Try imagining a place where it’s always safe and warm

Following up on our earlier post, which was devoted to an old hymn in honor of St. Andrew, we note that Vultus Christi has a wonderful piece about St. Andrew and the Cross. We read,

In the Antiphon that will be sung in today’s Office, Saint Andrew sings to the Cross, something that, apart from a special grace of God, we are incapable of doing.

O bona crux! O precious cross, of a long time have I desired thee and now that thou art made ready for me, my soul is drawn to thee, and I come to thee in peace and gladness.

“I come to thee in peace and gladness.” More often than not we come to our crosses in fear and heaviness of heart. Far from singing to them we approach them murmuring, or in the sullen silence of our unspoken resistances and inability to trust. Saint Andrew was able to sing a greeting to his cross; he was able to come to it in peace and gladness, because he recognized that by means of it he would pass over to God.

(Emphasis in original and quotation reformatted.)

It’s also late fall (or early winter or whatever you want to call it), in the United States at any rate, and it happens that travel and home are on everyone’s minds. Everyone is doing a lot of travel, going to and from various places for Thanksgiving, for Christmas, and for the rounds of Christmas parties with coworkers, with friends, and with family. And, of course, much of this travel involves home. Going home for Thanksgiving. Returning home after another dull party at the boss’s house. Splitting Christmas Eve and Christmas Day between in-laws homes, or, as is so often the (sad) case, between parents’ homes. But, more than that, home is on everyone’s mind, regardless of travel. We talk about going “home for the holidays,” whether it’s a happy prospect or not, and we talk about the importance of having “someplace to go” for Thanksgiving and Christmas, which seems to be home under another name. But we get the sense that home was very much on St. Andrew’s mind as he walked toward the Cross, too. But not quite the home of bright copper kettles, football, turkey, and Uncle Lewis’s latest political theories. Something better than that.

Consider some of the responsories from matins, which depict St. Andrew’s conversation with the Cross on his way to be martyred. For example, this one from the third reading:

R.Doctor bonus et amicus Dei Andreas ducitur ad crucem, quam a longe aspiciens dixit: Salve, crux Suscipe discipulum eius, qui pependit in te magister meus Christus. 

V.Salve, crux, quae in corpore Christi dedicata es, et ex membris eius tamquam margaritis ornata.

Suscipe discipulum eius, qui pependit in te magister meus Christus.

Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto.

Suscipe discipulum eius, qui pependit in te magister meus Christus.

Or this one, from the fifth reading:

R.O bona crux, quæ decorem et pulchritudinem de membris Domini suscepisti; accipe me ab hominibus, et redde me magistro meo: Ut per te me recipiat, qui per te me redimit.

V.Beatus Andreas expansis manibus ad cælum orabat, dicens: Salva me, bona crux:

Ut per te me recipiat, qui per te me redimit.

Finally, this one from the eighth reading:

R.Videns crucem Andreas exclamavit, dicens: O crux admirabilis, o crux desiderabilis, o crux, quæ per totum mundum rutilas: Suscipe discipulum Christi, ac per te me recipiat, qui per te moriens me redimit. 

V.O bona crux, quæ decorum et pulchritudinem de membris Domini suscepisti.

Suscipe discipulum Christi, ac per te me recipiat, qui per te moriens me redimit. 

Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto.

Suscipe discipulum Christi, ac per te me recipiat, qui per te moriens me redimit.

Indeed, it does seem strange to praise the Cross as beautiful as one is marching toward it to be martyred. It does seem like exactly the sort of thing for which one would require special grace. But the logic of St. Andrew’s praise is plain to see. The Cross was beautiful to him not only because it was where Christ suffered and died to save men, though that was in no small part its glory, but also because it was for him the way home—not to his birthplace or his house, but to Christ and to heaven, to the true home of all souls. (As Paul reminds us repeatedly.)

At any rate, St. Andrew, who never had to be talked into following Christ or, indeed, even told that it would be to his benefit to follow Christ, understood this point. And understanding it, he praised the Cross even as he walked forward to be martyred on it. It is, we think, well worth taking the Church’s hint and meditating on St. Andrew and his praise of the Cross as we go forward. As we prepare for Christmas—to remember the first coming of Christ and to prefigure his coming in glory at the end of the world—we ought to think about the Cross, too. It is, after all, the way home for us, too.

It may seem a little out of place, of course, to spend time meditating on the Cross during the cheery, fire-lit season of Advent, so full of cozy sights and smells, to say nothing of all the Christmas cheer in the air, and maybe it is. However, the road to Calvary begins in earnest in Bethlehem, and the nativity scene doesn’t mean much without the very different scene on Calvary. But, as St. Andrew tells us today, both are equally glorious.


