The
Benedict Option: A Strategy for Christians in a Post-Christian Nation, by Rod Dreher, Sentinel Press, 2017, 262 pp.
One might not be inclined to read a formal schismatic’s thoughts on how Christian’s
should comport themselves in the secular world. But two things might persuade one to make an exception for Rod Dreher’s The
Benedict Option: first, a favorable mention
of the book by the Rt. Rev. Abbot Philip Anderson of the traditionalist
Benedictine monastery at Clear Creek; and second, the bitter dismissal
of the book by many mainstream Catholic pundits. And one would not be disappointed.
While the criticisms of some reviewers of the book as gimmicky and inconsistent have some justification, Dreher’s overall analysis of the current situation in Western
Europe and North America is accurate, and his suggestions for a practical
response to the situation are sensible. In fact, Dreher’s insights can very easily
be developed into an argument for Catholic Traditionalism and against the
anti-traditionalism of the Catholic mainstream since Vatican II.
Dreher’s book
is not, of course, immediately concerned with debates about Vatican II and
Catholic traditionalism. His concern is with the proper approach of Christians
(including schismatics and heretics of various “denominations”) towards
contemporary culture. He argues that Christians should not see their main
purpose in propping up the declining institutions of the post-Enlightenment social
order, but should rather focus on forming counter-cultural communities. Just as
the early Benedictine monks did not concern themselves with propping up the
institutional remnants of the Roman Empire, but rather with forming new kinds
of communities. Abbot Anderson, in his discussion of Dreher’s book, points to
the contrast between St. Benedict and his great contemporary Boethius. Boethius
worked tirelessly as a senator and consul in a Rome under the power of a barbarian King. St. Benedict did not, and yet, Abbot Anderson writes, “there is
little doubt that the fruits of St. Benedict’s vocation far outweigh those of
the Roman senator and martyr.” Louis de Wohl, in his novel Citadel of God, imagined a scene in which the Gothic king Theoderic
persuades Boethius to serve in his government. “I would love to say no,”
Boethius answers, “But when my mother is a prisoner, held captive by an
honorable foe, and that foe charges me to look after her… can I answer him: No,
you have taken her prisoner, therefore it’s up to you to look after her. I will
nor lift a finger to make her lot easier?” And so Boethius becomes magister officiorum— only to later be
put to death by the barbarian king. Dreher
is appealing to American Christians who have a similar desire to serve their
country, even as that country becomes more and more corrupt. It is not enough,
he argues, to elect Boethius-like politicians who will try to erect legal
barriers to the slide into barbarism and corruption. Instead we must, like St.
Benedict, form new kinds of communities where virtue can be practiced and the
faith passed on with some measure of distance from the barbarian tide.
And the
practical suggestions that Dreher gives for such communities look a lot like Catholic
traditionalism. The Vatican II strategy had two related elements: first, it emphasized
finding common ground with modern culture. And therefore it reduced or
abolished many elements of Catholic life that set Catholics apart. And second
it tried to make Catholicism accessible and easy, and therefore reduced or
abolished those elements of Catholic life that appear difficult. Dreher sees very
clearly that such a strategy is a recipe for self-secularization. To preserve
the faith one must on the contrary emphasize what sets us apart from secular
culture, and cultivate the difficult
disciplines that form the heart to love the City of God, rather than the City
of Man.
Consider three
examples: liturgy, fasting, and censorship. The ancient Christian liturgies,
Dreher writes, “form our imaginations and our hearts.” Therefore, “we must not
reject Christian liturgical tradition for the sake of being ‘relevant’ or
anything else.” The application of this insight to traditionalist objections to
the liturgical reform after Vatican II is obvious. The Liturgical reform reduced
and vernacularized the liturgy in order to make it more easily ‘accessible’,
but it therefore destroyed much of its power to form the heart.
Similarly, the
period after Vatican II saw a radical reduction in the requirements of fasting
and abstinence in the Church, in order to make Catholicism easier and less
different from modern culture. But the Church was thereby deprived of one of
the most important means of preserving Catholic identity and forming Catholic
hearts. As Dreher puts it:
A Christian who practices asceticism trains himself to say no to his desires and yes to God. That mentality has all but disappeared from the West in modern times. We have become a people oriented around comfort. We expect our religion to be comfortable. Suffering doesn’t make sense to us. And without fasting and other ascetic disciplines, we lose the ability to tell ourselves no to things our hearts desire.
Consider, thirdly, the example of censorship. In 1966 the Holy See
abolished the Index of prohibited books, trusting in the “the
mature conscience of the faithful” to guide them away from harmful
material. But Dreher’s reflections on the power of media shows how
counterproductive such a measure was. “The power of media to set the terms of
what’s normal is immense,” Dreher observes. Surely the index should have been extended to cover film and TV shows,
rather than being abandoned.
The Vatican II strategy has often been portrayed as “merciful”; Christianity
made easier out of mercy for human weakness (consider, for example, Dom
Philippe Jobert OSB’s defence of the Novus Ordo). But depriving the
faithful of those disciplines which are a real help in defending them against their own weakness is the opposite of mercy. It is to be hoped that many readers will learn this truth from The Benedict Option.
