Catholic in America

This land is our land. Let no one forget.

I was raised in the LDS Church, which means that I grew up hearing faith-inflected stories about pioneers crossing the plains, trusting to the leadership of Brigham Young, holding makeshift church services in grasslands and high mountain passes. Mormons do of course make universalist claims; they believe themselves to be in possession of the true faith, and prove their sincerity by sending missionaries all over the world. But their story is, in its essentials, a very American story. They have not been particularly prone to the uglier forms of nationalism, and I definitely wasn’t raised with any aggressive nativism or xenophobia, but in childhood my sense of religious and national identity did fit together quite harmoniously. Human nature being what it is, almost no one questions the appropriateness of the One True Faith being born in one’s own native land.

Patriotism wasn’t particularly high on my list of concerns in the run-up to my Catholic conversion (at the age of 25). I was worrying about theology, ecclesiology, my soul, my family. Nationality didn’t seem like an issue; you’re obviously allowed to be Catholic in America. It turns out though that it’s a little more complicated than being Mormon in America. The LDS story has plenty of wrinkles too of course, sometimes involving real discrimination, but if you can’t be happily Mormon here, you can’t really do it anywhere. That is emphatically not true of Catholicism. There are countries on this earth (many, in fact!) that have been shaped by Catholicism for centuries. Here, quite a few people have been inclined to see Catholicism as an ill-fitting foreign implant. And some of those people were themselves Catholics.

Is that true? What was the right way to think about my country now, in light of my new faith? Twenty years ago, I seriously considered some of the more rejectionist stances that have been in vogue on the Catholic right these last few years. Maybe America is too “modernist,” too steeped in Enlightenment Lockeanism, defenseless against the dark tide of secularism. Is the “land of the free” really the “land of the libertines”?

No. It is not. Though I contemplated these questions as a Catholic neophyte, I decided fairly quickly that the rejectionist stance was foolish. Of course, there are still many deep questions in this space that I still ponder. But it would be strange to get mired in a persecution complex when the story of American Catholicism, taken in full measure, just isn’t all that tragic. It’s a story of rising above common prejudice, claiming our natural and rightful place as full-fledged citizens of this nation. In some ways, Catholics have taken the lead in proving that religious liberty can work.

We’ve had a presence here from the very earliest years. A Catholic signature (Charles Carroll’s) graces the Declaration of Independence; two signed the Constitution. Both George Washington and Abraham Lincoln clearly believed that Catholics should be embraced as valued contributors to American society. And I truly believe (in company with men like John Courtney Murray and Jacques Maritain) that Catholic theology can be harmonized with the core principles of the American political tradition. It takes some effort, but it’s the good kind of effort, the kind that helps us uncover more truth. Matt Franck has an essay on this that I recommend, which discusses among other things the Maryland colony and its embrace of religious freedom.

Then there’s the historical prejudice, which was also very real. Although there are some senses in which other religious groups (Jews, Muslims, Mormons) have had it worse, there’s also a sense in which Catholics get the prize for “most hated,” as the group most deliberately ostracized. (States didn’t pass the Blaine Amendments to deter Jews or Muslims from educating their children in the way they wished.) Catholics were more numerous, and thus perceived as more of a threat. And because history has long arms, and the after-effects of historical prejudice can linger long after poisonous hatreds have eased. Anti-Catholic prejudice was a major force in America well into the twentieth century, and it took me awhile to think through that aspect of my new faith, and get perspective on it.

I sometimes tell people: Baptismal grace made me a Catholic, but it was Notre Dame football that made me an American Catholic. I’m only half joking. I’ll probably write a longer essay on this at some point, but for now I’ll explain just briefly.

In the early 20^th century, some Catholics considered it inappropriate for Notre Dame to play football at all. Why subject ourselves to the constant sneering and repeated snubs for the sake of a Protestant game? Why not focus our energy on Catholic things, such as Thomistic philosophy? Instead of quitting, they owned the sneer (“Fighting Irish”), traveled great distances when necessary to find teams willing to play them, and beat the WASP-y Protestants at their own game. Men like Knute Rockne and Frank Leahy were doing much more than just winning football games: they were fighting for their Catholic compatriots, proving on the field that they could excel as Americans, true heirs to the Home of the Brave. I love thinking about the example they set for alienated Catholic kids across the nation. And of course, men like Rockne also played a pivotal role in building up that tradition more broadly, turning college football into a beloved national sport. This is how Catholics did it, in our best moments. Though often mistreated, or fenced out of mainstream life, they did not sit and sulk. Instead we built things, made contributions, made the American story our own by being a positive part of it.

(This is admittedly still an emotional subject for me, in light of last season’s injustices. Oh look! Once again, the blueblood college football teams are siloing themselves away in clique-y clubs, refusing to play the Catholic team, and then using our “weakness of schedule” as a pitiful excuse to deny us the opportunity to prove ourselves among the elite, even when mountains of evidence clearly show that we are. What an un-lovely flashback to the bad old days. But I digress.)

I have never felt hostility towards Protestants. Quite the contrary! In religious terms, Protestantism has clearly been the dominant shaping force here in America, and if I were Protestant I’d be proud of that. As things stand, I am grateful. As my Tuesday post made clear, I have great admiration for the American Founders (overwhelmingly Protestant), and I delight in the Bible-saturated subcultures of Protestant America. More generally, I reflect sometimes on Protestantism’s defining contributions to Christendom more broadly. In a very Catholic way, I generally view Catholicism as the most visible incarnation of the universal Church, which makes me cheerfully non-defensive about other churches’ strengths. (Great, well done! PS: We have everything you have, but also more.) Protestantism has its distinctive achievements, though. There are things I applaud that Catholics in general were slower or more reluctant to do. Embracing universal literacy! Promoting free markets! Founding a modern nation with a non-sectarian Constitution! My hat is off to you, Protestant friends. In your best moments, you seem to have a kind of creative or innovative spirit that Catholics catch less readily.

If that spirit could be revitalized in our own time, I would warmly welcome it. American Catholicism definitely has its own failings right now, but anecdotally I’ve found Protestants to be more thoroughly demoralized, and I wonder if that may be tamping down the innovative spirit. (Or, in some instances, radicalizing it.) I’ve mused before on whether that may partly reflect their less-extensive experience, in this country at least, coping with cultural marginalization. They don’t have a Knute Rockne to remember when it feels like America hates them. That at any rate is the thought that kept recurring when I read Aaron Renn’s Life in Negative World, which is in many ways a very worthwhile book. It’s neither despairing nor bitterly reactionary, full of sensible advice. But it treats as new a situation that for Catholics just isn’t.

In that spirit, I hope Catholics can pull out of their postliberal funk and fully dedicate themselves to building up the nation that, despite some real hostility, has enabled them to thrive. The prejudice was real (and sometimes still is), but the American Catholic story is not a heartbreaking story. It’s an inspiring story. And with centuries of experience as the Loyal Opposition, we have a perspective on America that other Christians might find helpful. Above all, we understand how important it is to insist that this is our country too, and to make it our country, even or especially when compatriots don’t embrace us with the bonds of brotherly love.

I’m happy to share that space with Protestant brethren. (Also Mormons!) I’ll be patient if they feel a bit grouchy about it. I understand! It’s fine to wrestle with the intersection of faith and patriotism; that’s actually quite healthy. Faith should supply a foundation for reflection, critique, and sometimes course-correction within the context of our national life. In the end though, we should try to work our way back to a place of faithful piety. If we reflect seriously on how we’ve prospered in this country, and on the freedoms we’ve enjoyed, that really shouldn’t be so hard.

God bless America, land that I love.