An Open Challenge to Young Traditional Catholics

An Open Challenge to Young Traditional Catholics--
Tomorrow, Christendom

by Dom Gerard Calvet, O.S.B.

I prepare the future
By being faithful
To the past.
(Saint John Chrysostom)

In October of 1968, Lisandro Otero, Director of the National Council for Culture, of the People’s Republic of Cuba declared: “Young writers must do their part, so that art not remain an isolated phenomenon, but extend itself widely and become an integral part of the full education of the new man… it is not enough to express the revolution, one must also construct it.” On November 6, 1968 during a contest in literature and the plastic arts, the Bureau for Political Information of the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Cuba denounced those writers who “instead of dedicating their efforts to studying and working in favour of the people, falsify our history, mislead the masses, and mechanistically mimic European and American snobbery.”

The men who wrote these things are persecutors of Christians, fanatics steeped in the crudest ideology that ever existed. That’s understood. They are mistaken, and their work shall soon crumble, because, to repeat Claudel’s words, “evil does not compose, it decomposes.” That’s the truth. In the meantime, these men conjugate their efforts, follow a plan, a line of conduct, believe in a new man (as do we, but it is not the same one) and work towards that goal. Try this: in the first text, replace the word ‘revolution’ with that of ‘Christendom’. You will then have the most beautiful exhortation imaginable, in favour of that world which Pius XII, not so long ago, invited us to “rebuild from its foundation: from wild to human, from human to divine, that is according to the heart of God.” (Exhortation to the Faithful of Rome, February 10, 1952)

The idea of Christendom can be approached in two ways. The first, strongly colored by history, manifests itself by means of a look on the past, through monuments of art and literature, and the lives of heroes and saints; it is subject to the virtue of piety, a national as well as relitious virtues. It relies on memory, and as such, one can say that all culture, all civilization is, first of all, essentially memory. The second way stimulates an examination of the present and the future, such as that of a young man of twenty looking upon the fields lying fallow, that he has just inherited from his late father. He observes and takes note. He won’t, however, slavishly follow the exact order of his father’s plowing. He considers his resources and decides to save the inheritance. With typical, youthful temerity, he may hope to do even better.

In concluding these reflections, we, also, would wish to not only store up in our memory the treasures of the past, but to look to the future; and in the spirit of those who came before us, with more modest means, and kneely aware of our limitations, inscribe in the transitory something of the eternal. The spirit of Christendom, daring and adventurous, implies this forward march, in an atmosphere of fidelity, but without servile imitation. Paul Valéry says it beautifully: “True tradition in great things does not lie in redoing what others have done, but in rediscovering the spirit which did these things, and which would do completely different things in different times.” Resolutely turning away from certain archaising fashions, we are ready to do battle in order to rebuild a Christian society, convinced that, more than ever, this is a fruitful idea, a formula for the future, in tune with the nature of things. For the Gospel, also, which sows in the hearts of men the seed of an infinite promise, proposes for our imitation the model of the God-Man, Who grew up attached to a land, a religion, a race, an artisan’s work, a little corner of the world that He fondly looked upon, walked in, loved tenderly, and whose misfortunes caused Him to weep. Christendom prolongs a divine idea. Superficial spirits see in it but the outer shell of civilization; they forget that, in a tree for example, the outer shell is a conduit for life-giving sap. That which seems archaic to them is, in reality, nothing but the quest for a deeper identity, in terms of an essential design. Arnold J. Toynbee observed, as an historian of civilizations, that a burrowing into the past is not a step backwards, but a revitalization. “The inevitable outcome of a movement that professes to be archaic is, in fact, a new beginning (…) In this movement, the archaic element is simply the outer covering of that which will become the seed of the future.”

