Now, Mr. Mozart entitles his piece “A Musical Joke”. News flash to Mr. Mozart: jokes are supposed to be funny. What is so funny about mocking our country’s one and only claim to faim? Isn’t it obvious that only Austrians find this kind of tasteless mocking of their own venerable culture in any way clever? What does Mr. Mozart think the effect of his piece in certain alien countries to our North will be? Our northern neighbors already mock us enough for our accent, our poets’ insufficient grasp of Grammar, and our soldiers insufficient supply of courage; are we now going to encourage them to laugh at our music as well?

Mr. Mozart is a talented composer. If he most mock someone’s music, why doesn’t he mock foreigners’ music? Sancrucensis suggests that he take the Dornrosen as his model, their Rehgehegewegepflegeschrägesäge-Song is the sort of thing that a “musical joke” ought to be:

No one can doubt that the music at which the Dornrosen are poking fun is foreign music. Judging from the fact that they break into English at about the 2:09 mark, one might be lead to conclude that they are making fun of Anglo-American “pop-music”, and to some extent this might even be true, but isn’t clear that the real butt of their joke is the carnival music of our northern neighbors in the Federal Republic of so-called, quote-unquote “Germany”? This sort of thing:

As the Carnival reaches it’s lamentable climax Sancrucensis reminds it’s readers of the long suffering Socrates (as recorded by Wing-Commander Baring):

XANTIPPE AND SOCRATES

Scene. — A room in Socrates’ house. Xantippe is seated at table, on which an unappetising meal, consisting of figs, parsley, and some hashed goat’s meat, is spread.

Enter Socrates

Xantippe. You’re twenty minutes late.

Socrates. I’m sorry, I was kept

Xantippe. Wasting your time as usual, I suppose, and bothering people with questions who have got something better to do than to listen to you. You can’t think what a mistake you make by going on like that. You can’t think how much people dislike it. If people enjoyed it, or admired it, I could understand the waste of time — but they don’t. It only makes them angry. Everybody’s saying so.

Socrates. Who’s everybody ?

Xantippe. There you are with your questions again. Please don’t try to catch me out with those kind of tricks. I’m not a philosopher. I’m not a sophist. I know I’m not clever — I’m only a woman. But I do know the difference between right and wrong and black and white, and I don’t think it’s very kind of you, or very generous either, to be always pointing out my ignorance, and perpetually making me the butt of your sarcasm.

Socrates. But I never said a word.

Xantippe. Oh, please, don’t try and wriggle out of it. We all know you’re very good at that. I do hate that shuffling so. It’s so cowardly. I do like a man one can trust — and depend on — who when he says Yes means Yes, and when he says No means No.

Socrates. I’m sorry I spoke.

Xantippe. I suppose that’s what’s called irony. I’ve no doubt it’s very clever, but I’m afraid it’s wasted on me. I should keep those remarks for the market-place and the gymnasia and the workshops. I’ve no doubt they’d be highly appreciated there by that clique of young men who do nothing but admire each other. I’m afraid I’m old-fashioned. I was brought up to think a man should treat his wife with decent civility, and try, even if he did think her stupid, not to be always showing it.

[….]

Xantippe. Please give me your plate. I will help you to the goat.

Socrates. None for me, thank you, to-day.

Xantippe. Why not ? I suppose it’s not good enough. I’m afraid I can’t provide the food you get at your grand friends’ houses, but I do think it’s rather cruel of you to sneer at my poor humble efforts.

Socrates. I promise you, Xantippe, nothing was farther from my thoughts. I’m not hungry. I’ve really got no appetite for meat to-day. I’ll have some figs, if you don’t mind.

Xantippe. I suppose that’s a new fad, not to eat meat. I assure you people talk quite enough about you as it is without your making yourself more peculiar. Only yesterday Chrysilla was talking about your clothes. She asked if you made them dirty on purpose. She said the spots on the back couldn’t have got there by accident. Every one notices it — every one says the same thing. Of course they think it’s my fault. No doubt it’s very amusing for people who don’t mind attracting attention and who like being notorious ; but it is rather hard on me. And when I hear people saying ” Poor Socrates ! it is such a shame that his wife looks after him so badly and doesn’t even mend his sandals ” — I admit I do feel rather hurt. However, that would never enter into your head. A philosopher hasn’t time to think of other people. I suppose unselfishness doesn’t form part of a sophist’s training, does it ?

[Socrates says nothing, but eats first one fig and then another.

