By Matthew M. Anger

"The great psychologists of the ages have universally agreed that the root of all unhappiness is selfishness or egotism. Egotism is the rejection of the double command to love God and neighbor, and the affirmation of the self as the standard of all truth and morality" (Fulton Sheen, Way to Happiness).

To discuss religious commitment from a psychological viewpoint is not to imply that faith or moral choices are shaped entirely by external things like environment, body chemistry or sensory stimuli. If we remain true to psychology's origins, beginning with Aristotle, we approach it as a branch of metaphysics which studies the life of the soul. At the same time, classical psychology (as opposed to idealism), does not dismiss the importance of physical reality. A whole range of factors can influence one's mental behavior — including social relations, physical health, economic status, etc. — while leaving man's free will fundamentally intact. Unfortunately, with the changes in epistemology and ethics growing out of the so-called Enlightenment, psychological commentators veered away from the Western tradition.

The American William James, for example, applied Darwin's evolutionary hypothesis to the development of the human consciousness in The Principles of Psychology (1890). A short while later, Sigmund Freud articulated the belief that human behavior was shaped by early life influences and the tendency to repress unconscious desires. Sexual drives were also seen as a key determinant in individual choices. While Freud was understandably reacting to the hyper-rationalism of earlier secularists (who denied the irrational side of fallen humanity), his theories further displaced belief in objective and transcendent morality.

Christian psychology, by contrast, should help one to understand the behavioral characteristics of the individual within an ethical framework. Recalling psychology's Aristotelian roots, one can make the connection between repeated choices ("ethics" is from the Greek word ethos, meaning "custom" or "habit") and the patterns of mental activity which emerge from consistent preferences in one direction or another. While the operations of the mind do not determine morality, the two react upon and shape one another. For example, distinct patterns have been observed in homosexuals or people suffering from extremely violent tendencies. As Sheen puts it, a man's "secret hates, his hidden sins, his flippant treading upon the laws of morality — all of these leave their traces in his mind, his heart and his unconsciousness."

Helpful to a Catholic understanding of the subject is Dr. Paul C. Vitz's Faith of the Fatherless: The Psychology of Atheism. Dr. Vitz, a scholar and convert, states that historically important atheists "are the product of their historical period, family psychology (that is, the defective father), intellectual intelligence and level of ambition, and — last but far from least — their own free choice." Such findings, based on decades of research as a psychologist, flout materialistic views that the idea of God is simply a "projection theory" based on man's need for security.

For Freud, and others, religion could be criticized on the basis of believers' supposedly subjective motives. Vitz boldly reverses this paradigm. Atheism is not so aloof as it pretends to be, and is as susceptible as any other attitude to external factors. Vitz makes his point by considering the lives of dozens of major atheists and seeing what they might have in common. It transpires that, almost without exception, militant skeptics of the last two centuries, from Voltaire to Stalin, have suffered from a "defective father" — one who was either absent through death or through moral failure. As a result, the stance taken by leading atheists may be seen (at least in part) as an emotional reaction against paternal figures, including the divine Father.

Much has been written about the absence of fathers in modern families. "Presumably," remarks Vitz, "this widespread defective fathering will cause an increase in contemporary skeptical attitudes towards God. But it may also result in an equally widespread 'father hunger' which could manifest itself in a variety of ways, such as a growth in cults and support for political demagogues." It is also worth noting, with regard to the unprecedented explosion of sexual deviancy since the 1960s, that homosexuals tend to suffer from hostile or absent fathers, leading to "defensive detachment" from the father and other males. If anything, it shows that Vitz's thesis applies to a wide range of contemporary dysfunctional behavior and apostasy. Speaking of the decline of Christianity, he makes a point concerning the sudden vogue of black American males converting to Islam:

Recently I heard a report that black Baptist women were urging their husbands to become Muslims because they thought their men should have a religion and thought Christianity to be inadequate for men. The African-American community has suffered greatly from fatherless families, and many blacks who have become Muslims openly claim that Islam restored their manhood to them ("The Father Almighty, Maker of Male & Female," Touchstone).

In this case, the attraction of Islam is due to a lack of emphasis on "fatherhood" in the black urban community and in Christianity at large. Men eager to assert their traditional role are left without spiritual support. This has been most evident in liberal, mainstream Protestant denominations where feminist and androgynous "unisex" theology has been heavily promoted.

As for widespread theoretical atheism, it is a relatively new phenomenon. Vitz believes that atheism, rather than traditional theism, is a social construct, and one prone to changing habits and tastes. While environmental influences do not determine unbelief, the social milieu can predispose people to a particular way of expressing their moral and theological rebellion. It happens that since the late 17th century, explicit skepticism has been the most convenient and acceptable outlet. As Samuel Johnson said of the libertine poet, the Earl of Rochester: "He lost all sense of religious restraint, and finding it not convenient to admit the authority of laws which he resolved not to obey, sheltered his wickedness behind infidelity."

An atheist's upbringing is revealing. Even more so is his high level of egotism. "Nietzche's pride and his arrogance," observes Vitz, "often to the point of pathos, are widely acknowledged." The same was true of Ludwig Feuerbach, H. G. Wells, Bertrand Russell and Adolf Hitler. In his other recent book, Psychology as Religion: The Cult of Self-Worship, Dr. Vitz discusses the problem of selfism or "self theory," which is liberal psychology's rationalization of egocentrism. It is "an example of a horizontal heresy, with its emphasis on the present and on self-centered ethics." As such it manifests itself in as many guises as egotism is capable of: materialist sociology, group therapy, New Age movements, or the "power of positive thinking" Protestant sects. At the root of this is metaphysical denial.

"A final profound conflict between Christianity and selfism," Vitz explains, "centers around the meaning of suffering. The Christian acknowledges evil... as a fact of life." Christianity accepts the existence of sin and death. It also provides a way to transcend and transform them. "In contrast, selfist philosophy trivializes life by claiming that suffering (and, by implication, even death) is without intrinsic meaning. Suffering is seen as some sort of absurdity, usually a man-made mistake that could have been avoided by use of knowledge to gain control of the environment." Evil is thus externalized, or removed from the realm of personal moral culpability. It is the predictable operation of pride. We tend to credit success to ourselves while blaming our failures on others.

Heterodox philosophies not only appeal to man's baser instincts, they "validate" them. False theology is an expedient rationalization for antinomian behavior, which eschews moral responsibility. Nevertheless, one must keep in mind that along with obdurate heretics are misguided individuals, who may be attracted to some residual good in a false system (since no belief is absolutely evil; its error lies in subordinating higher goods to lesser ones). Catholic theologians tell us that where there is unconscious ignorance of Church teaching, erroneous judgment, and imperfect apprehension, a necessary condition of sinfulness — free choice — is lacking. With this in mind, apologetics need to be conducted with prudence as well as conviction. Like the wheat and tares in the parable, it is difficult for us to hastily root up the outwardly bad without causing undue mischief.

Msgr. Ronald Knox, who addressed psychological problems in his sermons and essays, provides further insights. He rephrased the skeptic's taunt that man "creates God in his own image," observing that when "turning your thoughts toward the Supreme, the Ultimate, you can choose, evidently, this or that aspect, this or that avenue or approach." St. Augustine argued much the same point in his Catechetical Instruction. Awareness on the part of the religious instructor of the catechumen's fears, dislikes, and even his physical comfort is not inconsequential. Augustine's psychological view of conversion has been reiterated by later apologists. We are taught not to mistake our own temperament, preferences or fashions for an objective standard. Related to this is another point raised by Vitz; namely, that religion is the solution but, superficially, it can sometimes be the problem. In this sense, the theist sees sanctimonious behavior as the failure of the individual to live up to God's calling, while the non-believer feels it shows up religion for the "falsehood" that it is. In any event, there is no denying the scandal of religious hypocrisy. This point is important in dealing with the sincere individual who has experienced such failings. It can be a mitigating, if not justifying, factor in his momentary rejection of faith.

Religious hypocrisy goes beyond everyday human frailties. As an example of this, Vitz discusses Søren Kierkegaard's father who was an austere and sometimes troubled man who nevertheless displayed genuine piety, compunction and love. He earned his son's lifelong affection. The younger Kierkegaard was also a devoted Christian who overcame tremendous temptations to doubt, and even displayed a marked sympathy to Catholic thinking towards the end of his life. In stark contrast is the pitiable conduct of Jacob Freud, father of the psychoanalyst, who was not only cowardly and incompetent, but a pervert and pedophile. Says Vitz: "in proposing the Oedipus complex, Freud placed hatred of the father at the center of his psychology." There was a very real basis for supposing that this expressed "his strong unconscious hostility to and rejection of his father." What surely enhanced Sigmund's distaste for religion was that Jacob carried on as an outwardly proper and observant Jew who spent long hours on readings and devotions. Needless to say, double standards are not unique to Judaism. Dr. Vitz gives examples of individuals raised in lax or rigorist Christian circumstances who, sadly, turned on their faith.

Vitz leaves us with an interesting paradox. Psychology will never be a proper yardstick for measuring the truth or falsity of religion. Faith of the Fatherless favors "the pre-modern idea that controversies should be settled on the basis of the evidence, not on the psychology of the interlocutors. In this framework, ad hominem arguments must be rejected as irrelevant — and all psychological arguments are ad hominem; that is, they address the person presenting the evidence and not the evidence itself." At the same time, psychological understanding is important as a prelude to apologetics. It helps us to appreciate the motives for a person's unbelief, which may include some intense, personal trauma. "If one wishes to genuinely reach such people," concludes Vitz, "one must address their underlying psychology. Aside from the common, superficial reasons, most serious unbelievers are likely to have painful memories underlying their rationalization of atheism. Such interior wounds... need to be fully appreciated and addressed by believers."


