A Crossroads that Demands Profound Faith

Many discussions of Christianity in China focus on how China has changed at a dizzying pace— and continues to do so—and, as a result, how Christians in China have had to take these changes in culture and circumstance into account. In this essay, I look at changes in the Catholic imaginary, how that has affected Catholic engagement with Chinese society and culture over time, and the questions this raises for the present moment. 

Since the sixteenth century, when the European missionaries first arrived on China’s southern shores, China has beckoned the Western church to transcend itself. The epic sea journey that these missionaries undertook was matched by the cultural distance they had to traverse. How were they to reconstruct their mental cartography to make room for China? Could the Chinese notion of heaven be understood as pointing the heart to the Christian God? Or was it an idolatrous projection of human provenance? Did not Chinese ethical systems and their lofty spiritual themes capture authentic truth and goodness? If so, how could they not be inspired? Or were Western categories even adequate to the task of comprehending what the early missionaries encountered in China?

The Jesuits who arrived in China during the seventeenth century were among those who risked bending European categories to make sense of Chinese culture and thought. Schooled in Renaissance humanism, they found apt dialogue partners among the Confucian literati they met. This was not the first time that Christian faith had entered into dialogue with an ancient and sophisticated culture. In Western classical antiquity, Christians differed about how best to bring Athens and Jerusalem into dialogue. Indeed, they found much they admired in Greek and Roman philosophy, literature, and culture, ultimately incorporating these into a profoundly Christian way of life. When it came to China, the Jesuits were not prepared to baptize everything they found there, but they had great respect for China’s cultural accomplishments and great reverence for Confucius, in particular. 

At the same time, entering into meaningful dialogue with Chinese culture was a challenge. The Jesuits had difficulty finding words in Chinese to convey basic Christian notions; as is well-known, just choosing a way to say “God” in Chinese posed profound dilemmas. More than most missionaries, the Jesuits sought ways to accommodate Chinese practices and categories. Could Chinese Christians venerate Confucius? Yes, so long as they adapted the practice and understood it in a way that was consistent with Christian faith. The early Jesuits even proposed a Chinese-language Mass—a proposal approved by the pope at the time but never implemented.¹

While the Jesuits generally engaged scholar officials in China’s major cities, Franciscan and Dominican missionaries often worked with poorer and less privileged farmers and fisherfolk along the coast. These latter missionaries tended to take a more circumspect approach to the local culture, encouraging their converts to give up Chinese traditional rites that seemed ambivalent at best to instead make use of approved Catholic prayers and rituals. Critics of this approach have argued that the mere parroting of Western prayers and rituals did not guarantee that those who did so understood them in a Christian way. While that is true, it misses the extent to which the missionaries did endeavor to impart a living Christian faith to their disciples. And the strength of this approach was that it made boundaries clear, even if rigidly so. At the same time, that strength was also a weakness: It set Chinese Christians apart, so that their neighbors came to lament, “One more Christian, one less Chinese.”

Prior to the twentieth century, history was not kind to the Jesuit approach. After extensive investigations and a series of vacillating judgments over the course of more than a century, the Holy See set out strict guidelines concerning accommodation to Chinese culture, language, and practice.² These developments coincided with a period in Europe when the Catholic Church increasingly found itself in a defensive posture. Many reformers—both those who remained inside the Catholic communion and those who broke with it—emphasized the depravity of the human condition and the necessity of grace and revelation for salvation. Such a stance did not align easily with a humanistic openness to other cultures. Thus, when the Jesuits translated the Analects of Confucius into Latin, they were attacked for promoting the idea that merely “natural” philosophy could suffice as the basis for a good society. 