Xantippe. I think you might at least answer when you’re spoken to. I am far from expecting you to treat me with consideration or respect ; but I do expect ordinary civility.

[Socrates goes on eating figs in silence.

Xantippe. Oh, I see, you’re going to sulk. First you browbeat, then you’re satirical. Then you sneer at the food, and then you sulk.

Socrates. I never said a word against the food.

Xantippe. You never said a word against the food. You only kept me waiting nearly half an hour for dinner — not that that was anything new – I’m sure I ought to be used to that by now — and you only refused to look at the dish which I had taken pains to cook with my own hands for you.

Socrates. All I said was I wasn’t hungry — that I had no appetite for meat.

Xantippe. You’ve eaten all the figs. You’ve got quite an appetite for those.

Socrates. That’s different.

Xantippe. Oh, that’s different, is it ? One can be hungry enough to eat all the fruit there is in the house, which I was especially keeping for this evening, but not hungry enough to touch a piece of meat. I suppose that’s algebra.

IV. PREPARATION FOR CONFESSION

1. REMOTE PREPARATION

An important remote preparation for Confession is the attempt to overcome obstacles to deep self knowledge. Among these obstacles are an insufficient realization of the holiness of God and a certain blindness of the soul.

Realizing the Holiness of God

We have often been struck with amazement by the fact that some otherwise pious souls are so little troubled by certain faults. Their consciences remain tranquil despite the faults which the do not deny. This comes from an insufficient realization of the holiness of God. If one really knew who God is one would tremble at the slightest infidelity to Him. It is therefore necessary to learn to live “in the presence of the eternal and infinite God,” to keep the constantly in mind the words of Our Lord which speak so earnestly of the importance of fidelity in little things. It is good to keep the example of the saints before us, who would only lift their hearts up to God with the greatest reverence and awe.

Healing the Blindness of the Soul

We have certainly noticed that certain persons who try to live a devout life, dutifully observing all the precepts of religion, and perhaps considered excellent Catholics, nevertheless have crass faults. The strange thing is that they are not aware of their faults. They examine their consciences and confess their sins often. And yet they simply overlook “materially grave” sins or remain in a state which gives scandal to those that know of it. This disharmony and contradiction that strike us so painfully in the behavior of others is unfortunately not entirely overcome in our own lives. We can be sure that we have something in us that is not conformed to the image of Christ – indeed something contrary to that image – something that would cause us sorrow and shame if we knew of it, and which we could only correct with difficulty.

But you will say: the sin of which I am not myself conscience will not be regarded as a sin by God! That is certainly true, but let us take care! Just as there is culpable ignorance, so there is also a culpable blindness. If a man persistently ignores the warning to be more loving and courteous he will soon be blind to such duties; without noticing it much, without even recognizing it, he will soon become a very rude person whom others try to avoid.

This spiritual blindness is especially dangerous when it stems from exaggerated self-esteem. The Pharisee in the temple who thanks God that he not like other men, who sees only his own prayer and fasting, is a type of character not seldom met with. His exaggerated self-esteem blinds him to many hideous parts of his person. One could not have such indignation at the faults of one’s neighbors if one did not feel oneself incapable of committing them. There is nothing wrong with noticing the faults of others, but if one is indignant at them and constantly criticizing them, then one can be sure that one lacks self-knowledge, even if one goes to Confession frequently and examines one’s conscience daily. This blindness will not be taken from us by our confessors, and even the council of the best of spiritual directors will not free us from our ignorance.

This words should not discourage us. God expects only good will of us. And we show good will when we are honestly ready to awake from blindness, and to correct every fault that we are able to detect – either through our own examination or through the help of others.

(to be continued)

III. THE CONDITIONS FOR A GOOD CONFESSION

In order to receive the Sacrament of Penance fruitfully it is necessary carefully to fulfill all that belongs to the essence of the Sacrament as well as those things that have always been recommended by the teaching of the Church. These consist principally in a good preparation, the confession of one’s sins, and the fulfillment of one’s penance.

Preparation for confession can be further divided into proximate preparation (preparation in the strict sense) and remote preparation.

Proximate preparation includes the examination of conscience, which ought to begin with an invocation of the Holy Spirit; contrition for sins committed; and finally the resolution not to commit those sins again and to convert one’s life.

Remote preparation includes everything that can be done by the penitent to give himself comprehensive knowledge of his sins, to deepen his contrition, and to strengthen his resolution.