Because of their ignorance of the true spirit of the Gospel, some have criticized the Church as being the sluggish extension of the Gospel, weighed down by all the burdens of the social order. But the Church does not weigh down the Gospel any more than Christendom weighs down the Church. A body often becomes sluggish only because of a lack of form; and it is this lack of form which causes the death of civilizations. The distress of the times never fails to give out healthy warnings on the subject. The first great warning, the most dramatic and the most pressing, and which penetrates our soul as a stinging indictment, is that of having given in to mendacity and sloth. Our first duty is to refuse falsehood or rather, in its positive form, to develop to the highest degree, a profound taste, an incoercible thirst for truth. Our civilization was founded upon the testimony of confessors and martyrs who were tranquil heroes of the truth. André Charlier, writing to young people, said: “I should like to see you overwhelmed by the immense joy of being in the truth, and to have you pass on to those around you, that taste for truth (…) There is no greater sign of love than to lead a soul into the truth.” (‘Lettres aux capitaines’) (Letters to the Captains)

We exhort young people, born into this society of audio-visually conditioned robots, to rise up against the reign of untruth. Leave television to its willing slaves; read the masters of your religious and national culture, read your mystics, your thinkers, your poets. Seek after truth, obey it as you would a sovereign, don’t let yourself be closed in by worldly or ecclesiastical conformity. To bind oneself unconditionally to an ideology or a religion, beyond what is just and unjust, is a properly satanic aberration. Totalitarian states that alternate between lies and violence (lies to cover up the violence, and violence to silence those who discover the lies), owe the greater part of their success to having paralyzed the forces of reaction against imposture and lying. This, on the moral plane.

That there is the atrophy of intelligence, the surrender of the spirit, regarding the great speculative truths. I see that, in reading this the weak-minded garner what they have left of strength to tell me: “But who is to say that you see the truth clearly?” Or even, and this the glory of the completely devoid of intelligence: “Are you sure there is a truth?” I reply as did Bernanos: Fools!

Your civilization is founded upon the blood of martyrs who perished for the truth, and the Founder of our religion, Himself, told Pilate: “I have come to bear witness to the truth. All who are on the side of truth listen to my voice.” What else do you need? The taste for truth at every level: religious, intellectual, moral, political; that is what made Christendom. And, in the radiance of love, that is what shall be the principle of its renascence. The taste for truth! What an adventure! Think about it: the passion of living in the truth, of having our thoughts, our actions, our sentiments in harmony with recognized truth, sought after and experienced as a direct emanation of God. Never compromising with error. But what of human weakness? You ask. I respond with Pascal: “It is one thing to have corrupt morals, and quite another to corrupt the very law of morality.” The supreme law of morality is that of not lowering the standard; it’s a matter of knowing that one is doing evil, but continuing, perhaps painfully, to look to the excellence and supreme goodness of the standard.

But this strong taste for truth, which made the greatness of Christian societies, demands character, requires that fear be overcome, as well as sloth and apathy. It is wrong and misguided to await one’s help from others, be they pope or bishop. The second testimony offered us by the spirit of Christendom is that of energy, courage of spirit and heart. “Had I had a thousand mothers and fathers, I would have left, nevertheless”, said Joan of Arc to her judges. Madame de Maintenon, astonished by the moral depravity at court, was told: “Madam, this has been the custom here for quite some time.” To which she replied: “The torrent of custom will excuse no one.” Holy words.

This brings us to the famous liberal tendency which we hear repeated over and over again. But there are two kinds of liberals: those who have no principles, and those who have very good principles but never apply them. I have compassion for the first; I incriminate the second. One feels pity for certain liberals struggling with a kind of sickness of the spirit, incapable of settling on solid principles and eternal truths. But for those who know, and yet, because of fear or laziness, refuse to engage in combat, one is more exacting. According to them, it is never the right time. Liberalism then becomes synonymous with cowardice. They tell you, with an air of perfect conviction: “Of course we are for the Reign of our Lord Jesus Christ, we are against pornography, against fraud, lying, demagogy, etc. But to denounce error, wouldn’t that be introducing an even greater disorder? Do you really think it’s the right time to intervene?” And the awaited reaction is always for some later time. Prudential judgement aside, one can say that liberalism, at this stage, is no longer an error of the spirit, but a cowardice of character and a lack of generosity. I’m thinking of those bishops and priests who whisper in our ear: “You are right, but we have to follow…” I’m thinking of those cardinals who have received the red biretta, during a special ceremony, as a sign of blood poured out for the faith… and who betray the faith. I’m thinking of those officers who, during the Algerian war, dillydallied, not wanting to endanger their careers, betrayed the word given to the people, and abandoned some 100,000 Harkis and their families to the cruelty of the National Liberation Front (F.L.N.). We know, thanks to history, that the triumph of revolutions begins with the spiritual defeat of those who were the guardians of the people. It is Lenin himself who admitted: “Had there been one thousand determined men facing us at St. Petersburg, in October of 1917, we wouldn’t have been able to do anything.” Let us listen to what Father Jerzy Popieluszko had to say during a homily, as Maximilian Kolbe was being canonized in Rome: “The essential problem is how to overcome fear. For threats produce fear: fear of suffering, fear of losing some possession, fear of losing some possession, fear of losing our freedom, our health, our job. And so, we act against our conscience which pleads for truth. Fear can be overcome if we accept suffering, or the loss of something, in the name of a higher value. If the truth becomes for us a value for which we accept to suffer, and to take chances, then we shall overcome fear, which is the indirect cause of our enslavement…”

