DU BOR I DJURSHOLM HAFT BOSNISKA KROATISKA BABYSITTERS GRATIS STÄDHJÄLP BUTLER OCH PRIVATA CHEFS MEN TAXFREE SOLPANELER FRIA ELSTOLPAR FÖR MG OCH TESLAN MEN FATTIGA FÅR INTE NOLLTAXERA GAZA FINNS REDAN I DJURSHOLM LIDINGÖ OCH GÖTEBORG ÖRGRYTE HOVÅS ASKIM GRIMMERED MEN INTE I KVIBERG MIN SIDA ? VEM ÄR BIDRAGSTAGARE DET ÄR PREVILIGEUM FÖR FRIMURARELITEN DIG SJÄLV SEDAN 1991 ?“Pressure for homosexual relationships to be recognsied as a different form of family, which are also entitled to the right to adopt”, is “a violation of God’s law” and an “ideology of evil…seeking to use human rights against humanity and the family”.—Pope Saint John Paul II
IN A BOOK TITLED ‘ORDINARY MEN’, the author recounts how many of the individuals involved in the Nazi atrocities of WWII were perfectly ordinary people like you and me. This should give us all pause. If our generation were alive during that period of history, would we have acted any differently? There are no indicators that our generation is more virtuous than theirs — quite the contrary.
This is, in fact, the aim of pursuing a good and virtuous life. Virtue is not an act, but a habit. If we strive to act well consistently in the little tests of life, we will eventually act well when the stakes are higher. Human beings do not rise to the occasion; they fall to the level of their training.
Regarding the Passion of Jesus Christ, I find it fruitful to meditate on a similar question: if I happened to be alive during that time, would I have played a role in Christ’s crucifixion and death? If so, how?
By seeing in each flawed character of the Passion elements of ourselves, we can begin to work on those defects that contribute to our own moral weakness and spiritual mediocrity. Another goal of this exercise is to know better the Master Himself: “As we look at Christ through their eyes, we may see Him more clearly. As we listen with their ears, we may find a new force in His words.”¹
Below I highlight several characters or groups who, for various reasons, compromised their integrity during the most pivotal event in human history. In reading about them, may we observe those virtues lacking in ourselves and strive to obtain the same.
Judas Iscariot
A man chosen by Christ Himself and one called to the very heights of sanctity, Judas Iscariot fell from grace and ended his own life in despair. His original vice, we are told, was that of avarice. Avarice is defined as an excessive desire to make and hold onto money or wealth.
St. John tells us that Judas was the apostle in charge of the treasury, as all those who lived intimately with Christ kept their funds in common. We can infer from this fact that Judas was not only organized and industrious, but above all, he was trusted.
Further evidence of his untarnished reputation is that nobody suspected him when Christ announced that someone would betray him: The disciples therefore looked one upon another, doubting of whom he spoke (John 13:22).
The Taking of Christ, Caravaggio (1602)
Judas had been siphoning money from the community fund even before he betrayed his Master: Now he said this, not because he cared for the poor; but because he was a thief, and having the purse, carried the things that were put therein (John 12:6).
His avarice and treachery were not driven by passion, the authors tell us, but by malice.So says Cornelius A. Lapide:
“When Judas, the instigator of the murmuring, found himself rebuked by Christ, he did not repent as the other Apostles, whom he had misled, did, but then he made his forehead brazen, and clothed himself with the cloak of impudence, and, mad with covetousness and wickedness, he determined to sell and betray Christ to the Jews.”
Malice is the vice by which a person sins deliberately, with knowledge and consent, even in the absence of passion or ignorance.When Judas betrayed Jesus, he did not act impulsively, as one does when consumed by passion. Neither was he ignorant of who Christ was, being in close company with Him for several years and witnessing firsthand the countless miracles He wrought. Judas Iscariot betrayed the God Man with malice.