Crux quem beata diligit

St. Andrew’s feast falls on November 30, which means it is either right before or right after the first Sunday of Advent. Dom Prosper Guéranger reminds us that Andrew is the apostle of the Cross; therefore, Dom Guéranger notes, the Christian year begins and ends in a sense with the Cross. Of course, Andrew was martyred by crucifixion at Patras in Greece

Dom Guéranger also notes that Andrew has inspired devotion throughout the Church. He quotes two sequences, including one by Adam of St. Victor, one of the great medieval poets, and prefaces from the Ambrosian and Gallican rites. He also quotes a hymn he attributes to Pope St. Damasus. It may interest you to know that St. Damasus, who succeeded Pope Liberius in 366 in a hotly contested election that produced an antipope (the matter was not resolved until a synod in 378), employed a clever young priest, Jerome by name, as his secretary. St. Damasus also encouraged Jerome in his project of revising the Vetus Latina bible in light of the Greek texts then available.

However, we note that A.S. Walpole, in his Early Latin Hymns, informs us that the attribution to Pope St. Damasus first appeared in Baronius’s 1603 edition of Martyrologium Romanum. Moreover, Walpole asserts that, at the time of his writing, the attribution had determined, for the most part, to be spurious. The last author to support the attribution, “and he doubtfully,” made an interesting biographical point. Before his accession to the papacy, Damasus’s fortunes were linked to Pope Liberius’s. So, when Constantius II, ever taken in by all manner of Arians, sent Liberius into exile in Beroea, in Thrace, for the “crime” of defending Athanasius and rejecting Arianism, Damasus went too. When Andrew’s relics were translated from Patras, where he was martyred, to Constantinople, around 357, they may well have passed through Beroea. Or so the author asserts. And, as far as it goes, it would make sense—to us, anyway—for a priest with time on his hands to compose a hymn for the occasion. But the timing is all important for the theory, it seems. The Catholic Encyclopedia informs us that Liberius’s exile was not very long, only a couple of years, and that he was recalled to Rome sometime in 357. (It turned out, to Constantius’s dismay, that Archdeacon Felix, his preferred Arian pope, never quite captured the hearts of the Romans.) So, whether Damasus was in Beroea when Andrew’s relics passed through—if they were taken by road—depends on when, exactly, Liberius was recalled to Rome. An amusing detective story, to be sure, but one best left to the historians.

At any rate, the key to this interesting hymn is to know that Andreas includes among its meanings beauty.

Decus sacrati nominis,
Vitamque nomen exprimens,
Hoc te Decorum praedicat
Crucis beatae gloria.

Andrea, Christi Apostole,
Hoc ipso iam vocabulo
Signaris isto nomine,
Decorem idem mystice.

Quem Crux ad alta provehit,
Crux quem beata diligit,
Cui Crux amara praeparat
Lucis futurae gaudia.

In te Crucis mysterium
Cluit gemello stigmate,
Dum probra vincis per Crucem,
Crucisque pandis sanguinem.

Iam nos foveto languidos,
Curamque nostri suscipe,
Quo per Crucis victoriam
Coeli petamus patriam.


It is a shame that this fine hymn, which is apparently ancient, and which points up the identity of Andrew’s cross with the Cross, was left out of the Breviary of 1960 and the Liturgia Horarum, which so often restored ancient hymns.

Preces meae non sunt dignae

While, on the whole, we prefer the Breviary of 1960, we think that some aspects of the Liturgia Horarum are clear improvements upon the preceding schemes for the Divine Office. One such aspect is the use (optional, unfortunately, like almost everything else) of the Dies Irae during the thirty-fourth week of Tempus Per Annum—the last week of the Church’s year, which is followed (of course) by the first Sunday of Advent. The wonderful old hymn, attributed to the Franciscan Thomas of Celano, is divided into three parts and sung at the office of readings, lauds, and vespers. This, of course, serves very neatly to emphasize the eschatological aspects both of the end of the Church’s year and of Advent.

Imagine stepping out of the holiday bustle into a church for lauds of Saturday in the thirty-fourth week of Tempus Per Annum, where you hear, after the usual beginning of the hour, the Dies Irae chanted in an austere plainchant. Puts rather a different spin on things, no? Bit of a shock to the system, even. But it is certainly something you’d remember when the deacon chants the Gospel for the first Sunday of Advent in Year C. (Especially if, after a day of shopping, you went back to the same church for the vigil Mass that same Saturday.) One might even get a whole new appreciation for Advent, wholly separate from Advent calendars, wrapping paper, and hot chocolate.

Further thoughts on the socialist seduction

When we originally commented on Gabriel Sanchez’s piece regarding the “socialist seduction,” we focused on what we identified as two currents in the Church’s thinking about subsidiarity. We did not focus on the broader question. In following up a Twitter conversation on our issue, we noted that Paul VI, in his little-loved 1971 letter Octogesima adveniens, addressed the “socialist seduction” himself. It is worth noting that Paul never quite addressed socialism by name in Populorum progressio, and he made some ambiguous comments in that encyclical that seemed to point toward more aggressive regimes of redistribution that would be entirely consistent with a socialist or Marxist framework. Octogesima adveniens, coming only four years after Populorum progressio, can be seen, then, as an attempt to clarify some of the infelicities and ambiguities in the earlier document.

