The Tumbler of God: Chesterton as Mystic

The Tumbler of God: Chesterton as Mystic, by Fr. Robert Wild.  Justin Press, 2012. 273 pages.  No price information available at this time. 

 

 

There are many ways to look at Chesterton’s career and work: as a theologian, as a mystery writer, as an economist, as an artist, as a controversialist, as a literary critic, and as any of dozens of other possibilities. The Tumbler of God looks at Chesterton as a mystic. Some religious writers focus their arguments primarily on logic, historical fact, or impassioned argument. Wild describes Chesterton as a mystic because he seems to possess the ability to describe revealed truths through his writing.

 

In his introduction, Wild writes that, “One of the tests of sanctity is said to be a contagious happiness and inner peace. Chesterton had his share of sorrows and of illness, and his darker moments, but more than most people he was imbued with a kind of unpretentious beatitude that tended to convey itself to those around him. The writer Franz Kafka said of Chesterton, “He is so happy one might almost think he had discovered God.” Indeed he had, and he was doing his best to live in the light of that discovery. What was his “secret”? It was to love the splendour of the real, and to live in adulthood the innocence and wonder of the child who sees everything for the first time. The Gospel tells us we must become again like little children in order to enter the kingdom. Chesterton shows us how.”

 

Chesterton certainly had a knack for predicting future trends and tragedies. Catholic blogger and commentator Mark Shea often goes so far as to call him “the Prophet Chesterton.” Chesterton was often mocked during his lifetime for his beliefs about the trajectory of the world, ranging from issues as diverse as the state of the family to the rise of Nazism, yet future events surprisingly often proved him right.

 

Even the dodgiest fake psychic makes some correct guesses on occasion, but Wild observes that Chesterton’s accuracy seems to be too much to be attributed to pure perceptiveness or intelligent discernment or even luck. There seems to be a force of holy grace behind his pronouncements. Wild notes there are many objections to such a perspective on Chesterton’s life and works, such as one anonymous commentator’s belief that a true mystic needs to endure a certain level of worldly suffering that Chesterton never faced, but Wild argues that there are no rigid criterions for divine revelation. 

 

Despite some rather uncomfortable health problems, Chesterton clearly never endured prolonged starvation, and he knew the pleasures of a comfortable home and loving wife, and he frequently indulged in bacon and beer. This is not the typical template for a mystic, but Chesterton himself once proclaimed that “We need a new kind of saint.” Wild amends this quote by positing that “We need a new kind of mystic,” and that Chesterton is precisely the sort of new mystic we need.  One cannot prove definitively that Chesterton was a mystic– there are no instruments or chemical tests that can prove anything like that, but his words, life, and influence can bolster this view.

 

The book is divided into four main sections. The first, “Establishing Chesterton’s Mysticism,” explores Chesterton the man and his works.  The second, “True Mystics, or Landing on One’s Feet,” looks at some other people blessed by mystical revelation, such as St. Francis of Assisi, St. Thomas Aquinas, and George McDonald. The third section, “Some Mystics Who Landed on Their Heads,” focuses on some prominent people who were blessed with great wisdom and talent, but who, for various reasons, did not parlay those skills into sanctity or proved to be false mystics, such as William Blake, Leo Tolstoy, and Aldous Huxley. The fourth and final part, “The Sons of God Shouting for Joy,” delves further into the man who was Chesterton, starting with the understudied “dark night of Chesterton’s soul” consisting of the tragedies and tribulations of Chesterton’s later years, and culminating in a deeper critique of what makes saints and mystics.

 

The movement for Chesterton’s canonization continues, and it seems likely that if a widespread investigation into his life and legacy is launched, that this book will become an oft-consulted resource, since Wild’s research carefully studies Chesterton’s direct relationship with divine grace. The number of monographs on Chesterton has exploded in recent years, but Chesterton is an author vast enough to warrant an enormous corpus of criticism. Wild’s fascinating perspective is a welcome addition to the enlivening field of Chestertonian studies.

This review first appeared in Gilbert! Magazine.

