieved throughout the course of history, that is,
the course of Providence. This simply demands
much patience and docility.
All notions of intellectual life had been warped.
Christian subversion consisted of giving to the
words of the tribes of intellectuals a superior
meaning. At the time of St. John, when the Word
of God became incarnate, the word logos, which in
common Greek meant “reason” or “reasoning,” the
highest virtue of human intelligence, was going to
introduce what man could never find on its own, i.e.
the existence of this second Person of the Trinity,
the very Intelligence of God and who, by His virtue
of incarnate Logos, was to enlighten every human
intelligence. Read the Prologue of St. John again.
If a new word had been used, nobody would have
understood. The word had to be taken from among
those used by the people and given a meaning on a
higher level: dazzling Savior, supernatural.
Likewise with the word “holiness”; there was
holiness among the ancients which was ritual purity
and, at best, innocence. There was holiness for the
Jews: it meant observing the law. This same word
of holiness received a Catholic meaning. It was
given to understand, through divine Revelation,
that fidelity and docility of a soul opened to the
divine influx, to the spirit of Pentecost, enabling
it to acquire this purity, this innocence, the
observance of the law in an infinitely different and
superior manner. The newness of the divine life
was introduced while keeping all the structures
of philosophical intelligence, moral behavior
and political management, yet it brought about a
metamorphosis which really made it possible, and
still makes it possible, to truly become sicut dei (like
gods) through grace–which is a participation in the
divine life.
Originally published in Christendom as a transcript of a conference given at
the Institut Saint-Pie X in France. Slightly edited by Angelus Press.
1

An inferior imitator of some distinguished writer, artist, or musician.–Translator’s note.

Catholic Stories of Adventure in the Mission Lands

Tales of Foreign Lands
F r.

J o s e p h

S p i l l m a n n,

S. J.

The

risoner
(From Tales of Foreign Lands, Volume 2)

I

In Glad Hopes
It was a typical Sicilian summer day of May in the
year 1643. The heavens spread a deep blue canopy
over the island. The quiet sea reflected as a mirror the
rays of the morning sun. Like golden threads, the light
streams and reflections from the water cross­ed each
other’s path, and it seemed as if some unseen mighty
hand entwined them in­to a golden net wherein to
catch the thou­sands of fish that swam in the blue
waters below. In a small bark the fishermen, strong
brawny figures, set out for their daily catch of tuna
fish. Silver-toned youthful voices, as clear as their
consciences that gave them expression, announced
their departure with the beautiful fisherman’s song, “O

sanctissi­ma, O piissima,” and a devout chorus of older
voices answered, “Pray for us, O Mary!”
The long sweeping curve of the island shore lay,
here fringed with yellow sand, there edged with the
gleaming black rocks, and everywhere backed by the
steep slopes of the low hills, rising abruptly from the
water’s edge and crowned with gems of white villas in
verdant gardens flaming with poinsettias. Off to the
north, towering above the happy and much blessed
vale, rose Mount Aetna in rugged grandeur, like a
giant, to support the heavens upon its shoul­ders. And
the clouds gathered round its peak and left the rest of
the sky clear and blue, almost as blue as the waters
of the Mediterranean below. Seemingly harmless
this giant rock lay resting in its quiet sur­roundings,
and only the thick smoke that burst forth in long
clouds from its crater spoke of its dangerous and
unruly character. Rich fields and pasture lands spread
out into distance from the foot of their less fertile
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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

20
companion; and the clinking of metal bells, marking
the presence of many herds of cat­tle, grew more
numerous as the day gradual­ly grew older.
The Mass in the church of the famous Benedictine
convent of San Nicola at Cata­nia had just ended, and
most of the devout faithful had already left the house
of God. One mother, alone and unnoticed, remained
a little longer with her child to say an extra prayer
before the altar of Saint Nicholas. She came a little
closer to the altar that her earnest petition might be
the better heard, and in her eagerness failed to notice
that good old Brother Christopher had already passed
by her several times, impatiently swinging a large
bunch of keys at his side. The child also noticed that
its mother’s pray­er was somewhat longer than usual
and be­gan tugging on her dress crying:
“Mother, let us go. I think Brother Chris­topher
wants to lock the church.”
The woman blessed herself devoutly, sign­ed her
son with the Sign of the Cross on the forehead, lips,
and breast, and turned to­wards the entrance to leave.
At the door she met the sacristan.
“Brother,” she eagerly addressed him, “won’t
you please keep two candles burning for me before
the altar of Saint Antony, that he may bring my good
Giovanni home safely?”
“Surely, Signora Angela,” answered the Brother,
“and I will also pray a Rosary for your intention. Your
dear husband Giovanni has always been a good friend
of mine.”
In the meantime the sacristan had locked the
door. Outside he again turned to ad­dress the woman.
“Tell me, Signora Angela, do you not want to
send your Francesco to our convent school? He seems
to be an intelligent young­ster, and in time ought to
become an able merchant, like his father.”
“Oh, yes,” answered the mother; “my hus­
band hopes that some day the boy will be­come his
partner in business, which we hope will then grow
much larger. Then he will be our support in old age.
However, I would rather see the boy as a servant of
God at the altar. At any rate, I will speak the matter
ov­er with Giovanni after his return home and decide
whether we shall entrust the child to your care and
protection, for something manly must be made out of
him, and this would be too difficult at home without
his father’s influence.”
“Hey, Francesco,” Brother Christopher called
to the boy, who in his playful piracy was making
captives of the feeble butter­flies which were enjoying
their liberty among the beautiful flowers. “Francesco,
come here.”
The boy was at his side at once, in re­spectful
attention.
“Tell me, child,” began the Brother, “have you no
desire to come to our school?”
“Surely, if my parents will permit. I will come
gladly, for at home there is no one with whom I can
play, except good old Ignatius, and he will not let me
THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

go down to the sea­shore to play, because he fears that
pirates might carry me off. I am not afraid of these
bad people, but I shall be very care­ful nevertheless.”
“But, my young man, one does not go to school
to play; one goes there to study hard. Padre Battista
will see to it that his charges will not be asleep and
dreaming in his class­room.”
“Oh, I will study diligently so that I will become
a learned man, like my uncle, who is pastor in Aci
Reale,” came the quick an­swer; “but one surely can
also play a little, otherwise I do not care to come to
your school.”
“Surely, Francesco, after you have finish­ed your
schoolwork, you can play. Here we are united in
work and in play. The play refreshes us for the work,
and the work makes us enjoy the play all the more.
It is even a pleasure to watch the youngsters run
and tumble about on the playground. Padre Battista,
indeed, needs an overmeasure of patience to keep this
joyful crowd under con­trol.”
“O Brother, I will come, my father will surely
give his consent; mother will also plead for me
tomorrow on her nameday. Then he surely can not
refuse.”
“Come, Francesco,” said the mother, as she
turned to go; “and you, Brother Chris­topher, please
do not forget the candles be­fore the altar of St.
Antony.”
“Certainly not, Signora Angela, and also the
Rosary.”
“May God reward your kindness.”
“God protect you, Signora Angela; and you,
my little friend, do not forget the school.” “O good
Brother, I will surely come.”
“Guess,” cried out Francesco, as he sud­denly
sprang into the house and gleefully stood before the
elderly servant.
“What shall I guess?” answered the hon­est
Ignatius.
“The pleasant news I have.”
“Oh, that father will return home today and bring
you many nice presents.”
“No, no, something else.”
“Then I will try again: Francesco will be allowed
to serve Mass in the convent chapel, if he can say the
Confiteor without skipping most of the words.”
“Oh, that I can do very well; but you have not
guessed correctly yet.”
“Yes, old Ignatius is a poor thinker; you must tell
me the news yourself.”
“I am going to the convent school, where there
are many other small boys in charge of Padre Battista;
there we will have great times with so many boys to
play with, and study, too. Isn’t it true, mother?”
“If your father does not refuse, you may go.”
“Oh, he will give his permission. Mother, on
your nameday, you will plead for me; I have firmly
promised the Brother to come soon.”

21
“We shall see; be very good and do not leave the
house without my permission, oth­erwise I will not
help you tomorrow.”
“I surely will be good, dear Mother. Come,
Ignatius, we will keep watch for the ship that is
bringing my father back.”

II

A Sad Disappointment
The day was more than half spent. Away to the
west the sun seemed to be anxious to penetrate the
mysterious depths of the calm sea. At each rising the
golden waves seem­ed to gain strength and throw their
shadows farther across the water. The air was filled
with birds, twittering their way towards shore as if
bringing news from afar off. Weaker and weaker grew
the golden halo the sun cast about the small clouds
as it gradually sank behind them. Along the shore
one could hear the uninterrupted splash of the waves
that neither wearied by day nor rested at night. Their
unresisting force, wearing away the hardest stone
along the shore, makes us recognize the mighty hand
that made them and placed them in their bounds and
filled their depths with an abundance of wealth.
Off to the east appeared a ship. The white sails
filled with the evening breeze spread out like the
wings of a large bird carrying its weight swiftly across
the waters. Lean­ing against one of the main masts
stood a robust Turk, clothed in rich colorful gar­ments.
What may that man be doing there?
With folded arms he boldly stood there; his eyes,
half closed, concealed their fiery eagerness under
bushy brows. His hand nervously passed through his
lavish beard as he steadily fastened his eyes on the
pros­perous island. Quietly and quickly, with catlike
cunning, the sailors climbed about the network of the
ship’s rigging to take the sails out of the wind as the
ship neared the shore. Ill-mannered comrades, whose
desire for plunder glared from their eyes, slavishly
awaited the commands of their master. Deep silence,
the quiet of fear, reigned over the entire ship. The
weather-worn ship, the very appearance of which
seemed unfriendly, had now come within a short
distance of the shore. At a signal from the rough man
at the mast, the sails were taken in almost before the
command had been completed. Achmed, the captain
of the pirates from Tunis, puffed nervously on his old
pipe. A short, shrill whistle sounded, and in a moment
another pirate stood at the side of his master.
“Hussein,” he harshly addressed him, with an
authority that would not be disobeyed, “take twelve
men and a boat, row over to the island, and do not
come back until you have at least a dozen slaves! Our
number for the market at Tunis is far too small. Go,
but remember, with your head you shall pay for the
loss of either man or boat.”

“Leave that to me, Captain,” came the confident
answer, “Hussein is no cripple.”
“Here! out with the boat and jump in!” shouted
the pirate to those standing about at attention. In
an instant chains rattled, the boat was loosened and
lowered to the sea. No sooner had it reached the
waters, than a dozen sailors, armed from head to foot,
began to tug ruthlessly at the oars, and like an arrow,
swiftly and noiselessly, it flew across the waters.
No time was lost, and soon the boat was resting in
the shallow waters along the shore. Hussein jumped
on land, and the other pirates followed him.
“Mohammed and you, Ali, stay back and watch
the boat; the rest of you hide in the bushes; when any
one passes by, grab him, tie him, throw him into the
boat; and when you hear any signal or any noise that
gives signs of danger, then—back to the ship!”
Noiselessly, like snakes, they glided through
the underbrush and lay in safety a few feet from the
shore, unnoticeable to any passer-by.
“By the prophet! It seems that these Christian
dogs have gotten wind of our landing; we have been
lying here for half an hour, and not a single person in
sight!”
“Those superstitious people must have some
foreboding of our presence,” said one of the pirates;
“we must go closer to their nest of safety.”
“Yes, and let the whole band of unbeliev­ers fall on
our necks.”
“May Allah punish them!” was the angry chorus
of all the pirates. “Only yesterday these Spanish dogs
were on our heels: By the prophet! I have never seen
Achmed so wild before as he was at Pantelleria, when
we had to leave our rich booty to other hands. Ha!
how he raged at those Spanish dogs as we pulled the
sails to the wind in flight!”
“How masterly he led the unbelievers on! I
believe those fools sailed directly to Spakes; and how
their eyes will be opened when they find the nest
empty!”
“If they only do not cross our path,” mur­mured
the third pirate.
“Quiet!” shouted Hussein. The abrupt­ness of his
command drowned their speech, and a deep silence
reigned over their hiding-place.
While the pirates were thus lying in watchful
wait for their unsuspecting vic­tims, little Francesco
sat above, in the beau­tiful garden, chatting eagerly
to the atten­tive Ignatius: “Oh, and Father is still not
here; how sad if he does not come today; to­morrow
is Mother’s nameday, for which he always waited
with great joy, and especially this time, since we have
decorated the little dining-room so beautifully.”
“Come, Francesco, let us go into the house.”
As the servant and child entered the room, they
found Signora Angela upon her knees be­fore the large
picture of the Mother of God.
“It is well that you are here,” she said, as the two
entered; “let us pray another Rosary for our good
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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