It is necessary to fulfill these precepts and councils carefully in order to receive the Sacrament of Penance fruitfully. But when we say that care is necessary we do not mean that we ought to be filled with worry and fear. We must rather be confident in the knowledge that the Church, like a good mother, teaches us these things in order that we might progress toward God as quickly as possible, that our souls might expand and develop ever more richly, and that the peace of God might entirely fill our hearts.

We begin with a consideration of the preparation for Confession.

II. THE EFFECTS OF FREQUENT CONFESSION

There can be no doubt that the effects of Confession vary according to the disposition of penitents; the effects can be relatively small, but they can also be very great.

Often after a long life devout souls say that their spiritual state has not changed much and that frequent Confession has had no effect. But this complaint is usually not really justified. For one ought not to overlook the fact that even the preservation of the state of grace or the ability to stand up again quickly after serious falls are effects of frequent Confession the true worth of which is inestimable. Moreover, one can surely say that frequent Confession allows one to have greater contrition for one’s sins, since they still fresh in the memory.  One can also point out that the regular reception of this Sacrament makes one’s conscience more sensitive, so that any deviation from the right path is more easily detected than if a long period of time has elapsed since the last time one attempted to examine one’s conscience. So there are a number of points that make it clear what a blessing frequent Confession really is, and it would be a sign of ingratitude and weak faith if one were to ignore them.

Finally there can be no question that a man who confesses frequently and regularly will be granted an interior transformation, even if he has to confess the same sins his whole life long, since at the end of his life he will realize his sinfulness more than he could be at the beginning, feeling more ashamed of his weakness than if he had fallen but once. Thus he will easily say with full conviction: “Lord have mercy on me a sinner!” And precisely on account of that realization enter the Kingdom God justified.

It is thus clear that frequent Confession is a blessing, but it is also clear that one ought not to be satisfied with its minimum effects. One ought rather to strive to make the reception of this sacrament as efficacious as possible, so that one can attain to perfect purity of heart. Now in order to do this certain conditions have to be met.

(to be continued)

I have begun a translation of Friedrich’s Wessely’s pamphlet on Confession which I shall be using for a retreat that I am to give soon. Wessely’s pamphlet was given to me by my own confessor, and I have found it helpful indeed. I shall be posting each chapter separately as well as adding them to a static page.

The Rev. Friedrich Wessely (1901-1970) was a priest of the Archdiocese of Vienna and professor for Spirituality at the University of Vienna. He brought the Legion of Mary to Austria and was and inspired the founding of the Vienna Oratory.

Wessely begins his pamphlet on Confession by noting that while many are convinced of the efficacy of this Sacrament in leading us toward holiness, nevertheless their actual experience of frequent Confession is that they seem to make little or no progress; at each Confession they confess the same sins, and they cannot see that their last Confession has made them any holier.

Friedrich Wessely, Confession and Sanctification Originally published in German as “Die Beichte und der Fortschritt meiner Seele” (Imprimatur: Vienna, 1954)

I. CONFESSION AS A MEANS OF SANCTIFICATION

Confession is one of the most eminent means of our sanctification. We know that through Confession our sins are forgiven and we are restored to the state of grace. Or that if we have not lost the state of grace Confession increases the grace already in us. The increase of grace strengthens our ability to do good, and enables us to to approach the goal of our lives – conformity to Son of God – with ever greater strength.

Each man is called, as St Paul puts it, to be conformed to the image of the Son of God (cf. Rom 8:29); each in a particular way and to a particular degree. At the end of his life, whether it be long or short, each man ought to have realized this goal and thus be admitted to the beatific vision of God. Now Confession is not only one of the most effective means of remaining on the right path or returning to it when it has been lost— it is also enables one to progress along that path with such speed that at the end of one’s life one is really at the goal, and not in need of any purgation in the next life. It is of the first importance to keep in mind what goal God wills us to reach in this life; for only if we realize that holiness, union with God, perfect purity of heart is the ideal that we must try to realize in this life, will we see the true value of the means of sanctification and make full use of them.

So Confession is a significant help on the path to our sanctification, and the faithful consider it a great blessing and a necessary institution. Indeed there are scarcely any truly pious souls who do not consider the sacrament – even apart from its role in reconciling us with God – as a means of quickly approaching the goal of life. Nevertheless, there are perhaps few who can say from there own experience that Confession has helped them to a life of higher virtue. This is often a cause of great concern to them. They feel themselves at fault, but do not know how to increase the effect of this sacrament in their lives. Thus they often discouraged and are even tempted to give up the practice of frequent Confession. The present pamphlet is therefore intended as an aid to receiving the Sacrament of Penance as well and as fruitfully as possible.