The Hobbit Party: The Vision of Freedom That Tolkien Got, and the West Forgot

Bringing Politics to the Shire

By Chris Chan

 

The Hobbit Party: The Vision of Freedom That Tolkien Got, and the West Forgot, written by Jay Richards and Jonathan Witt.  Ignatius Press, 2014.  232 pages.  Hardcover, $21.95.

 

In recent years, there have been a great deal of new studies about the works of J.R.R. Tolkien and the ideas inside of them, ranging from Joseph Pearce’s superlative studies emphasizing the religious aspects of the author’s worldview, to critiques of Tolkien’s use of classical mythology. It seems unavoidable that some authors would attempt to impose a certain political perspective on Middle-earth. In the past, some authors have attempted to classify Tolkein’s work as Marxist, a perspective that is easily refuted by the author’s own writings. Currently, an attempt is being made to link Tolkien to general policies of small government. Jay Richards and Jonathan Witt use The Hobbit Party to argue that Tolkien’s work is driven by a sharp criticism of government overreach. The Hobbit Party seeks to emphasize the political aspects of Tolkien’s work, and the results are always interesting, even though some Chestertonians may find various points to argue with in the authors’ analysis.

 

Richards and Witt make a lot of interesting points, but some of their best work comes not when they are advancing their own arguments but when they are disproving other writer’s perspectives. It doesn’t hurt that many of their opponents’ theses are completely ridiculous. Given the popularity of Tolkien amongst New Age fans and the absence of overt Christianity in his works, it is at least understandable that some people might assume that the Lord of the Rings was set in a pagan world, but Richards and Witt quote extensively from Tolkien’s personal writings, emphasizing Tolkien’s Catholicism and his reasons for excising religion from The Lord of the Rings. More ludicrous are authors cited in The Hobbit Party who content that Tolkien’s work exhibits nothing more than moral relativism, with no distinction between “good” and “evil.” After reading the comparative of analysis of Tolkien criticism, it seems like people writing about the messages in Tolkien tend to impose their own preferred worldviews and opinions upon the beloved author’s work, and though Richards and Witt make some compelling arguments, one can’t help but get the sense that The Hobbit Party  may be suffering from a similar issue, where the critics see Tolkien as a reflection of their own mentalities.

 

It should be made absolutely clear that no one should read The Hobbit Party without reading The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, and the short tale “Leaf By Niggle,” all of which are summarized in the book. In any case, most of Richards and Witt’s work is impossible to appreciate if the reader is not familiar with the original source material.

 

Perhaps the most eyebrow-raising aspect of Richards and Witt’s critique of Tolkien– at least for Chesterton fans– is their blunt assertion that Tolkien’s depiction of the Shire was not meant to be an endorsement of the Distributism of Belloc and Chesterton, and indeed, Richards and Witt spend a great deal of time attacking Distributism for being– in their opinion– unrealistic, based upon a misrepresentation of history, and ultimately self-defeating. Dale Ahlquist himself is mentioned and singled out for criticism, particularly his belief that people with large families ought to receive higher wages than those who do not. This review is not going to enter the debate on the pros and cons of Distributism, but it would be interesting to see critics with a more thorough understanding of Chestertonian economics read and review Richards and Witt’s book and provide a counterpoint to the arguments promoted in The Hobbit Party.

 

This is a book with passionate feeling behind it, and it is also an extensively researched and well-organized argument. At the same time, there is something particularly discomforting about using Tolkien to spearhead a political movement when the author himself disliked literature being used as allegory and was annoyed by novels that promoted a ham-fisted agenda. The authors are clearly annoyed by the abuses of bureaucracy that they have experienced in their personal lives, and they seem to take a great deal of pleasure in using Tolkien’s narrative in bolster their own arguments. 

 

The Hobbit Party has earned a place in the comparative criticism of Tolkien, but it is unlikely to be the final word on the politics and the economic worldview of the author.

This review was first published in Gilbert!

Toward the Gleam

Toward the Gleam, written by T.M. Doran.  Ignatius Press, 2011.  467 pages.  Hardcover, $24.95.

