What It Is.
In the year 1901 a case, insignificant in itself, caused great excitement
in and even beyond the scientific world. What had happened? At the
University of Strassburg, in a territory for the most part Catholic, no
less than one-third of the students were Catholic, yet of the seventy-two
professors sixty-one were Protestant, six Israelites and but four
Catholics (according to the report of the Secretary of State, _Koeller_,
in the 115th session of the Reichstag, January 11, 1901). The government
resolved, in view of the state of affairs, to give more consideration,
when appointing professors, to the Catholic members of the university.
Even the non-Catholic members of the Bundesrat desired it. A vacancy
occurring in the faculty of history, the government, besides appointing
the Protestant professor proposed by the faculty of philosophy, decided to
create a new chair to be filled by a Catholic.
The appointment of a Catholic professor of history was regarded as
seriously endangering science. The storm broke. The venerable historian,
_Th. Mommsen_, who had been a champion of liberty in the revolution of
1848, promptly gave the alarm. In the Munich “Neueste Nachrichten” there
appeared over his signature an article that created a general sensation.
“German university circles,” he said, in his solemn protest, “are pervaded
by a feeling of degradation. Our vital nerve is unprejudiced research;
research that does not find what it seeks and expects to find, owing to
purposes, considerations, and restraints that serve other, practical ends
extraneous to science—but finds what logically and historically appears to
the conscientious scientist the right thing, truthfulness. The appointment
of a college teacher whose freedom is restricted by barriers is laying the
axe to the root of German science. The call to a chair of history, or
philosophy, of one who must be a Catholic or a Protestant, and who must
serve this or that confession, is tantamount to compelling him to set
bounds to his work whenever the results might be awkward for a religious
dogma.” And he concludes with a ringing appeal for the solidarity of the
representatives of science: “Perhaps I am not deceived in the hope of
having given expression to the sentiments of our colleagues.” This
statement of the famous scientist, conceived in the temper of his days of
’48, was soon softened, if not neutralized, by a subsequent statement from
his pen. But the spark had already started the fire. From most
universities there came letters of approval and praise of his courageous
stand, in behalf of the honour of the universities and of German science.
On the other hand, some gave vent to their regret of his hot-spurred
action. Since then the song of unprejudiced science has been sung in
countless variations and keys, ending as a rule with the chorus: Hence the
believing, especially Catholics, cannot be true scientists. For this was
the central idea of _Mommsen’s_ protest, and in that sense it had been
understood.
For the sake of clearness we shall condense the substance of the thought
into a brief form: The vital nerve of science, the condition under which
alone it can exist, is unprepossession, that is, a straightforward honesty
that knows of no other consideration than to aim at the truth for its own
sake. The believer, the Catholic, cannot be unprepossessed, because he
must pay regard to dogmas and Church-doctrine and precept. Therefore he is
wanting in the most essential requisite of true science. Hence college
professors of a Catholic conviction are anomalous: they have no right to
claim a chair in the home of unprepossessed science. For reasons of
expediency it may be advisable to appoint some of them, but they cannot be
regarded as sterling scientists. Catholic theology, building upon faith,
is not science in the true sense of the word, and deserves no place in a
university. A Catholic university, a home of scientific research built
upon a Catholic foundation, is something like a squared circle. It may be
that Catholic scientists, too, have their achievements, but they cannot be
expected to be possessed of that unflinching pursuit of the truth which
must be part of the man of science.
These are thoughts which have petrified in the minds of many into
self-evident principles, with all the obstinacy of intolerance. It is not
difficult to recognize in it the old reproach we have already dealt with,
it is here in a slightly different form. The believing scientist is not
free to search for the truth, being tied down by his duty to believe.
Science, however, must be free. Hence the believer cannot properly pursue
science.
Freedom of science and science unprepossessed are related terms and are
often used synonymously. Therefore, in putting the probe to the
often-repeated demand for unprepossession, we shall meet with ideas
similar to those we have already discussed, only in a slightly different
shape.
What, then, is that unprepossession which science must avow? Can the
Catholic, the believing scientist, possess it? Unprepossessed research—“I
don’t like the expression,” says a representative of free-thought,
“because it is a product of that shortcoming which has already done great
damage to free-thought in its struggle with the powers of the past”
(_Jodl_). Hence we have reason to fear that the confidence with which this
word is used is greater than the clearness of thought it represents.
What is meant by saying that science must be _unprepossessed_? Undoubtedly
it means that science should make no presuppositions, it must enter upon
its work free from prejudice and presumption. And what is presumption?
Evidently something presumed, upon which the research is to rest the level
and rule of its direction: the supposition being taken for granted,
without express proof. What I have expressly proved in my process of
thought is no longer a supposition to the structure of thought, but a part
of that structure.