The Betrayal of Christ, Ugolino Di Nerio (Da Siena)
Despair is defined as a lack of confidence in God’s ability to save someone or to aid Him. Realizing in the end how grievously he had sinned, Judas ended his life by hanging himself:
“[The despair of Judas] was not a more heinous sin, but one more fatal to himself, as thrusting him down to the very depths of hell. He might, on his repentance, have asked (and surely have obtained) pardon of Christ.”²
In looking at the tragic story of Judas Iscariot, I will quote three authors, each in their turn, giving a proper warning for those who are inclined to the same sins as he:
For the avaricious:
“Hear it, I say, ye covetous. Ponder it in your mind what Judas suffered. For he both lost his money, and committed a crime, and lost his soul. Such was the hard tyranny of covetousness. He enjoyed not his money, nor this present life, nor that which is to come. He lost them all at once, and having forfeited the goodwill even of those to whom he betrayed Him, he ended by hanging himself.” ~St. John Chrysostom
For the desperate:
“As they who throttle themselves cause death, because the air passes not within them, so do they who despair of the forgiveness of God choke themselves by their very despair, that the Holy Spirit cannot reach them.” ~St. Augustine
For the malicious, especially those intentionally neglecting the little things in their spiritual lives:
“We must therefore strive to make certain of our vocation and calling. We must beware of our continued lapses into sin, of our coldness and indifference to religion, of our too great attachment to worldly wealth. Our Lord must be followed, not only with our feet but also with our hearts. If we do this, i.e., follow Him completely, then we will not suffer the tragedy of Judas by apostatizing, but will follow Christ faithfully to the end.” ~Fr. Christopher Rengers, O.F.M.
Saint Peter
Peter, first among the apostles, was a man set apart. Even in the Gospels we notice that Our Lord had a particular affection for him, along with James and his brother John. Supremely confident in himself in one moment and failing in the next, there is something about the fisherman from Galilee that is utterly human and relatable.
That Peter sinned mortally against the profession of faith³ during the Passion of the Christ is certain. Both St. Chrysostom and St. Augustine attest to this. This means he lost supernatural charity and the grace of God by his actions, this the man who that same night had been ordained a priest and received his first Holy Communion. The reasons for his fall are threefold according to the authors. Let’s take them each in their turn:
Overconfidence. Not heeding the warning from Christ Himself the previous evening, Peter denied Him as prophesied. And not only did Peter deny being associated with Jesus, but he denied ever having known Him. The biggest lesson from this fall of Peter’s is precisely what Our Lord tells us in the Gospel of John: Without me you can do nothing (John 15:5).
What is eminently consoling about this passage, however, is that the opposite is also true. With Him, we can do everything: “Consider here what the Apostles were before the coming of the Holy Spirit, and what they were made afterwards, when endued with power from on high” (S. Cyril). And again, St. Jerome: “Peter without the Spirit was overcome by the words of the damsel, but with the Spirit he yielded neither to rulers nor kings.”
St. Peter the Apostle by Theophilia
Peter’s second mistake was that he put himself into the company of the wicked men who had seized Jesus. Just think of Peter’s confidence in Our Lord when in His company — and of his weakness when going without it.
“How hurtful is converse with the wicked! Peter amongst the servants of the High Priest said he knew not the man, though among the disciples he had confessed Him to be God.” ~Venerable Bede
Not only is the company of evil men a near occasion of sin, but our sins tend to be multiplied around them as well. Cornelius A. Lapide points out that along with denying Christ, Peter also committed perjury (i.e. lying under oath):
“[Peter’s association] with the ungodly, which he ought to have given up after his first fall, drove Peter to [perjury], though, assuredly, he never should have done it, as having experienced its noxiousness and his weakness in their company.”
But Peter did not stop there. A. Lapide:
“Peter, therefore, finding himself driven to extremities, “began to curse and swear” that he knew not the man, saying, after the Hebrew manner, May God do these things to me if I know Him. May the earth open, may the lightning blast me, if I know Him. The Greek word is καταναθεματίζειν, to anathematize vehemently, to call curses down on oneself.
This is a powerful reminder to call on God’s help always and in all our undertakings, so that we don’t abandon Him. If we do fall, we must get up quickly and return to Him with enthused confidence: nunc coepi.
The last reason for his fallwas that Peter might learn compassion for the weak, seeing as it would aid him in his role as the head of His Church. His fall was permitted that he also might set the standard for true penance. We are told in the tradition that to atone for his sin, Peter lived on an extremely penitential diet for the rest of his life, subsisting mostly off of legumes.
