Among the notable facts in history one stands out prominently, it is more
remarkable than any other, and evokes serious thought. It is the fact that
the Christian religion, especially its foremost representative, the
Catholic Church, concerning which every unbiassed critic is bound to admit
that none has made more nations moral, happy and great than this Church;
that nowhere else has virtue and holiness flourished more than in her;
that no one else has laboured more for truth and purity of morals; that
nevertheless there is not, and never was, an institution which has more
enemies, which has been more persecuted, than the Catholic Church. This
fact will suggest to every serious-minded critic the question, whether we
have not here focussed that tremendous struggle, which truth and justice
have ever waged in the bosom of mankind against error and passions—an
image of the struggle raging in every human breast. The Church recognizes
in this fact the fulfilment of the prophecy of her Founder: “And ye shall
be hated by all men for my name’s sake” (Luke xxi. 17). And the Church may
add, that in her alone this prophecy is being fulfilled.
The Enemy of Progress.
In her journey through the centuries the Church has had to listen to many
accusations because she, the keeper of the truth entrusted to her care,
has refused to respond to the demand to accept unconditionally the ideals
devised by existing fashions. _Cantavimus vobis et non saltastis_ (we have
piped to you and you have not danced). Therefore the Church has been
called reactionary; the heretics of the first centuries of Christianity
denounced her as the enemy of the higher gnosis; a later period denounced
her as an enemy of the genuine humanism, in the eighteenth century she was
denounced as the enemy of enlightenment, to-day she is denounced as the
enemy of progress. Again the Church is accused before the judicial bar of
the children of the age. They desire to eat plentifully from the tree of
knowledge, but the Church, they say, prevents them. They wish to climb the
heights of human perfection, to ascend higher than any preceding
generation, but the Church holds them back. She will keep them in the
fetters of her guardianship. And with a keen, searching eye the smart
children of our age have looked the old Church over, taking notice of
everything, anxious to put her in the wrong.
Their charges do not fail to make an impression, even on the Church
herself. She wishes to justify herself before the plaintiffs, and still
more before her own children who trust in her. Thus she has not hesitated
in declaring loudly on most solemn occasions that _she is not an enemy of
noble science_ and of human progress, and with great earnest she takes
exception to this charge.
No wonder, one might say, that the Church makes such assurances. It is
time for her to realize that unless she can clear herself from it this
accusation will be her moral ruin at a time when the banner of progress is
held aloft, and when even the Catholic world shares in that progress.
True, but let us not forget this: if there is anything characteristic of
the Catholic Church it is her frankness and honesty. She is not afraid to
proclaim her doctrines and judgments before the whole world; she leaves
her Index and Syllabus open for inspection, openly avowing that she is the
irreconcilable enemy of that emancipated freedom proclaimed by modern
liberalism as the ideal of the age. It is the honesty which she inherited
from her Founder, who told the truth to friend and enemy, to His disciples
and to the Scribes, to _Nicodemus_, that lonely night, and to _Caiaphas_.
With the same straightforwardness the Church declares that she feels not
enmity but sympathy toward civilization. A fair-minded critic will admit
here again that the Church is in earnest. “Far from opposing the fostering
of human arts and sciences, the Church is supporting and promoting them in
various ways,” declares the Vatican Council. “The Church does not
underrate nor despise their advantages for human life: on the contrary, it
avows that they, coming as they do from God, the Master of the sciences,
also lead to God by aid of His grace, when properly used” (Sess. III, c.
4). The Church has put this accusation on the list of errors of the age
condemned by _Pius X._ (Sent. 57). She feels the charge as an injury.
The Testimony of History.
Nevertheless, in anti-ecclesiastical circles it is taken very often for an
established fact that the Roman Church has ever tried her best to hamper
the progress of science, or has suppressed it, or at least scowled at it.
How could it be otherwise? they say. How could she favour the progress
made in enlightening reason or in advancing human knowledge? Must she not
fear for its intellectual sway over men whom she keeps under the yoke of
faith? Must she not fear that they might awaken from the slumber in which
they were held prisoners by the suggestive force of her authority, held to
be transcendental; that they might awaken to find out the truth for
themselves? And what is the use of science? He that believes will be
saved: hence faith suffices. If we wish to hear the accusation in the
language of militant science, here it is: “Outside the monastic
institutions no attempt at intellectual advancement was made (in the
Middle Ages), indeed, so far as the laity were concerned, the influence of
the Church was directed to an opposite result, for the maxim universally
received was, that ‘ignorance is the mother of devotion’ ” (_J. W.
Draper_, History of the Conflict between Religion and Science).