Is the scientist, however, to allow no presumption at all? That would be
impossible. When making his calculations the mathematician presupposes the
correctness of the multiplication table. Or is he first to prove that
twice three are six? He could not do it, because it is immediately
self-evident. In his optical experiments in the laboratory, in drawing
inferences as to the nature of light from different indications, the
physicist presupposes that senses are able to observe the facts correctly,
that everything has its respective reason, that nothing can be and not be,
at the same time, under the same conditions. Can he or must he try first
to prove it? He must presume it because it is beyond a doubt, and because
it cannot be proved at all, at least all of it cannot. The astronomer,
too, makes unhesitating use of the formulas of mathematics without
examining them anew; every natural scientist calmly presupposes the
correctness of the results established by his predecessors and goes on
building upon those results: he may do so because he cannot with reason
doubt them. Hence presumptions are common; they may be made when we are
convinced of their truth; they must be made because not everything can be
proved. Much cannot be proved because it is immediately self-evident, as,
for instance, the ability to recognize the true or the elementary
principles of reasoning; many other things cannot always be proved
minutely, because not every scientist cares to begin with the egg of Leda.
He that wants to build a house builds upon a given base; if he will not
accept it, if he desires to dig up the fundament to the very bottom, in
order to lay it anew, he will be digging forever, but the house will never
be built.
Hence to say that science must be unprepossessed cannot mean that it must
not make any presupposition. What, therefore, does it mean? Simply this:
_Science must not presume anything to be true which is false, nor anything
as proved which is still uncertain and unproved_. Whatever the scientist
knows to be certain he may take as such, presuming it as the foundation
and direction of further work; and what he knows to be probable he may
suppose to be probable.
In so doing he in no way offends against the ideal that should be
ever-present to his mind—the truth, because he merely allows himself to be
guided by the truth, recognized as such. And the sequence of truth cannot
but be truth, the sequence of certainty cannot but be certainty. But
should he presuppose to be true what is false and unproved, and the
uncertain to be certain, then he would offend against truth, against the
aim of every science.
Hence if the critic of the Bible presupposes miracles and
prophecies to be impossible, inferring therefrom that many
narratives in Holy Writ cannot be authentic, but must be legends
of a later period, he is making arbitrary presuppositions, he is
not an unprepossessed scientist. Likewise, if an historian
presupposing God’s supernatural providence over the world to be
impossible, and, in building upon this basis, comes to the
conclusion that the Christian religion grew from purely natural
factors, from Oriental notions and myths, from Greek philosophy
and Roman forms of government, he again makes unproved
suppositions. If the natural philosopher assumes that there cannot
be a personal Creator, and infers from it that the world is of
itself and eternal, he has forfeited the claim of being an
unprepossessed scientist, and by making in any way his own pet
ideas the basis of his research he is violating the demands of
unprepossession; the results he arrives at are not scientific
results, but the speculations of an amateur.
Unprepossession and Religious Conviction.
Is it possible for the Christian scientist who adheres to his faith, to be
unprepossessed, as demanded by science? According to all that has been
said hitherto about the relation of science to faith, the answer can be
only in the affirmative. The believing Christian and Catholic looks upon
the doctrines of faith taught him by revelation and the Church as an
_established truth_. What to me is true and certain I can take for the
true and certain basis and standard of my thought. This is demanded by
unprepossession—nothing more.
Considering the immense extent of the sciences, the profane sciences will
but seldom, and in but few matters, have occasion to presuppose truths of
faith in the above-mentioned way; and only in a negative form at that. We
have previously shown that the profane sciences must never take truths of
faith for a positive basis to build upon; they must regard the doctrines
of revelation only in so far as it is not allowed to teach anything in
contradiction to them. And with this demand they will meet in rare
instances only, because, if not overstepping their province, they will
very seldom come in touch with faith (cf. pp. 88-96). When _Kepler_ was
studying his planetary orbits, and _Newton_ discovered the law of
gravitation, both worked independent of the Christian view of the world
which they both professed; it was in no way a necessary presupposition to
their research. When _Scheiner_ discovered the sun-spots, and _Secchi_
classified the spectra of the stars, they were not doing so as Jesuits nor
as Catholics; as Mohammedans or atheists they might have made the same
discoveries. Steam engines and railways, _Volta’s_ electricity,
cathode-rays and X-rays, all discoveries that the nineteenth century can
boast of, do not depend directly on any special view of the world.
And if the believing scientist does take his faith for a guide in some
matters, when in all his researches in the history of the Christian
religion and the Church he presupposes that God’s miraculous interference
is not impossible, because the contrary would offend not only against his
faith, but also against his common sense; when in pondering the ultimate
reasons of all things he allows himself to be influenced by the idea that
atheism is false, or at least not proved—for that there is a God both his
faith and his reason tell him—then these presumptions are by no means
inadmissible. The naturalist, too, presupposing certain results of science
to be true, takes care not to get into conflict with them, and he will
soon correct himself should he arrive at different results. If a
mathematician should arrive at results conflicting with other proved
results, he would infer therefrom that his calculation was faulty; why,
then, cannot the Christian now and then be led by the truths of his faith,
of which he is certain, without by doing so offending against the spirit
of scientific truthfulness?
Or may he not do so just because they are _religious_ truths, vouched for
by a supernatural authority? As a fact many of them are established also
by the testimony of reason. This is shown by the examples just mentioned.
However, the question is not how a truth is vouched for, but whether it be
a truth or not. If the scientist is assured that something is
unquestionably true, then he owes it to the spirit of truthfulness to
accept it. In doing so he will in no way be unfaithful to his scientific
method; the truths of faith are to him not a source of proofs for the
results of his profane science, but only hints, calling his attention to
the fact that certain propositions are not proved, that they are even
false.
