When churches are desecrated, statues smashed
and priests attacked, the once-Christian West doesn’t know how to respond
On July 14, parishioners of Saint-Budoc à Porspoder in France learned
that a vandal or vandals had vomited in the parish’s holy water stoups and
thrown a cross in the trash.
On July 26, paint was splashed on the faces and crotches of figures in
the Valinhos Way of the Cross in Fatima, Portugal.
On July 28, three men entered the sacristy of a Catholic church in
Szczecin, Poland, demanded vestments for use in a same-sex wedding, and beat
the church’s pastor. Archbishop Stanislaw Gadecki described the attack as an
instance of the “ever more frequent attacks of hatred against believing people
and priests”.
The Observatory on Intolerance and Discrimination Against Christians, a
non-profit organisation based in Vienna, reports that anti-Christian attacks
and acts of vandalism are on the rise across Europe. In France alone, according
to the French Interior Ministry, anti-Christian acts quadrupled between 2008
and 2019.
The rise in violence against Catholics has been strangely ignored and
downplayed – not only by the media, but by Catholics themselves. Many Catholics
are understandably reluctant to complain about what Pope Francis has called
“polite persecution” when their brothers abroad are being beheaded by ISIS.
Catholic leaders also rightly stress that they suffer less than some other
religious groups – most notably Jews, who likewise face a surge in violence.
Other Catholics fear that drawing attention to these attacks will encourage
the scapegoating of Muslims, despite the fact that most of these acts do not
seem to be perpetrated by Muslims. Satanist symbols like “666” or slogans of
sexual liberation are a recurring features of these attacks. These are not the
symbols employed by ISIS.
These legitimate concerns have led to an unfortunate pattern of
minimisation. “We adopt a reasonable attitude. We do not want to develop a
discourse of persecution. We do not wish to complain … We are not victims of a
‘Cathophobia’,” Archbishop Georges Pontier, head of the French bishops’
conference, told Le Point magazine. “In its history, Judaism has fought an
ongoing struggle against anti-Semitic groups. We Catholics in France now do not
have to face such violence every day!”
Attempts to minimise anti-Catholic violence may be well-intentioned, but
it is doubtful they are having the desired effect. As several scholars have
noted, one of the main reasons Western elites overlook the persecution of
Christians around the world is the fact that they perceive Christians as a
privileged group. Highlighting the rise in violence against Christians in the
West is the simplest way to challenge this assumption.
It also seems unhelpful to pit anti-Catholic violence against
anti-Semitic violence, as if acknowledging the one required ignoring the other.
Since the Second Vatican Council, Catholics have sought to stress what they
have in common with the Jewish people. Today the two religions unhappily share
the hatred of a society that resents the demands of religion, tradition, and
community.
One of the goods that can be brought forth from attacks on Christianity
is a heightened appreciation for what Catholics and Jews have in common. It is
notable in this regard that Catholics have been attacked for a sexual ethic
that they share with Jews. The disfiguring of the figures at Fatima is only one
minor example. Sexual graffiti, disfigurings of the Blessed Virgin and other
similar acts are commonplace in desecrations of Catholic churches.
One sign of how far we are from reckoning with anti-Christian acts is the
fact that we have no generally agreed upon word to describe them. Acts of
aggression against Islam and Judaism are instantly describable using widely
understood terms. No such term exists for attacks on Christians. Various
intellectuals and activists have suggested terms such as Cathophobic,
Christianophobic, and Christophobic, but no suggestion has received wide
acceptance. Our society has a kind of aphasia about acts of aggression against
Christians. It is the violence that cannot be named.
Part of the problem lies in the sociologically unique position inhabited
by Catholics in the West. Our liberal culture has a highly developed vocabulary
for protecting minority rights. But there is no set of terms for describing
violence against the faith that in many ways defined the West, and that remains
the majority faith in many Western nations.
Given the unique constituting role Catholic Christianity has played in
Western life, describing it as another subaltern faith will always be awkward.
Even in Protestant nations, where Catholics have been an oppressed minority,
Catholicism is widely identified with an oppressive past. As other religious
bodies have cast off the formerly universal Christian opposition to
contraception and abortion, Catholicism has stood firm. This makes it a symbol
of tradition and authority even in societies that long ago shook off its
authority.
One recent example of this occured at the height of the recent US debate
over abortion laws. As heavily Protestant states such as Alabama and Georgia
(77 per cent and 70 per cent Protestant, respectively) passed restrictions on
abortion, the Catholic Church became a target of ire. On May 19, the doors of
Notre Dame de Lourdes parish in the wealthy college town of Swarthmore, PA,
were tagged with the words “You do not have the right to decide how others
live, #ProChoice.”
Because the West was once defined by its acceptance of Catholicism and is
now in many ways defined by its rejection of it, achieving an equal and neutral
treatment for Catholicism is all but impossible. Western society looks on the
Church as one might look on a former lover. Given their tangled history, the
only future possibilities are resentful obsession or a revival of passionate
attachment. Nothing is more unlikely than the kind of casual relationship one
might enjoy with a new acquaintance.
JHH Weiler, a Jewish legal scholar who defended Italy’s practice of
displaying the crucifix in public buildings before the European Court of Human
Rights, has called on Europe to overcome its “Christophobia” by acknowledging
its Christian identity. In a short book entitled A Christian Europe: An
Exploratory Essay, Weiler described what such a Europe would look like: “It is a Europe that, while celebrating the noble heritage of Enlightenment
humanism, also abandons its Christophobia and neither fears nor is embarrassed
by the recognition that Christianity is one of the central elements in the
evolution of its unique civilisation. It is, finally, a Europe that, in public
discourse about its own past and future, recovers all the riches that can come
from confronting one of its two principal intellectual and spiritual
traditions.”
Benedict XVI issued a similar call in his 2011 message for the World Day
of Peace. He lamented “hostility and prejudice against Christians” and urged
Europe to “be reconciled to its own Christian roots”:
“I also express my hope that in the West, and especially in Europe, there
will be an end to hostility and prejudice against Christians because they are
resolved to orient their lives in a way consistent with the values and
principles expressed in the Gospel. May Europe rather be reconciled to its own
Christian roots, which are fundamental for understanding its past, present and
future role in history; in this way it will come to experience justice, concord
and peace by cultivating a sincere dialogue with all peoples.”
Confronting anti-Catholic acts requires a different sort of work than
confronting violence against other faiths. The problem is not hatred of the
other, but hatred of the self. It is a refusal of patrimony, an attempt to deny
one’s own character. As Weiler and Benedict have both clearly seen,
Christianity does not require the West’s tolerance; it demands its loyalty.
Unless Europe realises that toleration of other religions does not justify
denial of Europe’s own Christian identity, anti-Christian acts are likely to
increase, while being studiously ignored by those who purport to deplore all
prejudice.
Matthew Schmitz is senior editor of First
Things
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