"He has much talent, and a gentle, fine character. I am convinced that he will delight you." ~ a brief bio of Rev. Joseph Coolidge Shaw

Painting of Rev. Joseph Coolidge Shaw, uncle of Civil War hero, Col. Robert Gould Shaw.

The top spot on my rankings of Civil War movies alternates between two classics: Clint Eastwood's The Outlaw Josie Wales, and Glory, which features an all-star cast including Denzel Washington, Morgan Freeman, Carey Elwes and Matthew Broderick. We re-watched both within the past week.

Of the two, I think Glory is the more intriguing if only because it portrays the deeds of true Civil War heroes: Col. Robert Gould Shaw and the 54th Massachusetts Regiment. After watching it this time, I was inspired to dig a little deeper on Shaw to see what made him tick. What made a Boston brahmin, the scion of one of the wealthiest families in New England at the time, decide to take up the decidedly unglamorous post of leading the Union's first Black regiment? Particularly, I wanted to see if he had any connection at all to the Catholic Church.

As I normally do, I started with his Wikipedia entry. Upon reading it, I had a momentary thrill of discovery: the entry seemed to indicate that Shaw had converted to Catholicism during a trip to Europe! But alas, this was nothing more than imprecise wording in the Wiki entry—a sadly common occurrence that even threw off the chat-bot I asked to confirm this improbable fact. Lo and behold, after some more in-depth reading, it became clear that Robert Gould Shaw had not converted to Catholicism.

It seems that the Wiki entry was referring to Shaw's paternal uncle, Joseph Coolidge Shaw. It was Uncle Coolidge who had converted to Catholicism, not his famous nephew. But my disappointment was soon tempered after delving into the life of Joseph Coolidge Shaw and finding out what an absolutely fascinating fellow he was. 

As a member of the mid-19th century Boston elite, Coolidge Shaw (as he was known) grew up surrounded by the bright, the brilliant, and the bountiful. Born in 1821 to Robert Shaw, Sr. and Elizabeth Parkman, Coolidge was first cousin to Francis Parkman who would go on to write one of the classic histories of colonial North America, the seven volume France and England in North America. 

Coolidge was apparently very well-liked by his contemporaries, some of whom would, like his cousin Francis, go on to become quite famous. His name appears surrounded by laudatory glow in a letter from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow to Julie Hepp of Heidelberg, Germany. 

Dearest Friend,

The bearer of this letter is Mr. Shaw of Boston. He will spend the winter in Heidelberg; and I know of no greater pleasure to arrange for him there than your acquaintance. He is from a very respectable family; has much talent, and a gentle, fine character. I am convinced that he will delight you. [The Letters of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, September 28, 1840]

Coolidge Shaw did go to Germany, but not to delight young women, apparently. Rather, he found himself unexpectedly delighted by that bugbear of the English-speaking world of his day—Roman Catholicism. While sojourning in Germany, Coolidge encountered Frederick William Faber, a leading light in the Oxford Movement. Though still an Anglican at the time, Faber influenced Shaw toward Catholicism. Not long afterward, Shaw was baptized a Catholic in Rome by Charles Cardinal Acton. 

It seems that converting to Catholicism met with a very negative reaction in the generally anti-Papist circles Coolidge inhabited in New England. An indication of this may be found in a letter his cousin, Francis Parkman, wrote to his mother while visiting Rome "in the midst of the fooleries of Holy Week." After making some additional snide comments about Catholic practices, Parkman writes: “You will perceive from the tenor of my remarks that the farce of Coolidge Shaw has not been reenacted in my person.” [The Letters of Francis Parkman, April 5, 1844]

It should be recalled that Coolidge's conversion happened as a time when the violently anti-Catholic Know Nothings were reaching the pinnacle of their popularity in the United States. However, it seems that neither popular opinion, nor the mocking disapproval of family and friends could discourage Coolidge. He pressed on with his newfound Faith, and with the zeal of the newly converted, attempted to convince his relations to join him in the Catholic Church. Less than two years after Parkman's letter to his mother above, we find Coolidge attempting to convince his cousin (and his uncle) of the virtues of Catholicism:

Do you think you shall stick to the Law, or cut it in a year to give yourself completely to history? I am glad you have taken this term for we want literary men, and a fair historian is a great desideratum….It was history made Hunter a Catholic; and I think if you continue it, it will make you one; …Remember me with all love to Uncle Francis…Tell him we are now studying the treatise De Trinitate [by St. Augustine of Hippo], which I think, if he read it, would convince him that our Lord is not over well pleased at being stripped of his Divinity and only honored as man when he ought to be worshiped as a God. [Sedgwick, American Men of Letters: Francis Parkman, Letter from Joseph Coolidge Shaw to Francis Parkman, from Rome, November 16, 1845].

At about the same time, we find him corresponding with another well-known New England convert, Orestes Brownson of Vermont. This letter gives a window into Coolidge Shaw's deepening Catholic conviction, along with hints as to where this conviction might be leading. We also again see his interest in not only converting his family to the faith, but in developing a strategy whereby Catholic belief could be introduced to all his New England neighbors in a persuasive way:

As you may suppose, a second year’s experience of religion, and that too in the very centre of Catholicity, has only served to ground me more firmly in the faith, and to fill me with an ever increasing longing for the time when I shall be prepared to go on His mission who alone I love, and teach others to love Him; for it seems to me that we to whom God has shown such unspeakable mercy are in a peculiar manner commissioned, like his great precursor, to go before the face of the Lord and prepare His ways….And oh, pray God for me, that I may not be unmindful of His Call.

     I do not know our people as well as I could wish, for I left home at 19, passed more than three years abroad, and spent the 10 months after my return for the most part quietly at Cambridge. I should think, however, that though they may be more ignorant of the Catholic religion than any other part of the country, and on that account may seem farthest from it, they have, nevertheless, more solidity, more sound principle, and more good will, than either the South or the West, and hence would make better and more earnest converts than those who appear at first sight to be of a more generous nature, for I am inclined to think much of the warmth at the South mere impulse and climate. But my intercourse in Boston, etc., has been chiefly with Episcopalians, Unitarians, and infidels, who are, I imagine, a much better set than the Presbyterian and Methodist part of the community. I wish you would give me some more correct information as to the different sects, and to the general spirit of the N. E. people. The Unitarians, infidels, etc., the most sensible, decidedly, are best acted upon by sound reasoning; the others, I suppose, by the Bible, and by church history. Is it not so? [Orestes Brownson's Middle Life: 1845-1855, p. 65-66, Letter from 

Coolidge Shaw to Orestes Brownson from Tivoli, Italy, October 14, 1845]

Coolidge Shaw's passion for his Catholic faith was not just a passing fancy. In 1847, he was ordained a Catholic priest. By that time, most of his family had come to terms with their eccentric relation's religious direction. Regarding the ordination, Shaw would write in his diary:

The ordination was a species of triumph for the Church in Boston, not of course as regards me personally, but from the circumstances of my family, etc. My Father and Mother who were present themselves at the three ordinations invited a great many of their friends, & especially at the last ordination the church was full of Protestants, & the papers talked a good deal of the matter. [Donovan, Joseph Coolidge Shaw: Boston yankee, Jesuit, early Boston College patron, p. 4]

His amiable nature and familiarity with New England allowed Fr. Shaw to break barriers. He was apparently the first priest to celebrate Mass in Brattleboro, Vermont in the autumn of 1848:

Mass was celebrated for the first time in Brattleboro in the early autumn of 1848, by Reverend Joseph Coolidge Shaw of Boston, under a tree on the Wood farm in the presence of fifty or sixty worshipers. Father Shaw had come to take the water-cure. [Cabot, Annals of Brattleboro, 1681-1895, p. 649].

Not long after this time, Fr. Shaw spent some time at Fordham University in New York. It was also at about this time that he was somehow able to convince his brother, Francis Shaw, to send young Robert Gould Shaw then aged 12 to boarding school at Fordham. But while Coolidge would thrive at Fordham, young Robert had a miserable time. His letters home during this time include some rather typical pre-teen angst, including the following:

"I hate it like everything."

