More Tragic Than Murder? A Thief in the Night (Part II)
Here, after a long delay, is my continuation of the series on John Cornwell’s book on John Paul I, A Thief in the Night. Parts III and IV will hopefully come soon.
[Last revised April 3, 2009]
So what then, about Cornwell’s specific claims?
After some very superficial research, Cornwell concludes that judged by his interests and capabilities in his earlier life, John Paul I was indeed out of his depth as Pope:
His constant sustenance was The Imitation of Christ, a work of spirituality that emphasizes asceticism and personal piety. Aimed at the spiritual formation of monks and nuns in enclosed communities, it is uncompromising in its rejection of the “vanities of the world.”
When he took over the Patriarchate of Venice, he had clearly arrived at an extraordinary summit for his intellectual and administrative gifts, and he had achieved it without evident ambition or desire for promotion. He had been chosen by general acclamation: a token of the periodic nostalgic longing in the Church for the simple, pietistic answers to the world’s problems . . . Luciani was Patriarch, he was a cardinal of the Church, but he managed to continue a pastoral style of life untrammeled by worldly and administrative anxieties. His only discomforts were the minor embarrassments of pomp and protocol that went with the job. . . .
It is apparent from the vantage of hindsight that Albino Luciani was singularly ill-equipped by experience and by nature for the role of Pontiff. (1).
Cornwell’s opinion here not only shows an embarrassing lack of research into Luciani’s life, but also complete ignorance of the problems in the Catholic Church, and particularly within the Italian Church during the 1960’s and 70’s. This is an area where I have actually done the research that Cornwell failed to do. In fact, I have been researching John Paul I’s life for more than twenty-five years. I have translated well over a hundred of his sermons, articles and conferences from Italian myself.
There really isn’t room to describe many of the details here, but I can decisively refute Cornwell’s contention that Luciani lacked theological depth or was out of touch with the modern world. I can start by pointing out that the one quote that Cornwell bases much of his opinion on is mis-attributed. He quotes Luciani as saying of nineteenth-century dissident Catholics Doellinger, Renan and Passaglia, “They were lost through too much theology. They were too much theologians and too little pastors of souls . . . theological learning ought to be put at the service of the pastoral ministry.” From this, Cornwell concludes that Luciani was “anti-intellectual” and uninterested in theology. (2).
To begin with, the quote wasn’t even Luciani’s. He was reporting something that his parish priest, Don Filippo Carli, had said to him when he was a seminarian. Don Filippo had encouraged him to study, and had given him a multi-volume set of Thomas Aquinas’ works, but had grown somewhat alarmed because young Albino was so eager to read everything, even things that didn’t have to do with his immediate studies. In reality, the priest was only warning him that intellectual attainment can lead to pride and disobedience unless it is turned into pastoral service for others (3). And let’s not forget that Luciani himself received his licentiate degree in theology magna cum laude from the very tough Gregorian University in Rome, and his doctoral dissertation drew a great deal of praise from his professors. Hardly something who was uninterested in theology or anti-intellectual would be able to do!
Cornwell remained silent about vast areas of Luciani’s life, and showed little insight into those he does mention. He doesn’t mention that Luciani had lived through the period of the Fascist dictatorship in Italy, and was known among his seminary colleagues and students, as an opponent of the regime. He taught young laymen in Catholic Action to form themselves for political and social action. During the Nazi occupation of Northern Italy, he was known for his courageous aid to the Resistance and the saving of a number of lives (4)
I was told by one of Luciani’s colleagues from his time in Belluno that he anticipated the Second Vatican Council in many ways even before he became a bishop, and after becoming bishop of Vittorio Veneto in 1958, he prepared himself for the Council sessions with four years of study (5). He attended all the sessions of Vatican II, and was an enthusiastic supporter of the Council reforms even with reluctant fellow bishops; the people of his diocese testified that he “imprinted on the diocese a powerful impulse for renewal.” (6)
Luciani was a diocesan bishop throughout the immediate post-conciliar period, years rapid cultural change, and of enormous upheaval for the Church, not to mention all of society. These were the years when Marxist philosophy was sweeping across Europe, especially Italy, and affecting the younger clergy and young students. Attacks on the Church were also coming from the right from Archbishop Lefebvre and his followers.