Lest we forget about our zeal for the Lord and His house, let’s listen attentively to the advice given by St. Peter himself in an apparition to St. Bridget:
“Rise up by humility to the Lord of Memory, and seek for memory from Him.”
The Enemies of Christ
What we must remember about the Sadducees, Scribes and Pharisees is that they knew that Jesus Christ was the Messiah sent by God. This is evident in their private discussion leading up to His unjust trial and execution: What do we, for this man doth many miracles? If we let him alone so, all will believe in him; and the Romans will come and take away our place and nation (John 11:47-48; see also Matthew 28:11-14).
Despite this, the Sadducees, Scribes and Pharisees remained steadfast in their hatred for Christ. While there are many reasons for this — envy on account of His influence and fear of the Romans, amongst others — the primary reason was that Christ was not the Messiah they wanted.
This cannot be overstated, as it relates directly to how we interact with the Lord ourselves. Christ’s enemies wanted a powerful, political messiah and not the humble, Suffering Servant. They wanted their messiah to set up a temporal kingdom, not a heavenly one. They longed for an end to the reign of the Romans, not an end to the reign of sin. In short, they refused to accept Him, because their wills were not aligned with God’s. May the same not be said of us.
Pontius Pilate
For those of us accustomed to the Gospels and who often recite the Apostles’ Creed, the story of Pontius Pilate has become all too familiar to us. When taking in what is happening as if we are seeing it for the first time, however, we will see how truly extraordinary this part of the Passion narrative is.
Pilate is a complete and unabashed pagan. He worships demons. Yet here he is trying to defend a Man who has been put on trial by His own nation. Pilate clearly perceived His innocence, while the people enlightened by Divine Revelation refused to do so.
Herein lies the sin of Pilate: rather than allowing the truth to guide his decisions no matter the personal cost, Pilate chose to look out for his own interests instead. This weakness on the part of Pilate led him to pass the most unjust legal sentence in the history of the world.
We may also say that Pilate failed to act on a divine warning given to him, seeing as his wife had received visions in the night that convinced her of Christ’s innocence.
Ultimately, small compromises beget larger ones. This we must remember when we are tempted to commit slight offenses against what we know to be right: He that is faithful in that which is least, is faithful also in that which is greater: and he that is unjust in that which is little, is unjust also in that which is greater (Luke 16:10).
Herod Antipas
Christ Before Herod Antipas by Nikolaus Knüpfer
The lesson we must take away from Herod Antipas’s life is this: the sensual man is blind.⁴ Herod stole his half-brother’s wife from him, because he was sensual. After the daughter of his unlawful wife performs a dance, Herod was so entranced by her that he yielded to her desires and authorized the execution of a man he held in high esteem — John the Baptist. Finally, Herod Antipas was unable to see the uniqueness of Christ because his sensuality had blinded him to all that was spiritual.
Stupid man! Herod could have learned salutatory truths from Truth Himself, but spurned the opportunity. Instead of being one the first kings to hear the things that many kings longed to hear, and heard them not — he wasted his precious time with Christ by asking for a parlor trick.
In Conclusion
Today we explored the shortcomings of several individuals who, due to their placement in time and space, made history for it. Despite two centuries of separation, these men are really no different from you and me. These were ordinary men.
Within every one of us lies the potential to commit Judas’s treachery, to possess St. Peter’s overconfidence, to deny the known truth like the Pharisees, to cower from what we know to be right like Pilate, or to give into our sensual desires like Herod. By learning from their mistakes and combatting our vices with virtue, may we eventually obtain that perfection that is not only recommended to us, but commanded: Be you therefore perfect, as also your heavenly Father is perfect (Matthew 5:48).
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Civilizations do not collapse overnight. They erode gradually, not through external conquest but through internal contradictions, the corrosion of moral clarity, and the abandonment of reason itself. The moment a society can no longer distinguish between what is sacred and what is expendable, it has already set itself on a trajectory toward ruin. And there is no clearer indicator of this decay than the absurd reality that in many parts of the modern world, the unborn offspring of sea turtles are afforded more legal protection than the unborn children of humans. This paradox is not a harmless legal quirk—it is an indictment of a civilization that has lost its moral compass, a harbinger of its inevitable downfall in every conceivable sense: ethical, philosophical, societal, and existential.
