“Put not your trust in princes; in the children of men in whom there is no salvation.”
When King David penned these lines 3,000 years ago, a man might have been excused for looking to his ruler to see to it that his lot in life was not too severe; that justice prevailed in the kingdom; and, perhaps, that some form of higher civilization might be cultivated by royal example or even decree.
Throughout antiquity there have been Herods, Neros, and Caligulas, who exploited their offices for gain or pleasure or both, but there were also Octavians, Trajans, and Aurelians, whose actions were—in the main—motivated by a desire to serve the common good. As Christian Europe took shape, monarchs on the order of Charlemagne, Ferdinand and Isabella, and Phillip II of Spain aimed to unite their governments with the government of God. Some even achieved sanctity along the way: Alfred the Great, who translated Boethius into English; Edward the Confessor, who built the first Westminster Abbey; and Louis IX, the heroic crusader king who also labored to create a just economy for the people of France.
Alas, our own age does not produce the likes of a Charlemagne or a St. Louis and has not for some time. And yet, at the moment in history when we should most be heeding the psalmist’s words not to put our trust in princes, Americans seem to invest no end of hope in today’s version of a prince: the politician.
G.K. Chesterton recognized this trap a more than century ago when he wrote,
At present we all tend to one mistake; we tend to make politics too important. We tend to forget how huge a part of a man’s life is the same under a Sultan or a Senate, under Nero or St. Louis. Daybreak is a never-ending glory, getting out of bed is a never-ending nuisance; food and friends will be welcomed; work and strangers must be accepted and endured; birds will go bedwards and children will not, to the end of the last evening.
My friends, the crises of our age are cultural and, in the end, spiritual. Saint Paul’s stirring final chapter of his letter to the Ephesians settles the question:
For we are not contending against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world rulers of this present darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.
On this day, many Americans, including a lot of faithful Catholics, will look in the ballot box for solutions to our nation’s ills. To be sure, political battles must be fought, and fought hard, and our votes must be informed by Church teaching. But we must also recognize that these battles are just reflections of the profound and widening spiritual divide that threatens to destroy our nation, and that it is within cultural institutions that the battle for the soul of America must be waged.
What are these institutions? First among them is marriage. And then the family. The family is the natural institution without which there can be no civilization. Marriage pre-exists the Church and all human society.
Next is the Church. Because the Incarnation is nothing less than the moment where God touches human history, the Church is necessary to civilization. There is no going back, and all things in human experience must be transformed in Christ. These include the next set of cultural institutions through which our society lives and breathes—or in which it suffocates, as the case may be. I am speaking of the primary and secondary schools, the colleges, universities, and seminaries. Because of the Incarnation, there can be no complete education that is not Christian education.
Not to be forgotten are the institutions of art, architecture, music, and even popular culture: the film and recording studios, the publishing houses and the presses. Every song we hear or film we see, every book or poem we read (if you are not reading poems, shame on you), every image, painted or photographed upon which we gaze, and the buildings in which we live, work, and worship—all of these have the power to edify, to delight, to inspire. Or they have the power to corrupt us.
Our society lives through marriage and the family, the Church, the schools and universities, and through all of the organs of high and popular culture. When these things are in good health, Christian civilization can thrive. When they are weakened or corrupted, we move toward chaos instead. And such is the condition of our land and of her people today. The solution—indeed, the only solution—is the flourishing of a vibrant Catholic culture on these shores. And we cannot bring forth such a culture through elections or legislation.
How can we, you ask? Nobody ever likes the answer to this question, because none of these suggestions is revolutionary. But trust me, revolutions are bad. Even John Lennon knew that. Instead of revolution, we want restoration—of a Christian polity.
Find a reverent liturgy and assist at it daily. Pray Lauds and Vespers. Get married, or become a priest or religious. After you get married, have children and stay married. Learn Latin. Memorize poems. Read Homer, Virgil, Dante, Shakespeare, Manzoni, Chesterton, Tolkien, and Undset. Read Mother Goose to your young children and Treasure Island, Huckleberry Finn, and Captain’s Courageous to your older ones. Throw your television in the street and drive over it with your car and then set your car on fire. Unplug from social media. Learn a musical instrument. Plant a garden.
Whatever you do, don’t obsess over polls, or over which prince inhabits the White House or sits in your state capitol. There is no salvation to be found there.