22
father. I fear that some mis­fortune must have befallen
him. Dear child, pray devoutly to the Blessed Virgin
that she, the Star of the Sea, may guide your father
safely home.”
Then she reached for the holy water, bless­ed
the child with the Sign of the Cross, handed him
the rosary and nodded him to lead in prayer. How
earnestly this prayer of innocence ascended from the
heart of the child to the Mother of God! Yes, dear
Mother, protect this innocent lamb from the ravages
of the wolves, who lie in wait to tear it to pieces.
“Another decade for the holy souls in purgatory,
child,” said the mother, and the boy continued in
prayer.
After the Rosary was ended, Francesco rose to his
feet.
“Mother, I have not prayed so devoutly for a long
time; but that is quite natural be­cause that for which I
prayed is so dear to my heart. Oh, if Father only were
here! Come, Ignatius, we will go to the upper porch
once more and see if we can not sight the ship.”
The servant and the boy disappeared. Alone, the
mother fell to her knees again be­fore her favorite
picture; the fear of the uncertainty of the future
brought tears to her eyes; it seemed as though she
already felt some misfortune. Suddenly the door was
flung open, and Francesco darted in overcome with
joy: “Father is coming! The ship is already near shore.
Mother, let us go down to the sea to meet him!”
“Yes, my child, hurry to greet your fa­ther.”
Like a ball, he bounced out of the house and
down to the seashore as fast as his feet could carry
him. Old Ignatius, too slow to follow, returned to the
house: “My good master has returned at last, Signora
Angela, and how I anticipate the joy of meeting him
again!”
“Ignatius, the boy is already far ahead of you,
follow him,” said the woman, “and greet my husband
on his return, while I ar­range everything in the house
for his ease and comfort.” As fast as the weight of his
seventy years permitted him, the old servant hurried
away, in order, if possible, to be at hand at the
landing of his dear master.
In the meantime the youthful legs of the boy had
already carried him into the nest of the hiding pirates.
Astonished, he stood still and looked over to the ship
that rested quietly on the waves of the sea. Why did
it not come to the shore to bring in his dear father?
Alas, the boy did not have much time to wonder.
Hussein sprang from the bushes like a tiger, threw his
sinewy arm around the body of the child, pressed his
right hand tightly to the boy’s mouth, and hurried to
the skiff at the shore.
“Father! Father!” was the last pitiful subdued cry
from Francesco, and in a mo­ment he lay bound in the
bottom of the boat. Hardly had this black deed been
done, when the Angelus-bell in the main tower of the
convent church of San Nicola pealed forth in long,
measured tones, and sent out the message of harmony
THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

and peace to the vil­lagers. A shrill whistle sounded,
and, like animals frightened from their hiding-place,
the pirates rushed in wild haste to the boat.
“Everybody in,” cried Hussein, “before these
Christian dogs catch us; all hands on the oars!”
The boat was soon away from the shore and cut
through the waters as an arrow speeds through the air,
and the mighty sea concealed all traces behind it. In a
few minutes the boat again hung fastened to the side
of the pirate ship.
“Is that the whole booty?” shouted the captain of
the pirates, as the small boy was scarcely noticeable
in the group of rough and ragged men. “Is that what
I sent twelve men out for, that they might bring back
this little weakling, like a mouse in a den of lions?
Down to the bottom of the ship with him!”
“Hold!” answered Hussein, “save this use­less
chatter; these unbelievers must have noticed our
landing. For, hardly had we gotten this youngster into
the boat, then all the bells of the village sent out the
alarm and brought these unbelievers upon our necks.”
“Stupid fool,” raged Achmed, “what you took for
an alarm was only the Christians’ evening prayer-bell.
Back to the boat and out over the water, and, by the
beard of the prophet, if you come back without rich
booty, I will lay your head before your feet!”
Grumbling and unwilling, Hussein pre­pared
to fulfill his master’s tyrannical com­mand, when
suddenly the cry came from the crow’s nest: “Ship in
sight, over to the northwest, close enough to be seen
from be­low!”
“Is it sailing with the wind?” cried Ach­med.
“All sails are stretched as far as I can see.”
“Hussein, back,” commanded the captain; “over
there floats richer booty. Up with the sails, all hands
on deck!” The deck became a commotion of brawny
comrades. Most of them were rather poorly clothed,
with bare feet and tattered rags; dirty turbans cover­ed
their unkempt heads; edged daggers glit­tered from
their girdles and crooked swords hung at their sides.
“Men,” cried the leader, “over there is work
and booty; let every one do his duty, or I’ll send a
bullet through his head; who­ever keeps anything for
himself, shall die; whoever gives opposition on the
ship, cut him down with your swords; the rest, tie and
bring them back. Another thing: If things go wrong,
then first sacrifice these Christian dogs in the hold
below.” Weird oaths of the pirates filled the air, and
the lust of plunder and murder glared from their eyes.
During these moments of preparation the pirates
were not unnoticed by the men of the Spanish
destroyer San Jose: Gleefully the captain rubbed his
hands and said to his first mate: “Ha, Don Henriguez,
this rascal shall not get away from us; yesterday he
slyly slipped away, but today Allah and his clients
shall beg for mercy. Keep every­thing ready and
prepared. I believe a few shots will give them a grand
reception.”

23
“He may escape us under the cover of night,
Captain, the fox is sly,” answered the first mate.
During all this time the pirates were hold­ing full
speed on their course, when finally they noticed their
blunder and recognized that what they thought to be a
merchant ship was really the dangerous cruiser, which
many a time before had spoiled their fun. Achmed
too well knew the mind of Spanish sailors, and this
time did not care to receive this volley of welcome.
“By the beards of our forefathers!” he snorted at his
com­rade, “again that old snake has crossed our path!
Hussein, do you see that Spaniard over there? May
Allah drag him down to the bottom of the sea! By the
prophet! this unchristian dog has been watching for
us; but wait, Achmed knows how to avenge himself.
The time will come when he shall not escape from my
claws. Hussein, put every inch of sails to the winds;
keep the weapons ready. At the first ball that flies
across our deck, send these slaves to their infernal
master. Cut them down with your saber and throw
them overboard; we will not waste a shot of powder
on account of them.”
The running and commotion and rumbling on
deck spread agonizing fear to the cap­tives in the hold
below. It was evident that something unfavorable had
befallen the path of the pirates. Could fire, perhaps,
have broken out on the ship? They dared not think of
that. For they were helpless; for their hands and feet
were bound and they would have to await their cruel
fate—a slow and torturous death! Or was some rescuer
at hand, perhaps? No, that thought was too good to
be true. The flash of hope passed more quickly than
it had come and left them in darker despair be­cause
of its passing brightness. For they well knew how
cruelly pirates treated their captives when they were
attacked by an en­emy. Death was their lot at any rate.
Shud­dering in every limb, their shattered minds could
hardly imagine whether it would be the consuming
flames that would snuff out their lives, or the glittering
knives of these sea-robbers that would cut them to
pieces. Minutes seemed like hours in their torturous
uncertainty; each painful moment could have brought
death, but none of them did.

III

The Father’s Return
With an effort to regain his nerve, Achmed
braced himself against the main mast of the ship and
kept his eye constantly directed towards the Spanish
destroyer. A dark hue of anger spread over his much
distorted countenance as his face, now pale, now red
with rage, broke forth in flashes from be­neath his
bushy eyebrows. The leader of the pirates seemed
to waver and was at a loss to know what to do under
the pressing situation. Hussein stood at his side
ready to receive any commands from his master, for

occasionally he would turn towards him as if he had
some orders to give; yet, at each attempt he pressed
those stubborn lips tighter together and furiously
stamped his foot upon the deck.
About thirty unkempt and sunburnt fig­ures
scrambled for places of advantage on deck, to see
what formidable foe disturbed the peace of their
courageous captain. An­other dozen of unruly
comrades looked for points of greater safety. The
deep stillness that precedes the outbreak of a storm
spread over the entire ship. It seemed as though any
moment might bring the first flash of lightning that
would break the calm into a stormy battle.
The powerful sun had already spent his energy
through the day and was gradually weakening away
to the west; the evening quiet was rhythmically
interrupted through the swishing waves against the
side of the ship. The small whitecaps sparkled more
beautifully in the gray contrast of dusk which evening
cast like a cloak over sea and heaven.
“All ready for the fight!” shouted Don Henriguez,
on the Spanish cruiser. “Here, Don Carlos, send
these rascals a greeting of cannon balls; it is time that
these dogs bark once more or they will lose their
voices from lack of exercise.” The pirates, how­ever,
seemed to be none too anxious to await the Spanish
greeting; for, now these brawny comrades could be
seen scrambling about the masts of the ship, trying
to stretch every inch of sail that was available, in a
despe­rate effort to speed up their flight. The mastpoles creaked and bent under the weight of the sails,
under the added force of the wind the ship lay over
on its side for a moment, then gained momentum
with the wind, straightened out, and sped away over
the darkening sea.
“Fire!” shouted the first officer. The guns sent a
flash of lightning through the sky, and the thunderous
roar rolled far over the open sea. For a moment the
ship became as light as day, and every person and
object could easily be distinguished. On the front
deck stood the courageous soldiers, daggers bared,
and Don Henriguez at their head. The men at the
guns leaned eagerly over the railing awaiting the
results; above, on the rear deck, stood the captain,
an expression of excited expectation on his face. At
his side stood a man who seemed entirely unmoved
by all the tumult on board, but seemed enraptured in
himself, looking over towards Catania, and in spite of
the growing darkness tried to pierce the distance in
search of some de­sired object. However, the picture
remain­ed only for a moment, and the evening fog
and dusk enveiled it all, and the pirates, safe and
undisturbed, pursued their course of flight.
“It is too late to give chase, Captain,” said the first
officer; “but tomorrow is an­other day, and that rat
shall not get out of his trap this time.”
“Yes, Captain, let us quit pursuing the pirates and
turn to the peaceful shores of Catania,” pleaded the
unknown passenger. “Oh, how I long to see my wife
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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

24
and be with my little Francesco again; for the last
three months I have missed their happy company.
Signor, you must be my guest at the beauti­ful little
villa at Catania and meet my loved ones.”
“ ’Tis impossible, Signor Giovanni, you must be
patient,” the captain sternly an­swered; “I am sorry,
but duty comes before friendship. I cannot go to
shore, for then the pirates will slip away from us.”
“Then give me at least a boat with two men,”
replied Giovanni, with increased ea­gerness, “so that I
may be at home with my family today.”
“Boat and men you shall have, but I my­self
cannot accompany you, much as I should like.”
With these words the captain turned to Pedro, gave
the necessary commands, and in a short time the
merchant was fast on his way to the shore.
Poor father! Had he but known that his only son,
his dear Francesco, was on the pirate ship from which
he turned disinterest­edly, he would have pursued it
day and night to save his treasured child from the
hands of the cruel robbers.
Over along the shore and in the village
glimmered thousands of little lights; and the
scene was reproduced in the vast heav­ens through
innumerable stars that gradual­ly grew brighter as
the sun relinquished his rights to them for the night.
Below lay the expansive sea in quiet rest. Quietly, as
if not to disturb the evening peace, the waves gently
rolled on shore and then back again into endless
distance. Nature, in all her surroundings, breathed an
air of peace and rest. But in the lonesome villa near
the city, one mother, in prayer to the Blessed Vir­gin,
told of her sorrow for her lost child. In unspeakable
sadness the faithful old Ig­natius knelt at the side of his
mistress, while beads of tears marked off the earnest
Aves he offered up for his unfortunate young friend.
An impatient knock was suddenly heard at the door.
“My God! Giovanni!” sighed the servant, “how
can I tell you of the terrible thing that has happened!”
The face of the poor fa­ther turned ghastly white as he
looked into the picture of pain on Ignatius’s counte­
nance.
“O holy Mother of Sorrows, what has happened?
Angela!”
“Giovanni! Francesco!” is all the unhap­py mother
could say and fell helpless into the arms of her
beloved husband.
“Francesco is dead?”
“Robbed by pirates,” Ignatius weakly sob­bed.
What a sad welcome for the father upon his
return home, and tomorrow, the last day of May, is
mother’s nameday, for which the boy had so eagerly
longed.
In the meantime poor Francesco lay pack­ed
together with thirty other prisoners in the narrow hold
of the pirates’ ship. He begged and cried the whole
night. Finally nature gained the victory over sorrow,
and the sweet slumber of innocence closed his eyes,

THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

and stopped the flow of tears that had been gushing
forth so freely through the early part of the night.

IV

To Tunis
Finally the long night gave way to dawn, but the
silence of the night still remained. A slight breeze
invigorated the rolling waves in their untiring and
endless play upon the ship. Like mighty towers of
granite the distant clouds rose above the horizon, as
if they wished to set boundaries to the sea where the
eye found its limit in vision. The stars grew fainter
as the heavens grew brighter. The sun was again
asserting his mastery and seemed as if he was sending
messengers out to extinguish these flicker­ing evening
lights now that the day was re­ceiving a more colorful
tinge, only to be enkindled anew when the evening
stillness set in at the close of day. The deep clouds
changed quickly to a lighter hue that soon overcast
the East in a blanket of fiery red. At the horizon a
flash of gold rose from the water, and quickly the
waves caught its re­flection and carried it over to the
ship as the morning greeting of the new day. Now
followed ray after ray, and the following waves spread
into a golden blanket that covered the entire sea. The
ragged ridges of the dashing waves sparkled mightily
be­fore their fiery background, and it seemed as if all
the nymphs of the sea had left their crystal palace to
join in joyful dance over the swaying waters.
Soon the sun rose to full vision above the sea,
and the higher it rose, the richer be­came the rays
that fell upon the water. Flocks of gulls and delphines
flew from land and circled playfully about the ship.
Alas, all the splendor of morning’s refreshed beau­ty
remained unnoticed aboard the pirate ship.
Achmed and his comrades were of too coarse a
disposition to appreciate the beau­ties of nature, for
all their devotion was directed to theft and plunder.
Now, natur­ally, the thing that occupied their minds
the most was to reach the safe harbor of Tunis as
soon as possible, and to reach it without crossing the
unfriendly path of the Spanish cruiser.
The poor prisoners in the hold were cut off from
all the brightness of this beautiful day, and not even
a ray of sunshine to cheer them was permitted to
enter their gloomy cabin. The darkness of night still
prevailed in their narrow room so that no one could
see any of his mates in suffering. From one dark
corner could be heard the dull sobs of pain, while
from another rose the complaints of the more sturdy
captives. Francesco was gradually awakening from his
deep, innocent slumber.
“Mother! Mother!” the boy called. As he heard
the weeping, he continued, “Dear Mother, Ignatius,
why do you weep? Father will return soon.”