The Ethical Collapse: When We Pretend Not to Know What We Know
On the beaches of Florida, it is a felony to tamper with a sea turtle nest. Disturbing the eggs, relocating them without authorization, or failing to dim artificial lights that might misdirect hatchlings are all met with the full force of the law. The rationale is clear: these eggs contain life, and that life has intrinsic value. The eggs are not empty shells; they hold within them the promise of a new generation. The law does not require a hatched turtle to emerge from the egg before recognizing its right to protection.
And yet, in many of those same jurisdictions, a fully formed, viable human infant can be aborted in the third trimester for nearly any reason. One act is considered an ecological crime, the other an act of "reproductive freedom." The incongruity is staggering.
This inconsistency is not merely an oversight; it is a willful rejection of moral truth. It reveals an unspoken yet undeniable reality: society already knows that life begins before birth. If this were not the case, there would be no reason to protect the turtle eggs. But rather than apply this principle consistently, we engage in moral contortions to justify a brutal inconsistency—arguing that the contents of one egg are sacrosanct while the contents of another are subject to personal convenience.
History is unkind to civilizations that construct their laws not upon enduring moral principles but upon ideological distortions. The ancient Carthaginians sacrificed their own children to the flames of Moloch, believing such offerings would bring prosperity. The Aztecs did the same to appease their gods. These cultures are now studied not as moral guides but as cautionary tales—stark reminders of what happens when a society dehumanizes its most vulnerable for the sake of self-preservation, convenience, or power.
We, too, have built our modern temples to self-interest and offered up the unborn as sacrifices. But unlike the Carthaginians or the Aztecs, we do not even have the honesty to call it what it is. We mask it in euphemisms—"bodily autonomy," "women’s healthcare," "choice"—as if by renaming the act, we absolve ourselves of its consequences.
The Philosophical Collapse: The Loss of Objective Value
A society that selectively applies its moral principles based on preference rather than objective truth does not merely err; it self-destructs. The moment we begin defining life’s value based on external circumstances—whether it is wanted, whether it is convenient, whether it fits within our personal or political narratives—we have abandoned the very concept of inherent human worth.
There was a time when we understood that all humans, regardless of stage, status, or circumstance, had value simply because they were human. This was the foundational premise of Western civilization—the belief in universal human dignity, the belief that rights were not granted by the state but were intrinsic. But when we protect the unborn of one species while exterminating the unborn of our own, we admit that we no longer believe in such a principle. We do not protect life because it is life; we protect it because it is politically expedient to do so.
This is the same philosophical framework that underpinned the great atrocities of the 20th century. When human worth is defined not by an objective standard but by the subjective whims of those in power, no life is safe. First, we redefine the unborn as non-human; then, we redefine the disabled, the elderly, the weak. It is only a matter of time before the expendability of life is extended beyond the womb.
The Societal Collapse: What Happens When We Devalue Our Own Kind
The consequences of this contradiction do not remain theoretical. They metastasize into every facet of our culture. A civilization that will not protect its own unborn has already admitted that its future is negotiable. Birthrates plummet. Family structures disintegrate. The bonds of community weaken.
We already see the fruits of this poison. Countries with the most permissive abortion laws also have the lowest fertility rates, their populations declining to the point of demographic crisis. The very societies that champion abortion as progress find themselves unable to sustain themselves. The choice to devalue life today leads inexorably to the inability to sustain life tomorrow.
But the effects are not limited to demographics. A culture that does not defend its weakest inevitably breeds cruelty, callousness, and a disregard for life at all stages. Violent crime rises. Euthanasia becomes normalized. Human trafficking flourishes. When we cease to believe that human life is inherently sacred, the gates are flung wide for every imaginable abuse.
The Existential Collapse: A Civilization That Will Not Defend Life Will Not Survive
Civilizations endure not because of their technology, their wealth, or even their military power, but because of their principles. Rome fell not when it lost a battle, but when it lost its moral fortitude, when decadence, corruption, and apathy replaced the virtues that had built the empire. No society can sustain itself if it is unwilling to uphold the most basic truths.
The protection of sea turtle eggs over human embryos is not an isolated inconsistency. It is a flashing red warning light, signaling a civilization that has lost the ability to distinguish between right and wrong. And history is clear: when a society no longer believes in its own worth, it does not last.