Much less is in historical questions the Catholic obliged to
defend or praise everything of advantage to his Church, whether
true or not. Hence _Mommsen_ is grossly mistaken when he states in
his letter of protest mentioned above: “The appointment of a
historian or philosopher, who must be a Catholic or a Protestant
and who must serve his confession, evidently means nothing else
but to prohibit the Protestant historian from presenting the
powerful mental structure of the papacy in its full light, and the
Catholic historian from appreciating the profound thought and the
tremendous importance of heresy and Protestantism.” The Catholic
is only bound to the truth.
Or are the Christian truths of faith perhaps regrettable errors, hence
presumptions that should not be made? If so, demonstrate it. Hitherto such
demonstration has not succeeded. So long as the creed of the believing
Christian cannot be refuted convincingly, he has the right to cling to it
in the name of truth.
Or can we not have reasonable certainty at all in religious matters? Are
they the undemonstrable things of an uncontrollable sentiment? To be sure,
this is asserted often enough, explicitly or by insinuation. If this were
true, then of course duty of faith and true unprepossession could not go
together; one would be regarding as the truth things of which one cannot
be convinced. But this is also an unproved assumption: it is the duality
of subjectivism and agnosticism, the fundamental presumption of liberal
freedom of science, which we have already sufficiently exposed.
However, let us assume again the position of those who do not feel
themselves personally convinced of the truth of the Christian dogmatic
faith, or of the Catholic Church. But the Catholic is _firmly convinced_
thereof and, if need be, will make sacrifices for this conviction, as
millions have done. Hence, can any one forbid him to think and judge
according to his conviction? Would they who differ from his opinion for
this very reason force him to think against his own conviction? Would not
that indeed be “seduction to sin against the Holy Ghost”? If the jurist or
historian has formed the conviction that _Mommsen_ is on historical
questions concerning Roman law an authority, who may be followed without
scruple, and he does so without re-examining the particular points, will
this be looked upon as an offence against unprepossession? If, then, the
Catholic is certain that he may safely trust to revelation and the
Church—and there is no authority on earth of more venerable standing, even
if viewed from a purely natural point—will he alone be accused of mental
blindness and lack of freedom?
Or may the scientist have _no view of the world_ at all, because he might
be influenced thereby in certain directions? The champions of this demand
will surely not admit that they have not a definite view of the world. By
no means! We know very well that just those who are most vehement in
urging unprepossessed science have a very pronounced notion of the world,
we know also that they are resolutely propagating that notion. Yet nothing
is said against a scientist who is a monist, or who starts from
agnosticism. It seems they intend to exclude one view only, the positive
religious view. Yet not even this one wholly. No one finds the Jew who
adheres to his religion unfit for scientific research. Of course not.
Protestants, too, find favour: according to the statutes of some German
universities Protestants only may be professors there. Neither _Mommsen_
nor any other herald of unprepossession deems it necessary to defend
science against these institutions and usages. It is plain what is meant
by the popular cry for science unprepossessed: The man of science may be
anything, sceptic or atheist, pagan or Hottentot, only he must not be a
faithful Catholic. Is this fair? Is this the spirit of truth and justice
with which they claim to be filled?
What has just been said about the Catholic being excluded, could
easily be exemplified by a lengthy list of facts. But we shall
pass them over. We shall note one utterance only, from the pen of
a non-Catholic writer. The renowned pedagogue, _Fr. W. Foerster_,
says in the preface to the second edition of his book on “Sexual
Ethics and Sexual Pedagogy”: “Special exception has been taken to
the catholicizing tendency of my book, and not infrequently the
author has without further ado been made out an orthodox Catholic.
For many years past I have been in a position to gain interesting
information concerning the incredible bias of many champions of
unprepossessed research. To them it is an a-priori dogma that
everything represented by the Catholic Church is nonsense,
superstition, bigotry. They are past comprehending how an
unprejudiced man, simply by concrete experience, unprepossessed
research and serious pondering in the field of pedagogy, could be
brought to affirm that certain notions of the Roman Catholic
Church are the unavoidable consequence of a penetrating knowledge
of soul and life. This cannot be admitted by the non-Catholic: for
him the truth must cease where the Catholic faith begins; he dares
not assent to anything, else he will no longer be taken for a
reputable scientific man.”
The bluster about unprepossession proceeds from _shallowness and
dishonesty_. The most varied presumptions, that have nothing to do with
science and the pursuit of the truth, may pass without notice; only when
Christian and Catholic religious convictions, resting upon divine
authority, are encountered, then tolerance gives way to excitement, a hue
and cry is raised, the gate is shut, and entrance to the scientific world
denied.
Philosophers arise, and each philosophizes according to his
manner. _Fichte_ says: “What philosophy to choose depends on the
kind of a man one is.” The historian enters. It is reported that
_Treitschke_ said: “If I cannot write history from my own
view-point, with my own judgment, then I had rather be a
soapmaker.” According to trustworthy testimony, the well-known
Protestant historian, _Giesebrecht_, used to preface his lectures
in Munich with the words: “I am a Prussian and a Protestant: I
shall lecture accordingly” (Hochschulnachrichten, 1901, 2, p. 30).