And here is what was found in Stephan Cardinal Wyszynski’s notes dated October 5, 1954: “Fear is the greatest shortcoming of the apostle… It grips the throat and causes the heart to faint. He who falls silent emboldens the enemies of the good cause… To force into silence by fear: this is the first task in the strategy of the ungodly… Silence has apostolic meaning only when I do not turn away my face from those who strike.”

We dedicate these thoughts of a Prince of the Church and confessor of the faith, who was our contemporary, to the ‘silent clergymen’. “Truth has no shame, said Tertullian, save that of being hidden.” (‘Adversus Valentinum’). Closer to us, the Curé of Ars would say: “If a pastor remains mute on seeing God insulted and souls misled, woe to him! If he does not wish to be damned, he must trample on the fear of what people may say, on the fear of being spurned or hated. And even if he were sure of being put to death upon descending from the pulpit, this must not stop him.”
The virtue of fortitude, which is the theological name for courage, and the veneration of truth are inseparable. And without this armature, a society cannot withstand the ferments of destruction which threaten it. But if a society remains taut in the affirmation of principles, does it not risk sinking into fanaticism and constant coercion?

Our contemporaries, conscious of this possible danger, flatter themselves at having invented ecumenism like some formula for reuniting and assembling, over and above oppositions and differences. One hears talk of a pluralistic society, a multiracial society, etc., and an order of love is sought which unifies superficially; but the projet fails because the requirement of truth at a deeper level has been brushed aside. “The problem of truth cannot be avoided, says Henri Massis. It precedes that of order, and order is founded on truth alone.” (‘De l`homme à Dieu’) (From Man to God)

We ourselves are very conscious of the noble concern of our contemporaries: to unite mankind is not foreign to our preoccupations. But Christendom can furnish a solution. It alone in the past was able to unite without confusing, to distinguish without excluding: the idea of an order which hierarchizes beings was accompanied by a benevolent charity that assigned to each creature its own measure of participation. Colonel de Blignières related to me a deed which illustrates perfectly what we’ve been saying. It took place on December 25, 1958 in the Aurès mountains of Algeria. Christmas in the Foreign Legion is a feast day where poor young men, once a year, recall that they are the sons of the same Father, inasmuch as someone comes forward and reawakens in them the inner child. Well, this particular Christmas of 1958 had been surrounded by such sadness and so many trials, that the colonel had decided to celebrate it with great pomp and circumstance. A helicopter was dispatched to fetch a chaplain for the evening festivities. Midnight Mass was to begin, right there in the mountains, amidst an elite regiment in full parade uniform. Suddenly, the colonel thought: what is to be done with the Harkis? Exclude them? Out of the question. Ask of them a liturgical service? Impossible. And so they were placed all around the assistants; they were given lighted torches, and were asked to hold them high and straight, statue-like in the night. And, that night, the torches of the Harkis lit up the entire world.

The spirit of Christendom, uniting hierarchy and love, makes possible that which egalitarianism cannot: integration, respectful of differences; and this could conceivably be the answer to the ecumenical anguish of modern man. In this great family everyone has a place. Soon, it may be the only way of mending a country divided by ideology, but a refined charity would be required: that of never being ashamed to hold out one’s hand. “He who does not hold out his hand is not a Christian… The sinner reaches out to the saint, holds out his hand to the saint, since the saint has held out his hand to the sinner. And all together, one by another, one pulling another, they reach up to Jesus; fingers interlocked, they form a chain that extends up to Jesus. He is not Christian, he has no knowledge of Christianity, nor of Christendom, nor of the matters of Christendom, who does not hold out his hand…” (A new theologian, Mr. Fernand Laudet)

