Protestant Bashing and Catholic Triumphalism

I've come to have a very strong dislike of the phenomena mentioned in the blog post title, which I believe are very prevalent in conservative Catholic circles. (Sometimes, bizarrely enough, they can even be found in liberal Catholic circles.)

In his excellent (though frequently over-egged) essay "Notes on Nationalism", George Orwell has this to say about G.K. Chesterton: "Ten or twenty years ago, the form of nationalism most closely corresponding to Communism today was political Catholicism. Its most outstanding exponent – though he was perhaps an extreme case rather than a typical one – was G. K. Chesterton. Chesterton was a writer of considerable talent who chose to suppress both his sensibilities and his intellectual honesty in the cause of Roman Catholic propaganda. During the last twenty years or so of his life, his entire output was in reality an endless repetition of the same thing, under its laboured cleverness as simple and boring as ‘Great is Diana of the Ephesians’. Every book that he wrote, every paragraph, every sentence, every incident in every story, every scrap of dialogue, had to demonstrate beyond possibility of mistake the superiority of the Catholic over the Protestant or the pagan. But Chesterton was not content to think of this superiority as merely intellectual or spiritual: it had to be translated into terms of national prestige and military power, which entailed an ignorant idealization of the Latin countries, especially France. Chesterton had not lived long in France, and his picture of it – as a land of Catholic peasants incessantly singing the Marseillaise over glasses of red wine – had about as much relation to reality as Chu Chin Chow has to everyday life in Baghdad."

Now, I don't think this is at all fair, but Orwell isn't making it up out nothing, either. Chesterton did sometimes become tiresome in his chauvinism towards the Catholic world. The criticism can be taken too far, because he did have valid points to make about the influence of Catholic theology on everyday life. Nor do I like to criticize anyone for idealizing anything; idealization seems like a very endearing fault, if it's a fault at all. It's when we idealize one thing to disparage another that it becomes distasteful, in my view.

An example of Chesterton's attitude is this (admittedly funny) story from his Autobiography:

"In those early days, especially just before and just after I was married, it was my fate to wander over many parts of England, delivering what were politely called lectures. There is a considerable appetite for such bleak entertainments, especially in the north of England, the south of Scotland and among certain active Nonconformist centres even in the suburbs of London. With the mention of bleakness there comes back to me the memory of one particular chapel, lying in the last featureless wastes to the north of London, to which I actually had to make my way through a blinding snow-storm, which I enjoyed very much; because I like snowstorms. In fact, I like practically all kinds of English weather except that particular sort of weather that is called "a glorious day." So none need weep prematurely over my experience, or imagine that I am pitying myself or asking for pity. Still, it is the fact that I was exposed to the elements for nearly two hours either on foot or on top of a forlorn omnibus wandering in a wilderness; and by the time I arrived at the chapel I must have roughly resembled the Snow Man that children make in the garden. I proceeded to lecture, God knows on what, and was about to resume my wintry journey, when the worthy minister of the chapel, robustly rubbing his hands and slapping his chest and beaming at me with the rich hospitality of Father Christmas, said in a deep, hearty, fruity voice, "Come, Mr. Chesterton; it's a bitter cold night! Do let me offer you an oswego biscuit." I assured him gratefully that I felt no such craving; it was very kind of him, for there was no possible reason, in the circumstances for his offering me any refreshment at all. But I confess that the thought of returning through the snow and the freezing blast, for two more hours, with the glow of that one biscuit within me, and the oswego fire running through all my veins, struck me as a little out of proportion. I fear it was with considerable pleasure that I crossed the road and entered a public-house immediately opposite the chapel, under the very eyes of the Nonconformist Conscience."

I'm not going to make heavy weather (no pun intended) of this simple story (although I doubt the "worthy minister" was offering Chesterton nothing but a biscuit-- surely tea or coffee was also on the menu). On its own it would merely be amusing. Possibly the minister was a bit of a prig. But the tone of flippancy (bordering on sarcasm) which Chesterton nearly always assumes when he writes about Protestants, Nonconformists, or the temperance movement does rankle with me.

