The Anglo-Saxon vs. Continental Divide

There are two different metaphysical realities for what passes as “Christianity” in the West

This article was first published on Postliberal Order:

Catholicism is a unified religion. But its religious unity is one which touches a vast array of cultural differences over history, and so we can see the unity of Catholicism precisely through significant differences across the world.

As a native born-and-raised in Italy, yet embedded in Anglo-Saxon culture throughout my graduate and post-graduate studies in London, I’ve witnessed a particular set of differences. In my professional work as a journalist, I’ve witnessed clashes between Italian, American and British cultures which were not always easy to communicate. Having dual Italian and American citizenship (my mother was raised in U.S.), I’m often thrust between these Western worlds, translating the “Anglo-Saxon” mentality to the “Continental”, and vice versa. It’s given me a chance to reflect upon these differences, and what they mean for the future of Western civilization.

Having studied philosophy at university, the conflict in cultural mentality can perhaps best be seen through the Analytic (Anglo-Saxon) versus the Continental (European) schools of thought. The Analytic school focuses on clear, concise, sometimes, rigid logic—making normative arguments and cases with an argument, counter-argument and conclusion — the aim is to say, “Here’s is what one ought to do, and here’s why it is right for them to do so.” Examples of this are Anglo-Saxon enlightenment thinkers from John Locke, to Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill. They make a case for a prescribed social, political or economic system that one ought to follow. The latter school of thought, continental philosophy, is concerned with describing and criticizing the world we inhabit; it’s phenomenological in nature, without making normative cases—Michel Foucault, Antonio Gramsci, and Slavoj Zizek are some of the most prominent examples.

The criticism of continental philosophy is that it is too confounding, muddy, lacking a clear argument, with obscure and pretentious language. Analytic philosophy is seen as too concise, poor in language, and aiming for the impossible—making logical sense of a universe that does not provide us with clear-cut answers. The contrast between these worlds can be often seen if one watches Noam Chomsky debate Michel Foucault, or even Jordan Peterson debate Slavoj Zizek. They argue across purposes, belonging to two different metaphysical dimensions.

These modes of thought have both stemmed from, and in turn permeated the respective cultural norms of these societies—but these differences originate not from the unity of Catholicism, but in the very conflict between Catholic versus Protestant theology.

The Sistine chapel, the most impactful work of art in Catholic history, was painted by Michelangelo Buonarroti. The original depictions were of nude figures, which the Pope at the time allowed, and it was only through the reformation that these figures were covered with clothes using paint. In order to defeat Protestantism, the Pope at the time felt that Catholicism needed to adopt a stricter symbology, ironically, by following the premise of their enemies; puritanism. The Renaissance period in Italy, when the Sistine chapel was built, called upon Pagan symbology and imagery, while still being funded by the Catholic church: even Michelangelo’s depiction of Jesus was muscular and imposing, similarly to the Pagan gods. Pagan mythology was celebrated, while completely eradicated in the Protestant world.

While Immanuel Kant was an analytic philosopher from Germany, his religion was Lutheran. American and British mentalities draw largely upon Protestant tradition that is based on an intentional way of living; standards of ethics and morality are held highly, when transgressed—there is public outrage, moralizing, and shaming—irrespective of whether they come from the Left or the Right. For example, it is no coincidence that the practice of witch-burning was predominantly a Protestant tradition. Thus, one can easily see how the concept of cancel culture would emanate from this mindset—a mentality that is largely lacking in Catholic-majority countries.

This puritanical mode of thinking has influenced both the progressive and conservative divide in the modern public square, where both appeal to pure argumentations and their applications; if one disagrees or fails to abide by their philosophy, they become frowned upon, marginalized, and expelled, even. It is focused on prescribing a specific lifestyle, a Protestant ethic that stems from rigidly following biblical scriptures, rather than on creating a culture that focuses on the experience of the religion; the saints, the arts, and traditions to follow. In essence—Anglo-Saxons think, while Europeans experience.

