not because they were old, but because they were new; for
the very characteristic of heresy is novelty and originality
of manifestation. Such was the exclusiveness of the
Christianity of old. I need not insist on the steadiness
with which that principle has been maintained ever since.'
The Cardinal is right; it is quite unnecessary to insist upon it; but,
when the Modernists claim Newman as their prophet, it is fair to reply
that, if we may judge from his writings, he would gladly have sent some
of them to the stake.
The Modernist movement, properly so called, belongs to the last twenty
years, and most of the literature dates from the present century. It
began in the region of ecclesiastical history, and soon passed to
biblical exegesis, where the new heresy was at first called
'concessionism,' The scope of the debate was enlarged with the stir
produced by Loisy's 'L'Évangile et l'Église' and 'Autour d'un Petit
Livre'; it spread over the field of Christian origins generally, and
problems connected with them, such as the growth of ecclesiastical power
and the evolution of dogma. For a few years the orthodox in France
generally spoke of the new tendency as _loisysme_. It was not till 1905
that Edouard Le Roy published his 'Qu'est-ce qu'un dogme?' which carried
the discussion into the domain of pure philosophy, though the studies of
Blondel and Laberthonnière in the psychology of religion may be said to
involve a metaphysic closely resembling that of Le Roy. Mr. Tyrrell's
able works have a very similar philosophical basis, which is also
assumed by the group of Italian priests who have remonstrated with the
Pope.[57] M. Loisy protests against the classification made in the papal
Encyclical which connects biblical critics, metaphysicians,
psychologists, and Church reformers, as if they were all partners in the
same enterprise. But in reality the same presuppositions, the same
philosophical principles, are found in all the writers named; and the
differences which may easily be detected in their writings are
comparatively superficial. The movement appears to be strongest in
France, where the policy of the Vatican has been uniformly unfortunate
of recent years, and has brought many humiliations upon French
Catholics. Italy has also been moved, though from slightly different
causes. In the protests from that country we find a tone of disgust at
the constitution of the Roman hierarchy and the character of the papal
_entourage_, about which Italians are in a position to know more than
other Catholics. Catholic Germany has been almost silent; and Mr.
Tyrrell is the only Englishman whose name has come prominently forward.
It will be convenient to consider the position of the Modernists under
three heads: their attitude towards New Testament criticism, especially
in relation to the life of Christ; their philosophy; and their position
in the Roman Catholic Church.
The Modernists themselves desire, for the most part, that criticism
rather than philosophy should be regarded as the starting-point of the
movement. 'So far from our philosophy dictating our critical method, it
is the critical method that has of its own accord forced us to a very
tentative and uncertain formulation of various philosophical
conclusions.... This independence of our criticism is evident in many
ways.'[58] The writers of this manifesto, and M. Loisy himself, appear
not to perceive that their critical position rests on certain very
important philosophical presuppositions; nor indeed is any criticism of
religious origins possible without presuppositions which involve
metaphysics. The results of their critical studies, as bearing on the
life of Christ, we shall proceed to summarise, departing as little as
possible from the actual language of the writers, and giving references
in all cases. It must, however, be remembered that some of the group,
such as Mr. Tyrrell, have not committed themselves to the more extreme
critical views, while others, such as the Abbé Laberthonnière, the most
brilliant and attractive writer of them all, hold a moderate position on
the historical side. It is perhaps significant that those who are
specialists in biblical criticism are the most radical members of the
school.
The Gospels, says M. Loisy, are for Christianity what the Pentateuch is
for Judaism. Like the Pentateuch, they are a patchwork and a compound of
history and legend. The differences between them amount in many cases to
unmistakable contradictions. In Mark the life of Jesus follows a
progressive development. The first to infer His Messiahship is Simon
Peter at Cæsarea Philippi; and Jesus Himself first declares it openly in
His trial before the Sanhedrin. In Matthew and Luke, on the contrary,
Jesus is presented to the public as the Son of God from the beginning of
His ministry; He comes forward at once as the supreme Lawgiver, the
Judge, the anointed of God. The Fourth Gospel goes much further still.