***
Matthew Anger is a freelance journalist who has written essays on history, philosophy and literature from a Catholic perspective. He lives with his wife and eight children in the Richmond, Virginia area, where he is employed as a web/multimedia designer. He contributes to The Latin Mass and Homiletic & Pastoral Review. He also maintains Imlac's Journal, a philosophical blog. This article was first published at Seattle Catholic



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Fr. Segura's Lost Mission of 1570-71

By Matthew M. Anger

In 2002, the Diocese of Richmond opened the cause for the canonization of the Spanish Jesuit Martyrs of Virginia. This has renewed interest in the fascinating, almost fantastic, tale of a lost Spanish colony in Virginia and the men who died trying to convert the Ajacan Indians. In 1571, Fr. Segura and his seven companions were killed by hostile tribesmen at the St. Mary's mission sited on Virginia's Lower Peninsula, near the Chesapeake Bay. This was close to the spot where the English would permanently settle just thirty years later. Fr. Russell E. Smith is the postulator for the martyrs' canonization and a judge with the diocesan tribunal. Fr. Smith learned about the Jesuit settlement while growing up in historic Williamsburg, Virginia and as a priest he took up the matter with the postulator general for the Society of Jesus, in Rome. The Virginia Historical Society and the Association for the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities have also lent their scholarly support for evidence of the Spanish mission. Meanwhile, the Richmond diocese has designated St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Parish in New Kent County as the new Shrine of the Jesuit Martyrs.


Spiritual Conquistadors
When Sir Walter Raleigh claimed the territory of Virginia for England's Queen Elizabeth in the 1580s, he was a relative late-comer. Some fifty years before, Spaniards had landed in what some historians estimate to be the Chesapeake Bay. Spanish attempts at colonization in the geographical limits of the present United States probably began in the summer of 1526. Judge Lucas Vasquez de Ayllon, with an expedition of 600 other settlers, sailed from San Domingo (now the Dominican Republic). They were accompanied by two Dominican priests and two religious. Entering the capes along the coast the Spaniards made their way up a major river, said to be the James in Virginia. They landed at the Indian town of Guandape, which Ayllon christened San Miguel de Guandape (St. Michael of Guandape). Unfortunately for this first attempt at European settlement, conditions were harsh and Ayllon died in October from fever. The colonists lasted through a miserable winter and fended off hostile Indians, finally departing in the spring of 1527. Only 150 Spaniards reached San Domingo alive.

The conquest of Mexico had challenged Spanish fortitude and zeal. Yet by comparison, the territory of the present United States was to prove even more difficult. The northern lands were more heavily wooded and sparsely settled and the natives were hunter gatherers as opposed to the more sedentary, agricultural based populations further south. The relatively higher level of culture under the Aztecs certainly lent itself to the forging of a new civilization in Mexico. Perhaps the greatest challenge for the Florida settlement (which included the entire southeastern seaboard) was logistical. Whereas a handful of Spaniards could keep the peace amongst the natives of Mexico, a significantly higher proportion of men, working with scanty resources, were demanded in Florida. Spain could spare few individuals from its vast imperial efforts for this relative backwater which, though strategically crucial, was always a losing proposition. There were no gold fields and even foodstuffs had to be imported.

Throughout the northern American territories, both French and Spanish Jesuits would endure terrible trials and sufferings with often painfully disappointing results. Unlike Mexico, which ultimately yielded millions of converts for the Catholic Church, the American woodlands produced only a few thousand new disciples. There were certainly periods of apathy and disillusionment. The Jesuits remarked that their primary aim was not martyrdom but conversion and the spread of Catholic culture, which the natives so violently resisted. Nevertheless, they were resigned to the possibility of dying for their faith, and many faced it with a heroic resolve that seems difficult for us to fathom. It was a passive heroism that rivaled the active military valor of the famous conquistadors.

In all, there were five attempts to conquer la Florida (the "place of flowers"). The last succeeded in 1565 with the establishment of St. Augustine, the first city in the United States. Dozens of mission stations and presidios (forts) dotted what is preset-day Florida, while small settlements spread along the eastern coast into Georgia and the Carolinas. The northern-most post was Santa Elena (today Port Royal, South Carolina).

Despite Ayllon's failure in 1526, there were continued Spanish expeditions to the Chesapeake Bay, named "La Bahia de la Madre de Dios" (the Bay of the Mother of God) or "La Bahia de Santa Maria" (the Bay of St. Mary). On one of such journey in 1560, the son of an Algonkian chief in Ajacan (as Virginia was called) was captured and brought to Mexico. He was instructed in the Catholic religion and baptized Don Luis, in honor of Luis de Velasco, his sponsor, the Viceroy of New Spain. It would seem that the Indian convert was favored with a trip to Madrid, an audience with the Emperor and a thorough Jesuit education. The next serious foray into Ajacan was not until 1570, when a group of missionaries sailed north from Santa Elena. This small band consisted of Father Segura, Vice-Provincial of the Jesuits, Father de Quiros, six Jesuit brothers and a servant. They were accompanied by the Indian Don Luis as their guide and translator.

Fr. Segura's Ambition
We can gather a reasonably detailed picture of the mission and its members through the collection of primary source materials and the indispensable work of Clifford M. Lewis, S.J. and Albert J. Loomie, S.J. published in 1953. Some material is admittedly conjectural interpolation by men writing after the event, but there is enough agreement in the essentials to provide a portrait of the events that transpired. The only surviving eye-witness of the mission was Alonso de Olmos, the boy who accompanied the Jesuits as their altar server and assistant. He was probably between the age of twelve and fourteen at the time of Fr. Segura's mission, and it is from his recollections that all subsequent accounts are drawn.

The leader of the ill-fated expedition, Fr. Juan Baptista Segura was roughly forty-one at the time of his martyrdom. He had been ordained in 1557 and entered the Society of Jesus at Alcala, Spain in 1566. Fr. Segura was a well read individual and a popular teacher. He spent many years as a professor and rector at a number of institutions before taking a position at the college of Valladolid. There he had the misfortune of stepping into the crossfire of petty factional squabbles and attempts at impartiality only seemed to worsen his reputation amongst the querulous locals. He was an extremely reticent man who devoted a great deal of effort to cultivating in himself the virtues of humility and obedience, yet he felt more and more drawn to the idea of an overseas mission. No doubt the scandal-mongering which confronted him at the university was a strong incentive to go abroad. Says Florida historian, Frank Marotti

An easy-going leadership style and a scrupulous conscience had served Segura well in remote areas of northern Spain. This was not true in pressure-packed Valladolid, where vehement political disputes rocked his college. Segura was ambitious, but only in the spiritual sense; he desired a post in the Indies [i.e. the New World], where he believed he could demonstrate his love for Christ in a heroic manner.

The memory of St. Francis Xavier, who died in 1552 while almost single-handedly building the Church in Asia, was still fresh in everyone's minds, including Fr. Segura's. With the permission of his superiors, Fr. Segura was permitted to go overseas. In 1567 he was named vice-provincial of Florida and after a rather eventful trans-Atlantic crossing, including a hairbreadth escape from Caribbean headhunters, he arrived the following year in the New World with three other Jesuit priests.

Inexperienced but enthusiastic, Fr. Segura was inspired by a favorable account of the northern Florida missions given by Fr. Juan Rogel who had recently toured Guale and Santa Elena. Yet when it came to talk of an Ajacan mission, Rogel and the district superior, Fr. Martinez, were dubious. Nor was their skepticism unjustified. The Florida apostolate was doing all it could just to meet its present obligations. Why increase its burdens? Fr. Segura countered by saying that the slow progress of the existing missions demanded new opportunities. Furthermore, accounts of the great Chesapeake Bay near Ajacan held forth the ever elusive hope of a direct water route to Asia, which European explorers were to pursue even two centuries later. Fr. Segura also wanted to establish a mission without a military garrison. As startling as this demand was to his contemporaries, it was not totally unreasonable. One of the chief stumbling blocks to converting the Indians was the often deplorable conduct of the colonial soldiers, which missionaries were forever lamenting in their letters to Spain. Soldiers on garrison duty, not challenged by the prospect of fighting, were apt to seek an outlet for their boredom in drunkenness, thievery, bullying and sexual license. It was an age old problem.

Despite concerns about the plan's feasibility, Fr. Segura eventually obtained a green light from his superiors for the founding of St. Mary's mission. In August 1570 he and his ten companions, including the convert Don Luis, sailed from their base of operations in Havana to the Santa Elena settlement (South Carolina). This was the final stop-over before Ajacan. At Santa Elena they were outfitted with the best religious articles, including chalices, monstrances, and vestments by Br. Juan de la Carrera.

Br. Carrera, a hardened veteran of the Florida missionary circuit had conflicting views about the journey north. Fr. Segura's plans were "praiseworthy, for they came from a holy, sincere Christian heart, and I gave him high praise. But I pointed out the difficulty in the execution of the plan, saying that the Indian [Don Luis] did not satisfy me...." No doubt Br. Carrera shared the bitter experience of other missionaries, who found the Indians often dissimulated before their European overlords. They would proclaim loyalty to the Spanish crown and church to gain favors and alliances against rival tribes, but would frequently come up short on their end of the bargain. Br. Carrera saw that Don Luis was "a liar" and "a clever talker," but Fr. Segura could not be dissuaded from the idea that the Algonkian was another "Paul of Holy Faith," referring to the Japanese convert who helped St. Francis Xavier in Asia. The mission's "second-in-command" was Fr. Quiros, also fresh from Spain and eager to claim new conquests for the Church.

The Ajacan Mission
On September 10, the Jesuits landed in Ajacan. Previous research placed the spot at Queen's Creek on the north side of the Lower Peninsula, near the York River. New findings, however, suggest that St. Mary's Mission may have been in the village of Axacam on the New Kent side of Diascund Creek near its confluence with the Chickahominy River. This would have been reached via the James River. Both spots, however, are relatively close to one another (and to the later English settlement). Certainly the physical details remain elusive. This is true for most early explorations, such as the mysterious "Lost Colony" at Roanoke under Sir Walter Ralegh in 1587. But there is little doubt as to the basic facts or the chronology of events.