"I'd rather do anything than stay here."

"My old teacher scolded me to-day because I didn't do something he didn't tell me to do, and I hate him."

"I wish you hadn't sent me here." [Fordham Prep Hall of Honor page]

Robert only lasted a year at Fordham, retreating at last to the bosom of his family which was about to embark on an extended European tour. He would spend the next two years at a boarding school in Switzerland. As a result, he would not be present for the denouement of his uncle's short life.

God in His providence would see fit to limit Fr. Shaw's life on this earth. Following his stint at Fordham, Fr. Shaw decided to seek admittance to the Society of Jesus. Accepted as a novice, he entered the novitiate in Frederick, Maryland in September of 1850. His time there would be short. Though always in excellent health, he became ill around Christmas of 1850. A passage in Brownson's Middle Life explains what happened next:

...[T]he Novitiate catching fire, Shaw was the first to mount the roof, and receiving buckets of water, handed up by the other novices, succeeded in extinguishing the flames. It was a cold evening and probably Shaw’s clothing was more or less wet; but he returned, as he was, to the usual exercises of the community until the regular bed-time. This exposure brought on an attack of pleurisy, from which he was delivered only by death a little later. [Orestes Brownson's Middle Life: 1845-1855, p. 63]

In the 1850s, deaths at age 30 were sadly not uncommon. Even so, and despite Fr. Shaw being the black sheep of his family, he would be sincerely and universally mourned following his passing. A sermon given by Unitarian minister Ephraim Peabody gives a beautiful illustration of the man whose virtues were recognized even by those whom he had theologically abandoned:

A few years ago, there was one among you, a youth nurtured in the same schools with yourselves, your companion and friend; having in his own heart those gifts which win the hearts of others. A few years went by, and you knew of him as one passing through dark struggles of the mind, but through them reaching repose and peace: you knew of him as making those sacrifices of his sense of duty, which to the gentle and affectionate are the true martyrdom. A few years more passed, and he was again among you, a living and saintly example of devotion to the works of mercy and love—a short season more, and his life sank peacefully away. Where lay the charm of that life? And what took from that death all that lends death terror? It is answered in a single word, and that word is fidelity. Fidelity to his own convictions of duty, fidelity to God, laboring faithfully where he felt himself called to labor. ["Father Joseph Coolidge Shaw: A Memorial Sketch" as found in Woodstock Letters, p. 449]

Coolidge Shaw's death and memory was not the end of his legacy. During his three month long illness, when it became apparent that he should not recover, Father Shaw dictated his last will to a friend. In that will, he would set aside about $4,000—a gift from his father at his ordination—along with his valuable collection of books gathered while traveling Europe—more than 1,500 volumes—for the foundation of a Jesuit University in Boston. That institution would not emerge for another twelve years when Fr. John McElroy, SJ would found Boston College. Fr. Shaw's bequest would make him BC's first benefactor.

As an alum of BC myself, this came as a surprise. It was even more of a surprise to find out that Shaw House on campus was named for him. During my tenure at BC, I never heard his name mentioned once, even though I spent a summer working in the Burns Library and archives. Sadly, that kind of muting of the history of the illustrious religious men who helped found the University was typical of my experience there. 

But if those who benefited from Fr. Shaw's bequest too soon forgot about him, his nephew, Robert Gould Shaw apparently did not. While serving in the Army of the Potomac in the opening months of the Civil War, Robert Shaw relates this charming anecdote of a visit to his uncle's gravesite in Frederick, MD:

Camp near Darnestown
September 3, 1861

Dear Father,

Yesterday, Harry and I got 24 hours leave of absence and drove over to Frederick. We went to the Seminary and saw Uncle Coolidge’s portrait & grave. He has a Jesuit’s dress & the miniature I think has a cassock with buttons down the front. They treated us very well and got permission for us to visit the convent which was very interesting. The nuns, who never go out, and the pupils too, though they cleared the way for us with precipitation, were inquisitive enough to peek out of the windows as we went along the gallery. [Duncan: Blue-Eyed Child of Fortune, p. 135]

I was able to track down an online copy of this portrait mentioned by Robert Gould Shaw above (I think) on the findagrave.com website here and have included a detail from the portrait at the top of this post. The Boston College website also includes an image of what may be the miniature. I have included this at right. The miniature image is used to promote membership in the Shaw Society which encourages alumni, parents and friends to remember the university in their estate planning. 

Given the not-especially-Catholic state of BC in particular, and Jesuit institutions more generally these days, one is forced to wonder whether such a gift is a wise investment for a faithful Catholic or whether it will be used in the spirit of Father Shaw's original bequest.

Let us pray for the repose of Father Joseph Coolidge Shaw's soul.

Let us pray for the repose of Col. Robert Gould Shaw's soul, and the souls of all the men of the 54th Massachusetts.

Let us pray for the renewal of Jesuit educational institutions, that Christ may lead them away from the crass worldliness that infects them, back to grounding young people in the Gospel, which was the founding vision of men like Father Joseph Coolidge Shaw.

"I wished to see a king, not corpses." ~ Achilles, Alexander, Augustus and the historian as transmitter of heroic virtue

Detail from Augustus Caesar visits the tomb of Alexander the Great by French artist Lionel Royer (1878).

The dominant literary culture of the late 20th century loved to tear down the heroes of the past, focusing almost entirely on their flaws while belittling the virtues, beliefs, and deeds that made them worthy of admiration in the first place. I have written about this annoying tendency previously on several occasions, including here and here.

In our own time, we are afflicted with a slightly different problem: cultural arbiters who know almost nothing about the great men and women who went before them, save the cherry-picked anecdotes that magically seem to support their political cause of the moment. It has recently gotten to the point where these intellectually vacuous creatures have become parodies of historians and educators, rhetorically incapable of discerning even between men and women, let alone moral and immoral behavior.

But let us not be lulled into the belief that it was always this way. 

Until fairly recently, it was considered one of the primary duties of the historian to exalt the brilliant words and actions of the good and great, offering them up to subsequent generations as worthy of emulation. Whatever foibles may have co-existed with said virtues could be offered as cautionary examples to be avoided, but they were never presented as the primary drivers of the hero’s character.

Education in the classical world followed this pattern, and the celebrated men of one era could often point to their motivation coming from the acts of great men who preceded them—often by centuries. Examples abound, but let’s look at three in particular who lined up as sort of an inspiration conduit. All three of them would become the greatest political or military heroes of their respective ages. 

According to Homer’s Odyssey, following the death of their greatest warrior, Achilles, the Greeks, “heaped up a great and goodly tomb on a projecting headland by the broad Hellespont that could be seen from far from the sea both by men that now are and that shall be born hereafter.” (Odyssey, Book XXIV, 80-84)

This tomb would be visited by many famous individuals in antiquity as a kind of pilgrimage site, particularly for those seeking to venerate the great warrior in anticipation of a campaign of their own. Among those who visited the shrine was Alexander the Great. Seeing parallels between his own expedition and that of the Mycenean Greeks of 800 years before, Alexander made a point of stopping at the site of ancient Troy on his way to make war on the Persians. In Plutarch’s Life of Alexander, the following memorial of the event is recorded:

"Then, going up to Ilium, he sacrificed to Athena and poured libations to the heroes. Furthermore, the gravestone of Achilles he anointed with oil, ran a race by it with his companions, naked, as is the custom, and then crowned it with garlands, pronouncing the hero happy in having, while he lived, a faithful friend, and after death, a great herald of his fame. As he was going about and viewing the sights of the city, someone asked him if he wished to see the lyre of Paris. 'For that lyre,' said Alexander, 'I care very little; but I would gladly see that of Achilles, to which he used to sing the glorious deeds of brave men.'" [Plutarch, Life of Alexander, Section 15]

A few more details are added by Arrian in his Anabasis: 

"Alexander then encircled the tomb of Achilles with a garland….There is indeed a report that Alexander pronounced Achilles fortunate in getting Homer as the herald of his fame to posterity." [Arrian of Nicomedia, The Anabasis of Alexander, Book I, Chapter XII ]

As the most important extant chronicler of Alexander’s campaigns, Arrian also points out that Alexander had a desire to imitate the hero of the Trojan war from his boyhood, and sought to equal and surpass his achievements. [Arrian of Nicomedia, The Anabasis of Alexander, Book VII, Chapter XIV]

Detail from Alexander the Great at the tomb of Achilles by Giovanni Paninni (1718).

