THE Catholic Church, when viewed in the context of the hierarchy which governs the Christian faithful, is called the teaching Church. It is the name given to it by tradition, and which Jesus Christ himself gave to it in his famous last words addressed to his apostles: Go[…] therefore, teach ye all nations; baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost./Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you.^[2] Here Christ informs the church hierarchy that its principal ministry is to teach, because teaching is the wellspring of faith, which is in turn the source of other Christian virtues. The sacraments themselves are intended to enlighten, even as they enkindle, the soul. To be complete, Catholic teaching needs apostles, pastors, and doctors of divine science. The apostle brings truth to those who do not yet know it: he is a traveler wandering, as Jesus Christ himself did, through towns and villages, conversing and preaching, announcing that the kingdom of God is at hand, using language appropriate to the culture and ideas of the people to whom he has devoted himself. The pastor teaches the flock that has already been formed; he stays in place, day and night at the disposal of his sheep; his language is that of a man perfectly confident about the shared convictions which bind him to the congregation of the faithful; he does not need to invoke, as St. Paul did with the Areopagite, the traditions of the pagans and the witness of the profane poets, but only Jesus Christ, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith. The doctor is charged with teaching the clergy and also defending the truth through scientific argument; he is a man of study, spending his life steeped in the deposit of Church tradition, and contemplating, from the most elevated plane that the human spirit is capable of attaining, the relationship between the divine and all the phenomena and all the ideas which make up the movement of the universe.

      These three modes of teaching, diverse in their methods, yet united in their goal, are represented by the three great apostles, Saint Peter, Saint Paul, and Saint John.

      Saint Peter, the prince of the apostles, was neither an eloquent man nor a writer. A simple fisherman on the edge of a lake where he made his living with his nets, he was called by Jesus Christ, who gave him a superabundant faith without changing his basic capabilities. Although destined to be the rock of the Church, he [Peter] denied his master three times, so that Peter might learn through his own weakness to view with compassion the weaknesses of others: Peter’s symbol is the keys. Saint Paul, the prince of preachers, was brought up in the knowledge of the law at the feet of the scholars of his time; He ignored Jesus Christ during his lifetime and persecuted him after his death, so that he might be introduced by his own experience into the mysteries of error, and be familiar with heresies large and small, and one day, when he would announce the Gospel to all nations, he would never despair of the possibility of bringing back one soul, as closed as that soul might seem, to the truth. His spirit was daring, as were his travels; he understood the culture and ideas of the people he encountered, citing to the Athenians lines from their own poets, interpreting their holy writings; he became all things to all men, as he himself wrote; his symbol is the sword. Saint John, the prince of theologians, appears resting on the chest of his master, and he asks him questions that frighten the others; he is a virgin, because the senses are the principal impediment to our knowledge of the truth; he is the beloved disciple. A stranger to the challenges of governing the Church, and the toil of apostolic journeys, he did not die on the cross like Saint Peter, nor by the executioner’s sword like Saint Paul; he died in his bed, at the end of a blessed old age, no longer having the energy to say any words but these, which are the first and last words of any true teaching: My children, love one another. His symbol is the eagle.

