Modern Man: The Eighth Sacrament (Administered by Committee)

On pride, flattery, and the most pampered anthropology in Church history

Somewhere between 1962 and 1965, the Church appears to have discovered a brand-new creature. Not man—that tired, fallen, sinful being Scripture has been dealing with since Genesis—but Modern Man. He is refined. He is complex. He is allergic to authority. And above all, he must never, ever be spoken to like his intellectually inferior ancestors who built cathedrals, memorized creeds, and died singing the Psalms.

Thus enters Second Vatican Council, clearing its throat and announcing, in Gaudium et Spes, that it wishes to speak first—not of God, sin, judgment, or redemption—but of feelings:

“The joys and the hopes, the griefs and the anxieties of the men of this age…” (Gaudium et Spes, §1)

One must admire the audacity. For two millennia, the Church began with God. Vatican II begins with a mood ring.

This is not humility. This is pride, baptized and footnoted.

The foundational assumption of the conciliar rhetoric is never explicitly stated—because truly arrogant ideas never are—but it is unmistakable: Modern Man is different. Not morally different (that would require admitting sin), but categorically different. He requires a new tone, a new posture, a new vocabulary. The old one—clear teaching, commands, anathemas, and supernatural certainty—will not do. That might frighten him.

So Gaudium et Spes informs us that the Church must “scrutinize the signs of the times and interpret them in the light of the Gospel” (§4). Note the order carefully. Not judge the times. Not correct the times. Scrutinize them—like an intern studying market trends. The implication is clear: history has matured, and doctrine must keep up.

This is breathtaking pride. Not man humbled before Revelation, but Revelation politely clearing its throat before Modern Man’s lived experience.

Dei Verbum joins in by insisting that divine truth must be presented in a manner “suited to the capacity of the listeners” (§12). Again, a reasonable principle—until it quietly smuggles in the presumption that Modern Man’s capacity is uniquely fragile. Apparently, illiterate peasants could grasp the Trinity, the Real Presence, and eternal damnation, but a university graduate with Wi-Fi cannot be trusted with Latin syntax or metaphysical clarity.

Then comes Sacrosanctum Concilium, which announces that rites should be simplified because “the circumstances of modern life” demand it (§34). Modern life, we are to believe, cannot tolerate repetition, silence, or mystery. Modern Man can operate spacecraft and design financial derivatives, but prolonged reverence gives him hives.

Observe the flattery: Modern Man is endlessly praised for his intelligence and sophistication—yet treated like a theological fainting goat.

Dialogue becomes the magic word. Gaudium et Spes urges the Church to engage the modern world through conversation and cooperation (§3). But dialogue here never means “repent and believe.” It means listening—preferably indefinitely—and speaking in a tone so gentle that no one ever suspects the Church claims to possess objective truth.

This is not evangelization. It is therapeutic validation with incense.

The older Church spoke with authority because she believed authority came from God. Vatican II, intoxicated with Modern Man, begins to speak like a consultant afraid of losing a client. The result is a Church that explains herself endlessly and commands almost never.

The supreme irony is theological. Pride, according to the entire Christian tradition, is the root sin—the sin of Satan, the sin of Adam, the sin of every age. And yet Vatican II builds its pastoral strategy on flattering Modern Man’s self-conception. He is not fallen; he is misunderstood. He does not need correction; he needs accommodation. He does not resist truth; truth must adjust its tone.

Scripture knows nothing of this creature. Christ does not ask whether His listeners are “ready.” He does not study the signs of the times before preaching repentance. When they walk away, He lets them go. Vatican II, by contrast, redesigns the furniture so no one ever feels judged.

The saints would be baffled. St. Paul preached a stumbling block and a scandal. St. Pius X explicitly condemned the idea that doctrine must be reshaped to suit modern mentalities. Vatican II, undeterred, effectively canonizes the mentality and calls it pastoral sensitivity.

Modern Man, it turns out, is not a discovery. He is an idol—one carved from self-esteem, pride, and the unshakable belief that this generation is the measure of all things.

And like every idol, he demands sacrifice. In this case, clarity, authority, reverence, and the uncomfortable truth that the Gospel has never cared whether man considers himself “modern” at all.