This is the train of thought and the result of anti-ecclesiastical
a-priorism and its historical research. Are the plain facts of history in
accord with it? The first and immediate task of the Church is certainly
not to disseminate science: her task, first of all, lies in the province
of morals and religion. But as she is the highest power of morality and
religion, she stands in the midst of mankind’s intellectual life, and
cannot but come in contact with its other endeavours, owing to the close
unity of that life. Hence, let us ask history, not about everything it
might tell us in this respect, but about one thing only.
We do not wish to show how the Church, headed by the Papacy, has become
the mother of Western civilization and culture. Nor shall we enumerate the
merits of the Church in art, nor point out the alertness she has certainly
shown, in her walk through the centuries, by taking up the intellectual
achievements of the time and assimilating them with her moral and
religious treasure of faith, withal preserved unchanged. The old Church
had done this with the treasures of ancient learning and science; “this
spirit of Christianity proved itself by the facility with which Christian
thinkers gathered the truth contained in the systems of old philosophy,
and, even before that, by assimilating those old truths into Christian
thought, the beginning of which had already been made in the New
Testament. They were appropriated, without hesitating experiment, without
wavering, and were given their place in a higher order” (_O. Willmann_,
Gesch. des Idealismus, 2d ed., II, 1907, 67). This, she unceasingly
continues to do, as proved by the high standard of Catholic life and
Catholic science at the present, a fact not even disputed by opponents. We
point only incidentally to _the foundation and the fostering of primary
schools_ by the Church. It is an historical fact that public education
began to thrive only with the freer unfolding of the Church.
The first elementary schools were those of the monasteries. Later
on there were established after their pattern the cathedral and
chapter schools, then the parish schools. Still later there came
the town and village schools—all of ecclesiastical origin, or at
least under the direction of the Church and in close connection
with her. As early as 774 we find an ecclesiastical school law, to
the effect that each Bishop should found an ecclesiastical school
in his episcopal town and appoint a competent teacher to instruct
“according to the tradition of the Romans.” _Eugene II._ ordained
in 826 anew that efficient teachers should be provided for the
cathedral schools wherever needed, who were “to lecture on the
sciences and the liberal arts with zeal.” “All Bishops should have
the liberal arts taught at their churches,” was a resolution of
the Council held in Rome in 1079 by _Gregory VII._ We read in the
acts of the Lateran Synod of 1179: “Inasmuch as it behooves the
Church, like a loving mother, to see to it that poor children who
cannot count upon the support of their parents should not lack
opportunity of learning to read and make progress, there should at
every cathedral church be given an adequate prebend to the
teacher—who is to teach the clerics of this church and the poor
pupils gratuitously” (_E. Michael_, Gesch. des Deutschen Volkes
II, 1899, 370). School education flourished more and more; in the
thirteenth century it was in full bloom. In Germany even many
unimportant places, market towns, boroughs, and villages had their
schools at that time. In Mayence and its immediate neighbourhood
there were, in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, seven chapter
schools; at Muenster at least four schools; the clerical schools
at Erfurt had an attendance of no less than 1,000 pupils. About
the year 1400 the diocese of Prague alone had 460 schools. In the
middle Rhine district, about the year 1500, many counties had an
elementary school for every radius of two leagues; even rural
communities with 500 to 600 inhabitants, like Weisenau near Mainz,
and Michaelstadt in Odenwald, did not lack schools. (_J. Janssen_,
Gesch. des Deutschen Volkes, 15th ed., 1890, 26; cf. Michael, 1.
c. 402, 417-419; _Palacky_, Gesch. v. Boehmen, III, 1, p. 186).
Even in far-off Transylvania there was, as early as the fourteenth
century, no village without a church and a school (_K. Th.
Becker_, Die Volksschule der Siebenbuerger Sachsen, 1894, y;
Michael, 430). There is no doubt that this flourishing state of
schools was due in the first place to the stimulus, support, and
unselfish effort of the Church.
But we will not dwell longer on this subject. We wish, however, to point
out more plainly something more closely related to our subject, viz., _the
attitude of the Church towards the universities_, at a time when the most
prominent nurseries of science were first coming into existence and
beginning to flourish, when they began to exert their influence upon the
civilization of Europe. Here, in the first place, it should become clear
whether it be true that the Church has ever looked upon the progress of
science with suspicion or even suppressed it. History teaches, in this
instance again, that no one has shown more interest, more devotion, more
readiness, to make sacrifices in promoting the establishment and growth of
the university, than the Church.