In the early years of the Church, these three great teaching functions—apostolic, pastoral, and theological—were not ordinarily separated. A priest sent by his superior would leave for a country that had not yet received the light of the Gospel; he would travel through it as an apostle, installing himself in a principal town of that country, and would become simultaneously the pastor and theologian of the very Christianity he himself had helped to form through his preaching, also happy if he could be the martyr of that faith, and in its foundations to lay the fertile remains of blood he had poured forth in the service of God. In this way, the churches in the East were founded; in this way, too, the Gallic Churches. But with the passing of time, the pastoral ministry became more complicated; a multitude of duties weighed down upon the bishops, such as participating in the general and special councils of the church, the relationships with civil authority, negotiations, and the care of the temporal domains of the Church. And, alongside this immense development in external activity, Catholic thought also took a big step forward. It was no longer simply the holy Church and oral tradition that were its foundation, but the scholarly books generated by theological controversy. It became necessary to know what the previous doctors of the Church had written, the decisions of the Councils, the history of heresies, the philosophical doctrines past and present, the ancient Christian and pagan worlds, essentially the enormous assemblage of facts and debates that make up ecclesiastical science. The difficulties of the apostolate were likewise increased by the needs of pastoral ministry, which, limited at first to the big cities, later covered the countryside with established churches. This vast organization absorbed all the thoughts of the bishop, whose duty was no longer to send laborers for the Gospel to distant lands, but to provide these evangelists to his own flock. From then on, the division of labor could provide only for the necessities of Catholic teaching. But this did not happen suddenly through an a priori decision: nothing is ever done in this way in the Church, because everything is done spontaneously. Resources come into being as needs surface, in a gradual and almost imperceptible way, with man seemingly invisible in the process; one sees only the hand of God manifested by the general progress of things through the ages.

In the sixth century, Saint Benedict established the monastic life of the West. His goal was neither the apostolate nor divine science, but the salvation of souls through prayer, work, and solitude. However, the popes had occasion to make use of the Benedictines for the propagation of the Gospel. It was for this reason that Saint Gregory the Great [in 596] sent the monk Augustine to England, which he converted to Christianity, and where he established the archdiocese of Canterbury. In addition, as a result of the barbarian invasions, the monasteries became a refuge for literature and the sciences, the vestiges of which the monasteries were able to save. But these two great facts did not inspire the idea of using religious orders, by establishing a new religious organization, for apostolic and theological training. The orders were left as they were, other than to serve, in exceptional circumstances, another goal than their original one.

At the beginning of the thirteenth century, the Western Church was threatened for the first time by serious heresies.^[3] No longer were these the heresies with which the gentle and subtle imagination of the Greeks had opposed the Catholic faith, errors of speculation, which were nothing more than a sort of weakness, or a temporary sense of disorientation, in the presence of the infinite. From its very first steps into error, the practical spirit of the West manifested itself. It went straight to the goal of attacking the Church, which is to say all of Christian society. For the last 600 years, whether they had as their mouthpieces the Vaudois,^[4] or Wyclif, or John Huss, or Luther, they have not let go of the prey they seized so forcefully. The questioning of the thirteenth century still goes on today. This questioning arose in the center of France, either because the enemies of the church had gathered there by chance; or because of a conscious plan. Innocent III occupied the Chair of Saint Peter. Vigilant pastor that he was, in order to counter the heresy, he dispatched three papal legates drawn from the famous order at Citeaux, which continued to be inspired by the spirit of Saint Bernard. The embassy, or mission, as they liked to call it, was made up of good men, but surrounded by the glare of triumphant religion. This was not in line with the will of divine Providence, who alone knew what the future would bring.

Near the beginning of the year 1205, the papal legates, disheartened by their lack of success, found themselves in Montpelier, when a Spanish bishop who was returning to his country happened by. The bishop went to see the legates. They spoke of the heretics and the difficulties they had encountered on their mission. The bishop told the legates that if they wanted to succeed, they had to put aside all the trappings of power, travel on foot, and their preaching must be accompanied by a life of poverty and hardship. As unexpected as this advice was, it went straight to the hearts of those he addressed; because these men were true Christians, and, when a soul is Christian, everything large spirited stirs the heart. Besides, it was all too evident that among these disillusioned heretics who continued to hold against the Church its power and riches, the only solution was to underpin the Church teachings with a demonstrably limitless devotion to God. The legates then followed the advice given them by the Spanish bishop, Diego of Acebes; and he, having brought back his crew of men from Spain, joined up with them, as did brothers from Citeaux, who would arrive soon after. They could be seen spreading out into cities and towns, traveling by foot, begging for alms, preaching, conversing, arguing, sustained in their speeches and in their suffering by the truth, which is the mother of all strength and all joy. Nevertheless their successes, even though greater than in the past, did not equal their zeal. At the end of two years, tired, or called back to other duties, they left that soil, which was soaked in their sweat, where they had toiled in vain. Only one man remained. This man, born in Spain, of an illustrious family, had been brought to France by his friend Bishop Diego, and had been appointed as canon of the Cathedral of Osma: the man’s name was Dominic de Guzman.