Alexander perished after gaining unparalleled victories over the hated Persians. Realizing immediately the inspirational value of Alexander’s remains, his general Ptolemy snatched up Alexander’s corpse when it was on its way back to Macedonia from Babylon, and re-routed it to Egypt and the conqueror’s greatest foundation, Alexandria. There, Ptolemy would establish his own kingdom, and the body of his one-time benefactor would repose in a shrine which was likely much more grand than the ancient tumulus of Achilles. 

Three hundred years after Alexander’s death, another conqueror would arrive following his defeat of Antony and Cleopatra at Actium, and the dissolution of the Ptolemaic kingdom in Egypt. This was Octavian Caesar who, a few years later, would be called Caesar Augustus, Rome's first emperor. Arriving in Alexandria following his complete victory, Octavian made his way to the shrine of Alexander, as recorded by Suetonius:  

"About this time he had the sarcophagus and body of Alexander the Great brought forth from its shrine,⁠ and after gazing on it, showed his respect by pla­cing upon it a golden crown and strewing it with flowers; and being then asked whether he wished to see the tomb of the Ptolemies as well, he replied, 'My wish was to see a king, not corpses.'" [Suetonius, Lives of the Caesars, Life of Augustus]

The reader will note the similarity between Octavian's response and that of Alexander. There is some historical complexity here in that Plutarch's account of Alexander and Suetonius's account of Augustus were written at about the same time (late 1st - early 2nd century AD). Both were certainly based on earlier sources which have not come down to us. It is likely that Octavian was aware of Alexander's response regarding the lyre of Paris when he made his quip about wanting "to see a king, not corpses."

Dio Cassius records Augustus's visit to the body of Alexander as well, but adds an additional detail:

“[Octavian] viewed the body of Alexander and actually touched it, whereupon, it is said, a piece of the nose was broken off. But he declined  to view the remains of the Ptolemies, though the Alexandrians were extremely eager to show them, remarking, 'I wished to see a king, not corpses.' For this same reason he would not enter the presence of Apis, either, declaring that he was accustomed to worship gods, not cattle.” [Dio Cassius, Roman History, Book LI]

Augustus was, no doubt, impressed by his visit because he began construction of a tomb of his own shortly following his return to Rome. This was to be a grand construction rivaling the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus, which itself was one of the wonders of the ancient world. This Mausoleum of Augustus would serve to inspire generations of Romans before falling to ruins during the Middle Ages.

As these examples make clear, admiration of heroes for their virtues often extended to that common human desire to visit and adorn the remains of the hero following his death. In doing so, it was hoped that some sort of mystical connection might be established by which some portion of the hero's genius and fortune would be transferred to his devotee. This tendency in antiquity pre-figured the later Christian practice of veneration of the relics of the saints and martyrs, and the subsequent doctrinal understanding of the efficacy of the intercession of the saints who are in Heaven with Christ. 

Thus Christians would gain inspiration and motivation not from men who managed to achieve military glory or political triumphs, like Achilles or Alexander, but from humble souls like Justin Martyr or Augustine of Hippo whose victories often involved the sacrifice or their own lives for the sake of Christ, or the conversion of thousands through fearlessly preaching the truth of the Gospel. 

It is for this reason that Catholics ought to take the teaching of authentic Christian history — which our children will never get in state-run schools and only occasionally in Catholic schools — very seriously. Otherwise, the connection to the virtuous examples of our progenitors would be lost, and in their absence, our children will take their inspiration from the vain two-dimensional paragons provided by movie, pop-music, and sport.

The Mausoleum of Augustus following the renovations initiated by Mussolini in the 1930s.

As a postscript, it is worth remembering that most of the devotees who visited the tombs of dead heroes did not possess the innate ability to attain greatness themselves and often absorbed the wrong message. A few of them were downright awful human beings who brought destruction upon themselves and their countries. Suetonius records that the notorious emperor Gaius Caligula treated the tomb of Alexander with somewhat less respect than his great grandfather, having looted Alexander's armor which he sometimes wore in public [Lives of the Caesars, Life of Caligula]. 

Meanwhile, the Mausoleum of Augustus would later be restored, and made the centerpiece of a piazza by a self-styled illustrious man of the 20th century who viewed himself as the successor of Achilles, Alexander, and Augustus. This was none other than Il Duce himself, Benito Mussolini, who wished to attain the status of hero without bothering to emulate the heroic virtues. Upon his death, his desecrated corpse became not the center of cultic devotion, but rather an object of scorn and shame, hanging from a lamp-post. 

"They still make human sacrifices..." ~ How Christian were the 6th century Franks, anyway?

Merovingian Frankish warriors looking especially fierce in this fanciful 19th century engraving.

The nation of the Franks are well known today as the progenitors of modern France, as well as the barbarian nation that most readily and ardently embraced Catholicism. As Saint Avitus of Vienne shows in his letter to King Clovis upon the latter’s baptism in AD 496, the subject Christian Romans placed great hopes in the conversion of the Frankish king and his court, and the event was an occasion of great joy. This was particularly true given Clovis’s previous history as a ruthless conqueror who defeated and dissolved the last remnant of Western Roman power in Gaul, the so-called Kingdom of Soissons under Syagrius a mere 10 years prior in AD 486.

But spiritual rebirth and cultural metamorphosis doesn’t happen overnight. And for the Franks, some old habits were hard to break.

In Belisarius, Book III, Rome the Eternal, there is a scene where a tremendous Frankish army under the Merovingian King Theudibert marches across a bridge at Ticinum (modern day Pavia) over the Po River into Italy, Brushing aside the demand of the Gothic commander that they treat before crossing, the Franks make it obvious from the start that they have not come to be allies of the Goths. The Gothic commander faced with this situation is Uraias, the nephew of Vittiges, the Gothic King. He rushes to the bridge and is horrified by what he witnesses there:

By the time Uraias arrived at Ticinum two hours later, about twenty thousand Franks had already crossed the ancient bridge over the Padus. “I ordered you to hold them on the other side!” shouted Uraias at the befuddled garrison commander of Ticinum.

“But...the Franks...they would not heed,” the man replied, spreading his hands helplessly.

“O Prince! Come see what these treacherous heathens are doing!” a soldier on the walls called down.

Bounding up to the top of the wall, Uraias’s face paled in horror at the sight before him. From the battlements, he had a clear view of the practically infinite mass of Frankish warriors trudging over the bridge. They were talking, laughing, singing—every one of them leering like raptors and grinning like wolves as they crossed the river.

“Over there, O Prince. Look!”

A contingent of Franks on the near side of the river had seized a dozen women and children of the Goths. An especially large and gaudily attired Frank seemed to be uttering a strange incantation in his guttural language over the screaming captives, held by their hair on the river bank. Upon reaching the end, he and his comrades plunged their swords into the innocents and dumped their bleeding bodies into the Padus.

“Stop, you fiends! What is this? Stop at once!” cried Uraias.

“Why don’t you come and stop us if you can, miserable Goth,” one of the Franks shouted as he marched in line across the bridge. “These sacrifices are needful if we are to have a successful campaign in Italy. The gods demand the blood of innocents, and what the gods want, they shall have.”

“Bloody-minded pagans!” Uraias screamed. Then, turning to his men, he ordered: “Quick! Block the bridge. Let no more cross!”

The soldiers on the wall looked back at him as if he were a madman. None moved. “It’s too late to stop them crossing,” one man stuttered, his voice cracking.

