THE CHURCH AS AN INSTITUTION--THE CATHOLIC CHURCH
Even a cursory glance at the institutional history of Christianity is
instructive. Beginning as an essentially democratic brotherhood of
fellow-believers in which wisdom and experience, rather than authority,
guided affairs, the Christian community gradually adopted the political
form of the society in which it found itself. The very names of the
church officials of whom we read in the later canonical epistles are
taken over from the municipal governments of the time. The presbyters,
or elders, were old men selected by common consent from the members of
the congregation as a sort of advisory council. They were
committee-men, ripe in experience and capable of dealing sensibly with
the various problems sure to arise from time to time in the social
group. From among these elders, overseers, or bishops, were chosen who
had administrative functions of an indefinite sort. Besides these
officials, there were deacons, prophets and teachers, men who took a
more or less conspicuous part in the life of the brotherhood.
As time elapsed, the Christian communities took on a more formal
organization, an evolution which was due to the stress of problems
which could not be met without a more centralized structure. New
heresies were {188} constantly arising and leading the members into
confusion; moral disorders, like those against which Paul had to
thunder, were continually appearing. It was only too easy for members
of unorganized groups to miss that sense of a common outlook which is
so important and yet so difficult to maintain in an age of intellectual
and moral turmoil. This situation was grasped by leaders who had
decided views of their own as to the proper doctrines to be taught and
the proper mode of life to follow. Under their guidance, a
centralization of authority was evolved. The bishop became the head of
the community with power in matters of doctrine and morality.
Naturally, the heads of the more important communities, Rome, Antioch,
Alexandria and Constantinople, had a prestige which gave their opinions
differential weight. Before long, councils of bishops were called to
decide questions of doctrine. The period of fixed creeds had arrived.
Once this direction was taken, it was no long step to the formation of
a church organization comparable in complexity to that of the Roman
Empire and as undemocratic in character. Such a development was most
natural; and it would, indeed, have been surprising had it not
occurred. Institutions always possess the imprint of their age. It is
foolish, because unhistorical, to expect ideals out of their time.
The primitive Christian association was more than a church in the
modern sense. It was a loyal group of like-minded people. It was a
state within the state, a social unit dominating the main part of the
lives of its members, and not merely a center for worship. It is this
aspect of the early religious associations which I wish to stress; for
it is the question, whether this phase {189} of the church still exists
to justify the church as an institution, into which I wish to enquire.
In the vast loneliness of the Roman Empire, men felt the need to draw
together in order to escape the dreariness of life. The teeming
interests and intense loyalties of the old city-state had disappeared
and left men stranded in a cosmopolitan State, ordered from above, in
which they had no vital participation; it was too gigantic and formal
to touch them in a personal fashion and to kindle those enthusiasms
which lift men beyond economic cares. It was well to be a Roman
citizen, but such an honor did not suffice for the more homely needs of
everyday existence. In the days of Athenian greatness, the individual
was lost in the citizen; in the Roman Empire, the citizen was lost in
the individual. Man is a social animal--to adapt Aristotle's famous
expression--and the inhabitants of the various countries sought to
create associations of various sorts to fill this gap caused by the
destruction of the old political interests. In other words, men tried
to weave a new social tissue of a private type to answer their craving
for companionship and for the chance to do something worth doing.
Remove the business, artistic, political, trades-union, literary and
social interests in their present free and varied form from modern
life, and we can gain some idea of the unsatisfactoriness of human life
under the Empire for the lower and poorer classes. Monotonous as
village life is to-day, it is throbbing with life as compared with the
village or tenement district of ancient days. The farmer has his
newspaper, the farmer's wife the magazine, and the piano, and the trip
to town. Small wonder that these men and women of the Hellenistic and
Roman worlds {190} formed clubs and associations in which to escape
from a disheartening loneliness and feel themselves members one of
another.
But the Empire essayed to stamp out these brotherhoods, in order that
it might be all in all and receive the loyalty and affection which
these private organizations evoked. The ancient state was unable to
conceive that division of interests into public and private which is so
marked a feature of modern civilization. As Renan points out, the
Empire "was trying, out of homage to an exaggerated idea of the State,
to isolate the individual, to snap every moral tie between man and man,
to defeat a legitimate desire of the poor, the desire to press together
in a little corner of their own to keep one another warm. The
intolerable sadness inseparable from such a life seemed worse than
death." Associations, or clubs, in which a complete equality reigned
sprang up on every side in spite of the laws against combination.
Human relations of the most kindly and intimate sort were established
which sweetened life and made death less lonely. Now the Christian
communities were just such associations; while they added religious
emotions and hopes to the attractions of companionship. They were
social units of a humble and spontaneous type within the formal
structure of the Empire. They justified themselves in a human as well
as in a superhuman way. An adequate psychology of religion remains to
be written. Religion has always had its markedly social side.