It is worth noting that most of the founders of the great religious orders, even though foreigners to France, came to France to lay the foundations of their institutions. Saint Columban [c.521–97], the founder of a monastic rule that is very famous, passed through Ireland to France and established himself at Luxeuil. Saint Bruno [c.1032–1101] left the shores of the Rhine River, and sought to establish among the mountains of Dauphiné a cloister, whose name, “ Le Chartreux,” was given to the order as a whole, henceforth called the Carthusians. Saint Norbert [c.1080–1134], another German, obtained land from the Bishop of Laon, where he built the abbey of the Order of Premonstratensians. Later, on the hill of Montmartre overlooking Paris, a group of Spanish students took vows and established the Society of Jesus, [approved by Paul III in 1540], which since then has spread throughout the world.

Dominic himself, led by the same [divine] hand as his predecessors and successors, did not yet know why he had come. Soon his peaceful preaching was surrounded by the clash of weapons. The crusade had been proclaimed against the Albigensians, and the Christian barons arrived in huge numbers to gather under the banners of their general, Count Simon of Montfort. “Under his leadership,” said abbot Godescard, “They committed in Languedoc cruelties and injustices that will never be able to be justified; you cannot punish crimes with other crimes. In some of these men, an apparent zeal for the faith hid secret depths of avarice, ambition, and vengeance.”^[5] But, whatever one’s judgment about this war, Dominic had the glory before God and before men of serving as a counterweight to the bloodshed. Never, among knights armed for the defense of the faith, and containing in the same breast Christian fervor and human courage, never has religion had a more pure representative than Dominic. Contemporary history shows him to be so removed from this war, so distant from the deliberations of its leaders, from the factional treaties, from the councils, that the reader, biased on account of everything else he has heard, is continually amazed to learn these truths. While the legates and the Count of Montfort, far from the view of Innocent III, overreached their authority, and obliged the pontiff to protest against them later in front of all the Christian world, in a gathering at Saint John Lateran, Dominic’s more salutary influence resulted in the Spanish cortès declaring, when gathered on the Island of Leon in 1812, that “it would never oppose heresy with any weapons other than prayer, patience, and teaching.”^[6] Six centuries after his [Dominic’s] death, his country placed this wonderful testimony on his tomb.

A Protestant writer, M. Hurter, president of the Consistory of Schaffhouse, has just written a biography of Innocent III, and he has devoted almost an entire volume to an overview of the crusade against the Albigensians. Dominic’s name is hardly mentioned. Thus, in our century, preoccupied as it is with correcting so many widely believed errors, from within Protestant theology, and from within the Spanish cortès, impartial voices have done justice to the man Providence placed in the middle of these bloody encounters, as an example of the Christian spirit.^[7]

Prayer, patience and teaching continued to be Dominic’s only weapons both before and after the war. He preached and lectured ceaselessly, unfazed by the insults that rained on him even in the streets, and unconcerned for his life, which was so often threatened. One day, when he had narrowly escaped death, one heretic taunted him by asking what he would do if he were caught in a trap set for wild animals. “I would have prayed that you not kill me all at once, but that you cut off my arms and legs, one by one, and after that you leave me bathed in my own blood, and then take off my head at the end.” Dominic’s apostolic journeys did not prevent him from supervising a convent for young girls that he founded in Prouille, not far from Carcassonne. Because he had noted that one of the causes of the destruction of the Catholic faith in these countries was the marriage of women to heretics, he did not want to abandon the women to this alternative of misery and apostasy, and so he opened a refuge for them in Prouille. He went there sometimes for a few hours’ rest, and looked with deep love on this convent, which rested amidst the war’s horrors like a nest of doves surrounded by huge birds of prey.

