crosses behind them. Why? Because they’re holy men? No, they don’t give a damn for holiness. They drag those crosses to show the citizenry that they’re subservient to the Church. I don’t want any church that rules Spain as this one does, no church that has ruined Ireland the way this one has, to get a foothold in the United States. To prevent such a thing I think I would lay down my life.”
The gentlemen then asked what my experiences had been with the Church and I replied, “I’ve recently decided that I could support a Catholic for President, but I must admit that I have persistent doubts about the political influence of the Church. For example, when I was textbook editor for one of the big publishing firms wewere visited one day by a priest who showed us credentials entitling him to speak for the hierarchy of the Church in New York City, and he warned us bluntly that unless we stopped using the word
jesuitical
as a pejorative adjective in our books, he would personally see to it that no further book from our company would ever be used in any Catholic college or school.”
Dignitary One asked, “Did you use the word
jesuitical
in books that you were trying to sell to Catholic colleges? That doesn’t seem intelligent.”
“You misunderstand me,” I replied. “The word was never used in textbooks because we knew it was pejorative. Another branch of our company had used the word in a book intended for the general public.”
“And the Church was threatening you on such a tenuous relationship?”
“Yes. Their pressure was constant and powerful,” I replied. “The priest insisted that we drop the word in all future editions of the book he was complaining about.”
“Did he specifically say that if you didn’t edit it out he would institute the boycott?” the eminent writer pressed.
“Yes.”
“Did you cut the word?”
“No,” I replied. “As a matter of publishing honor we couldn’t.”
“Was the boycott enforced?” my interrogator asked.
“I think not, but in all prudence we stopped using the adjective in subsequent books.”
The discussion continued for some minutes, and then the fourth man at our table spoke up, and his name I am willing to report: He was Clifton Fadiman, the brilliantessayist and wit, and he said calmly, “Gentlemen, you are talking like idiots. One of these days we shall have a Catholic President and he will probably be a very good man. For every Catholic Spain that you cite, I can cite a Catholic France, where the clergy never successfully interferes. For every repressive Ireland I can cite a Belgium, where the Church’s political influence is benevolent. Our Constitution has specific safeguards to protect us from what you fear, and the spirit of our unwritten laws is all in favor of us in any showdown such as you speak of. You,” he asked Dignitary One, “were you against the appointment of Frank Murphy to the Supreme Court?”
“Of course not,” the distinguished writer said. “I am fearful only of the ascendancy of a Catholic to the highest administrative office. I’ve seen what they can do as administrators.”
“Were you against Al Smith as governor of New York?” Fadiman pursued.
“Of course not,” the writer replied. “He was a notable governor. I voted for him.”
“You’re markedly inconsistent,” Fadiman said. “If you truly fear Catholics as much as you claim, you should initiate impeachment proceedings against every Catholic who holds a governmental position.” In a quiet, impassioned summary Fadiman then gave as good a defense of religious liberty as I had ever heard, and I sat quiet, marking his thoughts.
But when he finished, a distinguished woman who sat at our table said, “Mr. Fadiman, you make an impassioned plea for the Church that would not recognize asingle postulate of your reasoning. I am a Catholic, and a reasonably faithful practicing one, and I assure you from the bottom of my being that no Catholic should ever be
Janwillem van de Wetering