His heavenly origin, His priority to the world, His co-operation in the
work of creation and salvation, are ideas which are foreign to the other
Gospels, but which the author of the Fourth Gospel has set forth in his
prologue, and, in part, put into the mouth of John the Baptist.[59] The
difference between the Christ of the Synoptic Gospels and the Christ of
John may be summed up by saying that 'the Christ of the Synoptics is
historical, but is not God; the Johannine Christ is divine, but not
historical.'[60] But even Mark (according to M. Loisy) probably only
incorporates the document of an eye-witness; his Gospel betrays Pauline
influence.[61] The Gospel which bears his name is later than the
destruction of Jerusalem, and was issued, probably about A.D. 75, by an
unknown Christian, not a native of Palestine, who wished to write a book
of evangelical instruction in conformity with the ideas of the
Hellenic-Christian community to which he belonged.[62] The tradition
connecting it with Peter may indicate that it was composed at Rome, but
has no other historical value.[63]
The Gospel of Matthew was probably written about the beginning of the
second century by a non-Palestinian Jew residing in Asia Minor or Syria.
He is before all things a Catholic ecclesiastic, and may well have been
one of the presbyters or bishops of the churches in which the
institution of a monarchical episcopate took root.[64] The narratives
peculiar to Matthew have the character rather of legendary developments
than of genuine reminiscences. The historical value of these additions
is _nil_. As a witness to fact, Matthew ranks below Mark, and even below
Luke.[65] In particular, the chapters about the birth of Christ seem not
to have the slightest historical foundation. The fictitious character of
the genealogy is proved by the fact that Jesus seems not to have known
of His descent [from David]. The story of the virgin birth turns on a
text from Isaiah. Of this part of the Gospel, Loisy says, 'rien n'est
plus arbitraire comme exégèse, ni plus faible comme narration
fictive.'[66] Luke has taken more pains to compose a literary treatise
than Mark or Matthew. The authorities which he follows seem to be--the
source of our Mark, the so-called Matthew _logia_, and some other source
or sources. But he treats his material more freely than Matthew. 'The
lament of Christ over the holy city, His words to the women of
Jerusalem, His prayer for His executioners, His promise to the penitent
thief, His last words, are very touching traits, which may be in
conformity with the spirit of Jesus, but which have no traditional
basis.'[67] 'The fictitious character of the narratives of the infancy
is less apparent in the Third Gospel than in the First, because the
stories are much better constructed as legend, and do not resemble a
_midrash_ upon Messianic prophecies. "Le merveilleux en est moins banal
et moins enfantin. II paraît cependant impossible de leur reconnaître
une plus grande valeur de fond."'[68]
The Gospel of Luke was probably written (not by a disciple of St. Paul)
between 90 and 100 A.D.; but the earliest redaction, which traced the
descent of Jesus from David through Joseph, has been interpolated in the
interests of the later idea of a virgin birth. The first two chapters
are interesting for the history of Christian beliefs, not for the
history of Christ. As for the Fourth Gospel, it is enough to say that
the author had nothing to do with the son of Zebedee, and that he is in
no sense a biographer of Christ, but the first and greatest of the
Christian mystics.[69]
The result of this drastic treatment of the sources may be realised by
perusing chapter vii of Loisy's 'Les Évangiles Synoptiques,' The
following is a brief analysis of this chapter, entitled 'La Carrière de
Jésus.' Jesus was born at Nazareth about four years before the Christian
era. His family were certainly pious, but none of His relatives seems to
have accepted the Gospel during His lifetime. Like many others, the
young Jesus was attracted by the terrifying preaching of John the
Baptist, from whom He received Baptism. When John was imprisoned He at
once attempted to take his place. He began to preach round the lake of
Galilee, and was compelled by the persistent demands of the crowd to
'work miracles.' This mission only lasted a few months; but it was long
enough for Jesus to enrol twelve auxiliaries, who prepared the villages
of Galilee for His coming, travelling two and two through the north of
Palestine. Jesus found His audience rather among the _déclassés_ of
Judaism than among the Puritans. The staple of His teaching was the
advent of the 'kingdom of God'--the sudden and speedy coming of the
promised Messiah. This teaching was acceptable neither to Herod Antipas
nor to the Pharisees; and their hostility obliged Jesus to fly for a
short time to the Phoenician territory north of Galilee. But a
conference between the Master and His disciples at Cæsarea Philippi
ended in a determination to visit the capital and there proclaim Jesus
as the promised Messiah. As they approached Jerusalem, even the ignorant
disciples were frightened at the risks they were running, but Jesus
calmed their fears by promising that they should soon be set on twelve
thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel. 'Jésus n'allait pas à
Jérusalem pour y mourir.'[70]
The doomed prophet made his public entry into Jerusalem as Messiah, and,
as a first act of authority, cleared the temple courts by an act of
violence, in which He was doubtless assisted by His disciples. For some
days after this He preached daily about the coming of the kingdom, and
foiled with great dexterity the traps which His enemies laid for Him.