Seven more arduous years passed in this way for Dominic, without tiring this hard-working servant. However, several zealous priests joined up with him voluntarily, and he himself, at an important turning point in this own life, seeing all of his youth behind him, and in front of him the steep slope of his remaining years, began to think about establishing an apostolic order for the defense of the Church using the tools of speech and divine science. It has been said that his mother, carrying him in her womb, dreamt that she was bringing into the world a dog holding a torch in its mouth. It is a vivid image of the order whose eloquence and doctrine no one has ever surpassed.

Solitary in his thoughts, Dominic left on foot, in the year 1215, to communicate his ideas to the sovereign pontiff, so much did this great man challenge himself at the peak of his maturity, and so necessary did it seem to him to obtain the blessing of the Holy See to ensure the validity of all pious plans. Innocent III continued to occupy the Chair of Saint Peter. He listened to this propagator of the faith with little enthusiasm, and refused to give his approval. But that night, the Holy Spirit brought the pontiff some more enlightened thoughts. As he was deep asleep, he thought he saw the Church of Saint John Lateran about to fall into ruins, with Dominic leaning against it and, on his shoulders, holding up the trembling walls. And that is why, having summoned this man of God back into his presence, the pontiff instructed him to return to France to rejoin his companions; and to confer with them about establishing a rule for the new order, the pontiff promising to grant whatever Dominic requested.

Up to this point, as we have said, the religious orders had had neither the apostolate nor divine science as their goal. The religious orders were holy Republics, with souls hungry and thirsty for justice, without regard to social rank, who went in search of virtues too pure for the world – through solitude, work, prayer and obedience. The world looked at them from afar, as the traveler who passes by on the plain catches a glimpse of a castle high up in the mountains. Rarely did the anchorite or the cenobite pick up his staff to come down from the heights to visit other men. Saint Antony of Egypt [c. 251–356] left his desert of Kolsim only once, to oversee the Catholic faith in Alexandria, which at that time was being oppressed by the emperors. Saint Bernard [1090–1153], after settling with loud protests the affairs of Europe, hurried to return to [the monastery at] Clairvaux. Dominic, chosen by God to give the Church a new “line of defense,” thought of a plan to bring together life in and out of the cloister, to bring together the monk and the priest—a chimerical plan, it seemed. But one must never despair of man’s capabilities. Human nature is not like the Nile River; we still have not found its highest point of elevation. As a matter of fact, Saint Vincent de Paul [1581–1660] later did something even bolder than Saint Dominic, when under the name of the Sisters of Charity, he gave young women complete freedom as they sought out misery, in caring for the sick of all ages and whatever sex, in hospitals. Whenever someone expressed surprise that they did not wear veils, he responded with these wonderful and awe-inspiring words: “Their own virtue will be veil enough.”

 [The constitutions drawn up by Dominic] created not a monastic order, but an association of brethren, joining to the strength of their communal life the liberty of external action, the apostolate and personal sanctification.^[8] The salvation of souls is their primary end, teaching its primary means. Go…therefore, teach ye all nations, Christ said to his apostles: Go…therefore, teach, Dominic echoed. One year of novitiate is required of followers, and nine years of philosophical and theological study prepare them to preside worthily from the pulpits of churches and the lecterns of universities. But even though preaching and the study of divine science are the Dominican order’s primary activities, nevertheless not a single work useful to one’s neighbor is outside the realm of the Dominican vocation. In the Dominican order, as in the Roman republic, the well-being of the people is the supreme law. That is why, besides the three vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, which are common to all religious associations, the rules of the order do not by themselves bind under pain of sin, and superiors have the right to grant dispensations from these rules, so that they do not ever interfere with the freedom to do good.

