Soon after, though, the phrase fell out of use. This was the new age of ecumenism. When Cardinal Basil Hume referred, in an interview in 1993, to "the conversion of England", he immediately retracted his remarks after they had caused deep offence to Anglicans. The irony was that Hume, of all English Catholic church leaders, had done most to exorcise the ghosts of the Reformation. Yet here in 2010 was Murphy-O'Connor once again arguing for precisely such a conversion, though he still shrank from actually using the word.
The meat of the debate was about restoration, a return to Catholicism, and so raised all the usual technical, constitutional questions, such as the fate of the Act of Succession of 1701 which still, in our egalitarian times, enshrines a particular form of discrimination that Harriet Harman has strangely not yet attacked with her customary vigour, namely the exclusion of Catholics and their spouses from the throne. Perhaps she judges us a legitimate target of enshrined prejudice. But my question as I make my pilgrim's progress through Walsingham is a different one. What if the Reformation had never dug a ditch between the vast majority of the English and the religious practices and traditions of their Catholic past?
The answer would be a catalogue of horrors, according to those who opposed the motion in the Spectator debate. A Catholic England, they said, would ban condoms, abortion and homosexuality. Such a scenario seemed to anticipate a theocracy, run by placemen (and, of course, they would be men) of the Pope, a Catholic version of Taliban rule in Afghanistan. No doubt the Inquisition would be lurking somewhere in the background too.
It is a cruel distortion in both historic and contemporary terms. When Desiderius Erasmus, the 16th-century Dutch humanist and reformer, visited Catholic England pre-Reformation, he declared it among the most enlightened places in Europe. Meanwhile, today, the list of officially Catholic countries in Europe doesn't stretch much beyond the 110 acres of the Vatican City State. Fellow members of this sodality — Malta, Monaco and Liechtenstein — may not have rushed conspicuously to embrace the liberal mores of the contemporary Western European society around them, but neither have these self-confessed Catholic micro-states incorporated the Universal Catechism word-for-word into their codes of law.
A better perspective comes courtesy of countries where Catholicism is not (or no longer) the state religion, but where it retains a significant residual place in the culture — Italy, France, Spain, Ireland. All offer clues as to what we lost by breaking with Catholicism. And yes, some of it was good riddance-hypocrisy, abuse and corruption. But there is another side. A Catholic culture — and I am clearly biased as a Catholic, but hopefully have a wider perspective having lived my entire life in England — tends to be better at addressing openly and emotionally the big questions of life, suffering and death.
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