to them, are far from giving an adequate idea of the partisan spirit
and unreliable statements with which Dr. Shields has filled the first
part of his book. What we have given is only a small sample of the
rest, and was extracted from three pages. Were we to extend our
criticism to only ten pages more, we would find matter enough for a
volume. Our author, as nearly all Protestant authors, characterizes the
scholastic age as one of philosophic bondage. Theology subjugates
philosophy: “The church is the only school; orthodoxy the one test of
all truth; the traditions of the Fathers the sole pabulum of the
intellect; and the system of Aristotle a mere frame-work to the creed
of Augustine.” Peter Lombard “narrowed the circle of free thought by
putting the authority of the church above that of Scripture”; Alexander
of Hales “rendered the thraldom of the intellect complete by
systematizing the patristic traditions or sentences with Aristotelian
logic.” Alas! we know only too well that Protestantism detests logic as
much as the patristic traditions. But, then, why should a Protestant
D.D. undertake to harmonize philosophy and theology? Is there any
philosophy without logic, or any theology without patristic traditions?
Thomas Aquinas “dazzled all Europe”; but Duns Scotus “proceeded to
evaporate the distinction of Aquinas in a jargon which defies modern
comprehension.” This does little credit to modern comprehension; for
the jargon of Scotus is nothing but the Latin tongue adapted to
philosophical use. “Philosophy,” at this time, “could only succumb to
theology.” “In logic any deflection in mere form as well as matter was
enough to draw down the anathemas of the church.” Roscellin “was
arraigned as a tritheist,” William of Champeaux “was pursued as a
pantheist,” Abelard “was forced to cast his own works into the fire,
and condemned to obscurity and silence.” It is evident that these
facts, and others of a similar nature, must fill with horror our
liberal Protestants and all free-religionists, just as prison and
capital punishment fill with horror a convicted criminal. But if Dr.
Shields condescends to examine the doctrines of Roscellin, William of
Champeaux, and Abelard in the light of Scripture, as they are
faithfully portrayed in reliable works (such as St. Thomas’ life by
Rev. Bede Vaughan, for example), he will see that all three were guilty
of heresy, and that they richly deserved the treatment to which they
were subjected. We cannot, of course, enter here into a discussion of
such doctrines; we merely state that they have been fully examined and
debated in the presence of the interested parties with all the calm,
patience, and impartiality which characterize the proceedings of the
Catholic Church.
As to the singular notion entertained by Dr. Shields, that philosophy
“could only succumb to theology,” we wish to tell him that no man can
be a theologian unless he be also a philosopher; whence it follows that
philosophy and theology are naturally friendly to one another, and, if
they ever happen to disagree, they do not fight like enemies, but they
state their reasons like good sisters equally anxious to secure each
other’s support. Philosophy is like a clear but naked eye; theology is
the same eye, not naked, but armed with a powerful telescope. Will Dr.
Shields maintain that the eye succumbs when it sees by the telescope
what the naked eye cannot discover? Yet this is the idea latent in his
notion of philosophy succumbing to theology. What succumbs to theology
is not philosophy, but error masked in the garb of philosophy. The
author himself tells us that “reason and revelation are complemental
factors of knowledge, the former discovering what the latter has not
revealed, and the latter revealing what the former cannot discover.”
This is exactly what we were saying; for the science of reason is
philosophy, and the science of revelation is theology.
We would never end, if we were to follow our author through the five
hundred and eighty-eight pages of his book. We only add that the
theological and philosophical erudition which he parades throughout the
whole work has been derived from the same baneful sources from which
Dr. Draper collected the materials of his _History of the Conflict
between Religion and Science_, and deserves the same heavy censure. The
late Dr. O. A. Brownson, when Dr. Draper’s work was published, said of
it: “The only thing in Dr. Draper’s book that we are disposed to
tolerate is his style, which is free, flowing, natural, simple,
unaffected, and popular. Aside from its style, the book cannot be too
severely censured. It is a tissue of lies from beginning to end. It is
crude, superficial, and anything but what it professes to be. It
professes to be a history of the conflict between religion and science.
It is no such thing. It is a vulgar attack on Christianity and the
Christian church, in which is condensed the substance of all that has
been said by anti-Christian writers from the first century to the
nineteenth.” We do not say that Dr. Shields’ intention has been to
attack Christianity in general as Dr. Draper did; he, on the contrary,
professes to labor for a reconciliation of Christianity and reason.