Even here there are no objections in the name of Unprepossession.
“Science,” says _Harnack_, “will tear off the mask of the
hypocrite or plagiarist and throw him out of the temple, but the
queerest suppositions it must let pass if they go by the name of
convictions, and if those who harbour them are trying to
demonstrate them by scientific means.”
Therefore the convictions, or, to speak with _Harnack_, the
“prejudices,” of the Catholic “certainly deserve as much
consideration and patience as the velleities, idiosyncrasies, and
blind dogmas which we have to meet and refute in the struggle
between intellects” (Internationale Wochenschrift, 1908, 259
_seq._). “Science has been restricted,” the same authority also
admits, “at all times; our progeny will find even modern science
in many ways not ruled by pure reason only” (Dogmengesch. III, 3d
ed., 1907, 326).
And what is to be said of those more serious suppositions,
unproved and unprovable, which guide modern science wherever it
meets philosophical-religious questions? That truly dogmatic
rejection of everything supernatural and transcendental, that
obstinate ignoration of a personal God, the rejection of any
creative act, of any miracle, of any revelation,—a presupposition
directly raised to a scientific principle: the principle of
causality. Later on we shall make an excursion into various fields
of science, and we shall show clearly how this presumption is
stamped upon entire branches of science. Those solemn assurances
of persevering unselfishness in desiring nothing but the truth;
the confidence with which they claim a monopoly of the instinct
for the truth, all this will appear in quite a strange light, the
twilight of dishonesty, when we examine the documents and records
of liberal science itself. We shall see sufficiently how truthful
the self-confession of a modern champion of liberal science really
is: “The recently coined expression, ‘science unprepossessed,’ I
do not like, because it is a product of that shortcoming which has
already done so much damage to free thought in its struggle with
the powers of the past—because that word is not entirely honest.
None of us sits down to his work unprepossessed” (_F. Jodl_, Neue
Freie Presse, November 26, 1907). Here we shall touch upon only
one more question.
The Duty to Believe and Scientific Demonstration.
But cannot the believing Christian submit to scientific investigation the
doctrine of faith itself, which he must without doubt hold to be true?
This must surely be allowed if he is to convince himself scientifically of
the truth of it. Indeed, this is allowed. He may critically examine
everything to the very bottom, even the existence of God, the rationality
of his own mind. But how can he, if no doubt is permissible? To examine
means to search doubtingly; it means to call the matter in question—this,
too, is right. It is, on the one hand, a doctrine of the Catholic Church
that they who have received faith through the ministry of the Church, that
is, they that have been made familiar with the essential subjects of the
faith and the motives of their credibility by proper religious
instruction, must not doubt their faith. They have no reasonable excuse
for doubting because they are assured of the truth of the faith. We have
discussed this point before.(4)
As a matter of course only voluntary doubts are excluded, doubts
by which one assents deliberately and wilfully to the judgment
that perhaps not all may be true that is proposed for our belief.
Involuntary doubts are neither excluded nor sinful. These are
apparent counter-arguments, objections, difficulties against the
faith, which occur to the mind without getting its conscious
approval. They are not unlikely, because the cognition of the
credibility of Christian truths, while it is certain, is yet
lacking in that obvious clearness which would render obscurity and
counter-argument impossible; the assent to faith is free. Doubts
of this kind are apt to molest the mind and buzz round it like
bothersome insects, but they are not sinful because they do not
set aside the assent to faith any more than the cloud that
intervenes between us and the sun can extinguish its light. The
assent to faith is withdrawn only when the will with clear
consideration approves of the judgment that the doubt may be
right.
But what about doubts which one cannot solve? Would we not owe it
to truth and probity to withhold assent to faith for a while?
The answer lies in the distinction of a twofold solution of
difficulties. It is by no means necessary, nor even possible, to
solve directly all objections; it suffices to solve them
indirectly, that is, by recognizing them as void; since faith is
certain, whatever is contrary to it must be false. If one is
convinced by clear proofs of the innocence of a defendant he will
not be swayed in his assurance, no matter how much circumstantial
evidence be offered against the defendant. He may not be able to
account directly for one or the other remarkable coincidence of
circumstances, but all the arguments of the other side are to him
refuted, because to him the defendant’s innocence is a certainty.
Thus the faithful Christian may hear it solemnly proclaimed as a
scientifically established fact that miracles are impossible,
because they would be tantamount to God making correction on His
own work, because they would imply a self-contradiction, or they
would be against the law of preservation of energy; he hears of
atrocities in the history of the Church, of the Inquisition, of
the Church being an enemy of civilization—he knows not what to
say: but one thing he knows, that there must be an answer, because
he knows, enlightened by faith, that his belief cannot be false.
Nowhere is it demanded that all objections be directly answered,
in order that the conviction be true. If I, with the whole world,
am convinced that I am able to recognize the truth, must I
therefore carefully disentangle all the cobwebs ever spun about
the truth by brooding philosophical brains? If I am in the house,
safe from the rain, must I, in order to keep dry, go out and catch
every drop of rain that is falling? Such doubts may indeed harass
the untrained mind, may even confuse it. This is the juncture
where grace comes in, the pledge of which has been received at
baptism, bringing enlightenment, peace, assurance; then we learn
from others and from ourselves that faith is also a grace.
