The Freedom of Science
By
Joseph Donat, S.J., D.D.
Professor Innsbruck University
New York
Joseph F. Wagner
1914
CONTENTS
Imprimatur.
Author’s Preface To The English Edition.
Translator’s Note.
First Section. The Freedom of Science and its Philosophical Basis.
Chapter I. Science And Freedom.
Chapter II. Two Views Of The World And Their Freedom.
Chapter III. Subjectivism And Its Freedom.
Second Section. Freedom of Research and Faith.
Chapter I. Research And Faith In General.
Chapter II. The Authority Of Faith And The Free Exercise Of Research.
Chapter III. Unprepossession Of Research.
Chapter IV. Accusations And Objections.
Chapter V. The Witnesses of the Incompatibility Of Science And Faith.
Third Section. The Liberal Freedom of Research.
Chapter I. Free From The Yoke Of The Supernatural.
Chapter II. The Unscientific Method.
Chapter III. The Bitter Fruit.
Fourth Section. Freedom of Teaching.
Chapter I. Freedom Of Teaching And Ethics.
Chapter II. Freedom Of Teaching And The State.
Fifth Section. Theology.
Chapter I. Theology And Science.
Chapter II. Theology And University.
Index.
Footnotes
IMPRIMATUR.
Nihil Obstat
REMIGIUS LAFORT, D.D.
_Censor_
Imprimatur
JOHN CARDINAL FARLEY
_Archbishop of New York_
NEW YORK, January 22, 1914.
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY JOSEPH F. WAGNER, NEW YORK
AUTHOR’S PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION.
The present work has already secured many friends in German Europe. An
invitation has now been extended for its reception among the
English-speaking countries, with the object that there, too, it may seek
readers and friends, and communicate to them its thoughts—the ideas it has
to convey and to interpret. While wishing it heartfelt success and good
fortune on its journey, the Author desires it to convey his greetings to
its new readers.
This book has issued from the throes of dissension and strife, seeing the
light at a time when, in Austria and Germany, the bitter forces of
opposition, that range themselves about the shibboleth _Freedom of
Science_, were seen engaging in a combat of fiercer intensity than ever.
Yet, notwithstanding, this Child of Strife has learned the language of
Peace only. It speaks the language of an impartial objectivity which
endeavours, in a spirit of unimpassioned, though earnest, calm, to range
itself over the burning questions of the day—over those great
_Weltanschauung_ questions, that stand in such close relation with the
compendious motto: _Freedom of Science_. Yes, _Freedom_ and _Science_
serve, in our age and on both sides of the Atlantic, as trumpet-calls, to
summon together—often indeed to pit in deadly combat—the rival forces of
opposition. They are catch-words that tend to hold at fever-pitch the
intellectual life of modern civilization—agents as they are of such mighty
and far-reaching influences. On the one hand, Science, whence the moving
and leading ideas of the time take shape and form to go forth in turn and
subject to their sway the intellect of man; on the other, Freedom—that
Freedom of sovereign emancipation, that Christian Freedom of well-ordered
self-development, which determine the actions, the strivings of the human
spirit, even as they control imperceptibly the march of Science. While the
present volume is connected with this chain of profound problems, it
becomes, of itself, a representation of the intellectual life of our day,
with its far-reaching philosophical questions, its forces of struggle and
opposition, its dangers, and deep-seated evils.
The Author has a lively recollection of an expression which he heard a few
years ago, in a conversation with an American professor, then journeying
in Europe. “Here, they talk of tolerance,” he observed, “while in America
we put it into practice.” The catch-word _Freedom of Science_ will not,
therefore, in _every_ quarter of the world, serve as a call to arms,
causing the opposing columns to engage in mutual conflict, as is the case
in many portions of Europe. But certain it is that everywhere alike—in the
new world of America, as well as in the old world of Europe—the human
spirit has its attention engaged with the same identical questions—those
topics of nerve-straining interest that sway and surge about this same
catch-word like so many opposing forces. Everywhere we shall have those
tense oppositions between sovereign Humanity and Christianity, between
Knowledge and Faith, between Law and Freedom; everywhere those questions
on the Rights and Obligations of Science, on Catholic Thought, and on
Catholic Doctrinal Beliefs and Duties.
May it fall to the lot of this book to be able to communicate to many a
reader, interested in such topics, words of enlightenment and
explanation—to some for the strengthening of their convictions, to others
for the correction, perhaps, of their erroneous views. At home, while
winning the sympathy of many readers, it has not failed to encounter also
antagonism. This was to be expected. The resolute championing of the
principles of the Christian view of the world, as well as many a candid
expression of views touching the intellectual impoverishment and the
ever-shifting position of unshackled Freethinking, must necessarily arouse
such antagonism. May the present volume meet on the other side of the
Atlantic with a large share of that tolerance which is put into actual
practice there, and is there not merely an empty phrase on the lips of
men! May it contribute something to the better and fuller understanding of
the saying of that great English scientist, WILLIAM THOMSON: “Do not be
afraid of being free-thinkers! If you think strongly enough, you will be
forced by science to the belief in God, which is the foundation of all
religion.”
Finally, I may be allowed to express my sincere thanks to the publisher
for undertaking the work of this translation.
May it accomplish much good.
J. Donat.
UNIVERSITY INNSBRUCK,
CHRISTMAS, 1913.
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE.
The German original is replete with references to works especially in the
German language, the author having with great care quoted title and page
whenever referring to an author. Since many of these references are of
value only to those familiar with the German, they have been abbreviated
or omitted in this English version, whenever they would seem to needlessly
encumber its pages.
Those desirous of verifying quotations will be enabled to do so in all
instances by a reference to the German original.
FIRST SECTION. THE FREEDOM OF SCIENCE AND ITS PHILOSOPHICAL BASIS.
Chapter I. Science And Freedom.
If a question is destined to agitate and divide for considerable length of
time the minds of men, it must undoubtedly have its root deep in the
entire intellectual life of the times; it must be anchored in profound
philosophical thought, in theories of life. From this source it derives
its power of captivating the minds. All this applies to the question of
the Freedom of Science. If, then, we desire a thorough understanding of
this question, we must first of all seek and examine its deeper lying
philosophical basis; we must trace the threads which so closely unite it
to the intellectual life and effort of the times.
But before we begin our study, let us remember a rule of the great orator
and philosopher of ancient Rome; a rule only too often forgotten in our
times: “Every philosophical discussion, of anything whatsoever, should
begin with a definition, in order to make clear what the discussion is
about” (_Cicero_, De Officiis, I, 2). If we would form a judgment as to
the demand of science for freedom, as to the justification of this demand,
as to its compatibility or incompatibility with the duty of faith, the
first question that naturally arises is: What is the purport of this
demand, what does it mean? Only after we have clearly circumscribed this
demand can we approach its philosophical presumptions and test its basis.
What, then, do we understand by Science, and what freedom may be granted
to it?
Science.
When a man of Northern or Central Europe hears of science, his thoughts
generally turn to the universities and their teachers. To him the
university is the home of science, there its numerous branches dwell in
good fellowship, there hundreds of men have consecrated themselves to its
service. In those parts of Europe it is customary for men of science to be
university professors. Of what university is he? is asked. Celebrated
scientists, like _Helmholtz_, _Liebig_, _Hertz_, _Kirchhoff_;
philosophers, like _Kant_, _Fichte_, _Schelling_, _Hegel_, _Herbart_;
great philologists, historians, and so on, were university professors.
For all that, _science_ and _university_ are not necessarily inseparable
things. The university needs science, but science does not absolutely need
the university. Science was in the world before the twelfth and thirteenth
centuries, the time when France and Italy built their first universities;
and also since then science has been enriched by the achievements of many
a genius who never occupied a university chair. _Pythagoras_, _Aristotle_,
_St. Augustine_ belonged to no universities; _Copernicus_, _Newton_, and
_Kepler_ never taught in the higher schools. In the countries of Western
Europe and America the man of science and the university professor are to
this day not so much identical in person. Therefore, if the freedom of
science applies _principally_ to the higher schools and their teachers,
this is not its exclusive application. Science and university are not
identical terms.
What, then, is science?
At the sound of this magic word there arises in the minds of many the
image of a superhuman being: open on his lap lies the book of wisdom in
which all mysteries are solved; in his hand is the flaming torch which
enlightens the path down into the lowest depths of research, dispelling
all darkness. This, in the minds of many, is what science means. The mere
appeal to this infallible being suffices to settle all problems, to
silence every contradiction; woe to him who dares open his profane mouth
to utter an If or a But!
Were this science, there would be no dispute. We should have to admit that
there could be no limit set to the freedom of this being; he must share
the privileges of divine Intelligence, for no command to keep silent can
be imposed on Infallible Truth; there can be no amendment. But, alas! in
the world of reality this personified Science is nowhere to be found, it
exists solely in the realm of rhetoric and poetry. Science, as it exists
among men, has its seat, after all, nowhere else than in the human mind.
It is, indeed, nothing else but _the well-ordered summary of knowledge and
of the research for the causes of things_. Natural science is the summary
of knowledge and research in the realm of natural phenomena, arranged in
an orderly way, as a text-book will give it; that is, an investigation of
phenomena and their causes. A mere description of natural phenomena,
without any explanation, or reference of them to the laws of nature, would
indeed be teaching about nature, but not natural science. Similarly, the
science of history is the well-ordered summary of knowledge and research
in the domain of human events, derived from their sources, with the
statement of facts according to cause and effect.
And not all this knowledge is certain, and free from doubt. The modern
conception of science, as we now have it—the ancients had a much narrower
conception—includes certain as well as uncertain knowledge, results and
hypotheses, and even the activity of research, together with its methods.
Astronomy was thus in _Ptolemy’s_ time the summary of what was then known
with more or less certainty about the stars; included in this, as is well
known, was the opinion that the sun circles around the earth. And the
philosophy of _Aristotle_ embraced his philosophical ideas about God, the
world and man; hence many errors. Further, when speaking of science in
general, we mean the whole number of the individual sciences. It is the
freedom of science in this sense that we have to investigate here. The
individual sciences are distinguished one from another principally by the
subjects of which they treat. Astronomy is distinguished from palæontology
and philosophy by the fact that it treats of the stars, not of fossils, or
of the fundamental truths of reason.
From this brief analysis of concepts it is clear that science and
scientific research are not superhuman beings, but an activity or
condition of the human mind, distinguished from the ordinary thought of
the individual only by system and method, and, commonly, by greater
thoroughness and by the united effort of many. _It is subject to all the
limitations of the human mind._
What follows from this? Two things. Let us at once make a brief reference
to both of them, because in our discussion they are of the greatest
importance.
Since, then, science is an activity of the human mind, it must, like it,
always and everywhere be _subject to the Truth_ and _subject to God_.
Subject to the Truth: whenever science comes in contact with it, it must
reverently bow to the truth. And subject to God: if God is the Creator of
man and of his spiritual and bodily activity, He is also the master of his
whole being, and man is subject to Him in all his activity and
development, therefore in his intellectual life, and in his artistic and
scientific pursuits. Everything is and remains the activity of the
_creature_. As gravitation rules the entire planet and its material
activity, attracts it towards the sun and makes it circle around it, so
does the law of dependence on God rule the whole life of the creature. Man
cannot therefore, even in his scientific research, ignore his Creator,
cannot emancipate himself from His authority; and if God has given a
revelation and demands faith, the man of science, too, must believe. There
cannot be an emancipated, free, science in this sense.
Another consequence is this: since science is an activity of the human
mind, it shares all its _imperfections and weaknesses_. It is truly flesh
of its flesh. The fruit cannot be more perfect than the tree that produces
it, nor the flower better than the plant on which it blossomed. Now, as
the human mind is throughout limited in its nature, so is it also in its
research. It is not given to man to soar aloft on eagle wings to the
heights of knowledge, thence to gaze upon truth with unerring intuition;
the ascent must be slow, with constant dangers of stumbling, even of
falling headlong. To these dangers must be added his latent likes and
dislikes, which imperceptibly guide his thought, especially in forming
opinions on questions of the world and of life, which the human heart
cannot view with indifference: they influence his thought. Hence
ignorance, darkness, and error, everywhere accompany the investigator
individually, and science as a whole, all the more the loftier the
questions that present themselves.
Already the philosopher of the dim past gave expression to the
complaint, that our reason is no more capable of knowing the
divine than the eyes of the owl are of seeing in broad daylight.
It is _Aristotle_ who so complains. And the great _Newton_, in the
evening of his life, thus estimates the worth of his knowledge:
“What the world may think about my labour, I do not know; I feel
like a child that plays on the strand of the sea: now and then I
may perhaps find a pebble or shell more beautiful than those of my
playmates, while the boundless ocean lies ever before me with its
undiscovered treasures” (apud _O. Zoeckler_, Gottes Zeugen im
Reich der Natur (1906), 173). The same sorrowful plaint is heard
from all serious investigators, especially those in the domain of
the natural sciences, who should have more reason than others to
be proud of their achievements. “However great the amount of human
knowledge may seem to the multitude,” writes the well-known
chemist _Schoenbein_, “the most experienced scientist feels the
incompleteness and patchwork of it, and realizes that man so far
has been able to learn but infinitely little of what nature is,
and of what can be known.” “The more exact the investigation,”
says the geologist _Quenstedt_, “so much the more obscure is its
beginning. Indeed, the deeper we think to have understood the
single parts, the further the original plan of the Creator seems
to escape us” (cf. _Kneller_, Das Christentum und die Vertreter
der neueren Naturwissenschaften (1904), 208, 281). “Although
science,” so we are assured by another modern savant, “has brought
to light many a treasure, still, compared with what we do not yet
know, it is as a drop to the ocean. In all our knowledge there
will always be the danger of error.” We are probably not very far
in advance of the time of _Albrecht von Haller_, who said: “We,
all of us, err, only each errs in a different way. Every passage
that has been illuminated by science is surrounded by dense
darkness; beyond the visible lies the invisible.” And Prof. _J.
Reinke_ continues: “As early as the day of _Socrates_, the
beginning of philosophy was to know that we know nothing; the end
of philosophy, to know that we must believe: such is the
inevitable fate of human wisdom” (Naturwissenschaft und Religion,
in Natur und Kultur IV (1907), 418, 425. Printed also separately).
Some years ago Sir _W. Ramsay_, a noted scientist, concluded a
discourse on his scientific labour with the words: “When a man has
reached the middle of his life, he begins to believe that the
longer he lives the less he knows! This is my excuse for having
molested you for an hour with my ignorance” (Einige Betrachtungen
ueber das periodische Gesetz der Elemente. Vortrag auf der 75.
Versammlung Deutscher Naturforscher und Ærzte zu Cassel (1903)).
If science, then, can only with difficulty lift from visible
nature the veils that hide the truth—and even this is often beyond
its power—no wonder it is confronted with still greater obstacles
when it approaches the truths that are beyond visible nature.
Moreover, it is an old truth that here it is led not by reason
only, but also, and even more energetically, by self-interest.
“Most men,” says _Cicero_, “are swayed in their judgments by
either love or hatred, likes or dislikes” (De Oratore, II, 42).
If this is the nature of human science, its adepts would be badly
deceiving themselves, if, in the pride of learning, they would reject
every correction, even proudly pushing aside the hand of God that reaches
down into the darkness of man’s intellectual life to offer its guidance.
He who realizes that he is in danger of losing his way in the dark, will
not reject a reliable guide; and he who fears to stumble will not refuse a
helping hand. Self-knowledge is the sister of wisdom, and the mother of
modesty.
Freedom.
Such, then, is science: not the goddess that emanated from the head of
immortal Jove, but the offspring of the puny mind of man, bone of his bone
and flesh of his flesh. And this science cries for freedom. It would be
free and act freely; it urges its claim in the name of truth, which must
not be slighted; in the name of the progress of civilization, which must
not be hindered.
_Freedom_ clearly means nothing less than to be untrammeled and free from
restraint, from fetter and check, in action, thought, and desire. The
prisoner is free when his chains drop off, a people is free when it has
cast off the yoke of serfdom, the eagle is free and can spread out its
wings in lofty flight when not bound down to the earth. Science,
therefore, should be free in its activity from bond, fetter, and
restraint. Does this mean it must be free from _all_ restraint and law?
Should the historian be given the right to make _Solon_ a member of the
French Academy, or of the heroes of Troy mediæval knights? Should the
scientist be given the right to break every rule of logic, to ignore all
progress, and perhaps in his capriciousness return to the four elements of
_Aristotle_, or the astronomical chart of primitive ages? Nobody demands
this. No, science must be bound by the _truth_. Freedom indeed should not
mean lawlessness. Science remains bound by the general laws of logic, and
by positive facts. Truth is the irremovable barrier set in restraint of
the freedom of everything, even of scientific thought. The freedom of
science therefore can only be freedom from _unreasonable_ restraint and
fetters; from such that hinder it unreasonably in its inquiry after the
truth, and in the communication of the results of its investigation. _It
should be free, not from the internal bondage of truth, but from the
restraint by external authority_, the restraint which would hinder it, in
an _improper way_, from approaching those questions, and using those
methods, that lead to the discovery of truth, and from acknowledging the
results it has found to be true; or which would unlawfully keep it from
making known, for the benefit of others, the results of its investigation.
It should be free from any unjust restriction, imposed by state or Church,
by popular opinion, by party spirit, by hampering protectorate, or
servility of any kind.
From any _unjust_ restriction, we said. For this is clear: if under
certain circumstances there might be warrant for a _just_ restriction by
external authority, such a restriction could not be refused in the name of
freedom. So long, then, as we understand by freedom a _lawful_ freedom,
there cannot be included in this the freedom from _every_ external
authority, but only from _unlawful_ interference. There is, then, the
question whether there may be a legitimate restraint, imposed by external
authority, which man must not evade, and what the nature of such restraint
may be.
We must, moreover, take into consideration two elements, which are
distinguished in the above definitions, both belonging to the modern idea
of scientific freedom. We will call them _freedom of research_, and
_freedom of teaching_. The investigator and the scientist claim the one;
the teacher, the other. Searching after truth, and communicating the truth
found, are, as is known, the principal occupations of science. The
scientist should first of all be an investigator. He should not be content
to appropriate to himself the knowledge of others, he should also make his
own additions to knowledge. He is also commonly a teacher, by word of
mouth, as at the university, or by his writing, in his literary activity.