But, good as the intention is, the book will do as much harm as that of
Dr. Draper. Its style is as good, to say the least, as Dr. Draper’s,
and its subject-matter is well distributed and orderly developed; but
these and other good qualities, instead of redeeming its numerous
misrepresentations of truth, make them more dangerous by adding to them
a charm against which the average reader can ill defend himself.
Besides, Dr. Draper’s work, owing to its shameless infidelity, disgusts
the Christian reader and makes him unwilling to swallow the poison it
contains; whereas Dr. Shields’ book has such an attractive title,
professes such a reverence for Scripture, and displays such an
earnestness and ingenuity in the holy task of reconciling religion with
science, that the unsophisticated reader (the Protestant reader in
particular) will follow him, not only with great pleasure, but also
with great docility and deference, till he persuades himself that
religion is now in such a state that it needs to be purified by
philosophy, and that reason must be made the _umpire_ between revealed
and scientific dogmas. The consequence is that the author’s “final
philosophy” will serve the interests of rationalism rather than of
religion. The more so as the author shows himself well acquainted with
the errors of modern thought, some of which he exposes and refutes in a
truly philosophical spirit, and with a talent and ability of which we
see few instances in modern thinkers. We have been particularly struck
by his powerful handling of positivism and absolutism, not to mention
many other topics which he has treated in a very fair and intelligent
manner. Had he not taken his stand on the shifting ground of Protestant
opinions, he might have achieved a very meritorious task. He speaks of
catholic views, catholic philosophy, and catholic spirit as something
indispensable to carry on the much-desired conciliation of natural with
supernatural knowledge. But what can the word “catholic” mean on the
lips of one who does not listen to the Catholic doctors, and who is a
stranger to the Catholic Church? His “catholic” spirit cannot but be a
spirit of compromise, and a kind of rationalistic eclecticism, ready to
accept only so much of revelation as men will condescend to authorize
on a verdict of their fallible reason, and no less ready to sacrifice
and ignore as much of it as human reason cannot explain or harmonize
with natural science. It is evident that such a spirit can lead to
nothing but religious scepticism. And this should convince even Dr.
Shields that his “final philosophy” will never achieve a success. The
Catholic thinker, if he had to compose a final philosophy, would place
himself on much higher and much securer ground; he would first range in
a series all the truths which the Catholic Church has defined to be of
faith; he would then range in another series all the _demonstrated_
truths of the natural sciences, and all the principles, axioms, and
propositions of philosophy which are generally received by the
different schools; he would next inquire whether any proposition of
this second series clashes with any of the truths contained in the
first series; and, as he would be unable to find any truth of science
or of philosophy conflicting with any revealed truth, he would conclude
that the world is not just now in need of a final philosophy for
settling a conflict which has no existence except in the imaginative
brains of scientific charlatans. Dr. Shields may think that this course
is not calculated to secure the alliance of religion and science; but
let him read the magnificent article published by Dr. Brownson in his
_Quarterly Review_ (April, 1875), on Dr. Draper’s pretended history of
the conflict between religion and science, and he will see his mistake.
The “final philosophy,” as we have already remarked, will be of no use
to the Catholic world. Protestants may, perhaps, relish it all the
more. But no class of men will, in our opinion, be more gratified with
it than the sceptics, the free-thinkers, and the enemies of
supernatural truth; for they will not fail to see that to set up
philosophy as “umpire” between religion and science is to make men
distrust the doctrines of religion, and to prepare, though with the
best intentions, the triumph of religious scepticism.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
A GREAT BISHOP.
In writing the lives of saints their biographers often forget that they
are writing history, and telling the part which a wise, strong, and
manly character bore in that history. William Emmanuel von Ketteler,
the late Bishop of Mayence, might by many be reckoned among saints, so
holy was his life and so like the primitive Christian ideal. But he has
another claim to fame, as one of the greatest modern champions of order
against socialism, and of the church against organized godlessness. The
“iron bishop,” the “fighting bishop,” were nicknames given him by his
foes, and, though given in hate and derision, they unconsciously set
forth one side of his powerful character. A man of his reach of mind,
however humble, could not have taken a less prominent part and position
in the struggle of principle against license of which the present
religious disturbances in Germany are the type. It fell naturally to
his share to be the speaker and standard-bearer of the cause of church
liberties, and the representative of the episcopal order. His legal
studies and experience, as well as his hardy habits and magnificent
_physique_, seemed to have prepared him and pointed him out among all
others for the championship of his party, including all the bodily
fatigue and mental anxiety incident to such a leadership. He was as
thorough a man as he was an ideal bishop and exceptional orator, and
this manliness, physical and intellectual, was the basis of his simple
and grand character. His chosen motto, “Let all be as one,” is no bad
interpretation of the leading ideal which he tried through life to
realize: church unity and Christian loyalty, served by the whole round
of his exceptional and perfectly-developed faculties. Before setting
forth the fruits of his special studies, and examining his life and
personality from the point of view most important in this century of
social strife, we purpose giving a short biographical sketch of the
Bishop of Mayence.