25
“Poor child, your mother is not here,” a mild
voice, that assured the boy of kindness, was heard
from the floor beside him.
Only now did Francesco fully realize the sad
state that he was in. “Mother, loving mother, my
dear father!” came from his quivering lips, and tears
choked his speech. “Do not weep, little one,” said the
same voice as mildly as before; “your holy guardian
angel will bring you back to your loving parents.”
“Who are you? And why did you bring me here?”
asked Francesco. “I only wanted to meet my father,
to greet him upon his return home, and today is
mother’s nameday. Bring me back now, I do not want
to go with you.”
“Dear child,” continued the unknown voice, “I
did not steal you. All of us who are here have been
dragged away just as you have been.”
“Are you from Catania? What is your name? Are
Padre Battista and Brother Christopher here?” asked
the boy.
“I am not from Catania, nor do I believe that
your father and brother are among us, for you were
brought in here all alone yes­terday evening. My
companions and I are from a small island; these bad
men have captured us and carried us on their ship.
My name is Isidore, and I am a priest; but now, my
little friend, you must tell me your name.”
“Francesco Fione, from Catania; my fa­ther’s name
is Giovanni, and my mother’s name is Angela.”
“Do come a little closer if you can,” said the
priest. In vain Francesco tried to raise himself. At
every new attempt he groaned and sighed; for the
cords with which his hands and feet were bound cut
deeper into his tender limbs at every move.
“It will not work, Padre, I can hardly move.”
“Try again; if you can crawl only two steps, you
will be at my side.”
Finally, after much pain and effort, the boy
reached the priest’s side. The vener­able old man
quietly asked him whether he had said his morning
prayers. As Frances­co admitted that he had not, the
two began to say their prayers together. The innocent
prayer of the child quieted for a moment the sighs
of the prisoners, and most of them, led by the good
example, joined in. When the boy ended his prayer,
he turned to the priest again. “Reverend Father, now
we will pray to our dear Lord to punish these wicked
sea robbers, so that we may return home soon.”
“No, Francesco, we may not do that,” the priest
quickly corrected him; “do you not know that we
must love our enemies?”
“Oh, yes,” the boy quickly answered; “but I
cannot love such cruel people who take me away
from my dear parents.”
“Did you forget, Francesco, that our Di­vine
Saviour loved even the stubborn Jews who nailed
Him to the Cross? You see, my child, we must follow
His example. We will pray for our enemies, as our

Lord pray­ed for His. Now then, Francesco, another
Our Father for the pirates.”
Slowly each torturous hour passed by. Louder
and louder became the complaints of the prisoners,
and even the more patient ones began to chime in
with the rest. The pangs of hunger and thirst, allied
with the burning desire for freedom and the fear of
the uncertainty of the future, made their lot most
miserable. How long must they re­main in this narrow
dark room, in this foul air of their small prison cell?
And when they would be brought again to the light
of day, what would their lot be then? Cries of despair,
subdued moans, loud complaints, all mingled together
in an unharmonious hymn of sorrow; now and then
the shrill cries of children calling for their parents
could be heard above all the rest. One un­happy
mother called in unbroken succession the names of
her little ones, and gave these poor orphans, from
whom she had been cruelly torn away, the sweetest
and kindest names, that only a mother’s heart could
cre­ate. Yet all this wailing found no attentive ear;
excepting that of God above, whose providence
often permits misfortune for some greater good; and
it re-echoed again in the heart of good Don Isidore.
The pious priest exerted all his efforts to bring a little
cheer to this sad crowd, through the con­solation of
their Faith.
As the evening shadows again fell over ship and
sea, the poor victims, tired and ex­hausted, fell into
a deep slumber. It was their last night under the
dominion of the pirates. Where they would lay their
heads to rest the following evening, God alone knew.
Surely, they would find no cozy homes as poor slaves
under their new mas­ters.
Achmed was pacing up and down the deck
with measured steps. He came before Hus­sein and
remained standing, and a satanical laugh sounded
from his lips. “Allah be praised! This time we have
luckily slipped away from those unbelievers. We
surely played the capital trick on them when we
maneuvered by them so majestically during the night.
May Allah whirl them to the bottom of the sea if they
ever come across our path again! But, by the great
Kaaba of the Prophet of Mecca, I will punish these
Spanish dogs as soon as the day of revenge comes!”
With these words, the sturdy pi­rate clenched his fists
and stamped his feet so forcibly upon the planks
of the deck that the other pirates, who stood near
by, crouched back for fear. “Hussein, tomorrow, at
sunrise, Tunis must be in sight; do you hear? And
no man will go below deck until our ship is in total
safety.”
“Very well, Captain!”
As the startled pirate hesitated to bring the orders
he had just received to the rest of the crew, Achmed
burst forth once more: “Why do you wait, slave? Must
I start your legs for you?”

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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

26
“Do not scold, Captain,” answered Hus­sein, “I
am waiting only to learn your wish­es regarding the
prisoners from the Isle of Gionon.”
“What is the trouble, are they becoming
rebellious? Count a dozen blows with the oar upon
the soles of each one, until they be­come quiet.”
“No, Captain; I only wanted to know whether it is
your wish that I bring them something to eat?”
“Have you lost your reason, slave?”
“No, Captain; it is for your own interests. Since
yesterday they have not had as much as a crumb to
strengthen them. If you con­tinue to let them hunger,
they will not pay you well at the market.”
“You are right; order some bread to be thrown
down to them, but now, be gone!” “Good, Captain!”
“Land in sight!” shouted the man from the crow’s
nest. Truly, the shores of Tunis had already risen
above the horizon, and had come into vision with the
light of day. A fresh morning breeze hurried the ship
on its course to the shore. The outline of land in its
contrast with the water became clear­er and clearer.
Already one could distin­guish the straight line of the
canal which brought the ships from the sea to the har­
bor.
The landscape lay before them like a pic­ture
molded by some master-hand upon a watery canvas.
The white walls of the city took on a more cheerful

aspect in the first rays of the morning sun. Between
the houses the palm trees rose to majestic heights
and spread their branches to the breeze above the
roofs. Palaces, topped with dome-like towers, above
which glittered the rings of the half-moon, formed
the predom­inant portion of the picture for which the
heavens furnished their clear blue sky as a pleasing
background. To the right, as you enter the canal, lay
ruins of the mighty Car­thage, now a mass of sand and
debris, be­yond which you are greeted by the more
pleasing sight of the great cathedral, built by Cardinal
Lavigerie in honor of St. Louis of France. To the left
rises menacingly the stronghold of Goletta, which
Emperor Charles V captured in his heroic battle near­
ly a hundred years before the time of our story, and
gave freedom to 20,000 Christian slaves.
Now the ship reaches the end of the canal and
passes into the large body of water call­ed “The Little
Sea of the Arabs.” How the quiet mirror-like surface
glitters and sparkles in the sunlight! Just a few minutes
more, and the pirate ship will be safely an­chored in
the harbor of Tunis.

...to be continued.

Fr. Joseph Spillmann was born at Zug, Switzerland, April 22, 1842. He joined
the Jesuits and in 1874 was ordained priest. Due to his poetic gifts he
was assigned to work on various periodicals. Spillmann's literary activity
resulted chiefly from his connection with these periodicals, especially the
Katholische Missionen, which he edited from 1880-90. His Tales of Foreign
Lands series contains 21 booklets, consisting of edifying and tastefully
illustrated stories for the young. They have been translated into many
languages. Newly reprinted by Angelus Press, Volume One combines four
of these stories into a single volume.

Love Your Enemies. The Maoris of New Zealand have had enough of being

cheated by the English and rebel. Meanwhile, the Patrick O’Neal family, trying to
start a new life there, are overtaken by a marauding tribe and must flee for their
lives, all the while trying to practice in earnest that hardest of Christian maxims:
“Love Your Enemies.”

Maron. It is Lebanon in 1860, and the Druses are persecuting the Christians

under the complicit eye of the Turkish government. The Mufti of Sidon incites the
mob to kill the Christian dogs even as his son Ali, sickened by the slaughter, helps
his Christian friend Maron flee to the hills, and learns from his actions the reality
of grace and the gifts of the Holy Ghost.

The Festival of Corpus Christi. Don Pedro and his nephew have accepted their

320pp. Color Softcover.
STK# 8109✱ $14.95

government’s commission to shut down the Jesuit missions in Bolivia. Reaching the
mission, they discover a village where the Indians are living a civilized, Christian
life. Their preparations for the annual Corpus Christi procession and the taming of
a savage tribe form the backdrop of this tale.

The Cabin Boys. It is 1798, the ninth year of the bloody French Revolution, and
fifteen-year-old Paul and twelve-year-old Albert embark as cabin boys on a sea
voyage with unusual cargo in the hold: 200 priests, condemned to forced labor in
Cayenne. Gripping adventures await the boys, aided by wise priests at sea and on
land, until the tale brings them back home again.

27
A r c h b i s h o p

M a r c e l

L e f e b v r e

Christendom
NEWS
Angelus Press Edition

The Problem
of Liberty
Part II

We present here the second and final part of a previously
unpublished conference given by Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre
to a group of Parisian students on May 2, 1965. The first part
appeared in the January 2009 issue of The Angelus.
The missionary bishop, who was still at that time
Superior General of the Holy Ghost Fathers, discussed
the topic of religious liberty only a few months before
the session of the Second Vatican Council which was
to promulgate the Declaration Dignitatis Humanae
(December 7, 1965). He affirmed before his audience:
Does not the dignity of man consist in his final end, in
those laws of which I have spoken, in that universal order
which is given to us by the Church, which is taught to us
by our Lord who speaks through the Church? Then (today)
there is no longer any order possible. We no longer know
what is the true order, what is not the true order. I believe
that there is still going to be some very lively discussion on
this subject at the Council.

With his characteristic firm serenity, Archbishop
Lefebvre recalled the traditional teaching of the

Church on freedom which he had received in Rome
during his studies in the Holy City and to which he
remained indefectibly attached his whole life through.

A Few Applications of Freedom
Freedom and Authority
You may also have seen that in the Encyclical
Libertas Praestantissimum, Pope Leo XIII likewise
speaks of this decrease in our freedom caused by the
application of authority. He insists above all on the
fact of our weakness, of the weakness in our faculties
which we have as a consequence of Original Sin, to
be more precise.
St. Thomas speaks of the four wounds inflicted
on our nature by the loss of the supernatural
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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

28
order: ignorance in the intellect, malice in the will,
weakness, and concupiscence. Those are the four
wounds which are inflicted on our nature by the fact
that we lose the supernatural order. Our nature is
therefore no longer perfect. St. Thomas insists on
these same weaknesses of nature as affecting our
freedom indirectly, diminishing it, when he explains
why authority is necessary.
I would like to correct one fairly common error
on this subject, which is thinking that authority is
only given to us for that reason–that authority here
below, all authorities, are given to us byGod only
on account of Original Sin. This would obviously
be an error. Authority is a perfection. It will always
exist. The authority of God over us will always exist.
Consequently, if authority were only given on account
of our weakness, our defects, authority would only
last as long as human existence here below. Normally,
after this life, in heaven and in paradise, authority
would no longer exist. That is not the case. Moreover,
the word itself seems to be an indication: authority
means author; the authority is therefore the author of
life, it should continue to watch over that life, protect
that life, continue to give that life. Thus authority is a
source of life both by the laws it gives and by the very
execution of those laws.
Obviously some people are going to say: “There
is a constraint,” but constraint is sometimes necessary,
precisely on account of our weakness. And that is
why those who hold authority possess an executive
power, a legislative power, and a judiciary power. The
legislative power consists precisely in making laws, in
making more specific those laws which already exist
in nature. Authority formulates them, promulgates
them, and sees to their execution. Next, judiciary
power consists in punishing delinquents, those who
do not want to submit to the laws. Such is the very
power of authority, which is made for the good.
Certainly, if those laws are unjust laws,
illegitimate laws, laws which are not in conformity
with the natural order nor in conformity with the
positive law of God, then those laws have no force. A
law can only have force if it is in conformity with the
law of nature, with the positive divine law, and the
positive human laws which are, for example, the laws
of the Church, the commandments of the Church–
which are human laws, ecclesiastical laws, but they
correspond to the divine law.
So you see that authority plays a very important
role in our concept of freedom.

Freedom and the Power to Do Evil
Pope Leo XIII explicitly stated that the power to
do evil is obviously not an essential part of freedom.
Otherwise God would no longer be free, because
He cannot do evil. And I think that God is supremely
free, isn’t He? The elect who are in heaven can no
longer do evil, either, and yet they adhere freely and
infallibly to the good which they conceive in their
THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

intellect because this time the good presents itself to
them in its entirety, directly to their intellect. They
cannot not see it, and they cannot not rejoice in it, they
cannot, in their will, not desire that good which they
perceive in a perfect manner–it is inconceivable. They
move toward it with all their heart, with all their soul,
because it is impossible for them not to see this good
which is their good, their own good, their own final
end, directly presented to them in the beatific vision.
They cannot not cling to it, and they cling to it freely,
infallibly. Therefore, saying that freedom is also the
power to do evil would amount to saying that neither
the elect are free, nor God Himself.
The power to do evil is a defect in our freedom. Why
do we have this defect? Because the goods which
present themselves to us are not necessary goods.
There is a necessary good which is our final end,
happiness, and that which every soul desires. But
between that final end toward which we are tending
and what we are now, there is an infinity of goods
which present themselves to us and among them there
are real goods and false goods. There are apparent
goods to which we are in danger of adhering if we
are not careful; we can sometimes attach ourselves to
them without a bad conscience, but we can also attach
ourselves to them with a bad conscience. We can
attach ourselves to false goods, just as we can attach
ourselves to apparent truths, which in reality are
errors. The reason is that now, in our present state, we
do not possess the total good of our intellect and of
our will.
Now then, if we are free in our choices, it is
clear that God could not prevent us–given the state
of pilgrims in which He has established us, and
confronted as we are with many crossroads and
many choices to make–He could not prevent us from
ever making bad choices. Otherwise we would no
longer have a human freedom, which attaches itself
to particular goods, to contingent goods, which we
can choose. This is where we can make mistakes,
because our minds are not perfect, because our wills
are not perfect either and all the more so since we are
affected by original sin. As I was telling you earlier,
ignorance and malice are unfortunately among the
defects which are even more deeply rooted in us than
in our first parents.