'But the situation could only end in a miracle or a catastrophe, and it
was the catastrophe which happened.'[71] Jesus was arrested, after a
brief scuffle between the satellites of the High Priest and the
disciples; and the latter, without waiting to see the end, fled
northwards towards their homes. When brought before Pilate, Jesus
probably answered 'Yes' to the question whether He claimed to be a king;
but 'la parole du Christ johannique, Mon royaume n'est pas de ce monde,
n'aurait jamais pu être dite par le Christ d'histoire.' This confession
led naturally to His immediate execution; after which
'on peut supposer que les soldats détachèrent le corps de la
croix avant le soir et le mirent dans quelque fosse commune,
où l'on jetait pêle-mêle les restes des suppliciés. Les
conditions de sépulture furent telles qu'au bout de quelques
jours il aurait été impossible de reconnaître la dépouille
du Sauveur, quand même on l'aurait cherchée.'[72]
The disciples, however, had been too profoundly stirred by hope to
accept defeat. None of them had seen Jesus die; and though they knew
that He was dead, they hardly realised it. Besides, they were
fellow-countrymen of those who had asked whether Jesus was not Elijah,
or even John the Baptist, come to life again. What more natural than
that Peter should see the Master one day while fishing on the lake? 'The
impulse once given, this belief grew by the very need which it had to
strengthen itself.' Christ 'appeared also to the eleven,' So it was that
their faith brought them back to Jerusalem, and Christianity was born.
'The supernatural life of Christ in the faithful and in the Church has
been clothed in an historical form, which has given birth to what we
might somewhat loosely call the Christ of legend.' So the Italian
manifesto sums up the result of this reconstruction or denudation of the
Gospel history.[73] 'Such a criticism,' say the authors not less frankly
than truly, 'does away with the possibility of finding in Christ's
teaching even the embryonic form of the Church's later theological
teaching.'[74]
Readers unfamiliar with Modernist literature will probably have read the
foregoing extracts with utter amazement. It seems hardly credible that
such views should be propounded by Catholic priests, who claim to remain
in the Catholic Church, to repeat her creeds, minister at her altars,
and share her faith. What more, it may well be asked, have rationalist
opponents of Christianity ever said, in their efforts to tear up the
Christian religion by the roots, than we find here admitted by Catholic
apologists? What is left of the object of the Church's worship if the
Christ of history was but an enthusiastic Jewish peasant whose pathetic
ignorance of the forces opposed to Him led Him to the absurd enterprise
of attempting a _coup d'état_ at Jerusalem? Is not Jesus reduced by this
criticism to the same level as Theudas or Judas of Galilee? and, if this
is the true account, what sentiment can we feel, when we read His tragic
story, but compassion tinged with contempt?
And on what principles are such liberties taken with our authorities?
What is the criterion by which it is decided that Christ said, 'I am a
king,' but not 'My kingdom is not of this world'? Why must the
resurrection have been only a subjective hallucination in the minds of
the disciples? To these questions there is a plain answer. The
non-intervention of God in history is an axiom with the Modernists.
'L'historien,' says M. Loisy, 'n'a pas à s'inspirer de l'agnosticisme
pour écarter Dieu de l'histoire; il ne l'y rencontre jamais.'[75] It
would be more accurate to say that, whenever the meeting takes place,
'the historian' gives the Other the cut direct.