One leader called the master general, rules the entire order, which is divided into provinces. A prior provincial heads up each province. And within each province, there are numerous religious houses, or friaries, each headed by a conventual prior. The master general is elected by the priors provincial, who are assisted by two deputies from each province. The provincial prior is elected by the conventual priors (assisted by one deputy from each friary), and must be confirmed by the master general. And, finally, the brothers in each friary elect from within their ranks the conventual prior, who then must be confirmed by the provincial prior. Thus, election is qualified by the necessity of confirmation, and the authority of the hierarchy is checked by the brothers’ right to vote. One notices a compromise between the principle of unity, so necessary to power, and the element of multiplicity, necessary for other reasons. A general chapter, which meets every three years, is a counterweight to the influence of the master general, just as the provincial chapter, which gathers every other year, is a counterweight to the influence of the provincial prior. And authority, already modified by the election and by the chapters, is not given to anyone but for a very limited time—except for the master general, who in previous eras was elected for life, and today is elected for six years. So here were the constitutions that one Christian in the thirteenth century gave to other Christians, and surely all the modern charters, compared to these, seem strangely despotic. Thousands of people, throughout the world, lived for six hundred years according to these rules, united and peaceful—the most industrious, the most obedient, and the freest of men.

What Dominic still needed to figure out was how the friars would provide for themselves, and here again his genius was readily apparent. If he were to have consulted the existing religious orders, he would have found them in possession of wealthy domains, completely spared from the day-to-day concerns that require the father of a family to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground. And it is certain that for monastic orders that are not intended for action in the world, it is difficult to conceive of a mode of existence other than that of ownership. But Dominic’s order consisted of apostles, not contemplatives. He heard within himself these words of the Lord as he sent his first apostles out into the world: Take no gold, nor silver, nor copper in your belts, no bag for your journey, nor two tunics, nor sandals, nor a staff; for the laborer deserves his food; and these words: Seek his kingdom, and these things shall be yours as well; and these: Birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man has nowhere to lay his head; and these words from the Apostle Paul: You yourselves know: for such things as were needful for me and them that are with me, these hands have furnished.^[9] For the Christian, and for any man who is not blinded by pride, the first obligation is to earn a living, that is, to give in order to receive. Whoever receives without giving is outside the law of love and sacrifice through which beings are conceived, conserved, and perpetuated; and in contrast, he who gives much and receives little, such as a soldier, gives enormous honor to humanity, because he is closer to resembling God, who gives everything and receives nothing. To earn one’s living, to earn it day by day, to give in exchange for one’s daily bread the word and a constant, living example of the Gospel in action, this was the idea that attracted Dominic. In addition, he noticed another advantage to denying his order the right to possess material goods. When a religious order does not have assured revenues, it depends strictly on public opinion, it lives only as long as it is useful; it is paid for by the people, who do not voluntarily give money to anyone unless they are well served. Once a religious order is no longer held in esteem, it is instantly struck dead without noise and without revolution. Therefore, Dominic declared himself a mendicant friar, he and his brothers, in the first general chapter held in Bologne in 1220; he had faith in the virtue of his successors, and the fair judgment of all Christians, and fearlessly left as a legacy to future generations this perpetual substitution of a reciprocal duty. This legacy was honored for two hundred and fifty years. For whatever reason, at the end of the fifteenth century, Sixtus IV gave the order permission to acquire and to own.

However Dominic had not yet returned to Rome to take his constitutions there, and to receive the approval that the sovereign pontiff had promised him, when Innocent III, who was still pontiff, had occasion to write him a letter. Summoning a secretary, he told him: “Do not write that way, but this way: ‘to brother Dominic and to those who preach with him in the region of Toulouse.’“ And rethinking this, he said: “Write this instead: ‘To master Dominic and to the friars preachers.’“ This was how the Holy Spirit dictated the name of the new order, a name that began to be used in Rome and elsewhere.

Finally, in the year of our Lord 1216, on the 22^nd day of December, the day after the Feast of the apostle Saint Thomas, Pope Honorius III approved the Order of Preachers in Rome, at the Palace of Santa Sabina.

There were two papal bulls, the shortest of which went like this:

Honorius, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to our dear son, brother Dominic, prior of Saint Romain in Toulouse, and to your brothers who have made and will make their profession of vows, good tidings and my apostolic blessing. Considering that the brothers of your order will be the champions of the faith and true lights to the world, we confirm your order with all the lands and possessions and their rights.^[10] Given at Rome, next to Santa Sabina, the eleventh day of January, in the first year of my pontificate.

