I HAVE been looking at the little book on Protestantism which Dean Inge has contributed to the sixpenny series of Sir Ernest Benn; and though I suppose it has already been adequately criticised, it may be well to jot down a few notes on it before it is entirely forgotten. The book, which is called "Protestantism," obviously ought to be called "Catholicism." What the Dean has to say about any real thing recognisable as Protestantism is extraordinarily patchy, contradictory and inconclusive. It is only what he has to say about Catholicism that is clear, consistent and to the point. It is warmed and quickened by the human and hearty motive of hatred; and it makes everything else in the book look timid and tortuous by comparison. I am not going to annotate the work considered as history. There are some curious, if not conscious, falsifications of fact, especially in the form of suppressions of fact. He begins by interpreting Protestantism as a mere "inwardness and sincerity" in religion; which none of the Protestant reformers would have admitted to be Protestantism, and which any number of Catholic reformers have made the very heart and soul of their reforms inside Catholicism. It might be suggested that self-examination is now more often urged and practised among Catholics than among Protestants. But whether or no the champions of sincerity examine themselves, they might well examine their statements. Some of the statements here might especially be the subject of second thoughts. It is really a startling suppression and falsification to say that Henry the Eighth had only a few household troops; so that his people must have favoured his policy, or they would have risen against it. It seems enough to reply that they did rise against it. And BECAUSE Henry had only a few household troops, he brought in bands of ferocious mercenaries from abroad to put down the religious revolt of his own people. It is an effort of charity to concede even complete candour to the story-teller, who can actually use such an argument, and then keep silent upon such a sequel. Or again, it is outrageously misleading to suggest that the Catholic victims of Tudor and other tyranny were justly executed as traitors and not as martyrs to a religion. Every persecutor alleges social and secular necessity; so did Caiaphas and Annas; so did Nero and Diocletian; from the first the Christians were suppressed as enemies of the Empire; to the last the heretics were handed over to the secular arm with secular justifications. But when, in point of plain fact, a man can be hanged, drawn and quartered merely for saying Mass, or sometimes for helping somebody who has said Mass, it is simply raving nonsense to say that a religion is not being persecuted. To mention only one of many minor falsifications of this kind, it is quite true to say that Milton was in many ways more of a Humanist than a Puritan; but it is quite false to suggest that the Milton family was a typical Puritan family, in its taste for music and letters. The very simple explanation is that the Milton family was largely a Catholic family; and it was the celebrated John who specially separated himself from its creed but retained its culture. Countless other details as definitely false could be quoted; but I am much more interested in the general scope of the work--which allows itself to be so curiously pointless about Protestantism, merely in order to make a point against Catholicism.
Here is the Dean's attempt at a definition.
"What is the main function of Protestantism? It is essentially an attempt to check the
tendency to corruption and degradation which attacks every institutional
religion." So far, so good. In that
case St. Charles Borromeo, for instance, was obviously a leading Protestant. St. Dominic and St. Francis, who purged the
congested conventionalism of much of the monasticism around them, were
obviously leading Protestants. The
Jesuits who sifted legend by the learning of Bollandism, were obviously leading
Protestants. But most living Protestant leaders are not leading Protestants. If
degradation drags down EVERY institutional religion, it has presumably dragged
down Protestant institutional religion. Protestants might possibly appear to
purge Protestantism; but so did Catholics appear to purge Catholicism. Plainly this definition is perfectly useless
as a DISTINCTION between Protestantism and Catholicism. For it is not a
description of any belief or system or body of thought; but simply of a good
intention, which all men of all Churches would profess and a few men in some
Churches practise--especially in ours. But the Dean not only proves that modern
Protestant institutions ought to be corrupt, he says that their primitive
founders ought to be repudiated. He distinctly holds that we cannot follow
Luther and Calvin.
Very well--let us go on and see whom we are to follow. I will take one typical
passage towards the end of the book. The Dean first remarks, "The Roman
Church has declared that there can be no reconciliation between Rome and modern
Liberalism or Progress." One would like to see the encyclical or decree in
which this declaration was made.