What Péguy means to say in his own way, that of a poet, Father Berto says, as a theologian: “The sectarian spirit, the spirit of any sect is one of univocality and exclusion. The Catholic spirit is one of analogy and integration.” (‘Pour la Sainte Eglise Romaine’) (For the Holy Roman Church)

Modern man notes the failure of the following two tendencies: anarchic individualism and totalitarian socialism. The opposition between these two tendencies is merely apparent. They both lead to the same result: “a progressive erasing of differences and hierarchies, which transforms society into a desert, and man into a grain of sand.” (Gustave Thibon, ‘Notre regard qui manqué à la lumière’) (The Light Lacking Our Gaze) It would be productive to inquire of the ancients, about the principles of an art of living, where laws, while restraining anarchy, would prevent neither the respiration of the soul, nor the powerful élan of individual energies. A key word would then appear, with which the spirit of man would have to be reconciled: community.

How to characterize this spirit of community, which was the very soul of Christian civilization? Many evident components appear: the formation of an elite, which ultimately gave birth to the aristocracy. This elite must exist in every sphere: moral, artistic, military, religious, professional. A group of students visiting Mesnil-Saint-Loup asked Henri Charlier his opinion, as to what type of exceptional men belonged the builders of cathedrals and universities, and especially those of the Middle Ages who composed the hymns and melodies of Gregorian chant. He answered frankly that these men were like us, no better no worse; with the same inclination to facility, which is the bane of societies. “Look, he said, had they been given the choice between the antiphons of some Gregorian Office, and the songs of Tino Rossi, they would all have chosen Tino Rossi.” But there was an elite on the spot jealously watching over standards, and thus preventing or at least retarding any decadence. This natural elite, the recognized guardian of the human and religious expression of a city or a monastery, saw to the respect of law, rite, and custom.
Community spirit prohibited the breaking with custom, and custom maintained community spirit. So that a child born into the world of Christendom was surrounded by a forest of signs, rites, and sacramentals which spoke to him of his duties, before he learned to read, even before the catechism presented him with the precepts of the Decalogue. Without waiting to receive religion from the mouth of the priest, he ‘caught it’ from his surroundings, by way of contagion. From this point of view, Christendom can be considered the outer garment of the Ten Commandments. An outer garment of flesh and bone, an ornament of poetry, gestures, formulas, chants, not bereft of beauty. I still see those widows of my childhood, in a little village of the Béarn region, leaving their homes, alone, and making their way to the parish church, enveloped in a kind of black shroud which served as an overcoat; and this vestmental rite told us, with more eloquence than a sermon, that the figure of this world passes away (‘transit enim figura huius mundi’). They were images of Holy hope advancing toward the Homeland. There was in each house a place for the pauper; and in the rural districts, a little task for him to accomplish, so as not to be humiliated: he had earned his bread. So much for the second Commandment. At executions, an impressive detail: the law provided for parricides that they should go to the scaffold wearing a black head covering, in order to hide their shame. So much for the fourth Commandment. The near-religious modesty of feminine attire did not always prevent vanity, but was a reminder of the sixth Commandment, and so on. If modern man wishes to live as a Christian, in one way or another he will have to envelop his life in a supernatural atmosphere: that which he hopes for will have to be inscribed in exterior actions, because the body is the implantation of the soul in the visible world, and because actions laden with divine meaning end up, in turn, having an effect upon the soul. The disappearance of these customs and traditions is the death knell of civilizations. Gustave Thibon writes: “So, what do I care about the past as past? Don’t you see that when I weep over the break with a tradition, it is especially about the future that I am thinking? When I see a root decaying, I pity the flowers that will shrivel up tomorrow, for want of sap.” (‘Notre regard qui manqué à la lumière’) (The Light Lacking Our Gaze)

What saddens the philosopher is not that which has been stricken from the past, but that which has been confiscated from the future. It was with the future in mind that Father Calmel encouraged his faithful to form fraternal communities, where, in prayer and friendship, grace could flourish: “Under the aegis of the Virgin who crushes the Dragon, Christians who truly pray, and who love each other in Christ, will reach out to each other in Christ, will reach out to each other as brothers, over and above the turbulent waves of a world that has forsaken God, and is destroying man. United in prayer and friendship, even when countered by the pressure all around them, they will succeed in maintaining or reconstituting a kind of temporal milieu that is truly civilized, sufficient to prevent souls of good will from going astray and becoming lost forever, and to permit them to remain firm and vibrant, to continue their inner song, to celebrate unceasingly God’s love and beauty amidst the trials of exile.” (‘Itinéraires’, November, 1965)

We wouldn’t want to conclude our reflections without suggesting a few more guidelines to the defenders or builders of Christendom.