Nevertheless a scientific examination of the foundations and truths of
faith is allowed and wholesome. Nearly all the theological works written
by Catholics since the days of _Justin_ and _Augustine_ are nothing but
examinations of this kind. At every examination one proceeds with doubt
and question. This is admitted; but this doubt must be merely a methodical
one, not a serious one, nor need it be serious. These two kinds of doubt
must be clearly distinguished. In case of a serious doubt I look upon the
matter as really dubious, and withhold my assent. I am not yet convinced
of its truth. This kind of a doubt is not allowed in matters of faith and
it is the only one that is forbidden. In case of a methodical doubt I
proceed as convinced of a truth, but I do not yet see the reasons plainly,
and would like to be fully conscious of them. Evidently there is no need
of casting aside the convictions I have hitherto held, and of beginning to
think that the matter is by no means positively established.
For instance, I am convinced that a complicated order must be the work of
intellect; however, I would like to find the proof of it. Hence I proceed
as if the truth were yet to be found. But it would evidently be absurd to
think in the meantime that such admirable order could be the result of
blind accident. Or, I am convinced that there must be a source for every
event: I desire to find the demonstration of it. In the meantime shall I
think it possible for another Nova Persei to be produced in the sky
without any cause? Or, investigating to see whether I am capable of
recognizing the truth, shall I seriously become a sceptic till I am
convinced that I ought not to be such? As soon as I really doubt that I
can recognize anything at all as true, obviously I cannot proceed any
further. _Kant_ begins his “Critique of Pure Reason” with this doubt, and
many imitate him, but only by evident inconsistency are they able to
continue their researches by means of reason. Scientific examination does
not consist in repudiating a certainty held hitherto, in order to arrive
at it anew; it consists in bringing to one’s clear consciousness the
reasons for that certainty, and in trying to formulate those reasons
precisely. To investigate the light it is evidently not necessary first to
extinguish it.
Thus the believing Christian may most certainly probe into his religious
conviction without interfering with his adherence, and by doing so proceed
unprepossessed in the fullest sense, for unprepossession does not mean the
rooting up of all certainty. At the threshold of wisdom does not sit
Scepticism.
What Unprepossession is Not.
But the deeper, modern meaning of unprepossession is precisely the right
to doubt seriously everything, especially the truths of the Christian
faith; this is the freedom demanded. Scepticism, the stamp of our time.
Many a misconception may have contributed to the definition of this
unprepossession. For instance, overlooking the important difference
between methodical doubt and serious doubt.
Then there is the erroneous opinion that we should and could proceed
everywhere in the same way as in the natural sciences. Almost parallel
with the progress in the natural sciences grew the doubt of the
correctness of the ancient physical and astronomical notion of the world;
piece after piece crumbled away under the hand of research; new truths
were discovered. In just admiration of these results it was concluded that
all provinces of human cognition should be “researched” in the same way,
not excepting religion and theories of the world; here, too, science
should cast a radical doubt upon everything and discover truth—as if here
we had to deal with matters similar to astronomy and physics, in the state
they were centuries ago; as if all mankind was still ignorant of the truth
and science had to discover it.
This right to doubt is claimed especially in the higher questions of
religion. Certain cognition by reason is, after all, impossible here, such
is the presumption, and therefore, first of all, it is the right and duty
of man, as soon as he has attained his intellectual maturity, to shape by
doubt his views of the world to the satisfaction of his mind and heart, to
win them by a struggle; nor is this true only in the case of the single
individual, but also of entire generations. To see problems everywhere,
not to have any convictions, this is taken to be true unprepossession.
“Man must learn,” so we are told, “that there is no absolute
miracle, not even in the domain of the religious life, which
supernaturally offers truth at a point or by an institution, but
that every man and every era as witnessed by the authority of
history must conquer truth by themselves for their own sake and at
their own risk” (_E. Troeltsch_, Internationale Wochensch. 1908,
26). Thus the mind of man cannot slake its thirst for positive
truth at the divine fountain of revelation, but only by search and
research. Such is the cheerful message of this science. “Amid
grave crises,” we are told again, “a new concept of science has
forced its way to the front since the beginning of the eighteenth
century and conquered the universities.” “Science is not a
finished system, but a research to be forever under examination”
(_A. Harnack_, Die Aufgabe der theol. Facultaeten, 1901, 17).
Research without ever arriving at the sure possession of the truth, this
is now the meaning of science, especially of philosophy. Hence there
cannot be a philosophy conclusive and immutable, and any point which seems
established may at any time be revised according to new perceptions.