Research, as such, imparts directly a certain knowledge only to the
investigator; it is of a private nature and as such does not reach beyond
him. But by teaching, his ideas are communicated to others, and then begin
to influence their thought, will, and action, often very strongly.
Teaching is a social factor; with it are bound up the weal and woe of
others. Suppose a man of influence conceives in his study the idea that
monogamy is an infringement upon the universal rights of man; should he be
given without any ado the right of disseminating, by teaching, the
imagined results of his investigation, to the confusion of men, and with
serious danger to the peace of society?
We shall therefore have to distinguish between freedom of research and
freedom of teaching. The neglect of this distinction causes not a little
confusion; thus, if one complains of his convictions being trammeled or
his liberty of conscience being violated, when he is hindered from
immediately proclaiming whatever he calls his convictions. Private
opinion, and the public propaganda of this opinion, are evidently very
different things. It may be that an opinion seems to me the right one,
but, in spite of that, public dissemination of it may, always or under
certain circumstances, mean danger to my fellow-men. If I am for this
reason prevented from publishing it, I am not thereby hindered from giving
it my own private assent. It is, moreover, quite clear that the state—we
disregard here religious authority—cannot at all directly restrict
research, which is something personal. It can only impose restrictions on
the communication of one’s ideas by teaching them to others, which is a
social function.
From these few remarks will be followed the impropriety of the
following, or similar, observations: “The fostering of science and
its teaching are not separate functions ... to insinuate a twofold
function of freedom, viz., that of the savant and that of the
teacher, would be to dissolve the unity of the moral personality”
(_W. Kahl_, Bekenntnissgebundenheit und Lehrfreiheit (1897), 22).
It is not at all double-dealing if some one does not publicly
proclaim one’s private knowledge. Is it double-dealing, is it a
violation of “the unity of the moral personality,” if one is, and
must be, silent about official secrets? And if one does not tell,
and is not allowed to tell, official secrets, if one prevents an
anarchist from spreading his revolutionary ideas, is this a
violation of the unity of the moral personality? It is true that
“to deny one’s convictions is a violation of one of the most
indubitable principles of moral conduct” (_K. v. Amira_, Die
Stellung des akademischen Lehrers zur Freiheit in Forschung und
Lehre. Beilage der Muenchener Neuesten Nachrichten. 9. Juli,
1908). But it is logically incorrect to conclude therefrom that
the freedom of teaching should not be restricted. To keep silence
is not denying one’s convictions. Later on, when speaking of
freedom in teaching, we shall return to this thought and deal with
it more thoroughly.
So far there can be no serious diversity of opinion. Freedom from unjust
restraint is demanded, and rightly demanded, for science. The very object
of science requires it. In scientific research man’s power of discernment
should freely develop; his inclination towards truth should exert itself;
and by communication of acquired knowledge mankind should advance in
mental and material culture.
The bud bursts forth and freely unfolds its splendour; the butterfly grows
unhindered in beauty; the tree, too, wants freedom, in order to develop
its boughs and branches according to its nature, and if you try to bind
and tie it, it resists as much as it can. Just so is freedom needful for
the development of the noblest aspirations of human nature, for its
progress in knowledge. Every friend of humanity, every one who loves his
own kind, must be in sympathy with its progress. Who will not rejoice to
see the mind of man happily trace the laws of nature, laid down by the
Spirit of God in the stillness of eternity when as yet there was no
creature to heed, the laws He then placed in nature in order that the
reasonable creature might discern the marks of his Creator? Who would not
rejoice to see man, diligently following the facts of history and studying
the works of literature and art, find therein the ideas of God reflected,
as the rays of the sun in the trembling drop of dew, and, finally, trying
to solve the difficult problems of life? To this end has the Creator
enkindled in the mind of man a spark of His own intelligence; to this end
has He put in him a desire to inquire and learn, a desire which has
exerted itself most in the noblest of men. Man is destined to find his
ultimate gratification in beholding the Eternal Truth and Beauty, a vision
which will be the completion of human science and culture, the highest
perfection of created life. Thus man’s noble desire for knowledge and
truth must develop, it must be able to produce leaves and blossoms. For
this he needs freedom, free air, and free light.
If science is to attain its high purpose, it must have freedom also to
impart the knowledge acquired. It should indeed further the progress of
mankind. By its discovery it should enhance the beauty of human life,
should enrich the treasure of human knowledge, should promote education
and morality, to the honour of the Creator. For this end, too, freedom is
necessary: freedom to impart newly acquired knowledge, else there would be
no pleasure in work, stagnation rather than progress.
Chapter II. Two Views Of The World And Their Freedom.
There can, then, be no difference of opinion on this matter among
sober-minded men: science must be free from all unjust hindrances and
restraint. But we have not yet finished. We have not even proceeded very
far on our way. The further question at once presents itself: Which are
those unjust hindrances and restraints that scientific research and
teaching may reject? May there not perhaps be such which it must respect?
There is little meaning in the cry: Freedom! Freedom! This attractive
word, which always finds an enthusiastic echo in man, may easily prove a
misleading catchword, and become a dangerous weapon of the thoughtless and
the unscrupulous.
The question is not, whether our science, or, to speak more generally, our
intellectual life, must be free—of that there can be no doubt. No life can
spring up and thrive without due freedom. The question is: _What sort of
freedom?_ how can it be more precisely defined? We all, indeed, demand
freedom for the citizen; but what kind of freedom? He should be free from
the fetters of tyranny and despotism. Do we also demand that he be free
from the laws of the state? By no means! On the contrary, he must be
subject to these, for the very reason that he is a citizen and not the
inhabitant of an uncivilized world. We demand freedom for the artist; he
should not be bound by the tyranny of fashion. Do we also demand that he
be exempt from the laws of beauty and art? Not at all. He must subject
himself to these if he means to be an artist and not a quack. That would
not be true freedom, but lawlessness and license, the privilege of
barbarism. Freedom therefore is a very ambiguous word.
There are _two kinds of freedom_, _lawful_ and _unlawful_: the latter is
freedom from just laws, the former from unjust laws.
We ask again, what is that lawful freedom which man may claim for his
scientific activity? In other words, what are the restraints which he may
reject as unjust, and as enslaving the mind?—Here the ways part. Here,
too, our question goes deeper, and touches something which moves men’s
minds very powerfully. Two different views of the world, two opposite
conceptions of man and his thought, come here in collision.
The Christian View of the World and its Freedom.
On the one hand there is the Christian view of the world: it is
essentially also the one which appears self-evident to every unbiassed
mind. In this view man is a _creature, limited in every way, therefore in
many ways dependent upon_ external rules, forces, and authorities. To God
alone is it reserved to be infinite, and, therefore, to possess in Himself
all perfection, goodness, and truth; for which reason there is nothing
above Him on which He could be dependent. This is not the case with man.
As a creature man is subject to his Creator. The latter is master over
man’s life and therefore at the same time its ultimate aim. For this
reason religion is of obligation to man, that is, he must honour God as He
demands it; if God requires faith in a revelation, if He established a
Church and duly authorized it to guide us, we must submit to it. In the
same way the intellect of man is bound by the laws of objective truth,
which is not of his making, but presents itself to him as a norm: he must
always be subject to it whether he wishes or not. Man is, finally, a
factor in social life; he lives in the family, state, and Church, in the
great society of mankind; upon them he is dependent for his education and
development. And society requires that man be subject to a ruling
authority, that in many things his own interests be subordinated to the
welfare of the community.
This is the order that God has established and wishes observed. Hence all
human authority is a participation in God’s supreme government. Thus it
comes about that limits may be set to the scientist’s free expression of
his views, if the interest of the community require it.
Man is, nevertheless, free. But his freedom does not mean complete
independence; nor freedom from all restraint, but only from those external
restraints which are opposed to his nature and position, which hinder his
legitimate development and activity. He possesses freedom, but only such a
freedom as is his due, by which he can unfold and develop his physical and
mental powers. To keep his place of subordination to, and dependence on,
these higher authorities and powers of truth and order, tends not to
injure but to improve his being, not to dwarf but to develop his
personality; for they are sources of life to him, they impart to his
existence order and harmony, they raise him above himself and his own
littleness, they free him from the prison of his own narrowness and
selfishness, from the chains of his unruly desires. If a man emancipates
himself from these bonds, which he ought to bear, he has freedom of
course, but an unnatural freedom, which will be harmful and perhaps
ruinous to him.
Take the tree, for instance. It should have freedom for its natural
growth. If you force it to creep along the ground instead of growing
upward, if you deny it air and light, you infringe on the freedom it
should have. Still it cannot have absolute freedom, for it is dependent on
the ground from which it derives its nourishment, dependent on the laws of
light and atmosphere and gravitation, on the laws of season; it must adapt
itself to climate and soil. It may not say to the light: Away with you!—a
stunted growth and deformity would be the result of such emancipation. It
may not say to the ground: Away with you!—a sad but quick death would be
its fate. It has its freedom, and in this freedom it grows and thrives. If
it desires greater freedom, it would be an unnatural one, and it would
tend, not to its development, but to its destruction.
Such is the Christian view of man and his thought. Here, then, there is
but one question to solve: Are the external restraints imposed on me in my
investigation and teaching against my nature; against the right of my mind
to truth; against my position in human society? If so, then I reject them,
because they mean serfdom, not duty; unjust bonds, not natural restraint.
But if not, then I do not refuse them my submission. Freedom I want, but
only the freedom of man.
Here we pause. Suffice it at present to have formulated the question; we
shall return to this topic later and discuss it at greater length.
The Modern Idea of Freedom.
The Christian view of man and his freedom, which to past ages appeared
self-evident, has grown obscure to many minds, and given place to another,
a more modern view.(1)
For the modern man, freedom, especially freedom of intellectual life,
means _independence from external ties, from all authority_, or, to
express it positively, absolute right of self-determination, _autonomy_.
He does not recognize any law or rule which he has not imposed upon
himself. In civil life, of course, it is a principle that man must submit
to external, legal restraint in many things that do not directly concern
his own person, but only so far as is necessary in order that others, too,
may enjoy the same freedom; but also here every citizen must be able to
share in the legislation, according to the rules of constitutional or
republican government. But he must be free from every external restraint
in whatever touches the core of his personality, his feeling, desire,
thought, and the expression of his thought.
It should now be clear, from what has been said, what is meant by _freedom
of science_. It means independence from every external authority and
restraint in research and teaching, the unhindered development and
assertion of one’s own intellectual personality. Man must let himself be
directed only by his own judgment and his instinct for the truth, or his
personal need, without heeding dogmas, Church laws, tradition, or any
other external norm whatsoever. This is particularly true in the _domain
of philosophy and religion_, in questions regarding the world and life,
and in fundamental social questions. This is principally, and almost
exclusively, the field in which an authoritative influence of the Church,
or state, or society in general, is to be feared. Hence the importance of
the question of the freedom of science in this field.
This is also the manner in which the advocates of modern freedom of
science unanimously describe it.
For the academic teacher, says _G. Kaufmann_, there are “strictly
speaking only the barriers drawn by his own instinct for the
truth. It is in this sense that we demand freedom of science
to-day for the university teacher. The freedom of the scientist
and of the academic teacher must not be limited by patented truth,
nor by faint-hearted consideration” (Die Lehrfreiheit an den
deutschen Universitaeten im neunzehnten Jahrhundert (1898), 36).
The first resolution proposed at the _Second Conference of German
University Teachers_, at Jena, in September, 1908, was this: “The
purpose of scientific research, and the communication of its
results, demand that it be independent of every consideration
foreign to scientific method itself.” Of this resolution we have
from another source the following explanation: “Therefore, it
should be independent especially of tradition and the prejudices
of the masses, independent of authority and social bodies,
independent of party interest.” (This was the addition to the
thesis as originally formulated by Prof. _von Amira_. Beilage der
Muenchener Neuesten Nachrichten, July 9, 1908.) And Prof. _F.
Paulsen_ writes: “No thought can be commanded or forbidden the
academic teacher or his audience” (Die deutschen Universitaeten
und das Universitaets-studium, 1902, 288).
_A. Harnack_ likewise teaches that “In regard to research and
knowledge there must be unlimited freedom,” especially in matters
of religion. Here “man must fully understand his own innermost
being; the soul must recognize its own needs and the indicated way
to their satisfaction. This it can do only when it is entirely
free.” “The fear that thereby the door to serious error is thrown
open should not in the least deter it, for the most serious error
of all is the opinion that man should not enjoy perfect freedom in
the determination of his state” (Neue Freie Presse, 7 Juni, 1908).
The same demands are made by free-thinkers, who are always and
everywhere in favor of free science. The _International Congress
of Free-thinkers_, held at Rome in June, 1904, thus defines
free-thought: “Since free-thought cannot concede to any authority
whatever the right to oppose human reason, or even to supersede
it, it demands that its advocates reject directly not only any
compulsory belief, but also every authority that tries to enforce
its dogmas, even though such an authority be based on revelation,
or though it command obedience to dogmas or a-priori principles of
philosophy, or to the decisions of public authority or the vote of
a majority.”—We shall have frequent occasion to speak of this
freedom in these pages.
Hence it is easily seen that this view differs from the one we considered
before. Freedom from _all_ external restraint has superseded freedom from
_unjust_ restraint. The presumption has found acceptance that every
interference by authority is unjust, a violation of the natural rights of
man and his thought. On what is this presumption based? In other words:
What are the philosophical premises of modern freedom of science? We shall
be occupied with this question now for some time. For only after we have
attentively considered it, can we gain an intelligent idea of the nature
of this freedom, of its methods, and of the justice of its claims.
Advocates of this view not infrequently think they have exhausted its
meaning when they have protested against ecclesiastical encroachments,
when they have held forth against Syllabus and Index. Of the deeper
thoughts it contains they have scarcely any idea.
The Humanitarian View of the World.
We may distinguish a twofold basis for this view, a general and a
particular one. The latter, which is connected with the former, is
subjectivism in thought. The former, the more _general_, at the same time
the _real basis of the modern freedom of science_, is that particular view
of man and his position in the world, which we may call the theory of
humanitarianism. We are familiar with this word—it has its history. The
word of itself conveys a good meaning: it means human nature and dignity,
thought and desire worthy of man, nobility of culture. During the
Renaissance the so-called “humanists” identified culture with knowledge of
the ancient classical literature. Many of them, however, added to the
admiration of classical literature also preference for pagan tastes, to
the contempt of the Christian spirit. Since that time the word
_humanitarian_ has never lost its unchristian sense; it has ever been made
the motto of men who emancipated themselves from God and Christianity.
Hence it is extensively the motto of our times.
It has changed the position of man. It has forgotten that man is a
created, limited, even a fallen being, withal destined for eternal
existence. To it man is everything; man left to himself and to his life in
this world, severed from God and his eternal destiny, an _absolute, purely
worldly being_. No longer does he look up to Heaven, no longer does he get
from above his laws, his hope for help, and strength, and eternal life. He
is his own and only end: he and his earthly happiness and advancement. In
himself alone he sees the source of his strength, in himself he finds his
law, to himself alone is he responsible, the inherited corruption of his
nature he has forgotten. What God once was to our fathers—the end and rule
of their life—that now is Man to their sons. The anthropocentric has
succeeded the theocentric view of the world. _Diis extinctis successit
humanitas_ (Man has succeeded the fallen gods). “Out of the corrupted
nations and decaying religions let there arise a more beautiful humanity!”
is the radical cry of this humanitarian religion.
When in 1892 the battle for a new school law was raging in Prussia,
_Caprivi_, the Chancellor of the Empire, said: “It is here question of a
contrast between Christianity and atheism. Essential to man is his
relation to God.” Scarcely had these words been uttered when a champion of
modern thought, Prof. _Fr. Jodl_, took up his pen and wrote: “No sharper
contrast with the convictions of the modern world is imaginable than that
expressed by the words of the imperial Chancellor, ‘essential to man is
his relation to God.’ To this sentence, which might be expected in a
speech of Cromwell, or in a papal encyclical, rather than from a statesman
of modern Germany, liberalism must with all possible emphasis oppose this
other sentence: What determines the real worth of a man, is, first and
last, his relation to humanity” (Moral, Religion und Schule, 1892, 14f.).
_Diis extinctis successit humanitas_. We shall not deny that the modern
spirit is a complicated structure: but neither can any one deny that its
chief characteristic is the humanitarian view, with its emancipation from
God, its decided emphasis of the things of this world, and its boundless
overestimation of man.
An attentive observer of these days, should he chance to come from an old,
Catholic town, and saunter with observant eye through one of our great
modern cities, particularly a Protestant one, would behold a vivid
realization of this modern view of the world. The most prominent feature
of the Catholic town of old was the House of God. It towered high above
the city, its spires reached heavenward; the houses of the faithful clung
around the House of God like chicks about the mother hen. The mere sight
told the beholder that here dwelt a people whose thoughts were directed
towards the other world; over their lives ruled the sacred peace of
eternity.
But here all is different. Here the most prominent feature is no longer
the House of God; worldly edifices have usurped its place; railroad
depots, barracks, city-hall and court-house dominate the city. The state
house bears no longer on its front the Christian motto, _Nisi Dominus
custodierit_ (“Unless the Lord keep the city he watcheth in vain that
keepeth it”). It would be considered a degradation should the state base
its existence upon religion. Should, then, the observer enter the
legislature he would learn the modern principles of state wisdom. The
state as such has no relation to religion; the principle is the separation
of state and Church. In the public squares he beholds mighty monuments,
erected, not to religious heroes and leaders, as perhaps of old, but to
great men of the world, champions of national progress. At their feet lie
wreaths of homage. They have brought modern humanity to its full stature,
maturity, and self-consciousness. Here it is Man who is standing
everywhere in the foreground. “It is I,” says he, “that lives here. Here I
have pitched my tent, from this earth come all my joys, and this sun is
shining upon my sorrows.”
Our observer, wandering about, finds everywhere magnificent state-schools,
scientific institutes, splendid colleges and universities. In years gone
by a cross or a word of divine wisdom was probably found here somewhere.
