In my younger days, I had a number of opportunities to go for some very long hikes in several high mountain ranges of the Swiss, French, and Italian Alps. On day one I was given a warning that has stuck with me ever since: you must follow the marked paths, and if you stray, you go back to the last sign you remember seeing. The principle makes sense, and only fools would disregard it. You return to the path. If you do not, you are lost and could pay for it with your life.
This same principle has a place in the moral lives of individuals and civilisations. People’s lives begin to crumble when they leave behind the wise maxims they (hopefully) learned from their parents and start to live according to their whims. The only way to salvation is to return to the principles of moderation and abstinence passed down through the generations. In a similar way, the life of a nation begins to disintegrate when the sacrosanct principles that have governed every single true civilisation in the history of humanity are left aside: the unborn are no longer protected, the elderly are discarded as useless, hedonism and sexual promiscuity are rampant, having children is optional, and the education we give to those we do have is concerned only with their physical, and not eternal, welfare. Such a civilisation is on the verge of collapse: anarchy reigns and it is only a matter of time before the horrors of pagan barbarism triumph.
In the Church too this is a periodic danger. It has happened in history to local churches, in which the faith was at one time fervent but then became relaxed and eventually dissolved. What marks our modern age is that this phenomenon is present at a universal level. With few exceptions here and there, the worldwide trend is that the faith is dwindling fast; it is losing ground and, short of a miracle, could cease to exist in a few decades. Researchers seek to explain the loss of faith among the younger generations: lack of proper formation, worldly ambience leading young Catholics to live like everybody else, population shifts that disperse once fervent communities, etc. In reality all of these factors enter into the equation.
I propose that the ‘return to the path’ reflex evoked above applies here. The first step is to take our bearings and acknowledge that the Church is in the midst of an unprecedented crisis in which the following are all too visible: Catholics totally ignorant of their faith; prominent Catholics touting their support for the gravest forms of immorality and still publicly receiving Communion with the blessing of their bishop and even the pope; prelates and priests utterly incapable of saying or doing anything worthwhile to stem the tide, and furthermore wasting time and Church money in everything except the bold proclamation of the pure truth of the Gospel. It is time to look back and see where we went off track.
How can ‘other’ not be ‘new’?
Is there an identifiable moment when we left the path, when the faith took a turn, which has been the direct cause of our present crisis? The question is not an easy one to answer. Many would point to the ‘spirit of Vatican II’ being understood as the new spirit of laissez-faire the Council (intentionally or not) gave rise to. The Second Vatican Council was not a case of spontaneous generation; it did not appear out of nowhere. It had roots and causes, going back to the Renaissance, the Reformation, the French Revolution, and above all to modern idealism, crystallised in the Modernist crisis. Regardless of which side of the debate we find ourselves on, what cannot be denied is that Vatican II was a turning point, a serious change of path that has left us with, ‘not a new church, but a different church,’ as Yves Congar supposedly wished for during the Council.
It is not our purpose here to analyse the Council as such or to explain how no one at the time seems to have wondered how ‘different’ could not mean ‘new’. What we can do is promote a return to Tradition and foster the handing down of all that is good and authentic to the next generation. Every priest must have at heart, under pain of not living up to his priesthood, to hand on, not himself, nor his own ideas or ambitions, but the very heart of what makes up the faith: the mystery of the Incarnate Word, Jesus Christ, and His goal for each human person – as the Church has done in every generation.
Once we have understood this, it is not difficult to appreciate how the dictum lex orandi, lex credendi, lex vivendi is emblematic for each generation. Whenwe have a prayer that is, in its very essence, true and good because it comes straight from the very source of all prayer, it will be easier to have and maintain a faith that is limpid and unshakable – and it will be realistic to live a life that will be according to the model that was shown us on the mount (cf. Exodus 25:40).