Upon the foundation of this combined social and religious function, the
superstructure of the Church was erected, much as on the political
nature of man the Greek city-state arose. Creed and hierarchy were
{191} inevitable products whose appearance could have been predicted,
but they were expressive of a certain growing cumbersomeness and a
slowing up of the thought and action of the mass of the people.
Henceforth, one of their religious duties was to believe fanatically
what bishops and councils promulgated and to obey the advice of their
superiors in matters of conduct. In this way, Christianity became a
religion of authority. We must not over-idealize the early
Christians--a reading of Paul's epistles would help to guard us against
that tendency--but the spirit of the primitive congregations was,
beyond much doubt, nobler than that which characterized the mobs of
Alexandria and of Byzantium. A perusal of _Hypatia_, for example, is
very apt to sober one's enthusiasm. We must remember that the bars of
admission were lowered as Christianity became powerful and popular.
Selection, which is one of the most attractive features of a new
movement, no longer acted. It was at this period that Christianity
developed its _cult_ aspect. It became a religion of the imagination,
of the sensuous, as well as of the will and the intellect. Ancient art
and liturgy gave their contributions and Christianity moved from the
catacombs to the basilica and the cathedral.
As Church and state became reconciled, the early breach between public
and private life was filled. The religious interest and its duties
joined themselves to those of secular life. For the mass of the people
who did not surrender themselves to religion in the intensive way
reserved for the clergy, Christianity simply forced a new alignment of
social relations and values. The ideal was a Church-directed
civilization in which the next world overshadowed this. For ordinary
life, {192} however, a practical adjustment was soon reached. Life was
lived in a conventional enough way and the compromise was balanced by
the efficacy of sacraments administered by the servants of the
authoritative Church, the continuation of the incarnation upon the
earth.
In the chaotic West, overrun by barbarians, society lost its ancient
form and became stratified in accordance with a decentralized, military
regime. The strongly organized, international Church maintained itself
and saw an opportunity to realize its ideal, a civilization, or order,
guided by itself and obedient to religious values. Should not the
vice-regent of God rule upon the earth and make the divine law the law
of the nations? In the conflict between the Roman Church, as
reorganized by Hildebrand, and the Holy Roman Empire, we have a
striking instance of that recurrent struggle between the supernatural
and the secular so peculiar to the Christian world. Had not the
emperors possessed some religious sanction for their claims and
authority, they would have been completely overridden by the popes. It
was the growth from beneath of national and human interests and of a
more varied and stimulating social life that ultimately defeated the
political aims of the Church. Humanism always flourishes when peace
and contentment are abroad, and humanism is the deadliest enemy that
supernaturalism has to meet. Thus the tradition of the Roman Empire
tided secular authority over until the rise of vigorous nations with
distinct customs, languages, and loyalties ceased to make the imperial
and theocratic aspirations of the Church practical. But we must never
forget that these aspirations of the Mediaeval Church were natural
outgrowths of the {193} religious view of the world. If man is but a
sojourner here, undergoing his tests for the life to come, who can be a
better guide in all things than the divine institution established by
God himself? The center of gravity of man's life falls outside this
world.
But social tendencies and relations are always more complex and
uncontrollable than theory or doctrine wishes to allow. Human values
have a way of asserting themselves in all sorts of unexpected ways.
The very act of living forces man to feel and achieve, to strive for
this thing and for that, to enter into warm human relations which lead
out into ambitions and desires. So, in spite of the official, and
generally accepted, denial of human values, these sprang up at the
least encouragement and flowered in custom and art. Thus, even during
the Middle Ages, social activities had their innings and fair measure
of attention. Men loved, and sinned, and fought, and dreamed much as
they did in other days and do now. The thought of another world only
tempered their moments of reflection and deepened their periods of
contrition. There is good reason to believe, moreover, that men
alternated between extremes of mood more than we do to-day with our
settled horizon. The mediaeval outlook did not favor that quiet
temperance which the Greeks achieved in their happiest days.
With the rise of the cities and the national states came the revival of
learning and a fresh interest in all phases of human life. The
complete control of human life by a supernaturalistic religion was then
no longer even a theoretical possibility. Life became a thing of
interest for its own sake, something frankly to be enjoyed. Humanism
had once more appeared in the world.
{194}
But the Church had an organized breadth which went far beyond the
purely religious functions which Protestantism is inclined to associate
with the institution. Within this socially flexible organization arose
the monastic orders whose ideals varied from age to age. To establish
industries, to clear the land, to preach the nobility of work and to
foster commerce, to nurse the sick, to found schools and universities,
to distribute charity, to offer hospitality to wayfarers, to nourish
art and literature, all these activities grew out of the initiative of
noble men who found the atmosphere or associations of organized
Christianity favorable to their endeavors. It was under the shelter of
religion that the finer phases of morality manifested themselves.