It is seen no more. Often it would seem that we can almost hear the words:
“We will not have this One rule over us.” Here a new race is being reared,
which no longer follows blindly the “old tradition,” it believes in its
own self and its own reason: culture and science take the place of the old
religion. He finds but few churches; and where found they are mostly
overshadowed by great palaces, and—mostly empty. The modern man passes
them by. He has no longer any understanding for the truths of the
Christian religion. It fails to satisfy him because it does not appeal to
modern ways of thinking and feeling, because it does not symbolize the
humanitarian creed. His desire is no longer for Heaven; his aspirations
are earthward. “The life beyond concerns me little: my joys come from this
world.” Contemplating modern civilization he exclaims, with the king of
Babylon: “Is not this the great Babylon, which I have built to be the seat
of the kingdom, by the strength of my power, and in the glory of my
excellence?” (Dan. iv. 27). The doctrine of a nature corrupted by original
sin, of a darkened intellect that needs divine revelation, of a weakened
will that needs strength from above, of sin that demands atonement,—all
this has become meaningless to him, it offends his higher sentiments, his
human dignity. He has no longer any understanding for a Saviour of the
world, in whom alone salvation is to be sought, much less for a Cross.
This sign of redemption, as a certain herald of modern thought remarked,
weighs like a mountain upon the mind of our day. He has no longer any
understanding for the saving institution of the Church, by whom he should
be led: she is to him an institution of intellectual serfdom. He makes his
own religion, free from dogma, just as his individuality desires, just as
he “lives” it.
Should our observer, while visiting the Protestant city, make a final
visit to its university, he will find there the thoughts, which hitherto
he had but vaguely felt, clothed in scientific language. There they meet
his gaze, defined sharply on the pedestal of Research as the Modern
Philosophy, protected, often exclusively privileged, by the state license
of teaching. It is the modern scientific view of the world, the only one
that men of modern times may hold. From here it is to find its way to
wider circles.
“Man,” we are told by a pupil of _Feuerbach_, in accord with his
master’s teaching, “man is man’s god. And only by the enthronement
of this human god can the super-human and ultra-human God be made
superfluous. What Christianity was and claimed to be in times gone
by, that now is claimed by humanity.” “The being which man in
religion and theology reveres,” continues _Jodl_ with _Feuerbach_,
“is his own being, the essence of his own desires and ideals. If
you eliminate from this conception all that is mere fancy and
contrary to the laws of nature, what is left is a cultural ideal
of civilization, a refined humanity, which will become a reality
by its own independent strength and labour” (_Ludwig Feuerbach_,
1904, 111 f., 194). “The greatest achievement of modern times,”
says another panegyrist of emancipated humanity, “is the
deliverance from the traditional bondage of a direct
revelation.... Neither revelation nor redemption approach man from
without; he is bound rather to struggle for his perfection by his
own strength. What he knows about God, nature, and his own self,
is of his own doing. He is in reality ‘the measure of all things,
of those that are, and why they are; of those that are not, and
why they are not.’ Of his dignity as an image of God, he has
therefore not lost anything; on the contrary, he has come nearer
to his resemblance to God, his highest end, by his consciousness
of being self-existent and of having the destiny to produce
everything of himself; from a receptive being he has become a
spontaneous one; he has at last come to a clear knowledge of his
own real importance and destiny” (_Spicker_, Der Kampf zweier
Weltanschauungen, 1898, 134).
Hence “not to make man religious,” to quote again the
above-mentioned exponent of modern wisdom of life, “but to
educate, to promote culture among all classes and professions,
this is the task of the present time.” “Religion cannot therefore
be the watchword of a progressive humanity; neither the religion
of the past nor the religion that is to be looked for in the
future, but ethics” (_Jodl_, ibid., 108, 112). Ethics, to be sure,
the fundamental principles of which are not the commandments of
God, by the keeping of which we are to reach our eternal
happiness, but human laws, which are observed for the sake of man.
“Morality and religion,” we are told, “shall no longer give us a
narrow ladder on which we, each one for himself, climb to the
heights of the other world; we are vaulting a majestic dome above
this earth under which the generations come and go, succeeding
each other in continuous procession.... The day will come when the
rays of thought which are now dawning upon the highest and freest
mountain-tops will bring the light of noonday down to mankind.”
Woe to us, if from these high mountain-tops, where the bare rocks
no longer take life and fecundity from the heavens, the sad desert
of estrangement from God should extend into the fresh green of the
valleys!
The central ideas of the humanitarian view of the world appear
again, though under different form, among Freemasons and
free-thinkers, agitators for free religion and free schools. It is
well known that Freemasonry has emblazoned “humanity” upon its
standard. “One word of the highest meaning,” so wrote an official
authority some years ago, “contains in itself the principle, the
purpose, and the whole tenor of Freemasonry, this word is
humanity. Humanity is indeed everything to us.” “What is humanity?
It is all, and only that, which is human” (Freiburger Ritual, 24.
_Pachtler_, Der Goetze der Humanitaet, 1875, 249 f.). “That which
is essentially human is the sublime, divine, and the only
Christian ideal,” adds another authority, addressing the aspirant
to Freemasonry. “Leave behind you in the world your different
church-formulas when you enter our temple, but let there always be
with you the sense for what is holy in man, the religion which
alone makes us happy” (Latomia, 1868, p. 167, _Pachtler_, 248). As
early as 1823 the “Zeitschrift fuer Freimauerei” wrote: “We should
be accused of idolatry should we personify the idea of humanity in
the way in which the Divinity is usually personified. This is
indeed our reason for withholding from the eyes of profane persons
the humanitarian cult, till the time has come when, from east to
west, from noon to midnight, its high ideal will be pondered and
its cult propagated everywhere” (_Pachtler_, 255).
The time has already come when “the rays of thought that dawned
upon the mountain-tops” are descending into the valley. The
Twenty-second Convention of German Free-religionists, at Goerlitz,
at the end of May, 1907, passed this resolution: “The Convention
sees one of its chief tasks in the alliance of all anti-clericals
and free-thinkers, and tries by united effort to obtain this
common end and interest by promoting culture, liberty of mind, and
humanitarianism.” There was, moreover, taken up for discussion the
thesis: “Free-religionists reject the teaching that declares man
lost by original sin, unable to raise himself of his own strength
and reason, that directs him to revelation, redemption, and grace
from above.”
This view of the world finds its most characteristic expression in
_pantheism_, which, though expressed in various and often fantastic forms,
is eminently the religion of modern man. From this gloomy depth of
autotheism the apotheosis of man and his earthly life, the modern
consciousness of freedom, draws its strength and determination.
To find this modern view of man expressed in the language of consistent
radicalism, let us hear _Fr. Nietzsche_, the most modern of all
philosophers. His ideal is the transcendental man, who knows that God is
dead, that now there is no bar to stepping forth in unrestricted freedom
to superhuman greatness and independence. To this “masterman,” who deems
himself superior to others, everything is licit that serves his egotism
and will, everything that will promote his interest to the disadvantage of
the rabble; probity is cowardice! “But now this god is dead. Ye superior
men, this god was your greatest danger.” Thus spoke Zarathustra. “Only
since this god is buried do you begin to rise. Now at length the great
Noon is in its zenith. Now the superior man becomes master. Onward and
upward, then, ye superior men! At last the mountain of man’s future is in
travail. God is dead; let the superior man arise and live.” (Also sprach
Zarathustra, W. W. VI, 418.) And, in the consciousness that the Christian
religion condemns this self-exaltation, he breaks out in this blasphemous
charge: “I call Christianity the one great curse, the one great internal
corruption.... I call it the one immortal, disgraceful, blot on mankind”
(Antichrist, W. W. VIII, 313). This is independent humanity in the cloak
of fanaticism. _Nietzsche_ has carried the modern view of the world to its
final consequences; the autonomous man has developed into the god-like
superman who carries into effect the behest: Ye shall be as gods; his code
of ethics is that of the autocrat who is above the notions of good and
bad.
And “let no one deceive himself,” writes an intelligent observer of the
times, “the spirit of our time is attuned to _Nietzsche’s_ idea.”
Consciously or unconsciously this sentiment dominates more minds than many
a man learned in the wisdom of the schools may dream of. Did _Nietzsche_
create this spirit? Certainly not: he grew out of it, he has only given it
a philosophical setting. _Nietzsche_ would never have caused that
tremendous sensation, never have gathered around him his enthusiastic
followers, had not the soil been prepared. As it was, he appeared to “his”
men as the Messiah “in the fulness of time.” He, too, in his own way
“loosened the tongue of the dumb and opened the eyes of the blind.” The
veiled anti-Christian spirit, the unconscious religious and ethical
nihilism, which no one before dared profess openly, though it was hatching
in the minds, now had found its “master,” its “scientific system” (_Von
Grotthuss_, Tuermer, VII, 1905, 79). It is, asserts _Wundt_, “the new
ideal of free personality, dependent on precarious moods and chance
influences, that has found in _Nietzsche’s_ philosophy a fantastic
expression” (Ethik, ed. 3. 1905, p. 522).
The Autonomous Man.
Now we have a clearer idea of modern freedom. It is known as autonomism.
The individual wants to be a law to himself, his own court of last appeal;
he wants to develop his personality, feeling, desires, and thought,
independently of all authority. Too long, it is said, have man’s
aspirations been directed upward, away from things, of this world, to a
supernatural world. Religion and Church seek to determine his thought and
desire, to subject him to dogma. Too long has he clung like a child to the
apron-strings of authority. Man has at last awoken to self-consciousness
and to a sense of his own dignity, after a period of estrangement, so to
say, from himself; he has become himself again, as the poet sang when the
century of the “illuminati” was closing:
“How beautiful, with palm of victory,
O man, thou standest at the century’s close,
The mightiest son thy Time has given birth,
By reason free, by law and precept strong,
Alike in meekness great and treasure rich,
So long unknown concealed within thy breast.”
Yes, man has discovered the treasure that long lay hidden in his breast,
the seed and bud that longed to burst forth into life and blossom. Now the
motto is: Independent self-development; no more restraint, but living out
one’s personality. The eagle is not given wings to be bound down upon the
earth; nor does the bud come forth never to unfold. Full freedom,
therefore, too, for everything human! And modern man leaps to the fatal
conclusion: therefore all interference of external authority is unjust, is
force, constraint upon my being; the same error that boys fall into when
life begins to tingle with its fulness of strength. Being ignorant of
their nature, they feel any kind of dependence a chain; only themselves,
their judgments and desires, are law. Just so modern man, in his
deplorable want of self-knowledge, fails to see how he is cutting himself
off from the source and support of life; how he is pulling himself out by
the roots from the soil whence he derives his strength; how, left to his
own littleness, he withers away; how, abandoned to his own diseased
nature, he condemns himself to intellectual decay.
Autonomism, individualism, independent personality—these have become the
ideals that permeate the man of this age, and influence the thought of
thousands without their knowing it.
The well-known, Protestant, theologian, _A. Sabatier_, writes: “It
is not difficult to find the common principle to which all the
expressions and tendencies of the spirit of modern times can be
reduced in any field whatever. One word expresses it—the word,
‘autonomy.’ By autonomy I understand the firm confidence, which
the mind of man has attained in his present stage of development,
that he contains in himself his own rule of life and norm of
thought, and that he harbours the ardent desire of realizing
himself by obeying his own law” (La Religion de la Culture
moderne, 10).
“Modern times,” writes _R. Eucken_, “have changed the position of
the human subject ... it has become to them the centre of his life
and the ultimate end of his endeavours” (Zeitschrift fuer
Philosophie und philosophische Kritik, 112 (1898), 165 s.). Still
clearer are the following words of _G. Spicker_: “Man depended
formerly either on nature or on revelation, or on both at once;
now it is just the opposite: man is in every way, theoretically as
well as practically, an autonomist. If anything can denote clearly
the characteristic difference between the modern and the old
scholastic view, it is this absolute, subjective, standpoint.” “As
we in principle do not intend to depend on any objectivity or
authority, there is nothing left but the autonomy of the subject”
(Der Kampf zweier Weltanschauungen (1898), 143, 145).
A noted apostle of modern freedom exclaims enthusiastically:
“This after all is freedom: an unconditional appreciation of human
greatness, no matter how it asserts itself. This greatest
happiness, as _Goethe_ called it, the humanists have restored to
us. Henceforth we must with all our strength retain it. Whoever
wants to rob us of it, even should he descend from heaven, is our
deadliest enemy.” (_H. St. Chamberlain._)
It is true, of course, that man should strive for perfection of self in
every respect; for the harmonious development of all the faculties and
good inclinations of his own being, and, in this sense, for a nobler
humanity; he should also develop and assert his own peculiar disposition
and originality, so far as they are in order, and thus promote a healthy
individualism. But all this he should do within the moral bonds of his
created and limited nature, being convinced that only by keeping within
the right limits of his being can he develop his ability and personality
harmoniously; he dare not reach out, in reckless venture after
independence, to free himself from God and his eternal end, and from the
yoke of truth; he dare not transform the divine sovereignty into the
distorted image of created autotheism.
He who professes a Christian view of the world, can see in such a view of
man and his freedom only an utter misunderstanding of human nature and an
overthrow of the right order of things. This overthrow, again, can only
produce calamity, interior and exterior disorder. Woe to the planet that
feels its orbit a tyrannical restraint, and leaves it to move in sovereign
freedom through the universe! It will move along free, and free will it go
to ruin. Woe to the speeding train that leaves its track; it will speed on
free, but invariably dash itself to pieces! A nature that abandons the
prescribed safeguards can only degenerate into a wild sprout. We shall see
how these principles have actually become in modern intellectual life the
principles of negation and intellectual degeneration.
_St. Augustine_ states the history of mankind in the following, thoughtful
words: “A twofold love divides mankind into the City of the World and the
City of God. Man’s self-love and his self-exaltation pushed to the
contempt of God constitute the City of the World; but the love of God
pushed to contempt of self is the foundation of the City of God.”
(_Fecerunt itaque civitates duas amores duo, terrenam scilicet amor sui
usque ad contemptum Dei, coelestem vero amor Dei usque ad contemptum sui._
De civ. Dei XIV, 28.) Thus _St. Augustine_, while contemplating the time
when the war between heathenism and Christianity was raging. The same
spectacle is presented to our own eyes to-day, probably more thoroughly
than ever before in history.
The Period of Man’s Emancipation.
The modern view of man and his freedom has shaped itself gradually in
recent times; the present is ever the child of the past. The most
important factor in this development was undoubtedly the _Reformation_. It
emancipated man in the most important affair, religious life, from the
authority of the Church, and made him independent. “All have the right to
try and to judge what is right and wrong in belief,” so _Luther_ told the
Christian nobility of the German nation; “everybody shall according to his
believing mind interpret the Scriptures, it is the duty of every believing
Christian to espouse the faith, to understand and defend it, and to
condemn all errors.” Protestantism means even to the modern man “the
thinking mind’s break with authority, a protest against being fettered by
anything positive, the mind’s return to itself from self-alienation”
(_Schwegler_, Geschichte der Philosophie (1887), 167): “it puts out of
joint the Christian Church organization, and overturns its supernatural
foundation, quite against its will, but with an actual, and ever more
plainly visible, effect” (_E. Troeltsch_, Die Bedeutung des
Protestantismus fuer die Entstehung der modernen Welt (1906), 29).
The first step towards full autonomy was taken with energy; the
emancipation from external authority then progressed rapidly in the domain
of politics, sociology, economy, and especially of religion, to the very
elimination of everything supernatural. There came the English
individualism of the seventeenth century. The liberty of “individual
conviction,” termed also “tolerance,” in the sense of rejecting every
authoritative interference in the sanctuary of man’s thought and feeling,
was extolled; of course at first only as the privilege of those who were
intellectually superior. Soon the Deism of a _Herbert of Cherbury_ and
_Locke_ was reached; it was the religion of natural reason, with belief in
God and the obligation to moral action. Whatever is added by positive
religions, and therefore by the Christian religion, is superfluous; hence
not dogma, but freedom! _Locke_, indeed, denied to atheists state
toleration; but _J. Toland_ already advised full freedom of thought, even
to the tolerance of atheism. In the year 1717 _Freemasonry_ came into
existence in England. _Adam Smith_ originated the idea of a liberal
political economy which frees the individual from all bond, even in the
economic field. The views prevailing in England then exert great influence
in France. _Rousseau_ and _Voltaire_ appear.
In France and Germany the enlightenment of the eighteenth century makes
rapid strides in the direction of emancipation. “The enlightenment of the
eighteenth century,” writes _H. Heltner_, “not only resumes the
prematurely interrupted work of the sixteenth century, the Reformation,
but carries it on independently, and in its own way. The thoughts and
demands of the ‘enlightened’ are bolder and more aggressive, more
unscrupulous and daring.... With _Luther_ the idea of revelation remained
intact; the new method of thought rejects the idea of a divine revelation,
and bases all religious knowledge on merely human thought and
sentiment.... It is only the free, entirely independent thought that
decides in truth and justice, moral and political rights and duties.
Reason has regained its self-glory; man comes to his senses again”
(Literaturgeschichte des 18. Jahrhunderts II (1894), 553). _Kant_ gave it
a philosophical setting.
Then the _French Revolution_ breaks into fierce blaze, writing on the
skies of Europe with flaming letters the ideas of emancipated humanity;
the adherents to the old religion are sent to the guillotine. On August
27, 1789, the proclamation of the “rights of man” is made. “The principles
of 1789,” as they are now called, henceforth dominate the nineteenth
century. The system which adopted these principles called itself, and
still calls itself, _Liberalism_.
Liberalism as a principle—we are speaking of the principles of liberalism,
not of its adherents, who for the most part do not carry out these
principles in their consequences, and occasionally do not even grasp them
completely—tried to accomplish man’s utter emancipation from all external
and superior authority. It sought to accomplish this in the political
field, by instituting constitutional, and, wherever possible, a republican
form of government; in the field of economy, by granting freedom to labour
and possession, to capital and commerce; but especially in the field of
morals and religion, by emancipating thought and science, and the entire
life of man,—school, marriage, state,—from every religious influence and
direction, and in this sense it aimed at humanizing the whole life of man.
This is its purpose. To achieve this, it aims at establishing itself in
the state, by gaining political power through the aid of compulsory laws,
of course against all principles of freedom; it tries to attain this by
compulsory state-education, by obligatory civil marriage, and so on. At
first there appeared only a moderate liberalism, which gradually gave
place to a more radical tendency, striving more directly and openly toward
the enfeeblement and, if possible, the destruction of the Christian view
of the world and its chief representative, the Church. In 1848 the
well-known materialist _K. Vogt_ said at the national assembly in
Frankfort: “Every church is opposed to a free development of mankind, in
that it demands faith above all. Every church is an obstacle in the way of
man’s free intellectual development, and since I am for such intellectual
development of man, I am against every church” (cf. _Rothenbuecher_,
Trennung von Staat und Kirche (1908), 106).