Five years later, in 1221, on the 6^th of August, Dominic died, leaving his order organized into eight provinces, containing 60 Dominican friaries. He died at the age of 51.

It was in this way that the division of three great branches of teaching took place in the Catholic church. The bishops, with their clergy, lived with the charge of pastoral teaching, and of all the functions associated with it; the religious orders became the ordinary ministers of the apostolate and of divine science under the jurisdiction of the episcopate. The Friars Minor of Saint Francis joined up with the Order of Preachers, and they were followed by other congregations, according to what the needs were at different times. History has told us about the work of the religious orders. Formidable heresies have arisen, new worlds have been discovered: but, in the realm of ideas as well as on the seas, no explorer has gone further than the religious orders, with their fervent devotion and doctrine. All the shores have traces of their blood, and all the echoes bear the sound of their voices. The Indian, pursued like a wild beast, has found refuge under their robes; the black man has received their loving embraces; the Japanese and the Chinese, separated from the rest of the planet by custom and by pride even more than by geography, have seated themselves to listen to these marvelous strangers; On the banks of the Ganges, they communicated with pariahs on the subject of divine wisdom; the ruins of Babylon provided them a rock on which to rest for a moment, to wipe their brows, in days long past. What sands or what forests do not know them? What language have they not spoken? What lament of the soul or body has not felt the touch of their hand? And while they were circling and re-circling the globe, under the flags of all nations, their brothers were carrying the word to the councils and to all the public places in Europe; they wrote about God, and combined the genius of the Church Fathers with those of Aristotle and Plato, the paintbrush with the pen, the sculptor’s chisel with the architect’s compass, elevating in all these forms the [teachings of the] famous Summa Theologica. Their material was so diverse, and their thought so unique, that our century is correcting its own errors by reading and appreciating this work. Wherever one looks, the last six centuries of the Church have been filled with the activity of the religious orders, which safeguarded the Church’s authority when it was the target of historical forces that the episcopate alone never could have dealt with.

But it is not only history that testifies to the need for religious orders; it suffices to look around right now to be convinced of this. What resources does the church in France possess today to form the preachers and the doctors of divine science which she needs? When a man has received this rare talent from God, is there in France a bishop who can give him enough time, time which is the nourishing father of all progress? Having just gotten out of seminary, the young man is required by the need to survive to throw himself into parish work, where he does what he can, tormented by intuitions of his true vocation, uncertain in the midst of the tension between what he is doing and what he would like to do, up until the day when the unexpected arrival of maturity teaches him perfect resignation to the will of God, and where he dreams of nothing more than doing the good works that are within his power. If, on the contrary, he gives himself over to the inclination [to study divine science and to preach], a decision with no guarantees, if he leaves the communal path, instantly a career begins for him that is bristling with difficulties. Necessity then obliges him to arrive at answers at too young an age; he has no mentors to form him and encourage him. A setback demoralizes him, a success makes him the object of envy. He is like an orphan besieged in turn by melancholy and presumption, who at times turns from one brightly illuminated shop to another, and at other times, so lonely that he stops at the street corner so as to hear if anyone is calling him by name.

How different a life could be led by a sincere young man who had given his heart and his talent to God in a religious order! He is poor; but that life of poverty provides a shelter from misery. It is misery that is the true punishment, whereas poverty is a blessing. He submits himself to a rule that is fairly strict; but he acquires in return a great liberty of the spirit. He has teachers who have preceded him in his career and who are not his rivals. The timing is appropriate, since his thought has matured without having lost the exuberance of youth. He finds consolation when he has setbacks, and, when he succeeds, he is shielded from pride, which tarnishes all glory. His life flows like a river, secure in its banks, and not at all anxious about its direction. During these harsh years that have just passed, how many times have we desired these peaceful fortresses which have calmed so many passions and protected so many lives! Today, when we have already survived a stormy era, it is less for ourselves than for others that we wish to prepare a refuge. Our existence is complete, we have touched the shore; those people whom we leave in the middle of the sea at the mercy of winds less favorable than our own, these are the ones who will understand our wishes, and perhaps will respond to them.

