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Excerpts taken from “Political-Religious Problems of the Portuguese Nation and Its Empire” — Speech at the National Assembly on May 25, 1940 — Discursos, Vol. II, pp. 232–234, 235–237, 238–240, and 243.

Rome does not change in matters of dogma or morality; it evolves at an extremely slow pace in its liturgical practices and only slightly in its internal organization and discipline.

The State, on the other hand, is largely detached from absolute principles. It adapts to shifting circumstances, yields to the demands of the times, expands or narrows its objectives, diversifies or intensifies its actions, and either strengthens or relaxes its authority. Much of its activity today is merely a passing imposition of fashion, yet much also corresponds to real necessities of social life and to the irresistible aspirations of the body politic. But where might this expansion and volatility of the State come into conflict with the permanence of dogma and the Church’s traditional positions?

The State has increasingly found itself compelled to restrict individual freedom in response to collective needs and objectives. It progressively assumes a purely civil character in its activities, extends its influence over the structure of the family, claims authority over the instruction and education of the youth, supervises or directs intellectual activity, limits property rights, redistributes land, requisitions the fruits of labor, and dictates guidelines, norms, and boundaries for the Nation’s economy. It regulates work, rest, and leisure, and at times, it seeks to encompass man in the entirety of his being—body and soul, thoughts and feelings—leaving no room for any other allegiance. It turns him into a mere cog in a machine from which he cannot escape. The State enlarges itself, deifies itself, and, with nothing to limit it, may present itself as the very consciousness, force, and wealth of the Nation.

Within these conceptions, there are new realities and genuine necessities, but there are also mere constructs of the mind—illusions that experience often disproves and that History, the great gravedigger, buries in its vast cemetery. But at times, it is more than that—it is an attack on something higher: on the truth that shines above all contingencies, on the conscience that refuses to be stripped of itself—that is, on the inalienable rights that stem from the very nature of the human spirit.

It is true that these ultimate concerns have little or nothing to do with the practicalities of politics and the organization of the State, which are shaped by many factors beyond abstract principles. Yet at the core of the issue lies the fundamental conception of man, society, life, and its purpose.

As for us—who declare ourselves, on the one hand, anti-communist, and on the other, anti-democratic and anti-liberal, authoritarian and interventionist, yet as socially conscious as the principle of equality before the benefits of civilization demands—there are, in my view, only three issues that could make agreement impossible, as they touch upon essential points of doctrine: the recognition of a moral order that preexists and stands above the State; the constitution of the family; and education.

The Constitution of 1933, with a foresight that we can now fully appreciate, rescued the Portuguese State from the temptation of omnipotence and moral irresponsibility. It ensured that the Church, in the formation of families and the education of youth, could provide that element of mystery and infinity demanded by the Christian conscience—something that could only be feebly imitated by secular substitutes. To go further, relinquishing everything else, would mean turning a blind eye to the pressing realities of our time; to stop short of this would likewise fail to meet the just demands of freedom and the essential Christian structure of the Portuguese Nation.

If, then, in all seriousness and good faith, it has been possible to establish a formula for mutual respect and collaboration between a balanced modern State and the Catholic Church, we have reason to rejoice—first for ourselves, and secondly for the contribution this represents toward solving the grave problems of a world disintegrating under the weight of its own errors or by the force of arms, a world in need of reconstruction “in spirit and in truth.”

Under what light was the issue of religious freedom examined, and on what plane was it placed?

Anyone who carefully reads the provisions concerning it will clearly see that this freedom is conditioned only by higher demands of public interest and order, by the guarantee of the patriotic formation of the clergy, and by the selection of the highest ecclesiastical authorities under conditions that ensure good collaboration with the State.

Nothing else was deemed necessary—neither certain well-known intrusions of the State into the life of the Church and religious associations or institutions, nor even certain privileges that, being unsustainable under a regime of separation, were once granted to the Portuguese State in earlier times.

From experience, we draw a twofold lesson: the Church governs itself better, in harmony with its own needs and purposes, than it could ever be governed by the State through its bureaucracy; and the State strengthens and defends itself more effectively by defining and pursuing the national interest within its proper domain than by borrowing political strength from the Church when it lacks its own. In other words, the State will refrain from engaging in politics with the Church, just as the Church refrains from engaging in politics with the State.

This is both possible and necessary. It is possible, first, because of all the reasons derived from the spiritual formation of this people and its historical vocation, and second, because we finally have a National State—that is, we have reached the integration of the Nation within the Portuguese Estado Novo. It must be so because politics corrupts the Church, whether the Church engages in it or merely endures it. It is in everyone’s interest that sacred matters and persons be touched as little as possible by profane hands and that they be disturbed as little as possible by earthly passions, interests, or emotions.

I consider it dangerous for the State to become so conscious of its power that it believes it can force its way into Heaven, just as it is unreasonable for the Church, by virtue of the superiority of spiritual interests, to seek to expand its influence into matters that the Gospel itself entrusted to “Caesar.”

We would have learned nothing—on either side—if we failed to see how privilege can lead to corruption, how protection can turn into a restriction of essential freedoms, and how religious policy can shift from defending the interests of the Church to serving other purposes that disrupt the legitimate action of the State—something the State cannot and must not allow.