Reclaiming Moral Clarity
The solution is not simply a change in law but a restoration of moral clarity. We must reassert the principle that all human life, from conception to natural death, has intrinsic value. We must reject the lie that convenience dictates worth. And we must recognize that if we are willing to protect the unborn of another species, we have no justification for failing to protect our own.
The contradiction is untenable. Either we admit that life before birth has value, or we abandon the pretense that we stand for justice at all. A civilization that believes in life thrives. A civilization that abandons it perishes.
The horror of the First World War would greatly affect Tolkien’s spiritual life and influence the expression of his faith in his later works. On August 4, 1914, after Germany invaded Belgium, Great Britain declared war in response, initiating the Great War, during which one out of every eight soldiers would die in battle.[1] This percentage was even higher for officers, like those from Oxford and Cambridge Universities, who most often led assaults.[2] However, Tolkien decided to postpone enlistment, thinking ahead to his future with Edith and their family and desiring to graduate first, particularly with his need to attain a First Class degree in order to pursue an academic career. Contrary to popular belief among Protestants, Tolkien’s hesitation was not due to any lack of patriotism; he loved his country dearly, even remaking to his friend Christopher Wiseman, “The duty of patriotism and a fierce belief in nationalism are to me of vital importance” while also making clear, “I am not of course a militarist.”[3] Tolkien was opposed to British imperialism[4] but saw himself as, after a Catholic, an Englishman, even writing his whole legendarium dedicated “simply to: to England; to my country.”[5]
Serendipitously, around this time Tolkien also discovered an ancient Old English verse, from the eighth-century poem Crist (or ‘Christ’), which fascinated him and led to the invention of one of his first stories in Middle-earth, “rapturous words from which ultimately sprang the whole of my mythology”[6]:
During his time at Oxford, Tolkien, like most other students, also took part in officer training, Tolkien having enlisted after his discovery that he could continue his academic pursuits while still performing drills.[8] Participating in training while remaining at Oxford also gave him time to prepare for his family life with Edith.
Before his inevitable deployment, Tolkien and Edith were married on March 22, 1916. The incomprehensible number of casualties from the Front in France made his return from war unlikely, and so they were driven by urgency and an eagerness built up from years of separation. Before their wedding, Tolkien finally built up the courage to alert Fr. Morgan, who promptly wished them “every blessing and happiness” and even offered to officiate the wedding for them at the Oratory, but sadly due to Tolkien’s trepidation the arrangements were already set for another venue. Then, upon signing their register, Tolkien learned that Edith was an illegitimate child, but he responded with gentleness and compassion.[9] Their wedding marked a final point of happiness before Tolkien would be thrust onto the battlefield.
In the trenches, his experience of the closeness of death and the stark reality of evil, alongside acts of great heroism, inspired Tolkien to develop the mythology behind his fictional world.[10] While being moved to various camps, Tolkien continued working on his poetry, forming what would become his elvish languages. He sent one of these poems to his T.C.B.S. friend Geoffrey Smith, stationed in a trench dugout at the time, and Smith would again testify to the purpose of their fraternity, saying he was serving in the War so that poems like Tolkien’s, and the beauty they embodied, could live on.[11] Soon after, on February 3, 1916, just before patrolling the No Man’s Land between an opposing line of trenches, Smith wrote again to Tolkien, praying for him, encouraging him to keep the dream of the T.C.B.S. alive by publishing his work, and asking him to “say the things I have tried to say long after I am not here to say them, if such be my lot.”[12]
Soon after a brief visit from Smith to the Tolkiens, and only a little over two months since their wedding, Tolkien and Edith spent the night at The Plough and Harrow, just across the street from the Birmingham Oratory where he “had a chance to make his confession, attend Sunday Mass, receive Holy Communion, and say goodbye to Fr. Francis”[13] before he was deployed to France, on June 6, 1916,[14] right in time for the Battle of the Somme, one of the most deadly and hellish conflicts in human history. During that battle, which lasted for five months, at least 300,000 soldiers died on both sides and twice as many were wounded, one of whom was Corporal Adolf Hitler.