Religious Liberty
Here is another truth which it is important to
know and to affirm: it is one thing to be able to do evil
and another thing to have the right to do evil.
I am now coming to a conclusion which you can
already guess, and to a subject which is still going to
give us many concerns and many difficulties at the
next session of the Council–that of religious liberty.
Is it possible, as some are saying and have said, that
man, on account of his human dignity, is morally free
to adhere to and publicly put into practice the religion
which he conceives in his conscience?

29
To be frank, that is more or less the statement that
a certain number of Council Fathers would like us to
adopt. Man is free and consequently has the right–you
see why it is so serious–has the right, I do not say
the power (that is another question: unfortunately,
we do have the power to sin), but the right to sin.
Man would thereby have the right, in virtue of his
human dignity–explain it as you like–to adhere to and
publicly practice the religion which he conceives in his
conscience!
It is a terrifying affirmation, terrifying in its
consequences! It is horrendous; I suppose those
who formulate principles of this kind do not see the
consequences to which they could lead. “But really,”
they object, “you cannot prevent the Protestants from
publicly manifesting their faith!” Obviously, it would
appear extreme to say the contrary. But a faith not in
conformity with the Faith taught by Our Lord is one
thing; the consequences of that faith are another.
If error were only in the domain of dogma it would
be bad enough. Let us suppose that in a Catholic
family, for example, one were regularly to invite a
person who professes a different faith and one were
to say: “The children have to be aware of everything,
we have to be open to the world, we have to be open
to ideas.” They would let that person present his faith
and show the children the faith he professes; that
would already be extremely grave. For if it is not the
true Faith, it is an error. It would amount to exposing
errors in front of the children who are more or less
capable of defending themselves against those errors.
It is always grave to accept the scandal of error.
Logically then, we come around to the question
of morals. We cannot separate dogma from morals.
They may say: “Ah! That’s different, we are not
talking about morals. It is only a question of the public
practice of religion, for example religious services.” I
answer: You cannot say, “We authorize other religions
to practice their religious services” and not authorize
them also to practice their moral laws and, ultimately,
ask States and governments to put those moral laws
into legislation. Religion and morals are inseparable ;
dogma and morals are inseparable. We therefore have
to be completely logical. Logically, we would have
to conclude that all States should henceforth accept
birth-control and divorce and that there should no
longer be any State which does not accept divorce.
It is logical; it is a right. And if they have the right,
it must be because God gives it. Therefore, out of
consideration for human dignity, God gives the right
to practice publicly the religion in conformity to a
man’s conscience and to practice the morality which
flows from it.
Those are principles absolutely contrary to all
of the papal encyclicals up to the present; it is clear.
That is why the liberals conclude that States and
governments are not capable of knowing the true
religion. That is where their thinking has to go for
them next to put all religions on the same footing: all

forms of worship and all moral systems are on the
same footing. You logically have to conclude that,
since States are not capable of knowing which is the
true religion, they are obliged to admit the freedom
of any religion which may present itself. The only
limitation would be the so-called public order. But how
can we define public order? Public order has to be
defined. One could say, for example, that polygamy is
the public order for Moslems. They are going to come,
too, with their worship; they are going to come, too,
with their morals. And why not? Once you start there
is no escape.
Let us say: “We tolerate; we accept; prudence
demands that we allow...”; let there be a certain
tolerance on the part of Catholic States, for example of
the practice of religious services, of a certain religious
liberty–exactly how much is left up to the judgment of
the heads of State who ought to be conscious of their
duties and their responsibilities. For example, to avoid
a greater evil which would be violent oppositions
between citizens, to avoid grave difficulties, one may
tolerate the opening of places of worship by different
religions.
From there to saying that those who ask States for
such a freedom are asking for it in virtue of a right...No!
Never that! Now God gives men the right to adhere to
falsehood? Now God gives men the right to do evil?
The right–because that is what it would be. And there
is where the whole difficulty lies: the jus habent of the
dignity of man. Does not the dignity of man consist
in his final end, in those laws of which I have spoken,
in that universal order which is given to us by the
Church, which is taught to us by our Lord who speaks
through the Church? Then today there is no longer
any order possible. We no longer know what the true
order is or is not. I believe that there is still going to
be some very lively discussion on this subject at the
Council.
You wonder how we even reached the point of
being able to say such things. That those who explicitly
profess liberalism or modernism would have this type
of idea, granted, it is perhaps normal for them; but
that theologians would be so bold: that is truly grave,
very grave. I guarantee that you are going to see the
consequences.
Once again, if we admit that all men have the
right to practice publicly the religion which they
conceive in their conscience, they also have a right
to their moral system. We cannot say: “You only
have a right to religious services; you do not have
a right to the morals.” It is an absolutely inevitable
consequence. Moreover, those who want this freedom
of worship–some of them at least–also want freedom
of morals, driven by what mindset I do not know.
The bottom line is that they want it also because, sad
to say, there are no doubt certain thinkers who are
absolutely discontent and unhappy, at the thought that
there could still be States or governments capable of
outlawing divorce. It seems to them unimaginable.
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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

30
So you see to what extent this notion of
freedom is misunderstood, and even completely
misunderstood. As if you could separate freedom
from what makes up man as a whole. You cannot
separate freedom from man any more than you
can separate the intellect from man and define the
intellect outside of man as a whole, outside of his
ultimate end; no more than you could define the will
of man without considering the ultimate end of the
total man, could you define freedom independently
of man. You must therefore define it in view of the final
end of man. That is the reason freedom is given to
us. All of our faculties are given to us so that we
might attain our end. And that final end is inscribed
in a law indicated by authority. It is not really very
complicated. But there is such an obsession with
the danger of having our freedom be the slightest
bit limited, that they want to apply freedom
independently of any consideration of finality. Man is
free, absolutely free. He can do whatever he wants; it
is a matter of conscience. His conscience is the final
criterion, the definitive criterion of all that man can
do. Every man can make a law for himself, every man
can make an ultimate end for himself.
But did God create us as beings who would each
be a world unto itself? All of us would be beings of a
different order, each one with a different finality! You
wonder how it is possible to imagine such a thing.
That is what I wanted to express to you. I am
sorry if I have not been clear. I so wish that you
would be aware of the importance of a clear definition
of freedom, in our being and in our life, because it
has consequences not only for ourselves but for all life
in society. And you know that all the responsibility,
the laws, authority, justice–in a word, everything
that ultimately makes up a human life, a life of
society, are constructed upon freedom, upon a good
freedom. Because without that proper understanding
of freedom, what is the use of courtrooms, judges, or
the justice system? If we are free to do what we like,
the consequences are unthinkable. On a speculative
level, they tell us: “You are free to do what you like.”
Then, all of a sudden, a policeman comes to get us
and puts us in prison, saying to us: ‘You did wrong.’”
“Did wrong? I do what my conscience tells me! It is
none of your business! I do as I like. I am free!” What
can we do? There is no longer any such thing as sin,
there is no longer such a thing as evil, there are no
more courtrooms, there is no more justice. Every one
makes up his own law and there you go. There is no
way of ending it. Would you say: “There is a limit”?
What limit?
When you begin with the principles, you have
to be logical right up to the end. If you apply this
idea of total freedom independently of any final end,
independently of the laws that God gives us, there is
no longer any possibility of justifying a judicial action,
and there is no more responsibility, no more sin, no more
evil.
THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

There is also the source of all the false freedoms
decried by Pope Leo XIII: freedom of the press,
freedom of conscience–all of those modern errors
which today seem normal. But they tell us, “You are
an old stick in the mud, speaking of freedom of the
press. As if the press were not free! After all, the men
of today are not the men of 1888! Men are certainly
capable now of judging what is good and what is
bad! Why do you want to limit the freedom of the
press? Every man is free to do and to publish what
he wants!” Therefore it is a freedom to scandalize: the
scandal of error, the scandal of morals.
There is no way out. Once you mean to say that
there must be freedom, then there must be freedom
of the press, there must be freedom of morals, there
must be freedom of everything. There is no longer
any limit possible. That there should be a certain
tolerance–fine. But you are not going to tell me that
the press does not have a considerable influence.
The press, television, the radio, and movies have an
enormous influence in the conditioning of human
minds. We are going toward a standard mind. They
are going to standardize our minds by bringing them
under the yoke of absolutely inadequate visions of
humanity: materialistic visions, sensual, whatever
they choose. It is horrifying, the conditioning that is
possible with the radio and the press! So I think that
States like Portugal, Spain, and others are perfectly
right to discipline the press and all the means of
information.
Freedom of the press, freedom of teaching,
freedom of conscience: so many freedoms decried
by Pope Leo XIII. I cannot urge you too strongly to
read the Encyclical Libertas Praestantissimum, which is
truly the most beautiful thing that can be written on
freedom as well as on the application of principles to
the “modern errors” which are still the order of the
day.

Conclusion
Union of Souls through the Doctrine
Taught by the Church
I would like to end with a little passage from the
Encyclical Sapientiae Christianae of Pope Leo XIII. He
asks precisely for the union of souls:
18. To bring about such a union of minds and uniformity
of action–not without reason so greatly feared by the
enemies of Catholicism–the main point is that a perfect
harmony of opinion should prevail; in which intent we find
Paul the Apostle exhorting the Corinthians with earnest
zeal and solemn weight of words: “Now I beseech you,
brethren, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that you all
speak the same thing, and that there be no schisms among
you: but that you be perfectly in the same mind, and in the
same judgment.”
19. The wisdom of this precept is readily apprehended.
In truth, thought is the principle of action, and hence there
cannot exist agreement of will, or similarity of action, if
people all think differently one from the other.

31
20. In the case of those who profess to take reason as
their sole guide, there would hardly be found, if, indeed,
there ever could be found, unity of doctrine. Indeed, the
art of knowing things as they really are is exceedingly
difficult; moreover, the mind of man is by nature feeble
and drawn this way and that by a variety of opinions, and
not seldom led astray by impressions coming from without;
and, furthermore, the influence of the passions oftentimes
takes away, or certainly at least diminishes, the capacity
for grasping the truth. On this account, in controlling State
affairs, means are often used to keep those together by force
who cannot agree in their way of thinking.
21. It happens far otherwise with Christians; they receive
their rule of faith from the Church, by whose authority and
under whose guidance they are conscious that they have
beyond question attained to truth. Consequently, as the
Church is one, because Jesus Christ is one, so throughout
the whole Christian world there is, and ought to be, but one
doctrine: “One Lord, one faith”; “but having the same spirit of
faith,” they possess the saving principle whence proceed
spontaneously one and the same will in all, and one and the
same tenor of action.
22. Now, as the Apostle Paul urges, this unanimity ought
to be perfect. Christian faith reposes not on human but on
divine authority, for what God has revealed “we believe not on
account of the intrinsic evidence of the truth perceived by the natural
light of our reason, but on account of the authority of God revealing,
who cannot be deceived nor Himself deceive.” It follows as a
consequence that whatever things are manifestly revealed
by God we must receive with a similar and equal assent. To
refuse to believe any one of them is equivalent to rejecting
them all, for those at once destroy the very groundwork of
faith who deny that God has spoken to men, or who bring
into doubt His infinite truth and wisdom. To determine,
however, which are the doctrines divinely revealed belongs
to the teaching Church, to whom God has entrusted the
safekeeping and interpretation of His utterances. But the
supreme teacher in the Church is the Roman Pontiff. Union
of minds, therefore, requires, together with a perfect accord
in the one faith, complete submission and obedience of will
to the Church and to the Roman Pontiff, as to God Himself.

It is very important precisely because at the
present time people speak a great deal about unity.
Those who do not want to conform themselves to the
opinions of others, to public opinion, are accused of
being divisive. “You people are always discontent, you
are never satisfied. You cause divisions…”
I think we have here that which ought to guide us
and unite us: the doctrine of the Church taught by the
popes. Study the teaching of the popes!

