Postliberal Dispatch from Croatia
Hungary is not the only country that should enamor postliberals who look to Europe for the remnants of our pre-modern past.
I recently had the privilege of flying to Croatia for a week-long summer school on bioethics and human rights sponsored by the World Youth Alliance. It was one of the most enriching weeks of my life, but, as is often the case when visiting Europe, my time there also made more apparent how things once were, and could be again, in America. It is often said that traveling abroad makes you more appreciative of what you have at home, and that is true. However, we can also learn lessons from different countries across the globe, especially from Croatia.
My trip started with an Uber ride from the airport in the city Split, along the Croatian coast, to Sibenik, another coastal city of about 34,000 people, which would be my home for the week. My driver, Mate, drove a brown SUV with a manual transmission. He took me on the scenic route and we had a great conversation that ended with some great insight into the Croatian mind.
Our conversation ranged across many different topics, from Mate’s life in Croatia, my own life in America, Croatian history, economy, and politics, to American politics and culture, and all the way to food and wine. My takeaway from our conversation was the tremendous pride Mate had for his country. “It is a privilege to live in a place as beautiful as Croatia. Many want to go to Germany or Italy, but Croatia is the most beautiful country in the whole world,” Mate said. As we drove alongside a cliff face that overlooked Split’s bustling nightlife and coast, it was hard to disagree.
Mate’s pride stemmed not only from the beauty of Croatia, but their enduring sense of tradition. He told me stories about the history of the Croatian people, forming around 1000 AD, and later being the dividing line between Christendom and the Ottoman Empire. This motif of “Croatia as the front lines of Christendom” bookended my trip, for on the last day, I visited St. Nicholas Fortress. Built in 1522, it served as an obstacle to any would-be amphibious assaults by the Ottomans into Christian Europe. The battles against the Ottoman Empire — and by implication Islam — cemented grit and Christianity into the Croatian identity.
Croatia is eighty-five percent Catholic. Sibenik had at least eight Catholic churches, and a group of us went to Mass daily. Some of the churches were old, others less so, and one quite new. The Catholic identity is not particularly aggressive in Croatia. I do not mean to suggest that American Catholicism is, but by contrast we are more self-conscious. Croatia’s Catholic identity is suffused in the architecture, where the ugly, industrial remnants of their communist past stand in stark contrast to the old, timeless, simple beauty of traditional homes and ornate, awe-inspiring ornamentation of buildings. The general culture and even gift shops reflect this, but in a more relaxed, self-assured way. That is not to say there are no problems with the country — I am told that like America, church attendance is much lower than it should be given the predominance of Catholics. However, the cultural Catholicism of Croatia was palpable; they are who they are, and do not face the same identity crisis that America does today.
Another refreshing difference I noticed during my time in Sibenik was the integration of the city’s major functions. Instead of strict zoning laws that separate commercial, religious, and residential zones, as if these different aspects of life were designed to be separated in our lives, Croatia was walkable. There was a shopping mall equipped with two supermarkets and a home goods store two minutes away from the local school (where we stayed), and one of the churches was a fifteen minute walk away, as was the marina. One of the organizers I met described that much of Croatia was integrated in this way. By contrast, I shared that with some exceptions, such as my home city of Boston, many of the urban planning of American cities fostered a set of separations between different zones that required means of transportation to get to the things we need for daily life.
A more zoomed-out look of Croatian architecture and urban planning reflects life “according to nature.” The Croatian coasts quickly give way to a mountainous, hilly landscape. Croatian civilization is built into the mountains, working with and joining the natural landscape, rather than building anew or destroying what was already there. Indeed, cultivation and putting down roots requires some uprooting of the natural landscape; we can imagine how as the city grew from the immediate coastline, it organically grew outwards and upwards into the mountains, a continuity of a settled community. It is a far cry from the “go West, young man,” mindset and speaks to the enduring beauty of Sibenik.
The continuity of life throughout the centuries — even with the enforced and suppressive period of communist rule — allows informal economies to continue to exist. At one point on that initial Uber ride, we passed a sign that said “Vino,” which Mate excitedly pointed it out. He said, “You can walk up to the house, ask them how much, and buy from them. Can you do that in America? No.” While we do produce our own wine in America, his excitement for the patterns of custom and local production are something that is not present in too much of America.
Croatians seem to recognize that their way of life is different than in other places like America. As Mate said during our ride, “America is a plastic nation. They like everything fake, new, and modern. Here, not so, things are old. We have traditions. Everything today is the same: plastic, like robots.” Yet, Mate still respected America because of the help the nation gave Croatia against the attempted Serbian invasion in the 1990s during the reign of Slobodan Milosevic. That said, like Solzhenitsyn in his 1978 Harvard Commencement Address, Mate is unlikely to recommend life in the West as an ideal, especially compared to the beauty, simplicity, and piety of Croatia.
Other Croatians pointed out that the American empire is coming to a close. A young man named Matko told me that, “As an outsider, it seems that America as a world power is in serious decline.” I found this slightly ironic, as it was said in the context of a larger discussion that included arguments for why America needed to give more military aid to Ukraine in the war against Russia, who I was also told is going the way of the dogs as a serious military power. Matko’s cynicism for America’s role in that war aside, most people I encountered supported Ukraine, either for fear of an emboldened Russia (“this is something we are all taught growing up. You play dead if attacked by a bear, and Russia will inevitably invade”) or as part of the memory of Croatia’s own recent past with Serbia. Regardless, the epoch of American liberalism seemed to be waning in the minds of the Croatians.
After a too-short week full of great experiences, delicious food, swimming in the clear, blue water of the Adriatic Sea, and late nights of political and philosophical discussion over drinks with people from all over the world, I was sad to come home. I ended my travel experience with an overnight stay in Jamaica, New York, near JFK airport before getting on a flight the next morning to return home to Boston. I have never liked New York, but with my memories of clean, old, beautiful Sibenik in my mind, I was overcome with utter disgust for the city. Litter everywhere, a foul smell along the sidewalk, and a general sense of disorder bombarded me as I hurriedly lugged my bags a few blocks from the subway to my hotel for the night. I could not wait to get out of the trash heap of the city.
Of course, the juxtaposition between New York City and Sibenik is an archetype of larger ideas and realities: the ancients versus the moderns, the pre-liberal versus the liberal, the beautiful versus the ugly, and most importantly, the Christian village versus the post-Christian industrial Leviathan.
The most beautiful part of New York City is arguably Central Park, the beauty of which is so pronounced when compared to how ugly and artificial the rest of the city has come to be. In New York, we find man building not in worship or emulation of the Divine, but as a place seeking to displace the Divine. New York, and much of America today, is the Babel of our civilization. After a week in Croatia, I long for beautiful architecture that reflects a time prior to our own, having lasted centuries, with the people whose habits and way of life has lasted just as long.
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Very nice take, thanks Tom! Greetings from Croatia!