“Then close and bar the gates! We must not allow this murderous horde into the city! Do you hear me? If we fail, then we’re all dead men!”

“Aye! That we must do!” one of the officers responded, his torpor broken by the urgency of Uraias’s voice.

Down below, the Franks marched on, their tremendous host pushing forward like a boiling tidal wave, compelling all to flee before them. [Belisarius Book III: Rome the Eternal, Chapter XXXVII]

Lest the reader think that this passage was merely some lurid fever-dream sprung from the delusional mind of the novelist, here is the passage from Procopius which inspired it:

Thus the Franks crossed the Alps which separate the Gauls from the Italians, and entered Liguria.⁠ Now the Goths had previously been vexed at the thanklessness of the Franks, on the ground that, although they, the Goths, had often promised to give up to them a large territory and great sums of money in return for an alliance, these Franks had been unwilling to fulfil their own promise in any way; but when they heard that Theudibert was at hand with a great army, they were filled with rejoicing, lifted up, as they were, by the liveliest hopes and thinking that thereafter they would have the superiority over their enemy without a battle. As for the Germans [Franks],⁠ as long as they were in Liguria, they did no harm to he Goths, in order that these might make no attempt to stop them at the crossing of the Po.

Gold solidus of Theudibert I, King of the Franks in Austrasia, AD 534-548.

 Consequently, when they reached the city of Ticinum, where the Romans of old had constructed a bridge over this river, those who were on guard there gave them every assistance and allowed them to cross the Po unmolested. But, upon getting control of the bridge, the Franks began to sacrifice the women and children of the Goths whom they found at hand and to throw their bodies into the river as the first-fruits of the war. For these barbarians, though they have become Christians, preserve the greater part of their ancient religion; for they still make human sacrifices and other sacrifices of an unholy nature, and it is in connection with these that they make their prophecies. And the Goths, upon seeing what was being done, fell into a kind of irresistible fear, took to flight and got inside the fortifications. [Procopius, History of the Wars, Book VI, xxx, 6-11]

As far as I know, this is the only mention in ancient literature of the Franks engaging in outright human sacrifice as a religious practice. That said, it is very clear from the History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours in the 6th century that the pre-Christian Franks “have always been addicted to heathen worship, and they did not know God, but made themselves images of the woods and the waters, of birds and beasts and of the other elements as well. They were wont to worship these as God and to offer sacrifice to them.” [Gregory of Tours, History of the Franks, Book II, Chapter 10]

The Franks were also extraordinarily violent in the prosecution of war, and that this tendency was only mildly muted by the acceptance of Christianity. Indeed, their warlike ferocity was perhaps only restrained with regard to respecting the possessions of the Church, and the lives of Christian clerics. When describing the aftermath of King Clovis’s successful campaign to conquer the Kingdom of Soissons, Gregory relates: “At that time many churches were despoiled by Clovis' army, since he was as yet involved in heathen error.” [Gregory of Tours, History of the Franks, Book II, Chapter 27]

Based on the above, and evidence of other Germanic nations of antiquity practicing various forms of cultic human sacrifice, we can assume that Procopius’s account of the Franks sacrificing Gothic women and children at the outset of a war was based on actual events, and was not a fanciful interpolation by the historian.

"Faithfully compile the acts of the martyrs, omitting nothing." ~ The duty of the Popes to preserve the history of the Church

Images of Popes Clement I, Anteros, Fabian, and Damasus I, all holding codices indicating their legacies
of defending the doctrines and preserving the history of the Church.

Immediately prior to a Papal Conclave seems like the absolute best time to break out the Liber Pontificalis – that fascinating, frustrating, and enigmatic work of Late Antiquity that purports to provide a brief biographical sketch of each of the first 65 Popes of Rome.

This is perhaps the fourth or fifth time I have read the Liber cover to cover, not including the dozens of times I’ve referenced individual accounts for research purposes, posts, comments, etc. Admittedly, the text is littered with errors: some obvious, others requiring a PhD in Patristics to spot. Thankfully, the version I most commonly use includes copious footnotes by early 20th century classicist, Louise Ropes Loomis, who herself draws heavily from such hoary authorities as Mommsen and Duchesne. 

Click for more info.

If you decide to embark upon reading the Liber, it is well to keep in mind that the work in its earliest iteration was likely assembled in the 6th century, and based on earlier sources which the anonymous compiler may have known only imperfectly. As a result, the earliest entries tend to be the most disappointing in terms of details and accuracy. Those sketches closer to the compiler’s own day are much more satisfying, replete with curious anecdotes and details found nowhere else in the historical record.  

There are a few clear themes that run throughout the entire work. These are as follows:

• The Popes as martyrs and confessors—and the rare exceptions which prove the rule.
• The Popes as defenders of doctrine.
• The Popes as builders and restorers of the physical edifices of the Church.
• The Popes as guardians of the relics and monuments of the great saints and martyrs.
• The Popes as stewards of the Church's wealth, derived from princes and generous donors.
• The Popes as recorders and transmitters of the history of the Church.

It is that last bullet that I’d like to focus on a bit here. 

As a historical aggregator himself, the compiler of the Liber Pontificalis gives due honor to those who came before him who preserved the records of the ancient Church. He tells us that the fourth Pope, Saint Clement, who lived in the 1st century AD, “created seven districts and assigned them to notaries of the church that they might make diligent, careful and searching inquiry, each in his own district, regarding the acts of the martyrs.” Whether Clement actually did this, or whether the compiler is ascribing this act to a great ancient saint like Clement to ennoble his own profession is a matter of scholarly debate. In any event, the compiler of the Liber is the only one to record this aspect of Clement's biography.

Anecdotes recorded in the later sketches are more likely to be accurate. In the record of the practically un-remembered Pope Anteros who perished after an abbreviated reign of 40 days in AD 236—likely as a martyr—only one deed worthy of note is recorded by the author of the Liber Pontificalis:

“He collected carefully from the notaries the acts of the martyrs and of the readers and deposited them in the church, for the sake of one Maximinus, a priest, who had been crowned with martyrdom.”

The successor of Anteros, Pope Fabianus, who reigned until AD 250, continued the work begun by his short-lived immediate predecessor. The Liber says that he “created seven subdeacons to be associated with the seven notaries, that they might faithfully compile the acts of the martyrs, omitting nothing.”

Fragmentary grave marker of Pope Anteros in the Cemetery of Callixtos.

Unfortunately, from AD 249 through AD 311, there occurred three Roman Empire-wide persecutions of Christians under the emperors Decius (AD 249-251), Valerian (AD 258-260) and the Tetrarchy of Diocletian (AD 304-311). The aforementioned Pope St. Fabianus was among the first victims of the Decian persecution. Certainly during the last of these in the early 4th century, a systematic search was made for Christian literary works which, when found, would be consigned to the flames. I have previously written posts concerning the evidence for such efforts by the persecutors here, here, and here. It may be presumed that many, if not all of the acts of the Martyrs collected by Clement, Anteros, and Fabianus were destroyed during this time.

Seated statue believed to
be a representation of
Saint Hippolytus of Rome. 

The destroyers were very thorough in their work. Case in point are the Acts of Saint Hippolytus who lived a very impactful life in the early 3rd century AD. He was a theologian, a bishop, possibly an anti-Pope, and likely a Novatian heretic who was reconciled with the Church prior to his martyrdom. Saint Jerome lists him among the "illustrious men," while admitting that he has not been able to learn the name of the city of which Hippolytus had been bishop. 

It wasn't until Damasus was made Pope about AD 366, that a far-reaching project of recovery was begun to restore the glorious history of the early martyrs that had been lost during the persecutions. To that end, according to the Liber, Damasus "searched out many bodies of the saints and found them and marked them with verses.” Many of these poetic epitaphs have come down to us from antiquity, and I have posted about them previously. But in some cases, even such a zealous researcher as Pope Damasus was at a loss. Regarding the aforementioned Hippolytus, Damasus admits his ignorance in this touchingly honest epitaph:

"Hippolytus, it is said, once a venerable bishop,

At the time when a schism arose in the city of Rome,

Yet it is not certain what he did or from where,

Whether a martyr, an exile, or reconciled,

Damasus placed this, uncertain but with love for the faith."