 

Toward the Gleam is a rousing salute to the culture of fandom, celebrating some of the major figures of twentieth-century literature and inserting them into an adventure revolving around a priceless historical manuscript, ruthless supervillains, and the hunt for a lost civilization, possibly Atlantis.

 

The main character in Toward the Gleam is John Hill, an Oxford professor, specializing in philology. Though Hill is essentially a fictionalized character, he is clearly based on a famous real-life author, also an Oxford philologist, also with the first name John.  John Hill is married to a woman named E.M., and has four children. If you know anything at all about the personal life of the author who inspired John Hill, then you should already know Hill’s true identity.

 

As if a novel featuring one of my all-time favorite writers as its hero wasn’t enough, many of my other favorite novelists also make appearances as Hill’s friends and allies. The real-life characters are referred to only by their first names. Hill’s colleagues at Oxford include scholars named Owen and Charles. Readers looking in vain for Hill’s buddy Clive will do well to remember that the real-life “Clive” was commonly referred to as “Jack.” Hill is also profoundly influenced by a saintly woman named Edith. There are references to mystery writers Arthur and Dorothy, and another mystery writer named Agatha plays a pivotal role in the plot, acting as E.M.’s friend and supporter. Agatha also plays a role in solving an impossible locked-room mystery.

 

Another character who becomes one of Hill’s most trusted confidantes and powerful allies is an enormous, caped journalist named Gilbert. (I have no idea who Gilbert is supposed to be. Does anyone have any ideas?) Gilbert realizes the mortal danger that Hill inadvertently has stumbled into, and rescues him from deadly peril at a pivotal moment.

(Dale Ahlquist has told me that he personally finds the characterization of Gilbert to be unbelievable. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it is because at one point Gilbert is offered chocolate and doesn’t accept it.)

 

There are subplots involving slavers, pirates, and butt-kicking women out for revenge. Unfortunately, the subplots distract from the more interesting scenes where great minds interact and fight for a common cause, and the epilogue at the end seems to leave the ultimate point of the novel dangling in the wind a bit. I would have loved to see more scenes focusing on Hill’s burgeoning interest in creative writing and his development of theories on the power of myth. Perhaps my own extreme fandom is an influence here, but if necessary I could have done without the entire “evil antiquarian wants a priceless book” storyline in favor of more passages where the characters interact, in which case the novel might just as well have been called Chris Chan’s Favorite Writers Just Sit Around And Talk. Personally, I see no reason why that book would not be a runaway bestseller.  But Doran really does do a fine job with the adventure storyline that he has constructed.

 

The plot about the evil antiquarian’s search for the book is quite well done, culminating in a fantastic scene involving Hill and his son fighting for their lives in the face of three deadly creepy crawly creatures, who quite understandably will feature in Hill’s fictional pursuits later in a rather expanded form. Hill’s ultimate rescue from mortal peril is based more on pure luck than anything else (or perhaps more satisfyingly, the Hand of Providence), which kind of undercuts the themes of quiet heroism and the constant struggle for survival that permeate the book. It would also have been more satisfying to have actually seen the primary antagonist’s empire of crime crumbling without his influence, and the straggling lackeys being brought to justice, but I should not complain too much, not when the book brought me as much pleasure as it did.

 

Ultimately, the real joy of Toward the Gleam for me was seeing so many of my favorite authors coming together and sporadically uniting (or at least allying with Hill) towards a common cause. Having read the memoirs and letters of the authors featured in this book, it is a tad disappointing that they do not really sound like their real-life inspirations (every line sounds more like Doran’s authorial voice than the wit or ramblings of the actual writers), but the power of fandom is enough to blot out any disappointment regarding their presentation. The authors featured in this novel all managed to created fictional worlds that I wanted to visit, and Doran’s melding of minds and adventure is also a place that I would like to explore.

This review first appeared in Gilbert! Magazine.

Murder in the Vatican: The Church Mysteries of Sherlock Holmes

Murder in the Vatican: The Church Mysteries of Sherlock Holmes, by Ann Margaret Lewis.  Illustrations by Rikki Niehaus.  Gasogene Books, 2010.  152 pages.  Softcover, $18.95.

