During “Banned Books Week” what often comes to mind is the censorship of important historical works of fiction, like Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. However, banning books purely in the name of censorship is wildly different from taking measures to ensure the publication of accurate Catholic theology. In this blog post, we take a nuanced look at the complexities of complexities of the Nihil Obstat.
Q: September 22-28th is Banned Books Week. The Catholic Church, with its Index Librorum Prohibitum, has certainly restricted books in the past. How did that situation come about?
A: No reasonable person thinks it’s good to teach something that’s false. Censorship takes a variety of forms: setting the curriculum in schools, the peer-review process in publishing, even adding context to posts on social media. Properly exercised, censorship is ultimately there to guard against error, and promote what is true, for the good of the individual and society. Just as civil society takes this approach, so does the Church. In establishing the canon of scripture – declaring which writings are and are not to be included in the Bible – she delineated the limits and extents of Christian belief. The same is true also of the Creeds, which set out what the Catholic faith is, and (conversely) what it’s not. The Index was one way, historically, of extending this principle to the writings of theologians and others, indicating to people what is and is not consonant with Catholic faith and morals. Banning books can, of course, be the act of a dictator seeking to restrict access to the truth. But it can also be the act of a judicious parent, promoting what is good by shielding people from what is not. What is not often mentioned in discussions of the Index is that very often theological libraries contained restricted sections containing the works listed on the Index. These were made available to readers who had already obtained a certain degree of knowledge and intellectual capacity, so they could understand contrary arguments and ideas, and formulate responses. So this wasn’t fundamentally an attempt to be closed-minded, but a way of exercising prudence and care.
Q: In “The Seven Storey Mountain”, Thomas Merton mentioned his outrage, in his pre-Catholic days, when he discovered that a book he’d been reading had an “Imprimatur.” Can you explain a little bit about the process that leads to words like “Imprimatur”, “Nihil Obstat”, and “imprimi Potest” appearing in books?
A: As you say, before becoming a Catholic, Merton obtained a copy of Etienne Gilson’s The Spirit of Medieval Philosophy from Scribner’s in New York, and he relates feeling “disgust and deception” upon finding it had a Nihil Obstat and Imprimatur. As he writes, this kind of “judgement” conjures up for some people “the real and imaginary excesses of the Inquisition.” Actually, what he goes on to say is quite helpful, because he decided not to throw the book out in a fit of pique, but to read it. And when he did, the fact that there was a Nihil obstat and Imprimatur pointed him on to other Catholic philosophical and theological writings, something that he says “was surely a real grace.” The Nihil obstat is a pretty straightforward thing. It means the work was reviewed by someone appointed by the appropriate ecclesiastical authority, and that nothing objectionable to Catholic faith and morals was found in it. It doesn’t judge the quality of the prose and so on, and it’s usually submitted for review by the author, who is therefore actually requesting its examination. The Imprimatur is attached to this: it’s the response of the ecclesiastical authority themselves to the review, and it simply means “Let it be printed.” The Imprimi potest is really the same thing, but issued by the superior of a Religious Community, rather than a bishop. The other phrase you find, particularly in liturgical books, is Concordat cum originali. This attests that the edition conforms to the approved text, to avoid publishing mistakes and (occasionally) attempts to alter things from the original edition.
Q: What kind of books should go through the process and why? If a reader finds a book that hasn’t gone through the process but should have, what steps should they take?
A: The Index Librorum Prohibitum had a pretty broad scope, and listed published works that were contrary to Catholic faith and morals. As such, though it is not updated anymore, the Church still considers it to retain its moral force. There have been a few authors whose works were on the Index but have since been removed. For instance, Antonio Rosmini’s works were added in 1849, taken off in 1855, and even praised later by Pope John Paul II. The review of books now is, as I mentioned, generally done at the request of the author or the publisher. Canon law provides different requirements for different categories of works: bibles, scriptural translations, scriptural translations produced with non-Catholics, liturgical books, translations of liturgical books, prayer books, catechisms, collections of ecclesiastical acts and laws, and other books pertaining to the sacred sciences. So, a Catholic novelist need not request a review of his or her work, but an author publishing a theological work is required to do so. If the publishing house is a Catholic institution, they will need to work with the author and local diocese to see this through. It’s difficult to know how to advise someone who comes across a book that hasn’t gone through this process without knowing the work in question, and the potential reader. I think the best thing to say is that the Nihil obstat and the Imprimatur gives an assurance to the reader about the content of the work. If they find themselves unsure about something in a publication without these approvals, they can seek advice from a theologian or pastor. Sometimes a bishop will grant these permissions motu proprio, on his own initiative, particularly if he thinks a work is going to be useful in Catholic schools or parishes.
Q: You teach at the School of Canon Law at the Catholic University. What drew you into the study of canon law, and what makes for being a good canon lawyer?
A: Most people study canon law because they’re sent by their bishop to do so. I had the good fortune of being sent, but also wanting to come. When my superiors asked me to undertake further studies after ordination I was given a couple of choices, and we discussed the various options together and settled on canon law. It really has been the most wonderful thing. I came from England to study canon law here at The Catholic University of America, and after finishing my doctorate went back to run a parish for a few years before returning to join the Faculty. I quite simply love everything about my work, and I feel immensely privileged to serve the Church – nationally and internationally – through our School, both through my daily interaction with our students, but also in research and publishing. A good canonist is, I think, first of all a person of prayerful humility before God and his plan for the world and for each human person. We approach the law not as its masters, but its servants. Seeking to identify the just way of responding to a sometimes difficult situation requires a unswerving commitment to the truth, but also the ability to communicate that truth in a compassionate and helpful way. There are times when the law requires firm action, but in all circumstances the just way of responding to a controversy is to help all the parties to see the truth that is before them, but perhaps not immediately apparent. Of course, there might be those who feel they are the ‘winner’ or ‘loser’ in a contentious matter, but in reality if the truth has prevailed, we all benefit.
Q: You come from England originally. What, if anything, do you miss about the Old Country?
A: Thank the good Lord, not much. The advent of video calls means I can keep in touch with friends and family pretty readily, and I keep involved with the Church in the UK and get asked to advise on cases and canonical matters locally and nationally there. As far as creature comforts are concerned, I have a supplier in DC for Baked Beans, Yorkshire Tea, and the occasional, over-priced bottle of Ribena (look it up)! I think the only thing I’ve been unsuccessful in obtaining is proper bacon, but it’s not as if the US has a measly approach to breakfast, is it? I do sometimes miss the proximity and ease of getting over to Europe, but I have been really warmly welcomed here, and I really feel equally at home when I get off the plane, whether it’s at Heathrow or Dulles.