On Having Been Catholic (1)
Cherishing a Tradition in Spite of it All
When I first saw Arthur Miller’s “The Crucible,” one scene made me uneasy, in a way I could not name. Someone – I remember it as a chorus -- chants repeatedly to the protagonist: You must follow your conscience. Of course one must; who could disagree with that? Yet the scene struck me as Protestant, and as unsatisfactory.
Years later, reading
, I came across this: “America is not a Christian nation, but it is strongly shaped by Christianity, especially Protestantism.” She identifies in particular its a “deep commitment to individual conscience.” Suddenly my old uneasiness came into focus. Some readers – too many – will assume that the Church I left years ago did not honor individual conscience. They are mistaken.Before I continue, some caveats. Although I’m going to defend, in fact celebrate, some aspects of Catholicism, nothing I say is meant to erase or “balance” the evils the Church has done. Instead I want to give a fuller picture of a large, complicated institution. I feel toward it as I feel toward my country: I’m an American, but heartsick at some of what my country does; I’m no longer a Catholic, but I still appreciate some of what the Church is. Furthermore, I’m working from memories of a mid-20th century Catholic education, in a small geographically isolated city.
I went to Catholic schools through colIege, even taught in a parochial school for a couple of years. There were always teachings that didn’t quite sense to me, but I thought that as I learned more, I would understand. Sort of like studying physics. Eventually I concluded that there were no answers.
As my world gradually expanded, I was struck by how prevalent anti-Catholicism remained. Kennedy’s election had put a lot to rest, but certainly not all. Decades later, I still sense a background level of antipathy.
“Any Catholic is intellectually dishonest,” said a fellow graduate student. “You believe the ends justify the means,” said an angry friend. Particularly relevant to my purpose here: a contemptuous comment about Catholics “asking their priests.” The speaker assumed that Catholics are unable – forbidden -- to form their own consciences. In practice that has sometimes been true. In principle it’s flatly false. Pope Francis has repeatedly affirmed the primacy of conscience. So did the catechism of my childhood.
Why, then, do I balk at that passage in The Crucible? Because conscience can be mistaken. Of course one must follow it, but it’s just as important to question, form, and reform it. In The Crucible I would have preferred an exhortation to tell the truth, or to protect the innocent, rather than just to follow one’s conscience. Believing that something is right doesn’t make it right, and the Catholic in me is constantly aware of that difference. I was taught to follow my conscience, but also to form it carefully. A gut feeling does not count (although it’s something to recognize and explore). Every mainstream Protestant denomination agrees; my argument is not with them, but with the sloppiness of appeals to conscience in popular culture. (Platitudes about good intentions are equally irritating. Good intentions can be culpably misinformed. They can be self-deceptive. They can lead to terrible results. They are necessary, but they are not enough.)
Conscience-building takes effort and attention. It requires fact-finding, considering opposing points of view, noticing the role played by emotions. Following a carelessly formed conscience does not excuse doing what is wrong.
I value that piece of my Catholic background. Yes, it was assumed that the Church’s teachings are always right – but also that those who disagreed could be acting in good faith.
My next post will explore other aspects of my Catholic legacy: the way it shaped my work as a philosopher; how it complicates my view of “Parochiaid”; partial responses to some legitimate criticisms; some personal heroes. And some outrage.
There are lighter facets of a Catholic heritage. If someone pronounces ‘schism’ as ‘skism,’ I quietly note “not Catholic.” In my childhood, hymns were divided into Catholic and Protestant, and when I heard “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” -- one of “theirs” -- in a Catholic church, I was startled. (But happy; the hymn is magnificent.) It was still more startling to hear, in a newer hymn, the words “Thank you, Jesus . . .” I don’t believe we ever referred to Christ by what felt like his first name (except in its more formal Latin form, Jesu). More of these lighter points, too, in my next post.
AfterWords
I’ve taken one scene from The Crucible and ignored the rest, which is essentially a call to resist oppressive authority. Protestants have sound historical reasons to emphasize that kind of resistance. Luther’s “Here I stand, I can do no other,” is a stance all of us must sometimes take. But we also need to heed Cromwell’s “I beseech you, consider that you might be mistaken.” Passionate commitment is not always well thought out.
My agnosticism extends to all religious belief, to any claim of privileged knowledge about ultimate mysteries. On the other hand, I’m also a defender of communities of faith. I’ll try to sort that out in another column, another day.
I had no idea you were Catholic. (Unless I’ve forgotten which is highly likely!)
So many I know appeal to conscience, particularly in matters of Church teaching, without proper (any?) formation, or the like as you so elegantly described. I had a grad student peer in my PhD program (at a Jesuit university) who was Catholic. She described me to another grad student as a “sheep” blindly following without critical assessment or sufficient knowledge after a presentation I gave in one of our courses in Catholic bioethics. I found this out some time later (though it didn’t surprise me in the least) from another grad student when he had begun the process of converting to Catholicism from Church of Christ after countless conversations with me and another Catholic grad student. He said something along the lines of, “Joke’s on her. You know your stuff and have examined it. You’re no sheep!” 🐑 On the other hand she gave a presentation on Christology and when I asked our theology faculty about it because it was very, uh, unusual he replied, “I have no idea what she was talking about because that’s not what it is at all.” (Disclaimer: She wasn’t a bad student on the whole!)
There’s no excuse in Catholicism for those who can read and have access to the internet to not properly inform and attempt to form their consciences. Of course good leaders/catechists/theologians/scholars are also important. But there are so many free apologetics resources online that speak to persons of varying degrees of understanding and intellectual levels.
When I moved to Peoria after MSU and started studying mystical theology and philosophy with a Community of contemplative brothers I finally understood why I didn’t get so much at MSU. The philosophical approach/worldview without God was at many levels non-sensical to me. So much clicked. (And I found out that I was chronically sleep deprived due to sleep apnea and had depression! LOL)
I can’t wait to read more! Wish we were closer to chat over tea/coffee/your preferred beverage.
Your characterization of "Jesus" as a "first name" made me smile. People didn't have last names in those days. There were place names : "Jesus of Nazareth" or names identifying patrimony: "Reuben son of Jacob". And Jews got surnames names later in history than most other peoples. I have never thought of "Christ" as a surname. The term Christ is a title, meaning "the anointed one" or "the messiah." As a Jew I prefer to refer to the historical figure of Jesus as Jesus, as I feel using the term Christ would imply acceptance of the belief that Jesus is the messiah, which Jews do not believe.