In the field of economics, every one can see how liberalism has failed. In
some countries people were ashamed to retain its name any longer. It
suddenly disappeared from public life, and gave place to its
translation,—free thought. This shows that nobody cares to boast of its
success. All barriers of safety had been removed in a night; crises,
confusion, and the serious danger of the social question were the
consequence. In the field of actual economics it became clear that the
principle of unlimited freedom could not be carried out, because it was
utterly ruinous, and it really means a complete misunderstanding of human
nature. Therefore liberalism has disappeared from this field, leaving to
others to solve the problem it created, and to heal the wounds it
inflicted. It is otherwise in the field of theoretical economics. Here it
still strives to dominate, often more thoroughly than before, no matter
what name it may assume. The consequences do not appear so gross to the
eyes as they would in the tangible sphere of sociology. Especially science
it wants to hold in subjection to its principles of freedom in
undiminished severity.
That freedom which is identified with absolute independence from all
authority, especially in the intellectual sphere, we shall here know as
Liberal freedom, in contradistinction to Christian freedom, which is
satisfied with independence from unjust restraint.
In the foregoing discussion it has been shown how deeply the liberal idea
of freedom is imbedded in the unchristian philosophical view of the world.
The inevitable result is a freedom of science which considers every
authoritative interference in research and teaching as an encroachment
upon the rights of free development in man’s personality, especially in
the sphere of philosophy and religion. Moreover, the humanitarian view of
the world, insisting on the independence of man and his earthly life,
naturally demands the exclusion of God and the other world, it orders the
rejection of “dualism” as unscientific, and the adoption of the monistic
view in its stead; an autonomous science can hardly be reconciled with a
superior, restricting authority. Later on we shall demonstrate that the
main law of modern science is that the supernatural is inadmissible.
Furthermore, since science is not a superhuman being, but has its seat in
the intellect of man, subject to the psychology of man, every one who
knows the heart of man will suspect from the outset that man cannot stop
at merely ignoring, but will often proceed to combat and explain away
faith, the Church, and all authority that might be considered an oppressor
of the truth. This undue love of liberty will of itself become a struggle
for freedom against the oppressor. How far this is actually the case we
shall have occasion to discuss later on.
‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
We have heard _Nietzsche’s_ haughty and proud boast. Shortly after the
philosopher had penned these words he was stricken (1889) with permanent,
incurable insanity, with which he was afflicted till his death in 1900.
The “transcendental man” was dethroned. The strength of the Titan was
shattered. He that said with _Prometheus_, I am not a god, still I am in
strength the equal of any of them, received the ironical answer, “Behold
he has become as one of us” (Gen. iii. 22). He that cursed Christian
charity towards the poor and suffering, was now cast helpless upon
charity. His grave at Roecken, the place also of his birth, is a sign of
warning to the modern world.
To the believing Christian a different grave opens on Easter day. From it
comes the risen God-man; in His hand the banner of immortal victory. It
points the way to true human greatness, to a superior humanity according
to the will of God. Man longs for perfection; he longs to go beyond the
narrow limits of his present condition. But modern man wants to rise to
greatness by his own strength, without help from above; he would rise with
giant bounds, without law. In his weakness he falls; error and scepticism
and the loss of morality are the bitter fruit. Another way is pointed out
by the great Friend of Man. Humanity is to be led on the way of progress
by the hand of God, by faith in God, supported by His grace; thus man
shall participate in God’s nature, shall one day attain his highest
perfection in eternal life, far beyond the limits of his present
condition. “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”
Chapter III. Subjectivism And Its Freedom.
The tendency of the modern intellect to independence in its own peculiar
sphere of thinking and knowing, cannot fail to work itself out
energetically. In this sphere it leads naturally to that view of human
reasoning called subjectivism: the thinking or reasoning subject is its
own law, the autonomous creator and guide of its thought. Herein lies the
_essential presumption_, the very core, of the liberal freedom of science.
Wherever we turn we meet subjectivism with its autonomous rejection of all
authority, its arbitrary separation of knowledge from faith, its
agnosticism, its relativity to truth as the moving factor of, and the
ostensible warrant for, this freedom, especially in the sphere which it
considers peculiarly its own, philosophy and religion. Only when we look
closer into its philosophical premises will it be possible to form a
judgment of the “scientific method” it employs in this, its peculiar
sphere, and of the justice of its claim to be the sole administrator of
man’s ideal possessions, and to be altogether “independent of every view
not conforming to this scientific method.” Before considering subjectivism
let us by way of preface set down a few considerations on the nature of
human, intellectual perception.
Objectivism and Subjectivism.
It always has been, and still is, the firm conviction of unbiassed men,—a
conviction which irresistibly forces itself upon us,—that in our
intellectual perception and thought we grasp an _objective, exterior order
of things, an existence distinct from our thought_; of this objective
reality we reproduce an image in our minds, and thus grasp it
intellectually. _Cognitio est similitudo rei_, says the old school; that
is, Knowledge is the reproduction of an objective reality, which thus
becomes the criterion of cognition. The reproduction is a counterpart of
the original. In this perfect resemblance of our cognition to the
objective reality there has ever been recognized the _truth_ of knowledge.
When the thinking mind has arrived at the mathematical truth that the
circumference of a circle is the product of the diameter multiplied by
_Ludolph’s_ number, it knows—unless indeed it has lost its natural
candour—that it has not of itself produced this result of reasoning, but
that it has recognized in it an objective reality of truth, distinct from
its own thought, and has reproduced that truth in itself. And because this
reproduction corresponds to the reality, it is called true cognition.
Similarly, when the intellect expresses the general law of causality,
namely, everything that happens has a cause, the intellect is again
convinced that it has not of itself produced this result of reasoning, but
has only reproduced it by assimilating to itself an objective truth which
is necessarily so and cannot be otherwise, and which the mind must
assimilate if it wants to think aright. This is true not only when the
mind is dealing with concrete things, but also when it would give
expression to general principles, as in the present instance; these, too,
are not subjective projections, but are independent of the thinking
subject, and are eternal laws.
This view of the nature of human cognition and thought has gradually
undergone an essential change, not indeed with those outside the influence
of philosophical speculation, but with the representatives of modern
philosophy, and those subject to its influence. Objectivism has been
superseded by subjectivism. Its principle is this: cognition, imagination,
and thought are not the intellectual apprehension of an objective world
existing independent of us, of which we reproduce in ourselves a
counterpart. No, _the mind creates its own results of reason and
cognition_; the objects before us are the creatures of the imagining
subject. At the utmost, we can but say that our reasoning is the manner in
which a hidden exterior world appears to us. This manner must necessarily
conform to the peculiarity of the subject, to his faculties and stage of
development; but the exterior world as it is in itself we can never
apprehend. _Descartes_, starting with the premise that consciousness is
the beginning of all certainty, was the first modern philosopher to enter
upon the way of subjectivism. He was followed by _Locke_, _Berkeley_, and
_Kant_. It is due to them that in the modern theory of cognition the
fundamental principle of idealistic subjectivism, no matter how difficult
and unreasonable it may appear to an ordinary thinker, has obtained so
many advocates who, nevertheless, cannot adhere to it, but contradict it
at every step.
“The world,” _Schopenhauer_ is convinced, “is the projection of my
idea.... No truth is more certain, more independent of all others,
less in need of proof, than this, that all there is to be known,
hence the whole world, is an object only in relation to a subject,
a vision of the beholder; in a word, the projection of my own
idea. Hence the subject is the bearer of the world” (Die Welt als
Wille und Vorstellung, I, §§ 1-2). “It is evidently true that
knowledge cannot go beyond our consciousness, and hence the
existence of things outside of our sphere of consciousness must,
to say the least, remain problematical” (Der Gegenstand der
Erkenntniss, 1892, p. 2). In like manner _O. Liebmann_ says: “We
can never go beyond our individual sphere of ideas (projection of
our ideas), even though we apprehend what is independent of us,
still the absolute reality of it is known to us only as our own
idea” (Zur Analysis der Wirklichkeit, 1900, p. 28). Therefore “the
contrast between ‘I’ and the world,” says _E. Mach_, “between
feeling or apprehension and the reality, falls away” (Die Analysis
der Empfindungen, 2d ed., 1900, p. 9). And a disciple of _Mach_
says: “It is important to hold fast to the idea that a
self-existent, divine Truth, independent of the subject,
objectively binding, enthroned, so to say, above men and gods, is
meaningless.... Such a Truth is nonsense” (_H. Kleinpeter_,
Kantstudien, VIII, 1903, p. 314).
None of these representatives of worldly wisdom are able to fulfil
the first duty of the wise man: “Live according to what you
teach.” Even the sceptic _Hume_ has to admit that in the common
affairs of life he feels himself compelled of necessity to talk
and act like other people.
Subjectivism is really nothing but _scepticism_, for it eliminates the
knowableness of objective truth. But it is a masked—if you will, a
reformed—scepticism. Cognition is given another purpose; its task is not
at all, so it is said, to reproduce or assimilate a world distinct from
itself, but to create its own contents. The very nature of cognition is
reversed.
The Autonomy of Reason.
It was _Kant_, the herald of a new era in philosophy, who gave to this
gradually maturing subjectivism its scientific form and basis. At the same
time he gave prominence to that element of subjectivism which seems to
give justification to freedom of thought, to wit, autonomism, the creative
power of the intellect which makes its own laws. Independence of reason
and free thought have become catchwords since _Kant’s_ time. They are a
precious ingredient of the autonomy of modern man.
When the flaming blaze of the French Revolution was reddening the skies of
Europe, and inaugurating the restoration of the rights of man, _Kant_ was
sitting in his study at Königsberg, his heart beating strongly in sympathy
with the Revolution, for he saw in it a hopeful turn of the times. An old
man of nearly seventy, he followed the events with most passionate
interest. _Varnhagen_ records in his Memoirs, based on the stories of
_Staegemann_, that, when the proclamation of the Republic was announced in
the newspapers, _Kant_, with tears in his eyes, said to some friends: “Now
can I say with Simeon, ‘Now dost Thou, O Lord, dismiss Thy servant in
peace, because mine eyes have seen Thy Salvation’ ” (_H. Hettner_,
Literaturgeschichte des 18. Jahrh. III, 4th ed., 3, 2, 1894, p. 38). While
on the other side of the Rhine the Jacobins were doing their bloody work
of political liberation, the German philosopher, the herald of a new era
and an ardent admirer of _Rousseau_, sat in his study labouring for man’s
intellectual liberation. To give man the right of autonomous
self-determination in action and thought was the work of his life.
Autonomy was indeed to him “ ‘the source’ of all dignity of man and of
every rational nature” (Grundlegung zur Metaphysik der Sitten, II). And
hence it was that his ardent followers beheld in him “the first perfect
model of a really free German, one who had purged himself from every trace
of Roman absolutism, dogmatism, and anti-individualism” (_H. St.
Chamberlain_, Die Grundlagen des 19. Jahrh., 8th ed., 1907, II, 1127).
In his “Grundlegung zur Metaphysik der Sitten” (The Foundation of the
Metaphysics of Ethics) and “Kritik der praktischen Vernunft” (Critique of
Practical Reason) _Kant_ sought to establish _autonomy in moral life_ and
action. Man himself, his practical reason, is the ultimate foundation of
all moral obligation; did man lead a good life out of obedience to God it
would be a heteronomy unworthy of the name of “moral.” “The autonomy of
the will,” he teaches, “is the sole principle of all moral laws and the
duties allied to them; all arbitrary heteronomy, on the contrary, far from
having any binding force, is contrary to the principle of morality of the
will” (Kritik der prakt. Vern., Elementarlehre, I, 1, 4. Lehrsatz). Or, as
amplified by a faithful interpreter of the master: “In the moral world the
individual should be not only a member but also a ruler; he is a member of
the moral order when he obeys its law; he is its ruler when he enacts the
law.... The distinction between autonomy and heteronomy separates true
from false ethics, the system of _Kant_ from all other systems. All moral
systems, except that of _Kant_, are based on the principles of heteronomy;
they can have no other. And critical philosophy was the first to grasp the
principle of autonomy” (_Kuno Fischer_, Geschichte der neuen Philosophie,
IV, 2d ed., 1869, p. 114 _seq._). _Kant’s_ just man no longer prays “Thy
will be done”; he identifies the law with himself. _Nietzsche’s_
transcendental man is seen in the background.
_Autonomy of thought_ is the result of the “Critique of Pure Reason,” and
in spite of its inconsistency of expression, its involved sentences, its
extremely tiresome style, it is and will long continue to be the text-book
of modern philosophy. According to _Kant_ our cognition consists in our
fashioning the substance of our perceptions and reasoning after innate,
purely subjective, views and conceptions. Time and place, and especially
the abstract notions of existence and non-existence, necessity, causality,
substance, have no truth independent of our thought; they are but forms
and patterns according to which we are forced to picture the world. Their
first matter is supplied by sense experience, such as sound, colour,
feeling; but these, too, according to _Kant_, are not objective. Nothing
then remains to our cognition that is not purely subjective, having
existence in ourselves alone. Our cognition is no longer a reproduction,
but a creation of its object; our thought is no longer subject to an
external truth that may be forced upon it. “Hitherto,” says _Kant_, “it
has been generally supposed that our cognition must be governed by
objects.... Let us see if we cannot make better headway in the province of
metaphysics by supposing that objects must be governed by our cognition”
(Kritik der Reinen Vernunft, Vorrede zur zweiten Ausgabe).
This is, indeed, nothing but a complete falsification of human cognition.
It is evident to an unbiassed mind that there must be a reason for
everything, not because I so think, but I think so because such is the
fact; that the multiplication table is right, not because I think so, but
I must multiply according to it simply because it is right. My thought is
subject to objective truth. But _Kant’s_ autonomy means emancipation from
objective truth, and hence, though _Kant_ himself held fast to the
unchangeable laws of thinking and acting, he energetically opened the way
for subjectivism with all its consequences. This was _Kant’s_ doing, and
history credits him with it. It was one of those events which have made
men famous: the giving to the ideas and sentiments of a period their
scientific formula, and thereby also their apparent justification.
_Schiller_ wrote in 1805 to _W. von Humboldt_: “The profound
fundamental ideas of ideal philosophy remain an enduring treasure,
and for this reason alone one should think himself fortunate for
having lived at the present time.... Finally, we are both
idealists, and should be ashamed to have it said of us that things
made us and not we the things.” _Fr. Paulsen_ gives expression to
the opinion of many when he says: “_Kant_ gives to the intellect
the self-determination that is essential to it, and the position
in the world which it deserves. He has raised the intellect’s
creative power to a position of honour: the essence of the
intellect is freedom” (Immanuel Kant, 1898, p. 386). “The autonomy
of reason ... we cannot give up” (_Kant_, Der Philosoph des
Protestantismus, in Philosophia militans, 2d ed., 1901, p. 51).
“It is indeed the offspring of Protestantism.” “To me it is beyond
doubt,” _Paulsen_ continues, “that the fundamental tendency of
primitive Protestantism has here been carried out in all
clearness” (Ibid. 43). _Luther_, too, found in the heart of the
individual the unfailing source of truth. For that reason _Kant_
has been called the philosopher of Protestantism.
Hence the well-known historian, _J. Scherr_, may not be wrong when
he calls the philosophy of _Kant_ “the foundation of granite
whereon is built the freedom of the German intellect.”
Now, indeed, we easily understand the demand for freedom of thought. It is
unintelligible how an external authority, a divine revelation or
infallible Church, could have ever approached man, assured him of the
truth of its teaching, and laid upon him in consequence of this testimony
the obligation of accepting it as true. “An external authority,” we are
assured, “be it ever so great, will never succeed in arousing in us a
sense of obligation; its laws, be they ever so lofty and earnest, will be
deemed arbitrary, simply because they come from without” (_Sabatier_, La
Religion et la Culture moderne, apud _Fonsegrive_, Die Stellung der
Katholiken gegenueber der Wissenschaft, Deutsch von _Schieser_ (1903),
10). Man accepts only what he himself has produced, what is congenial to
his individuality, what is in harmony with his personal intellectual life.
In the place of truth steps “personal conviction,” the shaping of one’s
views and ideals; in the place of unselfish submission to the truth steps
the “development of one’s intellectual individuality,” the “evolution of
one’s intellectual personality”; in a word, free-thought. Exterior
authority can no longer impose an obligation. “Is there on earth,” asks
_Paulsen_, “an instance where authority can decide for us in matters of
belief and thought?” And he answers: “There is none; there cannot be on
this earth an infallible teaching authority.” And why not? “Philosophy and
science must refuse to recognize such an authority.... If I could believe
all that the Church or the Pope teaches, this one thing I could never
believe, that they are infallible; it would include a resolution, once for
all, to renounce my own judgment regarding whatever they declare true or
false, good or bad; it would be the utter renunciation of the use of my
reason and conscience.” (Ibid. 51-53. We shall often cite the testimony of
_Paulsen_ for the purpose of illustrating modern thought, partly because
he is no longer living, partly because he is quite an outspoken
representative of the modern view of the world, though generally regarded
as moderate. Moreover, he is without doubt one of the most widely read of
the modern German philosophers.)
The demonstration of all this is quite unique. Here it is in brief: Were
there an infallible authority, one which necessarily taught the truth,
then thought and science would be irrevocably subjected to this authority:
that will not do; therefore there is no such authority. Or thus: Were
there an infallible teaching, then we should have to accept it without
contradiction: that is impossible; therefore there is no infallibility.