HUMILITY: a community virtue, a political virtue, a healing virtue. Humility casts aside the three scourges of our societies: the desire for power, jealousy, and individualism. When reading the accounts of the Crusades, one weeps at so many divisions and rivalries. Thus Count Robert of Artois, brother of Saint Louis, very nearly compromised everything, at the battle of Mansourah. It is the individualistic spirit which caused the downfall of chivalry, trying as it did to draw attention to itself, by isolated exploits “which would be spoken of in ladies’ chambers.” (Régine Pernoud: ‘Les Hommes de la croisade’) (The Men of the Crusade)

PATIENCE: full-blown, it is the heroic virtue. It is virtue in its purest form, fortitude of spirit, ‘virtus’, the constancy of martyrs, steadfastness in solitary combat. One hears tell of renewal, of a golden age when everyone will be charismatic. Patience, gentlemen! Saint Augustine ended his treatise ‘On the City of God’, in 426, at the time when the Roman Empire was crumbling. It is a work brimming with radiant hope, which foresaw the conversion of the barbarians and the advent of a Christian civilization. However, if one excludes the brief Carolingian renascence, it took seven hundred years and more to emerge from the dark ages and attain the 12th century, the century of Saint Bernard, and the 13th century, that of Saint Louis and Saint Thomas Aquinas. Now this is patience.

A MAGNANIMOUS SPIRIT: One cannot place himself at the service of a great enterprise or a grand design, without having before his eyes the image of something very noble which dilates the heart, and encourages it to accomplish great things. Strong nations have always been able to find in their historic patrimony, the inner strength to overcome trials and tribulations, and outlive the day. Thus were great political projects rooted in the living memory of the high exploits of a people, where free rein was given to poetic inspiration, source of heroism and holiness. It so happened that God gave to France the most beautiful image, the most radiant figure that ever illuminated the dark night of our battlefields: Joan of Domrémy. Who can say what she saw inwardly when she spoke, herself, of the reality, a mixture of Heaven and earth, to which she gave the sumptuous title: ‘Holy Kingdom of France’! Is it possible to fathom the inexhaustible wellspring that the power of incantation born of a country’s heroes and saints will always represent for the soul of that country? Georges Bernanos, whose hitherto unexplored prophetic writings extend beyond the scope of literature, astonished his friends by the lofty images to which his visionary style had recourse. He said: “Imagination has only ever deceived the weak and the cowardly, unable to bear the weight of a great dream.” It is said that the success of a man’s life is but the realization of a child’s dream; the same is true, as well, of nations, constantly carrying within themselves, either as a reproach or an encouragement, the image of that which they desired to accomplish in their infancy.

To those who have toiled for the salvation of the temporal order, it may happen that they experience in their souls a sadness or melancholy, at the sight of so many ephemeral successes so quickly engulfed by the river of time. One need only recall the great ages of prayer, the delicate sentiments that flourished amidst saintly families, the all too brief moments of peace and happiness, the friendship and virtues of the peasantry, the popular songs markes with a grace and nobility the secret of which we have forgotten. Has all of this truly been obliterated forever? “The Christian, said Jacques Maritain, remains disconsolate at the irreparable loss of the slightest, fugitive reality, whether it be a face, a gesture of the hand, an act of freedom or a musical tune, carrying a trace of love and beauty… He believes that none of this passes, since the memory of the angels conserves all these things, and that, having been chosen and uttered by and in spirits, they are better there than in themselves; he believes that the angels will unceasingly relate to each other, the story of this poor earth, and have it relive in them, in a thousand different ways.” (‘Science et sagesse’) (Knowledge and Wisdom)