When, in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the thirst for knowledge,
stronger than at any time in history, made itself felt in the Christian
countries of Europe, there were erected in the universities great
international homes of science, so as to gratify the deeply felt need of
education. And thousands hastened to these places to acquire the knowledge
of the period, overcoming all difficulties, then much greater than now. A
recent writer remarks about this not without reason: “The academic
instruction met on part of the thronging thousands with a psychic
disposition more favourable than at any other time. In a way it was here a
case of first love” (_W. Muench_, Zukunftspaedagogik, 1908, 337). At the
universities of the Middle Ages there were taught theology, ecclesiastical
and civil law, the liberal arts, and medicine. But not in the manner that
all four faculties were everywhere represented. Theology especially was
quite frequently lacking, though the aim was to have all sciences
represented. What since the beginning of the thirteenth century was first
of all understood by a university were _studia generalia_—then the usual
name for universities, in contradistinction to _studium particulare_.
Universities enjoyed the privilege of having their academic degrees
honoured everywhere, and their graduates could teach anywhere. The
universities were of an international character. Hence it happened that at
the German universities there were sitting in quest of knowledge by the
side of Germans also foreign youths, from Scotland, Sweden, and Norway,
from Italy and France, all contending for academic honours—a moment which
unquestionably contributed in no small degree to the improvement of
education.
Prior to the Reformation, universities were not state institutions, as
they are at present in Europe, but free, independent corporations. They
were complete in themselves, they made their own statutes, had their own
jurisdiction, and many other privileges. The modern university enjoys but
a small remnant of those ancient prerogatives. In a public speech, made in
the presence of the Duke of Saxony, the Leipsic professor, _Johann Kone_,
could say in 1445: “No king, no chancellor, has any right to interfere
with our privileges and exemptions; the university rules itself, and
changes and improves its statutes according to its needs” (_Janssen_, 1.
c. 91).
Up to the year 1300 there were no less than 23 universities established in
Italy, 5 in France, 2 in England, 4 in Spain, and 1 in Portugal. “Had all
intentions been realized, Europe would have had by the year 1400 no fewer
than 55 universities, including Paris and Bologna. But of 9 of them there
are extant only the charter deeds that were never executed. At any rate,
there were 46 of them, of which 37 or 39 existed at the turn of the
fourteenth century; a considerable number, which was not known till recent
years” (_Denifle_). Germany, Austria, and Hungary shared in 8: Prague,
Cracow, Vienna, Fuenfkirchen, Ofen, Heidelberg, Cologne, and Erfurt.
Within fifty years, from 1460 to 1510, no less than 9 universities were
founded in Germany—a clear proof of the generous enthusiasm for science of
that period.
By their fostering and founding of universities, secular princes have won
the lasting gratitude of posterity, and so have the municipalities of a
later period for showing an even greater zeal than those princes. But it
was indisputably the Church that bestowed upon these homes of learning and
culture the greatest benevolence and support for their foundation and
maintenance.
In the first place, history shows that the majority of them were founded
by _Papal charters_. Since universities were understood to have the power
of conferring degrees of international value, they had to be universally
acknowledged; this could be effected only by an authority of universal
recognition; hence by the Roman-German Emperor—as the supreme prince of
the world-wide Christian monarchy, or by the Pope, who was considered in
the first place. He was the general Father and Teacher of Christendom;
this is why Papal charters were so zealously sought after, in addition to
imperial charters. Of the 44 universities called into existence before the
year 1400, 31 were founded by Papal charters. A similar condition
prevailed in the fifteenth century and afterwards, up to the Reformation.
This was no interference in foreign affairs: such an interpretation would
have caused just surprise in the Middle Ages. That the highest spiritual
power on earth should have the first claim in education was a matter of
general concession. And certainly the manner in which the Church made use
of this right, to speak with an historian of the universities, forms “one
of the most important, and by no means least inglorious, parts of an
activity so manifold and difficult” (_V. A. Huber_, Die Englischen
Universitaeten, I, 1839, p. 14).
These Papal charters breathe a warm _benevolence_ for science. Everywhere
we find the wish expressed, that studies thrive in those places which are
most suitable for the effectual spread of science, and that the different
countries have a sufficient number of scientifically trained men.
