So, the Pope has finally warned of schism. How delightfully predictable. The ordination of rogue bishops, a theatrical defiance of Rome, and the British Catholic hierarchy scurrying to pledge allegiance like frightened schoolboys. One must ask: is this the beginning of the end, or merely another chapter in the long, dreary decline of institutional Christianity?
Consider the context. We live in an age of intellectual decadence, where every institution is hollowed out from within. The Church, once the bedrock of Western civilisation, now resembles a squabbling parliament of self-interested factions. The rebels, of course, claim they defend tradition. They always do. But tradition without authority is mere nostalgia, a costume party for the spiritually bankrupt.
Let us not pretend this is a surprise. The rot has been visible for decades: liturgical abuses, doctrinal confusion, and a hierarchy more concerned with public relations than salvation. The Pope, for all his gestures of humility, presides over a crumbling edifice. His warnings are the cries of a man watching his house burn down while arguing about the best way to arrange the deckchairs.
What of the British Catholic hierarchy? Their swift condemnation of the rogue bishops is admirable, if predictable. But one senses a deeper anxiety. They know that every schism weakens the Church’s already frayed moral authority. In a nation where faith is increasingly marginalised, the last thing they need is a public row. Yet here we are, and the spectacle is both tragic and faintly comical.
The real question is whether this schism will spread. The rogue bishops are few, but they tap into a vein of discontent that runs deep. Many Catholics yearn for a Church that is sure of itself, unapologetic, even militant. They see the current leadership as weak, compromised by modernity. And history teaches us that such movements, once unleashed, are hard to contain. The Protestant Reformation began with far less.
And what of the state? In an era of identity politics and cultural fragmentation, the Church’s internal battles mirror those of the broader society. We are all becoming tribes, each with our own bishops, our own truths. The idea of a universal Church, a single body of believers, grows ever more quaint. Perhaps this is the natural endpoint of the Enlightenment: not freedom, but fracture.
I offer no comfort. The Pope’s warning is a symptom, not a cure. The schism will likely be contained, but the damage is done. Another brick falls from the wall of Christendom. And we, the modern Romans, watch with a mixture of horror and ennui, knowing that all empires fall, even those not of this world.