Piety, Study, Action
You know those mottoes they sometimes have
in certain Catholic Action movements and which in
themselves are perfectly elementary principles: “See,
judge, act”?
Well! See, judge, act: you also have to judge
according to the Truth, you also have to act according
to the Truth. “See, judge, act”–anybody can do that;
the communists do that. Every man does that. We
see, we judge, we act, but one may see, judge, and act
unreasonably. So you have to see and study. I find that
the marching orders of Pope St. Pius X on the subject

were much more accurate: “Piety, Study, Action.”
Those were the marching orders given by Pope St. Pius
X to the members of Catholic Action; “Piety, Study,
Action” is much more realistic. There at least you have
principles which you can hold to. Piety: pray first, and
so unite yourself to God; then study: study the Truth.
Then you will act with success. And even if there is
no apparent success, you at least have the hope of a
success to come.
I also congratulate you sincerely for coming
together as you do, in small groups, to study the Truth.
Especially at your age, in the conditions where you
find yourselves, in your social surroundings, given
the general atmosphere, it is absolutely necessary that
you study the principles in order to have a clear vision, a
mind which truly attaches itself to the Truth. Then you
will act in all the circumstances of your life in a way
which will be truly in conformity with the laws of God,
with the order of the universe. You will be in order.
And order produces justice; justice produces peace.
Those are fundamental principles on which one
should never compromise: there is an order in the
world and God has ordered us toward an end. If we
step out of that order, that is the end of it: we are in
disorder. If it is a moral disorder, we are in sin. If it is
a political or economic disorder, if we step outside the
order which is inscribed in the laws of nature, we are
heading toward catastrophes for society.
God knows we have been seeing it now for several
years. All of these wars which we deplore are the
fruit of disorder, of moral disorder, of philosophical
disorder and of the disorder which is reigning in
minds. You first have to set minds in order. Then comes
order in action and in every domain. For you must not
exclude the political sphere. It would be another one of
the errors which they are now trying too inculcate in
people’s minds, Catholic minds, Christian minds, that
we must not seek Catholic legislation or a Catholic
government for States. Today, it is forbidden! But
it was good for the time of the Crusades! Now it is
no longer a question of wanting to put a Catholic
government back at the head of a State, or Catholics
at the head of a government! Whereas it ought to be one
of the essential goals presenting itself to every Catholic
citizen.
We are living in a climate of absolute insanity.
The first desire of any Catholic ought to be that his
community be Catholic, that his region be Catholic,
that the State become Catholic. This is for the good of
his family, the good of his fellow citizens, and that the
kingdom of our Lord come on earth as it is in heaven.
Published for the first time in English. This article is reprinted with permission
from Christendom, No.18 (Nov.-Dec., 2008), published by DICI, the international news bureau of the SSPX. Archbishop Lefebvre gave this conference in
1965 while still Superior General of the Holy Ghost Fathers, then the largest
missionary order in the world. Edited by Angelus Press.

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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

32
E d w i n

F a u s t

working
like cr a
zy

Be still and see that I am God. (Ps. 45:11)
I have never had a job I could take seriously.
Perhaps this admission requires some explanation
if I am not to be judged haughty or frivolous. It may
be more accurate to say that I have never had a job
I thought to be of intrinsic worth or genuine interest.
And I have had many jobs.
At the age of 60 and now among the unemployed,
or early retired, depending upon how my situation is
viewed and my future develops, my present retreat
from the ranks of those who sweat for their bread has
come after a long and widely varied work history.
Until I was almost 40, I never held a job for more
than two years; most lasted less than six months.
None were jobs that the world held in high esteem.
I was a waiter, a bus boy, a short-order cook, a tire
installer, a window washer, a cab driver, a desk
clerk, a shoe salesman, a night auditor, a tour guide,
a security guard, a billing clerk, a grave digger and
many other things I either cannot or do not wish to
recall. My marriage in late life required that I obtain
a steady income and a modicum of respectability,
THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

so I became a newspaper reporter and, later, an
editor. Such is my curriculum vitae. Admittedly
not impressive for one who showed promise of
intelligence, was provided with a university education
and offered opportunities for what is termed a “solid
career” in one of the well-paying professions, such as
law.
To the annoyance and puzzlement of those
unfortunate enough to have invested in me their
pride and hope, I appeared determined to fail, to
become impoverished and insignificant. It was not
my intention to fail: I simply could not interest myself
in success, for the examples of successful people set
before me by my elders did not inspire emulation.
Money appeared to be the measure and motive of
success and money did not excite me. Happiness did,
but rich people seemed to me conspicuously unhappy.
The only occupations that I ever seriously considered
worthwhile were those of priest or soldier. Both
appeared noble to me, for both involved sacrifice.
Both required that one be willing to lay down his life

33
for his friends. It eventually became clear, however,
that I was not called to the religious life, and my poor
eyesight removed the possibility of a military career.
What was left? The path of least resistance. Whatever
came to hand in a rambling existence.
There were large and weighty reasons why I
rambled, but they are not the chief subject of this
piece. Here, I want to look briefly at the nature of
work.
After more than four decades of desultory
employment, punctuated by brief periods of idleness,
I look back on my working life as a series of battles
fought against a relentless enemy who has left me
scarred but standing. I may be indulging in what may
seem a grandiose conceit, but that is how I see the
matter, and I think myself justified in my view. For
work when I came of age was generally regarded as
more than an economic necessity or the fulfillment
of one’s talents. It had become a religion: a faith
rooted in the sacrament of sweat. Work for most was
no longer a means to end, but an end in itself: an
enclosed world of ceaseless effort. And it was against
this world of total work that I set my face.
And in this world of total work, the poor may
envy the rich, but there is little joy on either side of
the divide and everyone labors most all of the time,
despite differences in reward and social status. And
this dour religion has insinuated itself into most every
phase and aspect of human existence. Childhood
and schooling tend more and more to be regarded as
the prelude and preparation for a life of work. The
question always posed to me as a boy was: “What do
you want to be when you grow up?” No one seemed
to care about who I was, only about my career
plans. I was frequently urged to direct my attention
away from the present and to cast my thoughts onto
some vague prospect of a prosperous life in some
respectable occupation. But no occupation attracted
me. Those things I loved and prized, my faith and the
mystery of words, seemed frivolous concerns in this
ominous world of work toward which I was drawing
ever nearer and which I instinctively loathed and
dreaded.
I satisfied those concerned about my future by
saying I intended to go to Law School. It was a notion
that pleased my parents and relatives, working class
people for whom the practice of law held out vistas of
wealth and social status that were the stuff of dreams.
They participated vicariously in my imagined future
success. For a time, I was the golden boy. And during
this time, I was free to major in English during my
college years, and to read some philosophy. So I
became something of a hypocrite: my pretended
interest in Law School falsified my relations with the
adults in my life, but it enabled me to be true to my
genuine interests. I could never explain to the people
invested in my future why Keats was more important
to me than economics or accounting; nor what
profit I hoped to gain from an evening spent reading

Plato’s Symposium. “What good is any of this?” was
a muted question in the back of my mind to which I
paid little heed. I loved poetry and pondering, and
I felt immensely blest to have some respite in which
to do both. And the question about the use of these
pastimes struck me as meaningless: they had no
use, and that is why I gloried in them. They were in
some measure Divine, an end in themselves: what
St. Augustine termed the good that is to be enjoyed,
not used. But in the world of total work, everything
that cannot be used, cannot be pressed into service to
satisfy appetite and vainglory, is deemed worthless or
frivolous.
The time arrived when I was compelled to declare
my intentions and act upon them: What was I going
to do for a living? I abandoned the pretense of being
an aspiring lawyer and managed to gain admittance
into a graduate school program in English education.
The program was funded by the Ford Foundation
and offered potential teachers willing to pursue their
profession in the inner cities a generous stipend
during their period of study. And thus I set out upon a
career, or so it seemed.
It was a fraudulent enterprise from the start, and
from every angle. The mornings were spent in lecture
halls where professors of education filled us in on the
psychology and habits of the inner-city child, whom
they appeared to regard as an alien species in whom
they had taken a benevolent interest. As an innercity child myself, I had a robust contempt for their
condescending “compassion.” They obviously knew
nothing about growing up poor in a street lined with
row homes–the place where I had been raised–and
their assumption of possessing an anthropological
expertise about the denizens of these working class
warrens was laughable. They presented the classic
example of how charity degenerates into philanthropy
when it no longer finds its source in God. Again
and again, they urged us to adopt patience and
understanding in dealing with disadvantaged children.
In the afternoons, we were actually allowed to
see some disadvantaged children, much like a trip
to the zoo. We were taken to a public school in the
neighborhood where I was raised and still lived. The
idea was that we would assist teachers in a summer
program for high school seniors who had failed
English and needed to make up the course to receive
their diplomas. To fail English in a public high school
in Philadelphia is no mean accomplishment. It not
only requires total illiteracy, but behavior sufficiently
hideous to move the teacher to vengeance. I “assisted”
in two classes: both were 90 minutes long with about
40 “students” in each session.
Mine was the only white face in these classrooms:
teachers and students were black, some in
complexion, others in heart. Looking out upon the
students was like surveying a sea of hatred. The sea
appeared calm, but deceptively so. Somewhere, a
tsunami was building. I quickly discovered that not
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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

34
only could the students not read or write, they could
not speak intelligibly, at least not in any patois that
I recognized. They also had not the faintest interest
in learning, for they knew they would be handed a
diploma simply for showing up. And the diploma had
no worth in itself, but would be a means for getting
a job. And the job would have no worth in itself,
but would be a means for getting some money. And
money would be a means for buying stuff. And all of
it–diplomas, jobs, money, stuff–meant what? No one
seemed to know, or care.
Most of the time, the students slumped in their
desks and dozed; occasionally, there were outbursts
of conversation, loud and rude and often obscene,
that would drown out the words of the teacher, who
ignored everything and droned on in a void about the
parts of speech. There was no attempt at discipline;
no questions were asked or answered. My role was
limited to taking attendance and passing out work
sheets, which were immediately crumpled. If I was
forgetful enough to turn my back, a work sheet would
hit me between the shoulder blades.
This was my first experience of a public school,
for I had spent my 16 years of previous education
in Catholic schools. The contrast was enormous
and it taught me that poverty can be experienced
in radically different ways, for what separated
Catholic school students from public school students
in my neighborhood was not income, but religious
education. Whatever learning might actually occur in
public schools occurred in a void. Learning only has
meaning in relation to an ultimate end. Deprived of
that end, learning has no discernible purpose, other
than as a preparation for entering the world of total
work with a skill that can be used in some way to
make money. And if money can be made more easily
through welfare payments, food stamps, drug dealing,
prostitution, theft, burglary and other occupations
that require minimal effort, then what fool wants a
job? Several of my “students” already had impressive
police records but had suffered few consequences
from their arrests. They had learned that, contrary to
the popular adage, crime does pay.
I quickly surmised that to pursue a role in the
public school system would be like enlisting as
a crew member on the Titanic. This immensely
expensive and rudderless ship was going down and
nothing could save it. I woke up one morning and
was overwhelmed by the absurdity of what I was
doing. Whatever tepid interest I had had in teaching
had cooled and congealed, and I could no longer
support the pretense that anything sensible or sane
was going on in the graduate program, so I called my
faculty advisor and quit. I would not have another
“respectable” job for almost 20 years. In fact, I came
to regard respectability as a form of spiritual leprosy
to be shunned.
I became something of a nomad, moving about
on the fringes of society, scavenging the necessities
THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

of life and jealously guarding my independence. In
retrospect, it strikes me that I was fighting a battle
on two fronts but against the same enemy, and I
instinctively knew that defeat on either front would
mean defeat on the other. Victory had to be total. So
what was I fighting?
On the one hand, I was fighting nihilism and
despair; I was fighting for the faith, which I had
temporarily lost and was trying to rediscover. I have
written about this in other places and will not go into
much detail now. The combat on this front required
that I always keep before me the questions: Who am
I and why am I here? And this I could not do unless
I remained free of the world of total work. So I had
to resist the pull of all those forces that would draw
me into unthinking routine and sensual stupefaction.
To accomplish this, I had to limit myself to short-term
jobs that made no claim on the higher faculties of my
soul; jobs that I could walk away from in an instant
with no regret or second thoughts.
One of my favorite jobs was a four-month stint
loading tractor trailers at a dairy plant. Stacked cases
of milk would be spit out of the factory doors on a
conveyor belt that ran along a steel platform lined
with trucks. Using a grappling hook and my left
hand, I would swing cases off the belt and into the
designated trailers. There was considerable down time
and, even while working, my mind was completely
free: all that was required was some muscular exertion
and a modicum of attention. I could ponder Socrates’
conversation with Diotima or St. Augustine’s thoughts
about the nature of time while I hooked and dragged
cases into the maws of the trucks. The job approached
what I considered the ideal. But the factory closed
and I had to move on to other employment that made
minimum demands on my intellect.
Now, one might ask: Is it not possible to hold a
respectable job while keeping oneself alive spiritually?
I suppose it might be, though such a balancing
act seemed to me a perilous undertaking. After I
rediscovered my faith and married, I did make some
concessions on this front: I managed to find a job in
the newspaper business, which is semi-respectable.
Being a reporter and, later, an editor did require me
to use my mind in ways that I found very distasteful
and I could not avoid feeling that my dignity was
daily compromised. I was forced to rent out my
powers of literacy at an hourly rate. I had to pretend
that I cared about a great many things that meant
nothing to me. Supporting my family seemed to
require that I become an intellectual prostitute.
St. Augustine, who had risen to the pinnacle of his
profession as a rhetorician, recounts suddenly being
filled with disgust while preparing an ingratiating
speech for the emperor’s birthday. He became acutely
aware that he was engaged in a complete fraud:
composing fine phrases that both he and those who
would applaud them knew to be false. He reviled
himself as “a vendor of words” and resolved to quit