Read, for instance, the charter given by Pope _Boniface VIII._ to
Pamiers and Avignon, or the Letter of Privileges granted to
Coimbra by _Clement V._ (apud _Denifle_, 793, 524), or _Pius
II.’s_ Bull founding the university of Basle. The Pope says here
about the aim of science: “Among the various blessings to which
man may by the grace of God attain in this mortal life, the last
place is not to be given to persevering study, by which man may
gain the pearl of the sciences, which point out the way to a good
and happy life, and by their excellence elevate the learned men
above the uneducated. Science makes man like to God, and enables
him to clearly perceive the secrets of the world. It aids the
unlearned, it elevates to sublime heights those born in the
lowliest condition.” “For this reason the Holy See has always
promoted the sciences, given them homes, and provided for their
wants, that they might flourish, so that men, well directed, might
the more easily acquire so lofty a human happiness, and, when
acquired, share it with others.” This was the longing desire that
led to the opening at Basle of “a plentiful spring of science, of
whose fulness all those may draw who desire to be introduced into
the study of the mysteries of Scripture and learning.” Even prior
to this, the same Pope had written to the Duke _Louis of Bavaria_:
“The Apostolic See desires the widest possible extension of
science,” which, “while other things are exhausted by
dissemination, is the only thing that expands the more the greater
the number of those reached by it” (apud _Janssen_, 1. c, p. 89).
But the Church was not satisfied with granting charters. She also gave
very _substantial material aid_ to most of the universities. The Popes
maintained two universities at Rome, one of them connected with the Papal
Curia, a sort of court-school. It was founded by _Innocent IV._, in order
that the many who came to the Papal court from all parts of Christendom
might satisfy also their thirst for knowledge. Theology, law, especially
civil law, medicine, and languages, including Oriental languages, were
taught there. Besides this there was another university at Rome, founded
by _Boniface VIII._ for a similar purpose: it did not flourish long,
though in 1514 it counted no less than eighty-eight professors. Many
attempts to found or support universities would have proved abortive had
not the Popes provided for the salaries of professors by prebends and
stipends, and by allotting to that end a portion of the income of priests
and churches. Bishops, too, proved themselves zealous patrons of the
universities (_Paulsen_, Gesch. des gelehrten Unterrichts, 2d ed., I,
1898, p. 27).
Thus, to cite a few examples of German universities, there was in
1532, with the consent of the Archbishop _Arnest_, a contribution
raised by the clergy for the endowment of the university of
Prague, to which the various cloisters and chapters, especially
those at Prague, contributed. With the money thus raised the
Archbishop purchased property, the income from which was to
provide salaries for the professors. Twelve professors received
from _Urban V._ the canonicates of the church of All Saints
(_Denifle_, 598). Erfurt university was given 4 canonicates,
Cologne 11, Greifswald still more. Similarly Tuebingen, Breslau,
Rostock, Wittenberg, and Freiburg were cared for (_Kaufmann_, Die
Gesch. der Deutschen Universitaeten, II, 1896, p. 34, _seq._).
Vienna found a benefactor in the pastor of Gars, who on October
13, 1370, founded a purse for 3 sublectors and 1 scholar.
Heidelberg received 10 canonicates. Its great benefactor was the
learned _Johann von Dalberg_, first curator of the university, and
later Bishop of Worms. Under him Heidelberg reached the zenith of
its lustre, and laid the foundation of almost all that has won it
the reputation it at present enjoys. By his co-operation the first
chair of Greek was founded; to him the foundation of the college
library is due, which later on gained world-wide fame under the
name of “Palatina.” He further collected a private library, rich
in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew books, the use of which was open to
all scientists. “The Rhenish Literary Society” attained its
greatest prominence under his direction (_Janssen_, 1. c.
100-105). Ingolstadt, too, obtained its needed income by the
donation of rich church-prebends, to such an extent that the
“endowments netted the university about 2,500 florins,” a very
large sum for that time (_Kaufmann_, 1. c. 38). _Prantl_ also
admits in regard to Ingolstadt: “The Papal Curia did its best to
furnish the university” (Gesch. der Ludwig-Maximilian in
Ingolstadt, 1872, I, 19, apud _Janssen_, 1. c. p. 9).
It is true, the Church then owned much property. But it is just as true
that she was ever ready to support science and colleges out of this
property. Pope and clergy were also taking incessant pains to make it
possible for _poor students_ to attend the university, not only for
theological students, but for those of all the faculties, to give an
opportunity to rich and poor alike to enjoy the advantages of higher
education. Stipends and legacies of this kind are numerous. Even in our
own days many a son of an _alma mater_ owes the stipend he enjoys to
endowments made by the Church. In the course of time there were
established at most of the universities so-called _colleges_ for the
purpose of offering shelter and maintenance to poor students.
These colleges contributed essentially to the flourishing
condition of the university. Thus _Albrecht v. Langenstein_
suggested, at the founding of Vienna university, to the Duke,
_Albrecht of Austria_, the establishment of such colleges,
inasmuch as the continuance of the university was dependent on
them, and stated that Paris owed its prosperity to them
(_Denifle_, 624).