Hence it is clear, the protest against an infallible authority, even
though divine,—for the argument holds good also in regard to such an
authority,—is not based on the impossibility of teaching the truth, for
the authority is supposed to be infallible, but on man’s refusal to be
taught. And this refusal is made in accordance with that sovereign freedom
of thought which is the natural offspring of subjectivism; the principal
renunciation is based on its denial of objective truth. _It is the
rejection of the truth._
“In advanced progress,” _Paulsen_ continues, “the individual is
also separating himself from the intellectual mass of the people
in order to enjoy a separate mental existence.... The individual
is beginning to have his own ideas about things; he is no longer
satisfied with the common opinions and notions about the world and
life which have been dealt out to him by religion and mythology:
all philosophy begins with freeing the individual from common
notions.” “If the individual ideals of a personality, gifted with
extraordinary power of mind and will, happen to come in conflict
with the objective morality of the time, then there results one of
those struggles which cause the dramatic crises of history. They
who thus struggled were the real heroes of mankind. They rose
against the conventional and indifferent ideals which had grown
obsolete, against untrue appearances, against the salt that had
lost its savour; they preached a new truth, pointed out new
aspirations and ideals which breathed a new strength into life and
raised it to a higher plane” (System der Ethik, 8th ed., 1906, I,
372 f.).
Truly encouraging words for the modern agitator and reformer. To summon
the courage to rise above the level of the masses, to feel within himself
the centre of gravity, and to fashion his thoughts regardless of the whole
world, this is nothing less than the beginning of philosophy and wisdom.
And should he feel himself strong-minded he may simply change all moral
and religious values which do not square with his individual judgments.
“To remain faithful to one’s own self,” we are told again, “that is the
essence of this ideal bravery. No one can possess this virtue who does not
feel within himself the centre about which life gravitates; whoever
pursues exterior things as his ultimate end cannot penetrate to interior
freedom. _Spinoza_, by life and teaching, is a great preacher of this
freedom” (Ibid. II, p. 27). Self-consciousness as arrogant as that of a
pantheist like _Spinoza_, who indeed did not pursue “exterior things as
the ultimate end,” nor God either; the self-consciousness in which man
feels himself the centre about which world and life revolve; the will
which now directs thought on its way,—these are the life-nerves of
autonomous free-thought.
In fact, inclination and will, not objective truth, are the
measure and norm of free-thought. This _Paulsen_ again expresses
with astonishing candour. According to him, intelligence is after
all nothing else than a transformation of the will, this doctrine
is rooted in the more modern voluntaristic monism, and is akin to
subjectivism. If our cognition itself forms its object, then the
real concept of cognition has been lost to us, and in its place we
have the will determining the action even of the intellect.
_Paulsen_ says emphatically, “Intelligence is an instrument of the
will in the service of preservation of life.... Perhaps it can be
said that even the elementary formations of thought, the logical
and metaphysical forms of reality, are already codetermined by the
will. If the forms of abstract thought are at all the result of
biological evolution, then this must be accepted: they are
formations and conceptions of reality, which have proved effective
and life-preserving, and have therefore attained their object. The
principle of identity is in reality not a mere statement, not an
indicative, but an imperative: A is A; that is, what I have put
down as A shall be A and remain A.... If this be so, if thought
and cognition be determined fundamentally by the will, then it is
altogether unintelligible how it might finally turn against the
will, and force upon it a view against its will” (_Kant’s_
Verhaeltniss zur Metaphysik, 1900, p. 31 f.).
We have to do here with a confusion of ideas possible only when
correct reasoning has sunk to a surprisingly low level. To think
with the will, to draw conclusions with intention, is degenerate
thinking. But now we understand better what is meant by autonomy
of thought. It gives man license to disregard by shallow reasoning
everything that clashes with his own will. “What I have put down
as A shall be A and remain A!”
It is now clear that subjectivism and autonomism in thinking are rooted in
the positive disregard of objective truth, in the refusal of an
unconditional subjection to it; they mean _emancipation from the truth_.
Here we have the most striking and _deepest difference_ between modern
subjectivistic and Christian objective thought. The latter adheres to the
old conviction that our thoughts do not make the truth, but are subject to
an objective order of things as a norm. For this reason autonomous freedom
and subjective caprice, a manner of reasoning that would approach truth as
a lawgiver, and even change it according to time and circumstance, are
unintelligible in the Christian objective thought. This thought submits
unselfishly to truth wherever met, be it without a divine revelation or
with it, if the revelation be but vouched for. And the reward of this
unselfishness is the preservation of the truth.
But subjectivism, with its freedom, leads inevitably to the loss of the
truth; it is scepticism in principle, in fact, if my thoughts are not a
counterpart of an objective world, but only a subjectively produced image;
not knowledge of an external reality, but only a figment of the
imagination, a projection, then I can have no assurance that they are more
than an empty dream.
The Modern Separation of Knowledge and Faith.
Of course it would be too much to expect that subjectivism in modern
thought and scientific work should go to the very limit, viz., to
disregard all reasoning, to advance at will any theory whatever, to
silence disagreeable critics by merely referring to one’s autonomy in
thinking, and denying that any one can attain to absolute truth. Errors in
empirical speculation never prosper as others do; the power of natural
evidence asserts itself at every step, and tears down the artificial
cobwebs of apparently scientific scepticism. It asserts itself less
strongly where the opposing power of natural evidence is weaker, than is
the case in matters of actual sense-experience. Here indeed one sees the
objective reality before him, which he cannot fashion according to his
caprice. The astronomer has no thought of creating his own starry sky, nor
does the archæologist wish to create out of his own mind the history of
ancient nations. They both desire to know and to reveal the reality. But
in the _suprasensible sphere_, in dealing with questions of the whence and
whither of human life, where there is question of religion and morals,
there autonomy and scepticism assert themselves as though they were in
their own country, there the free-thinker steps in, boasting of his
independence and taking for his motto the axiom of ancient sophistry: the
measure of all things is man.
Here at the same time the natural product of subjectivism, sceptic
agnosticism, has full sway. In such matters, we are told, there is no
certain truth; nothing can be proved, nothing refuted: they are all
matters of _faith_—not faith, of course, in the Catholic sense. The latter
is the acceptance by reason of recognized divine testimony, hence an act
of the intellect. The modern so-called faith, on the contrary, is not an
act of the intellect, but is supposed to be a vague _feeling_, a want, a
longing and striving after the divine in one’s innermost soul, which
divine is then to be grasped by the soul in some mysterious way as
something immediately present in it. This feeling is said to emerge from
the subconsciousness of the soul, and to raise in the mind those images
and symbols which we encounter in the doctrines of the various religions,
varying according to times and men. They are only the symbols for that
unutterable experience of the divine, which can be as little expressed by
definitions and tenets as sounds can by colour. It is a conviction of the
ideal and divine, but different from the conviction of reason; it is an
inner, actual experience. Hence there can no longer be absolute religious
truth, no unchangeable dogmas, which would have to be adhered to forever.
In religion, in views of the world and life, the free feeling of the human
subject holds sway, a feeling that experiences and weaves together those
thoughts and ideals that are in accord with his individuality. This is the
modern doctrine.
The dark mysticism of the ancient East and the agnosticism of modern times
here join hands. This modern method of separating knowledge and faith is,
as we all know, a prominent feature of modern thought. Knowledge, that is,
cognition by reason, is said to exist only in the domain of the natural
sciences and history. Of what may be beyond these we can have no true
knowledge. Here, too, _Kant_ has led the way; for the important result of
his criticism is his incessant injunction: we can have true knowledge only
of empiric objects, never of things lying beyond the experience of the
senses; our ideas are merely subjective constructions of the reason which
obtain weight and meaning only by applying them to objects of sense
experiment. Hence God, immortality, freedom, and the like, remain forever
outside the field of our theoretical or cognitive reason. Nevertheless
_Kant_ did not like to drop these truths. Hence he constructed for himself
a conviction of another kind. The “practical reason” is to guide man’s
action in accomplishing the task in which her more timid sister,
theoretical reason, failed. And it does it, too. It simply “postulates”
these truths; they are its “_postulates_,” since without them moral life
and moral order, which it is bound to recognize, would be impossible. No
one knows, of course, whether this be truth, but it ought to be truth.
_Stat pro ratione voluntas._ The Gordian knot is cut. “It is so,” the will
now cries from the depths of the soul, “I believe it”; while the intellect
stands hesitatingly by protesting “I don’t know whether it is so or not.”
Doubt and conviction embrace each other; Yes and No meet peacefully. “I
had to suspend knowledge,” _Kant_ suggests, “in order to make room for
faith” (Kritik der reinen Vernunft, 2. Vorrede). “It is an exigency of
pure practical reason based on duty,” he further comments on his
postulate, “to make something the highest good, the object of my will, in
order to further it with all my power. Herein, however, I have to assume
its possibility, and therefore its conditions, viz., God, freedom, and
immortality, because I cannot prove them by speculative reason, nor yet
disprove them.” Thus “the just man may say I wish that there be a God; I
insist upon it, I will not have my faith taken from me” (Kritik der prakt.
Vernunft, 1. Teil, 2. Buch, 2 VIII).
Others have followed the lead of _Kant_. For philosophers, Protestant
theologians, and modernists, he has become the pilot in whom they trust.
“_Kant’s_ critical philosophy,” says _Paulsen_, “gives to
knowledge what belongs to it—the entire world of phenomena, for
the freest investigation; on the other hand, it gives to faith its
eternal right, viz., the interpretation of life and the world
according to their value” (Immanuel Kant, 1898, 6). “Faith does
not simply rest upon proofs, but upon practical necessity”; “it
does not come from the intellect, but from the heart and will”
(Einleitung in die Philosophie, 10th ed., 1903, 271, 269).
“Religion is not a science, hence it cannot be proved nor
disproved.” “Therefore man’s view of the world does not depend on
the intellect, but solely on his will.... The ultimate and highest
truths, truths by which man lives and for which he dies, have not
their source in scientific knowledge, but come from the heart and
from the individual will.” In a similar strain _R. Falkenberg_
writes: “The views of the world growing out of the chronology of
the human race, as the blossoms of a general process of
civilization, are not so much thoughts as rhythms of thinking, not
theories but views, saturated with appreciations.... Not only
optimism and pessimism, determinism and doctrine of freedom, but
also pantheism and individualism, idealism and materialism, even
rationalism and sensualism, have their roots ultimately in the
affections, and even while working with the tools of reason remain
for the most part matters of faith, sentiment, and resolve”
(Geschichte der neuen Philosophie, 5th ed., 1905, p. 3).
You may look up any books or magazines of modern philosophy or
Protestant theology, and you will find in all of them “that faith
is a kind of conviction for which there is no need of proof” (_H.
Luedemann_, Prot. Monatshefte IX, 1903, 367). This emotional faith
has been introduced into Protestant theology especially by
_Schleiermacher_. It is also this view of the more recent
philosophy that the modernists have adopted. They themselves
confess: “The _modernists_ in accord with modern psychology
distinguish clearly between knowledge and faith. The intellectual
processes which lead to them appear to the modernists altogether
foreign to and independent of one another. This is one of our
fundamental principles” (Programma dei Modernisti (1908), 121).
Religious instruction for children will then have to become
altogether different. The demand is already made for “a recast of
thought from the sphere of the intellect into the sphere of
affection.” Away, so they clamour, away with the dogmas of
creation, of Christ as the Son of God, of His miracles, as taught
in the old schools! For all these are religious ideas. Pupils of
the higher grades should be told “the plain truth about the degree
of historicity in elementary religious principles.... The
fundamental idea of religion can neither be created nor destroyed
by teaching, it has its seat in sentiment, like—excuse the term—an
insane idea” (_Fr. Niebergall_, Christliche Welt, 1909, p. 43).
This dualism of “faith” and knowledge is as untenable as it is common. It
is a psychological _impossibility_ as well as a sad _degradation of
religion_.
How can I seriously believe, and seriously hold for true, a view of the
world of which I do not know whether it be really true, when the intellect
unceasingly whispers in my ear: it is all imagination! As long as faith is
a conviction so long must it be an activity of the intellect. With my
feeling and will I may indeed wish that something be true; but to wish
simply that there be a God is not to be convinced that there actually is a
God. By merely longing and desiring I can be as little convinced as I can
make progress in virtue by the use of my feet, or repent of sins by a
toothache. It is μετάβασις εἰς ἄλλο γένος. A dualism of this kind, between
head and heart, doubt and belief, between the No of the mind and the Yes
of the heart, is a process incompatible with logic and psychology. How
could such a dualism be maintained for any length of time? It may perhaps
last longer in one in whom a vivid imagination has dimmed the clearness of
intellect; but where the intellectual life is clear, reason will very soon
emancipate itself from a deceptive imagination. One may go on dreaming of
ideal images, but as soon as the intellect awakens they vanish.
Hallucinations are taken for real while the mind is affected, but they
pass away the moment it sees clearly.
_Kant_ himself, the father of modern agnostic mysticism, has made
it quite clear that his postulates of faith concerning the
existence of God and the immortality of the soul, have never taken
in him the place of earnest conviction. Thus in the first place
_Kant_ holds that there are no duties towards God, since He is
merely a creature of our mind. “Since this idea proceeds entirely
from ourselves, and is a product of ours, we have here before us a
postulated being towards whom we cannot have an obligation; for
its reality would have to be proved first by experience (or
revealed)”; but “to have religion is a duty man owes to himself.”
Again, he dislikes an oath, he asks whether an oath be possible
and binding, since we swear only on condition that there is a God
(without, however, stipulating it, as did _Protagoras_). And he
thinks that “in fact all oaths taken honestly and discreetly have
been taken in no other sense” (Metaphysik der Sitten, II, § 18,
Beschluss).
_Prayer_ he dislikes still more. “Prayer,” he says, “as an
internal form of cult, and therefore considered as a means of
grace, is a superstitious delusion (feticism).... A hearty wish to
please God in all our actions, that is, a disposition present in
all our actions to perform them as if in the service of God, is a
spirit of prayer that can and ought to be our perpetual guide.”
“By this desire, the spirit of prayer, man seeks to influence only
himself; by prayer, since man expresses himself in words, hence
outwardly, he seeks to influence God. In the former sense a prayer
can be made with all sincerity, though man does not pretend to
assert the existence of God fully established; in the latter form,
as an address, he assumes this highest Being as personally
present, or at least pretends that he is convinced of its
presence, in the belief that even if it should not be so it can do
him no harm, on the contrary it may win him favour; hence in the
latter form of actual prayer we shall not find the sincerity as
perfect as in the former. The truth of this last remark any one
will find confirmed when he imagines to himself a pious and
well-meaning man, but rather backward in regard to such advanced
religious ideas, surprised by another man while, I will not say
praying aloud, but only in an attitude of prayer; any one will
expect, without my saying so, that that man will be confused, as
if he were in a condition of which he ought to be ashamed. But why
this? A man caught talking aloud to himself raises at once the
suspicion that his mind is slightly deranged; and not altogether
wrongly, because one would seem out of mind if found all alone
making gestures as though he had somebody else before him; that,
however, is the case in the example given” (Religion innerhalb der
Grenzen der blossen Vernunft, 4. Stueck, 2, § 4, Allgemeine
Anmerkung). Thus it happens that in his opinion those who have
advanced in perfection cease to pray.
Nor does it seem that _Kant_ is serious about his postulate of the
_immortality_ of the soul. Asked by _Lacharpe_ what he thought of
the soul, he did not answer at first, but remarked, when the
question was repeated: “We must not make too much boast of it”
(_H. Hettner_, Literat. Gesch. des 18. Jahrh., III, 4. ed., 3, p.
26. From _Varnhausen’s_ Denkwuerdigkeiten).
Thousands have with _Kant_ destroyed their religious conviction by
a boastful scepticism, and, like him, finally given it up to
replace its lack by artificial autosuggestions.
And is not the religious life of man thereby made completely valueless?
The highest truths on which the mind of man lives, and which from the
first stage of his existence not only interested but deeply stirred him,
become fiction, pictures of the fancy, suggestions of an effeminate mind,
that cannot make a lasting impression on stronger minds. And how can the
products of autosuggestion give comfort and strength in hours of need and
trial? It is true they do not impose any obligations. Every one is free to
form his own notions of life; they are not to be taken seriously anyway,
whether they be this or that; they are all equally true and equally false.
Buddhism is just as true as Christianity, Materialism as true as
Spiritualism, Mohammedanism as true as Quakerism, the wisdom of the Saints
as true as the philosophy of the worldly. “The most beautiful flower is
growing on the same soil (that of the emotions) with the rankest weed”
(_Hegel_). The decision rests with sentiments which admit of no arguing.
Thus all is made over to scepticism, to that constant doubting which
degrades and unnerves the higher life of modern times, to that _modern
agnosticism_ which, though bearing the distinction of aristocratic
reserve, is in reality dulness and poverty of intellect; not a perfection
of the human intellect, but a hideous disease, all the more dangerous
because difficult to cure. It is the neurasthenia of the intellect of
which the physical neurasthenia of our generation is the counterpart.
The distinguishing mark between man and the lower animals has ever been
held to be that the former could knowingly step beyond the sphere of the
senses, into that world of which his intellect is a part. The conviction
has always prevailed that man by means of his own valid laws of thought,
for instance, the principle of causality, could safely ascend from the
visible world to an invisible one. Thus also the physician concludes the
interior cause of the disease from the exterior symptoms, the physicist
thus comes to the knowledge of the existence of atoms and ions which he
has never seen, and the astronomer calculates with _Leverrier_ the
existence and location of stars which no eye has yet detected.
One thing has certainly been established: a _free sentiment_ can now
assert itself with sovereignty in the most important spheres of
intellectual life, without any barriers of stationary truths and immovable
Christian dogmas; one is now free to fashion his religion and ideals to
suit the _individuum ineffabile_. The latter asks no longer what religion
demands of him, but rather how religion can serve his purposes. “For the
gods,” it is said, “which we now acknowledge, are those we need, which we
can use, whose demands confirm and strengthen our own personal demands and
those of our fellow-men.... We apply thereby only the principle of
elimination of everything unsuitable to man, and of the survival of the
fittest, to our own religious convictions”; “we turn to that religion
which best suits our own individuality” (_W. James_). Arrogant doubt can
now undermine all fundamental truths of Christian faith until they crumble
to pieces; beside it rises the free genius of the new religion, on whose
emblem the name of God is no longer emblazoned, but the glittering seal of
an independent humanity.
Relative Truth.
Freedom of thought appears still more justified when we take a further
step which brings us to the _consequence of subjectivism_; _i.e._, when we
advance so far as to assert that there are no unchangeable and in this
sense no absolute truths, but only temporary, changeable, relative truths.
And modern thought does profess this: there is no absolute truth, no
_religio et philosophia perennis_; different principles and views are
justified and even necessary for different times and even classes. This
removes another barrier to freedom of thought, viz., allegiance to
generally accepted truths and to the convictions of bygone ages.