[From Damasi epigrammata. Translated into English by Grok3]

So as we pray for the Holy Spirit to bless the Conclave and provide the Church with a saintly Pope, let us beg the intercession of those early Pontiffs who worked to preserve the historical records of the ancient Church and the glorious Acts of the Martyrs:

Papa Clemens, ora pro nobis!
Papa Anteros, ora pro nobis!
Papa Fabiane, ora pro nobis!
Papa Damase, ora pro nobis!
Sancte Hippolyte, ora pro nobis!

What Happened on Holy Saturday? ~ The ancient sources on Christ's Harrowing of Hell

Fresco of Christ's Descent into Hell from the lower Basilica of San Clemente in Rome, 9th Century AD.
In this detail, Christ takes Adam by the hand to lead him out of the underworld.

Wednesday of Holy Week is sometimes referred to as Spy Wednesday, a reference to the betrayal of Our Lord by the traitor Judas Iscariot.

Every Christian knows that on Holy Thursday, we remember the Last Supper, and that Good Friday is the day on which the Lord was crucified and died.

Holy Saturday, however, is different. For most Christians, it is a peaceful time – a day of reflection separating the drama and sorrow of the Passion from the joy of Easter Sunday. On Holy Saturday, there is seemingly not much going on. For the modern Church, it is a quiet time of watching and waiting.

But the traditional teachings of the ancient Church tell a much different story. Something tremendous on a cosmic scale happened on Easter Saturday: Christ’s descent into Hell.

Often called the Harrowing of Hell in English, or the Anastasis in Greek, we find this mysterious event recorded without elaboration in the Apostles’ Creed:

“He descended into Hell.”

It is rumored that Mel Gibson’s follow-up to The Passion of the Christ will attempt to bring this event to the big screen as part of the larger story of the resurrection of Christ. How he will do that is anyone’s guess. But you can bet it will be epic. And probably gruesome.

The harrowing of Hell is mentioned obliquely in Sacred Scripture, most specifically in First Epistle of St. Peter, where the Apostle says:

"Because Christ also died once for our sins, the just for the unjust: that he might offer us to God, being put to death indeed in the flesh, but enlivened in the spirit, in which also coming he preached to those spirits that were in prison: Which had been some time incredulous, when they waited for the patience of God in the days of Noah, when the ark was a building: wherein a few, that is, eight souls, were saved by water." [1 Peter 3:18-20]

This mysterious passage from the Gospel of Matthew is similarly used to support the Harrowing of Hell:

"And the graves were opened: and many bodies of the saints that had slept arose,  And coming out of the tombs after his resurrection, came into the holy city, and appeared to many." [Matthew 27:52-53]

Saint Paul also mentions Christ's descent into the underworld in his Letter to the Ephesians:

"But to every one of us is given grace, according to the measure of the giving of Christ.  Wherefore He saith: Ascending on high, he led captivity captive; he gave gifts to men.  Now that he ascended, what is it, but because he also descended first into the lower parts of the earth? He that descended is the same also that ascended above all the heavens, that he might fill all things." [Ephesians 4:7-10]

Though Christ’s descent into Hell is not described in detail in Sacred Scripture, the event was most certainly an article of faith for the ancient Church. One of the earliest references may be found in an ancient homily for Holy Saturday, sometimes attributed to St. Melito of Sardis, a bishop in Asia Minor who wrote in the late 2nd century AD, within 150 years of Christ's death and resurrection. The following passage from this homily is taken from the Vatican website. The sentences in bold are included in the Catechism of the Catholic Church (635):

"What is happening? Today there is a great silence over the earth, a great silence, and stillness, a great silence because the King sleeps; the earth was in terror and was still, because God slept in the flesh and raised up those who were sleeping from the ages. God has died in the flesh, and the underworld has trembled.

Truly he goes to seek out our first parent like a lost sheep; he wishes to visit those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death. He goes to free the prisoner Adam and his fellow-prisoner Eve from their pains, he who is God, and Adam's son.

The Lord goes in to them holding his victorious weapon, his cross. When Adam, the first created man, sees him, he strikes his breast in terror and calls out to all: 'My Lord be with you all.' And Christ in reply says to Adam: ‘And with your spirit.’ And grasping his hand he raises him up, saying: ‘Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give you light.

‘I am your God, who for your sake became your son, who for you and your descendants now speak and command with authority those in prison: Come forth, and those in darkness: Have light, and those who sleep: Rise.

‘I command you: Awake, sleeper, I have not made you to be held a prisoner in the underworld. Arise from the dead; I am the life of the dead. Arise, O man, work of my hands, arise, you who were fashioned in my image. Rise, let us go hence; for you in me and I in you, together we are one undivided person.’" [Ancient homily sometimes attributed to St. Melito of Sardis]

12th century mosaic of the harrowing of Hell from St. Mark's Basilica in Venice.  

Numerous other ancient Church Fathers commented on Christ’s sojourn into hell. Writing at about the same time as St. Melito, St. Clement of Alexandria speculated on the reason for the descent, saying:

“Wherefore the Lord preached the Gospel to those in Hades…. So I think it is demonstrated that the God being good, and the Lord powerful, they save with a righteousness and equality which extend to all that turn to Him, whether here or elsewhere….What then? Did not the same dispensation obtain in Hades, so that even there, all the souls, on hearing the proclamation, might either exhibit repentance, or confess that their punishment was just, because they believed not?... If, then, He preached the Gospel to those in the flesh that they might not be condemned unjustly, how is it conceivable that He did not for the same cause preach the Gospel to those who had departed this life before His advent?” [The Stromata of St. Clement of Alexandria, Book VI, Chapter 6]

Also active in the mid-to-late 2nd Century AD was Saint Irenaeus of Lyons, who wrote clearly concerning this belief on Christ's descent into Hell:

"It was for this reason, too, that the Lord descended into the regions beneath the earth, preaching His advent there also, and [declaring] the remission of sins received by those who believe in Him. Now all those believed in Him who had hope towards Him, that is, those who proclaimed His advent, and submitted to His dispensations, the righteous men, the prophets, and the patriarchs, to whom He remitted sins in the same way as He did to us, which sins we should not lay to their charge, if we would not despise the grace of God. For as these men did not impute unto us (the Gentiles) our transgressions, which we wrought before Christ was manifested among us, so also it is not right that we should lay blame upon those who sinned before Christ's coming." [St. Irenaeaus, Against All Heresies, Book IV, Chapter 27:2].

The context of this passage in Irenaeus's work, Against All Heresies, is complex and well worth reading in its entirety. 

A more descriptive and fanciful account is rendered in the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus, which is thought to have been written in the Third or Fourth century AD and appended to the equally apocryphal Acts of Pilate about the Fifth or Sixth century AD. Here is a sample:

"...The Lord of majesty appeared in the form of a man and lightened the eternal darkness and brake the bonds that could not be loosed: and the succor of his everlasting might visited us that sat in the deep darkness of our transgressions and in the shadow of death of our sins. 

When Hell and death and their wicked ministers saw that, they were stricken with fear, they and their cruel officers, at the sight of the brightness of so great light in their own realm, seeing Christ of a sudden in their abode, and they cried out, saying: 'We are overcome by thee. Who art thou that art sent by the Lord for our confusion? Who art thou that without all damage of corruption, and with the signs of thy majesty unblemished, dost in wrath condemn our power?...' 

Then did the King of glory in his majesty trample upon death, and laid hold on Satan the prince and delivered him unto the power of Hell, and drew Adam to him unto his own brightness....

And the Lord stretched forth his hand and made the sign of the cross over Adam and over all his saints, and he took the right hand of Adam and went up out of Hell, and all the saints followed him. Then did holy David cry aloud and say: 'Sing unto the Lord a new song, for he hath done marvelous things. His right hand hath wrought salvation for him and his holy arm. The Lord hath made known his saving health, before the face of all nations hath he revealed his righteousness.'

