The Scapegoat in the Pit: A Girardian Reflection on the Suppression of the Latin Mass

"The Mass, like Joseph, was cast into the pit not for its failings, but because it posed a threat to those in power. And, like Joseph, the Latin Mass is now languishing in a kind of exile, accused falsely of crimes it did not commit."

From One Peter Five

By Vincenzo Randazzo

I Am the Problem

We are familiar with the famous story of G.K. Chesterton, who was once asked to write an essay answering the question, “What’s wrong with the world?” His ‘essay’ reply for publication was disarmingly simple. Two words: “I am.” These two words, juxtaposed with God’s eternal “I AM,” underscore the paradox of our existence. Where God’s “I AM” is the fullness of truth and life, our own “I am” is often the source of disorder and sin.

Chesterton’s response reflects a radical humility central to the Christian message. To admit “I am the problem” is to destroy the ego, open oneself to repentance, and allow Christ to live within us. Yet, this admission, so essential for personal conversion, often eludes us when applied to larger bodies—especially the Church. Institutions, like individuals, have their faults, yet the temptation is always to project guilt outward, to place blame elsewhere, and to find a scapegoat.

This brings me to the Latin Mass. Reflecting on its treatment, I see echoes of the Biblical story of Joseph. Of course, the Old Testament story of Joseph clearly foreshadows the story of Christ, which not only prefigures but is inseparably bound to and re-presented in the Mass. However, my skills as a writer can only juggle so much—trust me, this article already has enough circles to satisfy whatever Dante might have pondered over his 14th-century Italian equivalent of a morning espresso. The Mass, like Joseph, was cast into the pit not for its failings, but because it posed a threat to those in power. And, like Joseph, the Latin Mass is now languishing in a kind of exile, accused falsely of crimes it did not commit. I don’t claim to be the first to draw this analogy or to view the situation through the lens of René Girard’s mechanisms of scapegoating, as it seems too evident to me. But I find the comparison profoundly illuminating—and hopeful.

Scapegoating and the Crisis of Rivalry

René Girard’s theory of scapegoating provides a compelling framework for understanding the suppression of the Latin Mass. Girard observed that human communities often resolve internal tensions by identifying a scapegoat—a single victim or group upon whom the community projects its conflicts, problems, and sins. This act of collective violence provides a temporary sense of unity, allowing the community to avoid confronting its deeper issues.

In Girard’s framework, scapegoating arises from mimetic rivalry—the tendency of humans to desire the same things as others, leading to envy, conflict, and eventual crisis. Within the Church, these rivalries manifest in struggles over identity, power, and authority. This principle holds just as true among the princes of the Church, whom I observe closely from my vantage point in Rome. The Latin Mass, with its beauty, reverence, and growing popularity, became a focal point for these tensions. Its flourishing was perceived by some as a challenge to the post-Vatican II liturgical reforms, which were intended to unify the Church and make worship more accessible. Instead of seeing this popularity as an opportunity for dialogue and mutual enrichment, it was framed as a divisive threat.

In the same way Joseph’s brothers envied his favored position and his dreams of greatness, some Church leaders perceived the Latin Mass as a rival to their vision of the Church’s future. Rather than examining their own insecurities or the root causes of division within the Church, they projected these anxieties onto the Mass itself, casting it into the proverbial pit. To the question, “What’s wrong with the world?” they turned away and pointed fingers, when they should have faced the altar and struck their own breasts.

The Innocence of the Victim

Girard emphasized that the scapegoat is always innocent. Joseph was innocent when his brothers threw him into the pit. He was innocent when Potiphar’s wife accused him of assault. Yet, his innocence did not protect him from being made the victim of others’ guilt and fear. Similarly, the Latin Mass has been accused of fostering division, of being outdated, or even of harboring a spirit of rebellion. But these accusations do not hold up under scrutiny.

The Latin Mass, like the innocent victim in Girard’s theory, was made to bear the guilt of others. It became a convenient target for unresolved tensions within the Church—tensions about tradition and modernity, authority and reform, identity and mission. And yet, as Girard observed, the scapegoat’s very innocence has the power to reveal the injustice of the act. Joseph’s faithfulness in suffering exposed the guilt of his brothers and ultimately led to their reconciliation. In the same way, the enduring vitality and beauty of the Latin Mass testify to its innocence and its continued relevance.

Crisis and the Illusion of Resolution

Girard also noted that scapegoating provides only a temporary solution to conflict. The deeper issues—the mimetic rivalries and unresolved guilt—remain, often resurfacing in even more destructive ways. Joseph’s brothers may have felt relieved after selling him into slavery, but their guilt lingered, as did the famine that eventually forced them to confront their actions.

The suppression of the Latin Mass under Traditionis Custodes reflects a similar dynamic. By scapegoating the Mass, the Church has not resolved its internal divisions but deepened them. The attempt to suppress the Mass has only increased its visibility and its appeal, particularly among younger Catholics who are drawn to its reverence and beauty. As Girard might predict, the act of scapegoating has failed to restore unity because it does not address the root causes of the crisis.

From Victim to Reconciliation

Here, the story of Joseph offers a profound hope. Though unjustly cast into the pit and imprisoned, Joseph’s suffering became the means of salvation for his family and his people. His faithfulness in adversity allowed God’s providence to work through him, turning what his brothers intended for evil into a greater good. Might the same be true for the Latin Mass? Its suppression, painful as it is, could be part of God’s larger plan for renewal. Like Joseph, the Mass may emerge from this period of exile not only restored but exalted, playing a central role in the Church’s reconciliation and healing. The very act of scapegoating could become a means of grace, exposing the injustices that led to it and prompting the Church to reflect on its true identity.

When you throw holy oil on a holy fire. The Church’s Scapegoat—and Its Hope

The irony is almost too profound to bear: a Church founded on the innocent victim—Christ, the ultimate scapegoat—has made its own sacrifice, the Mass, into a scapegoat. But as Girard reminds us, the scapegoat does not remain in the wilderness forever. The truth of its innocence ultimately shines through, transforming the very community that rejected it. Those of us who love the Mass must take heart. The story of Joseph reminds us that God’s providence is never thwarted, even when His people sin. What men intend for evil, God uses for good. The Latin Mass may be in the pit now, but the pit is not the end. Like Joseph, it may one day emerge as a new saving force for good—and the Church, perhaps chastened by the experience, will be stronger for it.  Herein lies the paradox: suppression often leads to growth. Persecution has never destroyed the Church; it has only refined her. The martyrs of Rome were executed by Roman authorities, yet their blood became the seed of the Church. Similarly, the Mass that today’s Roman authorities seek to suppress continues to thrive wherever it is allowed. The attempt to extinguish it has instead anointed it with holy oil, intensifying the flame. They dug a pit in our path but have fallen into it themselves. They’ve inadvertently fueled the very fire they sought to smother.

On this side of heaven, we must persist—and when asked what is wrong with the world, let us only ever respond, “I am.” Let us not fall into the same error as our adversaries within the Church by blaming them or making scapegoats of them. No. There is a divine logic at work here, and it is not ours—it is the logic of the Cross.