This brings us face to face with what may be seen as one of the major causes of our present disarray. Around the middle of the twentieth century, it somehow became fashionable to think and to preach and to write that almost everything in the Church was in need of renewal. Our liturgical prayer needed renewal, our faith needed renewal, our moral lives needed renewal. In reality, the language of renewal has never been lacking in the Church. The work of spiritual masters and theologians throughout the centuries has always focused on ways to renew ourselves spiritually. Think for example of St Paul’s exhortation: ‘be renewed in the spirit of your mind’ (Eph 4:23). The fundamental difference, however, with what happened in modern times was that our elders always considered that the forms they had received from antiquity were superior to anything they could surmise, and that what had to change was not the forms but themselves: their own approach to the mysteries, their own way of living. In other words, renewal in the sense of rejuvenation has always been part of the Church’s life, whereas the reforming of her structures, teachings and prayers was always considered to be either unthinkable or, if truly required, dependent upon truly holy men for its success.
The reformation of structures is fraught with grave dangers. When St Thomas asks the question as to whether or not human law should be changed whenever something better becomes possible, he surprises the reader with a quote from the Decretals that contrasts sharply with his accustomed equanimity: ‘It is absurd, and a detestable shame, that we should suffer those traditions to be changed which we have received from the fathers of old.’[i] Anyone familiar with St Thomas can sense his indignation rising.
His reaction here makes one think of the episode in the castle when his brothers tried to ruin his virtue by introducing a harlot into his room. There was only one thing to do: get her out. And so, he seized the blazing coal from the fire and chased her away. So it is here. This reflex is nothing but the sensus catholicus Thomas had learned from his youth when he was sent to the Benedictines at Monte Cassino. It was here that he was taught the important principle that when it is a question of defending a tradition received from of old, there can be no delay, no dialogue, no hesitation. It is for this reason that he chose to use such strong expressions such as ‘absurd’ (ridiculum) and ‘detestable shame’ (abominable dedecus) which denote an extreme aversion to change. Not that change itself is bad. Passing from one form to another, of itself, can be an anodyne experience. But the point is: there must be some very great and very evident benefit (maxima et evidentissima utilitas) or some extreme urgency (maxima necessitas).
In the corpus of the article, Thomas explains the cause of his intransigence: ‘to a certain extent, the mere change of law is of itself prejudicial to the common good: because custom avails much for the observance of laws, seeing that what is done contrary to general custom, even in slight matters, is looked upon as grave. Consequently, when a law is changed, the binding power of the law is diminished, in so far as custom is abolished’.[ii]
The Mirror that Reflects Nothing and Changes Everything
Two fundamental changes in attitude modified everything in the Church during and after Vatican II, both as to what we believe and to the way we act. The first is an attitude of the Church towards herself, ad intra. Students of theology are well aware that studies on ecclesiology are a rather recent phenomenon in the history of theological thought. It wasn’t until the 19th century that theologians beganto write abundantly about the Church herself. To be sure, many beautiful treatises were written, from which we can draw much spiritual profit. Some outstanding magisterial texts also from modern popes speak eloquently of the Church as the Body of Christ. The role of the Church in God’s plan is beautifully described. This is why the encyclical Mystici Corporis Christi of Pius XII is so uplifting. It opens up vistas that were hardly ever explored before, a true homogenous development of reflection on the mysteries God has revealed to us and which are kept alive in and through the Church.
However, Vatican II chose to describe the Church preferentially, not as the MysticalBody of Christ, but as the People of God. In a world that prides itself on democracy, it was virtually inevitable that God’s People should begin to think the way modern democracies do about themselves. The end result is that, instead of a Church whose fundamental attitude towards herself is one of receiving God’s revelation and all that was bequeathed to her by the apostles, we have had a Church seeking, unconsciously at first, but now more and more openly, to remake herself in her own image. No longer do we look back before looking forward, making sure we are faithful to the deposit received; we now disdain the past and look forward to ways in which we can make the Church better, that is to say, different, that is to say, new and not old.
This attitude dealt a potentially deadly blow to the Church, for by definition she can only be what Christ made her. As Bride of Christ, she must, under pain of shameful self-gratification which is nothing other than suicidal adultery, keep her eyes on her eternal Bridegroom. By constantly admiring herself in the mirror and ever changing her appearance in order to be in step with other lovers, she fails her eternal Lover. The constitution of the Church is divinely given; it cannot change. Any effort to do so can only result, first in destabilisation, then in annihilation.