The logicalness of this further step can hardly be denied. If the human
intellect, independent of the laws of objective truth, fashions its own
object and truth, especially in things above the senses, why can it not
form for itself, at different periods and in different stages of life, a
different religion and another view of the world? Cannot the human subject
pass through different phases? He indeed changes his costume and style of
architecture; why not also his thoughts? Every product of thought would
then be the right one for the time, but would be untenable for a further
stage of his intellectual genesis and growth, and would have to be
replaced by a new one. The nature of subjectivistic thought is no longer
an obstacle to this. Besides, we have the modern idea of _evolution_,
already predominant in all fields: the world, the species of plants and
animals, man himself with his whole life, his language, right, family, all
of them the products of a perpetual evolution, everything constantly
changing. Why not also his religion, morality, and view of the world? They
are only reflexes of a temporary state of civilization. Hence also here
motion and change, evolution into new shapes!
Therefore, so it is said, we have now broken definitely with the “dogmatic
method of reasoning” of the belief in revelation, and of scholastic
philosophy which adhered to absolute truth. They are replaced by the
historical-genetical reasoning of the _saeculum historicum_ which “has
discarded absolute truth: there are only relative, no eternal truths”
(_Paulsen_, Immanuel Kant, 1898, 389). We are further assured that “this
treatment of the history of thought prevails in the scientific world; the
Catholic Church alone has not adopted it. She still clings to dogmatic
reasoning, and that is natural to her; she is sure that she is in
possession of the absolute truth” (Idem, Philosophia militans, 2d ed.,
1901, 5). Outside of this Church every period of time is free to construct
its own theories, which will eventually go with it as they came with it.
We meet this relative truth, and all the indefinable hazy notions
identified with it, _in all spheres_.
The modern history of philosophy and religion concedes to every
system and religion the right to their historic position: they are
necessary phases of evolution. The notion of immutable problems
and truths by which any system of thought would have to be
measured has been lost. “The appearance and rejection of a
system,” says _J. E. Erdmann_, “is a necessity of world-history.
The former was demanded by the character of the time which the
system reflected, the latter again is demanded by the fact that
the time has changed” (Grundriss der Geschichte der Philosophie,
3rd, I, 1878, 4). And Professor _Eucken_ says: “Despite all its
advantages, such a view and construction of life is not a definite
truth, it remains an attempt, a problem that always causes new
discord among minds” (Grundlinien einer neuen Lebensanschauung,
1907, 2). “Thus, if according to _Hegel_ the coming into being
constitutes the truth of being, the ideals and aims also must
share in the mobility, and truth becomes a child of the times
(_veritas temporis filia_). That apparently subjects life to a
full-blown relativism, but such a relativism has lost all its
terror by the deterioration of the older method of reasoning. For
agreement with existing truth is no longer its chief object.”
(Geistige Stroemungen der Gegenwart, 1904, p. 197). The new theory
of knowledge assures us quite generally: “It is a vain attempt to
single out certain lasting primitive forms of consciousness,
acknowledged constant elements of the mind, to retain them. Every
‘a-priori’ principle which is thus maintained as an unalienable
dowry of thought, as a necessary result of its psychological and
physiological ‘disposition,’ will prove an obstacle of which the
progress of science will steer clear sooner or later” (_E.
Cassirer_, Das Erkenntnissproblem in der Philosophie und
Wissenschaft der neueren Zeit, 1906, 6).
That this relativism is also laying hand, more and more firmly,
upon modern ethics is well known. One often gets the conviction
that, as _E. Westermark_ teaches, “there is no absolute standard
of morality,” that “there are no general truths,” “that all moral
values,” as Prof. _R. Broda_ writes, “are relative and varying
with every people, every civilization, every society, every free
person” (Dokumente des Fortschritts, 1908, 362).
Thus modern subjectivism has lost all sense for definite rules of thought;
in its frantic rush for freedom and in its confused excitement it seeks to
upset all barriers. Now, of course, we may disregard convictions thousands
of years old, by simply observing that they suited former ages but not the
present; that they perhaps suit the uneducated but not the educated.
Henceforth one may also reject the dogmas of _Christianity_ by merely
pointing out that they were at one time of importance, but are not suited
to the modern man. That is an idea readily grasped, one which has already
become quite general with those who are mentally tired of Christianity.
What is demanded is a further evolution also of the Christian religion, a
continuous cultivation of freer, higher forms, an undogmatic Christianity
without duty to believe, without a Church: nothing else, in the end, but a
veiled humanitarian religion.
“It will be difficult for coming generations to understand,” says
_Paulsen_, in the same sense, “how our time could cling in
religious instruction with such peace of mind to a system which,
having originated several centuries ago under entirely different
conditions of intellectual life, stands in striking contrast to
facts and ideas accepted by our time everywhere outside the
schools.” Hence a revision of the fundamental truths of
Christianity is needed. Away with everything supernatural and
miraculous, obedience to faith, original sin, redemption: all this
sounds strange to the modern man. “So there remains but one way:
to adapt the doctrine of the Church to the theories and views of
our times” (System der Ethik, 8th ed., 1906, II, pp. 247, 250).
And _Eucken_ says similarly: “We can adopt the doctrinal system of
the Church only by retiring from the present back to the past”
(Zeitschr. fuer Philosophie u. Phil. Kritik 112, 1898, 165).
Therefore we demand evolution of the Christian religion! “Let us
not blindly follow antiquated doctrines disposed of by science,”
we are exhorted. “Let there be no fear lest our belief in God and
true piety suffer by it! Let us remember that everything earthly
is in continual motion, carried along by the rushing river of
life.” Onward, therefore, to advancement! ... cheerfully avowing
the watchword: “evolution of religion” (_Fr. Delitzsch_, Zweiter
Vortrag ueber Babel u. Bibel, 45. thousand, 1904, 42).
Modern Protestant theology has achieved a great deal in this
direction; its evolution has progressed to a complete
disintegration of Christianity, by adapting it to modern ideas so
thoroughly that there is not a single thought left which this
Christianity, reduced to meaningless words, might not accept.
This is the relativism of the present subjectivistic reasoning and its
consequences.
Now, it is true that there is room for a certain relativity and evolution
in the field of thought and truth. There is a relative truth in the sense
that our knowledge of it is never exhaustive. Even the eternal truths of
the Christian religion we always know only imperfectly, and we ought to
perfect our knowledge continually; established facts of history can also
be known, if studied, in greater detail. Thus there is progress and
evolution. But from this we may not conclude that there can be no fixed
truths at all. In the astronomy of to-day one can surely have the
conviction that the fundamental truths of _Copernicus’s_ System of the
Universe must remain an unchangeable truth, and that the time will never
come when we shall go back to the obsolete doctrines of old _Ptolemy_, who
made the sun revolve around the earth. Is astronomy therefore excluded
from progress and evolution? It is moreover true that the individual as
well as the community pass through an intellectual evolution in the sense
that they gradually increase their knowledge and correct their errors,
that literature and the schools gradually enhance the energy and wealth of
our ideas and thoughts.
But a progressive change of the laws of thought, to the effect that we
must now hold to a proposition which at another time we should naturally
reject as untenable, can be maintained only upon the supposition that the
thought of evolution has driven all others out of the intellect. It would
be absurd to hold that the same view could be true at one time and false
at another, that the same views about the world and life could be right
to-day and wrong to-morrow, to be accepted to-day and rejected to-morrow.
A view is either true or false. If true, it is always true and warranted.
Or was old _Thales_ right when he declared the world to consist of water;
were _Plato_ and _Aristotle_ right in maintaining that it consisted of
ideas, or forms, with real existences; was _Fichte_ and his time right
with his Ego, and are finally _Schopenhauer_, _Wundt_, and _Paulsen_ right
in claiming the world to be the work of the will? Were our heroic
ancestors right, as the theories of evolution claim, in holding that trees
are inhabited by ghosts; were then the Greeks right with their idea of a
host of gods dwelling in the Olympus; and later on, was the civilized
world right in holding that there is but one God, a personal one; and,
after that, are many others of to-day right when they tell us that the
world, and nature itself, is god? These are conclusions that threaten
confusion to the human brain. And yet they are the logical consequences of
“relative truth,” and any one reluctant to accept these consequences would
prove thereby that he has never realized what absurdities are marketed as
relative truth.
Or shall we give it up, as entirely impossible, to judge of the truth or
falseness of doctrines and views? Are we to value them only so far as they
are adapted to a period, and as moulding and benefiting that period? This
opinion indeed is held. “The values of science and philosophy,” says
_Paulsen_, “of our arts and poetry, consist in what they give us; whether
a distant future will still use them is very questionable. Scholastic
philosophy has passed away; we use it no longer; that is, however, no
proof against its value; if it has made the generations living in the
latter half of the Middle Ages more intelligent and wise ... then it has
done all that could rightfully be expected of it: having served its
purpose, it may be laid with the dead: there is no philosophy of enduring
value.” “Whatever new ideas a people produces from its own inner nature
will be beneficial to it. Nature may be confidently expected to produce
here and everywhere at the right time what is proper and necessary”
(System der Ethik, 8th ed., 1906, I, 339, _seq._, II, 241).
We have here a very deplorable misconception of the real value of truth,
degrading it to suit passing interests and to promote them. This also is
in conformity with subjectivism. But what could be answered to the
straight question: suppose the opinions which some prefer to call “false”
are more useful and valuable than “truth”? None but _Nietzsche_ had the
courage to say that “the falsity of a judgment is not yet a sufficient
prejudice against it; here our new speech will perhaps sound strangest.
The question is: How far is that judgment life-promoting, life-sustaining,
preservative, even creative of species, and we are inclined, on principle,
to say that the falsest judgments are to us the most indispensable”
(Jenseits von Gut und Boese, I, 4, W. W. VII, 12.) The view that doctrines
and opinions become especially or exclusively true and valuable by their
usefulness for practical life, has become in our times the principle of
pragmatism.
What others thought out only half way, _Nietzsche_ reasons out to the end.
To what lengths this contempt of objective truth may lead a man of
such an honest character as _Paulsen_, is learned from his advice
to the modern Protestant preacher who can no longer believe what
he has to preach to his orthodox congregation: he may speak just
as suits his congregation, orthodox as well as unorthodox,
according to the principles of relative truth. “Let us assume,” he
says, “that his congregation is of a remote country village, where
not the slightest report of the happenings in theology and
literature has penetrated, where the names of _Strauss_ and
_Renan_ are as little heard as those of _Kant_ and
_Schleiermacher_. Here the Bible is still taken to be the literal
Word of God, transmitted to us by holy men commissioned to do it.
In this case the preacher may speak without scruple of that book
in the same way as his present hearers are used to. Would he thus
be saying what is wrong? What is meant by saying the Bible is the
Word of God? The same preacher, if transferred to other
surroundings where he has to address readers of _Strauss_ and
_Kant_, may change his manner of speaking without changing his
view or without violating the truth one way or the other. He would
be speaking to them from their own point of view.... Again, should
the same preacher publish his philosophical scientific research,
he could speak of Holy Scripture in an entirely different way....”
And he adds: “Some have taken exception to this opinion.” Surely
not without reason!
A justification of this counsel was attempted in these words:
“Just as the electric incandescent light and the tallow-candle may
exist side by side, and as each of them may serve its purpose in
its proper place, so there exist also side by side various
physical and metaphysical ideas and fundamental notions: the
scientist and the philosopher and the old grandmother in her
cottage on the remote mountain-side, cannot think of the world in
the same way” (Ethik II, 240-244). But the argument, if it should
prove anything, must be formulated thus: “As the incandescent
light can at the same time be a tallow-candle, just so can two
different and opposite views about one and the same thing be at
the same time both right.”
Thus, thanks to the science of modern subjectivism, every fixed and
unchangeable truth, especially in the sphere of philosophy and religion,
is removed, and with it also every barrier to freedom of thought in
science as well as elsewhere. The human intellect in its autonomous
self-consciousness may not only reject those truths which are proposed by
revelation or the Church; it may not only experience its views of religion
and the world by giving free activity to its feelings, it also knows that
to be no longer satisfied with the old truths means to be progressive.
‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
Above we have sketched the deeper-lying thoughts on which the liberal
freedom of science is based; it is the humanitarian view of the world with
its emancipation of man, and autonomous scepticism in thought, joined to
that sceptical disregard of truth which once the representative of
expiring pagan antiquity comprised in the words: _Quid est veritas?_ Now
we also understand better the liberal science which often claims the
privilege of being “the” science, and which only too often likes to put
down as unwarranted and inferior every other science that does not pursue
its investigations in the same way. We understand its methods of thought
in philosophy and religion, for which it claims an exclusive privilege; we
can also form a judgment of its claim to be the leader of humanity in
place of faith.
No doubt there are many who are flirting with this freedom without
accepting its principles entirely. They do not reason out the thing to the
end, they argue against the invasion of the Church into the field of
science, and point to _Galileo_; they denounce Index and Syllabus, and
then believe they have therewith exhausted the meaning of freedom of
science. That the real matter in question is a view of the world
diametrically opposed to the Christian view, that a changed theory of
cognition is underlying it, is by many but insufficiently realized.
This freedom is not acceptable to one who professes the Christian view of
the world. He will not offer any feeble apology to the eulogist of this
freedom, as, for instance: Indeed you are quite right about your freedom,
but please remember that I, too, as a faithful Christian am entitled to
profess freedom. No; the answer can only be: Freedom, yes; but _this_
freedom, no. A wholly different view of the world separates me from it. I
see in it not freedom but rebellion, not the rights of man but upheaval,
not a real boon of mankind but real danger.
The principle of liberalism has in the field of social economy already
done enough to wreck man’s welfare. It has here proved its incompetence as
a factor of civilization. That in science also, where it is active in the
field of philosophy and religion, liberalism is the principle of
overthrowing true science, without any appreciation for truth and human
nature, that it is a principle of intellectual pauperism and decay, that
it despoils man of his greatest treasures, inherited from better
centuries—this we shall prove conclusively.
It is difficult to say how long the high tide of liberalism will sweep
over the fields of modern intellectual life before it subsides. One thing,
however, is certain, that just so long it will remain a danger to
Christian civilization, and to the intellectual life of mankind.
SECOND SECTION. FREEDOM OF RESEARCH AND FAITH.
Chapter I. Research And Faith In General.
Introduction.
When the youth growing to maturity begins to feel the development of his
own strength, it may happen that he finds his dependence on home
unbearably trying. Perhaps he will say, “Father, give me the portion of
substance that falleth to me,” and then depart into a strange country.
The men of Europe have for centuries lived in the Christian religion as in
their fathers’ house, and have fared well. But to many children of our
time the old homestead has become too confining. Modern man, we are told,
has at last come to his senses. He wants to develop his personality,
thoughts, and sentiments freely, independently of every authority. He
turns his back on his father’s house. His parting words are the
accusation: The old Church “opposes the modern principles of free
individuality, the right to drain the cup of one’s own reason and personal
life, and it sets itself against the whole of modern feeling,
investigation, and activity” (_Th. Ziegler_, Gesch. der Ethik, II, 2d ed.,
1892, p. 589).
We are already acquainted with this freedom. We approach now the main
question: What is the true relation of the freedom, which man may rightly
claim for his scientific activity and reason, to external laws and
regulations? Is man really justified to reject them all on the plea that
they degrade his intellect and are an obstacle to his development, or does
this rejection but manifest an error into which his desire of freedom has
decoyed him? This is the question, it will be remembered, that we reached
soon in the beginning of our investigation. We have already found the
categorical answer—an emphatic rejection of such justification; we also
traced the hypotheses on which the answer rests. We now return to the
question to discuss it in principle. We begin with the freedom of
scientific _research_, in order to take up afterwards the freedom in
_teaching_.
What are those external powers that may interrupt or caution the scientist
in his investigations and problems? Here we do not yet consider the
scientist as a teacher, communicating to the public the result of his
investigation, his ideas and views, from the university chair to his
scientific audience, or to a wider circle of hearers by means of
publications; we here regard him in his private study only, in the pursuit
of which he perhaps encounters new questions, and new solutions suggest
themselves to him. What freedom can he and must he enjoy here? This
private freedom must evidently be judged from a point of view other than
that from which the freedom in teaching should be judged. With the latter,
the interests of his contemporaries must be taken into account, and the
question must be considered, whether they suffer by such teaching. The
freedom of the scientist is greater than that of the teacher. Moreover,
research is the principal and most important activity of science: nothing,
surely, is taught that has not been previously investigated. If,
therefore, research is in any way restricted, so also is teaching; but not
_vice versa_. Are there, then, exterior authorities that may restrain
research and reasoning, and what are they?
One who lives in the Christian world knows at once of what authority to
think. It is not the state. The state cannot directly influence the
private work of the student: if it may exert its influence directly upon
anything, it is only upon freedom in teaching. No, the authority to think
of is the authority of the faith, revealed religion and its guardian, the
Church.
Of course, this is not the only authority. Even if a revelation from
heaven had not been given us, yet those _general convictions of mankind_,
common to all nations and times, of the immutability of the laws of
thought and morality, of the existence of a supramundane God, of the
retribution for moral conduct to be made in the world to come, of the
sanctity of state-authority, of the necessity of private property, and
others, would ever remain most revered utterances of truth. No one would
be allowed to contradict this avowal of all mankind, relying on his own
reasoning, which he calls science, and give the lie to the reasoning of
all other men, in order to make his own reason the sole measure of truth.
But for the present let us pass over the natural authority of mankind, of
its convictions and traditions. It is surpassed and replaced by the
_authority of faith_ which belongs to _our Christian religion_. The latter
comes to us claiming to possess the only true view of the world, and
laying upon us the obligation of accepting it. It has even the courage to
put its anathema upon propositions which the scientist may call science;
it dares write out a list of the propositions which it condemns as
untenable. Against this authority the protest is raised: Where is freedom
of research, if one cannot even indulge in his own ideas, if the intellect
is to be cropped and fettered? What is to become of frank, unprejudiced
investigation, if I am from the outset bound to certain propositions, if
from the outset the result at which I must arrive is already determined?
It is intellectual bondage that the man of faith is languishing in. Thus
reads the indictment; thus sounds the battle-cry. Is the indictment
justified? Can and shall science take faith as a guide in many instances
without detriment to its own innate freedom? And where, and when?
First, the more general question: Is freedom of research compatible with
the duty to believe, or do they exclude each other in principle?