 

Fans of the original Sherlock Holmes mysteries by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle know that the great detective solved many more cases that were never recorded by Dr. Watson. Peppered throughout the canonical writings are scores of references to cases that never made it into print. Some of these never-written cases include the giant rat of Sumatra, and the Dundas separation case, where a marriage unraveled due to the husband’s unpleasant habit of tossing his dentures at his wife after meals.  Over the years, many Sherlockians have taken a shot at writing these unrevealed cases, with varying results. Some of the best fans to follow in Conan Doyle’s footsteps are Nicholas Meyer, August Derleth, Denis Green, and Anthony Boucher. With the publication of Murder in the Vatican, Ann Margaret Lewis can join the ranks of authors who have provided worthy additions to the adventures of Holmes and Watson.

 

Out of over a hundred references to unrecorded Holmes mysteries, three are connected to the Catholic Church.  These are “The Case of Cardinal Tosca” (originally mentioned in The Adventure of Black Peter), “The Vatican Cameos” (The Hound of the Baskervilles), and “The Second Coptic Patriarch” (The Retired Colourman).  Lewis has taken these three references and expanded them into novelettes, drawing heavily on history and Catholic theology. In each of these stories, Pope Leo XIII is a major figure.

 

In “The Case of Cardinal Tosca,” the title character succumbs to poisoning, and Holmes and Watson are summoned to determine how the crime was committed.  Pope Leo XIII assists the famous pair in their investigation, going so far as to go uncover in order to help bring the culprit to justice. There are many references that the Pope and Holmes have worked together before, but the exact nature of their history together is not revealed until the next story.

 

“The Vatican Cameos” is the longest story in this volume, focusing on a complicated diplomatic mission between the Vatican and a hostile Protestant England. A set of priceless cameos is sent to Queen Victoria as a tribute gift in order to further the possibility of building a new Catholic cathedral in Great Britain. Although the tale is capped with introductory and closing passages narrated by Watson, the bulk of this lengthy tale comes from the Pope’s first-person manuscript. 

 

This mystery is actually set before the Cardinal Tosca mystery, although the prologue and epilogue are set after the Tosca case. This story explains how Holmes and the Pope first met, when Holmes traveled to Rome at the request of the British government (Watson was otherwise engaged during this adventure). The theft is followed by murder, and the Pope and Holmes join forces in order to find the stolen artwork and salvage the Vatican’s diplomatic efforts.

 

“The Vatican Cameos” allows for some rather interesting character development on Holmes’s part. Holmes begins the tale as an extreme rationalist who is unabashedly hostile to all things Catholic. Throughout the investigation, the Pope and Holmes debate logic, faith, reason, and eventually develop a sincere respect for each other. Pope Leo XIII does not make a convert in this tale, but he does make a friend and ally.

 

A famous Chesterton character also makes a cameo appearance in “The Vatican Cameos.” A Deacon Brown, soon to be fully ordained as a priest, delivers the Pope’s manuscript to Watson at the start of the story. Father Brown plays a much more central role in “The Second Coptic Patriarch,” where a bumbling Inspector Lestrade falsely accuses the good father of murder. A disguised Flambeau recruits Holmes to clear Father Brown’s name, although Holmes, who knows all about Flambeau’s felonious activities, sees right through the make-up. There is a slight disconnect between the chronology in Lewis’s stories and Chesterton’s original Father Brown mysteries (“Coptic Patriarch” is set long before “The Flying Stars,” and Flambeau’s conversion and rehabilitation are made explicit in Lewis’s tale), but these issues should not distract from an otherwise enjoyable story.

 

Chesterton is not the only mystery writer to have a character appear in these stories. There is an oblique reference to a super-short story by Dorothy L. Sayers, published only in the now out-of-print collection Sayers on Holmes. Originally a brief radio monologue called “A Tribute to Sherlock Holmes on the Occasion of his 100^th Birthday,” this rare tale tells how when Lord Peter Wimsey was a little boy, he visited Holmes in order to help him find his missing pet cat. It would be interesting to know how many of Lewis’s readers would have known about this obscure little reference.