(to be continued)

What follows is a quick translation of a Vatican Radio report. Cardinal Koch’s words are given a special edge by the fact that he was speaking at the theological faculty of the University of Freiburg, a stronghold of “progressive” theology:

Allowing the Old Latin Mass is just “a first step” according to Kurt Cardinal Koch, an official of the Roman Curia. The time is however not yet ripe for the next steps Koch said on the Weekend in Freiburg. Liturgical questions are overshadowed by ideology especially in Germany. Rome will only be able to act further when Catholics show more readiness to think about a new liturgical reform “for the good of the Church.” The Cardinal spoke at a conference on the theology of Joseph Ratzinger, which also considered Ratzinger’s pontificate as Pope Benedict XVI. In July 2007 Pope Benedict decreed that Tridentine Rite Masses according to the Missal of 1962 may once again be celebrated world wide. The Missal of 1970 is however still the “normal form” of the Eucharistic Celebration in the Roman Church. Koch is the President of the Pontifical Council for Christian Unity. He tried to refute the charge that Pope Benedict is going against the Council [i.e. Vatican II] in liturgical questions: “the Pope suffers from this accusation.” On the contrary, the Holy Father’s intention is rather to implement conciliar teachings on the liturgy which have been ignored up till now. Present day liturgical practice does not always have any real basis in the Council. For example, celebration versus populum was never mandated by the Council, says the Cardinal. A renewal of the form of divine worship is necessary for the interior renewal of the Church: “Since the crisis of the Church today is above all a crisis of the liturgy, it is necessary to begin the renewal of the Church today with a renewal of the Liturgy.

I had just been giving a series of catechetical talks on the Unity and Trinity of God in the Vienna Oratory’s Wissen, was wir glauben course before MG&W came out, and it made me really appreciate what an extraordinary achievement it is. Catechesis is hard. It’s so difficult to strike the right balance between saying to much and too little, between the obscure and the simplistic, between too-serious and too-flipant. On all counts Father Schwarz hit the bull’s eye. A pity MG&W is only in German, but don’t despair Anglophone world! After going to the solitude of the mountains and letting his beard grow again, Father Johannes has returned to the valley and begun a new project:

…Down the road it will be introduced in other languages: English, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, French and Polish…

Father Schwarz has an outline, where one can post suggestions, up here.

The causes of the French Revolution are complex; nothing of what I wrote in my last post on them is uncontroversial. Take the influence of Rousseau for example. Here is Belloc’s view of Rousseau’s influence on the Revolution:

Such is the general theory of the Revolution to which the command of Jean Jacques Rousseau over the French tongue gave imperishable expression in that book whose style and logical connection may be compared to some exact and strong piece of engineering. He entitled it the Contrat Social, and it became the formula of the Revolutionary Creed [...] no man, perhaps, has put the prime truth of political morals so well [... he] stamped and issued the gold of democracy as it had never till then been minted. No one man makes a people or their creed, but Rousseau more than any other man made vocal the creed of a people, and it is advisable or necessary for the reader of the Revolution to consider at the outset of his reading of what nature was Rousseau’s abundant influence upon the men who remodelled the society of Europe between 1789 and 1794.

Eric Voegelin in his History of Political Ideas dismisses this “high” view of Rousseau’s influence, and points to what he sees as far more important factors:

The causes of the Great Revolution are an intricate problem, but it seems that a saner view is coming to the fore after the era of monistic theories. Neither the writings of intellectuals nor the misery of peasants can be credited any longer with being the decisive factors, although they had contributory importance. The lot of peasants, admittedly miserable, was no worse than in other countries, but rather better. And the revolutionary literature, as for instance the political writings of Rousseau, was not so well known, and much too complicated, to exert a broad influence. Rousseau’s Contrat Social was little read up to the eve of the Revolution; it became better known then because the revolutionary movement had gotten underway and some of its formulas proved useful. The claim of the Parlement to represent the volonté publique probably had greater practical influence than the implications of Rousseau’s volunté générale, which are accessible only to persons very well trained in theory. The revolutionary atmosphere had its center in the friction over the financial state of the realm developing between the crown and the privileged estates on the one hand and the Tiers Etat as represented by Parlement on the other. The Fronde of the seventeenth century already shows the main outlines of this situation… (pp. 115-116)

Thus for Voegelin the Revolution was above all a rematch of the Fronde, whereas for Belloc it was a rematch of the Völkerwanderung. The advantage of the butter/olive oil account is that it shows how it could actually have been both.

