We Have Forgotten What Man Is

The crisis of immigration, the rise of populism, and the Church's neglected teaching on nations, culture, and the common good.

There is a kind of stunned silence hanging over the United Kingdom today. It is becoming an all too regular occurrence. The horrific attack in Belfast has once again exposed a widening chasm between the governing classes and the people they claim to represent. Following another violent incident involving a man believed to be a Sudanese immigrant, many ordinary citizens are reacting with anger, frustration and a growing sense that those who shape public discourse either do not understand what is happening in the country or are unwilling to speak honestly about it. Almost immediately, the familiar script unfolded. Political leaders rightly condemned the attack and urged calm. Yet many citizens feel that the wider questions raised by the incident are once again being treated primarily as a problem of public perception rather than public policy. Concerns about immigration, integration and social cohesion are being quickly overshadowed by warnings about misinformation, extremism and the dangers of inflaming tensions. Whether justified or not, many people are left with the impression that the anxieties of ordinary citizens are being managed rather than addressed.

Yet the difficulty remains. People continue to observe realities that appear increasingly at odds with the assurances they receive. They remember the grooming gang scandals in Rotherham, Rochdale, Telford and elsewhere, where vulnerable girls were systematically abused while authorities looked the other way for fear of appearing racist. They witness imported sectarian tensions, parallel communities and growing social fragmentation. They see attacks on native populations reported with remarkable caution while concerns about social cohesion are routinely dismissed. Whether every concern is justified is not the point. The point is that millions of people increasingly believe that the institutions governing them no longer trust them with the truth.

This growing alienation is not confined to politics. It has found its way into the Church as well. For many years, the bishops of England and Wales have spoken consistently and passionately about the dignity of migrants and refugees. On this they are entirely correct. Every human being, regardless of nationality, ethnicity or religion, is made in the image of God and possesses an inviolable dignity that must be respected. Christians have a clear obligation to show charity to the stranger and compassion to those fleeing persecution, war or genuine hardship. The difficulty is not what the bishops say. It is what they often fail to say.

The faithful are frequently reminded of their duty to welcome the stranger but are seldom instructed with equal clarity concerning the Church’s teaching on borders, sovereignty, political authority and the common good. As a result, many Catholics are left with the impression that Catholic teaching demands little more than ever greater openness to migration and ever greater suspicion towards those who express concerns about its consequences. Such an impression is profoundly misleading.

The Church has never taught that nations have no right to control their borders. She has never taught that political communities have no right to preserve their cultural inheritance. She has never taught that governments may neglect the welfare of their own citizens in pursuit of abstract humanitarian ideals. Quite the contrary.

The Catechism teaches that prosperous nations should, as far as they are able, welcome the foreigner seeking security and livelihood. Yet the very same paragraph teaches that political authorities may regulate immigration according to the requirements of the common good. This is not an embarrassing qualification appended to an otherwise universal obligation. It is an integral part of the Church’s teaching.

To understand why, we must step back from contemporary political slogans and recover a much older wisdom.

Long before the modern debates about immigration, identity and multiculturalism, the Christian tradition reflected deeply on the nature of political authority. St Augustine described peace as the tranquillity of order. St Thomas Aquinas taught that government exists to preserve the common good and the unity of peace. The Catechism teaches that the common good requires the stability and security of a just order. Throughout the centuries, Catholic thinkers consistently recognised that rulers possess obligations towards the communities entrusted to their care. These obligations are not limited to economic prosperity or physical security. They extend to the preservation of those conditions that enable human beings to flourish together.

This is where contemporary discourse often goes astray. The modern world has become accustomed to thinking of nations primarily in administrative or economic terms. A nation is viewed as a tax base, a labour market or a collection of consumers inhabiting a common territory. Yet the Catholic tradition has always understood political communities more deeply than this.

Human beings are not isolated individuals floating through history. We are born into families. We inherit languages. We receive traditions. We belong to places. We are shaped by stories, customs, symbols and memories that long predate our own existence.

Pope St John Paul II expressed this beautifully when he told UNESCO that “the nation exists through culture and for culture.” Culture, for John Paul, was not an optional adornment. It was one of the principal means through which human beings become fully human. A culture is an inheritance. It embodies accumulated wisdom, moral assumptions, habits, institutions, stories and symbols passed from one generation to the next. To lose such things is not simply to alter a society. It is to impoverish it.

This insight is almost entirely absent from contemporary political discourse. Indeed, modern ideologies often appear incapable of understanding it. The liberal tends to define man primarily as an autonomous bearer of rights. The market liberal frequently sees him as a consumer. The socialist understands him principally as an economic actor. Identity politics defines him through race, sex, sexuality or grievance. The technocrat reduces him to data points requiring management. Each perspective contains a fragment of truth. Yet all ultimately fail because they attempt to understand man apart from God.

The crisis afflicting the West is therefore not primarily demographic, economic or political. It is theological. Having forgotten God, we have forgotten what man is. This is why so many of our public debates feel increasingly detached from reality. We continue to speak about dignity, equality, rights and freedom, yet we struggle to explain why any of these things matter. We preserve the language of Christian civilisation while systematically removing the foundations that once sustained it.

Pope Benedict XVI repeatedly warned that modernity sought to preserve the fruits of Christianity while severing them from their roots. Human dignity, universal rights and equality before the law did not emerge from nowhere. They arose from a specifically Christian understanding of reality. They rest upon the conviction that every human being is created in the image of God and redeemed by Christ. Remove that foundation and the concepts remain for a time, much like cut flowers retain their beauty after being severed from the plant. Eventually, however, they begin to wither.

This becomes particularly evident in the ideology of globalism. Christianity teaches that all men are brothers because all men share a common Father and are called to salvation in Christ. Modern secular universalism attempts to preserve the brotherhood while dispensing with the Father. The result is a vision of humanity united by sentiment rather than truth.

The Christian proclamation that there is neither Jew nor Greek in Christ is transformed into a political project aimed at dissolving distinctions without reference to the transcendent reality that alone gives such unity meaning. The consequences are increasingly visible.

Many people instinctively recognise that something precious is being lost. They see the erosion of social trust. They witness the weakening of shared cultural assumptions. They observe institutions that appear more concerned with managing diversity than cultivating unity. They are told that patriotism is suspect, that national identity is arbitrary and that cultural continuity is little more than nostalgia. Yet these same people often lack the language to articulate what they are experiencing.

This helps explain the rise of populist and nationalist movements throughout the West. The appeal of such movements does not arise primarily from hatred. It arises from a desire for belonging. People wish to preserve their homes, protect their children, maintain social trust and hand on something recognisable to future generations. These instincts are not pathological. They are profoundly human. The tragedy is that they are so often met with contempt. When ordinary citizens raise concerns about immigration, crime, social cohesion or cultural change and are immediately branded racist or xenophobic, they do not abandon those concerns. They simply stop listening to the people condemning them. Every denunciation deepens the sense of alienation. Every accusation confirms their suspicion that the institutions of society no longer understand their lives.

In this respect, the political establishment has become the greatest recruiting sergeant for the very populism it claims to oppose. Yet populism itself cannot provide a complete answer.