And the whole multitude of the saints answered, saying: 'Such honor have all his saints. Amen, Alleluia.' [Gospel of Nicodemus/Acts of Pilate, Part II]

Of course, the discussion of Christ's descent into Hell spawned a multitude of theological and eschatological questions, among them: Who were "the saints" who arose following the resurrection mentioned in the Gospel of Saint Matthew? Who were "the spirits that were in prison" mentioned by Saint Peter? Did our Lord actually enter the Hell of the Damned? Or did He visit that mysterious theological construct known as "The Limbo of the Fathers"?

Those questions are beyond the scope of this humble blog, but I will close with Dante Alighieri's view on the matter, as put into the mouth of the poet Virgil, a denizen of the Limbo of the Just, who according to Dante's metaphysical world, was a novice in that shadowy realm when Christ's harrowing occurred, Virgil having died about 20 years prior to the birth of Christ:

"Tell me, my Master, tell me, thou my Lord,"
     Began I, with desire of being certain
     Of that Faith which o'ercometh every error,
"Came any one by his own merit hence,
     Or by another's, who was blessed thereafter?"
     And he, who understood my covert speech,
Replied: "I was a novice in this state,
     When I saw hither come a Mighty One,
     With sign of victory incoronate.
Hence he drew forth the shade of the First Parent,
     And that of his son Abel, and of Noah,
     Of Moses the lawgiver, and the obedient
Abraham, patriarch, and David, king,
     Israel with his father and his children,
     And Rachel, for whose sake he did so much,
And others many, and he made them blessed;
     And thou must know, that earlier than these
     Never were any human spirits saved."
[The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri, Inferno, Canto IV]  

Young Constantine as a Ward (or Hostage) at Diocletian's Court

Constantine slays a lion in this detail from a 17th century tapestry by Peter Paul Rubens.

As part of the series of tapestries by Peter Paul Rubens on the life of Constantine, we find a vignette from the early life of the first Christian Roman emperor showing him slaying a lion with an audience of Roman soldiers looking on.

This is an odd anecdote from the life of Constantine and one that is not commonly known. Was it based on an actual event? Or was it one of those medieval interpolations meant to enhance the reputation of a beloved hero from Christian antiquity? 

Let's take a look at the ancient sources.

We know from several different sources that before rising to the the imperial authority, Constantine the Great spent much of his early life as a guest/hostage at the imperial court of Diocletian at Nicomedia. This is because when founding the Tetrarchy, the senior Augusti, Diocletian and Maximian, sought to bind their most important underlings via family ties. Thus, once named as Praetorian Prefect of the West about AD 292, Constantine's father, Constantius Chlorus, would set aside his common law wife, Helena, and marry Maximian's step-daughter, Flavia Theodora. 

Not long after, Constantius Chlorus was elevated to the position of Caesar of the West under Maximimian. To further cement this bond, Constantius sent his beloved son via Helena—that is, Constantine—to Diocletian's court at Nicomedia. One of the anonymous Latin panegyricists of Constantine mentions that a mosaic in the imperial palace at Aquileia showed the moment of the promising young man's departure for the East where he is handed a plumed helmet by his future wife (and Maximian's daughter), Fausta. [See Barnes, Eusebius and Constantine, p. 9]

When he arrived in the East somewhere around AD 294 at the age of 21 or 22, Constantine had just attained the full flower of his youthful vigor. Here he would receive a classical education, though it is likely that he already possessed a solid foundation to build upon. His martial skills and prowess at arms were also not to be despised. Indeed, if the words of Constantine's biographers are to be believed, he was a young man of shining parts. Firmianus Lactantius, who very likely served as one of Constantine's teachers during this period, would in later years recall him as:

Click for more info.

"A young man of very great worth and well meriting the high station of Cæsar. The distinguished comeliness of his figure, his strict attention to all military duties, his virtuous demeanor and singular affability, had endeared him to the troops and made him the choice of every individual. He was then at court, having long before been created by Diocletian a tribune of the first order." [Lactantius, On the Deaths of the Persecutors, Chapter XVIII]

It is perhaps not surprising that his admiring biographer, Eusebius Pamphilus, Bishop of Caesarea in Palestine, goes even farther in praise of Constantine's physical gifts saying that:

"...even in the very earliest period of his youth he was judged by [his father's imperial colleagues] to be worthy of the highest honor. An instance of this we have ourselves seen, when he passed through Palestine with the senior emperor [Diocletian], at whose right hand he stood, and commanded the admiration of all who beheld him by the indications he gave even then of royal greatness. For no one was comparable to him for grace and beauty of person, or height of stature; and he so far surpassed his compeers in personal strength as to be a terror to them."

But Eusebius assures us that Constantine was no mere imposing meathead with massive biceps and an underdeveloped brain. Rather, he says that Constantine was:

Click for more info.

"...even more conspicuous for the excellence of his mental qualities than for his superior physical endowments; being gifted in the first place with a sound judgment, and having also reaped the advantages of a liberal education. He was also distinguished in no ordinary degree both by natural intelligence and divinely imparted wisdom." [Eusebius, Life of the Blessed Emperor Constantine, Book I, Chapter XIX] 

This decade or so serving in the East would give Constantine ample opportunity to exercise both his intellect and his exceptional physical abilities. He would follow Diocletian and Galerius on numerous military expeditions including campaigns in Syria, in Persia, and along the Danube frontier. By about AD 305, however, it became clear that the exceptional young man was not, in fact, being groomed by the emperors for greater offices. This became unmistakably obvious when Constantine was passed over for promotion to the rank of Caesar upon the abdication of Diocletian and Maximian—a scene described dramatically by Lactantius who was likely an eye-witness. 

It was at about this time, according to Lactantius, that Constantius began to request that his son be permitted to return to him. With the abdication of Diocletian and Maximian in AD 305, Constantius had become Augustus of the West. But the hard-fought campaigns in Gaul and Britain had taken their toll on the aging Augustus, and his health began to fail. This awakened a desire in the older man for the companionship of his eldest son. As a subtext, it is likely that the Augustus was also irked that his son had been passed over for promotion. 

Galerius, the newly self-promoted Augustus of the East, however, had his own political ambitions to consider. These ambitions did not include Constantine and, indeed, Galerius considered Constantine to be a distinct threat. Rather than send Constantine off to be with his father, Galerius decided to send Constantine for the proverbial long walk off a short pier. 

Lactantius provides some details about Galerius's efforts to provide Constantine with a one-way ticket to Elysium, along with an explanation of why these efforts ultimately failed:

"He laid repeated snares for the life of that young man because he dared not use open violence lest he should stir up civil wars against himself and incur that which he most dreaded—the hate and resentment of the army. Under pretense of manly exercise and recreation, he made him combat with wild beasts, but this device was frustrated. For the power of God protected Constantine, and in the very moment of jeopardy rescued him from the hands of Galerius. [Lactantius: On the Deaths of the Persecutors, Chapter XXIV]

Some additional detail comes from the summary of Praxagoras of Athens's work, History of Constantine, which identifies one of the wild beasts in question as a lion: 

"[Galerius] who happened to be there, determined to lay a plot against the youth and set him to fight with a savage lion. But Constantine overcame and slew the beast, and having discovered the plot, took refuge with his father, after whose death he succeeded to the throne." [Synopsis of Praxagoras of Athens's History of Constantine the Great (otherwise lost) included in the Bibliotheca of Photius 9th century, AD]

Full image of Ruben's tapestry shown in detail above.