Don Luis led them there in search of his native village of Chiskiak (or Kiskiak) which he had not seen in ten years. It was near this spot that a small wooden hut was constructed with an adjoining room where Mass could be celebrated. After establishing their camp with the help of the ship's pilot, Fr. Quiros wrote a letter (with a postscript by Fr. Segura) to the Treasurer of Cuba who was a chief benefactor of the Jesuits in New Spain. It is the only writing that has survived from the Ajacan mission. Fr. Quiros relates that Don Luis was uncertain as to the exact spot of his tribe. Ravaged by drought and famine, many of the inhabitants had removed to other areas. Contact was eventually made, and relatives of Don Luis greeted them with good will and "seemed to think that Don Luis had risen from the dead." A "brother" (possibly a nephew) of Don Luis, in a nearby village, was reported to be fatally ill, and the Indian asked that one of the Fathers baptize him.

The Algonkians who inhabited Ajacan were, according to Spanish and later English narratives, remarkably tall (up to six feet in height), athletic and more fair skinned than other tribes. Yet their existence was primitive and austere. Clothing consisted of animal skins while many lacked even that luxury, going about almost naked with nothing more than skirts made of grass or leaves.

While spiritual prospects seemed hopeful—the local chief was interested in hearing the Gospel preached—material conditions posed immediate challenges. The missionaries were forced to share half their rations with the ship's crew, who had run low on food during the long journey from Santa Elena. The Indians did not know how to properly harvest and store food for use in the winter, since they would eat most of the food as it was gathered. Nevertheless they did generously share some of their corn with the missionaries upon their arrival. During the cold months, however, they would barely eke out an existence on roots and berries. Fr. Quiros requested an urgent shipment of grain in the hopes that the missionaries could impart the rudiments of agriculture which would make the natives more sedentary and less prone to starvation.

The Massacre
Don Luis was on his best behavior during the two days that the ship's crew remained to assist the missionaries and, following his example, the locals were quite hospitable. Yet almost as soon as the ship disappeared over the horizon, the Jesuits were left completely at Don Luis' mercy and his demeanor began to change. No longer was he constrained by the mores of Spanish civilization. In the Virginia wilds, with the old ways of his people beckoning, Don Luis seems to have quickly shed his Christian scruples. Accounts show that "marital immorality" was his downfall, since he was a member of the native aristocracy for whom polygamy was de rigueur.

Don Luis asked permission to visit his uncle, the reigning chief, who lived a day and a half away. Having heard the Indian's reasonable excuses, such as that he wanted to gather catechumens for the mission and food for the Jesuits, Fr. Segura assented. As the days passed and no word was heard from their native guide, the truth of the situation must have quickly dawned on the missionaries. According to the sole survivor, the young Alonso, the Jesuits braced themselves for the worst. Death at the hands of the local inhabitants was all too common. They increased their prayers and devotions and meanwhile coped as best they could, hoping that Don Luis might repent or that Spanish help would soon arrive. Fr. Rogel, while taking part in the belated relief expedition to Ajacan in August 1572, wrote the following account:

Father Master Baptista [Segura] sent a message by a novice Brother on two occasions to the renegade. Don Luis would never come, and [the Jesuits] stayed there in great distress, for they had no one by whom they could make themselves understood to the Indians.... They got along as best they could, going to other villages to barter for maize with copper and tin, until the beginning of February. The boy [Alonso] says that each day Father Baptista caused prayers to be said for Don Luis, saying that the devil held him in great deception. As he had twice sent for him and he had not come, he decided to send Father Quiros and Brother Gabriel de Solis and Brother Juan Baptista to the village of the chief near where Don Luis was staying. Thus they could take Don Luis along with them and barter for maize on the way back. On the Sunday after the Feast of the Purification, Don Luis came to the three Jesuits who were returning with other Indians. He sent an arrow through the heart of Father Quiros and then murdered the rest....

According to Rogel's letter, the incident would have taken place in early February, 1571.

Leaving the deputation of three Jesuits dead or dying in the forest, the Indian party swooped down on Fr. Segura's encampment. Don Luis stealthily confiscated all the tools and hatchets so as to leave the Spaniards defenseless. It was said that as a ruse he claimed he wanted the tools to fell timber in the woods. The Indians had the European axes and their own machetes ready, and Don Luis assigned one native to one Spaniard each, so that they would be killed all at once without being able to combine in self-defense. Br. Carrera, who had such grave premonitions about the mission the year before, said that the "wretched and perverse Don Luis attacked Father Baptista... to pay him back for the many kindnesses shown him." Fr. Segura lay ill in his hut on a grass mat. When his former Indian protégé entered, the priest greeted him joyfully: "You are very welcome, Don Luis!" The Indian replied with a series of axe blows to Segura's head and body. The other Jesuits were similarly dealt with. One of them, Br. Cristobal Redondo, was in the kitchen. He was described in disposition and speech as being "more of an angel than a man." When his appointed murderer suddenly appeared and wounded him he cried out: "Help me, my Fathers, they are going to kill me." But it was too late.

Alonso at first rushed in amongst the Indians to try to prevent the killing, or else to be martyred with the Jesuits, but was held back by Don Luis' brother who hid the boy in a nearby hut. One may be surprised that the Indians did not finish him off as well. It would seem Alonso was spared because he was not a Jesuit and, moreover, because of his youth. The Indians throughout colonial history had a practice of adopting the young of their enemies. Nevertheless, the treacherous Don Luis quickly regretted this oversight. He plotted of a way to dispose of the only eye-witness to the massacre in the likelihood that the Spaniards might return. Fortunately, either due to the influence of a friendly Indian or Alonso's own perspicacity, the young boy made his way to a rival chief who lived close to the main coast on the Chesapeake Bay. There he waited until the relief expedition arrived in 1572, by which time he had nearly forgotten his own language.

The intriguing question is why did Don Luis turn so suddenly on his benefactors? Fathers Lewis and Loomie offer two motives. One contributing cause was the precious vessels used by the possessed. After the massacre Don Luis and the others not only dressed themselves in the attractive vestments but also wore patens around their necks and drank from the gold chalices. But there were probably deeper motives at work than mere covetousness

[Greed] may have induced Luis' companions to follow him, and it would have been a strong motive in a tribe where wealth meant greater power and possession of more women. But it hardly explains Luis' own actions, which seem to have been immediately occasioned by the third visit and the importunity of the Jesuits, calling upon him to abandon his sins and to return to the practice of his religion. In the light of ... studies of historic Indian psychology... we may expect Don Luis to manifest extreme sensitivity to overtones of anger or public criticism, in his case a sensitivity perhaps heightened by a disturbed conscience if his conversion had been genuine.

Such, note the writers, was the motive behind the massacre of Franciscans at Guale (Georgia) only a few years later.

Aftermath
More than a year after the massacre, a Spanish supply ship found and rescued Alonso. Upon receiving news of the killings, Florida Governor Menendez arrived in Ajacan to punish the culprits, though Don Luis proved ever elusive and was never discovered. Eight other Indians accused of murdering the missionaries were promptly hanged by the Spaniards.

The disastrous attempt at a Virginia colony spelled the end of Spanish ventures in the area. Following the death of Fr. Segura and his companions, the Jesuits were recalled from St. Augustine and sent on to Mexico where the harvest, temporal and spiritual, seemed much more promising. In the judgment of Theodore Maynard, "The failure [of the Virginia mission] was made glorious by martyrdom. It was therefore not a failure under its religious aspect." At the same time it is also true that

The abandonment of the Chesapeake region... was politically disastrous for Spain. Could it have been held, an effectual barrier would have been erected against the encroachments of the English in Virginia. But not even Spanish energy was quite sufficient to keep its grip on such far-flung territories. It was already becoming as much as the authorities could do to protect the settlements already made in the Indies and Central America...

Spain expended so much energy in maintaining her Mexican colony that the initial sacrifice of conquering the U.S. seaboard did not seem worthwhile, though, as the English were to discover, this part of the New World would eventually yield the most fertile territories. Interestingly, English settlement was first prompted, in a purely negative way, by Spanish colonization. They wanted to counter Catholic activity in Florida and the Caribbean. The ill-fated Roanoke colony of 1587 and the subsequent Jamestown settlement of 1607 were in large part meant to be bases of operation for privateers and soldiers to attack la Florida.

As rum and guns flowed southwards from the English towns, many of the natives turned against Spanish rule. No doubt the Indians thought they were cleverly playing off one tribe of Europeans against another for their own short-term gain. Little did they think that in the place of the traders and missionaries who dominated the Spanish settlement would come the growing waves of English pioneers who would clear the forests and expel or kill the Indians without even the pretense of converting them. By contrast, the lack of intensive cultivation and depopulation by Spanish colonists generally favored their relations with the natives. But it hindered them insofar as they could no longer compete with English interlopers whose growth in population and territory in the New World quickly surpassed them.

It is worth noting that the colony at Jamestown faced many of the harsh conditions as endured by Ayllon and Segura, and its survival was touch-and-go for many years. Even as late as 1622—fifteen years after Captain John Smith first landed on the James Peninsula—the settlement was nearly wiped out in an Indian raid which claimed 347 lives. The Indian chief who sought the destruction of the Jamestown settlers was the aged Openchancanough. As legend would have it, he was the apostate Don Luis who had killed Fr. Segura and his companions in 1571. An ironic footnote to the noble failure of the Virginia mission.


***
Matthew Anger currently resides in the Richmond, Virginia area with his wife and six children. He is a frequent writer for traditional Catholic publications on historical, political and cultural topics.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:
· Gibson, Charles. Spain in America. New York: Harper & Row, 1966.
· Lewis, Clifford M., S.J. and Loomie, Albert J., S.J. The Spanish Jesuit Mission in Virginia 1580-1572. Richmond, Virginia: The Virginia Historical Society, 1953.
· Hill, William B. The Indians of Axacan and the Spanish Martyrs: The Beginnings of Virginia, 1570. Clarksville, Virginia: Prestwould House, 1970.
· Neill, Steve. "Richmond Diocese Promotes Cause of Jesuit Martyrs." Arlington Catholic Herald, July 18, 2002.
· Woodbury, Lowry. The Spanish Settlements Within the Present Limits of the United States, Florida 1562-1574. New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1905.
· Marotti, Frank, Jr. "Juan Baptista de Segura and the Failure of the Florida Jesuit Mission, 1566-1572." The Florida Quarterly, LXIII (Fall 1985): 267-279.
· Maynard, Theodore. The Story of American Catholicism, Vol. I. New York: Image Books, 1960, p. 44.