35
his profession and devote himself to truth. How often
did I feel a similar disgust after leaving the newsroom,
having done what was considered an “honest day’s
work.”
The fact is, there is seldom anything honest about
the work most of us do. We usually have to adopt
a persona, pretend to be someone other than who
we are. Our heart is not in it. We do it of necessity
and would gladly be quit of it had we the means or
opportunity. There are, of course, some fortunate
souls who make a living doing what they love, but
they are the exception. The rule is one of enforced
drudgery. Do I take too dour a view? I wish that such
were the case. But along with its intrinsically repellent
character, most work also poses spiritual dangers.
We can come to believe that having a job relieves
us of responsibilities in other areas of life. Work
can be so great a burden that after we shift it off
our shoulders, we feel we have fulfilled all that can
reasonably be asked of us and we slump into sensual
indulgence. Our “free” time can thus be frittered
away. During our non-work hours, we think we ought
to be allowed to behave as we choose: be entertained,
drink, sleep, waste countless hours on distractions
of one sort or another, and often not of the most
wholesome kind. “After all,” we reason, “I’ve put in a
long day. I deserve a break.” But the long day has not
nourished us spiritually so much as it has dulled our
sensibilities to higher things. We can lose our taste for
any sort of intellectual exercise after we have left the
job and more or less collapse into carelessness. We
can be serious about our job, but about little else. But
the job is not serious in itself; it often has no intrinsic
worth and is merely a means to an end: money. And
as difficult and distasteful and emotionally draining as
money-making can be, it does not excuse us from the
care of our souls. Too often, as I know from my own
experience, God can become a rather minor figure in
that routine that alternates between the rigors of work
and the fecklessness of relaxation. We can forget the
great Benedictine motto, work and pray, and adopt
instead the dictum of the modern world: work and
play.
We may think that we have fulfilled the duty of
our state in life by supporting our family, but do not
the heathens do the same? And as Our Lord tells us,
when we have merely done that which is required
of us, we should still consider ourselves unprofitable
servants. Of course, the demands of the workplace
have perhaps never been as all-encompassing as they
are now. We are under a tremendous psychological
pressure simply to check out while we are not
working.
The most significant philosophical essay written in
the 20th century bears a telling title: Leisure: The Basis
of Culture. The author is the great Catholic thinker,
the late Dr. Josef Pieper. The essay was written a few
years after World War II and was prompted by Dr.
Pieper’s concern that society was organizing itself

into what he called “the world of total work.” In such
a society, no place is allotted for genuine leisure,
which Dr. Pieper identifies not as mere idleness, but
as a time consecrated to worship and recollection: a
time in which men put aside their workaday concerns
and remember and celebrate the fact that they are
made in the image and likeness of God. Such leisure
has nothing in common with the notion of vacation,
which is simply a rest period that prepares us to
resume work.
Genuine leisure is a spiritual orientation that
carries into and, in a sense, dominates the world of
work. Work is then seen as a prelude to the Sabbath
rest, as a part of Creation, not as an enclosed
world with no reference to anything transcendent.
This is not the place to explore the richness of Dr.
Pieper’s thought and the crucial importance of his
observation that God, not work, must be at the center
of our lives if we are to avoid that contraction of
the soul that so afflicts modern man, who defines
himself economically, not theologically; who sees
himself primarily, not in his relation to God, but as a
producer and consumer of goods.
The only way to avoid this contraction, Dr. Pieper
argues, is by an adherence to the Christian cultus,
which he identifies with the Catholic Mass. It is the
Mass that guarantees our freedom; that keeps us
from being ground under in the world of total work.
Perhaps that is a significant reason for the world to
hate the Mass, and by the Mass, I mean, of course,
the Traditional Latin Mass. The novus ordo rite fits in
quite well with the world of total work. It turns us
toward that world, which is not so much a God-given
Creation as it is “the work of human hands.” This,
however, is a larger topic which neither time nor
talent will allow me to consider now.
I am not unmindful of how hard it is to retain
one’s spiritual vitality while grinding out the weekly
paycheck, nor am I recommending that others adopt
my admittedly eccentric approach to the world of
work. We each must plot our own course in our
own circumstances, and such a course is a matter of
prudence. I suffered and struggled for many years to
keep my soul from being swallowed by the demands
of earning my daily bread, and now that I have freed
myself for awhile from the toils of Mammon, I can
see more clearly than ever the difficulties and dangers
that so many of us face. But God has chosen us to live
in this seemingly impossible time, and He will stand
with us as we rise each day to renew our combat with
the world of total work. But there is no denying it: the
world of total work is a hell of a thing.
Edwin Faust is a retired newspaperman who writes for Traditional Catholic
publications and lives in New Jersey with his wife, Kathleen.They have three sons.

.
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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

36

Funeral of Senator
Ted Kennedy
The following is adapted from an
e-mail from Fr. Brian Harrison, O.S.,
from the Oblates of Wisdom Study
Center, St. Louis, Missouri, written
on August 29, following the funeral
of Senator Ted Kennedy. Taken from
www.lifesitenews.com
As a Roman Catholic priest, I
feel a duty in conscience today to
register my emphatic dissent from a
message that was projected around
the nation and the globe this morning to millions of viewers and listeners by certain other members of the
Roman Catholic clergy.
I refer to this morning’s televised
funeral Mass, celebrated in Boston’s
Basilica of Our Lady of Perpetual
Help, for the recently deceased Senator Edward Moore Kennedy. It was
a Mass I regard as a scandal comparable to, if not worse than, the scandal given several months ago when
the nation’s most prestigious ‘Catholic’ university bestowed an honorary doctorate upon Barack Hussein
Obama, the most pro-abortion and
‘pro-gay’ president in U.S. history.
Why, you ask, should a Catholic
priest raise such objections to a Catholic funeral for a Catholic legislator?
Well, I am afraid this funeral was no
ordinary Catholic funeral.
For to those innumerable viewers and listeners of many religions
(or none) who were aware of Sen.
Kennedy’s public, straightforward,
radical, long-standing, and (as far
as we know) unrepented defiance
of his own Church’s firm teaching
about the duty of legislators to protect unborn human life and resist
the militant homosexual agenda,
this morning’s Mass, concelebrated
by several priests, presided over
by Cardinal Sean O’Malley, Archbishop of Boston, and adorned by
a eulogy from the aforesaid U.S.
THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

Church a
President, effectively communicated
a tacit but very clear message: the
Church does not really take too seriously her own ‘official’ doctrines on
these matters!
I feel impelled, therefore, to
make known to anyone willing to
read these lines that there are many
other representatives of the Catholic Church, such as myself, who
take those doctrines very seriously
indeed.
How would our Church leaders
act if they really did take seriously an
official Church position from which
a prominent deceased Catholic had
publicly dissented?
To answer that question, we
need only imagine a situation in
which some well-known Catholic
legislator had for years supported
the Church’s social teaching ‘across
the board,’ in regard to human life,
marriage, compassion toward the
poor and underprivileged, etc., but
had then, in old age, lapsed into
supporting some ideological position that was strongly opposed not
only by the Church, but also by the
dominant Western elites.
Suppose, for instance, that he
had come to endorse white supremacism or holocaust denial. Now, when
the moment for this Catholic legislator’s funeral came, could we imagine
for one moment that our cardinals,
bishops and other leading clergy,
mindful of this man’s sterling and
thoroughly orthodox contributions
to the common good over so many
years in Congress, would ‘compassionately’ overlook his latter-day
lapse into racism or anti-Semitism?
Would they agree to give him
a free pass in regard to this defect?
Would they speak and act as if it
were non-existent? Would they grant
him a televised funeral Mass in a
large basilica, presided over by a
cardinal, in which he would be publicly eulogized by both family and
public figures?

These questions really answer
themselves. Of course none of that
would occur! The local bishop might
go as far as to allow our hypothetical Catholic racist or anti-Semite
a Church funeral, if it was known
that (like Senator Kennedy) he had
confessed sacramentally to a priest
before death.
However, the bishop would
allow the use of church property
for this funeral on the strict condition that only close personal family
and friends would be admitted. All
media transmission or even presence
during the service itself would surely
be forbidden. (It would, of course,
be unnecessary for the bishop to ask
his fellow bishops and other high
Church dignitaries not to attend
the service; for all of them, like the
bishop himself, would already prefer
to be anywhere else on earth than at
the funeral of one who had lapsed
so unspeakably from society’s ruling
canons of acceptable behavior.)
Yes, society’s canons. There,
I am afraid, lies the difference
between our two scenarios. Is it that
official Catholic doctrine is incomparably more opposed to racism
and anti-Semitism than it is to abortion and sodomy (as a visitor from
Mars might suppose on observing
the radically divergent reactions of
our bishops to the two respective
ex-politicians)? Not at all.
The big difference is simply
that most members of the Catholic
hierarchy in Western society today–
and there are of course a number
of honorable exceptions–are lacking in prophetic courage. They are
ready and eager to take vigorous and
resolute public disciplinary action
only against those deviations from
Church teaching which also happen
to be excoriated by the cultural and
media elites.
So it was, in this morning’s
funeral Mass, that the homilist, Fr.
Mark Hession (pastor of Kennedy’s
Cape Cod parish), made his sermon

nd World
a eulogy about what a wonderful
Catholic Christian Ted was, assuring
us that we could be “confident” that
he is already with Jesus in glory.
So it was that the principal
celebrant, Fr. Donald Monan, S.J.,
Chancellor of Boston College, not
only repeatedly told those present–
and the whole watching world–that
Sen. Kennedy was a man of “faith
and prayer,” with a deep devotion
to the Eucharist, but also assured
us that this “faith and prayer” in
private was precisely what inspired
and motivated his public policies, so
that there was (surprise, surprise) a
real integration and unity between
his private and public life!
Well, a lot of us didn’t quite
manage to see any private-public
unity based on Roman Catholic
principles. On the contrary, Kennedy’s huge political influence, based
on both the family’s prestige and the
personal dynamism of this “Lion of
the Senate,” if anything made his
U-turn on abortion (yes, he was
pro-life in his younger days) an even
more scandalous counter-witness:
a sign of conflict, not union, with
that Church to which he professed
loyalty.
Here are two comments I have
just lifted off a Catholic blog:
1. “There’s this big, ‘What if?’”
said Catholic author Michael Sean
Winters. “If Ted Kennedy had stuck
to his pro-life position, would both
the (Democratic) party and the country have embraced the abortion on
demand policies that we have now?
I don’t think so.”
2. “Russell Shaw, former spokesman for the U.S. Conference of
Catholic Bishops, said that when
Kennedy defied the church on issues
such as abortion and later, gay marriage, he reinforced a corrosive
belief among Catholics that they
can simply ignore teachings they
don’t agree with.”

I myself remember several years
ago a conversation with a young
woman who had been brought up
Catholic but had recently been ‘born
again’ as an Evangelical Protestant.
One of the arguments she threw at
me was, “Even your Church leaders
don’t really believe what Catholics
are supposed to believe. Why don’t
they excommunicate Ted Kennedy?
He’s blatantly 100% pro-choice! Yet
they do nothing!”
What could I say to her? And
what can I say now, after today’s
public scandal? That young lady’s
Fr. Franz Schmidberger
complaint was simply that this man
remained a Catholic in good standing. I find I must now complain to
you of something worse.
Before the whole world this
morning, my fellow Catholic clerics
in Boston did not just accord him
the “good standing” of a normal,
flawed Catholic whose soul we can
hope is in Purgatory. Rather, clad in
triumphant white vestments instead
of penitential violet (never mind the
traditional black!), they have placed
him on a pedestal, granting him an
unofficial ‘instant canonization’!
The Church’s teaching is already
abundantly clear that all this is very
wrong. So perhaps we can legitimately discern the hand of God’s
Providence, which rules all things, in
a ‘coincidence’ that suggests a manifestation of God’s grave displeasure
at this kind of mockery–injustice
masquerading as “pastoral charity.”
In our liturgy, Sunday has begun
as I write at the hour of Vespers on
Saturday. But the earlier part of this
day, August 29, including the time of
the Kennedy funeral, was observed
by Catholics round the world as the
Feast of the Beheading of St. John
the Baptist.
In normal Masses celebrated
today, the biblical account of his
martyrdom was read (Mark 6: 17-29.)
The parallels are striking: (a) We
see two powerful civil authorities;
(b) both of them flip-flop in a mor-

37

ally bad direction (Herod originally
respected and defended John, and
Kennedy originally respected and
defended the unborn; (c) both of
them abuse their power by authorizing the shedding of innocent
blood; and (d) both of them do so
under peer-group pressure and at the
behest of unrighteous women (then,
Herod’s guests, his wife and her
daughter; now, the radical feminists
and their fellow travellers).
As if that were not enough, the
longest Scripture reading in today’s
liturgy also grabs our attention. It
is prescribed not for the Feast of
John the Baptist, but independently,
for the Saturday of Week 21, in the
‘Office of Readings.’ This is a part
of the daily ‘Liturgy of the Hours’
which is required spiritual reading
for us Roman Rite clerics.
And today’s reading just happens to be Jeremiah 7: 1-20, in which
the prophet vigorously denounces–
guess what?–the hypocrisy of Israel’s
religious leaders who proudly identify with the temple and the rites
they celebrate within it, while at the
same time they are living unrighteously (including “shedding innocent blood,” v. 6) and even “pouring
out libations to strange gods” (v. 18).
God therefore warns, “my anger and
my wrath will pour out upon this
place” (v. 20).
Orthodox Catholics will surely
ask whether God can be any less
angered now by those clerics who
today carried out temple rites giving
undeserved honor to a legislator who
for decade after decade poured out
the ‘libations’ of his eloquence, influence and Senate votes in the service
of the ‘false gods’ of Planned Parenthood and NARAL–which regularly
rewarded him with 100% ratings for
his ‘pro-choice’ record.
Enough. If, in your charity, you
pray for God to be merciful to the
soul of Edward Moore Kennedy,
please pray for all of us Catholic
priests as well–and be cognizant
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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

38

of the fact that some of us are profoundly indignant at what we saw
our brethren doing today

Bishop Decides to
Stop Offering Mass
Versus Populum
Bishop Edward Slattery of
the Diocese of Tulsa, Oklahoma,
recently explained his decision to
return to the practice of saying Mass
ad orientem. In his editorial in the
September 2009 issue of Eastern
Oklahoma Catholic, he discusses the
historical practice:
“When we study the most ancient
liturgical practices of the Church, we
find that the priest and the people
faced in the same direction, usually
toward the east, in the expectation
that when Christ returns, He will
return ‘from the east.’ At Mass, the
Church keeps vigil, waiting for that
return. This single position is called
ad orientem, which simply means
‘toward the east.’”
Perhaps most interesting, however, is his analysis of this practice
(or lack thereof!) in recent times:
“In the last 40 years...the priest
and the people have become accustomed to facing in opposite directions. The priest faces the people
while the people face the priest, even
though the Eucharistic Prayer is
directed to the Father and not to the
people. This innovation was introduced after the [Second] Vatican
Council, partly to help the people
understand the liturgical action of
the Mass by allowing them to see
what was going on, and partly as an
accommodation to contemporary
culture where people who exercise authority are expected to face
directly the people they serve, like a
teacher sitting behind her desk.
“Unfortunately this change had
a number of unforeseen and largely
negative effects. First of all, it was a
serious rupture with the Church’s
THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

ancient tradition. Secondly, it can
give the appearance that the priest
and the people were engaged in
a conversation about God, rather
than the worship of God. Thirdly, it
places an inordinate importance on
the personality of the celebrant by
placing him on a kind of liturgical
stage.
“Even before his election as the
successor to St. Peter, Pope Benedict
has been urging us to draw upon
the ancient liturgical practice of the
Church to recover a more authentic
Catholic worship. For that reason, I
have restored the venerable ad orientem position when I celebrate Mass
at the Cathedral.”
While, in the grand scheme of
things, this may be a small step,
it is nonetheless encouraging after
decades of movement in the other
direction.
For a more in-depth study of
this question, including its historical
dimension, see Chapter XIX of the
(soon to be republished) book, Pope
Paul’s New Mass by Michael Davies.