Liberalism might mean many things, from the special thing which Newman
denounced and defined to the intention of voting at a by-election for Sir John
Simon. Progress generally means something which the Pope has never, so far as I
know, found it necessary to deny; but which the Dean himself has repeatedly and
most furiously denied. He then goes on:
"Protestantism is entirely free from this uncompromising preference for
the Dark Ages." "The Dark
Ages," of course, is cant and claptrap; we need take no notice of
that. But we may perhaps notice, not
without interest and amusement, that about twenty-five lines before, the Dean
himself has described the popular Protestantism of America as if it were a
barbarism and belated obscurantism. From which one may infer that the Dark Ages
are still going on, exactly where there is Protestantism to preserve them. And
considering that he says at least five times that the appeal of Protestants to
the letter of Scripture is narrow and superstitious, it surely seems a little
astonishing that he should sum up by declaring Protestantism, as such, to be
"ENTIRELY free" from this sort of darkness. Then, on top of all this welter of wordy
contradictions, we have this marvellous and mysterious conclusion: "It is
in this direction that Protestants may look for the beginning of what may
really be a new Reformation, a resumption of the unfinished work of Sir Thomas
More, Giordano Bruno and Erasmus."
In short, Protestants may look forward to a Reformation modelled on the work of
two Catholics and one obscure mystic, who was not a Protestant and of whose
tenets they and the world know practically nothing. One hardly knows where to
begin, in criticising this very new Reformation, two-thirds of which was
apparently started by men of the Old Religion. We might meekly suggest that, if
it be regrettable that the work of Sir Thomas More was "unfinished,"
some portion of the blame may perhaps attach to the movement that cut off his
head. Is it possible, I wonder, that what the Dean really means is that we want
a new Reformation to undo all the harm that was done by the old
Reformation? In this we certainly have
no reason to quarrel with him. We should
be delighted also to have a new Reformation, of ourselves as well as of
Protestants and other people; though it is only fair to say that Catholics did,
within an incredibly short space of time, contrive to make something very like
a new Reformation; which is commonly called the Counter-Reformation. St.
Vincent de Paul and St. Francis of Sales have at least as good a right to call
themselves inheritors of the courtesy and charity of More as has the present
Dean of St. Paul's. But putting that seventeenth century reform on one side, there
is surely something rather stupendous about the reform that the Dean proposes
for the twentieth century, and the patron saints he selects for it out of the
For this, it seems, is how we stand. We
are not to follow Luther and Calvin. But
we are to follow More and Erasmus. And that, if you please, is the true
Protestantism and the promise of a second Reformation. We are to copy the views and virtues of the
men who found they could remain under the Pope, and especially of one who actually
died for the supremacy of the Pope. We are to throw away practically every rag
of thought or theory that was held by the people who did not remain under the
supremacy of the Pope. And we are to bind up all these views in a little
popular pamphlet with an orange cover and call them "Protestantism."
The truth is that Dean Inge had an impossible title and an impossible task. He
had to present Protestantism as Progress; when he is far too acute and
cultivated a man not to suspect that it was (as it was) a relapse into
barbarism and a break away from all that was central in civilisation. Even by the test of the Humanist, it made
religion inhuman. Even by the test of
the liberal, it substituted literalism for liberalism. Even if the goal had been mere Modernism, it
led its followers to it by a long, dreary and straggling detour, a wandering in
the wilderness, that did not even discover Modernism till it had first
discovered Mormonism. Even if the goal had been logical scepticism, Voltaire
could reach it more rapidly from the school of the Jesuits than the poor
Protestant provincial brought up among the Jezreelites. Every mental process,
even the process of going wrong, is clearer in the Catholic atmosphere. Protestantism has done nothing for Dean Inge,
except give him a Deanery which rather hampers his mental activity. It has done
nothing for his real talent or scholarship or sense of ideas. It has not in history defended any of the
ideas he defends, or helped any of the liberties in which he hopes. But it has
done one thing: it has hurt something he
hates. It has done some temporary or apparent harm to the heritage of St.
Peter. It once made something that looked like a little crack in the wall of
Rome. And because of THAT, the Dean can
pardon anything to the Protestants--even Protestantism.
For this is the strange passion of his life; and he toils through all these
pages of doubts and distinctions only for the moment when he can liberate his
soul in one wild roar of monomaniac absurdity: "Let the innocent Dreyfus
die in prison; let the Irishman who has committed a treacherous murder be told
to leave 'politics' out of his confession; let the lucrative imposture of
Lourdes..." That is the way to talk!
It is so tiring, pretending to talk sense.
~G.K. Chesterton: The Thing, Ch. 12.