 

Murder in the Vatican is highly recommended not just for fans of Sherlock Holmes, but also for fans of historical fiction and people who would like to see the Catholic Church portrayed in a highly favorable light. Lewis does a creditable job of mimicking Doyle’s prose style, and the tales are full of theological and historical details without ever appearing preachy or forced. Given the plethora of “untold” Holmes stories, Lewis has plenty of material for some follow-up stories. For the sake of mystery fans everywhere, I hope that Lewis keeps writing.

This review first appeared in Gilbert!

The Tripods Attack! The Young Chesterton Chronicles: Volume 1,

The Tripods Attack!  The Young Chesterton Chronicles: Volume 1, by John McNichol. Manchester, New Hampshire: Sophia Institute Press, 2008. 384 pages, Softcover, $17.95.

 

When I first heard that a new book featuring a teenaged Chesterton in a radically re-invented version of the Edwardian era was going to be published, I felt that this novel could go one of two ways. It could be a wonderfully imaginative, action-packed fantasy series, or it could be a humongous disappointment. Happily, John McNichol’s The Tripods Attack! falls squarely into the former classification. 

The first point that needs to be made is that since this book is a fantasy, it is NOT faithful to the true autobiographical facts of Chesterton’s life. Don’t leap out of your chair and scream indignantly, “Chesterton never did THAT!” It’ll ruin the whole book for you. Just accept that the world described in this book is an alternative universe, and just go along with everything. Chesterton was not a skinny, orphaned teenager in the middle of the Edwardian era. Chesterton was not raised in rural Minnesota, did not narrowly miss drowning on the Titanic, and did not start his career slaving away doing engineering work. This is a fantastical work that takes the bare bones and a fair amount of the meat of Chesterton’s life and pads the rest with all sorts of creations. The political state of the United States in this novel is radically different from what it was at this time in real life. And of course, Chesterton never battled a horde of mechanical monstrosities. At least, not as far as we know. 

As the novel opens, the adolescent Gilbert Chesterton is drudging away in a dead-end job as a “clacker,” which involves poking holes in punch cards and trying not to get fired. Suddenly, an unexpected twist of fate places Chesterton on a fast-tracked path to success as a newspaper reporter, set to investigate the mysterious appearance of gigantic robots. Clueless in the ways of the world, Chesterton is easy prey to roving London street gangs. Thankfully, a fellow reporter, H.G. Wells, joins our hero to help him track down the story. As the two young newspapermen sniff out adventure, they meet a number of new acquaintances, including a mysterious red-haired woman, a sinister and calculating figure known only as the Doctor, and everyone’s favorite crime-solving British priest, Father Brown. Chesterton, Wells, the Doctor, and Father Brown soon discover that a vengeful alien race is threatening the Earth, and it’s up to the foursome to save the world.

Though Chesterton’s life is radically fictionalized, it’s clear that McNichol loves and respects Chesterton. Each chapter opens with a quote by Chesterton, and other snippets from the work of Chesterton and Wells make their way into the narrative. Chesterton is presented as a hero in the making, unschooled and low on street smarts, but full of intelligence and more importantly, bravery and virtue. Hungry for adventure and trying to learn how to read his moral compass, McNichol’s version of Chesterton can stand toe to toe with the best heroes of young adult literature. Wells is seemingly amiable, but his racist adoption of eugenicist theory and stark adherence to scientific materialism set him apart from our more empathetic protagonist. The Doctor’s suavely cultured veneer hides the selfish coldness of an almost sociopathic wannabe ubermench. McNichol’s Father Brown falls a little short of the wit and acuity of the original version, but his warmth and wisdom allows him to serve as an Obi-Wan Kenobiesque mentor, guiding young Gilbert on his road to faith. Elements from the Father Brown mysteries, The Man Who was Thursday, and The War of the Worlds appear in the book, just to name a few.