Addressing the question of socialism broadly (and Marxism specifically), Paul wrote,

Some Christians are today attracted by socialist currents and their various developments. They try to recognize therein a certain number of aspirations which they carry within themselves in the name of their faith. They feel that they are part of that historical current and wish to play a part within it. Now this historical current takes on, under the same name, different forms according to different continents and cultures, even if it drew its inspiration, and still does in many cases, from ideologies incompatible with faith. Careful judgment is called for. Too often Christians attracted by socialism tend to idealize it in terms which, apart from anything else, are very general: a will for justice, solidarity and equality. They refuse to recognize the limitations of the historical socialist movements, which remain conditioned by the ideologies from which they originated. Distinctions must be made to guide concrete choices between the various levels of expression of socialism: a generous aspiration and a seeking for a more just society, historical movements with a political organization and aim, and an ideology which claims to give a complete and self-sufficient picture of man. Nevertheless, these distinctions must not lead one to consider such levels as completely separate and independent. The concrete link which, according to circumstances, exists between them must be clearly marked out. This insight will enable Christians to see the degree of commitment possible along these lines, while safeguarding the values, especially those of liberty, responsibility and openness to the spiritual, which guarantee the integral development of man.

Other Christians even ask whether an historical development of Marxism might not authorize certain concrete rapprochements. They note in fact a certain splintering of Marxism, which until now showed itself to be a unitary ideology which explained in atheistic terms the whole of man and the world since it did not go outside their development process. Apart from the ideological confrontation officially separating the various champions of Marxism-Leninism in their individual interpretations of the thought of its founders, and apart from the open opposition between the political systems which make use of its name today, some people lay down distinctions between Marxism’s various levels of expression.

For some, Marxism remains essentially the active practice of class struggle. Experiencing the ever present and continually renewed force of the relationships of domination and exploitation among men, they reduce Marxism to no more than a struggle – at times with no other purpose – to be pursued and even stirred up in permanent fashion. For others, it is first and foremost the collective exercise of political and economic power under the direction of a single party, which would be the sole expression and guarantee of the welfare of all, and would deprive individuals and other groups of any possibility of initiative and choice. At a third level, Marxism’ whether in power or not, is viewed as a socialist ideology based on historical materialism and the denial of everything transcendent. At other times, finally, it presents itself in a more attenuated form, one also more attractive to the modern mind: as a scientific activity, as a rigorous method of examining social and political reality, and as the rational link, tested by history, between theoretical knowledge and the practice of revolutionary transformation. Although this type of analysis gives a privileged position to certain aspects of reality to the detriment of the rest, and interprets them in the light of its ideology, it nevertheless furnishes some people not only with a working tool but also a certitude preliminary to action: the claim to decipher in a scientific manner the mainsprings of the evolution of society.

While, through the concrete existing form of Marxism, one can distinguish these various aspects and the questions they pose for the reflection and activity of Christians, it would be illusory and dangerous to reach a point of forgetting the intimate link which radically binds them together, to accept the elements of Marxist analysis without recognizing their relationships with ideology, and to enter into the practice of class struggle and its Marxist interpretations, while failing to note the kind of totalitarian and violent society to which this process leads.

(Emphasis supplied.) There is a lot to unpack here, to be sure. But the crucial insight, as far as we are concerned, is this:

Too often Christians attracted by socialism tend to idealize it in terms which, apart from anything else, are very general: a will for justice, solidarity and equality. They refuse to recognize the limitations of the historical socialist movements, which remain conditioned by the ideologies from which they originated.

In other words, Christians tend to think of socialism, the Pope tells us, in vague terms. However, the general will toward social justice associated with socialism is inseparable from socialism’s political and ideological aspects. Only when socialism is considered integrally, Pope Paul teaches us, can the Catholic determine whether and to what extent it is possible to follow socialist paths toward the broader goals of social justice. While the Pope does not come out and say so, one gets the sense that he is suspicious of what he calls socialist currents. He is even more acutely suspicious of the Marxist hermeneutic. Marxist analysis, Pope Paul argues, carries the bacillus of Marxism, and the bacillus of Marxism always results in grave, if not fatal, disease.

But—but!—Pope Paul does not exclude absolutely participation in socialist currents. The question is one of proper understanding of what Paul sees as essentially a sequential path: the broad social-justice aims of socialism lead to the political structures of socialism, which in turn lead to the ideological tenets of socialism. At a certain point, that becomes unacceptable in Paul’s view, given the broadly materialistic and totalitarian aspects of socialist ideology. But there is some distance between that point and sympathy, though for different reasons, with broader objectives of social justice. One imagines, therefore, that Paul sees the process of insight and engagement as (1) knowing the general course of development from social-justice goals to socialist ideology and (2) knowing when to stop and say “no farther.” And that is the tricky thing.

Teach the controversy?

Timothy Wilson’s translation of excerpts from Cardinal Zigliara’s Summa philosophica continues at The Josias. Today: the error of “liberty of teaching.” While perhaps not as pressing as the question of toleration of non-Christian cults, this is still an important question. The Cardinal’s analysis begins:

Question. Simultaneously one with liberty of conscience and of cult, there is proclaimed by the more recent liberalism a liberty of teaching, particularly with respect to the means with which it is principally exercised, namely, with respect to liberty of the press (la libertá della stampa). We ask, therefore, whether this liberty is upright, and to be approved by the civil authority. Here again I caution that the discussion is concerned, not with tolerance, but with approbation: evils indeed are able to be tolerated, yet naught but goods ought to be approved.

