The New Inquisition

The question of whether there is a crisis in the Catholic Church hinges on a slew of facts and their interpretations. The argument that the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith, the oldest department in the Roman Curia—tasked with identifying and stomping out heresy since 1542—has itself been compromised is among the most persuasive. Cardinal Victor Manuel Fernández, the current prefect for the Dicastery, initially appointed by Pope Francis, is case in point.

Fernández, author of multiple erotically-charged and, frankly, creepy books, reigns supreme in the ashes of the Inquisition. A graphically-written description of sexual union between Christ and a 16-year-old girl is by no means his only sin. Such a transgression, by virtue of optics alone, should disqualify the man from his current position within the Church. Yet his meteoric rise through the ranks of the hierarchy has not been impeded. 

A man of less than impeccable credentials, Fernández wields the reins of heresy in lockstep with fury. His weaknesses as a prefect are of such obvious character that an adult would be chilled by his touch. In the name of love, he parades his own heresies to the tune of scandal.

Jesus Christ is very clear on the nature of marriage: it is between one man and one woman. To err here is to risk eternal banishment of not just Catholic truth but a soul’s eternal fate in the hereafter. Fiducia Supplicans, drafted by Fernández, sanctions sin in the name of inclusion. The question, then, is what precisely happens to souls who follow his guidance?

In wandering from the Way, one risks a fate worse than annihilation. Hell is not just a terrestrial vision. It is the mandate of the prefect for the DDF to prevent pollution from entering the Catholic world. The terrible truth is that it already has. A firefighter should not add to the flames. 

That the SSPX had to defend their position against this man is a scandal within a scandal. It is not merely evidence of bad faith negotiation but literal spittle aimed at otherwise pious Catholics. The horrific positions of Fernández, especially those elucidated in sexual matters, have reached the level of disgust. For those who approach the Lord with deep reverence, this is not merely offensive, it is blasphemous. 

It could just as easily be said that the smoke of modernism has entered the Church. In accommodating the eternal truth of the Church to the times, mediocrity paves the path to damnation. Fernández certainly believes in the king of innovation, in the God of progress. This is a corrupting persuasion. One should no longer be surprised by its capacity for deceit.

It does not take a pope to realize Fernández is waging a war against the sacred. The desecration of order has been given form in the contemporary approach to gender and sexuality. The family, which is ultimately defined by the Lord, suffers in proportion. In Fernández, one sees the culmination of centuries of thought that seek this destruction. That he leads the DDF is a tragedy that borders on terror. 

To honor truth is to honor God, but the demand can be inverted. Fernández’s openness to exploring the varieties of mystical experience has, unfortunately, included the pornographic. One wonders what would have become of the man had he been born not to Catholics in Cordoba but to atheists in the San Fernando Valley. It is the liberality of his theology that seeks in charity what is best found in condemnation. Shame is his unqualified judgment. Love, apparently, can be unbiblical.

Leading sinners further along the path to destruction, Fernández has let the strength of love—a central paradox of human existence—become a weakness by way of subterfuge. Tasked with the salvation of souls, he has helped redefine the terms of debate. In the same way, he has written away the reality of Hell by championing policies that send people there. One can be termed a wolf by virtue of consequence, but the irony is that his malfeasance is often seen as an extension of love. If a shepherd kills his own, he is not a shepherd. 

The new inquisition has flipped the meaning of the enterprise in no uncertain terms. Excommunication has become a weapon wielded against tradition. One need not fully agree with organizations like the SSPX to understand the stakes. It is as though the inquisitor is without his clothes. It is not sufficient to merely point this out; the Vatican must do something about it.

The Passion of the Church is no longer a matter of debate. The question is: Who is responsible for the lashings, for the torture, for the crucifixion?—and how the Church resurrects. Fernández might as well not be wearing a cassock. And if one looks closely, he already isn’t.