Any acquaintance at all with Luciani’s thought and his activities during the late 60’s and the late 70’s, shows that he was abundantly able to confront the problems of the modern world. He gave sermons full of spiritual depth and theological acumen, and commented on problems ranging from Marxism (he had studied the writings of a number of European Marxist philosophers) and liberation theology to birth control, test-tube babies, the problems of moral theologians, the relationship between faith and culture, the responsibilities of artists, and on and on. A few of these writings have been translated in a book I contributed to: The Smiling Pope: The Life and Teaching of John Paul I, published by Our Sunday Visitor Press in 2004. Many more can be found in Humilitas, the quarterly journal of the Missionary Servants of John Paul I, published in Gilford NH. I hope to publish more of his writings soon. Cornwell didn’t have these English translations, but he never went to the effort of investigating these things and having the translations made (though given his record with distorting translations, as I will show, perhaps it’s better that he didn’t).
Cornwell went to some extraordinary lengths to depict John Paul I as hopelessly timid, even neurotic. Unfortunately for Cornwell, the whole record of Luciani’s life, which Cornwell doesn’t go into, refutes that decisively. He took many unpopular stands in Venice; he was a meek and gentle shepherd, but one who bravely faced the wolves that threatened his flock. In December 1977, he preached against the Italian government’s liberalization on abortion, comparing it to the massacre of the innocents, even as dissenting Catholics protested outside, leading one of his priests to say “No one is a prophet in his own country.” (7). He was against the Marxist infiltration of theology of some priests and student intellectuals, while supporting the liberties of Catholic politicians. He preached against modern hedonism. But far from having “moved perceptibly to the right” as Cornwell, claimed, he was standing firm on his convictions in a changing world. (8) Cornwell would not have agreed with most of Luciani’s stands, but he could hardly deny these were courageous acts.
In addition, in his eagerness to get some inside scoop on John Paul I’s private hours in the Vatican, Cornwell almost completely neglects the public record of his papacy. It was he who insisted on doing away from the centuries-old papal coronation, against the resistance of some in the Curia; he made plans to go to Lebanon to appeal for peace, he asked at his first public audience on September 6 that the negotiations in the peace talks at Camp David respect “the security of Israel,” a statement that the Vatican had never made before, and one that drew praise from Jewish leaders. Cornwell even manages to distort a quite beautiful example of the Pope’s humility: Father John Magee, his secretary, recounts how John Paul I had asked him if he could serve his Mass in the papal chapel, and did so, bringing him the water to wash his hands, and even kneeling at the end for his blessing. Cornwell actually attributed this to a need for “humiliation and abasement” on the Pope’s part. (9)
Cornwell says that John Paul I was intimidated by Vatican officials. To illustrate this, he quotes Sister Vincenza, in an article published in the Italian edition of Humilitas, but totally misquotes and distorts it.
An accurate translation of the Italian text of the article reads:
In Rome I was in the habit of going to the living room to clean around 8 a.m. because I knew that no one would be there. That morning I went there like usual; too late I noticed that at the other end of the room was the Holy Father looking downcast, and near him, his secretary. I excused myself and withdrew quickly, but I was able to hear the secretary saying to him, ‘Holiness you are Peter, you have the authority; don’t let yourself be intimidated [or frightened].’ This phrase says a great deal!” (10).
In his translation, Cornwell exaggerates and distorts this into:
In the Vatican, I was in the habit of cleaning his room around eight o’clock, when I thought there would be nobody there. One morning I went in as usual; I realized, too late, that Papa Luciani was in there, at the other end of the room. He was standing in a depressed and hunched posture, with the secretary standing over him. I made my excuses and retired in a hurry, but I could not help hearing the secretary saying to him, “Holy Father, be St. Peter! You have the authority! Don’t let them bully you and intimidate you!” He kept saying this insistently, over and over again. (11)
Needless to say, this translation isn’t very close to the original. For the most part Cornwell simply adds words to the original (”hunched posture,” “standing over him”), but there is also the complete mis-translation of the final sentence: Questa frase la dice lunga, which for anyone who understands Italian, certainly does not mean “he kept saying this over and over again.”