It is a very hopeful sign that McNichol clearly identifies this book as “Volume 1” of the Chronicles. The ending chapters set the stage for future entries in the series as much as resolve the events of Tripods. The ultimate fate of one of the characters may seem crushing, but despite the fact that I found this point extremely unsatisfactory, I must concede that it is completely in line with the traditional format of mythical adventure storytelling, as defined by Joseph Campbell. The slightly confusing cliffhanger ending makes me wonder what precisely McNichol has in mind for future installments in this series.

It’s rare that a novel leaves me simultaneously exhilarated and wanting a lot more, Will Flambeau, Innocent Smith, Adam Wayne, McIan, Turnbull, Professor Lucifer, and the Central Anarchist Council make their ways into the series? Will Chesterton and Hilaire Belloc team up to expose the Marconi Scandal, which turns out to be instigated by the malevolent conspiracy introduced in Tripods? Can Chesterton and Bernard Shaw join forces to investigate how malevolent alien forces are causing societal injustice on the technologically overdeveloped streets of London? Will Chesterton solve a baffling murder case with Agatha Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers, and the rest of the Detection Club? One can only hope so.

I’m not trying to tell McNichol how to write his series, but the possibilities are so vast that I cannot wait to see how he continues Chesterton’s coming-of-age tale. Now that the Harry Potter series is over, I’m hoping that the Chronicles can take its place in providing me with imaginative fiction that I find myself eagerly awaiting for years between installments.

This review originally appeared in Gilbert!

The Wisdom of Harry Potter: What Our Favorite Hero Tells Us About Moral Choices

The Wisdom of Harry Potter: What Our Favorite Hero Tells Us About Moral Choices, by Edmund M. Kern.  Amherst, New York: Prometheus Books, 2003.  296 pages, Softcover, $18.00.

 

In the interests of full disclosure, I should point out that Edmund Kern was one of my favorite professors when I was an undergraduate at Lawrence University. Not only did he teach my class on historiography, but he also taught one of most entertaining and informative classes that I have ever taken, “Religion, Magic, and Witchcraft in Early Modern Europe.” Given the fact that the occult (strictly as a historical phenomenon) is Prof. Kern’s specialty subject, it is not surprising that he would become a great fan of J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books.

Indeed, Prof. Kern managed to work Harry Potter into every aspect of our “Religion, Magic, and Witchcraft” class. On the first day, he picked up three dry-erase markers and asked which color he should use to write on the marker board: “Gryffindor red, Ravenclaw blue, or Slytherin green.” He decided to go with “Ravenclaw blue,” because “that’s where the smart women are.” When we came across a legendary artifact in the readings, such as the Hand of Glory, Prof. Kern would be quick to point out which Harry Potter book that artifact appeared in (in this example, Chamber of Secrets). When a colleague sent him an article that argued that the movies were wrong to show broomstick riding with the bristles pointed backwards, when the bristles should be pointed in front, ahead of the rider, he gave a great five-minute lecture explaining why this article was wrong. While a couple of old sketches of flying witches show them riding on brooms with the bristles pointed forward, the earliest depiction of this phenomenon shows the bristles pointed backwards. Brooms were not the only means of flying transportation in artistic presentations, Prof. Kern added. Some pictures show witches riding gigantic vegetable, huge thistles, and in one case, an enormous phallus. I don’t know how he managed to get the class to settle down after revealing that tidbit of information, but he did.

Kern’s thesis is that the books do indeed promote a wholesome sense of morality, specifically Stoic virtue. His explanation of why the books support this value system is too complex to go into here, but his defense of his position is well reasoned and supported, albeit at times challenging to follow. While Kern’s personal opinions and critiques form the backbone of his book, a substantial portion of the analysis is devoted to presenting the arguments of Rowling’s critics. At times, these sections drag a bit, partially because Kern seems slightly annoyed at the people he is arguing against. One gets the impression that Kern was clenching his teeth as he refuted the contentions of these detractors.