“There is no question that may not be asked; none which in the abstract
could not just as well be denied as affirmed. In this sense philosophy is
unprepossessed” (_Paulsen_, Die deutschen Universitaeten, 1902, 304
_seq._). The highest achievement it declares itself capable of, is not to
point out the truth to its disciples, for it does not know the truth
itself, but only this: “We expect, or at least we should expect, that
during the years of study the mind give itself earnestly to philosophy,
and strive for a firm grasp of ideas. The great pathfinders in world
thought, _Plato_, _Aristotle_, _Spinoza_, _Kant_, and whoever may be
ranked with them, remain the living teachers of philosophy.” Thus we hold
those great intellectual achievements, _Plato’s_ doctrine and ideas,
_Spinoza’s_ atheistic pantheism, _Aristotle’s_ objectivism and _Kant’s_
subjectivism, with other views of the world of most variegated patterns,
all contradicting and excluding one another, all dubious, none sure. What
would be said of an astronomy that could do nothing better than fix the
telescope on the different stars and then tell its disciples: Now look for
what you please, ideas of _Ptolemy_ or _Copernicus_; _Aristotle’s_ theory
of the spheres or _Newton’s_ theory of gravity; each has its points, but
of none can it be said it is certain! Such an astronomy would probably be
left to its deserved fate.
In the most important points of religion mankind has ever, even in pagan
times, recognized the truth, albeit imperfectly. This is evinced by the
conviction that there exists a personal God and a hereafter; convictions
which can be proved historically. God’s revelation has provided those who
desire to believe with a fuller knowledge of the truth: heaven and earth
will pass away, but these words will not pass away. But what is already in
our safe possession cannot be once more discovered by research. What has
already been found is no longer an object of research. Mankind’s lot would
be a sad one indeed were this unprepossessed science in the right; if in
the most important questions of life it were condemned forever to
tantalizing doubt. God’s providence has ordained matters more kindly for
humanity.
On the other hand, it is a poor science that has nothing to offer but an
eternal query for the truth. A poor science, that with self-consciousness
promises enlightenment and what not, but finally can give nothing but
ceaseless doubt instead of truth, tormenting darkness instead of cheerful
light. Why, then, research where nothing can be found? Why raise searching
eyes to the sky when the stars do not show themselves? What kind of
progress is this when science does nothing further than dig forever at the
foundation? The great _St. Augustine_ has long also passed judgment on
this kind of science: “Such doubting is abhorred by the City of God as
false wisdom, because among the things which we grasp with our intellect
and reason there is a knowledge, limited, it is true, because the soul is
weighed down by a perishable body, as the Apostle says: _ex parte
scimus_—but which has full certainty” (De Civitate Dei, XIX, 18).
An Erroneous Supposition.
The errors just dealt with, and the demand that scientific research must
doubt everything, is based on a supposition often stated expressly as a
principle, and which appears quite plausible even to a mind not trained in
philosophy. It says: There is but one certainty, the scientific certainty;
the certain possession of the truth can be obtained only by scientific
research. To rid the world of error, we are told, “there is but one way,
viz., scientific work. Only science and scientific truth are able to
dispose of error” (_Th. Lipps_, Allgemeine Zeitung, Muenchen, August 4,
1908). “Truth is scientific truth, based on criticism, hence the religion
of modern man must also rest on critical truth.... There is no other
authority but science” (_Masaryk_, Kampf um die Religion, 13).
This sort of speech we hear from the college chair as the slogan for
education and enlightenment: any one deficient in science or in education
belongs more or less to the unthinking mass who have no convictions of
their own, but submit blindly to impressions and authority.
Such unclarified conceptions, with their inferences, are even met
with where they would not be expected, for instance, we read:
“What the average individual needed was a good shepherd, a
shepherd’s devotion and love, that uplifts and urges onward; it
was authority, Church-ministry and care of souls, that was needed.
The Church is an organized pastorate, for the average individual
likes to go with the flock. The chosen are they who feel within
themselves the great question of truth as the care of their heart
and task of their life, who experience its tremendous tension, and
who are struggling to the end with the intellectual battles
provoked by this question of truth. The average people, _i.e._,
the many, the great majority, need something steady to which they
can cling—persons and teachers, laws and practice.” And why this
uncharitable distinction between people belonging to the flock and
the chosen ones, as if the Church and its ecclesiastical functions
were only appointed for the former? Particularly because “without
methodical scientific work man cannot attain to the truth” (_H.
Schell_, Christus, 1900, 125, 64).
Thus science may summon everything before its forum, no one having a right
to interfere; in the superiority bestowed by the right of autocracy it may
sweep aside everything that is opposed to it, no matter by what authority.
Hence science must be free to jolt everything, free to question the truth
of everything, which it has not itself examined and approved. This is the
fundamental supposition of modern freedom of science; also a fatal error,
betraying a woeful ignorance of the construction of the human intellect,
in spite of all its pretentiousness. As a rule we have a true certainty in
most matters, particularly in philosophical-religious convictions, a
certainty not gained by scientific studies; by aid of the latter we may
explain or strengthen that certainty, but we are not free to upset it.
We cannot avoid examining this point a little closer. There is a twofold
certainty, one, which we shall call the _natural_ certainty, is a firm
conviction based on positive knowledge, but without a clear reflexive
consciousness of the grounds on which the conviction is actually resting.
Reason recognizes these grounds, but the recognition is not distinct
enough for reason to become conscious of them, to be able to state them
accurately and in scientific formulas. _scientific_ certainty is a firm
conviction, with a clear consciousness of the grounds, hence it can easily
account for them. Natural certainty is the usual one in human life;
scientific certainty is the privilege of but a few, and even they have it
in but very few things.