Is this due to a lack of knowledge of Italian or deliberate distortion? I lean toward the latter, especially since it strengthens a point needed to make Cornwell’s case. In fact, this type of distortion seems to be a habit with Cornwell. Ronald Rychlak demonstrates that he did the same thing with a 1919 letter attributed to Eugenio Pacelli as papal nuncio to Bavaria, which Cornwell altered in translation in order to make Pacelli seem like an anti-Semite. (12).
John Paul I’s niece, Pia Luciani Basso, has a quite different story to tell about her uncle’s approach. One day in mid-September, she visited him for lunch in the Vatican. “It was then that my uncle turned to one of his secretaries and said: ‘Did you do what I ordered to you do this morning?’ He answered, ‘Yes, but they [i.e. in the Curia] told me that it isn’t possible because this has never been done.’ The Pope, still more decisive, ordered him to go back in the afternoon to ask the same thing, confirming that ‘It is the Pope who wants it.’ Isn’t this a sign of firmness and decisiveness?” (13)
How to reconcile the different eyewitness statements? As for Sister Vincenza’s account, we don’t know the context; what led the Pope to be downcast, who did the secretaries think were intimidating him?
My suspicion is that, as in Pia’s account, the secretaries would have been unhappy in the role of go-between. This was of course, very common for Popes; they should be able to transmit orders and have them obeyed, rather than spend all day arguing about them. The arguing was often done by a trusted aide. Pope Paul had often used his secretary Msgr. Macchi for this purpose, and the Sostituto or deputy Secretary of State, then Archbishop Giovanni Benelli, had enforced many of the Pope’s decisions with reluctant members of the Curia. But Benelli and Macchi were no longer there. Neither Fr. Magee nor Fr. Lorenzi was used to the role of enforcer. This, I think, was their origin of the desire of one or another of them to suppose the Pope to be “intimidated,” and to try and get him to speak personally to those opposing him. Of course, this is just a guess.
But there is abundant evidence from the Vatican that John Paul I was his own man. His way of thinking and acting, although prudent, was not hesitant, in contrast to Paul VI, during the last years of his pontificate, had difficulty in making decisions. He surprised many in the Vatican by it, because his outward manner was so gentle, even timid.
Archbishop (later Cardinal) Caprio, for instance, was at that time the Sostituto. He later recalled: “The days following [the election] were full of commitments, many of them very weighty ones, but the Pope accepted them and with calm, self mastery, and such naturalness that it would make you think that he had been preparing for it for a long time. The very words that he used in calling me on the phone gave me the impression that he had already been Pope for who knows how long: ‘This is the Pope, Excellency, would you come see me for a minute?’ (14). Caprio also reported “In some of the first decisions that [John Paul] took at the beginning of his pontificate [evidently referring to doing away with pomp and coronation], he wanted things expedited quickly, although with absolute respect for persons. He told me, ‘Say that the Pope wants it this way.’” (15)
Archbishop (later Cardinal), Agostino Casaroli was then in charge of the Church’s external affairs, and one of the Vatican’s top prelates. He had been used to Paul VI meditating at length on a proposed course of action, but when he came to John Paul I with five different problems to be resolved in regard to the Church’s relations with Eastern European countries, the new Pope gave quick answers on three of them, and asked for time to think about the other two. “In regard to the fundamental questions that were put to him,” said Casaroli, “he had ideas that were anything but uncertain.” (16)
Casaroli also said that when it came to a controversial episcopal nomination, for his own vacated post as Patriarch of Venice, John Paul had surprised most of the Curia because instead of accepting one of the names sent to him by the Congregation of Bishops, he had decided to choose his own candidate. Casaroli said “Holy Father, if you proceed in that direction, you might meet with some criticism.” The Pope had then smiled and said, “Don’t talk like that, Eminence, because if I were to listen to criticism, I would have to get rid of you right away!” (17) Casaroli had been one of the most criticized prelates in the Vatican, in fact, because of his carrying out of Pope Paul’s overtures to Communist countries – charges which had led to Casaroli himself being called a Communist and a Freemason. (This story is another clear indication that the Pope did not believe in the traditionalist charges against the Curia).