Requiescant
in Pace
While this issue of The Angelus
was being published, we received
sad news: Two Society priests and
the brother of Archbishop Lefebvre
left this vale of tears. We commend
their souls to your prayers.
Fr. John Peek, an American,
was ordained in 1996 and died on
September 7. He resided at Queen
of Angels priory in Dickinson, Texas.
Fr. Didier Bonneterre, a Frenchman, died on September 15. He was
the first rector of the seminary in
Albano (Rome). Most recently he
was prior of St. Germaine’s in Paris
and a member of the General Chapter of the Society. He is the author
of the book The Liturgical Movement,
published by Angelus Press.

Michel Lefebvre, the youngest
brother of Archbishop Lefebvre,
also passed away on September 15.
He was 90 years old.
Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine,
et lux perpetua luceat eis.

Cleaning
Up the Curia
Pope Benedict XVI recently
appointed and moved several collaborators within the Vatican Secretariat
of State. Conservative observers are
talking about “essential decisions”
or even about “cleaning out the
stable,” referring to an opposition
inside the Vatican to the Pope. The
former Undersecretary for Relations
with States, Msgr. Pietro Parolin, has
been appointed apostolic nuncio
of Venezuela. Archbishop Carlo
Viganò, until recently an influential
administrator of Vatican diplomats,
has been appointed Secretary of the
Governatorate of Vatican City.
Archbishop Paolo Sardi has
been seen by many as one of the
most important curia officials in
opposition to the line taken by the
Pope; he has been appointed Patron
of the Order of the Knights of Malta.
For the past 30 years he was responsible for papal speeches. He was
thus called “the shaver” because
he deleted possible difficulties from
papal speeches and made them
acceptable for general audiences.
Msgr. Gabriele Caccia, previously Assessor for General Affairs
of the Secretariat of State, has been
appointed nuncio to Lebanon. His
successor is the US citizen Peter
Brian Wells, former personal secretary of the conservative bishop of
Tulsa (featured in this month’s issue
of Church and World). New as well in
the Secretariat of State is the German
diplomat Florian Kolfhaus from the
diocese of Regensburg.
(Translated and adapted from
Kirchliche Umschau.)

PART 29

39
F r .

M a t t h i a s

G a u d r o n

This part of the Catechism considers the Society
of St Pius X and the validity of the supression and
suspension. It includes a treatment of whether and
when it is licit to resist the Pope.

Catechism
Of the Crisis
In the Church
92) What is the
Society of Saint Pius X?

The Priestly Society of Saint Pius X is a
congregation of priests founded by Archbishop
Marcel Lefebvre. It was officially erected in the
diocese of Fribourg, Switzerland, on November 1,
1970, by the diocesan bishop, the Most Reverend
François Charrière. On February 18, 1971, the Society
received a letter of praise from the Prefect of the
Congregation for the Clergy at Rome, Cardinal
Wright. The Society, thus, was recognized by the
competent authorities; it is a work of the Church.

l How big is the Society of St. Pius X at this time?
Today [2009], the Society numbers 509 priests
regularly ministering in 63 countries on all the
continents, and seminarians and Brothers. It is
aided by two auxiliary congregations of nuns (the
Sisters of the Society of St. Pius X and the Oblates

of the Society of St. Pius X). Some thirty friendly
congregations work with it towards the same end.
l What are some of the friendly congregations that
work with the Society of St. Pius X?
Among the friendly congregations of men
working with the Society of St. Pius X one can
name the Benedictine monks of France, Brazil, and
the United States; the Capuchins of Morgon, the
Dominicans of Avrillé, and the religious of the Society
of the Transfiguration at Merigny, in France; and the
Redemptorists on Papa Stronsay Island, in Scotland.
On the feminine side, there are the Benedictine nuns
in France and Germany; the Poor Clares of Morgon,
France; six traditional Carmels; the cloistered
Dominican nuns of Avrillé; the Little Sisters of St.
Francis in France and the Franciscan Sisters of Christ
the King in the United States; the teaching Dominican
Sisters of the congregations of Fanjeaux, Brignoles,
and Wanganui; the Sisters of the Transfiguration at

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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

40
Merigny and the Little Handmaids of
St. John the Baptist at Rafflay, France;
and the Consoling Sisters of the
Sacred Heart and the Disciples of
the Cenacle in Italy.
Other traditional religious
communities exist in other parts
of the world.

93) What ends does
the Society of St. Pius X
pursue?

The primary and principle end
of the Society is the formation of good
priests and their sanctification. In the
present crisis of faith, it also has the mission of
keeping whole and inviolate the Catholic Faith.

l Is there a link between these two ends?
A true reform of the Church can only come about
by a reform of the priesthood. Only good and holy
priests will be able to reignite in the hearts of the
faithful the love of God and enthusiasm for the Faith.
It was the catastrophic state of official seminaries that
pushed Archbishop Lefebvre to found the Society. In
almost every official seminary, fundamental truths of
faith are denied and spiritual formation is deficient.
Sometimes they teach rebellion against the teachings
of the Church and incite the seminarians to sin.

94) Was the suppression of the
Society of Saint Pius X valid?

It was Bishop Pierre Mamie (successor of Bishop
Charrière as bishop of Fribourg) who signed the
May 6, 1975, decree of suppression of the Society of
Saint Pius X shortly after Archbishop Lefebvre had
had discussions with Cardinals Garrone, Wright, and
Tabera. Archbishop Lefebvre always contested the
validity of this suppression both for reasons of legal
procedure and of justice (for, in reality, the Society
was peremptorily suppressed because of its fidelity to
the Catholic Faith and to the traditional Mass).

l Why did Archbishop Lefebvre contest the legal
proceeding that ended in the suppression of the
Society?
According to canon law, a bishop can no longer
suppress a religious congregation (or a clerical society
of common life) once it has been erected officially
in his diocese; only Rome can do this.1 Now, the
Society of St. Pius X was officially erected by Bishop
Charrière in 1970. Archbishop Lefebvre judged that
his successor no longer had the right to suppress it.
Only Rome, and not the diocesan bishop, could do
so.
THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

l Is this legal argument absolutely
decisive?
Archbishop Lefebvre always
considered this legal argument
to be decisive—especially since
the Vatican never responded.2
However, the Archbishop’s
resistance was not based
essentially on quibbles of legal
procedure, but on fundamental
reasons touching on faith and
morals. Thus, even if one should
grant that the suppression of the
Society of St. Pius X was licit (which
some still maintain to this day3), these
reasons stand, and the suppression
does not become just simply because it
is licit. For a judgment can very well respect
the formalities of law yet be profoundly unjust and
immoral.
l Can the suppression of the Society of St. Pius X be
considered as unjust and immoral?
The suppression of the Society of St. Pius X was
unjust and immoral not only because of the injustices
and the lies by which it was brought about (the
bishops of France waged a campaign against what
they decried as the “wildcat seminary of Ecône”
even though the seminary was perfectly in order!),
but especially because of the purpose for which it was
done: the imposition of the New (ecumenical) Mass
and the errors of Vatican II. They had to prevent
priests from receiving and in turn transmitting
Catholic theology and the Mass. This purpose being
totally illegitimate and contrary to the common good
of the Church, so was the suppression of Ecône.

95) Was the suspension inflicted on
Archbishop Lefebvre valid?

On July 22, 1976, Archbishop Lefebvre was
struck with a suspension a divinis. This suspension
was as invalid as the suppression of the Society
of St. Pius X, for Archbishop Lefebvre was never
summoned before the competent tribunal, and the
only reason for his suspension was his attachment to
the Tradition of the Church. “Sine culpa nulla poena”–
if there is no guilt, the penalty is null and void.

l What is a suspension “a divinis”?
The suspension a divinis is a penalty depriving
clerics of their right to exercise the functions of holy
orders. If the suspension had been valid, Archbishop
Lefebvre would no longer have had the right to
celebrate Mass nor administer the sacraments.

41

96) Shouldn’t he have obeyed anyway?

The pope and the bishops have received their
authority from Christ for the protection and defense
of the Faith. The general rule is, of course, to obey
them. But should they happen to use their authority
against the very purpose for which it was conferred
on them—that is to say, by wishing to impose acts
sinful or inimical to the Faith—then their subordinates
have not only the right but even the duty to resist
them: “We ought to obey God rather than men” (Acts
5:29).

l Is it really permissible to disobey authorities of the
Church for the sole reason that one judges their
orders to be unjust?
A simple personal injustice or a measure that
one deems imprudent cannot justify a refusal to
obey. But it is quite something else when the order
given goes directly against the divine law; that is to
say, when faith or morals are at stake. In this case,
“obedience” would not be a virtue, but a vice. It
would be in reality disobedience—while the apparent
“disobedience” would prove to be the true obedience
(obedience to God rather than men).
l Is this teaching in conformity with the popes’
teaching?
Leo XIII wrote in the Encyclical Diuturnum Illud:
The one only reason which men have for not obeying
is when anything is demanded of them which is openly
repugnant to the natural or the divine law, for it is equally
unlawful to command to do anything in which the law of
nature or the will of God is violated. If, therefore, it should
happen to any one to be compelled to prefer one or the
other, viz., to disregard either the commands of God or
those of rulers, he must obey Jesus Christ, who commands
us to “give to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to
God the things that are God’s” [Mt. 22:21], and must reply
courageously after the example of the Apostles: “We
ought to obey God rather than men”[Acts 5:29]. And yet
there is no reason why those who so behave themselves
should be accused of refusing obedience; for, if the will
of rulers is opposed to the will and the laws of God, they
themselves exceed the bounds of their own power and
pervert justice; nor can their authority then be valid,
which, when there is no justice, is null.4

l Don’t these words of the Pope concern only the civil
authority?
Leo XIII’s words were written in regard to the
civil authority, but they express a principle. They
hold in general for any and all authority.

97) Is it licit to resist the pope?

When the pope abuses his mandate and causes
the Church serious harm, one has not only the right
but even the duty to resist him.

l Are there examples in Church history of such
resistance to the pope?
At the very beginning of the Church, St. Paul
stood up against St. Peter who, out of fear of
displeasing the Judeo-Christians, no longer wished to
dine with the converted pagans. This was a serious
decision because it risked causing a split and might
favor the false opinion that the practice of the Jewish
law was incumbent on Christians. St. Paul declared:
“But when Cephas [Peter] came to Antioch, I
withstood him to his face, because he was deserving
of blame” (Gal. 2:11).
l What do the Doctors of the Church have to say about
such resistance to the pope?
St. Thomas commented on St. Paul’s resistance:
It must be observed, however, that if the faith were
endangered, a subject ought to rebuke his prelate even
publicly. Hence Paul, who was Peter’s subject, rebuked
him in public, on account of the imminent danger of
scandal concerning faith, and, as the gloss of Augustine
says on Galatians 2:11, “Peter gave an example to
superiors, that if at any time they should happen to stray
from the straight path, they should not disdain to be
reproved by their subjects.”5

l Do other theologians teach the same thing?
John de Torquemada (1388-1468) explicitly states
that it is not out of the question that a pope might
“command something contrary to natural or divine
law.”6 In support of his assertion, he cites Pope
Innocent III (1198-1216), who stated that one ought
to obey the pope in all things, provided that he not
rise up against the general discipline of the Church,
in which case one should not follow him, unless there
were a sound reason for doing so. He reiterates that
one should withstand a pope if he
should wish to undertake something contrary to the
constitution of the universal Church, such as, for example,
deposing all the bishops or something else of this kind
which would introduce disorder into the Church.7

l Can you cite other examples?
Thomas Cajetan (1469-1534), the great
commentator of St. Thomas, wrote in a work devoted
to the defense of the papacy:
It is necessary to stand up to a pope who would rend
the Church….Otherwise, why should it be said that
authority was given to build up and not to destroy (II
Cor. 13:10)? Against a bad usage of authority, one will
employ the appropriate means: by refusing obedience
in what is evil, by not seeking to please, by not keeping
silent, by rebuking, by inviting the authorities to make the
necessary reproaches following the example of St. Paul
and in accordance with his precept.8

l Is this teaching on resistance against the pope
particular to the Dominicans?
Francis Suarez (1548-1617), who is considered to
be the greatest Jesuit theologian, taught:
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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

42
Should the pope prescribe something against good
morals, he should not be obeyed. Should he undertake
something that is obviously against justice or the common
good, it is licit to resist him.9