On the first day of fighting, July 1, Tolkien’s dear friend and fellow T.C.B.S. member Rob Gilson was one of 19,000 British officers, up to sixty percent of all those involved in the battle, who perished.[15] During this battle, Tolkien would experience what he called the “animal horror”[16] of “the first fully mechanized war.”[17] As Tolkien biographer Colin Duriez remarks, “The law of the jungle was amplified by machine-efficient slaughter.” Soon after Gilson’s death, a former member of the T.C.B.S., Ralph Payton, also died in combat, on July 22. His body was never recovered.[18] Fr. Maturin, Tolkien’s chaplain at Oxford, had perished in the earlier sinking of the Lusitania by German U-boats.[19] Tolkien himself would only be saved from death by illness.
Surrounded by mutilated corpses infested with lice, he contracted what was called ‘trench fever.’ A short time after Tolkien was taken to hospital in Birmingham, yet another friend, Geoffrey Smith, died from a gangrenous shrapnel wound on November 29.[20] Tolkien’s firsthand experience of war, the immediacy of physical and moral evil, the loss of three members of the T.C.B.S., the “blasphemy and smut” from his fellow soldiers[21] and his realization that, while the war was just, there were “orcs… on both sides”[22] (as he would later comment about WWII) – all of this not only galvanized the creation of Middle-earth and its mythology,[23] but also inflamed his desire to pursue the goals of the T.C.B.S.: “to testify for God and Truth.”[24]
While many veterans of WWI succumbed to despair and pessimism, Tolkien reacted oppositely, inspired by the darkness to focus even more on the light and to help modern man see it again through his artistic talents. This was not unique: Catholics in general handled the war better than did Anglicans or irreligious, primarily due to Catholic teaching on redemptive suffering which enabled them to answer the “problem of evil” and God’s allowance of war even on such an unprecedented scale. Catholics like Tolkien, who was additionally fortunate in being assigned to the 11th Lancashire Fusiliers, from a region whose Catholic recusant heritage was old and strong, managed to receive Holy Communion and the Sacrament of Penance regularly from their heroic chaplains, with the result that most remained Catholic even after the war ended.[25] Indeed, during his deployment Tolkien even wrote a poem dedicated to the Virgin Mary, for which he gave two titles, “Consolatrix Afflictorum” (Comforter of the Afflicted) and “Stella Vespertina” (Evening Star), both inspired by the Litany of Loretto which he especially loved. Later in life, he would translate part of this poem into his ancient elvish language Quenya.[26]
Nevertheless, after returning home from the War, Tolkien did experience a period of what he described as “sloth” or acedia in his religious practice, lasting through most of the 1920s. He later wrote to his son Michael,
Out of wickedness and sloth I almost ceased to practise my religion – especially at Leeds, and at 22 Northmoor Road.4 Not for me the Hound of Heaven, but the never-ceasing silent appeal of Tabernacle, and the sense of starving hunger. I regret those days bitterly (and suffer for them with such patience as I can be given); most of all because I failed as a father. Now I pray for you all, unceasingly, that the Healer (the Hcelend as the Saviour was usually called in Old English) shall heal my defects, and that none of you shall ever cease to cry Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini.[27]
Like many other Catholic soldiers, despite his admirable efforts his routine of regular religious observances was upended by the chaos of war; this, alongside the profound sorrow caused by enduring such loss and carnage, may have caused his period of acedia, though what exactly it consisted of is difficult to say, since there is little information on his life during this time. Additionally, any violation of his almost scrupulous habits could have felt like irreligion. Either way, it was not the Hound of Heaven poeticized by Francis Thompson but his abiding love for the Eucharist, possibly buoyed by his joy at the births of Michael, Christopher and his daughter Priscilla in this decade, which soon led him back home.[28]
The influence of Tolkien’s involvement in the spiritual life of his family is verified by his eldest son, John, later being ordained a Catholic priest.[29] While his children were growing up in the 1930s, Tolkien would always rush home to kiss them goodnight and likely also to impart to them a father’s blessing with the Sign of the Cross on their foreheads, as he would for his granddaughter Joanna in later years.[30] Tolkien and Edith made sure to give their children Christian names at their baptisms, as well as good Catholics to sponsor them as godfather and godmother, selecting one of each per child and choosing different people each time, all of whom became “lifelong friends of the family.” These included Tolkien’s brother Hilary as John’s godfather; a priest and a nun for Michael; Eleanor Mozely, great-niece of St. John Henry Newman, for Christopher; and Francis de Zulueta, a Spanish naturalized British citizen who became the first Catholic to hold the Regius Professor of Civil Law chair at All Souls, Oxford, since the Reformation. Fulfilling his obligation as a Catholic father, he also assured that his children received a good Catholic education, the boys at his Oratory School and Priscilla at Rye St. Anthony.[31]