What Faith is Not.
What, then, is faith, and what does the duty to believe demand of us?
Here we meet at once with a false proposition which the opponents of the
Christian faith will not abandon. To them faith is always a blind assent,
in giving which one does not ask, nor dare ask, whether the proposition be
true—_a belief without personal conviction_. According to them the
believer holds himself “captive to the teaching of his Church. He cannot
reflect personally, but follows blindly the lead of authority and force of
habit.” Thus “Catholicism is the religion of bondage” (_W. Wundt_, Ethik,
3d ed., 1903, II, 255, 254). To them it is but an “uncritical submission
to the existing authority, uninfluenced either by the testimony of the
senses or the reflection of the intellect” (_K. Menger_, Neue Freie
Presse, 24 Nov., 1907). The campaign for liberal science is denouncing
those who “even to-day dare to demand blind faith,” “without proof or
criticism,” faith in the “word of the Popes and men pretending to be
interpreters and emissaries of God, men who have proved their incompetence
and inability by the physical and religious coercion to which they have
subjected mankind” (_T. G. Masaryk_, V boji o nábozenstvi, The Battle for
Religion, 1904, p. 10, 23).
To be sure, if the Christian faith were such, it would be intellectual
slavery. If I am compelled to believe something of which I cannot know the
truth, this is coercion, and conflicts with the nature of the intellect
and its right to truth. Infidelity would then be liberation. But faith is
_not_ that.
As a rule this view is based on a presumption, which has already been
extensively discussed, viz., that faith and religion have nothing at all
to do with intellectual activity, but are merely the _product of the
heart_, a sentimental, freely acting notion; for, of metaphysical objects
no human intellect can form a certain conviction. It is subjectivism that
leads to this view. According to it the subject creates its own world of
thought, free in action and feeling, not indeed everywhere,—in the sphere
of sense-experience the evidence of the concrete is too great,—but at
least in the sphere of metaphysical truth.
Such modes of expression find their way also into Catholic literature and
language; even here we meet with the assertion that religion is a matter
of the heart, and for that very reason has nothing to do with science. On
the whole it is a remarkable fact that among believing men many
expressions are current that have been coined in the mint of modern
philosophy, and have there received a special significance. They are used
without real knowledge of their origin and purposed meaning; but the words
do not fail to colour their ideas, and to create imperceptibly a strange
train of thought.
One who is of the opinion that religion and views of the world are but
sentiment and feeling, which change with one’s personality and
individuality, can, of course, no longer understand a dogmatic
Christianity and the obligation to hold fast to clearly defined dogmas as
unchangeable truth. I can hold dogmas and doctrinal decisions to be
unquestionably true only when I can _convince myself of their credibility_
by the judgment of my reason. If I cannot do that, and am still bound to
believe them, without the least doubt, then such obedience is compulsory
repression of the reason. Then it would indeed be necessary for the
Church, as _Kant_ says, “to instil into its flock a pious dread of the
least deviation from certain articles of faith based on history, and a
dread of all investigation, to such a degree that they dare not let a
doubt rise, even in thought, against the articles proposed for their
belief, because this would be tantamount to lending an ear to the evil
spirit” (Religion innerhalb der Grenzen der blossen Vernunft, 3. Stueck,
2. Abtlg.). Fixed dogmas may then at the very most, according to the great
master of modern thought, be of pedagogic value to a minor, until he be
grown to maturity. But to more advanced minds must be unconditionally
conceded the freedom to construct dogmas as they think best, viz., as
symbols and images for the subjective thought they underlie. This also, as
is well known, is an article of Modernism, which here again follows in the
steps of _Kant_.
“Ecclesiastical faith,” says _Kant_, “may be useful as a vehicle
to minors who can grasp a purely rational religion only through
symbols, until in the course of time, owing to the general
enlightenment, they can with the consent of everybody exchange the
form of degrading means of coercion for an ecclesiastical form
suitable to the dignity of a moral religion—that of free faith.”
“The membranes,” he says in another place, “in which the embryo
first shaped itself into man must be cast off, if he is to see the
light of day. The apron-strings of sacred tradition with its
appendages, viz., the statutes and observances which at one time
did good service, can gradually be dispensed with; they may even
become a harmful hindrance when one is growing to manhood.”
Of course, to him who takes the position of _Kant’s_ _dualism of belief
and rational judgment_, freedom from every authority in matters of faith,
and in this sense tolerance, will appear to be self-evident. Whatever has
nothing to do with knowledge, but is merely the personal result of an
inner, subjective experience, cannot be offered by external authority as
matter for instruction. The sole standard for this belief is the
autonomous subject and its own needs. In this sense _Harnack_ tells us:
“The kernel of one’s being is to be grasped in its own depths and the soul
is merely to recognize its own needs and the road traced out for their
gratification. This can only be done with the fullest freedom. Any
restraint here is tantamount to the destruction of the problem; any
submission to the teaching of others ... is treason to one’s own religion”
(Religioeser Glaube und freie Forschung. Neue Freie Presse, 7. Juni,
1908). To have one’s religion determined by any authority, even a divine
one, would be treason to the sovereignty of man!
Viewed from this standpoint, the _reconciliation between faith and
science_ is no longer a problem. And they congratulate themselves on the
solution of this vexing question. Now, they say, deliverance from an
oppressive misery has been found, now the peace sought for so long is
restored. A fair division has been made: two worlds, the world of the
senses, and the world above sense experience. One belongs to science,
where it now rules supreme; the other belongs to faith, where it can move
freely, undisturbed by, and even unapproachable to science. Just as the
stars in the sky are inaccessible to the custodian of civil order,—he can
neither support them nor hinder them, nor pull them down,—just so the
realm of faith is inaccessible to science: peace reigns everywhere.
Cheered on by this treaty of peace, _Paulsen_ writes: “Thus
critical philosophy has solved the old problem of the relation of
knowledge to faith. _Kant_ is convinced that by properly setting
the limits he has succeeded in laying the foundation for real and
enduring peace between them. In fact, upon this in the first place
will rest the importance and vitality of his philosophy. It gives
to knowledge, on the one hand, what belongs to it for unlimited
research, the whole world of phenomena; on the other hand it gives
to faith its eternal right, the interpretation of life and the
world from the view-point of values. There can be no doubt that
herein lies the cause of the great impression made by _Kant_ upon
his time; he appeared as the liberator from unbearable suspense”
(Immanuel Kant, 1898, 6).
To a critical observer, such peace-making is utterly incomprehensible.
They probably did not consider that in this way _religion and faith_ were
not liberated, but _dispossessed_; not brought to a place of safety, but
transferred from the realm of reality into the realm of fancy. Similarly
an aggressive ruler might address a neighbouring prince thus: We cannot
agree any longer, let us make peace: you retain all your titles, and I
shall see to your decent support, but you will have to lay down your crown
and sovereignty and leave the country—in this way we can have peace.
Religion, once the greatest power in the life of man, for the sake of
which man made sacrifices and even laid down his life, has now become a
matter of sterile devotion; it may, moreover, no longer claim power and
importance; it is now reduced to a poetic feeling, with which one can fill
up intellectual vacancies. No longer is man here for religion’s sake;
religion is here for man’s sake. A buttonhole flower, a poetic perfume to
sprinkle over his person. For he does not want to give up religion
entirely. “We are the less inclined to give up religion forthwith, since
we are prone to consider a religious disposition as a prerogative of human
nature, even as its noblest title.” Thus _D. F. Strauss_, when he asked of
those who sympathized with his opinions, Have we still religion? (Der alte
u. neue Glaube, II, n. 33). Of course religion has now become something
quite different; it has been _consigned to deep degradation_.
To be sure, feeling is of great importance in religion. Dissatisfaction
with the things of this earth, man’s longing for something higher, for the
Infinite, his craving for immortality, for aid and consolation—are all
naturally seeking for religious truths. If these are known, they in turn
arouse fear and hope, love and gratitude; they become a source of
happiness and inspiration. But these feelings have no meaning unless we
are certain that there exists something corresponding to them; much less
could they of themselves be a conviction, just as little as hunger could
convince us that we have food and drink. If one cannot perceive that there
is a God, a Providence, a life beyond, then religion sinks to the level of
a hazy feeling, without reason and truth, which must appear foolish to men
who think,—as “the great phantasmagoria of the human mind, which we call
religion” (_Jodl_, Gedanken über Reform Katholizismus, 1902, 12),—which
departs from the sphere of rational intellectual life, and which many have
even begun to contemplate from the view-point of psychopathology. It is
only due to the after-effect of a more religious past that religion is
suffered to lead still a life of pretence: moral support in struggles it
can give no more, nor comfort in dark hours, much less may it presume to
guide man’s thought. It stands far below science.
Despair of the possibility of knowing higher truths is confronting us, the
disease of deteriorating times and intellectually decaying nations. But
just as Christianity, once in youthful vigour, went to the rescue of an
old World dying of scepticism, just as the Catholic Church has ever upheld
the rights of reason, especially against Protestantism, which from its
beginning has torn asunder faith and knowledge: so the Catholic Church
stands to this day unaffected by the doubting tendency of our times,
upholding the rights of reason. It also upholds faith. But its faith has
nothing to do with modern agnosticism.
What Faith Is.
What, then, according to Catholic doctrine, is faith and the duty to
believe?
Let us briefly recall to mind the _fundamental tenets_ of the _Christian
religion_. It tells us that even in the Old Testament, but more especially
in the New, through His Incarnate Son, God has revealed to man all those
religious and moral truths which are necessary and sufficient for the
attainment of his supernatural end. Some of them are truths which reason
by itself could not discover; others it could discover, but only by great
labour. And this divine revelation demands belief. Belief is natural to
man. The child believes its parents, the judge believes the witnesses, the
ruler believes his counsellors. God wished to meet man in this way, and to
give him certainty in regard to the highest truths.
But revelation was to be an heritage of mankind, it was to be transmitted
and laid unadulterated before all generations. For this reason it could
not be left unprotected to the vicissitudes of time, or the arbitrary
interpretation of the individual. It would have utterly failed in its
purpose of transmitting sure knowledge of certain truth,—the history of
Protestantism proves this,—had it been given merely with the injunction:
Receive what I have committed to your keeping, and do with it what you
please. No, it had to be made secure against subjective, arbitrary choice.
To this end Christ established an international organization, the
_Church_, and committed to it His Gospel as a means of grace, together
with the right and sacred duty to teach it to all men in His Name, to keep
inviolate the heirloom of revelation, defending it against all error.
“Going, therefore, teach ye all nations” (Matt. xxviii. 19), was His
command. “Go ye into the whole world and preach the Gospel to every
creature; he that believeth and is baptized shall be saved, but he that
believeth not shall be condemned” (Mark xvi. 15). “He that heareth you,
heareth Me, and he that despiseth you, despiseth Me” (Luke x. 16).
“Behold, I am with you all days, even to the consummation of the world”
(Matt. xxviii. 20). He gave His divine aid to the Church, in order that
she might _infallibly_ keep His doctrine to the very end of time.
Thus the divine revelation and the Church approach all men with the duty
to believe: “he that believeth shall be saved,” God gravely commands; “and
if he will not hear the Church, let him be to thee as the heathen and
publican” (Matt. xviii. 17). They lay their teachings before the human
intellect, bidding it retain them as indubitable truth, upon their
infallible testimony, yet only after convincing itself that God has really
spoken, and that this Church is the true one, which cannot err. And only
after having convinced itself of the credibility of the proposed teaching
is it obliged to believe. Hence, according to the Christian mind, faith is
the _reasonable conviction of the truth of what is proposed for belief, by
reason of an acknowledged infallible testimony_.
The Catholic dogma we find explained in the definition of the
Vatican Council, which had to expose so many errors that are
liable in our days to confuse the faithful in their notions of
faith and Church. “This faith,” says the Vatican Council (Sess.
III, chap. 3), “which is the beginning of human salvation, the
Catholic Church teaches to be a supernatural virtue, by which,
through the inspiration and co-operation of the grace of God, we
believe to be true what He has revealed, not on account of the
intrinsic truth of it, perceived by the natural light of reason,
but on the authority of God who gives the revelation, who can
neither deceive nor be deceived.... Nevertheless, in order that
the service of our belief might be in accord with reason (‘a
reasonable service’) God willed to unite to the internal helps of
the Holy Ghost external proofs of His revelation, to wit, external
works divine, especially miracles and prophecies, which, clearly
demonstrating God’s omnipotence and infinite knowledge, are most
certain signs of divine revelation and are suited to the
intelligence of all.” The Council adds expressly the canon: “If
any one say that divine revelation cannot be made credible by
exterior signs, and that men ought therefore to be moved to belief
solely by their interior experience or individual inspiration, let
him be anathema.” We have here stated the Catholic dogma as
unanimously taught by all Christian centuries, by all Fathers and
theologians.
Hence, the act of faith by which I believe that the Son of God became man,
that I shall rise from the dead, is first of all a _judgment of the
reason_, not an act of the will, or a feeling of the heart. It is,
moreover, a _certain_ rational judgment upon weighty reasons, not, indeed,
such which I draw from intellectual knowledge, but those which rest upon
the infallible testimony of God. The act of faith agrees therefore with
assent to historic truth in that it is of the same kind of knowledge, but
upon the authority of infallible testimony. Just as I believe that
Alexander once marched victoriously through Asia, because there is sure
testimony to that effect, so I believe that I shall rise from the dead,
because God has revealed it. The difference being that in the former case
we have only human testimony, whereas in the latter God Himself speaks.
Thus, according to Catholic teaching, faith and knowledge may be distinct
from each other, but in a sense quite different from that of the
representatives of modern, sentimental faith. The latter understand
knowledge, in this connection, to be any judgment of the reason based upon
evidence, and they deny that faith is such; but to a Catholic, faith, too,
is a _judgment of the reason_, and in this sense true knowledge; only it
is not knowledge in the more common sense of a cognition derived from
one’s own mental activity _without_ the external means of authority.
As we have heard from the Vatican Council, it is the recognized fact of
divine revelation which bestows upon the matter of faith its certainty in
reason. Hence the knowledge of this fact must precede faith itself. But
the knowledge must be certain, not merely a belief, for it is the very
presupposition of belief, but a knowledge, derived from the intellect,
which may at any time be traced back to scientific proofs if there is the
requisite philosophical training. So long as man is not certain that God
has spoken, he cannot have faith according to the Catholic view. One of
the sentences condemned by _Innocent XI._, to say nothing of other
ecclesiastical testimonies, is this: “The assent of supernatural faith,
useful for salvation, can exist with merely probable information of the
fact of revelation, even with the fear that God has not spoken.” And very
recently there has been condemned also the proposition: “The assent of
faith ultimately rests upon a sum of probabilities” (Decretum Lamentabile,
July 3, 1907. Sent. 25).
It cannot be our task here to show at length how the Christian arrives at
this certain knowledge. Our present purpose is only to state the Catholic
concept of faith. We have already heard the Vatican Council refer to
miracles and prophecies. To most of the faithful the chief fact that
offers them this security is the wonderful phenomenon of the _Catholic
Church_ itself, which proposes to them the doctrines of faith as divine
revelation.
Thus again the Vatican Council defines clearly: “To enable us to
do our duty in embracing the true faith and remaining in it
steadfastly, God has through His incarnate Son established the
Church and set plain marks upon His institution, in order that it
may be recognized by all as the guardian and interpreter of
revelation. For only the Catholic Church possesses all those
arrangements, so various and wonderful, made by God in order to
demonstrate publicly the credibility of Christianity. Indeed the
Church of itself, because of its wonderful propagation, its
pre-eminent sanctity and inexhaustible fecundity in everything
good, its Catholic unity and invincible duration, is a grand
permanent proof of its credibility and irrefutable testimony in
behalf of its divine mission. Thus, like a ’standard unto the
nations,’ it invites those to come to it who have not yet
believed, and assures its children that the faith they profess
rests upon a most firm foundation.”
The Catholic looks with pride upon his Church: she has stood all
the trials of history. He sees her endure, though within harassed
by heresies and endangered by various unworthiness and incapacity
of her priests, and attacked incessantly from without by
irreconcilable enemies, yet prevailing victoriously through the
centuries, blessing, converting nations and beloved by them; while
by her side worldly kingdoms, supported by armies and weapons, go
down into the grave of human instability. The most wonderful fact
in the world’s history, contrary to all laws of natural,
historical events,—here a higher hand is plainly thrust into human
history; it is the fulfilment of the divine promise: “I am with
you all days, even to the consummation of the world.” “The gates
of hell shall not prevail against it.” He sees the Saints, who
have lived in this Church and have become saints through her,
those superhuman heroes of virtue, who far surpass the laws of
human capacity.
In the most widely different states of life in the Church he sees
virtue grow in the degree in which one submits to her guidance. He
witnesses the remarkable spectacle, that everything noble and good
is attracted by the Church, and their contrary repelled. He sees
the miracles which never cease in her midst. Finally he beholds
her admirable unity and vigorous faith; she alone holding firm to
her teaching, not compromising with any error; she alone holding
fearlessly aloft the principle of divine authority, and thus
becoming a beacon to many who are seeking a safe shelter from
spiritual ruin. In addition we finally have that harmony and
grandeur of the truths of faith, and—perhaps not in the last
place—that calm and peace of mind, produced in the faithful soul
by a life led according to this faith, by prayer and the reception
of the Sacraments. This is a clear proof that where the Spirit of
God breathes there cannot be the seat of untruth.
These are sufficient proofs to produce even in the uneducated, and in
children, true and reasonable certainty, provided they have had sufficient
instruction in religion. It must, however, be emphasized that this
conviction produced by faith need _not first be gained by scientific
investigation_ of the motives of faith, or by minute or extensive
theological studies. A wrong notion of human knowledge frequently leads to
the opinion that there is no true certainty at all unless it is the result
of scientific study—a presumption on which is based the claim of freedom
of science to disregard any conviction, be it ever so sacred, and the
claim that it is reserved to science alone to attain the sure possession
of the truth. Later on we shall dwell more at length upon this important
point. Let it suffice here to remark that the intellect can attain real
certainty even without scientific research; most of our convictions, which
we all hold unhesitatingly as true, are of this kind. They constitute a
belief that is based upon the real knowledge of the reason, which
knowledge is not, however, so clear and distinct that it could be
demonstrated easily in scientific form.