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By Matthew M. Anger

Three centuries before Christ, the Greek poet Cleanthes said: "naught upon Earth is wrought in thy despite, O God." Wherever we look, belief in a superior power ruling over the universe has been the norm in every civilization prior to the secular societies of the modern era. Unfortunately most Westerners, even self-professed Christians, tend to think in terms of divine aloofness rather than God's active intervention, being embarrassed into this view by their peers in the media and academia. For this reason a corrective to modern deism — the idea that everything really depends on the actions or institutions of men — is long overdue.

To treat history as if "God mattered" is to get beyond the superficial and the obvious; that clutter of mere opinions and trivia about the past. Sadly, modern historiography is almost completely dominated by hobbyists on the one hand, or neo-Marxist academics on the other. The average person is simply left out in the cold. As a result we see not only a distortion of the past, but a complete indifference to history to the point where people find it meaningless. In such a vacuum, false paradigms about human nature and society are much easier to construct.

A religious view of the past is not simply another form of ivory tower idealism. On the contrary, the problems of contemporary society only make sense as we approach them from a well-ordered Christian perspective. This perspective also demands taking into account both the grand sweep of events as well as the small details. The big picture gives us a sense of direction, while observation of precise data confirms the larger truths or acts as a corrective for false idealization. Unfortunately, contemporary scholarship has seen a radical divorce of reflective and specialized study. This prompted Catholic historian Christopher Dawson to say that

[T]he immense extension of the scale of education and its ramifications into a hundred specialisms and technical disciplines has left the [secular] state as the only unifying element in the whole system. In the past the traditional system of classical education provided a common intellectual background and a common scale of values with transcended and national and political frontiers and formed the European or Western republic of letters of which every scholar was a citizen.

In the Fullness of Time
While we may treat history in a philosophical manner, strictly speaking, there is no such thing as a "philosophy of history." This point may seem recondite, yet it is at the heart of modern misapprehension. History is an order or a process in time. This process, as St. Augustine explained, is not in itself an essence or a substance. It is the post-Christian thinkers like Voltaire, Hegel and Marx who erred on this point, trying to create a "philosophy of history" by which human events could be treated as predictable "patterns" and materially quantifiable "forces." This is impossible if we realize that history is the work of Divine Providence which realizes in time the eternal plan of God. This implies not only the Creation but also the Redemption of the human race in the fullness of time. Genuine historical study must, therefore, be Christocentric, based on an Incarnational perspective.

Full completion comes... when [Jesus] places his kingship in the hands of God, his Father, having first dispossessed every other sort of rule, authority, and power; his reign, as we know, must continue until he has put all his enemies under his feet, and the last of those enemies to be dispossessed is death (I Cor. 15:24-25).

The Incarnation, the birth of Christ, by its very nature occurring in time, nevertheless points out another dimension, originating from eternity and pointing to eternity. "To the Christian," says Frederick Coppleston, S.J., "history is necessarily of profound importance. It was in history that man fell, in history that he was redeemed: it is in history, progressively, that the Body of Christ on earth grows and develops and that God's plan is unfolded." More specifically it was St. Augustine who "saw in history, as he saw in the individual, the struggle between two principles of conduct, two loves," the love of God on the one hand and the love of self on the other.

All events must be seen in this context, sub specie aeternitatis (or, "as God himself sees it"). This fact was taken for granted until the late Middle Ages, but with the rise of a skeptical form of humanism in the Renaissance, history began to be particularized and divided into artificial periods in order to accommodate it to personal and philosophical bias. The Incarnational view — never precisely formulated because it was simply taken for granted in an age of vibrant faith — survived less and less with the physical decline of Christendom.

History as Intellectual Discipline
Following the long prehistoric period of mankind there emerged early civilizations whose original written records provide the first firms of historical documentation. At this point we enter the factual study of the past. Most nations and races have had folk memories to start with but only three have developed (independently) the concept of formal written history: a) the Chinese, b) the Hebrews, and c) the Greeks. The Greek poet Homer (c. 700 B.C.), author of the Iliad and Odyssey, was rooted in the epic genre recounting great events and people with the necessary mythic trappings. The purpose of this early bardic tradition was educational. The narrative was handed down from generation to generation and provided the models for the formation of the citizen of the ancient city-state.

The disciplined description of the past originates with the Greek Herodotus (c. 484-425 B.C.), who is considered the "Father of History." After him, Thucydides (460-394 B.C.) developed the idea further, in his Peloponnesian War which detailed the bloody civil war between Athens and Sparta, under which form it essentially passed to the Romans. By the time that Polybius (205-125 B.C.) is writing his History of Rome, he confidently speaks of history as a "profitable field of knowledge." He also says it is strange that anyone, "however commonplace or indifferent, cannot be curious to learn how the whole world fell under undisputed ascendancy of Rome within the period of less than fifty-three years." One notes the change in genre. Unlike the Homeric epic, Polybius tries to provide an exact chronology.

This profitable field of knowledge, a systematic study of the past, becomes an intellectual discipline, invented by the Greeks and Romans in an approximate time span of four centuries. It was already called historia, a separate field of study (though it was never a separate ars of the seven liberal arts; it was studied as part of two comprehensive artes, grammar and rhetoric). Polybius expresses well its concept of self-contained meaning, though his understanding is quite removed from the later, false "philosophy of history" coined by the rationalists. Rather, Polybius' meaning was in the underlying goal that history revealed for mankind. He was referring to the empires, those great political, cultural and linguistic entities, proceeding in succession through the centuries: Babylon, Persia, and Alexander's conquests giving way to the Roman Empire.

St. Augustine echoes this by saying that "we must ascribe to the true God alone the power to grant kingdoms and empires" and that God "granted dominion to the Romans" just as He "gave sovereignty to the Assyrians, and also to the Persians." It is not accidental that the Incarnation and the subsequent establishment of the Church took place at a specific time and place — within the frontiers of the Roman world. This new development saw the convergence of three elements, each seemingly separate in origin, yet all tending towards a definite culmination. Hebrew religion, Greek philosophy and Roman order formed the triune structure of Christian Europe, perfectly personified by St. Paul, a Hellenized Jew and citizen of Rome.

Rome and Imperium
According to the classical liberal view of the "Enlightenment," as brilliantly but erroneously expounded by Edward Gibbon in the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Rome was "the period in the history of the world, during which the condition of the human race was most happy and prosperous." Gibbon's thesis that barbarian invasions and the rise of Christianity caused the downfall of the Western Empire became a stock-in-trade argument in the popular mind. It has hardly diminished in the two hundred years since he wrote his book.

Unlike other secularizers, Gibbon's "philosophy of history" is anti-historicist in that he sees no plan or progression in human events. He believed that the succession of events have no meaning and it is up to the historian to give it one. In this sense he is more honest than liberals who claim to see inevitable social forces at work in history. Still, Gibbon was imposing his own view on the past, and it is one which does not bear up to objective study. The moral deterioration of the ancient empire set in well before the triumph of Christianity, and it was the Church, particularly the monastic institutions, which actually preserved what could still be preserved of Rome. Had it not been for this, Europe would have lapsed into a true Dark Age from which it would never have recovered. But there is little point in speculating about alternate versions of the past since its unfolding is neither random nor aimless.

The ancient Roman historians believed in the empire's eternity, as voiced by Virgil, "Imperium sine fine dedi" ("Empire without end have I granted," Jupiter declares in the Aeneid). St. Augustine presented the ultimate teleological understanding of the events of the past with clear reference to Providence which justified the idea of Rome in a way that even Virgil, the great eulogist of the Empire, had failed to do. The concept of a highly developed political and social order, the imperium, both preceded the Rome of the Caesars and survived it.

The Near East was the cradle of civilization though we seldom appreciate what that fact means. Students briefly memorize the publication of Hammurabi's legal code in 1750 B.C. and then happily forget about the clay tablets and Ziggurats of Babylon. Yet Hammurabi's legal system — highly developed and enlightened for its time — was the prototype for subsequent legal codices of the Western world. The forms may have changed over time, nevertheless the core idea of a unified system of law endured and reached its culmination in early Christian history with the Code of Justinian I in 535 A.D.

This underlying civilizational ideal of the empire, its sense of order and justice, persisted in the concept of Romanitas ("Roman-ness") in the Middle Ages. The devotion of both sacred and lay rulers to upholding the values of Latin culture reveals an intuitive understanding of a transcendent purpose behind human development as well as a linear movement towards a supreme end. It is opposed to the pagan cyclical concept of history (historia repetitur) which has, not surprisingly, resurfaced in the works of writers since the Enlightenment.

The Christian view does not glorify the Empire for its own sake in the way that many humanists and liberals have. St. Augustine was not an apologist for pagan Rome and the first half of the City of God is largely a catalog of the evils of those who denied the true faith. Nevertheless the Bishop of Hippo believed that once the natural strengths of the Empire were subordinated to revealed religion, they would benefit the latter and aid its growth. While ungodly rulers were patently unjust and exercised only a semblance of true authority, so Christian emperors would establish political justice thereby benefiting the faithful. No further proof is needed than Constantine's Edict of Milan (313 A.D.) which ensured freedom of worship for Christians and the subsequent rapid establishment of new dioceses throughout the Empire. It is the working out on a global scale of the Thomistic dictum that the supernatural is built on the natural.

The Vibrancy of Christian Culture
To some, this close identification of Christian civilization with the Roman world invites a mistaken view of the past. After all, the history of Rome and early Europe is fraught with superficial contradictions and disappointments, with political and social decline, feudal warfare and economic collapse. What this tells us, however, is that a purely state-sponsored culture, typical in Oriental nations, would not have survived the disasters that beset the late Empire. Unlike Christianized Rome, such a society is not truly dynamic. In those places where the political and social order became absolutely identical, culture is rendered static as happened in Egypt and China (and perhaps once again in the increasingly socialized Western states).