To attack the French Revolution as a Catholic might seem a bit too easy. But then Hillaire Belloc was famously a great defender of the Revolution, and even Aelianus of Laodicea seems to agree with him up to a point. The French Revolution, it would seem, is a bit complicated.

Part of the complication has to do with the geography of France, situated between the Mediterranean ”South” and the “North” of Germany, Britain etc. This is what makes France the  ideal country; the French use both olive oil and butter in their cooking. In discussing the American Revoltution, I brought up Taylor’s thesis that as the ancient ideal of order became less and less tenable, modern ideals of order “colonized” older forms of legitimacy and transformed them. Now there are basically two modes of the modern ideal of political order, and what happens in the Revolution is that each of these two modes exploits a different element of French culture — one takes over the northern, ”butter” element, the other the southern, “olive oil” element.

Charles De Koninck distinguishes the two basic modes of the modern ideal of political/moral order through two ways of denying the common good. The first mode, which he calls “personalist,” sees the common good as purely instrumental to the achievement of private goods. The second, which he calls “totalitarian,” turns the common good into the private good of a kind of quasi individual. He sees the second as coming after the first as a kind of effect:

Might there not be, between the exaltation of the entirely personal good above any good that is truly common on the one hand, and the negation of the dignity of persons on the other, a very logical connection which could be seen working in the course of history? [...] The enslavement of the person in the name of the common good is like a diabolical vengeance, both remarkable and cruel, a cunning attack against the community of good [...] The denial of the higher dignity which man receives through the subordination of his purely personal good to the common good would ensure the denial of all human dignity.

The “personalist” mode of the modern ideal of political order, the idea of order as a purely instrumental means to securing mutual benefit, comes first in time: is in large part a response to the havoc in Europe caused by the wars following the Protestant Reformation. In thinkers such as Grotius and Hobbes the modern political/moral order is used to legitimize an absolute state. The absolute monarch is necessary to keep social peace, and is legitimized by a founding “social contract” which has been once-for-all established. In France this idea is partially realized in Louis XIV, who abolishes an organic-hierarchical view of the state in favor of an homogenous bureaucratic one, but still exploits older views of the divine mission of the king.

But already in Locke this ideal of order is used as a justification for limited government. Politics becomes a kind of “economic” exchange between individuals who give up just as much as they need to secure their rights. In England this ideal of order “colonizes” the ideal of the “ancient law of the people;” the “ancient rights of parliament” are asserted, but given a new meaning. At the same time what Taylor calls the “public sphere”  is formed: a sphere of “public debate” independent of political influence and entirely in “secular time,” in which society can come to a common mind about important matters. The public sphere becomes a “benchmark of legitimacy:”

Parliament, or the court, in taking its decisions ought to be concentrating together and enacting what has already been emerging out of enlightened debate among the people. [...] By going public, legislative deliberation informs public opinion and allows it to be maximally rational, while at the same time exposing itself to its pressure, and thus acknowledging that legislation should ultimately bow to the clear mandates of this opinion. (Taylor, p. 189)

Now in France the movement toward limited government in the name of the “ancient law” was frustrated with the defeat of the Fronde. The defeat of the Fronde is followed by the rule of Louis XIV which settles on an absolutist version of the modern political ideal, but one that continues to use elements of older Catholic ideas of hierarchy. Absolutism precluded the “public sphere” developing in the way in which in did in England or Germany. Thus, as Alasdair MacIntyre points out, the French “intelligentia” were in certain ways excluded from the Enlightenment culture of the North:

What the French lacked was threefold: a secularized Protestant background, an educated class which linked the servants of government, the clergy and the lay thinkers in a single reading public, and a newly alive type of university exemplified in Konigsberg in the east and in Edinburgh and Glasgow in the west. The French eighteenth-century intellectuals constitute an intelligentsia, a group at once educated and alienated; while the eighteenth-century Scottish, English, Dutch, Danish and Prussian intellectuals are on the contrary at home in the social world, even when they are highly critical of it [...] Hence what we are dealing with is a culture that is primarily Northern European [...] Most of the eighteenth-century French intelligentsia have the will to belong to [this culture], in spite of the differences in their situation. Indeed at least the first phase of the French revolution can be understood as an attempt to enter by political means this North European culture and so to abolish the gap between French ideas and French social and political life. (After Virtue, p. 37)

This “first phase” of the revolution is thus a “butter” and personalist phase. But it was followed by (and partially overlapped with) a second “olive oil” and totalitarian phase. This phase is influenced by Rousseau.

