Only in Italy: Why the Vatican owes Lucifer a debt
ROME – Earlier this month, an AI-generated video went viral purportedly showing Vatican potentates gathered around an altar and worshipping Satan. While that was clearly bogus, it’s nonetheless an historical fact that the Vatican actually does owe a debt to Lucifer for preserving a deal with Italy that’s at the heart of both its sovereignty and its wealth to this day.
After WWII ended, Italy had some big decisions to make. First up, in June 1946, was the choice between remaining a monarchy under the Savoia dynasty or becoming a democratic republic. The republic won, and a constituent assembly set about drafting a new constitution which would serve as the basis for democratic elections in 1948.
One contentious issue in negotiations over the constitution, naturally, was relations between the new republic and the Vatican.
From the Vatican’s point of view, the issue had been settled for all time by the 1929 Lateran Pacts, in which the Vatican recognized the new Italian state and, in exchange, Italy recognized the Vatican’s sovereignty and made a lump sum payment of more than $1 billion in today’s money for the loss of the Papal States. Despite the fact the deal was struck with Mussolini’s fascist regime, the Vatican regarded it as a legally binding international treaty which could not be unilaterally altered by either side.
The Christian Democrats, who were the largest party in the assembly, supported the Vatican’s position, but in the beginning it was opposed by both the Socialists and the Communists, who together formed 40 percent of the assembly, almost enough to block approval if they could peel off a few other votes. They wanted church/state relations to be governed instead by a new treaty, which might afford the government a chance to make a better deal.
Just when differences between the two factions seemed almost insurmountable, a member of the assembly from a minority party, one which still had monarchical sympathies, came forward to offer a compromise: The constitution could indeed recognize the Lateran Pacts as the basis for church/state relations, but could also add the caveat that future changes agreed to by both parties would not require constitutional amendments. That way the Vatican got what it wanted, but at the same time the door was open to future renegotiations.
What that stipulation, the Italian Communist Party dropped its opposition and Article 7 of the constitution was adopted: “The State and the Catholic Church are independent and sovereign, each within its own sphere. Their relations are regulated by the Lateran Pacts. Amendments to such Pacts which are accepted by both parties shall not require the procedure of constitutional amendments.”
Who was the legislator who brokered the compromise? His name was Roberto Lucifero. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen: Lucifer actually saved church/state relations in Italy!
To be clear, Robert Lucifero was not some sort of anarchist Satan-worshipper. A lawyer by training, he had been a member of the House of Deputies under the Kingdom of Italy and was a strong conservative. During the war, he joined a monarchical division of the partisan resistance against the fascists and the German occupation. In 1944 he was captured by the SS and sent to Rome’s Regino Coeli prison, where he would be liberated by American troops. He went on to be a distinguished journalist and legislator, eventually joining the National Monarchical Party.
Historically, the Lucifers in Italy are a distinguished noble family originally from the Calabria region in southern Italy, with roots reaching back to antiquity. Over the centuries, there have been Lucifers in politics (including ten mayors of their native city of Crotone in Calabria), as well as soldiers, artists, intellectuals, leaders in business, and, inevitably for an Italian family, a fair share of priests and bishops.
To this day, if you visit Crotone, you’ll find the episcopal coat of arms of Bishop Antonio Lucifero, who led the church there from 1508 to his death in 1521, above the entrance to the bishop’s residence. (Lucifero paid for the expansion of the cathedral and the residence.) If you make your way to the city’s St. Joseph’s Church, you’ll find the “Lucifer Chapel,” named in honor of another member of the family who was a patron of the parish.
In its origins, the family name probably derives from pre-Christian culture when “Lucifer” (literally in Latin, “light-bearer”) was associated with the planet Venus, which is also known as the “morning star” because it’s visible at dawn. In that capacity, the Romans had a minor god named “Lucifer” identified with the morning star. Because the same planet is also visible in the evenings, the Romans also called it Vespero, which provided the root for the term “vespers” for evening prayer.
There’s even a St. Lucifer who was a fourth century bishop in Cagliari, on the island of Sardinia, who defended orthodoxy against the Arian heresy. While there’s no reason to think he hailed from the same family, it’s nonetheless worth noting that to this day, one can attend Mass at the Church of St. Lucifer in Cagliari, located on St. Lucifer drive.
Lucifer did not become a name for the devil until the Latin vulgate version of the Bible in the fourth century, by which point Lucifer as a surname was already in common use in Italy, without any necessarily negative connotation. As late as the 1950s, there was a brand of pencils called “Lucifer” marketed to Italian schoolchildren by the Lyra Italia company, part of a whole series of writing instruments named after various astrological figures.
Nonetheless, it can’t help but seem ironic that it was Lucifer – albeit “a” Lucifer, not “the” Lucifer – who intervened at a critical moment to preserve the church’s interests in the country where its headquarters is physically located.
Most, no doubt, will regard this as no more than an amusing historical anecdote. A cynical few might be tempted to see it as cosmic confirmation that when the church seeks its own institutional interests, including wealth and power, it’s making a deal with the devil.
Whatever the case, the record is clear: Historically speaking, the Vatican owes one to Lucifer.
(In turn, I owe this tidbit to Antonio Preziosi’s terrific new book Linea Segreta, “Secret Line”, about church/state relations in Italy since the birth of the republic. I hope to do a full review soon.)