A reader in London writes:

Regarding the Benedict option, it seems to me that the Christian religion and its Jewish roots are already steeped and moulded in this paradigm. Almost at the beginning of the Old Testament we have Noah’s Ark and, later on, the Exodus from Egypt, both variations of the Benop theme.

In fact the Jews have taken this latter as their template to be relived in careful and extensive detail each Passover. I should point out that at the Passover ceremonies the young have an important and essential place. I am sure I’m not the first to surmise that this same annual commemoration may well be the most important of all factors accounting for the Jews’ extraordinary survival through the ages and through thick and thin.

Such is the power of narrative. If a people identifies with a story powerfully enough it can supply a binding factor and an inspiration capable of defying all forces of opposition and dissolution.

There are many other Benedict options delineated in the OT – Abraham, the Babylonian exile and so forth.

And then, as examples of Benop occasions in the NT there are the early Pauline churches; these again held together by narrative, to some extent the very same OT stories with characteristic variation and elaboration, and with additional depth given by being understood as fore-tellings of the Christian narrative.

This is before we arrive at Benedictine elements nearer to our own time, including numerous experiments in separate living such as the Benedictine monasteries themselves, Groote’s Devotio Moderna movement in the Low Countries as you have recently showcased, the Pilgrim Fathers, the Mormons and so forth.

It could thus be said that this consciousness is in the very DNA of Christianity, its reappearance inevitable at those intervals when persecution and resistance to truth become acute.

Out of this there is one element I would emphasise that I have not seen mentioned in this debate so far, namely the importance of a foundational story to hold a religion together, and how this constitutes a vital element in the upbringing and education of the young.

Margaret A. Clarke, in her book ‘The Archaic Principle in Education’, notes that ‘in a matter of fifty years’ (she writes in the middle of the Twentieth Century), the basis of education in the West has changed from being almost wholly centered in ‘the archaic principle’ to being replaced by ‘the technical principle’. She defines the archaic principle as ‘the teaching of youth through old stories about the beginnings of the race, frequently epics written in verse’, and states the aim of this system of education as, ‘to impart to youth the ethico-intellectual tradition of the race; for the moralising of youth was considered to be tremendously difficult. It was the whole task of education’.

Her book (for knowledge of which I am beholden to Bruce Charlton and his commendable blog) goes on to show how the traditional study of the Classics and the Bible in our schools was quite recently replaced by an intermediate phase offering an aesthetic emphasis (presumably such approaches as ‘The Bible as Literature’). The thirty years trial of this novel but shallow approach to education proved a failure, succeeding only in one thing, as she bluntly comments, ‘What had been the whole of education became nothing’.

As examples of the older method of cultural induction she describes the initiation rituals of the young of more primitive races, principally the Australian aboriginals. These rituals were devised to underline, make real, and firmly and vividly invest the entire being of the young with the narrative of their race and the moral values needed by that race to survive. The whole experience of the race as gathered, tried and tested over millennia was encapsulated in those rituals.

She considers equivalent approaches in ancient India, China and Greece, each having their own traditions of educating the young so as to anchor them in the ethos of the race, and in each case principally by means of ritual and story.

In the fourth of twelve chapters in her slim book Clarke considers the Christian tradition, noting that Jesus himself taught by stories ‘before finally giving his life for mankind as the greatest of stories’.

She specifically notes the following constituents of this Christian narrative:

· The story of the Fall of Man and of the Great Flood as accounts of the sinfulness of humankind, and as warnings of the ‘horrors’ (as she puts it) and consequences of sin and the need for its overcoming.

· The stories of the patriarchs, Abraham, Joseph, etc., as noble figures from whom to learn, and heroes to revere and emulate.

· The story of Moses, the great exodus from Egypt, and the imparting of the moral law.

· The instructive stories of the early kings of Israel; David, Solomon, Joshua, etc., and the wisdom we inherit from that period in the form of the Psalms and Proverbs, etc., furnishing guidance in inner and outer discipline.

· The stories of the prophets, their public reprimands, and the fluctuating fortunes of the Israelites to whom they addressed their diatribes.

· The story of Jesus, from birth to resurrection, with its episodes of baptism, temptation, ministry, teaching, persecution, suffering, crucifixion, and eventual eternal triumph; a story which for more than fifteen hundred years was deeply and indelibly inscribed upon Western culture by means of daily and annual rituals, feasts, architecture, custom and religious service.

· The spiritual law illustrated throughout the Scriptures and in the mysterious poetry and prophecy of the closing Apocalypse.

These are merely skeletal headings needing to be fleshed out by a careful reading of the Bible.

I would note three obvious omissions from Clarke’s list. The first is surprising, since this would be the way most such narratives would begin, namely with a creation myth. In the Christian narrative we have not one but two formulations of the creation of the world. The first is the Old Testament account in Genesis which includes the vital fact that man was made in God’s image. The second account is that of John, ‘In the beginning was the Word,’ and what follows.

The second omission is any mention of the daily and inward practice of prayer and contemplation, specifically the taking in of Christ’s person during the Eucharist (The Lord’s Supper with the partaking of bread and wine, Christ’s body and blood). This direct participation in and regular connection of each Christian with the heart of the Christian story helps make this narrative a living part of one’s life, and one’s life a living part of an ongoing narrative. In every sense, including the literal ingesting of the bread and wine, it becomes one’s own. At the same time it binds the partaker with the celebrating congregation around him or her and with all the congregations of history and of the many nations around the world where the same ceremony is celebrated. Without such a participatory aspect the narrative would lack a large part of its transformative power.

The third omission is the series of sacramental ceremonies in each Christian life, from baptism to last rites, including confirmation and marriage. Together these rituals measure out in regular stages one’s Christian life as part of the larger body of the Church; and this too represents a public acknowledgment of one’s membership of the Church community which, as has been said, is a vital constituent of the narrative’s hold over one’s life.

This unique narrative, with its incredibly rich internal texture was the story which until recently was impressed upon the Christian young: it was the story literally lived in by the whole of Europe and America from the earliest beginnings of our civilisation until the period of the First World War or so. How incredible that in no time at all it has effectively disappeared as a meaningful feature of our education and culture. This is an enormous change. Indeed, it is an indication of the extent of that change that most of us have no idea of what has been lost, so completely has its memory been scoured from the consciousness of the age.

As each society in any age necessarily lives in its own narrative, so that story, whatever it might be – and it will be one thing or another – gives that society its meaning, purpose and aspirations, even if that story is a negative one of fragmentation and bleak nihilism as our own (Darwinian evolution, materialism, the growth of suicidal independence, etc.) in many respects has become. That story profoundly affects us and our understanding, whether we know it or not.

Rod, I hope this is contributory to your exploration of the vital topic you are pursuing with such flair and success. I am sure it is obvious to you how important your work is for the future of culture in a world losing its reason.

Good luck with the book. With it you carry the hopes of many.