The certainty of faith, therefore, is based upon the knowledge that God
Himself vouches for the truth of the teachings of faith. This relieves the
faithful from the necessity of obtaining by his own reflection an insight
into the intrinsic reasons of the why and the wherefore of the proposed
truth, and to examine in each instance the correctness of the thing. He
knows that God has revealed it, that His infallible Church vouches for it;
hence it is credible and true; that suffices for him, just as trustworthy
evidence suffices for the historian concerning facts which he himself has
not observed.
Let no one say that faith is a _blind belief_ and blind obedience, and
that dogmatic Christianity, or, to use another phrase, “the religion of
the law, demands first of all obedience: it is true it would like, besides
that, an interior assent for its thoughts and commandments, but where this
is lacking the law itself furnishes the ways and means to compensate the
lack of this internal assent, if only obedience is there” (_A. Harnack_,
Religioeser Glaube u. freie Forschung. Neue Freie Presse, June 7, 1908).
Nor let any one say that free research has “at least this advantage over
dogma, that its claims can be proved, which is not true of the other’s
claims” (_J. H. van’t Hoff_, ibid., Dec. 29, 1907). These are
misrepresentations.
There is no obedience to faith which is not _internal assent and
conviction_, and there is no clinging to dogmas which is not based on
motives of faith, or which could not at any time be subjected to
scientific investigation. If the term “blindness of belief” were intended
to express only that the believer holds the revealed doctrine to be true,
not because he has discovered its truth by his own reasoning, but on the
authority of God, then we might suffer the misleading word. But it is
utterly false in the sense that the believer has no conviction at all.
Even though others have it not, the faithful Catholic, the believing
Christian, has it, and it is personal conviction. He has convinced himself
that God has spoken, and of the credibility and hence the truth of the
revealed doctrine, by his own reason, and this is why he assents.
Still greater is the misrepresentation of the real motive of
faith, if it is held to be the opinion of the Pope or of Roman
Prelates. _Wundt_ thus misstates the Catholic position: “Not every
one can acquire knowledge. But any one can believe. The
enlightened leaders of the Church, and the Church herself first of
all, have knowledge, and by dint of authority determine what is to
be believed” (Ethik, 3d ed., 1903, I, p. 342). According to the
popular scientific propaganda of unbelief, we have to deal in the
Church merely with “ignorant monks, Asiatic patriarchs, and
similar dignitaries, some very superstitious, who, for instance,
assembled in the third century and decided _by vote_ that the
Gospel is the word of God; we have to deal with men who have
proved their incapacity and incompetence” (_Masaryk_, Im Kampfe um
die Religion, 1904, pp. 22-23).
Any one who shares such ideas about the supernaturalness of the
Catholic Church has, of course, forfeited his claim to understand
Catholic life and faith. The Catholic believes in his Church, not
on any account of Asiatic patriarchs and superstitious
dignitaries, but because she is led by the Holy Ghost, and the
Pope must believe the same as the humblest of the faithful:
neither the Pope himself relies upon his own judgment, nor does
the Catholic who trusts in the word of the Pope.
We add a few remarks which may further illustrate the action of
faith.
The knowledge of the fact of revelation, hence of the credibility
of the truths revealed, is certain, as shown above. Nevertheless,
_it does not compel_ reason to assent. Under ordinary
circumstances it would be impossible to think of one’s own
existence, of the elementary laws of mathematics, without being
constrained by the evidence to give direct internal assent. But
insight into the truth of a thing is not always of this high
degree of clearness. In such cases it is an empirical law of the
mind that reason discerns of itself the _logical_ necessity, that
is, if it desires to proceed according to the merits of the case,
without, however, acting under _physical_ constraint. There
remains then the determination, the command of the will. This is
generally true of many judgments about natural things, but
especially true of belief. The knowledge of the fact of revelation
is true and certain, though it might be still clearer. The truths
offered by divine revelation are too deep for us to comprehend
them fully; they imply questions and difficulties for us to
ponder. We feel the physical possibility of pondering these
difficulties, although we see at the same time that the difficulty
is exploded by the certainty of the fact of revelation; but we
remain _free_ in giving our assent.
Herein lies the possibility of _meritorious_ faith, the
possibility of the creature rendering to God the free tribute of
his free submission. At the same time it opens the possibility of
turning voluntarily to doubts, and of submitting to them more and
more, till the mind becomes clouded and ensnared by error. Thus,
since faith depends on free will, the will is strictly commanded
to impel the intellect to assent and cling to faith and to put
aside doubts. God has revealed the truths of faith that they may
be firmly believed.
Hence faith is a product of the will also, and may become part and
parcel of the sentimental life. Firmly believed, revealed truths
engender in man love and gratitude, fear and hope. And being
beautiful and comforting, they are embraced fervently by the
heart, and become objects of desire, sources of comfort and
happiness. Nevertheless they are in themselves, and remain,
rational judgments, based upon insight and knowledge; just as the
fond recollections of home are and remain acts of cognition,
though our affections are twined round those reminiscences like
wreaths of evergreen.
What has just been said illustrates also another point,—the
_relation of faith to grace_. The Vatican Council says: “Faith is
a supernatural virtue by which, through the inspiration and
co-operation of the grace of God, we believe to be true what He
has revealed.” Faith is called a gift of God, a work of grace. But
this must not mislead us to think that it is a mystical process,
taking place in the human mind, indeed, but not moving along the
natural course of human cognition, but along quite a different
course: perhaps an immediate mystical grasp of the revealed truth,
while natural intelligence stands aside, not understanding it.
This would be returning to our starting point,—making faith
anything but a judgment of the reason. It is a common doctrine of
theology that the process of faith differs nothing in kind from
the natural process of human intellect in its apprehension of the
truth. It is belief on grounds recognized as sufficient motives
for assent.
What then does grace do? Two things. First, it elevates the act of
the soul in the process of believing to a higher sphere. Just as
sanctifying grace elevates the soul itself to a supernatural
sphere, permitting it to partake of the nature of God, so does the
grace of faith raise the acts of the soul to the supernatural
order. The _kind_ of cognition, however, remains the same: just as
a ring does not alter its form by being golden instead of silver.
In the second place, grace is _assistance_: it enlightens the
intellect that it may be able to see more clearly, not giving to
motives of faith an importance which they have not of themselves,
but helping the intellect to see them as they are; removing the
troubles and dangers of doubt which beset the mind, so that it may
retain that calmness which generally accompanies the possession of
the truth. The pledge of this assistance is given the Christian at
baptism and with each increase of sanctifying grace. But the
actual effect of grace depends on many conditions. If one omits
prayer and neglects religious duties, deafens one’s ear to the
word of God, incurs knowingly unnecessary dangers to faith,
forsakes the path of virtue, then grace may withdraw to a
considerable extent; doubts become stronger, intellectual darkness
and confusion increase, and man goes on apace towards infidelity.
This is the Catholic doctrine concerning faith.
Faith and Reason.
But to return to our question: In what relation do faith and the duty to
believe stand to freedom of research? We said that freedom of research
consists in exemption from all unjust external restraint, that is, from
those external hindrances to the action of the human intellect which
prevent it from attaining its natural end. Now what is this natural end?
The answer will make clear what restraint and laws must be respected by
the human mind, and which may be rightly rejected.
On the coat-of-arms of Harvard University is written the beautiful word
“Truth.” Upon the human mind, too, is inscribed the word _Veritati_—_for
the truth_. The human mind exists for the sake of truth; for the truth it
reasons and searches; it is its natural object, as sound is the object of
the human ear, and light and colour the object of the eye. And truth
attracts the mind strongly. The child wants the truth, and tries to get it
by its many questions; the historian wants the truth, and tries to get it
by his incessant searching and collecting. “I can hardly resist my
craving,” _William von Humboldt_ confesses, “to see and know and examine
as much as possible: after all, man seems to be here only for the purpose
of appropriating to himself, making his own property, the property of his
intellect, all that surrounds him—and life is short. When I depart this
life I should like to leave behind me as little as possible unexperienced
by me” (apud _O. Willmann_, Didaktik als Bildungslehre, 3d ed., II, 1903,
p. 7). The great physicist, _W. Thomson_, a few years ago closed a life of
eighty-three years—he died in December, 1907—devoted to the last to
unabated search for the truth. It is true not all are called to labour in
this field like _W. Thomson_. But every one who has capability may and
should help to promote the noble work. Only they are excluded who do not
want to look for the truth, or who are even ready, for external
considerations, to pass off falsehood for the truth, unproved for
established results. “I know of nothing,” says the ancient sage, _Plato_,
“that is more worthy of the human mind than truth” (Rep. VI, p. 483 c.).
And so the poet _Pindar_ sings: “Queen Truth, the mother of sublime
Virtue.”
If this is the aim of the human mind and its science, there is but one
freedom of research, the _freedom for the truth_, the right not to be
hampered in searching for the truth, not to be forced to hold as true what
has not been previously vouched for to the intellect as true; in a word,
the freedom to wear but one chain, the golden chain of the truth. Hence,
if the scientist should be compelled by party interest, or public opinion,
to pursue a course in science which he cannot acknowledge as the right
one; if the younger scientist should feel constrained to conform the
results of his research to the pleasure of his older colleagues or of men
of name, against his own better judgment, then he would be deprived of his
rightful freedom of searching for the truth, and of deciding for himself
when he has found it. But there is one sort of freedom the scientist
should never claim—_freedom against the truth_, freedom to ignore the
truth, to emancipate himself from the truth. He is bound to accept every
truth, sufficiently proved, even religious dogmas, miracles too, provided
they are authenticated. Not freedom, but truth, is the purpose of
research: emancipation from the truth is degeneration of the intellect,
destruction of science.
What, then, does the duty to believe require of the faithful Christian? He
is required, first of all, to assure himself of the certain credibility of
those truths which he is required to believe, and here authentic proofs
are offered him. On his perception of the credibility of these truths, he
ought to assent to and accept God’s testimony. Hence there should be no
coercion to believe without interior conviction, no obstacle put in the
way of recognizing the truth. _Where, then, is here any opposition to the
lawful freedom of research_, to the right of unimpeded search for the
truth? How is reason hindered in its search for the truth when truth is
offered it by an infallible authority? We have here no opposition to the
laws of reason, but due honour to its sacred rights; no bondage, but
elevation and enrichment, completion and crowning of its thought, for the
highest truth has been communicated to the reason that it may be of one
mind with that Infinite Wisdom which has shaped reason for the truth, and
from which it obtains its light as the planet from the sun around which it
revolves.
Therefore, it cannot be said that “the Catholic resolves to believe as
true what the Church teaches in the Apostles’ Creed, but were he offered
anything else as Church doctrine he would accept it as well. Hence these
doctrines do not express his own personal opinions, they are something
extraneous to him.” (_W. Herrmann_, Roemische u. evangelische
Sittlichkeit, 3d ed., 1903, p. 3). No, what the Catholic, what any true
Christian, believes by faith, that is his innermost conviction, as it is
the firm conviction of the historian that what he has drawn from reliable
sources is true.—But what if the contrary were offered him? Well, this
assumption is absurd; and why? Because God and His Church are infallible,
and an infallible authority cannot speak the truth and its contrary at the
same time. Much less than a reliable historical witness can testify to the
truth and its contrary at the same time.
This same conviction gives to the faithful Christian the firm assurance
that no certain result of human research will ever come in conflict with
his faith, just as the mathematician does not fear that his principle will
ever be contradicted by any further work. Truth can never contradict
truth. “Thus we believe and thus we teach and herein lies our salvation.”
It is the very old conviction of the faithful Christian “that philosophy,
that is, the study of wisdom, and religion are not different things.” _Non
aliam esse philosophiam, i.e., sapientiae studium et aliam religionem_
(_Augustinus_, De Vera Religione, 5). It is precisely this that enables
the believing scientist to devote himself with great freedom and
impartiality to research in every field, and to acknowledge any certified
result without fear of ever having to stop before a definite conclusion.
Such is the _peace between faith and science_ according to Christian
principles. They are not torn apart, but join hands peacefully, like truth
with truth, like two certain convictions, only gained in different ways.
Similar is the peace and harmony between the results of various sciences,
as physics and astronomy, geology and biology, which results, though
arrived at by different methods, are still not opposed to each other,
because they are both true.
The authority of faith, however, must be _infallible_; the authority of a
scientist, a school or the state, can never approach us with an absolute
obligation to believe it, because it cannot vouch for the truth. To the
Catholic his Church proves itself infallible; hence everything is here
logically consequent. Protestant Church authorities have not
infallibility, nor do they claim it. Hence their precepts are seen more
and more opposed. Hence to the Protestant the firm attachment of the
Catholic to his Church must ever remain unintelligible, and it is
regrettable that Catholics take instruction from Protestants about their
relation to their Church.(2)
We must go a step further. If there is a divine revelation or an
infallible Church—we speak only hypothetically—then no man and _no
scientific research can claim the right_ to contradict this revelation and
Church. Scientific research is not the hypostatized activity of a
superhuman genius, of a god-like intelligence. No, it is the activity of a
human intellect, and the latter is subject to God and truth everywhere.
There can be no freedom to oppose the truth; no privilege not to be bound
to the truth but rather to have the right to construct one’s views
autonomously.
But here lies the deeper reason why to-day thousands to whom _Kant’s_
_autonomism in thought_ has become the nerve of their intellectual life,
will have nothing to do with guidance by revelation and Church. They can
no longer understand that their reason should accept the truth from an
external authority, not, indeed, because they would not find the truth,
but because they would lose their independence.
It was _Sabatier_ who maintained that “an external authority, no
matter how great one may think it to be, does not suffice to
arouse in us any sense of obligation.” And _Th. Lipps_ says on
this further: “If obedience is taken in its narrower sense, that
is, of determination by the will of another, then no obedience is
moral.” “In brief, obedience is immoral—not as a fact but as a
feeling, betokening an unfree, slavish mind” (Die ethiseben
Grundfragen, 2d ed., 1905, p. 119). And _W. Herrmann_ assures us.
“We would deem it a sin if we dared treat a proposition as true of
which the ideas are not our own. If we should find such a
proposition in the Bible, then we may perhaps resolve to wait and
see whether its truth cannot be brought home to us after we have
obtained a clearer and stronger insight of ourselves. But from the
resolution to take that proposition as true without more ado, we
could not promise ourselves anything beneficial.”
It is for the sovereign subject himself to decide whether the ideas
offered are compatible with the rest of his notions. A truth offered from
without is acceptable to the subject only when, and because, he can
produce of himself at the same time what is offered; but he cannot accept
the obligation of _submitting_ to that truth in obedience to faith. “There
is no infallible teaching authority on earth, nor can there be any.
Philosophy and science would have to contradict themselves to acknowledge
it,” says another champion of _Kant’s_ freedom (_Paulsen_, Philosophia
militans, 2d ed., p. 52). Hence the reason why there cannot be any
infallible authority is, not because it does not offer the truth, but
because the human intellect must not be chained down.
Now, this is no longer true freedom, but rebellion against the sacred
right that truth has over the intellect. It is rebellion against the
supreme authority of God, who can oblige man to embrace His revelation
with that reason which He Himself has bestowed upon man. It is a
misconception of the human mind, for it is by no means the source of truth
and absolute knowledge, but weak and in need of supplement. Many truths it
cannot by itself find at all, while in the quest for others it needs safe
guidance lest it lose its way. If it refuses to be supplemented and guided
from above, it demands the freedom of the weak vine allowed to break loose
from the needed support of the tree, the freedom of the planet allowed to
deviate from its orbit to be hopelessly wrecked in the universe. The
barrenness and disintegration in the ideal life of our own unchristian
age, are clear testimony that freedom is not only lawlessness but a sin
against one’s own nature.
Or, do they seek to save themselves by asserting that a divine revelation
and the founding of an infallible Church are _impossible_? Very well,
then, let them prove it. On this the question hinges. If they can prove it
to us, that very moment we shall cease to be faithful Catholics, and
Christianity will have been the most stupendous lie in history. But if the
reverse is the case, then all declamations in the name of free research
fall to the ground.
This impossibility, however, could only be proved by the aid of a
presumption. This presumption is _atheism_, which denies the existence of
a personal God, or at least doubts it. If it is admitted that there is a
personal God, then it is self-evident that He can give a revelation, and
found an infallible Church, and can oblige all to believe. But herewith
collapses also the liberal principle that, in reasoning, one may reject an
external authority. Hence the principle of liberal freedom in science can
only then be taken seriously, when one advances to atheism. Then, of
course, they will say with _Nietzsche_: God is dead; long live the
transcendental man!
Our assertions are proved by experience. At the end of the eighteenth
century the enlightenment began by excluding all revelation; but it was
desired to retain the rational truth of God’s existence. Since then,
liberal science has been aiming at atheism in philosophy, whether open or
masked. And if we follow up the career of men who have left their faith,
we shall soon find that if they do not seek peace in the sheltering
harbour of thoughtlessness, they have reached the terminal station of
atheism. There is no stopping on this incline.
Since it is the express fundamental principle of the liberal freedom of
research, that science is not bound to any external authority, it is
evident that it is nothing else but the refusal to submit to God’s
authority, hence, also, to submit to truth if it appears as revelation.
For, either it is admitted that if there is a divine revelation, we have
to give it our assent—and in this event liberal freedom of science would
have to be abandoned,—or this liberal freedom is adopted in real
earnest—then it must be admitted that it is tantamount to _radical
apostasy and defection from the truth_. If a man wishes to be a faithful
Christian and at the same time to uphold the liberal freedom of science,
then he has never made clear to himself what he wishes.
‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
_Ecce ancilla Domini._ Thus spoke the Mother of the Lord, when she heard
the message that she was to receive the Word of the eternal Father in her
bosom. This word of humility and submission was the condition under which
she could receive in herself the eternal Wisdom of the Father.
Behold, the Handmaid of the Lord! This word of humility and submission to
God must also be spoken by the creature’s intelligence, if it desires by
faith to share in God’s truth. Without humility of mind a faithful
attachment to God is impossible; pride and arrogance lead to desertion of
God, faith, and truth. _Multum errant, quoniam superbi sunt_, says
_Augustine_ of the erring companions of his youth. Only if there is
humility does God’s wisdom cross the threshold of the creature’s mind,
only if there is humility can it be said of man: _Et verbum caro factum
est et habitat in nobis, plenum gratiae et veritatis_.