The Wisdom of Harry Potter was written when only four of the books were published. Order of the Phoenix was published right before the manuscript was submitted to the publisher, and the afterword contains a brief response to the fifth novel.  Throughout his study, Kern notes that it is hazardous to make any set conclusions about Rowling’s aims and philosophy until all seven entries in the series were completed. Coming from the perspective of reading Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows, it is interesting to see which theories are verified and which are discredited. For example, Kern is ambivalent about the presence of latent religious themes in the books, and it would be nice to see how Kern restructures this view (if at all) in response to the closing chapter of book seven.  Despite the fact that the book is in need of updating, it is still an essential contribution to the critical literature on Rowling’s work. 

When The Wisdom of Harry Potter was first published, Prof. Kern told me that he might update the book once the series was completed. While such a revision might be intriguing, I personally would be more interested in an autobiographical book about Kern’s fandom. The best parts of Wisdom are Kern’s descriptions of how he first came across the novels, how he quickly came to love the novels, and his experiences incorporating Harry Potter into his academic life. A fantastic memoir could be created from Kern’s experiences at Potter-themed conferences, tracking down the history of the real-life Nicholas Flamel in Europe, and teaching students in his classes and seminars. Given Kern’s skill for humorous and compelling presentation, a book about his life as a Potter scholar would be a fantastic read.

This review originally appeared in Gilbert!

The Pope and the Holocaust: Pius XII and the Secret Vatican Archives

The Pope and the Holocaust: Pius XII and the Secret Vatican Archives, by Michael Hesemann. Ignatius Press, 2022. 459 pages. Softcover, $19.95.

 

Of all of the twentieth-century popes, Pius XII is one of the most controversial, as for over sixty years, various figures from a wide swath of the political spectrum have criticized his stance on his actions during the Holocaust, saying that he stayed silent for too long and did not do enough to protect Jewish people. In response, other historians have argued that Pius XII’s record was smeared by the Soviets in the postwar era, and point to numerous examples to proclaim that Pius did as much as he could to help Jewish people, and spoke out as much as he could within the confines of a highly combustible geopolitical situation.

 

This book was released around the same time as David I. Kertzer’s The Pope at War, which was much more critical of Pius XII. Kertzer’s book received far more media attention upon its release than Hesemann’s, and while Kertzer believed that the demonization of Pius XII’s actions were too strong, he also believed that the pope deserved a certain amount of censure for not doing more sooner. For his part, Hesemann has some harsh words for Kertzer’s previous book, the Pulitzer-winning The Pope and Mussolini, criticizing Kertzer’s analysis and arguments. Looking at reviews of both books, people’s opinions of these works tend to be affected by their previous inclinations to condemn Pius XII or defend him, and people on differing sides of the historiographical debate are ready to accuse the opposing historians and their fans of cognitive bias and of overlooking critical evidence.

 

Indeed, there’s a lot more evidence today than there was just a decade ago. Grzegorz Gorny and Janusz Rosikon’s Vatican Secret Archives (reviewed in Gilbert! about a year ago) explained how a huge amount of formerly sealed files from the WWII were now being released, and that the historical consensus of Pius XII would likely be in flux as different historians brought their own perspectives to each topic, wrote their books, and debated their perspectives on the world intellectual stage.

 

Hesemann’s book draws heavily upon newly released sources, and paints a picture of Pius XII as an outspoken opponent of everything Hitler stood for long before he became pope, and argues that even some of his most controversial moves were the best that could be done in a terrible situation. Hesemann’s work is readable, well-organized, and interesting, and at places he makes it clear how his work reflects information found in newly released documents. His arguments are easy to follow, and he frequently voices his opinions on previous scholarship.  This is a fine book for people who are just starting to study this subject, but as it mentions so many earlier books, it might help to familiarize oneself with some other works before reading this book if one is not aware of the historiographical debate. If one is well-versed and interested in this subject, then Hesemann’s work should be a must-read.

 

The Pope and the Holocaust is not likely to end the historiographical debate over the actions of Pius XII anytime soon, but it certainly a significant voice in the developing research over this issue, which is likely to generate controversy for decades to come, especially as more and more files are released from the Vatican Archives, and debated by scholars. Hesemann’s work is not going to quell the dissension, but it is going to be an important resource for people studying this topic, and it will be interesting to see how different scholars react and expand upon his work in the years to come. 

This review originally appeared in Gilbert Magazine.