Poor Mexico! The world’s second-largest Catholic nation waited patiently for a visit from Francis. When it finally happened, it was eclipsed not once but twice by bigger papal news stories. First, the historic meeting between the Pope and the Russian Orthodox Patriarch in Havana at the start of the trip. Second, Francis’s in-flight press conference at the end. The first couldn’t be helped: Francis had to seize the longed-for opportunity to meet Patriarch Kirill. But the second is a different matter.
The airborne papal press conference is a relatively recent phenomenon. Ever since Paul VI, popes have been expected to be globetrotters. The Holy Father spent hours in close proximity to the world’s media en route to increasingly exotic locations. Often, he would simply greet the press pack, then disappear behind a curtain for the rest of the flight. Then one fateful day a Vatican official looked at the media pack and thought: “Why don’t we take advantage of this?”
Popes were then pushed forward to talk about their forthcoming trip. They aimed to set the scene, raising international awareness of the country they were visiting. In Benedict XVI’s day, the media had to submit questions in advance. Even then, there was turbulence. When the German pope answered a question about condoms on a plane to Africa in 2009 the ensuing visit was ignored as Western media picked over his comments.
When Pope Francis was elected, he was seen as media shy. Leaving Rome at the start of his first foreign visit, to Brazil, he eyed journalists warily. But on the flight home, he held a press conference in which he uttered his celebrated words “Who am I to judge?” Since then, epic in-flight interviews have been the norm.
Francis doesn’t vet questions in advance, which means that his press conferences are a high-wire act – at 30,000 feet. He holds them at the end of frenetic trips when the assembled journalists should, in theory, be exhausted. But for an hour or so they rally, knowing that Francis is likely is give them a pontificate-defining soundbite.
The Pope obliged last week with his comment about Donald Trump. He also improvised at length on the most delicate Catholic issues of the moment: contraception and the Zika virus, the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church and the abuse crisis. On each topic, his unguarded comments caused a degree of upset.
There are three reasons why the Vatican should reassess airborne papal press conferences. First, as we mentioned, they draw attention away from the country the pope has just visited. Second, the format allows Western media to set the papal agenda. Francis seemed to want to talk to reporters about his experiences in Mexico, but ended up being drawn into the US presidential election campaign. Third, press conferences reinforce the widespread misunderstanding that Catholic doctrine is simply a “policy” that can be altered at will by the pope. Hence last week’s headlines suggesting Francis had made an off-the-cuff change to Church teaching on contraception.
If the Vatican reflected on these points, it is hard to see how it could avoid the conclusion that, in their current form, the cost of in-flight papal press conferences outweigh the benefit.
In a recent talk Fr Gary Thomas, a Californian priest and exorcist for the Diocese of San José, confided that the Devil hates Latin. Latin is in fact the usual language for exorcisms in the English-speaking world, as no English translation for the Rite of Exorcism has ever been approved. But beyond this practical consideration, it makes perfect sense for Satan to loathe Latin.
Latin is beautiful, concise, elegant and timeless, and thus particularly suited for the expression of truth in all its simplicity. The Devil, as we all know, is the father of lies, and loves obfuscations, confusion and ambiguity. He would love to convince us that black is white, or at least all things are a shade of grey.
Latin, by contrast, is the language of all those who know that truth is knowable by human beings. It does not usually admit of ambiguity, and generally allows no room for finding cracks in the meaning that can be manipulated into fissures.
Modern languages are often debased by modern usages. Many praise the English Reformation divines as great masters of English prose, yet the English of yesterday has often given way to expression, even in religious contexts, that is banal, untidy and downright offensive. It is over this degradation of modern expression, this heap of broken images, that Satan loves to hover. But Latin has retained its inner purity. Can you imagine a punk anthem in Latin? The sentiments of Johnny Rotten, let us say, are not simply untranslatable into Latin, but inexpressible in it. If we were to think in Latin, our minds would be purer.
Latin is a universal language. Most people who study it find it delightful, whatever their background. It brings with it the cultural baggage of Antiquity, of course, but this is benign compared with the nationalistic tendencies associated with so many modern languages. As the liturgy speaks of universal values, it is only right that Latin should be retained as a liturgical language, as Vatican II wanted. Latin remains a bulwark against particularism; and particularism can descend into factionalism, which the Devil loves.
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