The Latin manuscript known as Anonymous Valesianus, tentatively dated to the late 4th century AD, elaborates further on Galerius's attempts to have Constantine snuffed out using a method similar to that which King David used to destroy Uriah the Hittite: 

"Galerius first exposed him to many dangers. For when Constantine, then a young man, was serving in the cavalry against the Sarmatians, he seized by the hair and carried off a fierce savage, and threw him at the feet of the emperor Galerius. Then sent by Galerius through a swamp, he entered it on his horse and made a way for the rest to the Sarmatians, of whom he slew many and won the victory for Galerius." [Anonymous Valesianus, Part I:2]

Following these near approaches to death, the young Constantine understood that if he didn't remove himself from the East, Galerius would eventually succeed in having him cut down. Most of the extant sources agree that Galerius finally decided to allow Constantine to return to his father, but Lactantius and Anonymous Valesianus opine that Galerius only acquiesced in order to have Constantine arrested on the road by the troops of his Caesar, Severus, as he traveled through Italy. 

To save himself, Constantine rode at break-neck speed, outpacing the messengers from Galerius to Severus. Multiple sources mention that to frustrate his pursuers, Constantine had all the post horses slain at each station, depriving them of fresh mounts. 

He would eventually reach his ailing father and spend over a year in his company. Some sources say that he joined Constantius in his war against the Picts. All agree that when Constantius I Chlorus passed from this life in York, Constantine was present and would immediately afterwards be acclaimed emperor by his father's soldiers.

Constantine is a favorite subject of mine, so if you found this article to be interesting and would like to read more about the first Christian Roman Emperor, see below:

• Constantine — Military Hero and Christian Emperor
• Death of Constantius I, the father of Constantine the Great ~ Primary Accounts
• Constantine's Vision of the Cross ~ Early Accounts and Backstory
• October 28, AD 312 ~ Constantine defeats Maxentius at the Battle of the Milvian Bridge
• Constantine's Execution of Crispus and Fausta
• Was Constantine a Sincere Christian? ~ In his own words: The Oration of Constantine to the Saints

More...

Don Giovanni, Lorenzo Da Ponte, and the Unforgivable Sin

Don Giovanni confronts the statue of Il Commendatore at the climax of the eponymous opera.

During Lent, I usually attempt to limit my consumption of secular entertainment and shift over to works with more overt Catholic themes. With this in mind, I noticed a video pop up on my YouTube feed of a work that had long been familiar to me, but that I had never troubled myself to watch in its entirety. 

This was a production of Mozart’s great opera, Don Giovanni. 

Full disclosure: I’m not a huge fan of opera generally, select Gilbert and Sullivan works notwithstanding. Some of the extended Prima Donna arias can really get under my skin.

In the case of Don Giovanni, however, I was willing to put those prejudices aside. 

But wait. How can an opera full of humorous scenes about a complete profligate womanizing scoundrel and his many romantic conquests be Catholic? Well, I’m glad you asked.

I decided on the 1954 production by Salzburger Festspiele, with Cesare Siepi in the lead role, Wilhelm Furtwängler conducting. When I set up the video to watch with my kids, I asked them whether they thought the opera would be a tragedy or a comedy based on Mozart’s music. Listening to the first few minutes of the overture, they thought it sounded very much like a tragedy. But then, inexplicably, the music transitions into something light-hearted. So by the time the singing began, my teens and 20-somethings weren’t really sure which direction things were going to go.

I suspect that’s what Mozart intended. As the opera progresses, we see Don Giovanni, a nobleman living in very Catholic 17th century Spain, behaving like a heathen, particularly with regard to the fair sex. He attempts rape. He murders the victim’s father. He denounces, insults, betrays and abandons his wife, Donna Elvira. He attempts to seduce a bride on her wedding day. His behavior is so awful that a posse of his victims and their protectors seeks to hunt him down and kill him—without success.

Mozart's accompanying score seems to make light of the main character's crimes. Similarly, the librettist, Lorenzo Da Ponte—an ordained Catholic priest whose eventful life sounds more like that of Don Giovanni than Don Bosco — approaches the above litany of evil deeds with a certain casual humor. Indeed, one of the most famous scenes features Don Giovanni’s lackey, the buffoonish Leporello, reciting the numbers of women his rakish padrone had seduced in various countries, finishing his recitation with a count of the Spanish ladies, declaring emphatically: “mille e tre!” — 1,003.

But even though Don Giovanni's sins against Donna Elvira are awful and grave, she is of a mind to forgive her wayward husband. She wishes that he would reform his life and come back to her. She feels genuine pity for him, but her hopes are continually disappointed. Even in the last scene, she comes to plead with him to reform himself, saying: “I want that you change your life!”  

But Don Giovanni cannot, for life to him are wine, feasting, and seduction. He mocks Elvira and she departs in tearful frustration, but not before seeing something terrifying at Don Giovanni’s door.

In a previous scene, Don Giovanni and Leporello had jokingly invited the funerary statue of one of the nobleman’s victims, the slain Commendatore, to visit them for supper. At the base of the statue had been inscribed: “Of the wicked man who bereaved me of life, I wait here for revenge.” To everyone’s shock, the statue of the Commendatore has now arrived at Don Giovanni’s door to sup. 

But strangely, the animated statue has not come to strike down Don Giovanni himself—but to give him a choice, a final chance. The statue offers an invitation to Don Giovanni: Will he sup with him? Despite Leporello’s urging against it, Don Giovanni will not succumb to fear. Indeed, it has never been said of him that he was afraid. He is too proud. He will accept the statue’s invitation. 

But when he grasps the statue’s hand and feels his life ebbing away, even then Don Giovanni is too proud to repent. “Repent!” the statue commands three times. Three times, Don Giovanni says “No!” But this finally, is too much. Whereas his myriad of previous grave sins would have been forgiven, Don Giovanni is now guilty of the worst sin. The ultimate sin. The unforgivable sin. 

Final impenitence. 

There can be only one path from this point forward. The statues cries: “There is no more time!” Immediately, flames appear. Ghastly creatures appear. Demonic beings appear. Don Giovanni is seized and brought to hell amidst a Mozartian blast of music in the suitably terrifying key of D minor. 

It is worth considering that both Mozart and Lorenzo Da Ponte were Catholics, though certainly imperfect ones. In Da Ponte’s case, he was a fallen priest who, at the time he wrote the libretto for Don Giovanni, had fathered several children out of wedlock. Mozart himself, though devoutly Catholic in many areas of his life, was also a Free Mason.

Both da Ponte and Mozart would have been very familiar with the teaching of the Church on final impenitence. This teaching is drawn from the early Church Fathers who considered final impenitence to be the sin against the Holy Spirit mentioned by Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew:

“Therefore I say to you: Every sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven men, but the blasphemy of the Spirit shall not be forgiven. And whosoever shall speak a word against the Son of man, it shall be forgiven him: but he that shall speak against the Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven him, neither in this world, nor in the world to come.” [Matthew 12:31-32]

Saint Augustine of Hippo summarizes the teaching as follows:

“For by the Holy Spirit, by whom the people of God are gathered together into one, is the unclean spirit who is divided against himself cast out. Against this gratuitous gift, against this grace of God, does the impenitent heart speak. This impenitence then is the blasphemy of the Spirit, which shall not be forgiven, neither in this world, neither in the world to come.….But this impenitence or impenitent heart may not be pronounced upon, as long as a man lives in the flesh.” [Augustine of Hippo, Sermon 21 on the New Testament, Chapters 19-21]

Don Giovanni, in his final act, final minutes and seconds on the stage, steadfastly refuses to repent, even when he feels his own dissolution at hand. Is it his love of pleasurable sins that drives him to this point? No, it is not. It is only his pride. For truly it is written: “Pride goeth before destruction.”  [Proverbs 16:18]

Portrait of Lorenzo Da Ponte as an elderly
man in America by Samuel Morse. From
the frontispiece of the 1929 edition
of his Memoirs. 

As a somewhat ironic point of emphasis, let’s revisit the strange meandering life of Don Giovanni’s librettist, Lorenzo da Ponte, in light of the above teaching. 