The concept of imperium, as a living principle derived from God's active intervention in history, came to fruition under Christianity and thus defies categorization as a mere political construct. It emerged from the collapse of the Western Empire because it was not strictly identical with the Rome of the Caesars. And while it was coextensive with the Church's spiritual life, there being a clear and necessary interaction between the two, it was not identical with it either. The spiritual will always take priority over the material. Paradoxically this supernatural dimension is the key to the survivability of the Roman ideal, in that it was taken up and nurtured by a force greater than itself, whereas anything less would have engendered decay.

Things like social discipline, artistic expression, military power or economic competition do not exist for their own sakes, and when treated as self-sufficient ends they become perverted and even destructive. This is especially true for an advanced culture. The Incarnational view does not admit of any simplistic solution to societal problems and understands that the tension between the secular and the sacred is never fully resolved on this plane. As Sir Kenneth Clark observed in his famous documentary series Civilisation, this tension imposes a necessary striving for balance and is the source of vibrancy in our culture which sets it apart from all others, not only Eastern nations, but also the ancient pagan world. For Christians, perhaps the best proof of the providential nature of the development of the Roman concept lies in its robust continuity despite the shifting political topography of Europe.

Firstly, God does not measure success and failure in the way that we do. With the benefit of hindsight we can often see triumph amid failure. Likewise disaster will loom up amid apparent victory. The fact that the concept of imperium shifted from Rome to Constantinople and then was miraculously taken up by the very people who had nearly destroyed it — the Franks and the Germans — indicates no random phenomenon but some superior plan which we may discern, if dimly, with the passage of time. The collapse of Byzantium did not spell the end of our civilization. The Eastern Empire had departed from Rome both religiously and culturally. Its ecclesiastics evolved into a political appendage of the state (a situation which later prevailed in Orthodox Russia). Lacking the necessary moral independence of their Catholic counterparts, Byzantium's life resembled more and more the static societies of the Orient. Outwardly superior in political and military strength, Constantinople would be eclipsed by the true renascence of Rome under the converted barbarians of the West.

Secondly, the fact that the Christian commonwealth has never been restricted to one nation or people again demonstrates God's intervention for the purpose of evangelization and also continually reinvigorating, as it were, the human side of the Church. Hence at many points in history the civilizing mission was exercised by multiple states simultaneously. French, Germans, Spanish and Slavic peoples variously took the lead in the Catholic social order, with the smaller nations also finding a meaningful and valuable role within a scheme that fosters complimentarity rather than crass competitiveness or bland conformity.

The Germans embraced the imperial concept in the form of the multiethnic Holy Roman Empire, later transformed into the Habsburg Empire of Austria-Hungary which provided 1,000 years of stability in Central Europe. Spain was the bulwark against militant Islam and led the way in a phenomenal conquest and conversion of the New World. France became the nexus of Europe both geographically and intellectually. It was a much needed point of stability for the outer marches of Christendom; a citadel to those embattled realms which formed our frontier against the savage and infidel. Even England, though not a "superpower" prior to the Reformation, left its enduring imprint on the West thanks to such intellects as the Venerable Bede, John of Salisbury and St. Thomas More. Nor does this unity in diversity (as understood in the original Christian sense) end with the recent cultural and religious decline of Europe. Evangelization continues and the role of Catholic peoples, in the Americas and Asia, is a story still unfolding.

Conflict and Continuity
As Malcolm Muggeridge wrote: "Thus can be seen, underlying the chaos of the world and of a spectator's own mind, God's order." The fact that the Christian nations have sadly been at odds with one another does not disprove the truth of Western unity, but reminds us of the fallen nature of mankind and the inability to put our confidence in a purely political settlement. Unlike other non-Christian societies, the rise and decline of individual states never threatened our cultural survival, and to some extent the inability of any single state to dominate Christendom acted as a safeguard against the absolutism which confronted the Church throughout its history (as for example, under Emperor Frederick II or Louis XIV). Standing at the opposite extreme from barbarian anarchy is total state control. Both are deviations from the mean of classical polity. Only in recent centuries, when the influence of the Church has been eliminated or reduced, has this absolutism advanced to a degree unthinkable to ancient tyrants in the form of crushing totalitarianism. By contrast, older Christian Europe survived and even flourished in the midst of political upheaval, invasions by barbarians and infidels, and devastating plagues, proving that it is not external but internal enemies that really threaten the imperium of Christian culture. It is loss of morale in the form of a spiritual collapse that corrodes society.

If the timeless concept of civilization has virtually disappeared, it is not because it is no longer viable. There is no greater need for an "Incarnational" ordering of society than today. But, as with the early Church surrounded by hostile pagan powers, the vision of Romanitas may pass into eclipse only to be brought back, perhaps even more resilient and vital than before, by the restoration of true Christian life.


***
Matthew Anger is a freelance journalist who has written essays on history, philosophy and literature from a Catholic perspective. He lives with his wife and seven children in the Richmond, Virginia area, where he is employed as a web/multimedia designer. In addition to Seattle Catholic, he contributes to The Latin Mass and Homiletic & Pastoral Review.


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The Myth of American Church-State Relations

by Matthew M. Anger

Craycraft’s argument... places him far afield of mainstream American Catholic thought. Radical as it is... his book is in many ways a rather scholarly, serious, and cogently argued exposition. It expresses an outlook that has rarely been heard in America but was once widely trumpeted in Europe, and not all that long ago. - Jeremy Rabkin, Policy Review (August & September 1999)

Though it has been in print for a few years now, Kenneth Craycraft’s American Myth of Religious Freedom (Spence Publishing, 1999) is worth another look as a remarkable study on the subject of American Church-State separation. Not only is the American Myth a long overdue Catholic appraisal, it also represents a paradigm shift among conservative thinkers outside those traditionalist circles that have hitherto been most vocal on the subject. Craycraft was the first to break ranks and enunciate a thorough and appropriately merciless, critique of the whole notion of "religious liberty." The concluding remarks of the book leave little room for second-guessing:

There is no such thing as religious freedom, and the reason that such an assertion sounds so shocking is that we have been completely formed by the American myth.

This position was arrived at by Craycraft as part of a reassessment, in the 1980s and early ‘90s, of the writings of John Courtney Murray, S.J. Best known for his treatise, We Hold These Truths, Fr. Murray was the prime architect of the Second Vatican Council's Declaration on Religious Liberty (Dignitatis Humanae). Given the now "mainstream" status of indifferentism in church-state relations it is not surprising that Craycraft’s forthright discussion provoked heated controversy within the neo-conservative Catholic camp. This group comprises men like George Weigel, Michael Novak and Richard John Neuhaus. Their passionate reaction to Craycraft merely proves how wedded the dominant Catholic bloc is to an ideology which seeks to reconcile the irreconcilables of Americanist dogma and Church doctrine.

Synopsis of the Work

The American Myth presents a closely reasoned treatise of under 200 pages, which negates decades of sentimental cant about a supposedly Christian understanding of the "religious liberty" precept of the First Amendment. Craycraft’s analysis runs the gamut of recent political studies, precedent setting court decisions, and the question of the Founders’ intent, and includes discussion of Jefferson, Madison and the formative ideas of English secularist philosopher, John Locke.

The sections of the book that stand out most for their clarity and vigor are those directly treating the problem of secular American politics and ideology. Ironically, the sections which prove difficult are those which attempt an orthodox interpretation of the current Vatican response to religious liberty. Given the intellectual power of the work and its potentially pivotal role in genuine conservative thought, one almost hesitates to criticize The American Myth, yet the difficulties of the book cannot be conveniently shuffled aside. Nevertheless, the murky ambiguities of Vatican II are far from the most interesting or momentous aspects of Craycraft's book.

Secularization in Practice

Craycraft has a keen sense of what priorities will most impress the reader. He starts with important court decisions and well-publicized controversies over issues of traditional religion and the doctrine of "tolerance." The author notes the baneful fruits of religious liberty. Then, having made clear the overwhelming juridical and mainstream ethical bias against orthodox belief, he traces these fruits to the source which begat them.

Among the many court cases under consideration, the most striking is the Alabama school prayer case of Wallace v. Jaffre (1985). Justice John Paul Stevens made explicit the otherwise implicit opposition of the secularist state to revealed religion. It is worth citing at length, since Craycraft deems it of tremendous importance:

The individual's freedom to choose his own creed is the counterpart of his right to refrain from accepting the creed established by the majority. The Court has unambiguously concluded that the individual freedom of conscience protected by the First Amendment embraces the right to select any religious faith or none at all. This conclusion derives support not only from the interest in respecting the individual's freedom of conscience, but also from the conviction that religious beliefs worthy of respect are the product of a free and voluntary choice of the faithful [author's emphasis].

Craycraft says this is the key to deciphering the myth of religious liberty. Only "voluntary" creeds are "worthy." It is the underlying raison d'être of Americanist religious thinking.

Adapting the terminology of Michael Sandel, who has studied national judicial activity in some detail, Craycraft explains that according to the Americanist concept of religious pluralism, individual rights stand paramount to any religious system. Liberalism not only rejects, but cannot even begin to contemplate, the idea that a person receives his religious and moral convictions from some outside agency (which, of course, would include God's direct action by means of supernatural grace). Thus liberalism speaks of people in a free society as "unencumbered selves." In order for a religious experience to be "authentic" it must completely free and subjective. By contrast, "encumbered" selves (orthodox believers) can have no proper standing under the law, both as originally conceived in the First Amendment and as enacted in everyday court decisions. That is because the Catholic, for example, takes his moral guidance from a transcendent authority—a source which the secularist state does not acknowledge.