Enlightenment philosophes and the trauma of the French Revolution only further consolidated defensive tendencies within the Catholic Church. Such a generalization risks oversimplification; indeed, the Catholic Church is quite large, continually giving rise to creative new developments, movements, and engagements with culture. Nonetheless, it can be said that in the wake of the French Revolution, Catholicism, both in Europe and in its mission fields, was increasingly marked by clear boundaries defining doctrine, membership, and church order. These boundaries were often framed in terms of what the Catholic philosopher Bernard Lonergan has called the “classicist mindset,” that is, as timeless truth safeguarded by the Church that floated above the vicissitudes of history and the varieties of culture.³

Such a mindset manifests many strengths, especially in contexts marked by social conflict. It can steel one against attack and focus one on a victory that transcends the setbacks of the moment. In 1949, when the Chinese Communist Party succeeded in uniting Mainland China under its rule, Chinese Catholics braced for the storms ahead. In the face of intense pressure and persecution, they often exhibited heroic virtue. One Chinese priest confided to me many years ago that at that time, Catholics knew who they were and what they stood for. “We were united.” In the 1950s, the Chinese Communist Party urged local Catholics to form a Chinese Catholic Church separate from Rome, but that proposal gained only marginal assent, despite intense pressure.

Then in the 1960s, when the fury of the Cultural Revolution swept over China, all religion went underground. Ernst Troeltsch developed the ideal “types” of “church” and “sect” as conceptual models for thinking about how Christian churches operate in different social circumstances. A church-type religious polity is accepted by society and works with its dominant actors to make society a better place. Its care and concern reach out to all, and it aspires to universal membership. As a result, it tends to be accommodationist. National churches often behave in a church-type way. Meanwhile, a sect-type church is shunned by society, and it accepts a ghettoized status. Indeed, it affirms that not all will be saved, and that its mission is to safeguard its purity rather than accommodate itself to the times. Its perspective tends to be eschatological. Of course, actual churches never completely fit one “ideal type” or the other, but these conceptual models serve as lenses for bringing certain patterns into focus.

“Catholic” means “universal,” and in many historical circumstances, the Catholic Church has displayed quintessential church-type characteristics. However, the challenges the Catholic Church faced in early modernity led it to develop a more sect-type posture, and this served it well in China. When China closed its doors in 1949 and expelled all Western missionaries, there were perhaps three million Catholics in China. When China reopened under Deng Xiaoping some thirty years later, there were perhaps eight million. The Church survived, and its membership kept pace with the overall rate of population growth in China.

However, during the years when the Chinese Catholic Church was cut off from the outside world, the worldwide Catholicism had changed. From 1962 to 1965, Popes John XXIII and Paul VI convened the Second Vatican Council, and that event led to a series of far-reaching reforms. It was a watershed moment, to the degree that contemporary Catholics often periodize recent church history as either “pre-” and “post-Vatican II.” In the pre-Vatican II church, Catholic liturgy from Kinshasa to Saigon to Edinburgh was celebrated in Latin. After Vatican II, the Mass shifted to the local vernacular. Beyond that, church documents emphasized solidarity with all human beings. Gaudium et Spes, one of the foundational documents of Vatican II, begins with these oft-quoted words: “The joys and the hopes, the griefs and the anxieties of the people of this age, especially those who are poor or in any way afflicted, these are the joys and hopes, the griefs and anxieties of the followers of Christ. Indeed, nothing genuinely human fails to raise an echo in their hearts.”⁴

With a certain naïve boldness, the pronouncements of the Council summoned Catholics to leave behind the enclaves they had built up of myriad Catholic institutions in order to go forth and participate in the wider struggles of their society. Whereas the classicist mindset prizes a certain integralist ideal as the norm for social order, Vatican II called upon Catholics to be open and “read the signs of the times.” It introduced new ways of thinking about the nature of the church, the primacy of conscience, the dignity of other faiths, and respect for local culture. 

Already in 1939, with the decree “Plane Compertum est,” the Holy See had allowed Chinese Catholics to practice rites honoring the ancestors and Confucius, reversing itself and vindicating the approach of the early Jesuits. Vatican II then laid the foundation for a much broader engagement with language, culture, philosophy, and tradition. However, cutoff as they were, Catholics in the People’s Republic knew little of these developments. Indeed, when Chinese authorities finally allowed for places of worship to reopen in the late 1970s and early 1980s, Catholics there initially resumed worshiping as they had before religion was suppressed—in Latin. To be sure, they also sought to reconnect with their co-religionists in the worldwide Catholic Church, and in the process, they learned of the sweeping reforms that Vatican II had ushered in. 