Throughout the lives of his four children, Tolkien would act not only as their loving father and true friend, but also as their spiritual director, providing them with formation in the Faith, encouragement through life’s difficulties, practical advice and even correction when needed. During the Second World War, Tolkien counselled his son Christopher to keep his faith at heart and be guided by its light through the darkness, persistently reminding him of the nearness of God:
If you don’t do so already, make a habit of the ‘praises’. I use them much (in Latin): the Gloria Patri, the Gloria in Excelsis… one of the Sunday psalms; also the Magnificat; also the Litany of Loretto… If you have these by heart you never need for words of joy.[32]
Tolkien’s piety and experience of sorrows and war made him especially sensitive to the evils of the world, and yet he always retained supernatural hope in God, as he expressed to Christopher, who was at the time deployed with the RAF during WWII:
If anguish were visible, almost the whole of this benighted planet would be enveloped in a dense dark vapour, shrouded from the amazed vision of the heavens! And the products of it all will be mainly evil – historically considered. But the historical version is, of course, not the only one. All things and deeds have a value in themselves, apart from their ‘causes’ and ‘effects’. No man can estimate what is really happening at the present sub specie aeternitatis. All we do know, and that to a large extent by direct experience, is that evil labours with vast power and perpetual success – in vain: preparing always only the soil for unexpected good to sprout in.[33]
Tolkien’s deep love for his children is shown in a beautiful profession to his son Michael:
Can’t you see why I care so much about you, and why all that you do concerns me so closely? Still, let us both take heart of hope and faith. The link between father and son is not only of the perishable flesh: it must have something of aeternitas about it. There is a place called ‘heaven’ where the good here unfinished is completed; and where the stories unwritten, and the hopes unfulfilled, are continued. We may laugh together yet…[34]
Later in his children’s lives, as they began their own families, Tolkien continued to advise them on their choices and remind them of the spiritual forces at work in their situations. He once explained to his son Michael that a man can “refuse to take other things into account” than purely physical relations in marriage, but only “to the great damage of his soul (and body) and theirs.” Tolkien also pointed out, “The dislocation of sex-instinct is one of the chief symptoms of the Fall… The devil is endlessly ingenious, and sex is his favorite subject.” He taught his son that men and women are both fallen human beings with their own temptations, therefore they should see one another as “companions in shipwreck,” and that true Christian marriage is not about mere pleasure, the singular pursuit of which, as he says, often ends “in the squalor of the divorce courts,” but rather requires sacrifice to become genuine, sacramental love: “Faithfulness in Christian marriage entails that: great mortification.”[35] Tolkien would also discover the suffering required to remain a faithful Catholic while working as a professor in a largely non-Catholic environment.
[1] John Garth, Tolkien and the Great War (London: HarperCollins, 2005), 8.
A government employee discovers a covert operation violating human rights. A corporate insider learns of financial fraud that could destroy lives. A soldier witnesses war crimes committed by their own unit. In each case, they face a choice: stay silent and protect their career, their colleagues, and their loyalty—or expose the truth and risk everything.
Whistleblowing is an act of moral courage, yet it is often met with hostility, punishment, and exile. Societies celebrate whistleblowers in theory but condemn them in practice. Are they heroes for revealing hidden corruption, or traitors for betraying their institutions? Where does the line between loyalty and complicity lie?
The Case for Whistleblowing: The Moral Obligation to Speak Out
At its core, whistleblowing is an act of accountability. When institutions become corrupt, those within them have a duty to expose wrongdoing. Without whistleblowers, governments abuse power unchecked, corporations exploit without consequence, and justice remains a fiction.