It often happens that we become quite upset at the sight of all the waste our age will leave behind it. But I don’t like to hear moaning and groaning about the misfortune of the times. It is said that the world’s air is unbreathable. I agree. But the early Christians encountered at their door each morning, an atmosphere saturated with vices, idols, and incense offered to the gods. For more than two hundred years they were maligned and marginalized by the current of public opinion, which both carried them along and rejected them. Have we forgotten that the grace of Baptism kept them away from the greater part of urban life? They choose not to take part in great civic occasions such as the swearing in of a magistrate, or the triumph of a conquering general, because none of these ceremonies could begin without the offering of incense to the emperor, considered a divine personage. It is the grace of Baptism that had them avoid the thermal baths, one of the Romans’ favourite meeting places, because of the bodily nudity and indecent attitudes prevalent there. They also gave up the amusements of the circus, because of the scenes of cruelty which were its main attraction. Nevertheless, these first Christians formed a society; and this society, by the strength of its spirit, broke open the shell of ancient paganism. Their earthly hope they limited to this: to be still alive when Christ would return in glory, seated on the clouds. And they were the founders of Christian Europe.

Strangely, the misfortune of the times draws us closer to the life of the first Christians: the clash of two civilizations, a pagan State applying the pressure of its anti-Christian institutions, rumblings of persecution. But the formal prohibition ‘non licet esse christianos’ compelled one unceasingly to choose, and rendered mediocrity impossible. What a grace for the West, if it also found itself summoned to choose!

The Church will always like to immerse herself, as for a refreshing bath, in the memory of that emerging Christian society. She rediscovers there, the traits of her childhood, made up of gaiety, heroism, and uncompromising gentleness. What a contrast this young community presented to the pagan mores, and what glory for the Church, in the chastity of virgins, the piety of her liturgical assemblies gathered around the table of sacrifice, the tranquil courage of her bishops, all designated for a violent death, and the martyrdom of her first thirty popes! The little that we know of the Christians of Rome, we read on their epitaphs: ‘Cupiens videre Deum, vidit’ (Desiring to see God, he saw Him). And this very moving inscription: ‘Sofronia dulcis, simper vives Deo!’ (Sweet Sofronia, you shall live forever with God!). And there is the epigraph of a certain Abercius, whose sibylline style destined to thwart the suspicions of the police, captivates us: “I am the disciple of a holy shepherd. He sent me to Rome to see a queen clothed in golden roves, and wearing golden shoes (…) Faith led me everywhere. The food she served me was a fish taken from a very pure spring, and caught by a holy virgin.”

And the replies of the martyrs to their judges remain very timely: “If I have you flogged and beheaded, Rusticus the Prefect asks Saint Justin ironically, do you think you’ll go up to Heaven?” -- “I don’t think it, I know it.”

Every emerging Christian society links us to the history of the early Church, and carries with it the grace of new beginnings. So here we are, ready to begin working. For the time being, it is not yet sunrise; it is perhaps but the very early light of dawn slowly detaching itself from the night. But I perceive Felicity and Perpetua: the young patrician embracing the slave, and both walking together to the ordeal. And Saint Ignatius, Bishop of Antioch, writing to the persecuted Christians of Rome: “You have the kingship of love.” Is it possible to believe that these words are not also addressed to us?

[Excerpted from Tomorrow Christendom by Dom Basile Calvet, O.S.B.]

"We exhort young people, born into this society of audio-visually conditioned robots, to rise up against the reign of untruth. Leave television to its willing slaves; read the masters of your religious and national culture, read your mystics, your thinkers, your poets."

If only!

Therein lies not only the problems in the Church, but in society.

It's no exageration that today's Church has buried it's roots, and the Church will no longer be the Church until the youth digs it up by reading the Fathers and the Mystics, but television, music, and the rest of the world doesn't leave them the time or inclination. It seems this suits the Church just fine.

How is the Church going to force anybody to read the Fathers? The truth is, nobody read the Fathers but seminarians and students of theology and some Catholics and non-Catholics with lots of time on their hands.

True, people read more in the past, but that's a function of societal trends, not anything the Church has caused.

True, people read more in the past, but that's a function of societal trends, not anything the Church has caused.

The Church & society were not designed to operate independently of each other. Bringing them into harmony would instantly solve all the problems of both. Problem is, the modern program of ecumenism seeks to keep them spinning far apart from each other, at all costs.

"How is the Church going to force anybody to read the Fathers? The truth is, nobody read the Fathers but seminarians and students of theology"

Then how is anybody to know what the Church really is? Those seminarians might do the reading, but there is somebody right there to make sure they don't get the "wrong" idea.

No, I don't expect every college student to immerse himself in the subject. I think the Holy Ghost will lead those whom he wants, on the path he wants.