If the state does grant concessions (which it does), these are only exceptions to the rule. They are pragmatic means of avoiding tension and maintaining the peace, and nothing else. One example is the exceptional ruling in favor of an Amish farmer in Wisconsin who violated that state’s law on mandatory schooling for children up to the age of fifteen (Wisconsin v. Yoder, 1972). The sensible deduction from this case, and others like it, is that the state can permit exemptions to an essentially non-threatening sect like the Amish which does not challenge the federal policy of religious neutralization. As the late Allan Bloom observed, the majority of Americans who practice a form of nominal Protestantism have essentially "ceased to be Christian." Bloom believes, with good reason, that "most Americans who think that they are Christians truly are something else, intensely religious but devout in the American Religion."

In truth, Americans practice a religion that has little resemblance to historical Christianity and instead embodies Gnosticism, radical personal autonomy, and salvation unmediated by the Church. The result is that the majority pose no significant threat to the doctrine of the "unencumbered self," while traditional religious groups, both Catholic and non-Catholic, are marginalized. Though Craycraft does not say so, this marginalization of native Catholicism is presently carried out through neo-modernist clerics and lay leaders who have effectively turned the faith into a "voluntary creed," though the faith being what it is, tensions are not completely eradicated, nor will they ever be. Hence, Craycraft notes the furor which erupted over Cardinal O’Connor’s 1990 declaration in favor of excommunicating public figures who supported abortion. The media, representing the broad political consensus, charged that the Church was meddling in politics by pressuring Catholic politicians to adopt a stance in line with its teaching. Hence O’Connor was placing the Church above the democratic process and thereby acting in an unAmerican manner. These charges are no different in essence from the violent anti-Catholic Know-Nothingism of the 19th century. It is further proof of Craycraft’s thesis. Revealed doctrine cannot be reconciled to a liberal theory which, on the one hand, claims religious freedom yet sets the standards for which religions are deserving of that freedom. Absolute and universal tolerance does not exist.

The Meaning of Myth

Perhaps no greater service can be done today than to warn Catholics against adopting the cultural constructs and language of their opponents. Sadly, it is something they have done for many generations, and most especially since the 1960s. Such intellectual compromise is a surer means of defeat than the most violent assault by external enemies. Craycraft is merely echoing the admonition of Dr. John Rao’s brilliant essay "Why Catholics Cannot Defend Themselves." According to both men, conservatives are doomed to defeat when they try to "out-liberal" the liberals. The real coup takes place when the secularist forces his enemy to embrace the superficial definition of a word such as "tolerance," which has different definitions according to the object towards which it is applied. Conservatives feel compelled to be lenient towards liberal error even as liberals suppress traditional beliefs. The former accept pluralism at face value, as if it were really possible to achieve a sublime mediocrity in which everyone practices different creeds yet agrees on some set of "common values" which allows them to live in peace. Of course, the inherent contradictions of such a middle-of-the road position are obvious. One can no more take a stand on a vague secular ethical consensus than one can take a stand in mid air.

Despite the manifold evidence such as Craycraft provides, people will claim that daily hostility to organized religion on the part of judicial and legislative officials is actuall a betrayal of the Founders’ original intention. They say that "separation of Church and State" means "liberty for religion," not "from religion." It is, supposedly, the true genius of the pluralistic philosophy. Before proceeding to demonstrate that active secularization was the foundational intent, Craycraft discusses the point which is really at the heart of the decades-long debate over church-state relations—the pluralist myth which makes misperception on the part of conservatives possible.

A myth, says Craycraft, can be understood in two ways. First, as the ancient idea of mythos which is a set of rites, symbols and institutions that sustain a particular community. These things may not be absolutely true in themselves but do point to some greater underlying truth about a society. The other definition of myth is something false and deliberately deceptive. For Craycraft the American experiment in religious liberty is a myth in both senses.

It is a myth insofar as, despite its claims, the liberal idea of religious liberty as canalized in the First Amendment is a particular and exclusive understanding of religion, a particular story of what we Americans think—or ought to think—about religion and society. And it is a myth in the more popular sense that, insofar as it claims to protect religious freedom in its full and authentic sense, it is simply not true. Rather than protect authentic freedom of religious thought and practice... the American myth has given rise to a set of symbols, rites, and institutions which always subject religion to itself, and often positively hinder religious practice.... The American attempt to overcome political religious myth-making has not succeeded because it cannot succeed.

Based on this conclusion, the author categorically denies each of the following propositions: 1) the founding of the United States was essentially religious, and guided by Christian principles; 2) that even if strongly secular, the state affords an equal degree of security to religious and non-religious people alike; 3) that religious liberty is an obtainable arrangement in any society; and 4) that religious believers are best off in a regime which propagates religious indifference, or that such a regime is itself merely an enlightened product of Christianity. On the contrary:

The only definition of religious liberty in American political discourse is one that marginalizes, if not eradicates as a significant presence, orthodox religious belief. The American story is not interested in explicitly persecuting Christianity. Toleration is a much more effective means, especially if the liberal regime is successful in enlisting the support of Christians.

Founders' Intent

Craycraft tells us that the drive to invalidate orthodox faith ("encumbered self") and the gradual co-option and neutralization of religion are not new developments. The two men credited for creating and nurturing this doctrine in its American context are Thomas Jefferson and James Madison. Their mentor was the English rationalist philosopher, John Locke.

Madison's role, though consequential, is not as well known. As for Jefferson, it astonishing how any conservative can contend that the man was "religious" (in the Christian understanding of the word). Devout Protestants of the day cursed the Unitarian statesman as an "atheist." Jefferson reciprocated by damning all forms of revealed religion as obscurantism. Of the Catholic Church in particular he spoke of meddling priests and "monkish ignorance." Suffice it to say, the lasting accomplishment of the Virginia Deist in American politics, and the one he most wished to be remembered for, was the Virginia Statute on Religious Liberty. This law was the prototype for the First Amendment.

James Madison's influence was at least as decisive as Jefferson's. He not only supported the secularist ethos which underlies religious liberty but, more importantly, he used his mastery of the language to foist religious neutralization on a people which, Craycraft believes, still regarded themselves as essentially Christian. Madison advanced the secularist position in his famous Memorial and Remonstrance of 1785 (which opposed Patrick Henry's proposal of tax-funded religious institutions) and in the columns of the influential Federalist Papers. In 1819 he wrote that civil government "functions with complete success... by the total separation of the Church from the State."

Craycraft notes Madison's deliberate irony on religious matters. In this he was following the lead of John Locke (whose notions of widespread "religious tolerance" included no clemency for the suffering English Catholics of his time). The making of the Americanist myth is fully at work in Madison’s career. He knew that the proposition must not be too bluntly stated lest it rouse the latent opposition of the mass of practicing and nominal Protestants. Therefore he phrased the idea in such a way that it would settle comfortably in his listeners’ ears while still achieving his ultimate aim. In the end, explains Craycraft, Madison's delicacy and patience won out over the short-lived opposition of his more religious-minded compatriots.

Some have stubbornly maintained that what Madison and others were aiming at was not a negation of Christianity but simply "articles of peace" which would provide religious neutrality and avoid the sort of bloody conflicts which had so long ravaged Europe. Yet, as regards the Virginia politician's intent, there can be no doubt. If his well-known writings are not clear enough, we have access to his unpublished "Detached Memoranda" (made public in 1946). According to Craycraft, these "betray Madison's explicit hostility to institutional Christianity, and further reveal the theological and religious presuppositions behind his public documents." In his private writings he admits that he does not simply wish to "disestablish religion," but to actively curb and monitor it by taxing religious bodies so as to limit property-ownership to a bare minimum. By such means liberalism would truly equalize religious opinions, physically as well as legally. For all of the fine distinctions between American and French liberals, it was a scheme worthy of Robespierre.

Not Liberty But Neutralization

Madison’s ideas dovetailed nicely with Jefferson's belief that the ideal moral framework is one in which there is a vast proliferation of inconsequential denominations and independent churches, each competing with the next. "Freedom," Madison said, "arises from a multiplicity of sects." That is because no one body can attempt to impose orthodoxy upon another. Jefferson similarly opined that the best way "to silence religious disputes is to take no notice of them." It is further proof that the First Amendment achieves the gentle but certain neutralization of serious religious activity. Attentive study of the Founders' actions and beliefs makes clear that "freedom of religion" did indeed mean "freedom from religion," since the predominant views of the eighteenth century held that the only moral system entitled to respect was one entirely "rational" and voluntary. Revealed religion does not make the mark.

As for the Christian influence of men like Charles Carroll, the Catholic signer of the Declaration of Independence, it may well be that Carroll sincerely viewed the First Amendment as "terms of peace," alleviating decades-long oppression of his co-religionists and permitting the faith to develop unhindered by political considerations. This, Craycraft points out, was the perception of many ordinary Americans, but not that of key figures who shaped and implemented national policy. The actual course of American history, of which the current phase of obscene neo-paganism is an inextricable part, is indebted to the original plan to transform America into a deistic state. At best, sincere Christians have fought a rear-guard action in a battle they were meant to lose.

Locke and the Doctrine of Toleration

It is important to say something about the originator of the "religious liberty" within the English-speaking world, if only because some feel that there was an indirect orthodox influence on the Constitution via John Locke. The rather maddening claim is that the liberal philosopher perpetuated the traditional natural law tradition, albeit under a non-Catholic and rationalistic guise. This is a clear misreading of Locke, since his idea of "natural law" is merely a reiteration of the Hobbesian "law of nature." This latter holds that man, in a "state of nature," is inherently alienated and individualistic. Civil society (and by extension, religious association) are artificial constructs developed to maintain peace and foster social utility. Locke's idea involves a categorical denial of the classical theory of morality and politics as handed down by Aristotle and St. Thomas Aquinas. So much for the crypto-Scholasticism of John Locke.

The clear basis for the Jefferson-Madison neutralization of Christianity resides in Locke’s Letter Concerning Religious Toleration (1685). Cutting through the baroque idiom of the period, Craycraft offers a summary:

...Locke understood that orthodox Christianity (especially Roman Catholicism) is a natural enemy of the liberal regime. But since it was not possible to eliminate the political effects of such religion by force, Locke set out to do it by reason—by reducing "authentic" religion to a set of opinions whose adherents need not (indeed, must not) consider to be exclusively true. The exclusive truth that members of this regime must hold is that no religion possesses exclusive truth, or, perhaps, any truth at all. Any person or church which rejects this "truth" is a menace to the regime, and cannot reasonably expect unqualified toleration.

