The Legacy of Pope Benedict XVI

By Charles A. Coulombe

A concise account of one of the most epic developments in the modern Catholic church—the resignation of Pope Benedict XVI.
 
Pope Benedict XVI’s precedent-shattering announcement that he would renounce the Papacy—the first Pope to do so in 600 years—touched off a firestorm of speculation and commentary throughout the world’s media and the blogosphere. But much of this ocean of opinion is just plain wrong, because of the complex nature of the Papacy and the Church.
 
Written by a renowned Papal historian, journalist, and lecturer—who also sits on the board of the Queen of Angels Foundation and serves as a delegate for the International Monarchist League—The Legacy of Pope Benedict XVI gives you solid, inside information to make up your own mind on one of the most epic developments ever to shake the modern world, a radical change in course for the planet’s largest religion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Dec 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781626810525

Charles A. Coulombe

Charles A. Coulombe is a historian and commentator in both Catholic and secular arenas. Commended by Pope John Paul II for his book Vicars of Christ: A History of the Popes, he provided narration for ABC News during the funeral of John Paul II and the election and installation of Benedict XVI. He is the author several books including a five-volume history of the United States for Catholic readers. Former Contributing Editor of the National Catholic Register, Coulombe won the Christian Law Institute's Christ King Journalism Award in 1992. He lives in Los Angeles.

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Introduction

The announcement by Pope Benedict XVI on February 11, 2013 that he would renounce St. Peter’s Chair on the 28th of that month shocked his more than one billion followers and unleashed torrents of speculation across the globe. Why had he done it? What might result? Although provided for in canon law, there had been no renunciation of the Papacy since Gregory XII in 1417; before that, one would have to go back to St. Celestine V in 1294.

Much, if not most, of the media coverage of the event and its aftermath was and is incredibly ignorant; but if this is typical of secular coverage of Catholic affairs in general, it is an ignorance mirrored within the Church and symbolized by the fact that many of the prelates in the Consistory Hall that morning did not understand enough Latin to grasp the Pope’s renunciation letter in that language: a number of those at the scene did not find out what had happened until some time after they had left the premises. In their case, of course, that ignorance is merely a reflection of the collapse of Catholic higher education in the past few decades. But often enough the ignorance of secular commentators is willful—malevolently so.

Said malevolence has dogged Benedict all the days of his Papacy, and it will dog his successor as well. Pundits who are either ex-Catholics or non-Catholics demanded and will demand that the Church end celibacy, ordain women, accept abortion, contraception, same-sex marriage, or whatever they happen to be obsessed with at the time. Such folk would rightly never dream of demanding that India’s Hindu hierarchy abolish cow veneration in order to relieve starvation on the subcontinent through beef consumption, nor would they seek to end kosher butchery on the pretext that it is cruelty to animals. But the Catholic Church’s beliefs and practices—no matter how sacred—are open to critique and correction by anyone at all, however little they might understand the topic. For such as those, pedophilia amongst the clergy is the result of celibacy; never mind that most pedophiles in general are married men. Moreover, the vast majority of what are characterized as priestly pedophile cases are in fact acts committed against male adolescents. That Pope Benedict related that unpleasant truth to clerical homosexuality and offered it as one among several reasons for an exclusively straight priesthood led to him being angrily charged with homophobia.

But the truth is that the soon-to-be-retired Pontiff (and, no doubt, his successor) inhabits an entirely different mental universe than those who seek to form current public opinion. Partly, of course, this is because Benedict and those who share his beliefs see reality as something immutable: regardless of how polite one may or may not wish to be, good is good, evil is evil, and we are all bound to seek out the unchanging Will of God and attempt to follow it. For their opponents, morality and indeed existence itself is a great cosmic marshmallow—moldable to one’s feelings or convenience at this moment, for however long one needs them to be in this particular state. Obviously, in such a construct the amount of power one holds to manufacture such changes is all that can bring personal fulfillment, and the weaker must necessarily bow to the stronger.

There are other, more specific differences. Among the most important of these are experience and education. Benedict came to maturity during and after World War II, seeing firsthand the horrors of Naziism and the ruin they brought about. Laughable as media attempts were to pin the swastika on him after his election to the Papacy, his views on such matters as capital punishment, the Jews, ecumenism, world peace, and the power of the State were formed in that crucible. Commentators drawn from the pampered generation of ‘68 can have no comprehension of the realities the future Pontiff faced.

Similarly, there is an education gap. Benedict received a formation that is virtually impossible to find today. Although he may be deficient in computer skills and knowledge of pop culture trivia (though he may not be!), he is fluent in German, Italian, French, English, Spanish, Portuguese, and Latin, and reads and understands Ancient Greek and Biblical Hebrew. He is a deeply cultured man, grounded in philosophy, history, literature, classical music, and innumerable other topics. Benedict’s knowledge of theology, ranging from the Bible, the Fathers and Doctors of the Church, and on to the present day is encyclopedic, as witnessed by his regular series of catechetical talks. Opposed to all of this is a set of chatterers who attempt to conceal their lack of depth by volume and vitriol.

Benedict would need all of this background when he was elected to the Papacy in 2005. His predecessor, Bl. John Paul II, had left him a curious paradox. On the one hand, in external matters, the stock of the Catholic Church had never stood higher. The late Pontiff had played a key role in the fall of the Soviet Empire, and the Holy See had never maintained diplomatic relations with so many countries and international organizations. John Paul himself was a media superstar; his funeral was watched on television by at least 8,800,000—another 4,000,000 attended in person.

But as John Paul II himself admitted, he had woefully neglected the appointment of bishops: in many—perhaps most—of the dioceses of the world, the Pope had only as much say in local affairs as the bishop would permit him. Combined with this fact (and partly produced by it) was a crisis in clerical morals exemplified by the pedophilia scandals. But that crisis in itself was vastly exacerbated by one of Faith, due in great part to the rupture between the Church’s age-old traditions and her present practice emerging in the wake of the Second Vatican Council. Beyond these interior challenges, most of the governments of the West were imposing moral and social changes upon their heavily propagandized populations that would sooner or later bring said regimes directly into conflict with the teachings of the Catholic Church.

That Benedict was aware of this latter development is obvious from the homily he delivered at his inauguration Mass, during which he sketched out what would be the major themes of his pontificate. In his last paragraph, the new Pope gave his listeners—many of whom were Heads of State and Government—the following exhortation:

At this point, my mind goes back to 22 October 1978, when Pope John Paul II began his ministry here in Saint Peter’s Square. His words on that occasion constantly echo in my ears: Do not be afraid! Open wide the doors for Christ! The Pope was addressing the mighty, the powerful of this world, who feared that Christ might take away something of their power if they were to let him in, if they were to allow the faith to be free. Yes, he would certainly have taken something away from them: the dominion of corruption, the manipulation of law and the freedom to do as they pleased. But he would not have taken away anything that pertains to human freedom or dignity, or to the building of a just society.

At that point, a curious thing happened. In accordance with protocol, the hereditary rulers (most now figureheads) were seated in front; behind them were the elected presidents and prime ministers. When the Pontiff uttered these words, the monarchs rose,