During the period of reform and opening that Deng Xiaoping sponsored, economic reform spurred urbanization at a breakneck pace. As a result, Chinese Catholics, who largely had been living in rural Catholic villages, indeed began to leave those enclaves behind. Given the state’s limited toleration of religion, were Chinese Catholics warranted in accepting the often-onerous restrictions, oversight, and humiliations imposed by the authorities? Just as in the 1950s, the options to cooperate or not emerged. However, there were significant differences from the fifties. On the one hand, in practice, there was a far larger gray area when it came to cooperation, along with the hope that in time, things would get better. On the other, as noted, there was Vatican II’s embrace of its role as “the Church in the Modern World” (taken from the English title of “Gaudium et Spes”). A large number of Chinese Catholics—including religious sisters, priests, and bishops—accepted government oversight and were allowed to operate openly, and most of the bishops who did so were recognized and legitimated body you the Holy See. However, an equal number maintained a more sect-type stance, refusing to compromise and allow state control.

In this context marked by division and ambiguity, in 2007 Pope Benedict issued a letter to Catholics in the People’s Republic of China. There he called upon Catholics to trust in Jesus Christ, who is “the same yesterday and today and forever” (Hebrews 13:8), whom he also cited as “the key, the center, and the purpose of the whole of human history” (§2, citing Gaudium et Spes §10). Anchoring his message in such trans-historical principles, he prayed for unity within the Chinese Church, and he laid out a clear principle, that bishops in the Church must receive their mandate of office from the Holy See to remain in communion with Rome. From the moment he took up his office in 2013, Pope Francis also manifested his profound concern for the people and the Catholics of China. Because his compassion embraced people of all backgrounds and his emphasis on dialogue and accommodation, for many Catholics, Pope Francis exemplified the spirit of Vatican II. Dr. Clark quotes Pope Francis: “China is not easy, but I am convinced that we should not give up the dialogue.” And again, “[A]n uneasy dialogue is better than no dialogue at all.”⁵

Unfortunately, these days the dialogue has indeed been “uneasy.” Since Xi Jinping took over leadership of China, the Chinese authorities have steadily and consistently increased restrictions on religious practice. Under these circumstances, in 2018 the Holy See entered into an unpublished accord with Beijing on the appointment of bishops in the People’s Republic of China. Since the bishop is the focal point of communion within a diocese and with the larger Catholic Church, this arrangement is vitally significant for the Church in China. However, rather than lead to greater freedom for Catholics in China to practice and express their faith, noted authority Sr. Beatrice Leung makes clear that since the accord was first signed, that freedom has deteriorated. Moreover, as “a Chinese friend” outlined in his article in this issue in connection with this accord, in more than one diocese, Vatican representatives, recognized as legitimate local bishops, who were strongly aligned with the government. In doing so, they undermined the morale of the local faithful. As a result, some “underground” Catholics in China have come to reject not only Beijing but also Rome, adopting a radical, eschatological self-understanding as the only true remnant of the Church—a sectarian stance in its purest sense.

In Hong Kong, the Catholic Church built up many educational and service organizations at a formative time in the history of the territory. Cindy Chu shows how one missionary group, the Maryknoll Sisters, taught their students how to play a vital role of service in the local community. However, whereas social service once seemed a viable way for the Catholic Church to contribute to society on the Mainland, that pathway has been cut off under recent policy reforms. 

Fr. Anthony Chang reflects on faith and ecology, responding to the call of Pope Francis in Laudato si’ to care for our common home and God’s precious creation. In doing so, he draws on his own experience and Chinese tradition. However, in the Mainland, nowhere have Chinese authorities welcomed or even allowed Catholic representatives to contribute to public discussion on the environment. Public policy is their sole provenance, and the church is not invited to dialogue. Under the current policy labeled “Sinicization,” in China today religious leaders are required to speak and think in accord with “Chinese culture,” which in effect means merely affirming the direction set by the authorities. 

