Executive usurpation of Congress’ role in matters of war is not an obscure point of constitutional law. It goes to the heart of our warped and destructive foreign policy. It subverts our republican form of government, and it makes a mockery of democratic accountability. For seventy years, Americans have entrusted the decision to make war to the branch that can be trusted least with that power, and a long record of bloody, desultory warfare has been the result. Restraining the executive is not a panacea for all of the problems of U.S. foreign policy, but it would significantly limit the damage that the U.S. can do to itself and to other countries.
Now think of the young man of our time, in his cave. He is not exercising what Rod Dreher has called the Benedict Option: he is not part of a community of prayer. He is not exercising the Boethius Option: he can hardly conceive of the virtue of piety and the demands it makes upon the good man and citizen. He is a mass man, and options have been exercised for him, not by masterminds and overlords, but by the immense weight of a system of social manipulation. He believes in choice, and he has nothing of any great moment to choose.
Unlike Boethius, he is alienated. Let us consider the ways in which this is so. I often receive letters from young people, more men than women, angry for having been cheated of their heritage of arts and letters. They sense, somehow, that it is not natural for man to be severed from his past. Man is not a dog or a cat, that God has made to live in the present moment, without history, without the great taproot of piety that drinks from the springs of what we have been given from our forebears long ago.
These young people know, somewhat abstractly, but also as a feeling of not being settled, that they are missing something, and they try by what must be artificial means to recover it. They ask for reading lists. They watch some classic movies. They are often unchurched, and hardly know where to begin to heal that wound, if they begin at all. They are like people who have been shut up indoors all their lives, pallid, weak, stunted, half smothered in the imagination, who then step outside and see the sun, and try a little bit, every day, to take a walk or turn a spade or sit on a rock somewhere. It is a lot better than nothing.
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