Latin America: a crucible of modern Christianity

Jonathan Wright praises a clear introduction to the continent’s stormy Catholic history
The History of the Catholic Church in Latin America
BY JOHN FREDERICK SCHWALLER YALE, £23.99
In 1537 Paul III promulgated one of the most important papal bulls of the 16th century. Its theme was the conversion of the indigenous populations of the New World. This had long been a controversial issue and some had suggested that trying to win these people over to Christ was a foolish endeavour: it had even been argued that they were barely people at all. The papal bull hit back and rejected the idea that the residents of Asia, Africa and the Americas “should be treated as dumb brutes created for our service” or “that they are incapable of receiving the Catholic faith”. On the contrary they “are truly men and... are not only capable of understanding the Catholic faith but, according to our information, they desire exceedingly to receive it”.
The bull attempted to apply theological logic to its reasoning. Mankind had been created so that it might achieve salvation through faith in Christ. It was necessary, therefore, that every human being “should possess the nature and faculties enabling him to receive that faith”. And this applied the world over: had not Christ asked that his teachings be taken to all nations? This pronouncement would have a significant impact around the globe, not least in Latin America, the subject of John Frederick Schwaller’s admirable book. The missionary imperative and the colonial enterprise were destined to walk hand in hand across several centuries.
This was not always an edifying odyssey, of course. The way in which empire-builders encouraged people to embrace Christianity was often absurd. On many occasions the infamous Requerimento was read out to puzzled locals in a language they didn’t understand. It consisted of a digest of Christian nostrums and a statement of Spanish royal authority and the clear implication was that said locals should embrace both sets of concepts or face the consequences. Early modern Europeans struggled to locate a secure legal basis for their economic and land-grabbing intrusions. This is where reference to a religious agenda came in very handy: establishing hegemony over a non-Christian nation in order to spread the Gospel was, so the argument went, both legitimate and in everyone’s best interests.
Here we are obliged to confront a puzzling historical landscape. Throughout the colonial era the Christian cause was routinely abused but, at the same time, many European missionaries travelled to the New World with what they regarded as pure intentions and they had no choice but to travel aboard the ships provided by the contemporary imperial superpowers. Even that papal adjudication of 1537 contains a conspicuous tension. On one hand, the peoples of the New World were being defined as full human beings. But on the other, this definition was grist to the mill of those who wanted to exploit the logic: the duty to bring news of Christianity to such people could all too easily be deployed to pardon the excesses.
As Schwaller’s book makes clear, that word “tension” crops up with alarming frequency in the history of Latin American Catholicism, but that is what makes this history so fascinating. It was always hard to decide which kind of Christianity ought to flourish, or how it ought to be spread, or even who should be doing the spreading.
During the 16th and17th centuries religious orders clashed with makeshift episcopal hierarchies while secular rulers engaged in endless squabbles with their ecclesiastical counterparts. There was also the crucial issue of how to convert the local people: was it best to impose an unalloyed European Christianity or was it acceptable to bend to local world views and run the risk of what critics regarded as syncretism?
During the 18th-century, Pombal in Portugal and Bourbon rulers in Spain were determined to assert their authority and this (what with all the rows about land, money, jurisdiction and Jesuit expulsions) brought South American Catholicism close to chaos.
And then, in the wake of all this angst and antagonism, came the independence movements of the 19th century and the knotty problems they provoked.
This last is an inordinately difficult topic to disentangle. Simply explaining the political twists and turns is a brutal labour. Schwaller does very well and, alongside a satisfying synoptic account, he identifies the key dilemmas facing Latin American Catholics during this turbulent time. Which cause to back: conservatism or liberalism? Which paradigm to salute: separation of Church and State or a snug relationship between political and ecclesial power? One thing is certain: the sands had a habit of shifting with ridiculous frequency in 19th-century Latin America and, as Schwaller rightly insists, any notion of a normative Catholic attitude to events is unacceptable.
A calm century was long overdue but the 20th did not oblige. There would be the usual share of political mayhem (from revolutions to dictatorial mischief) and a new variety of controversy gathered steam. Catholics had to decide how to confront the modern world and Schwaller tells us all about the various projects, processes, and postures – from Catholic Action to Liberation Theology to the rise of a unique variant of popular religiosity – that made the 20th century every bit as baffling as its predecessors.
Trying to sum up this vast subject in fewer than 300 pages is not easy but Schwaller’s version of events is even-handed and reliable. There are no fireworks in his prose but that is rather refreshing: the story is more than capable of telling itself.
More importantly, Latin America is establishing itself as one of the crucibles of present-day Christian activity so a straightforward history book that reminds us of the strains and struggles of the past is very welcome.