Chiaretto Yan, who is himself Catholic, offers some important considerations from the perspective of the Chinese authorities. He notes that during the past century, China has experienced warfare, instability, and humiliation. In light of these developments, the Chinese Communist Party sees itself as the guarantor of China’s dignity and stability. Yan further notes that recent popes have respected Chinese sensibilities, calling upon Chinese Catholics to be good citizens and good Christians. The Party has not reciprocated, but given the non-negotiable role in society that it has taken on, the mere fact that it has for the first time entered into an agreement with the Vatican is itself a major concession. 

There are certainly many changes that have overtaken China in the past century. However, since 1949, the Chinese Communist Party has been consistent in asserting its authority over Chinese society. What has changed since Vatican II is the worldwide Catholic Church. It has shaken off the more defensive, rigid posture it assumed in the wake of the French Revolution. And it has moved from a classicist emphasis on eternal principles to deeper engagement with local culture and historical circumstances. Where does this leave Chinese Catholics as they face authorities who actively promote atheism and who delegitimate Christian faith? In the pre-Vatican II era, the lines were much clearer. Some Catholic groups have chosen to redraw clear lines, even if that means separation from the very Bishop of Rome who is the guarantor of Catholic unity. 

In our world today, the worldwide Catholic Church has affirmed dialogue and engagement. However, this would seem to task the Catholic Church in the People’s Republic of China with engaging a partner that does not listen. At this crossroads, are accommodation to state control or sectarian resistance the only available options? How can the Chinese Catholic Church remain faithful to its vocation under these circumstances? Perhaps Wu Jingxiong points the way forward. In the era before Vatican II, he brilliantly captured the synthesis that is “classical Catholicism”—its sacramental imagination, its sense of tradition in the service of faith, and its mystical depths—yet his articulation of the classical synthesis was not rigidly “classicist.” Rather than looking to an abstract ideal, Wu Jingxiong’s faith was incarnational. He was both a devout Christian and every bit a Chinese. Rooted in tradition, he was a man of his time. Wu Jingxiong’s Christian humanism provides a beacon of hope for all of us because for him, Christian faith points us to how to be authentically human and authentically members of our own culture and community.⁶

1. Audrey Seah, “The 1670 Chinese Missal: A Struggle for Indigenization Amidst the Chinese Rites Controversy,” in China’s Christianity: From Missionary to Indigenous Church, ed. A. E. Clark (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 86–120.
2. For further discussion of the “Chinese Rites Controversy,” see George H. Minamiki, The Chinese Rites Controversy: From Its Beginning to Modern Times (Chicago: Loyola University Press, 1985) and D. E. Mungello, ed., The Chinese Rites Controversy: Its History and Meaning, Monumenta Serica Monograph Series No. XXXIII (Nettetal: Steyler Verlag, 1994).
3. For the “classic” discussion of the “classicist” and “historical” mindsets, see Bernard J. F. Lonergan, “The Transition from a Classicist World-View to Historical-Mindedness,” in A Second Collection: Papers by Bernard J. F. Lonergan, S.J. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1974), 1–10.
4. Second Vatican Council, Gaudium et Spes (Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World), December 7, 1965, Vatican website, https://www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_cons_19651207_gaudium-et-spes_en.html. Accessed October 5, 2024.
5. Carlos Herrera, “Pope after Operation: ‘It Never Crossed My Mind to Resign,’” Vatican News, September 1, 2021, https://www.vaticannews.va/en/pope/news/2021-09/pope-after-operation-it-never-crossed-my-mind-to-resign.html. Accessed August 30, 2025.
6. See John C. H. Wu, Chinese Humanism and Christian Spirituality (Tunbridge Wells: Burns & Oates, 1965). Also worth reading is his spiritual autobiography, Beyond East and West: Memoirs, Portraits, and Essays (New York: Sheed & Ward, 1951).