By SHAUN KENNEY
In the Catholic tradition, there are two sorts of martyrdom. The one that most of us are familiar with is the martyrdom of the saints killed by Romans, Tudors, Nazis, and Communists. These men and women spilled their blood, hence the term “red martyrdom” and the color worn by the princes of the Church — the cardinals — as a sign of willingness to do likewise.
There is another sort of martyrdom that is not often discussed, and that is a white martyrdom where blood is never shed. St. Jerome would describe it as the ascetic life pursued in the monk’s cell, the choice to die away to oneself so as to embrace Christ.
Yet there is an even more rare and unique martyrdom that we see in today’s political prisoners, the sort suffered by the likes of Fr. Walter Ciszek, SJ, in Russia or Jozsef Cardinal Mindszenty in Hungary during the Communist occupation of his country. It is a blue or green martyrdom, or what the Irish called glas martyrdom.
It is difficult to draw the line as to where George Cardinal Pell’s martyrdom for the Catholic faith exists today, but it is chilling indeed to see Pell’s martyrdom play out on the world stage in a country putatively part of the Anglosphere, or as Churchill once mused, the English-speaking peoples. White martyrdom would have involved an interior mortification; Pell is now doomed to endure an exterior version imposed by men as unjust as any Soviet commissar and as ruthless as any Nazi gauleiter.
This blue/green martyrdom intentionally borrows from the Irish glas because during Roman times, all glass held a bluish-green tint due to the iron oxide in the sand used to make glass. Clear glass (or Venetian crystal) was created in the fifteenth century by using a specific type of quartz sand that held little iron and simple potash one might get from a fireplace.
Yet the glass of the Roman and medieval period was not only pale and tinted, but brittle — prone to breaking and incredibly sharp. The Irish expressed this sort of martyrdom outwardly by continuing pre-Catholic traditions of fasting to the point of starvation in front of the homes of those who had inflicted wrong upon them or their families.
Some of the pedophilia scandal that is gripping the Anglo-American world is rightly laid at the feet of a certain type of Irish Jansenism, adopted from the French Jesuits who trained the cadre of Irish priests who followed the English slave ships and Irish bondsmen to the ends of the Earth. Under the boot of persecution, the Irish rallied to a Jansenist-tinged Catholicism that was heavy on rules and elevated the role of the priests and bishops to lead the faithful.
As the Protestants receded and the secularists began to impose their worldly religion on the rest of us, vocations to the Catholic Church began to take on that two-decade infestation of individuals who should never have become priests. As we have seen in the United States, these men found shelter under prelates such as Francis Cardinal Spellman, who groomed and fostered men such as Theodore McCarrick, who promoted men of questionable integrity into positions of power — all the while, trafficking and grooming seminarians in a way that would have been admired by “men” such as Jeffrey Epstein.
In Australia, the outrage has been acute for multiple reasons, one of which being that the Catholic Church was trusted as an institution in a way not quite understood by us Americans. Moreover, Pell was one of the good guys. Pell was (and is) a good man, much admired by the public and trusted even by the Vatican to sort out the Institute for the Works of Religion, commonly known as the Vatican Bank.
Whether the two wires touch — Pell’s reform of the Vatican Bank and the baseless accusations leveled against him — is a topic for the more conspiratorial minded and those who admire the admixture of correlation with all-too-neat coincidence. For one, I am personally convinced that Pell dug too deeply and asked the “wrong” questions regarding the financials of the Institute, and for that? He was effectively framed as the very devil he sought to expunge. It happens all the time, ladies and gentlemen . . . more often than we care to discuss.
Thus Pell — who has adamantly defended his innocence — serves a dual purpose. Not only is Pell removed from a position of power, but any Viganò-like pronouncements can now be fobbed away as the frothings of a convicted pedophile. Meanwhile, the Australian people can be offered a scapegoat, or in the phrasing of thinkers such as Giorgio Agamben, a katechon in the face of anomos; rather, one who restrains by setting down power in the face of a lawless or destructive darker power.
In this is the secret of Pell’s public martyrdom, and why Pell — despite our eminent desire to do so on his behalf — refuses to assert anything more than his own innocence.
More to the point, such a glas martyrdom is the only Christian response to a lawless exercise of power. No objective observer believes that Pell is guilty, yet the Australian public must have its scapegoat. Between the braying of the media mob and the actions of those who wield justice as a sword and not a shield, Pell serves as the “sacred man” who is both cast out of public life yet cannot be physically destroyed. Neither a red nor white martyrdom, but a glass one where all can see.
The rest of us, clamoring for his release and refusing to sponsor anything Australian seems like a good option — this Jeffersonian prefers Virginia wine over Australian wine, anyhow.
Yet Pell stands as a stark reminder that there is a rather thin line between the democratic mob and a lawless dictatorship. Both at core will snap the cords of justice at a whim, as Pell discovered in a country with a thousand years of common law and constitutional practice to defend his innocence and grant him due process.
Meanwhile, let us continue to pray for Cardinal Pell with the same fervor that we might reserve for the likes of Cardinal Mindszenty of Hungary or Cardinal Zen of Hong Kong, or any bishop or priest suffering under the boot of a tyrannical government.
That a nation such as Australia should bear such shame is a tragedy, but one where — if we are not careful — will be coming to an America near you.
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Jude Dougherty writes a fantastic article (“Cicero on Old Age,” The Wanderer, August 15, p. 5A) that I cannot recommend highly enough. I am reminded of Plato’s Laws where three older philosophers discuss the constitution of a new Greek city state — one from Athens, another from Sparta, and yet another from Crete.
What draws me to this comparison is that both Cicero and Plato wrote these works as older men, long after Cicero put down the Cataline revolt and long after Plato wrote The Republic. More striking is that Cicero — often considered the founder of natural law theory — is performing that act of mediation from the older generations to the younger we commonly define as tradition.
Tradition is an odd thing. You can’t own it, nor can you buy it. Tradition must be experienced, taught, passed down, and savored. Philosophy is a love of wisdom, not the ownership of knowledge.
If you get the opportunity and have not done so, go back two editions and re-read Dougherty’s excellent article on Cicero, and also find the Loeb translation of “On Friendship” at your local Catholic bookstore. You will not be disappointed.
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My friend continues his recovery from alcoholism at his treatment facility, and seems to be doing very well. The 90-120 relapse window seems to be coming and going, and at present between the shots designed to make one violently ill in the event of a relapse and his resolve, he seems to be doing well. So please continue your prayers, and again — I cannot thank you enough.
St. Louis de Montfort and Venerable Matt Talbot, pray for us!
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First Teachers warmly encourages readers to submit their thoughts, views, opinions, and insights to the author directly either via e-mail or by mail. Please send any correspondence to Shaun Kenney c/o First Teachers, 5289 Venable Rd., Kents Store, VA 23084 or by e-mail to kenneys@cua.edu.
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