Secular life did not possess a stability or organs adequate to the
tasks of social ethics. Whatever new movement appeared naturally
drifted into contact with the Church, even though the Church was not
certain what to do with it. Sometimes these vital movements, in which
ethical idealism of a rare type was displayed, almost threatened the
existence of the hierarchical body which was in control of the
organization through which they had to work. This was the situation
which developed as a result of the spread of the ideals of the
mendicant orders of the thirteenth century. Such an occurrence makes
us realize that the social life of the time was creative, and that this
creativeness could with difficulty be kept within the control of the
formal Church; yet the organs which were necessary for the application
of these ideas and enthusiasms were molded in accordance with
ecclesiastical institutions, because no other model was at hand.
Secular life was too narrow to give either financial support or
suggestions. It {195} had so long been accustomed to assign the moral
field to religious institutions.
In spite of the undercurrent of criticism against the worldliness of
the clergy which discovers itself to the historian of the later Middle
Ages, the social movements connected with incorporated Christianity
were vital enough to justify the existence of the Church. It acted as
the traditional center of philanthropy, and its immense wealth made
this feature a real force among the poor. But the other associated
functions were slowly separating themselves from their original
connection and striking roots in the secular life of the time. In
place of the cathedral towns clustered around the cathedral and the
bishop's palace, the commercial towns pushed to the front both in
wealth and importance. The wealthy merchant or banker vied in riches
with the churchman. Art and literature passed from the hands of the
Church to the laity. This process was very gradual, but steady and
persistent. By the time of the reformation, it was in full swing.
Beneath the framework of feudalism and the Mediaeval Church, a new
society had been forming, far more complex than the old and full of
potentialities which we are only now beginning to measure. Industry,
commerce, geographical discovery, national literature, guilds,
municipal governments, courts, science, secular art, philosophy, all
were present either in bud or in full flower. Out of the fertile and
fearless life which came from the interplay of these tendencies and
activities, new ideas and values were born and soon found or created
appropriate organs for their expression apart from the Church. Try as
it would, Mother Church could not cover them with her wings. Many of
these activities were alien to {196} her genius and, as they waxed in
strength and confidence, stepped boldly out into the arena of secular
life.
One has only to take a broad survey of modern society to realize how
completely secular life has found means to perform functions which were
formerly carried by the Church. The very control which the Church
wished to exercise repelled them and drove them into the world with its
freedom and tolerance. Free association, individual enterprise, the
creative fervor of genius, and, later, governmental policy have worked
wonders in overcoming the meagerness of secular life. Education is now
almost universal, and so the masses live lives which touch a myriad
interests never known to them in other days. Art has broadened its
scope and now touches with magic fingers all phases of human life,
nature and man being alike raised to a higher spiritual level by her
work. Science has reached out into all parts of nature and thrown a
transforming light upon all things. Philosophy has left the old
scholastic concepts and mated with science to explain the world in
which we live. Charity is giving way to a broader conception of social
justice. In short, the old division of life into two spheres, the
earthly and the spiritual, no longer has its old significance. The
spiritual has made its home in man's daily life, in his reading, his
art, his thinking and his doing. _Wherever there are genuine values,
there is the spiritual_. _Is not loyalty to these spiritual values of
human life coming to be the sole meaning of religion_? Is it within
the power of an institution, still dominated by beliefs hostile to this
frank humanism, to cherish and guide the unfolding of the spiritual
life of the present? That is the query which I bring with me when I
contemplate the {197} Church. Has not the free life of the present
outgrown any centralized and institutionalized control?
To-day, ideas and enthusiasms find their organs in the teeming secular
world. Moral idealism is at home upon the earth in fellowships and
loyalties in which men discover much of their reason for being. The
pulse of society beats time to the songs of its true poets, and throbs
at the call to battle for some noble achievement, while the Church
dreams of the past and the days of her greatness, or tenderly stoops to
comfort those who cling to her sanctions and her vision of a heavenly
kingdom, not of this world. She played her part, and she played it
greatly--that much we must avow, even while we point out her present
limitations--but the world has passed beyond her tutelage and runs
lithesomely and courageously into fields where she cannot bring herself
to follow. Thus is it, and thus has it always been--institutions and
ideas have their period of usefulness when they serve as organizing
centers for social tendencies; but the time inevitably comes when they
lose their creative power and are outgrown by the life which has made
them and is greater than they. And yet there is hope. Will the
dethroned monarch recognize the inevitableness of the massive
revolution which is surging round her and give up her outgrown
pretensions, willingly consenting to play a lesser role in full harmony
with the spirit of the time? Not yet will this voluntary abdication
come. But, some time in the future, the new loyalties will surely seep
into the Church and prepare it for the great sacrifice in which it will
find its saving service. Modernism can afford to wait patiently, for
time fights on its side.
{198}