Everybody has a positive intellectual certainty that a complicated
order cannot be the result of accident, and that for every event
there must be a cause, though not every one will be able readily
to demonstrate the truth of his certainty. But if the philosopher
should look for the proof, he would do so in no other way than by
reflecting upon his natural and direct knowledge, and by trying to
become conscious of what he has thus directly found out. To
illustrate by a few examples: We are all convinced of the
existence of an exterior world, and any one who is not an idealist
will call this conviction a reasonable certainty, and yet only a
few will be able to answer the subtle questions of a sceptic. This
certainty again is a natural but not a scientific one. How
difficult it is here also for reason to attain scientific
certainty, how easy it is to go astray in these researches, is
proved by the errors of idealism so incomprehensible to the
untrained natural mind. Let us ask, finally, any one: Why must we
say: “_Cæsar_ defeated _Pompey_,” but not “_Cæsar_ defeated of
_Pompey_”? He will tell us this is nonsense; maybe he will add
that the genitive has another meaning. But should I ask further
how the meaning of the genitive differs from that of the
accusative, as both cases seem to have often the same meaning, I
shall get no answer. There is a certitude, but only a natural one.
Even if I should ask modern students of the psychology and history
of languages, like _Wundt_, _Paul_, or whatever their names may
be, I should not get a satisfactory answer either. The whole logic
of language, with its subtle forms and moods of expression—how
difficult for scientific research! And yet the mind of even a
child penetrates it, and not only a European child, but the
Patagonian and negro child, who is able to master by its
intellectual power complex languages, with four numbers, many
moods, fourteen tenses, etc.
These examples will suffice, though volumes of them could be
written. They show us clearly a twofold certainty. The difference
between the natural and scientific certainty is not that the
former is a blind conviction formed at random, but only that one
is not clearly conscious of the reasons on which it rests, whereas
this is the case in scientific certitude. We see further the
untrained power of the intellect manifest itself in natural
knowledge and certainty; for this purpose it is primarily created;
philosophical thought is difficult for it, and many have no talent
at all for it. It is also unfailing in apprehending directly
things pertaining to human life. Here the mind is free of that
morbid scepticism of which it too easily becomes a prey when it
begins to investigate and probe scientifically. What it there sees
with certainty cannot always be found here distinctly, and thus
the mind begins to doubt things it was hitherto sure of, and which
often remain instinctively certain to the mind despite its
artificial doubts. Now we can also understand why philosophers so
often have doubts which to the untrained look absurd, and why
philosophers differ in their opinions on most important things,
whereas mankind guided by its natural certitude is unanimous in
them.
This certainty is destined to be the reliable guide of man through life.
It precedes science, and can even exist without it. Long before there was
a science of art and of jurisprudence the Babylonians and Egyptians had
built their monuments, and _Solon_ and _Lycurgus_ had given their wise
laws. And long before philosophers were disputing about the moral laws,
men had the right view in regard to virtue and vice (cf. _Cicero_, De
Oratore, I, 32). The same certitude is also destined to guide man in the
more important questions, in the questions of religion and morality. The
Creator of human nature and its destiny, who implanted instinct in the
animal to guide it unconsciously in the necessities of life, has also
given to man the necessary light to perceive with certainty truths without
which it would be impossible to live a life worthy of man.
It is just this natural knowledge and certitude that gives man certainty
of divine revelation, after God vouchsafed to give it to mankind for its
unfailing guidance and help. For revelation was not only intended for
theologians, Bible critics, philosophers, and Church-historians, but for
all. And God has taken care, as He had to do, that man has ample evidence
that God has spoken, and that the Church is the authorized Guardian of
this revelation, even without critical research in history and philosophy.
We have elsewhere briefly stated this evidence in the words of the Vatican
Council.
This evidence is seen in the invincible stability of the Church
and its unity of faith, the incontestable miracles never ceasing
within it, the grand figures of its Saints and Martyrs, virtue in
the various classes, a virtue increasing in proportion to the
influence the Church exerts, the spectacle that everything truly
noble is attracted by the Christian faith and the contrary
repulsed. In addition the intrinsic grandeur and harmony of the
truths of faith, above all the unique figure of Christ, with His
wonderful life and sufferings, also the calm and peace of mind
effected in the soul of the faithful by living and thinking in
this faith; all these tell him that here the spirit of God is
breathing, the spirit of truth. The natural light of his
intellect, further illuminated by grace, suffices to give him a
true intellectual certainty of his faith, based upon these motives
and similar ones, even without scientific studies. The calmness of
the mind that holds fast to this faith, the compunction and unrest
which follow defection from the faith, both so characteristic of
Catholics, prove that their minds embrace the truth in their
faith.
Hence it betrays little philosophical knowledge of the peculiarity
of man’s intellectual life, if infidelity approaches an
inexperienced, believing student, perhaps even an uneducated
labourer, with the express assurance that his faith hitherto has
been but a blind belief, an unintelligent following of the lead of
a foreign authority, with the distinct admonition to turn his back
on the faith of his childhood.