But now comes in the peculiar philosophy by which the Modernists claim
to rehabilitate themselves as loyal and orthodox Catholics, and to turn
the flank of the rationalist position, which they have seemed to occupy
themselves. The reaction against Absolutism in philosophy has long since
established itself in Germany and France. In England and Scotland the
battle still rages; in America the rebound has been so violent that an
extreme form of anti-intellectualism is now the dominant fashion in
philosophy. It would have been easy to predict--and in fact the
prediction was made--that the new world-construction in terms of will
and action, which disparages speculative or theoretical truth and gives
the primacy to what Kant called the practical reason, would be eagerly
welcomed by Christian apologists, hard-pressed by the discoveries of
science and biblical criticism. Protestants, in fact, had recourse to
this method of apologetic before the Modernist movement arose. The
Ritschlian theology in Germany (in spite of its 'static' view of
revelation), and the _Symbolo-fidéisme_ of Sabatier and Ménégoz, have
many affinities with the position of Tyrrell, Laberthonnière, and Le
Roy.
It is exceedingly difficult to compress into a few pages a fair and
intelligible statement of a _Weltansicht_ which affects the whole
conception of reality, and which has many ramifications. There is an
additional difficulty in the fact that few of the Modernists are more
than amateurs in philosophy. They are quick to see the strategic
possibilities of a theory which separates faith and knowledge, and
declares that truths of faith can never come into collision with truths
of fact, because they 'belong to different orders.' It suits them to
follow the pragmatists in talking about 'freely chosen beliefs,' and
'voluntary certainty '; Mr. Tyrrell even maintains that 'the great mass
of our beliefs are reversible, and depend for their stability on the
action or permission of the will.' But philosophy is for them mainly a
controversial weapon. It gives them the means of justifying their
position as Catholics who wish to remain loyal to their Church and her
formularies, but no longer believe in the miracles which the Church has
always regarded as matters of fact. Nevertheless, an attempt must be
made to explain a point of view which, to the plain man, is very strange
and unfamiliar.
Two words are constantly in the mouth of Modernist controversialists in
speaking of their opponents. The adherents of the traditional theology
are 'intellectualists,' and their conception of reality is 'static.' The
meaning of the latter charge may perhaps be best explained from
Laberthonnière's brilliantly written essay, 'Le Réalisme Chrétien et
l'Idéalisme Grec.' The Greeks, he says, were insatiable in their desire
to _see_, like children. Blessedness, for them, consisted in a complete
vision of reality; and, since thought is the highest kind of vision,
salvation was conceived of by them as the unbroken contemplation of the
perfectly true, good, and beautiful. Hence arose the philosophy of
'concepts'; they idealised nature by considering it _sub specie
æternitatis_. Reality resided in the unchanging ideas; the mutable, the
particular, the individual was for them an embarrassment, a 'scandal of
thought.' The sage always tries to escape from the moving world of
becoming into the static world of being. But an ideal world, so
conceived, can only be an abstraction, an impoverishment of reality.
Such an idealism gives us neither a science of origins nor a science of
ends. Greek wisdom sought eternity and forgot time; it sought that which
never dies, and found that which never lives.
'An abstract doctrine, like that of Greek philosophy or of
Spinoza, consists always in substituting for reality, by
simplification, ideas or concepts which they think
statically in their logical relations, regarding them at the
same time as adequate representations and as essences
immovably defined.'[76]
Hellenised Christianity, proceeds our critic, regarded the incarnation
statically, as a fact in past history. But the real Christ is an object
of faith. 'He introduces into us the principles of that which we ought
to be. That which He reveals, He makes in revealing it.' In other words,
Christ, and the God whom He reveals, are a power or force rather than a
fact. 'A God who has nothing to become has nothing to do.' God is not
the idea of ideas, but the being of beings and the life of our life. He
is not a supreme notion, but a supreme life and an immanent action. He
is not the 'unmoved mover,' but He is in the movement itself as its
principle and end. While the Greeks conceived the world _sub specie
æternitatis_, God is conceived by modern thought _sub specie temporis_.
God's eternity is not a sort of arrested time in which there is no more
life; it is, on the contrary, the maximum of life.