The same Suarez teaches elsewhere that the pope
would become schismatic
were he to wish to excommunicate the whole Church or
were he to seek to change all the liturgical ceremonies
that rest on apostolic traditions.10

l Did St. Robert Bellarmine mention resisting the
pope?
St. Robert Bellarmine (1542-1621) also teaches
that it is licit to resist a pope who would harm the
Church:
Just as it is licit to resist a pope who attacks the body,
so also is it licit to resist him if he attacks souls or disturbs
the civil order or, above all, if he tries to destroy the
Church. I say that it is licit to resist him by not doing
what he orders and by impeding the execution of his
will.11

l But is it not defined that submission to the Roman
Pontiff is necessary for salvation?
Just as membership in the Church (at least by
desire12) is necessary for salvation, so is submission
to the pope (the submission which is precisely one
of the conditions for belonging to the Church). This
truth was defined by Boniface VIII in his Bull Unam
Sanctam.13 But this submission obviously does not
imply an unlimited obedience. Cajetan explains in
his commentary on the Summa Theologica:
If someone, for a reasonable motive, holds the person
of the pope in suspicion and refuses his presence and
even his jurisdiction, he does not commit the delict of
schism, nor any other whatsoever, provided that he be
ready to accept the pope were he not held in suspicion. It goes
without saying that one has the right to avoid what is
harmful and to ward off dangers. In fact, it may happen
that the pope could govern tyrannically, and that is all
the easier as he is the more powerful and does not fear
any punishment from anyone on earth.14

l Haven’t certain saints declared that holiness is
incompatible with dissent against the pope?
Some saints may have advanced this pious
exaggeration, but in any case that remains their
personal opinion, which is contradicted, as we have
seen, by many other saints. What is true is that in
the matter of submission to the pope, complete,
filial, and trusting obedience is the normal rule. But
the reality of the rule does not mean there are never
exceptions. Now there is currently in the Church a
quite exceptional crisis.
l Can the Society of Saint Pius X and allied
communities consider themselves to be subject to the
pope?
The virtue of obedience is a summit between
two opposite vices: insubmission and servility. In
THE ANGELUS • October 2009 www.angeluspress.org

the current crisis, true obedience consists neither
in accepting the prevailing errors under the pretext
that they are favored by the popes (which would be
servility), nor in refusing the authority of the popes
under the pretext that they are bad (the attitude
of those called “sedevacantists”). True obedience
consists in accepting the authority of the pope
as pope, in praying for him, and respecting his
person while actively resisting the bad orientations
he wishes to impart to the Church. Such is the
attitude of the Society of Saint Pius X and allied
congregations, who can therefore say that they are
indeed in a state of submission to the pope.
Translated exclusively for Angelus Press from Katholischer Katechismus zur
kirchlichen Kriese by Fr. Matthias Gaudron, professor at the Herz Jesu Seminary of the Society of St. Pius X in Zaitzkofen, Germany. The original was
published in 1997 by Rex Regum Press, with a preface by the District Superior
of Germany, Fr. Franz Schmidberger. This translation is from the second edition
(Schloß Jaidhof, Austria: Rex Regum Verlag, 1999) as translated, revised, and
edited by the Dominican Fathers of Avrillé in collaboration with the author,
with their added subdivisions.

Canon 493 of the 1917 Code establishes this rule for religious congregations (“supprimi nequit nisi a Sancta Sede”). Canon 674 extends this rule
to societies of common life without vows, which is what the Society
of St. Pius X is.
2
The tribunal of the Apostolic Signatura refused to examine the case
brought before it by Archbishop Lefebvre.
3
The debate bears upon the precise statute under which the Society of
Saint Pius X was instituted at Fribourg (society of common life or a
simple pia unio). On this subject, see the life of Archbishop Lefebvre
by Bernard Tissier de Mallerais (Marcel Lefebvre: A Biography [2002;
Angelus Press, 2004], p.481) and the article by Canonicus in Le Courrier
de Rome, No. 286 [476], pp.3-6.
4
Leo XIII, Encyclical Diuturnum Illud, June 29, 1881, §15 (online at
www.newadvent.org/library/docs/).
5
St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, Q. 33, Art. 4 (online at
www.newadvent.org/Summa/).
6
Juan de Torquemada, O.P., Summa de Ecclesia, Part I, Bk. IV, c. 11.
7
Ibid., Bk. II, c. 106.
8
Thomas Cajetan, O.P. De Comparatione Auctoritatis Papae et Concilii
(Angelicum, 1936), No. 412 [emphasis added]. Francis de Vitoria, O.P.,
teaches the same: “If the pope, by his orders and his acts, destroys
the Church, one may resist him and prevent the execution of what he
commands” (Obras [BAC, 1960], pp.486-87).
9
F. Suarez, S.J., Opera Omnia (Paris, 1856), X, 321 (Tractatus de Fide
Dogmatica, disp. 10, sect. 6, n. 16).
10
F. Suarez, S.J., Tractatus de Caritate, disp. 12, sect. 1, n. 2.
11
St. Robert Bellarmine, S.J., De Romano Pontifice, II, 29.
12
Three conditions are necessary for really and truly belonging to the
Church: baptism, faith, and submission to legitimate authority. But
those who are not really members of the Church can, if really necessary, be saved by a supernatural desire to belong to the Church; they
are then said to be members in voto (by the wish, by the desire). This
desire, inspired in the soul by the Holy Ghost, can be explicit (in a
catechumen who is preparing for baptism, for example) or implicit (in
someone who does not know the Catholic Church). A person having
what is called “baptism of desire” (that is to say, a truly supernatural
desire for baptism) is thus a member of the Church, not in fact (in re)
but by intention (in voto). Sometimes it is said (in a manner of speaking)
that such a person belongs to the soul of the Church without being in
its body.
13
“Furthermore, we declare, say, define, and proclaim to every human
creature that they by necessity for salvation are entirely subject to the
Roman Pontiff” (D 469).
14
Thomas Cajetan, O.P., Commentarium in II-II, 39, 1.
1

F R .

p e t e r

R .

s c o t t

Questions and Answers
What does it mean for married people
to practice the virtue of chastity?

Chastity is a moral virtue, related to the virtue of
temperance, by which a person moderates his desire
for the pleasures of the flesh according to right reason.
It is on account of the wound of concupiscence, which
he inherits with original sin, that every man must
struggle against the disordered desire for sensual
pleasure, and that he must have a corresponding
virtue to succeed in that battle.
Clearly, however, there is a difference between
married persons and single persons and those who
are widowed. Single persons have no right to any
pleasures of the flesh, whether they come from
actions, desires, thoughts, or imaginations. They must
consequently practice perfect chastity that forbids
any such pleasure. Married persons, however, are
permitted the pleasures of the flesh associated with
the marriage act, nor is it in any way a sin for them to
enjoy these pleasures in the accomplishment of this
meritworthy act, performed for the primary and/or
secondary ends of marriage (i.e., children or mutual
comfort and support). However, this does not at all
mean that they are allowed to indulge in any pleasures
of the flesh at any time, either alone or with one
another. In fact, it is a grave sin for them to voluntarily
give themselves complete pleasure outside of the
marriage act, and a venial sin to seek the marriage
act purely for pleasure, without at least the implicit
intention of a primary or secondary end of marriage.
Sins against purity of married persons are sins against
the virtue of conjugal chastity, inasmuch as there is a
disordered seeking of pleasures of the flesh.
Conjugal and perfect chastity are consequently the
same virtue, simply practiced differently according to
the difference of state. Hence the expression “chastity
according to one’s state” that includes both cases.
The importance of conjugal chastity in the
long-term success of any marriage cannot be
underestimated. If pleasure is sought after, and
disordered pleasure is experienced, selfishness and
egocentricity will corrupt and destroy the marriage
that is not founded upon true love. If, to the contrary,
control is always exercised, and the marriage
relationship is sought for the good of one’s spouse
rather than for one’s selfish pleasure, then it will be
laid on a solid foundation.
Pope Pius XI speaks of conjugal chastity as being
in fact a necessary consequence of the blessing of
fidelity to one another that comes from the sacrament
of matrimony:

43

however, which is most aptly called by St. Augustine the
“faith of chastity,” blooms more freely, more beautifully,
and more nobly when it is rooted in that more excellent
soil, the love of husband and wife which pervades all the
duties of married life….For matrimonial faith demands
that husband and wife be joined in an especially holy
and pure love, not as adulterers love each other, but as
Christ loved the Church. (On Christian Marriage, Dec.
31, 1930)

Q

What are scruples?

The term “scruple” has two meanings. The first is
the general sense of the term as commonly employed
in speech, as for example when a person is said to
be “scrupulously honest.” It refers to a person with
a delicate conscience and a healthy fear of sin that
makes him shrink from its slightest approach. A
person of delicate conscience has a scruple when
he has good reason to doubt whether a moral act is
good or bad, whereas persons of lax conscience have
no such concerns or scruples. It is in this sense that
God sends scruples to generous souls as a help to the
purification of their souls and the development of a
more delicate conscience.
However, there is a pathological meaning of
the term “scruple,” namely a morbid fear of doing
wrong, or having done wrong, for insignificant and
unreasonable motives. This is accompanied by anxiety
and is frequently an obsessive fear that causes great
distress and upset of soul. It is in this sense that
scrupulosity is a disorder of the soul that destroys
peace of soul and trust and confidence in God. In this
disorder the person is unable to formulate a certain
practical judgment concerning the morality of his own
acts, although he may be perfectly capable of making
an abstract judgment and applying it to others. The
consequent groundless fear causes a state of agonized
hesitancy and doubt that cannot be resolved by an
ordinary reasoning process. This paralyzes the soul
in the practice of virtue and is an impediment to
advancement in the spiritual life. It is imperative that
such a person follow strictly and blindly the advice of
a trusted, prudent spiritual director, as Fr. Casey tells
him in Dealing with Scruples:

A

That familiar intercourse between the spouses
themselves, if the blessing of conjugal faith is to shine with
becoming splendor, must be distinguished by chastity
so that husband and wife bear themselves in all things
with the law of God and of nature….This conjugal faith,

What you need is not a book but a good confessor to
whom you will confess regularly and whose directions
you must obey with absolute and childlike simplicity.
That obedience will come hard to you….You simply
must keep to one confessor and do exactly what he tells
you, with full confidence. (p.7)
Fr. Peter Scott was ordained by Archbishop Lefebvre in 1988. After assignments as seminary professor, US District Superior, and Rector of Holy Cross
Seminary in Goulburn, Australia, he is presently Headmaster of Our Lady of
Mount Carmel Academy in Wilmot, Ontario, Canada. Those wishing answers
may please send their questions to Q & A in care of Angelus Press, 2915 Forest
Ave., Kansas City, MO 64109.
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THE ANGELUS • October 2009

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Christians Courageous
Aloysius Roche
Bold heroes of the Faith are brought vividly to life in these stories about courageous Christians from the earliest
days of Christianity to modern times: l The pagan actor whose mockery of the Faith led him to convert and die
a Christian martyr l The blind boy who became an adviser to great saints l The brave bishop who successfully
defended the true Faith–against his fellow bishops and even the Emperor! l The monk who was martyred in
the Coliseum trying to stop the bloodshed of the gladiators there l The priest who suffered cruel deprivations
to convert a savage tribe–with a dictionary! The stirring adventures of these brave Christian souls remind us that
God has in hand for each of us a unique mission, worthy of all our imagination and of all our daring.
192pp. Softcover. STK# 8404 $14.95

Theology for Beginners
F.J. Sheed
Acclaimed as one of the outstanding modern introductions to theology. It is a clear, precise, and inspiring compendium
of the central doctrines of the Christian faith. Frank Sheed makes the profound truths of theology not only understandable but exciting reading for the Catholic layman. The book is designed to equip you with the information you need to
understand key doctrines and to explain them to others.
190pp. Softcover. STK# 8402 $12.99

Thy Will Be Done! Letters of St. Francis de Sales
St. Francis de Sales
How to do God’s will joyfully...regardless of your circumstances! Three centuries ago, people flocked to St.
Francis de Sales, seeking his help for their problems. St. Francis spent countless hours ministering to them
face to face and wrote over 20,000 letters! From these letters to persons in many countries and in all walks
of life, we’ve selected the ones which will be most helpful to you today.
264pp. Softcover. STK# 8397 $14.95

churches
of
rome

Our stunning 2010 Liturgical Calendar features 12 of the most
famous churches of Rome with their histories and guides to
some of their most outstanding features. From relics of the saints
to artwork of the great masters, churches of Rome gives a
fascinating insight into these magnificent churches.
New expanded 12"x12" dimension gives you plenty of room
for notes and appointment reminders. All the feast days of the
year according to the 1962 Roman Missal are listed with class and
liturgical color, along with reminders of days of fast and abstinence.

12" x 12" Calendar, STK# 8410 $11.95
Calendar (with Chapel Directory)
STK# 8410A $12.95
For 2010 Angelus Press is offering an updated
US and International Chapel Directory
as a pocket-size booklet. available at a
special discount with your calendar
order. It replaces the US and Canada listing
that formerly appeared inside the calendar.

64pp. 4" x 6¼". STK# 8411 $1.95

Pray for Priests

• Rosary for Priests • Prayers for Confessors,
Deceased Priests, and Seminarians • Vocations
• Holy Hour for Priests • Litanies • Way of
the Cross for Priests • Ejaculatory Prayers

#1060

Since its first printing,
Prayer Crusade for Priests has
helped to unite the faithful to
priests laboring in the vineyard
of the Lord. Now, for the first
time, all the prayers necessary
to participate in this Crusade
are easily accessible. Even if
you are not formally a member
of the Prayer Crusade, you
will find the devotions herein
edifying and beneficial to your
spiritual life.

“Here is one way to guarantee the supernatural in your daily
life: by praying every day prayers for priests...” —Fr. Peter Scott

96pp. 5" x 6". Color softcover. STK# 8412 $7.95

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Please visit our website to see our entire selection of books and music.