That is why Locke’s public opposition to freedom of worship for Catholics in 1667 is not a contradiction of, but totally in keeping with, the liberal dogma of religious liberty. Because "papists" were intolerant (they practiced an exclusive creed) they could not be tolerated. They advanced a belief, contrary to liberal-Whig position, of "encumbered selves" who would have an ethical commitment prior to the state.

Noting the impossibility of unqualified tolerance in any society, Craycraft goes on to assert that liberalism and Catholicism are actually alike in one key respect—both make claims to absolute truth. Unfortunately many believers today feel uncomfortable with such contentions, partly out of ignorance and partly out of indifference. It is nicer to maintain that the two creeds can affect a modus vivendi, even if one condemns the increasingly "elitist" and "intolerant" stance of politically correct secularism. One likes to deny that the Church itself has always been "elitist" and "intolerant." Such terms, of course, stick in one's craw. That is because liberals provide double-think definitions to serve their own agenda, in which "anti-elitism" really means totalitarian control and "free speech" equals social and economic censorship of undesirable views. Indicative of the real intentions of liberal doctrine, Craycraft cites two recent exponents of Lockean "tolerance"—Francis Fukiyama (The End of History and the Last Man, 1992) and Stephen Carter (The Culture of Disbelief, 1993). Both men envision a humanist republic in which "religion" plays an active role, but only so long as it is subsumed under the monistic order in which traditional beliefs, particularly orthodox Roman Catholicism, are eliminated (Fukiyama says so openly, while Carter broadly hints at it in his condemnations of Pat Buchanan).

The Murray Dilemma

For all the concentrated force of Craycraft's study, its impact is lessened by a protracted deflection into the neo-modernism of John Courtney Murray. To his credit, Craycraft’s approval of Murray is far from unqualified. He criticizes the liberal priest’s reading of the First Amendment as "articles of peace." It is not, says Craycraft, that Murray believed the Founders intended it to act as such, but the cleric felt that Catholics could nevertheless appropriate the language to their own ends and make use of religious freedom as if it did mean exactly that. According to The American Myth, such an optimistic theory must be held dubious at best. Unaccountably, Craycraft maintains that Murray's reasoning was essentially sound, even though the brief remainder of the priest's career (he died in 1967) reveals an increasing radicalization of his teaching which ended in proposing dialogue with Marxists and asserting that civil society, not the Church, was ultimate arbiter of contemporary ethical norms.

It is true that preliminary to the Council, Fr. Murray advanced orthodox arguments in favor of the Church's prior claim to religious liberty ("freedom for the Church") and the obligation of individuals to respond to its call to conservation and salvation. But that merely clouds the issue. He makes assertions that, if not in open contradiction to, nevertheless tend towards a liberal humanist rendering of freedom of conscience and freedom of religion. It is the kernel of the modernist falsehood—a theory containing both truth and error, and thus advancing error in a more subtle and unimpeded manner than would blatant heresy. To say that Murray was "conservative" relative to the liberation theologians of the 1970s is meaningless.

As noted above, Craycraft tells us that the First Amendment cannot be treated as a fundamental dictate with reference only to itself. It must be judged by an unchanging and objective standard as established by true religion. Unfortunately, Craycraft appears guilty of the very mindset he condemns when he adopts a rationale towards Murray's writing and the Council as if these things were primary sources of authority, carrying with them doctrinal status. One would have preferred that he had drawn the logical comparison between Dignitatis Humanae and the writings of Madison, in which radical ends are advanced in moderate and vague terminology.

Opportunism Rebounds

The crux of the Murrayite thesis (as contained in We Hold These Truths) can be summed up not so much as a formal rejection of the Church as repository of truth but as a pragmatic or utilitarian compromise in the face of the reality of the pluralist society. Religious freedom "is not a per se good for Murray; it is an exigent one."

It would have made Craycraft's job far easier, and his analysis less tangential, had he simply placed Murray within the greater context of the Americanist error. Other questions, such as prudential implementation of Church policy, non-coercion (in matters of religious conversion), and natural law considerations, are extremely interesting and Craycraft does a good job handling them. Nevertheless, they are secondary to the main point of the magisterial view on church-state relations.

Prior to Vatican II, the proper role of these relations had been explicitly enunciated in the ex cathedra statements of Gregory XVI (Mirari Vos), followed by Pius IX (Quanta Cura and the Syllabus of Errors). These pronouncements, quite unlike the tortuous language of the Council, were entirely consistent with themselves and with Catholic teaching as a whole. They commanded without exception that the state has the duty to recognize and protect true religion. Further, no society can say that man has an inherent right to be indifferent to the Church's claims. But the problem in this country was not one of theory but implementation. So, rather than implement it, however gradually, the theory was ignored.

The American hierarchy, which had made concessions to the First Amendment from the outset, largely committed itself to a "neutralist" position. In other words, they advanced Murray's expedient of pragmatism long before Murray. Compromise was a matter of convenience. This tactic sought to put off, if not completely obviate, the unavoidable conflict between pluralism and the Catholic faith. Thus, by the time Fr. Murray deliberated upon the matter in the 1950s, there was an underlying tension which had never been resolved and had never gone away.

Murray was honest enough to see that it could not be suppressed indefinitely and demanded a clear settlement. The old tactic of sublime apathy could not endure. The logical answer was that American thought had to be brought in line with the Magisterium. Yet Murray ingenuously sought a "third option," neither ignoring nor conforming to Catholic doctrine. He went about restating the Magisterium in a manner that appeared to justify Americanism and religious liberty. Only in this way can we begin to understand what went on, first in Murray's mind, and then in the minds of the leading modernists at the Council.

On a superficial level the clerical progressives, including Murray, said they acknowledged the legitimacy of the confessional state. Yet whether advancing the confessional state or the indifferentist one, the criterion of value offered was that of historical conditions, not a moral absolute. In other words, if a Catholic state already exists, that is fine, but if a non-Catholic state exists, that is also acceptable. No longer would the Vatican encourage every nation to become a Catholic state. It is, of course, merely a type of relativism which says, as Murray did indeed say, that while certain principles may be true in principle they cannot be realized in fact. Look where Murray's "pragmatism" has lead us.

All so-called practical approaches ultimately serve some ideal, even if that ideal is purely shallow and materialistic. Murray's pragmatism does serve some principal. But it is a principal other than that of the Church, which is to "Go into the whole world and preach the gospel to every creature" (Mark 16:15). Murrayism is the handmaid of pluralism, not evangelization.

Relevancy Made Irrelevant

The almost instantaneous fall-out from the Vatican's outward abandonment of the magisterial teaching on the duties of state to religion hardly needs elaboration. Under the aegis of Dignitatis Humanae the majority of bishops have handed the initiative to the prevailing naturalist regime and washed their hands of Catholic social teaching. Many pundits, from George Neumayr to Pat Buchanan, have observed that "relevancy" renders Catholicism completely irrelevant in the eyes of the world. The sad reality has been noted not only by traditionalists, but a growing number of conservative Catholic writers like James Fitzpatrick of Catholic Exchange.

It is interesting that Craycraft's acceptance of Dignitatis Humanae is diffident. There is an unacknowledged disharmony between an integral understanding of religious liberty, which he so fearlessly articulates, and the "official" contemporary stance of the Church. The upshot is a pessimistic notion of church-state relations that verges on a form of quietism, in which the Church must abandon its political involvement and concern itself solely with influencing society through spiritual means. Craycraft asserts that the alternative—official recognition of our religion by the state, starting with the supposedly ill-fated sanction of Christianity by Constantine in 313 A.D.—must entail widespread corruption and diminution of the Church’s role of spreading the faith. Such a view seems born more of reactive, if understandable, cynicism than sober historical consideration.

Even if the perfect church-state relationship is never to be obtained, at least the effort to do so achieved a very high standard in centuries past. After all, the Spanish Catholic monarchy of the 16th century set about colonizing the New World with conversion of souls as its stated primary intention. Whatever baser motives might have been in the minds of some Conquistadors, the fact is that millions of indigenous peoples were baptized just at the very moment when much of northern Europe was apostatizing (and, by the way, overthrowing the social and political authority of Catholicism). Today, in compliance with the new pragmatist dictate, which accepts the pluralist state as the norm, those areas won to the Church at such great cost are falling away completely.

Final Assessment

The answers to the Conciliar dilemma, and its unique non-dogmatic status, have been ably dealt with by writers like Michael Davies and Romano Amerio and need not be detailed here. Nevertheless, one feels that that Mr. Craycraft could have spared himself a great deal of grief if, instead of relying on John Courtney Murray as an authority on American religious liberty, he had turned to that unsung hero of anti-modernism, Msgr. Joseph Fenton.

Fr. Fenton was a determined opponent of the Murrayite view, who engaged in a running debate with the liberals in the years leading up to the Council. In a last ditch attempt to forestall the Americanist triumph, Fr. Fenton insisted that Church teaching

bears not the slightest resemblance to the explanation in We Hold These Truths [by Murray]. It is not a matter of Catholic politic or of Catholic tactic, but a matter of Christian doctrine, that in itself and objectively the state or civil society is obligated to give public and corporate worship to God, to pay to God the debt of acknowledgement due to Him because of His supreme excellence and because of our complete dependence upon Him. Under certain circumstances the payment of this debt may be impossible, but in any event it is definitely not a good or desirable thing to have any state withhold from God the payment of the debt of religion which is due to God.

The flaws noted in this review by no means negate the power of Craycraft's groundbreaking work. It is the most honest assessment of the church-state issue to be published, outside of traditional circles, since the articles of Msgr. Fenton. The mere fact it has seen the light of day establishes an important and precedent-setting step. Such a step, once made, cannot easily be retracted.

