Antidisestablishmentarianism

Phineas Redux, by Anthony Trollope, fictionalizes (among lots of other things) the debate over  dis-establishing the Church of England -- in other words, ending its support by the taxpayers. (That kind of "establishment" being, of course, what the U.S. Constitution forbids, never mind what else has been read into it.)

A hapless Catholic in the book is called, in the same speech, an idolater who believes "a crumb of bread" is God, a traitor to his Savior -- and a traitor to his country. Being guided in what matters most by a man who lives in Italy, of all places! Better to avoid any awkward conflicts and choose your religious authority from your compatriots.

Except . . . 

Trollope, maybe inadvertently, goes on to show just what was wrong with the Church of England.

We do believe,—the majority among us does so,—that if we live and die in sin we shall after some fashion come to great punishment, and we believe also that by having pastors among us who shall be men of God, we may best aid ourselves and our children in avoiding this bitter end.

This would still hold true today if we hadn't largely lost the idea of the "great punishment", or any punishment at all, for sin -- anyway, it's still true that most people feel the need of something approximating religion.

People need a nation, too; why not combine them? Well --

What is a thoughtful man to do who acknowledges the danger of his soul, but cannot swallow his parson whole simply because he has been sent to him from some source in which he has no special confidence, perhaps by some distant lord, perhaps by a Lord Chancellor whose political friend has had a son with a tutor? 

If the "parson" were a Catholic priest, the thoughtful man could at least take comfort in the reflection that it's not the pastor who has to be swallowed whole, just the Host he gives you (and even that . . . ) He could have "special confidence" that the pastor would forgive his sins, in God's name, without telling anyone no matter what. He'd know that whatever his parish lacked, it had someone to dispense the Sacraments.

What is he to do when, in spite of some fine linen and purple left among us, the provision for the man of God in his parish or district is so poor that no man of God fitted to teach him will come and take it?

Oh, I don't know, maybe things would go better if the men of God were under some obligation to go wherever they were told, or if they didn't have families to worry about, or maybe both . . . ?