The second attitude flows from the first and is concerned with ad extra, the way the Church looks at the world, all those who are outside of her. Whereas the attitude bequeathed to her by Tradition was that of being the Teacher of nations, she to whom Christ entrusted the entire truth and the task of converting the world as a whole and each individual personally, the attitude championed by Vatican II was one in which the Church seeks primarily to listen, to be open, understanding, compassionate, no longer judging others with the authority of Christ, but showing esteem for others as if only a servant among many. This novel way of looking at those on the outside flows from the novel way of looking at herself. Instead of looking at Christ, she focuses on herself and that leads her to be concerned about her appearance to the world. The emblematic posture of the bride focused on her mirror instead of on her spouse seems to have found a liturgical expression in the assembly turned in on itself and no longer turned towards the Lord due to the loss of celebration ad orientem. If the Church is more concerned with herself than with her Lord, if she is more focused on the people at Mass than on God, she has become an adulteress, an idolatress.[iii]
Even though it may be argued that a very close reading of the Council texts does reveal that such openness requires discernment so as not to accept the errors and vices of the world, the spirit that permeated the event as a whole swept away, in the minds of most, any reticence about embracing the world. The attitude of the Church towards heretics and schismatics changed. No longer do they need to be reconciled to the true Church, for they are already brothers in Christ. Jews, Muslims and non-Christians at large are no longer urged to enter the unique Ark of salvation, lest inter-religious dialogue be thwarted. Through dialogue with the world in general, clergy and religious no longer cherished being ‘in the world but not of the world’; in most cases, they even stopped wearing distinctive garb so as not to be seen as different from the world; the laity began to live like everyone else; Catholic women began to dress immodestly; Catholic couples began to contracept; Catholic doctors, unbelievably, began to practice abortions, often with the blessing of clergy.
A self-conscious Church no longer takes the lead; she now takes her cue from the world. Such a Church no longer teaches. Every now and then, a very feeble reminder of some fundamental truth will appear, so inadequate that the world only scoffs, and furthermore is almost immediately contradicted by yet another statement or act of a prominent prelate that maintains the confusion and assures the world that the Church is on their side. We have lost the conviction to speak in Christ’s name because, instead of contemplating Him and His teaching, we have gotten so wound up in ourselves.
‘The old is better’ (Lk 5:39)
Is there a solution to this catastrophic situation? There is and it is a simple one, one that the pages of this journal will seek to present in diverse ways. It is simply to turn the eyes of the Church away from herself and towards her Divine Spouse. There is only one way to convert souls: humble faith in Jesus Christ and all He has revealed, pure prayer in the form handed down by Tradition, and holy living according to God’s law. This contemplation will enable the Church, shepherds and faithful alike, to once again be the salt of the earth, the city set on the mountain that enlightens the whole world (cf. Mt 5:13-15). Then the light of Christ, Oriens ex alto (Lk 1:78), will again be able to draw souls out of the darkness of death. Only then will the Bride of Christ recover the conviction that she is destined to triumph over the world, not by imposing herself on others or by surrendering her dogma and morals, but by the sword of truth, wielded with love for souls. ‘This is the victory that overcomes the world, our faith’ (1 Jn 5:4). The preachers of the Gospel may be thrown into prison, as were the apostles, but the Word will go on being preached, and its power will continue to touch souls and set them on fire: ‘I labour even unto bands, as an evildoer; but the word of God is not bound’ (2 Tm 2:9).
Perhaps the day is not too far off when we will come to realise that the answer was there all along. We had heard it, but failed to understand. We had perceived it, but did not want to see. The scales will fall from our eyes as we read the centuries-old prophecy and realise that it is addressed to us today:
Stand ye on the ways, and see and ask for the old paths which is the good way, and walk ye in it: and you shall find refreshment for your souls (Jer 6:16).
[i] Decretals (Dist. xii, 5), quoted in Summa theologiae, Ia-IIae, q. 97, a. 2, s.c.
[ii] Summa theologiae, Ia-IIae, q. 97, a. 2, corpus.
[iii] Joseph Ratzinger wrote that ‘the turning of the priest toward the people has turned the community into a self-enclosed circle’ (The Spirit of the Liturgy, Ignatius Press, 2000, p. 80). Compare this expression with the even stronger ones he uses earlier in the book to describe the Hebrews dancing around the Golden Calf as ‘a festival of self-affirmation… self-seeking worship…, a kind of banal self-gratification… an apostasy in sacral disguise’ (p. 23).
2 Responses
Marvelous.
Indeed so.