If we are asked why we have preferred the Order of Preachers, we will answer that this order best suits our nature, our spirit, and our goal: our nature, because of the order’s government; our spirit, because of the order’s doctrines; and our goal, because of the order’s means of action, which are principally preaching and divine science. Moreover, we do not intend by this choice to criticize any other order; we hold them all in high regard, bearing in mind this letter from Pope Clement IV to a knight who had consulted him about [the possibility of] taking the habit of the Friars Preachers or the Friars Minor:

Clement, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to our dear son and knight, greetings and my apostolic blessings. You ask us for advice that you could equally well find within you. Because if the Lord has inspired you to take leave of this present world to lead a more noble life, we do not wish to, nor can we, place obstacles to the spirit of God, first and foremost taking into consideration that you have a capable, well-brought up son, as we so believe, who will know how to provide for your household [in your absence]. If you persevere in your plan, and you ask us whether you should choose the Order of Preachers or the Order of Friars Minor, we leave this to your conscience. Because you can become familiar yourself with the observances of the two orders, which are not the same in every way, and in different ways are not better one than the other. In effect, in one of these orders, the beds are harder, warm clothing is harder to come by, and in the opinion of some, the poverty is more profound; but in the other order, food is sparser, the fasts longer, and, as some are persuaded, the discipline more ascetic. We do not love one more than the other; but we think that both, established on the foundation of strict poverty, have the same purpose, which is the salvation of souls. This is why, whether you embrace life with one order or the other, you will be choosing a good path, and you will be entering by the narrow gate into the land of milk and honey. Weigh all these things carefully, study which order is best suited to your temperament and where you believe you can give your best, and attach yourself to this order in a way that does not detract from your love of any other order. Because the Friar Preacher who does not love the Friars Minor is loathsome, and the Friar Minor who hates or disdains the Order of Preachers is loathsome and damnable. Given in Pérouse, the 13 of May, in the second year of my pontificate.

We share the sentiments of Pope Clement IV. We have chosen the order which best suits our temperament, and the order in which we believe we can give our best, without taking from any other order the love and respect which we owe to all.

We may be asked why we have preferred to re-establish an old order, rather than establish a new one. We will give two answers: first, the grace of being the founder of an order is the highest and rarest that God accords to his saints, and we have not received this grace. In the second place, if God were to give us the potential to create a religious order, we are sure that after much reflection, we would discover nothing more new, more suited for our times and its needs, than the rule of Saint Dominic. There is nothing old about it other than its history, and we do not see the need to torment our spirits for the sole pleasure of saying the order was established yesterday.

Saint Dominic, Saint Francis of Assisi, and Saint Ignatius, using the religious institute for the propagation of the Gospel through teaching, exhausted all fundamental combinations of this transformation. One may change habits and names [to establish a new order], but you will not change the real nature of these three famous societies. If our contemporaries are critical of the long history of the Friars Preachers, the same could be said of their attitude toward the Church [as a whole]. One need go back only two centuries to find such objections. Those who do not endure will always ask for an accounting of myriad things from those who do endure, to which the best answer will always be: to continue to endure.

One endures by inexorable modifications which leave some non-essential things behind, and move on to the future in harmony with the present. There are in the Church and the religious orders, as in all living bodies, aspects which maintain an immutable identity, while undergoing, as life itself moves forward, a continual renewal. The Church today is the same Church as that of the Middle Ages in terms of its hierarchy, its dogmas, its culture, its morality; however, at the same time, what a difference! Within it are the same religious orders, and, in particular, the Order of Preachers. Whoever believes the past is insignificant would deny man his own origins, and would deprive life of its very breath.

Acknowledgments

A debt of gratitude is owed to George Christian, OP; Peter T. Hancock; and Colette Marie-Louise Smith Douglas for their review of this translation and their editorial suggestions.

Endnotes

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