(Emphasis in original.) You should read the whole thing at The Josias.

For our part, we note that the question of the rights of error seems to be more, not less, important with each passing day.

On two visions of subsidiarity

Gabriel Sanchez has an interesting comment at Opus Publicum, which begins,

Christian Democracy, an online publication to which I have contributed, appears to have fallen temptation to what I would call the “socialist seduction” prevalent in certain Christian—including Catholic—circles. Rightly dissatisfied with contemporary capitalism (which finds no support in the Church’s authentic social magisterium), socialist Catholics are in pursuit of a socio-economic order which, broadly speaking, is more just, equitable, and stable then the present ordo. Instead of looking to Catholic-grown theories like distributism or solidarism, these Catholics believe that socialism—or at least some form of socialism—can cure our present woes. The problem facing socialist Catholics is that numerous magisterial statements, including Pope Leo XIII’s Rerum Novarum and Pius XI’s Quadragesimo Anno, appear to condemn socialism outright.

(Emphasis supplied.) To this brief list we would add, of course, Pius XI’s Divini Redemptoris, Papa Ratti’s towering condemnation of communism. Apparently, a couple of authors in Christian Democracy have apparently proposed solutions that are essentially socialism with a Christian face. (He links to them.) Sanchez objects to these solutions, arguing “that they largely ignore the central role subsidiarity plays in Catholic social teaching.” Sanchez seems to argue—though he doesn’t put it quite like this—that to be completely consistent with the Church’s social teaching, an economic solution should involve subsidiarity. But whose subsidiarity?

To be clear, we think Sanchez is probably correct: if you’re going to be consistent with the social teaching of the Church, then you have to be consistent with the social teaching of the Church. And subsidiarity is part of the social teaching of the Church. Thus, one needs to take it into account or explain why it may be disregarded without creating a conflict with the Church’s doctrine. (Our primary criticism of the Actonista set, for example, is that they neither take into account the less liberal elements of the Church’s teachings nor explain why they don’t have to take them into account. It’s mostly hand-waving about the various competences of the Church, notwithstanding Ubi arcano Dei consilio.) We simply observe that there are, perhaps, two competing versions of subsidiarity, and it is not clear to us that one gets the same result in a given situation under either version. Thus, when one says that one has to take subsidiarity into account, the question becomes, as we noted above, whose subsidiarity?

On one hand, we have Pius XI’s version of subsidiarity, encapsulated in this bit from Quadragesimo anno:

When we speak of the reform of institutions, the State comes chiefly to mind, not as if universal well-being were to be expected from its activity, but because things have come to such a pass through the evil of what we have termed “individualism” that, following upon the overthrow and near extinction of that rich social life which was once highly developed through associations of various kinds, there remain virtually only individuals and the State. This is to the great harm of the State itself; for, with a structure of social governance lost, and with the taking over of all the burdens which the wrecked associations once bore. the State has been overwhelmed and crushed by almost infinite tasks and duties.

As history abundantly proves, it is true that on account of changed conditions many things which were done by small associations in former times cannot be done now save by large associations. Still, that most weighty principle, which cannot be set aside or changed, remains fixed and unshaken in social philosophy: Just as it is gravely wrong to take from individuals what they can accomplish by their own initiative and industry and give it to the community, so also it is an injustice and at the same time a grave evil and disturbance of right order to assign to a greater and higher association what lesser and subordinate organizations can do. For every social activity ought of its very nature to furnish help to the members of the body social, and never destroy and absorb them.

The supreme authority of the State ought, therefore, to let subordinate groups handle matters and concerns of lesser importance, which would otherwise dissipate its efforts greatly. Thereby the State will more freely, powerfully, and effectively do all those things that belong to it alone because it alone can do them: directing, watching, urging, restraining, as occasion requires and necessity demands. Therefore, those in power should be sure that the more perfectly a graduated order is kept among the various associations, in observance of the principle of “subsidiary function,” the stronger social authority and effectiveness will be the happier and more prosperous the condition of the State.

(Emphasis supplied.) In other words, the smallest competent entity ought to handle a situation. The threat of a strike at a factory in a town ought to be handled by the local authority. Unfair wages at several factories throughout a region ought to be handled by the regional authority. If regional authorities differ on responses to problems or broader intervention is needed, then the national authority can step in and act. And so on. (We’ll come back to this question of the smallest competent entity.) At any rate, it seems to us that Pius’s subsidiarity is concerned with the entity that ought to intervene in a given situation.

