This past week brought a number of interesting stories about the opposition within the Church set against Benedict XVI. In particular, I am thinking of Fr. Neuhaus’ article in First Things, on which Diogenes commented, and the reports circulating about the difficulties in translations, remarked, among other things, by Sandro Magister. Magister also explains how the Neocatechumenal Way is proceeding apace in full blown dissent over the liturgical corrections recently issed to them by Cardinal Arinze in the name of the Holy Father. Though they were told to stop their aberrant (and abhorrent) liturgies, they’ve chosen to imitate the Jesuits, who respond to papal directives by explaining how they were in compliance all along. Which tactic, in turn, reminds one of the bishops, who said the same thing when Redemptionis Sacramentum came out, as well as more recently with the instruction about homosexuals and the priesthood.

There’s something of a pattern here, no? We seem to have a little problem with obedience on our hands. Yet while our hands don’t look too clean, the Supreme Pontiff might take a moment to consider his own manus.

Romano Amerio speaks of a breviatio manus Domini, a foreshortening of the hand of the Lord, in connection with the Roman pontiff since the time of the Council. In other words, there has occurred a self-imposed limitation upon the power of governance. Amerio writes:

“Now, the peculiar feature of the pontificate of Paul VI was the tendency to shift the papacy from governing to admonishing or, in scholastic terminology, to restrict the field of preceptive law, which imposes an obligation, and to enlarge the field of directive law, which formulates a rule without imposing any obligation to observe it. [Sound familiar?] The government of the Church thus loses half its scope, or to put it biblically, the hand of the Lord is foreshortened. This breviatio manus can have several causes: an imperfect understanding of the evils to be dealt with, a lack of moral strength, or even a prudential calculation that to set one’s hand to correct the admitted evils would not cure them but only make them worse” (#65).

At some point, some pontiff, if not Benedict, then another, will have to take a stand. He will have to restore the penalties which normally come to the disobedient. It cannot be business as usual, as it has been for the past several decades. Benedict has a few more teeth than did John Paul, but the elevation of Levada and then the appoint of Niederaurer to replace Levada looked disappointingly like business as usual: they may not be evil men, but they won’t get the bad guys gone, nor the good done. I hope that I’m wrong about them, of course, but they have a long track record that is not impressive.

Amerio says: “Two things are needed to maintain truth. First: remove the error from the doctrinal sphere, which is done by refuting erroneous arguments and showing that they are not convincing. Second: remove the person in error, that is depose him from office, which is done by an act of the Church’s authority. If this pontifical service is not performed, it would seem unjustified to say that all means have been used to maintain the doctrine of the Church: we are in the presence of a breviatio manus Domini.”

The latter admonition applies, for example, to the entire Society of Jesus as it exists today: shut them up or shut them down, but their continued disobedience and agitation on behalf wicked causes has got to come to an end. “The general effect of a renunciation of authority is to bring authority into disrepute and to lead it to be ignored by those who are subject to it, since a subject cannot hold a higher view of authority than authority holds of itself. One French archbishop said: ‘Today the Church no longer has to teach, command and condemn, but to help men to live and develop.’ ”

But to reverse this policy will require courage as well as something of a repudiation of the Conciliar spirit. Amerio explains that the “origin of this whole breviatio manus lies quite clearly in the opening speech of the Second Vatican Council, which announced an end to the condemnation of error, a policy which was maintained by Paul VI throughout the whole of his pontificate. As a teacher, he held to the traditional formulas expressing the orthodox faith, but as a pastor, he did not prevent the free circulation of unorthodox ideas, assuming that they would of themselves eventually take an orthodox form and become compatible with truth. Errors were identified and the Catholic faith reiterated, but specific persons were not condemned for their erroneous teaching, and the schismatic situation in the Church was disguised and tolerated.”

Amerio drives home the point in a later section (#68):

“Error contains within itself the means of its own correction, and there is no need to assist the process: it is enough to let it unfold, and it will correct itself. Charity is held to be synonymous with tolerance, indulgence takes precedence over severity, the common good of the ecclesial community is overlooked in the interests of a misused individual liberty, the sensus logicus and the virtue of fortitude proper to the Church are lost. The reality is that the Church ought to preserve and defend the truth with all the means available to a perfect society.”

Magister and Neuhaus are right to note all of the bad guys out there who are interested in everything but obedience to the Supreme Pontiff, but to be fair observers of the situation, we should remember that we are living with the consequences of a Conciliar leitmotif: we do not condemn and we do not hinder the freedom of persons in any way. Some pontiff will have to breakout of that crippling situation, and I hope that it is Benedict. How he decides to handle the disobedience he has now encountered will have an impact on the disobedience he will face in the future.

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