The Continental or Italian form of Catholicism is not puritanical. This doesn’t mean there’s no faith in God, or no hope of sanctity, but it does mean that transgressions are treated differently. The Continental mentality still relies on structures of pardon and grace—it is not indifferent to sin, but does see every sin situated within a structure which can give remedy. As a result, contradictions and complexities are accepted as a natural reality, political nuance is welcomed; concepts reflected in story-telling and in the arts, all allow for a richer, idiosyncratic expression.

The typical Anglo-Protestant criticism of the continental, Catholic way of life is thus that it is hypocritical—it is said that politicians are hypocritical for upholding a Catholic mentality at the same time as they fail the tests of Catholic morality. I once spoke to an American Catholic who told me Italians were “baptized Pagans”, he later added, “so you just live in sin, and repent.” I couldn’t think of a better description. Individual, moral failures don’t negate the need for a moral structure of repentance and renewal—on the contrary, the evidence of the sin is proof for the necessity of upholding the Christian culture.

One sees this in Italian political leaders who proudly claim to be Catholic—like the head of the League party Matteo Salvini or Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni—both unmarried, with children out of wedlock. Despite living at odds with the Church’s teaching on marriage, they still cherish Christianity as a durable civilizational structure, and aren’t afraid to say so.

While it may seem like a contradiction, Italians have no problem seeing morally flawed politicians passing stricter laws concerning euthanasia, abortion or gay marriage than America or Britain. This too is part of a Catholic mentality with deep roots. It reflects a mindset to see that the state should act in a way that protects communal wellbeing according to its teachings—regardless of personal failings. It is an inversion of the individualistic logic that belongs to the Anglosphere, where one is first and foremost an individual, and then, perhaps, part of a community of their choice. In Italy and other Catholic-majority countries at large, one is first a member of a largely homogenous community, and is an individual only as a result of this praxis. This can go awry, of course; for example, when social conformity means neo-liberal decadence, as is now in Europe, it is more arduous to find an escape.

The Anglosphere, by contrast, is marked by divisions, with a plethora of subcultures distinct and diverse in their beliefs. While these can offer an escape to homogeneity in decadence, it causes more hostility. Even their economic systems reflect this reality; the Protestant work ethic is one that exalts individual achievement through personal responsibility; the state needs to be minimized as much as possible, not merely to allow individuals to flourish, but because individuals are responsible for their own choices. Catholic countries, by contrast, usually enjoy large welfare systems, an idea that stems from the need to help the poor and the downtrodden, a concept that necessarily relies on the premise that we are not all architects of our own destiny, some were dealt a lesser hand, and need help and support from their environment because of it.

Feeling like a hybrid of these two philosophies, I often find myself pulled back and forth by both schools of thought; with my Anglophone friends, I tend to speak of abstract, intellectual ideas on what is right or wrong, what should or should not be done; with my Italian or Continental friends I tend to enjoy the habits of a culture in more embodied ways shared by people with and without faith.

The Anglo-Saxon moral compass is one where standards and principles to aspire to live by creates a morally consistent outlook, and having standards is noble. But the Anglosphere mentality can be self-defeating. It sees hypocrisy everywhere because it is built on a theological division which first highlighted the hypocrisy in the Catholic church, on the need for rigid purity which negates the Christian teaching that we are born as sinners, and on the priority of the individual which creates more tensions within a culture. By contrast, the Catholic cultural mentality, even where faith is weak, remains tied to a graced structure that lives and moves without puritanical posturing.

Aspiring to use Christian symbols—a rosary in the hand, a knee bent before an altar, the celebration of beloved saints, the restoration of beautiful Churches, state support for schools that maintain a crucifix, the preservation and creation of art which attracts people to the faith, brings a phenomenological dimension to life that is necessary to create a cultural reality in the lives of its followers. By whatever measure we track the decline of faith, as well as our rising divisions, our future hope and unity still depend as much on cultural Christianity as upon the original gift which gave birth to it—but we should not look so much to the personal purity as to the experiences which can raise our hopes.