Da Ponte would eventually leave Europe and settle in America with his wife, Nancy Grahl, in 1805. He spent the remaining 30-odd years of his life on a variety of ventures, from opening a bookstore, writing poetry, and building an opera house in New York City, to serving as a professor of Italian literature at Columbia University. He wrote an extensive memoir of his life, the 1929 edition of which includes the following note at the end:

“Early in 1831, Da P. had sent some of his poems and a letter [to his one-time academic colleague, Monsignor Jacopo Monico, who was at this time, Patriarch of Venice]; and the Patriarch had replied with great deference, expressing, among other good wishes, the hope that Da P. ‘might someday settle his affairs that his last moments should not be embittered by any trace of remorse.’ Da P. now sent the Patriarch the “Sonnets to Ann” with assurances that ‘the holy counsel and Christian good wishes’ of that ‘foremost pillar of the portals of the Church of Christ,’ ‘had produced in his soul the effects desired by such a charitable heart.' That was why, seven years later, sensing the approach of death, he felt free to summon the Rev. John MacCloskey, future Bishop of Albany, to his bedside that he might make confession and receive absolution at the hands of the Church.” [Memoirs of Lorenzo da Ponte, p. 491]

So it seems that the librettist of Don Giovanni eventually proved himself a better Christian gentleman than his own rakish character. 

When presented with the command: “Pentiti!” he responded, “Sì!” 

Was Constantine a Sincere Christian? ~ In his own words: The Oration of Constantine to the Saints

At 43 feet in height, the replica of the Colossus of Constantine in Rome is truly impressive.

Most visitors to Rome over the years have marveled at the famous fragments of the Colossus of Constantine. Largely destroyed and dismantled in antiquity, this massive work of marble, wood and bronze once stood in the Basilica of Maxentius. Significant chunks of the Colossus are now located in a courtyard at the Capitoline Museum in Rome where my wife and I visited them on our honeymoon a few decades back. 

In 2024, a magnificent replica of the Colossus was erected nearby in the garden behind the Capitoline Museum. While the sheer size of the work has drawn considerable attention, the fact that it does not display any obvious Christian iconography and, indeed, seems to portray the emperor as Zeus-like, has led some folks to assume that the replica is evidence that Constantine's Christianity was somehow insincere. 

My wife with Constantine's
tremendous head in 2000.

How close this modern replica resembles the original is a matter of conjecture, as its creators exercised some significant interpretive license with regard to the design. This matter is dealt with in considerable detail in an excellent post on the NumisForms site entitled: Designing a Colossus. So I'll not get into much detail on that question here. Suffice it to say that the decision by the Factum Foundation to portray Constantine as Zeus was based on "conjecture, maybe not even particularly well informed conjecture."

The point of this post is to contradict the facile confirmation bias that many experience when seeing this version of the Colossus. The most common immediate reaction is: "See? Constantine was a pagan and portrayed himself as such." 

Well, sure. Up through about AD 306 Constantine was a pagan. Beyond that, he reportedly even had a vision of Apollo a few years before his more famous vision of the Cross. But after the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, Constantine began the process of becoming a Christian. It is not known when exactly he became a catechumen, but after about AD 312 when he and Licinius issued the Edict of Milan, his affinity for Christianity becomes increasingly evident.

By AD 324, following his defeat of Licinius, it is absolutely evident that Constantine is a Christian. Anyone who doubts that can read the words he himself spoke in his Oration to the Saints. The text of this lecture was preserved by the bishop Eusebius Pamphilus who knew Constantine personally and also wrote his well-known ancient biography, Life of the Blessed Emperor Constantine. The entire oration is a profession of Constantine's faith and a defense of Christianity. In it, you will find the emperor praying emphatically:

"Do thou, O Christ, Savior of mankind, be present to aid me in my hallowed task! Direct the words which celebrate your virtues, and instruct me worthily to sound your praises." [Oration to the Saints, Chapter 11]

You will also find Constantine presenting evidence for the truth of Christianity, not only from the Hebrew prophets of the Old Testament, but also from pagans such as the Erythrean sibyl and from the Roman poet, Virgil, author of the foundational epic of Rome, the Aeneid. 

The emperor goes on to condemn those pagans who have persecuted Christians, even going so far as to ridicule pagan beliefs, saying: 

"What, then, have you gained by these atrocious deeds, most impious of men? And what was the cause of your insane fury? You will say, doubtless, these acts of yours were done in honor of the gods. What gods are these?...You will allege, perhaps, the customs of your ancestors and the opinion of mankind in general, as the cause of this conduct. I grant the fact: for those customs are very like the acts themselves, and proceed from the self-same source of folly. You thought, it may be, that some special power resided in images formed and fashioned by human art; and hence your reverence, and diligent care lest they should be defiled: those mighty and highly exalted gods, thus dependent on the care of men!" 

[Oration to the Saints, Chapter 22]

Finally, in an echo of his contemporary and sometime confidant, Lactantius, Constantine gives a brief catalog of the dreadful ends suffered by those emperors who persecuted Christians most severely: 

"To you, Decius, I now appeal, who has trampled with insult on the labors of the righteous: to you, the hater of the Church, the punisher of those who lived a holy life: what is now your condition after death? How hard and wretched your present circumstances! Nay, the interval before your death gave proof enough of your miserable fate, when overthrown with all your army on the plains of Scythia, you exposed the vaunted power of Rome to the contempt of the Goths.

You, too, Valerian, who manifested the same spirit of cruelty towards the servants of God, hast afforded an example of righteous judgment. A captive in the enemies' hands, led in chains while yet arrayed in the purple and imperial attire, and at last your skin stripped from you, and preserved by command of Sapor the Persian king, you have left a perpetual trophy of your calamity. 

And thou, Aurelian, fierce perpetrator of every wrong, how signal was your fall, when, in the midst of your wild career in Thrace, you were slain on the public highway, and filled the furrows of the road with your impious blood!" [Oration to the Saints, Chapter 24]

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Of course, he could not leave out his contemporary and one-time mentor/captor, Diocletian. In this passage, Constantine provides his own witness of Diocletian's vicious character and unstable psyche, attributes which are echoed by Lactantius in his own work, On the Deaths of the Persecutors: 

"Diocletian, however, after the display of relentless cruelty as a persecutor, evinced a consciousness of his own guilt and owing to the affliction of a disordered mind, endured the confinement of a mean and separate dwelling. What then, did he gain by his active hostility against our God? Simply this I believe, that he passed the residue of his life in continual dread of the lightning's stroke. Nicomedia attests the fact; eyewitnesses, of whom I myself am one, declare it. The palace, and the emperor's private chamber were destroyed, consumed by lightning, devoured by the fire of heaven. Men of understanding hearts had indeed predicted the issue of such conduct; for they could not keep silence, nor conceal their grief at such unworthy deeds; but boldly and openly expressed their feeling, saying one to another: What madness is this? And what an insolent abuse of power, that man should dare to fight against God; should deliberately insult the most holy and just of all religions; and plan, without the slightest provocation, the destruction of so great a multitude of righteous persons?" [Oration to the Saints, Chapter 25]

Interestingly, Lactantius also reports fire destroying parts of the imperial palace in Nicomedia on two separate occasions 15 days apart. He claims that the fires were set by Diocletian's junior emperor, Galerius, in an effort to frame the Christians for the deeds. [see On the Deaths of the Persecutors, Chapter 14]

Constantine wrapped up his oration with a ringing profession of his faith in Jesus, urging his hearers to pray fervently to Christ:

"It becomes all pious persons to render thanks to the Savior of all, first for our own individual security, and then for the happy posture of public affairs: at the same time intreating the favor of Christ with holy prayers and constant supplications, that he would continue to us our present blessings. For he is the invincible ally and protector of the righteous: he is the supreme judge of all things, the prince of immorality, the Giver of everlasting life." [Oration to the Saints, Chapter 26]

After reading the entirety of Constantine's oration, it becomes impossible to maintain the position that the first Roman emperor to tolerate Christianity formally in law did not truly believe Christian doctrine or remained partially pagan to the end of his life. 

Although he was unbaptized until shortly before his death, Constantine was clearly a believing Christian catechumen with a zeal for bearing witness to the faith even publicly with his own lips.