In Ireland this phenomenon can frequently be found among secular post-Catholics, who like to make ironic jokes about "black Protestants" despite their own contempt for the Church. For instance, the more literary-minded often invoke this famous passage in Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man:

—Then, said Cranly, you do not intend to become a Protestant?

—I said that I had lost the faith, Stephen answered, but not that I had lost self-respect. What kind of liberation would that be to forsake an absurdity which is logical and coherent and to embrace one which is illogical and incoherent?

Or the song which Brendan Behan, that pillar of Catholic orthodoxy, sang on a television interview (I've bowdlerised it slightly):

Beware the Protestant minister:
His false reason, false creed, and false faith;
The foundation stones of his temple
Are the gonads of Henry the Eighth.

It's not so much the original occurrence of these quotations that I'm complaining about, as the satisfaction with which so many Catholics, liberal Catholics, and post-Catholics have dwelt upon them. (I can't find quotations now. The problem with an article like this is always that it's  a reaction to a hundred unremembered provocations.)

Please let it be understood that I'm not complaining about this sort of thing because it's "offensive". The last thing I ever want to do is join in the chorus of political correctness. I'm complaining about it because it's so petty, ungenerous, unchivalrous, and redolent of the very nursing of historical grievances which is the underlying atmosphere of liberalism and political correctness.

The Reformation happened a long time ago. I believe that its legacy has been played out for some considerable time. It was probably played out by the time of G.K. Chesterton, but we have less excuse than he did for hanging onto it. I'm sure Protestantism did give birth to secularism, to some extent. But the child doesn't much resemble the father, and the child has long since dumped the father in an old folks' home.

I particularly dislike the concept that Vatican II "Protestantized" the Church or the Mass. We can debate the legacy of Vatican II, and if we did so, I would often be on the same side as the people who make this "Protestantizing" charge. But we should debate the reforms on their own merits, not looking over our shoulders at another religious denomination. That shows a lamentable insecurity-- like the stereotypical woman who's upset because another woman is wearing the same dress. (I'm sure these women exist mostly or entirely in fiction and jokes. It's just an example.)

Constantly defining oneself against someone or something else has obvious perils. One becomes reactionary in the worst sense. Differences become fetishized, and similarities overlooked. As much as I love differences, and generally prefer to celebrate them more than similarities, I think obsessing on differences can lead to a distorted view in this case. Besides, the people who dwell on Protestant-Catholic differences are rarely doing it in a celebratory way.

All Protestant churches are, after all, splintered from the Catholic Church (whether or not they accept this), so they inevitably resemble it to a greater or lesser extent. Nor does it seem unreasonable to assume that schismatic churches sometimes excel the Catholic Church in this or that regard; for instance, Protestants often excel Catholics in Scripture-reading (I mean in frequency and seriousness, rather than interpretation).

I don't think we should ever refrain, out of excessive sensitivity, from plain talking. Yes, Henry VIII's desire to commit adultery (and pillage the monasteries) was the overriding factor that led to the English Reformation. But it was far from the only one, and there were brave Protestant martyrs as well as Catholic martyrs. Yes, the Church of England today is disintegrating in a puddle of woke. But there have been, and doubtless still are, very holy Anglicans, not to mention untold numbers of sincere Anglicans who were doing their best. The Church of England has made a huge contribution to English culture which is in many ways very admirable. And so on.

It's enough for me that the Catholic Church is (as I firmly believe) the Church founded by Christ; indeed, the one true Church, although I don't see the virtue in throwing that phrase around. Catholicism doesn't have to have the best music, the best artistic heritage, the best customs, or the best anything else. I feel no call to proclaim the virtues of "Catholic culture" or to extol the Middle Ages. I'm mildly interested in the question of whether Shakespeare was a Catholic, and I'll admit that I'd be pleased if it was conclusively proved that he was. But I don't care all that much. I'm uninterested in cathedrals. I don't care for beer.

Conversely, my belief in the truth of Catholicism isn't threatened in acknowledging the virtues and the elements of truth in non-Catholic churches.

(I could pretty much write the same blog post about Irish nationalism and anti-Englishness, by the way.)