On the other hand, we have John Paul’s version, as expressed in Centesimus annus:

Another task of the State is that of overseeing and directing the exercise of human rights in the economic sector. However, primary responsibility in this area belongs not to the State but to individuals and to the various groups and associations which make up society. The State could not directly ensure the right to work for all its citizens unless it controlled every aspect of economic life and restricted the free initiative of individuals. This does not mean, however, that the State has no competence in this domain, as was claimed by those who argued against any rules in the economic sphere. Rather, the State has a duty to sustain business activities by creating conditions which will ensure job opportunities, by stimulating those activities where they are lacking or by supporting them in moments of crisis.

The State has the further right to intervene when particular monopolies create delays or obstacles to development. In addition to the tasks of harmonizing and guiding development, in exceptional circumstances the State can also exercise a substitute function, when social sectors or business systems are too weak or are just getting under way, and are not equal to the task at hand. Such supplementary interventions, which are justified by urgent reasons touching the common good, must be as brief as possible, so as to avoid removing permanently from society and business systems the functions which are properly theirs, and so as to avoid enlarging excessively the sphere of State intervention to the detriment of both economic and civil freedom.

In recent years the range of such intervention has vastly expanded, to the point of creating a new type of State, the so-called “Welfare State”. This has happened in some countries in order to respond better to many needs and demands, by remedying forms of poverty and deprivation unworthy of the human person. However, excesses and abuses, especially in recent years, have provoked very harsh criticisms of the Welfare State, dubbed the “Social Assistance State”. Malfunctions and defects in the Social Assistance State are the result of an inadequate understanding of the tasks proper to the State. Here again the principle of subsidiarity must be respected: a community of a higher order should not interfere in the internal life of a community of a lower order, depriving the latter of its functions, but rather should support it in case of need and help to coordinate its activity with the activities of the rest of society, always with a view to the common good.

By intervening directly and depriving society of its responsibility, the Social Assistance State leads to a loss of human energies and an inordinate increase of public agencies, which are dominated more by bureaucratic ways of thinking than by concern for serving their clients, and which are accompanied by an enormous increase in spending. In fact, it would appear that needs are best understood and satisfied by people who are closest to them and who act as neighbours to those in need. It should be added that certain kinds of demands often call for a response which is not simply material but which is capable of perceiving the deeper human need. One thinks of the condition of refugees, immigrants, the elderly, the sick, and all those in circumstances which call for assistance, such as drug abusers: all these people can be helped effectively only by those who offer them genuine fraternal support, in addition to the necessary care.

(Emphasis supplied and footnote omitted.) In other words, John Paul puts the individual and associations of individuals at the center of the picture and argues that they have the primary authority in economic oversight. With this basic shift, a remarkable change occurs. Subsidiarity becomes the principle of limited government involvement in economic matters. Individuals and associations of individuals are the smallest competent authorities, to use fundamentally Pian terms, and, therefore, individuals and associations of individuals ought to be the entities that address economic issues first. What’s more, the state should concentrate primarily on creating and preserving the conditions for private enterprise to thrive. If targeted intervention is necessary, then it should be brief and demanded by the common good. And the state should exercise social-welfare functions only if more local solutions fail or are unavailable. In other words, individuals have primary responsibility for the economy and for ensuring that everyone gets either a fair shake or some help. If that cannot work for whatever reason, then the state can get involved.

One could argue that John Paul’s position is reconcilable with Pius’s, given the apparently different focuses of the two. On one hand, one could say, Pius is focused on the state’s role in the relations between capital and labor; in other words, Pius is concerned with the state’s role as mediator in industrial disputes. On the other hand, John Paul is interested in the state as actor in the economy, both as intervenor in industries and as guarantor of a standard of living; John Paul is concerned with crony capitalism, nationalized industries, and handouts. That is, one may say, of course Pius’s and John Paul’s visions of subsidiarity are divergent—they’re talking about different things. And that may be the case; certainly we would be open to seeing that argument worked out in greater detail. However, we are interested in John Paul’s apparent pivot back to the individual, which we believe is the key difference between his subsidiarity and Pius’s. It is this pivot that we think sets up a fundamental difference between John Paul’s thinking and Pius’s.

For one thing, John Paul’s notion of the individual as primary guarantor of human rights in the economic sphere appears to contradict Leo in Rerum novarum:

We have said that the State must not absorb the individual or the family; both should be allowed free and untrammelled action so far as is consistent with the common good and the interest of others. Rulers should, nevertheless, anxiously safeguard the community and all its members; the community, because the conservation thereof is so emphatically the business of the supreme power, that the safety of the commonwealth is not only the first law, but it is a government’s whole reason of existence; and the members, because both philosophy and the Gospel concur in laying down that the object of the government of the State should be, not the advantage of the ruler, but the benefit of those over whom he is placed. As the power to rule comes from God, and is, as it were, a participation in His, the highest of all sovereignties, it should be exercised as the power of God is exercised – with a fatherly solicitude which not only guides the whole, but reaches also individuals.