He was born on Christmas day, 1811, at Münster in Westphalia, of a
noble family, one branch of which, embracing the doctrines of the
Reformation, had in the sixteenth century migrated to Poland and become
hereditary dukes of Courland, and a second, remaining German and
Catholic, had been distinguished by giving more than one member to the
Order of St. John of Jerusalem. His own branch, the third, known as
that of Alt-Assen, was worthily represented by his father, a stern,
faithful, and upright man, an uncompromising Christian, and a moralist
of what our easier age calls the “old school.” As in every great
character, there was something of the soldier in Baron Frederick von
Ketteler of Harkotten, and this streak was reproduced in at least two
of his sons, William and Richard. His mother, Clementina, Baroness von
Wenge of Beck, was a woman of superior character, as it is noticed that
the mothers of remarkable men almost invariably are, and one of the
bishop’s biographers is certainly entitled to dwell as he does, with
special force, on the fact of the home-training of young Ketteler
having had more real influence in shaping his character than either the
schooling he got at the cathedral school of Münster until he was
thirteen years of age, or the atmosphere of the Swiss Jesuit College at
Brieg, where he studied until he was eighteen. The two most conspicuous
traits in the youth were his passion for hunting and sport of all
kinds, athletic games, Alpine climbing, and all exercises requiring
hardiness and disregard of wind and weather, and his earnest and
unobtrusive piety. He was spared the trial through which so many noble
natures pass before fully identifying themselves with the spirit of the
church, whose letter they have been early taught to obey: he
experienced no time of doubt, of wavering, of temptation, and the
modern sore of unbelief never seems to have even come near his mind.
From a youth passed in alternate study and sport and a free,
out-of-door life he grew to a manhood serious and industrious, with a
routine of work always hallowed by early prayer and daily attendance at
Mass, and a social position in his native town, as counsel or referee
for the government, which was, if not fully worthy of his talents, yet
sufficiently honorable as the beginning of a professional career. His
university life had, like that of most young Germans, been marked by
one duel, which seriously displeased his father, and his military
obligations had been discharged, according to the laws as they then
stood, by his service as a “one-year volunteer” in the local militia.
His legal career seemed assured, though there were many among his early
friends who foresaw that his entering the church was not unlikely. The
incident that determined this change was the outbreak of Cologne in
1838, when the first note of the coming ecclesiastical troubles was
sounded by a municipality that went to the length of imprisoning the
archbishop, Clement von Droste-Vischering; the friend of Stolberg, and
the primate of the Rhine provinces.
Ketteler, never averse to Prussia, in whose mission to Germany he
believed, even up to the late Falk or May Laws which tore away the
veil, could, nevertheless, not reconcile himself to serve any longer a
government that allowed such violations of personal freedom and of the
principles which underlie that freedom. In the autumn of the same year
he went to the Münich Theological College and began his ecclesiastical
studies. Among his professors were Döllinger and Görres, and others
whose fame is less European but scarcely less great in Germany itself;
and among his fellow-students Paul Melchers, the present Archbishop of
Cologne, who, like himself, had been a lawyer of great promise. Coming
at the age of twenty-seven to study among a body of whom many members
were hardly more than boys, it may have been a hard task to preserve
humility and charity; yet the verdict of his fellow-students, summed up
by one of themselves, was to the effect that Ketteler’s simplicity and
good-nature were in every way as marked as his intellectual
superiority. These qualities came out again later in his intercourse
with his country parishioners, each of whom, peasants as they were, he
treated with the cordiality and respect of a neighbor and an equal. He
was no demagogue, and had no theories save the everlasting theories of
the Gospel and the church; but, as is usually the case, his practice
with his social inferiors went far beyond the noisy and deceiving show
of equality made by professional agitators. After four years’ study in
Münich he devoted one year more to theological subjects in the
episcopal seminary at Münster, and received holy orders in 1844, when
he was sent as curate to Beckum, a small town in Westphalia. He was
then thirty-three, and had reached half his allotted years; for it has
been noticed that his term of service as priest and bishop was also
thirty-three years. The coincidence of his last illness having lasted
thirty-three days also struck many persons who are fond of these
calculations.