I think it would be nice though if others with just a curiousity could get a traditional feel of the Church through their own efforts, because they will not find the Church through the regular channels.

that's a function of societal trends, not anything the Church has caused.

That's just not so. I spent 14 years in Catholic schools and colleges, and was never once introduced to the Fathers. Until well into adulthood I never heard so much as the names of Basil or Athanasius or Chrysostom. I could not have told you a thing about Jerome. When I visited Canterbury (aged 21), I was astonished and confused to hear that "Augustine" had been bishop there. Whatever patristic knowledge I've acquired is late, incomplete, self-taught, and has been gained in spite of the gross negligence of those charged with giving me a Catholic education. I defy you to claim matters are any different today.

This seems like a good place to ask: Anyone know of any good books about the Church Fathers? Or early Church history in general?

I would start with the life of St. Anthony of the Desert, written by St. Athanasius (you get two Patristic Fathers for the price of one!) It is a nice little book put out by TAN books. Additionally, I think Mike Acquilina has a three-volume series on the Patristics, which if I am not mistaken he put out with OSV. I haven't read it, however, but Mike tends to be very good.

"The truth is, nobody read the Fathers but seminarians and students of theology and some Catholics and non-Catholics with lots of time on their hands."

My son, a senior in high school, is just now finishing The Glories of Mary, by St. Alphonsus Ligouri, sink. He's in a study group with about two dozen of the finest Catholic young men and women you would ever care to meet and they gather every week to read and discuss the best our 2000 year old Tradition has to offer.

They are the future of the Church. They'll be the movers-and-shakers in the years to come and there are many more like them out there.

Be afraid, sink, be very afraid. -)

Why would I be afraid?

The more education in Church History and the Fathers, the better.

"Why would I be afraid?

The more education in Church History and the Fathers, the better.

Then you agree that people should read the Church Fathers and the Mystics. That our Catholic schools -if they do nothing else- should provide a solid grounding in these areas. That we should fight the "societal trends" you so blithely assume are beyond the reach of the Body of Christ>

If a Catholic high school can squeeze in the Church Fathers somewhere in its religion curriculum, more power to it.

The truth is, however, that the Fathers and Mystics are typically taught at the college level.

If a Catholic high school can squeeze in the Church Fathers somewhere in its religion curriculum...

What religious curriculum? I know people who've spent their entire childhood in New Order Catholic schools who know little or nothing of the faith.

One such person had never heard of fasting on Fridays until I mentioned it. He told me he tried not eating meat on Good Friday once, but hadn't since being that he was a "meat and potatoes guy".

Well, fasting on Fridays of Lent is not exactly at the top of the hierarchy of Catholic Truth.

I know Catholics who spent their childhoods in pre-Vatican II Catholic schools who know nothing about the Faith, either.

All your assertion and mine prove is that Catholic adults have to reinforce their learning, or they forget it or act as if they never learned it.

The Catholic Church has never been any good at teaching adults. We teach kids and play with adults, when we should be playing with kids and teaching adults.

I just finished reading Rod Bennett's Four Witnesses. It had been recommended to me on more than one occasion, and it's a great introduction to the history and teachings of some of the early Church fathers, but it is by no means a complete history (and isn't meant to be.)

Now it's on to Faith of the Early Fathers by William A. Jurgens, which is supposed to be an excellent series.

Also Eusebius, the Church History by Paul L. Maier is supposed to be very good.

And of course, there's The Didache.

If you come across anything interesting in your search, please feel free to freep mail me with a recommendation.

"An Open Challenge to Young Traditional Catholics"

"We exhort young people, born into this society of audio-visually conditioned robots, to rise up against the reign of untruth."

It's laughable to see statements like these showing up on the Lidless Eye blogspot.

It's laughable to see statements like these showing up on the Lidless Eye blogspot.

It is a quotation from Demain la Chretiente, which I am glad to finally see translated, and a book which, as Gary Potter has often stated in the past, should be read by every Catholic traditionalist.

No, really?

But it's laughable to see it on the Lidless-Eye blogspot.

But it's laughable to see it on the Lidless-Eye blogspot.

Why? Dom Calvet wasn't speaking of those mediums we have control over, but rather those we don't. Additionally, about half the bloggers on lidless-eye are Traditionalists, but of the indult variety.