Whenever the general interest or any particular class suffers, or is threatened with harm, which can in no other way be met or prevented, the public authority must step in to deal with it. Now, it is to the interest of the community, as well as of the individual, that peace and good order should be maintained; that all things should be carried on in accordance with God’s laws and those of nature; that the discipline of family life should be observed and that religion should be obeyed; that a high standard of morality should prevail, both in public and private life; that justice should be held sacred and that no one should injure another with impunity; that the members of the commonwealth should grow up to man’s estate strong and robust, and capable, if need be, of guarding and defending their country. If by a strike of workers or concerted interruption of work there should be imminent danger of disturbance to the public peace; or if circumstances were such as that among the working class the ties of family life were relaxed; if religion were found to suffer through the workers not having time and opportunity afforded them to practice its duties; if in workshops and factories there were danger to morals through the mixing of the sexes or from other harmful occasions of evil; or if employers laid burdens upon their workmen which were unjust, or degraded them with conditions repugnant to their dignity as human beings; finally, if health were endangered by excessive labor, or by work unsuited to sex or age – in such cases, there can be no question but that, within certain limits, it would be right to invoke the aid and authority of the law. The limits must be determined by the nature of the occasion which calls for the law’s interference – the principle being that the law must not undertake more, nor proceed further, than is required for the remedy of the evil or the removal of the mischief.

Rights must be religiously respected wherever they exist, and it is the duty of the public authority to prevent and to punish injury, and to protect every one in the possession of his own. Still, when there is question of defending the rights of individuals, the poor and badly off have a claim to especial consideration. The richer class have many ways of shielding themselves, and stand less in need of help from the State; whereas the mass of the poor have no resources of their own to fall back upon, and must chiefly depend upon the assistance of the State. And it is for this reason that wage-earners, since they mostly belong in the mass of the needy, should be specially cared for and protected by the government.

Consider also Pius’s summary of Leo’s position in Quadragesimo anno:

Just freedom of action must, of course, be left both to individual citizens and to families, yet only on condition that the common good be preserved and wrong to any individual be abolished. The function of the rulers of the State, moreover, is to watch over the community and its parts; but in protecting private individuals in their rights, chief consideration ought to be given to the weak and the poor.

Pius also notes that:

It follows from what We have termed the individual and at the same time social character of ownership, that men must consider in this matter not only their own advantage but also the common good. To define these duties in detail when necessity requires and the natural law has not done so, is the function of those in charge of the State. Therefore, public authority, under the guiding light always of the natural and divine law, can determine more accurately upon consideration of the true requirements of the common good, what is permitted and what is not permitted to owners in the use of their property. Moreover, Leo XIII wisely taught “that God has left the limits of private possessions to be fixed by the industry of men and institutions of peoples.” That history proves ownership, like other elements of social life, to be not absolutely unchanging, We once declared as follows: “What divers forms has property had, from that primitive form among rude and savage peoples, which may be observed in some places even in our time, to the form of possession in the patriarchal age; and so further to the various forms under tyranny (We are using the word tyranny in its classical sense); and then through the feudal and monarchial forms down to the various types which are to be found in more recent times.” That the State is not permitted to discharge its duty arbitrarily is, however, clear.

(Emphasis supplied and footnotes omitted.) In other words, the state may intervene both to regulate certain industrial relations and to regulate the uses of private property in accordance with the common good. This is a much stronger vision of the state than anything John Paul articulates. One could play George Weigel and offer all manner of explanations as to why John Paul’s vision is different (and you could guess what they are), but we will refrain from doing so.

As we say, John Paul’s shift away from the state toward the individual as primary guarantor of human rights in the economic sphere appears to be a break with Leo and Pius. Thus, we are not sure that the pivot John Paul makes, which produces his radically different vision of subsidiarity, is wholly consistent with the prior social teaching of the Church. (We will not discuss Mater et Magistra or Populorum progressio at this point, though we think there may be some particular applicability of Populorum progressio to one of Sanchez’s other points.)

Certainly, if we are wrong, we would be happy to hear it.

The upshot of all of this is that we think it matters, for the purposes both of Sanchez’s discussion and for any attempt to consider economic justice in the context of the Church’s social teaching, to be clear whose subsidiarity we mean. It is not at all clear to us that Pius’s definition of subsidiarity (or Leo’s concept of state action, for that matter) excludes certain top-down, nationwide economic actions—what we might call a centrally planned economy—in all cases. When discussing nationwide economic issues, such as widespread inequality, the smallest competent unit is surely the national government. Certainly, such actions must serve the common good, and it is an open question whether top-down state action always—or even often—serves the common good. On the other hand, John Paul’s concept probably does exclude a centrally planned economy and other top-down, nationwide economic actions except in the direst need. It’s not a trivial difference.

Cardinal Zigliara on “liberty of conscience”

At The Josias, Timothy Wilson’s translation of excerpts from Cardinal Zigliara’s Summa philosophica is being rolled out. Hopefully, you’ve bookmarked The Josias to keep up with this fascinating series. Today, an especially important excerpt on the liberty of conscience. A brief, edited selection:

Liberty of conscience, considered in itself, is entirely impious. And indeed, man, by a most strict duty of nature, is held to think rightly of God, and of those things which look to religion, both speculative and practical (33, II). But voluntarily to make resistance to a most strict duty is license, not liberty; and if the discussion, as in our argument, is concerned with the voluntary transgression of a duty toward God, the aforementioned license is an impiety. Since, therefore, through liberty of conscience, a right is given to man of thinking of God as it more pleases him, this liberty, this right is a true impiety.