It is plain that we have here a one-sided emphasis on the dynamic aspect
of reality no less fatal to sound philosophy than the exclusively static
view which has been falsely attributed to the Greeks. A little clear
thinking ought to be enough to convince anyone that the two aspects of
reality which the Greeks called sthasist and khinêsist are correlative
and necessary to each other. A God who is merely the principle of
movement and change is an absurdity. Time is always hurling its own
products into nothingness. Unless there is a being who can say, 'I am
the Lord, I change not,' the 'sons of Jacob' cannot flatter themselves
that they are 'not consumed.'[77] But Laberthonnière and his friends are
not much concerned with the ultimate problems of metaphysics; what they
desire is to shake themselves free from 'brute facts' in the past, to be
at liberty to deny them as facts, while retaining them as representative
ideas of faith. If reality is defined to consist only in life and
action, it is a meaningless abstraction to snip off a moment in the
process, and ask, 'Did it ever really take place?' This awkward question
may therefore be ignored as meaningless and irrelevant, except from the
'abstract' standpoint of physical science.
The crusade against 'intellectualism' serves the same end. M. Le Roy and
the other Christian pragmatists have returned to the Nominalism of Duns
Scotus. The following words of Frassen, one of Scotus' disciples, might
serve as a motto for the whole school:
'Theologia nostra non est scientia. Nullatenus speculativa
est, sed simpliciter practica. Theologiae obiectum non est
speculabile, sed operabile. Quidquid in Deo est practicum
est respectu nostri.'
M. Le Roy also seems to know only these two categories. Whatever is not
'practical'--having an immediate and obvious bearing on conduct--is
stigmatised as 'theoretical' or 'speculative.' But the whole field of
scientific study lies outside this classification, which pretends to be
exhaustive. Science has no 'practical' aim, in the narrow sense of that
which may serve as a guide to moral action; nor does it deal with
'theoretical' or 'speculative' ideas, except provisionally, until they
can be verified. The aim of science is to determine the laws which
prevail in the physical universe; and its motive is that purely
disinterested curiosity which is such an embarrassing phenomenon to
pragmatists. And since the faith which lies behind natural science is at
least as strong as any other faith now active in the world, it is
useless to frame categories in such a way as to exclude the question,
'Did this or that occurrence, which is presented as an event in the
physical order, actually happen, or not?' The question has a very
definite meaning for the man of science, as it has for the man in the
street. To call it 'theoretical' is ridiculous.
What M. Le Roy means by 'interpreting dogmas in the language of
practical action' may be gathered from his own illustrations. The dogma,
'God is our Father,' does not define a 'theoretical relation' between
Him and us. It signifies that we are to behave to Him as sons behave to
their father. 'God is personal' means that we are to behave to Him as if
He were a human person. 'Jesus is risen' means that we are to think of
Him as if He were our contemporary. The dogma of the Real Presence means
that we ought to have, in the presence of the consecrated Host, the same
feelings which we should have had in the presence of the visible Christ.
'Let the dogmas be interpreted in this way, and no one will dispute
them.'[78]
The same treatment of dogma is advocated in Mr. Tyrrell's very able book
'Lex Orandi.' The test of truth for a dogma is not its correspondence
with phenomenal fact, but its 'prayer-value.' This writer, at any rate
before his suspension by the Society of Jesus, to which he belonged, is
less subversive in his treatment of history than the French critics whom
we have quoted. Although in apologetics the criterion for the acceptance
of dogmas must, he thinks, be a moral and practical one, he sometimes
speaks as if the 'prayer-value' of an ostensibly historical proposition
carried with it the necessity of its truth as matter of fact.
'Between the inward and the outward, the world of reality
and the world of appearances, the relation is not merely one
of symbolic correspondence. The distinction that is demanded
by the dualism of our mind implies and presupposes a causal
and dynamic unity of the two. We should look upon the
outward world as being an effectual symbol of the inward, in
consequence of its natural and causal connection
therewith.'[79]
But Mr. Tyrrell does not seem to mean all that these sentences might
imply. He speaks repeatedly, in the 'Lex Orandi,' of the 'will-world' as
the only real world.