History is full of whistleblowers whose revelations changed the world. Edward Snowden exposed the extent of government surveillance. Daniel Ellsberg’s Pentagon Papers revealed government deception in the Vietnam War. Sherron Watkins warned of Enron’s financial fraud before its collapse. In each case, whistleblowing served the greater good, even at great personal cost.
If we value justice, transparency, and ethical leadership, then whistleblowing is not just justifiable—it is necessary. The fear of repercussions should never outweigh the moral imperative to prevent harm.
Yet, whistleblowing is not always black and white. Many argue that loyalty to an institution, a government, or even a team is a virtue. Organizations function on trust, and when insiders break that trust, chaos follows.
Governments argue that national security depends on confidentiality. Corporations claim that internal issues should be resolved privately, not exposed for public spectacle. Even within personal relationships, we value loyalty as a fundamental pillar of trust.
Moreover, not all whistleblowers are motivated by altruism. Some leak information for personal revenge, political gain, or financial incentives. And when information is leaked selectively, it can distort the truth rather than reveal it. If every breach of trust were justified as "for the greater good," then no institution could function.
The Slippery Slope: When Truth Comes at a Cost
The greatest danger of unchecked whistleblowing is the erosion of trust. If employees feel they must expose every internal failure, collaboration dies. If soldiers question every command, military cohesion crumbles. If governments cannot maintain confidentiality, diplomacy collapses. There is a fine line between necessary transparency and reckless disclosure.
The risk is also personal. Whistleblowers are rarely rewarded for their courage. Many are exiled, imprisoned, financially ruined, or driven into hiding. The systems they seek to reform often retaliate, branding them as traitors rather than truth-tellers.
The dilemma of whistleblowing is not just about truth—it is about responsibility. When does loyalty become complicity? When does silence make us enablers? And when does exposing wrongdoing do more harm than good?
Perhaps the best measure of whether whistleblowing is justified lies in its purpose. Is the goal to prevent harm, protect the vulnerable, and uphold justice? Or is it to settle scores, grab headlines, or sow distrust?
True integrity is not about blind loyalty or reckless defiance—it is about knowing when to stand with an institution and when to stand against it. The hardest choices are often the ones that define who we really are.
Cardinal Sarah's Revelation: Why Sleeping With a Rosary Invites a Cascade of Graces Cardinal Sarah's Sermons 1.35K subscribers 650 Share 15,112 views Premiered Oct 24, 2025 UNITED STATES #cardinalsarah #rosarytoday #faith #christianlife #trending #godsword #godsblessings 🌙 Cardinal Sarah's Revelation: Why Sleeping With a Rosary Invites a Cascade of Graces | Cardinal Robert Sarah Welcome to Cardinal Sarah’s Sermon 🙏✨ — a channel dedicated to sharing the powerful wisdom, spiritual insights, and divine reflections of Cardinal Robert Sarah, inspiring Catholics worldwide to grow deeper in faith and holiness. In this powerful reflection, Cardinal Sarah unveils the hidden spiritual mystery behind sleeping with the Rosary, showing how this simple act of faith can invite a cascade of graces, protection, and inner peace throughout your nights. Discover how keeping your rosary close — even as you sleep — becomes a channel of divine mercy, Marian intercession, and spiri...
MEDALJENS MIRAKEL Hur Marias mirakulösa medalj omvände en stor fiende till kyrkan Den otroliga framgången med att sprida medaljen vittnar om värdet av dess existens. Med historikernas noggrannhet och noggrannhet undersökte René Laurentin arkiven och kom fram till det överraskande faktum att under en period av tio år (1832-1842) tillverkades och distribuerades mer än hundra miljoner mirakulösa medaljer Bitno.net Foto: Cathopic När Jungfru Maria uppenbarade sig för den heliga Katarina Labouré 1830 sa hon till henne: "Låt göra en medalj med den scen du ser; Alla människor som bär den med tillförsikt kommer att få ta emot stora nådegåvor." Medaljen hade bokstaven M i mitten, ett kors ovanför och två hjärtan under – det ena krönt med törnen och det andra genomborrat med ett svärd. Och allt detta var omgivet av en krona med 12 stjärnor. Den första medaljen präglades med tillstånd av ärkebiskopen i Paris två år senare. Under de följande fyra åren producerad...
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