It is founded in political atheism alone. And indeed, as has been said in the preceding number, liberty of conscience is a right, conceded to individuals, of thinking of God as they should please, or of submitting those things which are of God and religion, and the duties following from these, to the definition and arbitration of individual conscience, which thus is constituted as the criterion of religion.

(Emphases in original.) Strong medicine, especially today, when we hear so much about liberty of conscience and the other foundational doctrines of the modern liberal state.

I decided to improve my social station

Pater Edmund Waldstein, O.Cist., has a very interesting piece about his Studentenverbindung, KAV Sanctottensis. Our attention was drawn to the piece because he cites our comment, “And he carries the reminders,” which touched briefly on German academic dueling. For the reasons set forth in that piece, Catholic Studentenverbindungen rejected academic dueling, and got sideways with other German associations, which, in the years of Kulturkampf, were not so bothered by Catholic teaching on bodily harm. But the piece is more broadly interesting than that.

At almost every four-year college in the United States, Greek-letter social fraternities and sororities are major institutions. (We exclude from this discussion Greek-letter honorary and professional fraternities, such as Phi Beta Kappa or Phi Delta Phi.) In fact, at most schools, fraternities and sororities are practically school-sanctioned entities, with the schools owning the houses, collecting dues and other bills, and providing physical-plant maintenance. Yet, despite this symbiotic relationship between colleges and Greek-letter fraternities, fraternities are almost always controversial. We will not review the controversies associated with fraternities in great detail; suffice it to say that critics allege all manner of licentious, sinful conduct against fraternities.

As an aside, we wonder whether Catholics are enjoined from joining Greek-letter social fraternities. The masonic origins of some of these societies is beyond dispute, though the extent to which freemasonry serves as the basis for their rituals and doctrine is, of course, up for debate. Thus, to that extent, one wonders if canon 1374, as clarified by the 1983 Declaration on Masonic Associations of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, applies. Moreover, one notes that these societies often involve elaborate, dreadful oaths of secrecy, which protect certain rituals and doctrine. One notes that secret societies have long been held in suspicion, to say the least, by the Church when one reviews Leo XII’s Quo graviora (which quotes Clement XII’s In eminenti and Benedict XIV’s Providas Romanorum at great length), to say nothing of Leo XIII’s Humanum genus. Thus, we wonder whether these Greek-letter fraternities are wholly consistent with the Church’s teaching about such organizations. However, that inquiry is best left to the moral theologians.

At any rate, Pater Waldstein’s post presents his Studentenverbindung in quite an appealing light:

The Sanctottensis organizes many different sorts of events throughout the year— some only for members, others where guests too are welcome. All of them are meant to promote the four principles of the CV: religio, patria, scientia, and amicitia. There are processions and Masses, academic lectures, political discussions, poetry readings, croquet matches, and especially there are the elaborate ceremonies of the Kneipe and the Commers. 

The Sanctottensis, being based in Heiligenkreuz, consists mainly of theology students, and is thus particularly suited to bringing solid theological thought into the wider ÖCV. Membership in a Studentenverbindung is life-long, and so the ÖCV is a an organization with something of the character of the Knights of Columbus in U.S.A. (not to mention certain fraternal organizations of active during the Enlightenment…), engaging in charitable and political action.

(Emphasis supplied and hyperlink omitted.) Given this background, it seems to us that Catholic students in the United States would do well to consider imitating the Catholic Studentenverbindungen.

Too often, Catholics are left to their own devices at universities and colleges, especially if the schools are not Catholic (even nominally). Certainly, the Newman Center or the university parish might provide some fellowship and the opportunity to deepen one’s faith. But not every college has a Newman Center or a university parish, and those that do may not have especially interesting or edifying programming. And, more than that, in our experience, the Newman Center does not always offer the sort of hearty fellowship that young men and young women enjoy. The Catholic Studentenverbindung as Pater Waldstein describes it, however, appears to offer not only spiritually edifying activities but also hearty fellowship. (But not so hearty that a Cistercian monk would feel uncomfortable!)

A few observations on Christ the King

Gabriel Sanchez has, at Opus Publicum, a very good piece, explaining the differences between the Feast of Christ the King as Pius XI originally intended it and as it exists today. In short, the collect was rewritten substantially, the hymns were hacked apart, and the selections from Quas primas at Matins were replaced with a reading from Origen of Alexandria on the Adveniat regnum tuum from the Pater Noster. The rewrite goes beyond that, in fact: the readings for the first nocturn of matins in the 1960 Breviary are taken from the first chapter of Paul’s Letter to the Colossians, verses 3–23. This has been replaced in the Liturgia Horarum with a composite selection from Revelation. And, of course, the feast was moved from the last Sunday of October to the last Sunday in Tempus Per Annum (i.e., the end of the Church’s year). The upshot of all these changes is to emphasize strongly the eschatological aspect of Christ’s kingship. In other words, the Feast of Christ the King serves to remind us today that at the end of time, Christ will reign as king. Just what Pius XI intended when he gave us Quas primas, no?