Both Casaroli and Caprio were alive and well and working in the Vatican in 1987-88 when Cornwell was researching his book. If he had such approval from the Vatican, and if, as he says, John Paul II, in an audience, even blessed his work, then why didn’t he make some effort to interview Casaroli and Caprio, since they were the people still alive who had worked most closely with John Paul I? (Cardinal Villot had died in 1979). Even if he wasn’t able to interview them personally, some of their comments were already in print when Cornwell did his work. It’s a shame his research was so shoddy he didn’t run across them to use at backup for his personal interviews. But this, as many have commented about his other works, including Hitler’s Pope, this shoddiness is very much his usual style. (Go to Part III).
(1) Cornwell, A Thief, p. 261-62.
(2) Cornwell, A Thief, p. 8.
(3) The original quotation is from “La scelta delle vocazioni nella parrocchia,” Albino Luciani /Giovanni Paol I, Opera Omnia 2:339.
(4) For this, see especially Patrizia Luciani, Un prete di montagna: gli anni bellunesi di Albino Luciani (1912-1958) (Padua: Edizioni Messaggero, 2003); Nina Luciani Petri, Mio Fratello Albino: ricordi e memorie della sorella di Papa Luciani. With Stefania Falasca. (Italy : Trenta Giorni Soc. Coop, 2003).
(5) Interview by the author with Msgr. Auslio da Rif in Belluno, November, 1985.
(6) José Maria Javierre, De Juan Pablo I a Juan Pablo II: La aventura de la Iglesia en nuestros dias (Valencia: EDICEP, 1979), p. 163
(7) “Nostalgies venetiens,” Le Monde, August 29, 1978.
(8) Cornwell, A Thief, p. 8.
(9) Cornwell, A Thief, p. 187-undoubtedly this is a true story because it can also be found in Magee’s testimony in Humilitas, August 1990, pp. 3 4, 14.
(10) From Humilitas, (Italian ed), May 1986, pp. 1-3.
(11) Cornwell, A Thief, p. 115. I pointed these discrepancies out some time ago not only in my piece for Our Sunday Visitor (“Controversial Theory about Pope’s Death Proposed,” August 20, 1989, pp. 3-4), but also in an article in Italian: “A Proposito di Cornwell e di ‘Un ladro nella notte,’” Humilitas (February 1992), pp. 10-11.
(12) In this text as well, Cornwell has incredible mistranslations that can hardly be the result of ignorance; a sentence that really reads that certain Bolshevik revolutionaries were “Jews like the first ones (primi)” reads in Cornwell’s translation as “Jews like the rest of them,” which suggests that all Jews are revolutionaries. It should also be pointed out that it was most probably not Pacelli who actually wrote the letter, but his assistant, Monsignor Lorenzo Schioppa. See Ronald Rychlak, “Goldhagen v. Pius XII,” First Things 124 (June/July 2002): 37-54; reprinted online in “Hitler, Pope Pius XII, the Jews – the Truth.”
(13) “Pia Luciani: lo zio era un uomo decisivo,” interview Humilitas (Italian ed.), October 1995, pp. 7, 15.
(14) Testimony of Caprio published in Giulio Nicolini, Trentatre giorni: un pontificato, 3rd ed., (Bergamo: Editrice Velar, 1983), p . 134.
(15) Caprio’s homily at the fourth novemdiales for Pope John Paul I, October 7, 1978, in G. Caprile, “L’inatesa scomparsa di Giovanni Paolo I,” La Civilta Cattolica, 129, no. 3080 (October 21, 1978): 168. See also “‘E’ stato un vero pastore’: intervista al Cardinale Caprio,” in 30 Giorni, no. 9 (settembre 1993), pp. 41-42.
(16) “Casaroli ci parla di Luciani,” Interview with Maurizio Busatta in L’Amico del Popolo (Belluno), August 30(?) 1984, pp. 1, 31.
(17) Don Licio Boldrin, “Poverta di Papa Luciani: sepolto con la camicia del segretario,” Humiltas, November 1985, p. 13; See also, 30 Giorni, settembre 1993, p. 45. Don Licio had this story directly from Cardinal Casaroli.