Rousseau can be partly seen as a reaction the the pusillanimity and pettiness of “enlightened self-interest.” The love of self for Rousseau must not merely be exploited to serve the general interest, it must be actually identified with the love of  others. Taylor’s analysis is really good on this point:

In Rousseau’s language, the primitive instincts of self-love (amour de soi) and sympathy (pitié) fuse together in the rational and virtuous human being into a love of the common good, which in the political context is known as the “general will”. In other words, in the perfectly virtuous man, self-love is no longer distinct from love of others [...] The goal is to harmonize individual wills, even if this can’t be done without creating a new identity, a “moi commun” (“common self ”) [...] The law we love, because it aims at the good of all, is not a brake on freedom. On the contrary, it comes from what is most authentic in us, from a self-love which is enlarged and transposed into the higher register of morality. (p. 202)

The power of Rousseau’s position comes from the natural order of man to the common good, but Rousseau’s common good is not really common. It is totalitarian, as De Koninck puts it:

A good which is merely the good of the collectivity looked upon as a kind of singular [...] would be common only accidentally; properly speaking it would be singular, or if you wish, it would differ from the singular by being nullius.

This totalitarian ideal of the common good fills Rousseau with hatred for the “personalist” or liberal ideal. To quote Taylor again:

If self-love is also love of humanity, how to explain the egoistic tendencies which fight in us against virtue? These must come from another motive which Rousseau calls “pride” (amour propre). So my concern for myself can take two different forms, which are opposed to each other, as good is to evil. (p. 202)

Where the [standard conception of the Enlightenment period] sees disengaged reason, which lifts us to a universal standpoint, and makes us impartial spectators, as liberating a general benevolence in us, or at least teaches us to recognize our enlightened self-interest, for Rousseau this [...] strategic self, which is at one and the same time isolated and eager for others’ approval, represses ever further the true self. The struggle for virtue is that attempt to recover a voice which has been buried and almost silenced deep within us. What we need is the exact opposite of disengagement; we need rather a reengagement with what is most intimate and essential in ourselves… (p. 203)

This moral vision is taken over by the Jacobins. And it is used to “colonize” an “olive oil” ingredient of French culture. It takes advantage of Roman ideals of civic virtue and of fanciful popular resentment at the oppression of “Frankish barbarians.” This is perhaps what fooled Belloc. But of course the ancient notion of civic virtue is totally transformed by the Jacobins:

As Robespierre put in 1792: “The soul of the Republic is virtue, it’s the love of the fatherland, the magnanimous devotion which subsumes all particular interests in the general one.” In one sense, this was a return to an ancient notion of virtue, which Montesquieu had identified as the “mainspring” of Republics, “A continuing preference of the public interest over one’s own.” But it has been re-edited in the new Rousseauian terms of fusion. (Taylor, p. 204)

Now one problem with this phase of the Revolution is that, unlike the “butter” ideal of order, it cannot be realized in representative democracy:

For Rousseau [...] political representation in its normal sense through elected assemblies was anathema. This is connected with his insistence on transparency. The general will is the site of maximum transparency, in this sense, that we are maximally present and open to each other when our wills fuse into one. (Taylor, p. 204)

Insofar as the general will only exists where there is real virtue, that is, the real fusion of individual and common wills, what can we say of a situation in which many, perhaps even most people are still “corrupt”, that is, have not yet achieved this fusion? Its only locus now will be the minority of virtuous. They will be the vehicles of the genuine common will, which is objectively that of everyone, that is, the common goals which everyone would subscribe to if virtuous. What is this minority supposed to do with this insight into its own correctness? Just let a corrupt majority “will of all” take its course through the working of certain formally agreed procedures of voting? What would be the value of this, for there can as yet by hypothesis be no true Republic where the will of all coincides with the general will? Surely the minority is called on to act so as to bring about the true Republic, which means to combat corruption and establish virtue. (Taylor, p. 206)

This is of course the justification for the reign of terror: the “diabolical vengeance” to which De Koninck referred. The corruption of the best is the worst.