No. In Quas primas, Pius answered the suggestion that Christ’s kingdom was purely spiritual (and eschatological):

It would be a grave error, on the other hand, to say that Christ has no authority whatever in civil affairs, since, by virtue of the absolute empire over all creatures committed to him by the Father, all things are in his power. Nevertheless, during his life on earth he refrained from the exercise of such authority, and although he himself disdained to possess or to care for earthly goods, he did not, nor does he today, interfere with those who possess them. Non eripit mortalia qui regna dat caelestia.

(Emphasis added.) In other words, Christ’s kingship extends to the civil realm, even to this moment in this place. And the sooner we recognize that, the happier we will be:

When once men recognize, both in private and in public life, that Christ is King, society will at last receive the great blessings of real liberty, well-ordered discipline, peace and harmony. Our Lord’s regal office invests the human authority of princes and rulers with a religious significance; it ennobles the citizen’s duty of obedience. It is for this reason that St. Paul, while bidding wives revere Christ in their husbands, and slaves respect Christ in their masters, warns them to give obedience to them not as men, but as the vicegerents of Christ; for it is not meet that men redeemed by Christ should serve their fellow-men. “You are bought with a price; be not made the bond-slaves of men.” If princes and magistrates duly elected are filled with the persuasion that they rule, not by their own right, but by the mandate and in the place of the Divine King, they will exercise their authority piously and wisely, and they will make laws and administer them, having in view the common good and also the human dignity of their subjects. The result will be a stable peace and tranquillity, for there will be no longer any cause of discontent. Men will see in their king or in their rulers men like themselves, perhaps unworthy or open to criticism, but they will not on that account refuse obedience if they see reflected in them the authority of Christ God and Man. Peace and harmony, too, will result; for with the spread and the universal extent of the kingdom of Christ men will become more and more conscious of the link that binds them together, and thus many conflicts will be either prevented entirely or at least their bitterness will be diminished.

(Emphasis supplied and footnote omitted.) This is, of course, hugely interesting and hugely significant. Pius argues that if we accept Christ as our king here and now, the entire political order changes fundamentally. Rulers rule in Christ’s name, and subjects obey not flawed, partisan men, but Christ the King himself. This is what they might call in another context a “game-changer.” Given the exhausted, exhausting political scene in the United States (and many other countries, frankly) today, can anyone say that the blessings that flow from the proper ordering of the state would be unwelcome? Can anyone say that they prefer partisan hacks pursuing narrow, political objectives, while disgruntled subjects protest almost constantly? Of course not.

But it goes beyond that. Pius XI makes it clear that proclaiming Christ the King will be good medicine against what he calls anti-clericalism—a definite problem in the 1920s and 1930s—and what today could be called the soft, liberal indifferentism so popular in the educated West these days:

 If We ordain that the whole Catholic world shall revere Christ as King, We shall minister to the need of the present day, and at the same time provide an excellent remedy for the plague which now infects society. We refer to the plague of anti-clericalism, its errors and impious activities. This evil spirit, as you are well aware, Venerable Brethren, has not come into being in one day; it has long lurked beneath the surface. The empire of Christ over all nations was rejected. The right which the Church has from Christ himself, to teach mankind, to make laws, to govern peoples in all that pertains to their eternal salvation, that right was denied. Then gradually the religion of Christ came to be likened to false religions and to be placed ignominiously on the same level with them. It was then put under the power of the state and tolerated more or less at the whim of princes and rulers. Some men went even further, and wished to set up in the place of God’s religion a natural religion consisting in some instinctive affection of the heart. There were even some nations who thought they could dispense with God, and that their religion should consist in impiety and the neglect of God. The rebellion of individuals and states against the authority of Christ has produced deplorable consequences. We lamented these in the Encyclical Ubi arcano; we lament them today: the seeds of discord sown far and wide; those bitter enmities and rivalries between nations, which still hinder so much the cause of peace; that insatiable greed which is so often hidden under a pretense of public spirit and patriotism, and gives rise to so many private quarrels; a blind and immoderate selfishness, making men seek nothing but their own comfort and advantage, and measure everything by these; no peace in the home, because men have forgotten or neglect their duty; the unity and stability of the family undermined; society in a word, shaken to its foundations and on the way to ruin. We firmly hope, however, that the feast of the Kingship of Christ, which in future will be yearly observed, may hasten the return of society to our loving Savior. It would be the duty of Catholics to do all they can to bring about this happy result. Many of these, however, have neither the station in society nor the authority which should belong to those who bear the torch of truth. This state of things may perhaps be attributed to a certain slowness and timidity in good people, who are reluctant to engage in conflict or oppose but a weak resistance; thus the enemies of the Church become bolder in their attacks. But if the faithful were generally to understand that it behooves them ever to fight courageously under the banner of Christ their King, then, fired with apostolic zeal, they would strive to win over to their Lord those hearts that are bitter and estranged from him, and would valiantly defend his rights.

(Emphasis supplied.) Good medicine, indeed.