Despite its ambiguity on the question of Murray and the Council, The American Myth inclines more to the orthodox viewpoint than the prevailing neo-modernist one, while the chapters discussing American political and cultural concerns are irreproachable. One is inclined to agree with the critic from the Intercollegiate Studies Institute who said that the upshot of his analysis must necessarily be "a return to the old pre-Conciliar view."


Matthew Anger is a freelance Catholic journalist who writes on historical and literary subjects. He lives with his wife and seven children in the Richmond, Virginia area.

Originally published at Seattle Catholic.

SOURCES:
1 Craycraft, Kenneth R. Jr., The American Myth of Religious Freedom. Dallas: Spence Publishing Company, 1999.
2 D'Elia, Donald J., The Spirits of '76, A Catholic Inquiry. Christendom Publications, 1983.
3 Fenton, Msgr. Joseph, "Doctrine and Tactic in Catholic Pronouncements on Church and State," American Ecclesiastical Review, October 1961.
4 Murray, John Courtney, "Religious Freedom," Freedom and Man. New York: P. J. Kennedy and Sons, 1965.
5 Murray, John Courtney, We Hold These Truths, Catholic Reflections on the American Proposition. New York: Sheed and Ward, 1960.
6 Rao, Dr. John C., Americanism and the Collapse of the Church in the United States and "Why Catholics Cannot Defend Themselves". William Marra, 1995.

By Matthew M. Anger

It was a forwarded article from a relative. It told of a new French documentary by Pierre Rehov, Suicide Killers, making the politically incorrect link between Muslim theology and terrorism. Rehov referred to Islam as a "culture of hatred in which the uneducated are brainwashed to a level where their only solution in life becomes to kill themselves and kill others in the name of a God whose word... has became their only certitude." But there was a fly in the ointment. For, according to Rehov, Islamic violence is really the product of sexually-repressed Muslim males. "The separation between men and women in Islam is absolute," he says. "This leads to a situation of pure anxiety, in which normal behavior is not possible. It is no coincidence that suicide killers are mostly young men dominated subconsciously by an overwhelming libido that they not only cannot satisfy but are afraid of." Thus we are confronted with the only permissible critique that a sex-obsessed world has to offer.

Rehov's thesis was no doubt inspired by prize-winning French novelist Michel Houellebecq, who opined that Islam is "the stupidest religion," along with some more obscene observations about the followers of Mohammed. In his pornographic story Platform (2001), for example, Houellebecq pits attractive Western hedonists against bloodthirsty Muslims driven by what he sees as moral fanaticism. The novelist was barely cleared in 2002 by a Paris court of committing "hate crimes." But as journalists were quick to remark, Houellebecq was an equal opportunity bigot, having expressed his disdain for all monotheistic creeds.

Cynical Amoralizing

The linkage of "virtue" to evil is not a new one. Houellebecq's is simply a new variation on this theme. Back in the Cold War, there were libertines (conservative and liberal) who opposed Communism simply for its "puritanism," ranking all forms of morality as thought-control. They no doubt felt vindicated when the mobs pouring over the Berlin Wall in 1989 made a beeline not for grocery stores or fashion outlets, but for adult bookstores.

Houellebecq is not the only fashionable Western amoralist. There is the late Theo Van Gogh — Netherlands' "Michael Moore" — best known for his savage death at the hands of Mohammed Bouyeri in November 2004. One also recalls Louis-Ferdinand Céline, author of aimless, erotic novels like Journey to the End of the Night, who was a rabid anti-Semite and collaborator with the Nazis in occupied France. These men share a sense of frustration with contemporary society, often mocking mainstream ideals. But, like all post-Modernists, they do not even attempt a real spiritual solution, preferring a chaotic individualism that expresses itself in despair.

Houellebecq waxes obscene about the frustration of Western men with their feminist counterparts, and their quest for sexual partners in the Orient. Yet his characters are haunted by futility. They are satiated with monotonous indulgence at clubs and nudist colonies, when not having endless affairs. Characters are always on the brink of achieving fulfillment when it is suddenly snatched away by disease, suicide, accidents or, in the case of Platform, by terror attacks by Islamic fundamentalists. In this respect, the novel was unintentionally prophetic, portraying terror bombings on sex tourism centers like the ones that occurred in Bali in 2002. But Houellebecq's answer is more of the same. As seen through the eyes of the main character:

Michel doesn't like capitalism much himself (the West has created a system that reeks of "egoism, masochism and death," he thinks gloomily, "and we keep on exporting it"), but he'll take it over Islam any day.

The Evil that "Good" Men Do

To people of Houellebecq's contrarian mindset, it is virtue that produces vice. Muslim men are abnormal because of strict codes on sexual, and other, behavior. Take that away and they would become charming and inoffensive epicureans. According to Brendan Bernhard's summary in the LA Times:

Michel meets a Jordanian banker who has a theory about why certain Muslim fundamentalists are so hostile to the American way of life. Their secret dream, he tells Michel over a beer, is to become a part of it themselves, and their aggression is a symptom of impotent envy. As for the paradise promised by the prophet, the problem for Muslims is that you don't need to die to find it. "There are places on this earth where available and lascivious girls dance for the pleasure of men, where one can get drunk while listening to heavenly music," he says. "There are twenty such places within a five-hundred-meter radius of this hotel. These places are easily accessible, and to enter them you don't need to fulfill the Muslim's seven duties or dedicate oneself to a Holy War; all you have to do is pay a few dollars."

Such flippancy exudes a certain charm for the indolent. But there are just a few holes in this argument. According to criminological and psychological studies, sexually explicit entertainment is closely linked to violent behavior. One recalls the testimonies of serial killers Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer. Utah child killer Gary Bishop admitted some years ago that, "I am a homosexual pedophile convicted of murder. Pornography was a determining factor in my downfall ... For me, pornography was like lighting a fuse on a stick of dynamite. I became stimulated and had to gratify my urges or explode."

Nor are killers on a wider scale necessarily diverted by sexual freedom. It is often posited that political leaders who lack inhibitions are less likely to channel their urges into violent directions. Unfortunately, this overlooks the fact that Hitler had Eva Braun and Stalin went through a number of mistresses. And it need not be mentioned how many human beings in recent decades have been terminated in the quest for "safe sex." Hedonism has a darker side as well.

Dysfunctional Creeds

That is not to deny that the voluptuaries are, in their rather warped way, onto something. Filmmaker Theo van Gogh, before he was shot and hacked to death by an Islamic fanatic in broad daylight, detailed the stories of Muslim women in Holland who were beaten, raped and forced into marriage. Sexual slavery, including harems, is a persistent and entrenched practice in the Islamic world. So is temporary marriage (as found in Iran, which permits "licit" shacking-up). Even in the afterlife Islam makes explicit promises about fleshly delights. No doubt this is the basis for a long tradition of erotic story-telling in Islam as found in The Thousand and One Nights and The Perfumed Garden. It is ironic to see people like van Gogh condemn Islam because of its intolerance of homosexuality and feminism. Yet liberals generally seem happy to overlook such apparent shortcomings, hating Christianity more than its rivals.

Unfortunately, Playboy ethicists, on both the left and the right, do little to inspire opposition to Muslim zeal. Nor is the idea that Islam poses a principled challenge to the decadent West exclusively confined to Allah's adherents. There are those (like the aforementioned Céline) who favor nihilistic ideologies, including fascism. But whether Muslim or agnostic, the problem stems from non-Christian views of morality which focus purely on externals. In the case of Houellebecq, it is a superficial appreciation of terror and its causes — i.e., "fundamentalism" as opposed to "liberating" profligacy. For other simplifiers, it is a totalitarian ethic.

Undoubtedly, moral frustration does play a role in the contradictory faith of the Koran. Muslim terrorists simultaneously acknowledge sin while suppressing their own consciences. It is part of an age-old tradition of cloaking self-indulgence under sanctimonious activity. Marx and Mohammad have come to tell us that it is okay to "hate your neighbor" in the name of the higher cause. They also share the belief that vice, as they define it, can be eradicated or ignored through the institutions they have established.

Vice and Virtue Defined

It is said that in this life, all men agree on the ends; they disagree on the means. In that all men want happiness (as Aristotle states), this is certainly true. But how one defines this "happiness" makes a difference. Consider the methods used by followers of messianic creeds who think that they can buy a quick ticket to heaven — be that heaven in this world or the next. Sins are "cleansed" away by "what we are" and not what we do. It is adherence to the Party Chairman, the Jihad, or sola fide that makes us "pure." In such manner Mohammed Atta and his co-terrorists, having partaken of such Western vices as drinking and frequenting striptease bars, could make up for their indulgence through an act of "martyrdom." They also made use of pornographic chat rooms to post their covert instructions to one another. The ends justified the means.

That still leaves us with the hedonist allegation that evil is tied to an ill-defined "fundamentalism" (i.e., strong moral beliefs). It is true that ethical structures can be warped, but only so long as they are subjective. Virtue does not lead to vice, and vice certainly does not lead to virtue. The Western system of objective ethical norms, espoused by the ancients and embraced by the Catholic Church, denies that virtue can be validated on an individual, emotive basis. Rather, that is the error of moral rebels, and the basis of all crimes.

Totalitarians partake of all the transgressions valued by Western liberals even if they cloak and "justify" them in other ways. Yet individualists really only differ in their choice of methods. Houellebecq and Atta, for example, both want their unfettered sex. Likewise, fanatical hedonists and Muslims share a craven ruthlessness in striving to maintain their artificial structures of reality: Houellebecq rejoices every time he hears that a Palestinian child is "gunned down in the Gaza Strip," while Muslim militants find it necessary to behead Christian schoolgirls in Indonesia. In neither case have these men understood the true meaning of morality and virtue.


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Matthew Anger is a freelance journalist who has written essays on history, philosophy and literature from a Catholic perspective. He lives with his wife and eight children in the Richmond, Virginia area, where he is employed as a web/multimedia designer. In addition to Seattle Catholic, he contributes to The Latin Mass and Homiletic & Pastoral Review. He also maintains Imlac's Journal, a philosophical blog.