What has been said above makes it clear why a Catholic is not
permitted to have a serious doubt about his faith under the
pretext that he ought first to form a certain conviction all for
himself by scientific investigation. He has it already, if we
presuppose sufficient instruction and normal conditions; he may
raise his natural certitude to a scientific one by study if he has
the time and talent for it, but he must not condition his assent
upon the success of his scientific investigations. He has
certitude; he has no right to demand scientific knowledge as a
necessary condition, because it is not required for certitude, and
also because it lies altogether outside of the conditions of human
life. It would amount simply to shaking off the yoke of truth. The
Church teaches as follows: “If any one says that the condition of
the faithful and of those who have not yet come to the only true
faith is equal, so that Catholics can have a just cause for
suspending their assent and calling in question the faith which
they have received by the ministry of the Church until they have
completed the scientific demonstration of the credibility and
truth of it, let him be anathema.”
How high this wisdom rises above the limited thought of a science that
imagines itself alone to be wise! Sad indeed would be the lot of mankind
could it attain to certain truth in the most important questions of life
only by lengthy scientific investigations. The overwhelming majority of
mankind would be forever excluded from the certain knowledge that there is
a God, an eternity, liberty, that there are immutable moral laws and
truths, on the value of which depends the woe and weal of humanity.
Behold the wisdom of the world that is put before us: “In order to
arrive at a definite conclusion by our own philosophical reasoning
(on the existence of God and the possibility of miracles) what a
multitude of things must be presupposed!” Thus we are informed in
a philosophical novel of modern times which aims at proving the
incompatibility of the Catholic duty to believe with the freedom
of the intellect [Katholische Studenten, by _A. Friedwald_ (nom de
plume). An explanation of the ideas contained in it is given by
the Academia 18, 1905-6, December and March. The ideas found in
the novel are also advanced by _A. Messer_, Einführung in die
Erkenntnistheorie, 1909, p. 158 _seq._]. And Prof. _Rhodius_, who
put the ideas of the novel in formulas, teaches: “The question
whether our knowledge could penetrate beyond what we know by our
experience and even our senses, is answered, as you know, in the
negative by a noted philosophical school. Hence, before attacking
those metaphysical questions regarding the existence of God and
His relations to the world, we must first try to have definite
views as to the essence of human knowledge, of its criterion, its
scope, and of the degrees of its certainty. But these preliminary
questions of theoretic knowledge, how difficult and perplexing
they are! You probably have not the faintest idea into what a mass
of individual problems the main questions must be dissected, nor
what a multitude of heterogeneous views are struggling here
against one another” (p. 181).
Consider how shortsighted a wisdom is manifested by these words.
Is it seriously intended to summon the peasant from his plough,
the old grandmother from behind the stove, and lead them into the
lecture rooms of the university in order that they might there
listen to lectures on phenomenalism, and positivism, and realism,
and criticism, until their heads are swimming? Or else can they
not hope to arrive at the truth? Do they seriously think that the
truth asked for by every man, the truth in the most vital
questions of mankind, is the exclusive privilege of a few college
professors? And how very few. More than twenty-four hundred years
have elapsed since the days of _Pythagoras_, and yet modern
philosophy still stands before the first preliminary question in
all knowledge, whether a man can know what the eye does not see.
“Many views are at variance there.” If this be the only way for
mankind to reach certain truth, then we are indeed in a pitiful
plight!
We esteem philosophy and its subtle questions, and we heartily
wish our Catholic young men in college to obtain a more thorough
philosophical training. But if, involved in theories, one will
lose his insight into the world and human life to such a degree as
to make of the “wisdom of the world” an isolated narrow
speculation which boasts of being alone able to discover the
higher truths, while withering in neurasthenic doubt—such wisdom
should be left to its deserved fate, sterility.
Or should it be possible to the ideal of Protestantism—and
therefore also of the modern spirit—to console mankind by pointing
out that the knowledge of the question which concerns us most
deeply, “the knowledge of God and the knowledge of good, remains
but a leading idea and problem, though we are confident of
advancing nearer to its solution”? Is thus mankind to be eternally
without light in the most important questions and problems? Every
little plant and animal is equipped by nature with everything it
needs—and man alone to be a failure? The young shoots of the tree
strive to bring forth blossoms and fruit, and succeed; the bird
flies off in the fall in quest of a new home, and finds it; hunger
and thirst demand food and get it; only the aim of the human mind
shall never be fulfilled—he alone shall ever pine without
hope!—_Dicentes se esse sapientes stulti facti sunt._ What a
difference between such principles and the grand thoughts of
Christianity! A difference like that between peace and eternal
restless doubt, like that between man’s dignity and man’s
degradation, between man’s short-sightedness and the wisdom of
God.
Hence the result of our discussion is: independent of science mankind has
its positive convictions, independent of science it finds here rest and
gratification in its longing for truth. Scientific study and research are
for the purpose of setting these truths in a brighter light, of defending
the patrimony of mankind. But the fosterer of science must not claim the
freedom to ignore these positive convictions in himself and in others, to
endanger the patrimony of mankind by doubts and attacks instead of
protecting it, much less must he condemn the human mind to the eternal
labour of _Sisyphus_, to the eternal rolling of a huge stone which,
recoiling, must always be lifted anew.