At Beckum, where he was associated with two other young priests (one of
whom, Brinkmann, is now Bishop of Münster), he led a life as near as
possible to one of his ideals—still unfulfilled in practice, but only
postponed in his mind because of more urgent and present needs—the life
in common of the secular clergy. He and his fellow-curates lived in a
small house, where each had one room besides the common gathering-room,
and one purse for all uses, whether personal or charitable. He and
Brinkmann founded a hospital during their short stay, and this grew
afterwards to very satisfactory proportions; but Ketteler had
opportunities of proving himself a good nurse under his own roof, where
his third colleague was often bedridden for months at a time. His
public ministry, however, never suffered, and his assiduity at the
bedside of his sick parishioners and in the confessional at all times,
in season and out of season, were remarkable. If all priests would
reflect how momentous, nay, how awful, is the responsibility incurred
in this matter of ever-readiness to hear a man’s confession, they would
less seldom deviate from the self-sacrificing example which Bishop
Ketteler gave consistently throughout his life. His zeal in this
particular was not inferior, however, to his care of the schools which
in his public career so distinguished him; and both led his diocesan
after two years to remove him from Beckum, to a full parish, that of
Hopsten.
His life here was a repetition of the life at Beckum; his ministry was
so efficacious that the spiritual life of the parish resembled a
permanent “mission,” or revival, and his active charity had a large
field for exercise in the famine and the fever which visited his people
during his incumbency. It is related of him that, his sister coming to
visit him at Hopsten, he proposed to take her to see some of his
friends in the neighborhood, and accordingly took her to his poorest
people, begging for each a gift sorely needed, which resulted in her
emptying her purse so effectually that she had to borrow money for her
journey home. He provisioned his parish during the famine, and got his
rich relations to help him in the work; and in the fever, besides his
gifts of food, bedding, and medicines, and his regular offices as their
pastor, he literally became his people’s physician and nurse.
It was no wonder that he should so have won the respect and trust of
his neighbors that, even in that very Protestant borough of Lengerich,
of which his parish formed part, he was unanimously returned as deputy
to the Frankfort Parliament in 1848. It was here that he first came
publicly before Germany as an orator and a statesman, and that he made
that famous speech at the funeral of the Prussian delegates, Lichnowsky
and Auerswald, murdered during the riots, which has become the most
popular and widely known of any of his discourses. After his retirement
from Parliament, and his attendance in the same year at the first
meeting of the Catholic Union at Mayence, he was asked to give a course
of lectures in the cathedral on the social and political problems of
the day. It is said that Catholics, Protestants, and Jews, besides
free-thinkers, crowded to hear these eloquent and exhaustive lectures,
and that the competition for seats was a fitting type of the
intellectual stir they made in the city. His physical endurance was no
less marvellous, and added much to the impressiveness of the
discourses, delivered in close succession, with a full, melodious,
resounding voice under perfect control of the speaker, and carefully
husbanded, so that neither enthusiasm nor emotion should drive it into
shrillness or sink it into huskiness. That year saw the preacher
transferred to the provostship of St. Hedwige’s Church in Berlin, which
he occupied only for ten months, but long enough to win the love of his
city congregation as he had that of his country parish. His younger
brother, Richard, who had left the army to become a priest, succeeded
him at Hopsten, but left the place later to become a Capuchin; he was
long known as Father Bonaventure. In 1849 Provost Ketteler was chosen
Bishop of Mayence, after a stormy election and dispute in the cathedral
chapter. The first nominee, Doctor Leopold Schmid, professor of
theology at Giesen, the local university, being, on grounds of “undue
influence,” strongly disapproved of by a large minority of the canons,
they and their opponents of the majority agreed to a re-election and to
an appeal to the Holy See, upon which, out of the three names sent in,
the Pope chose the provost of St. Hedwige. He was not consecrated till
July, 1850, by the archbishop of Freiburg, assisted by the bishops of
Limburg and Fulda. Thenceforward one may say that his life was entirely
a public one, so intimately was it connected with the living and
burning questions of the time. Each year the crisis between church and
state seemed to draw nearer; and, if one may say so, the gap between
the two has become complete since the promulgation of the May Laws. In
this struggle, which lasted all through his episcopate, the state
certainly proved the aggressor, for the lukewarmness of German
Catholics in the last generation was a proverb; and Ketteler succeeded
to a diocese in very different order from the one he has left. Things
were working, or rather lapsing, into the hands of the church’s
enemies, had they been wise enough to wait and watch; by hurrying
matters they roused the spirit of Catholics, and raised against
themselves a zealous band firmly attached to their faith and determined
to vindicate its rights and liberties.