The Popes set here the best example. _Zoen_, Bishop of Avignon,
had provided in his testament that eight students from the
province of Avignon should be maintained at Bologna by his
successors from their estates at Bologna. These estates, however,
were sold later on. _John XXII._ then interfered in favour of the
students injured thereby and annulled the deed of purchase. The
income was set aside and increased to an amount sufficient for
thirty scholars; later on the Pope endeavoured to raise their
number to fifty. At the same celebrated academy, which, next to
Paris, had long been a beacon of science sought from near and
afar, _Urban V._ founded a home for poor students and directed the
appropriation of 4,000 gold ducats a year for it. From June 16,
1367, to June 15, 1368, the home received an appropriation of
5,908 ducats in gold and 155 baskets of cereals. His successor,
_Gregory XI._, set himself to the task of completing the work
begun. Out of the income of the Church he ordered appropriated in
the future 1,500 ducats a year for thirty students, of whom one
half were to study Canon Law, the other half Civil Law. He then
decreed the purchase of a home for 4,500 ducats in gold, and
ordered to pay out immediately 4,000 florins in gold for the next
school year. Besides the college named, _Urban V._ had founded one
at Montpellier for medical students, and another, which had its
seat at first at Trets, later at Monosque. During his pontificate
this Pope maintained no less than 1,000 students at various
institutions. Toulouse also had several colleges for poor
students, founded by high princes of the Church. In the year 1359
_Innocent VI._ devoted his own home at Toulouse with all its
possessions and its entire income to twenty poor students, ten of
whom were to study Canon Law and ten Civil Law. For their further
maintenance he ordered given to them, besides other things, 25,000
florins in gold “manualiter” (_Denifle_, 213 _seq._, 308 _seq._,
339).
Finally, nearly all universities, whether they owed their existence to
ecclesiastical or civil power, received many and far-reaching _privileges_
from the Popes. Not the least one was for clerical students the
dispensation to free them from the requirement of residence for the
enjoyment of their benefices, which made it possible for them to study in
remote university towns, where they were free to study not only theology,
but other sciences as well. This dispensation was quite common.
Furthermore, the Popes protected in the most energetic way the
universities in their privileges and freedom every time they were applied
to for aid.
This happened, for instance, at Bologna. The students there had
their free guilds. The municipal authorities began to restrict
their privileges by forbidding native students under heavy
penalties to study outside of Bologna, which was later on extended
to the alien students. The professors sided with the city.
_Honorius III._ in 1220 called upon the latter to repeal those
statutes; if they wanted to confine the students to the city, it
should be done by clemency, not with severity and coercion. The
city relented. But we see again in 1224 the students appeal, for
the third time since 1217, to the Pope, begging for protection.
The tension had grown; the city was actually beginning to use
force. _Honorius_ sharply rebuked the city for this action,
threatening excommunication if the authorities continued to
suppress freedom. The city yielded completely, and the freedom of
the students was saved, thanks to their protector. Later on the
Popes had to interfere again. _Clement V._ had already ordered the
Bishops to protect the students at Bologna. His successor, _John
XXII._, received complaints that privileges of students in Italy
were being violated by authorities and citizens of the city.
Against the Podesta of Bologna especially complaints were made.
The Pope, in 1321 and 1322, bade the Bishops and Archbishops to
take measures against those who _directe et indirecte impedire
dieuntur, ne ad praedictum studium valeant declinare contra
apostolica et imperialia privilegia_. He appointed at Bologna a
special protector and conservator of the university. Some years
after, when the Podesta declined to take the _juramentum de
observandis statutis ejusdem studiis factis et faciendis_, he was
commanded to take the oath.
At Orleans there was a flourishing law school; especially its _jus
civile_ was famous. Professors and students were granted by
_Clement V._ the privilege of an autonomous university with the
right of free corporation, with the power to suspend lectures in
case they could get no satisfaction for any wrong done them. These
privileges were a thorn in the eye of the city; its citizens even
allowed violence to be done the university. Then _Philip the Fair_
interfered, but in a way which indicates that he did not know
sufficiently the university life of the Middle Ages. Moreover, he
annulled the granted free fellowship, and put professors and the
students under civil supervision. But this was not tolerated in
those days. The king had at the same time given many privileges,
but they were disregarded. In 1316 professors and students left
Orleans and the university ceased to exist. The first act of _John
XXII._ upon ascending the Papal throne was to restore this school,
the French king himself having begged his support in the matter.
The king’s suggestion to take the privilege of free fellowship
from the professors and students was rejected by the Pope. The
Pope reaffirmed all privileges granted to the university,
whereupon the professors and students returned, to inaugurate the
most brilliant epoch of their college.
Considering these facts, one may subscribe to the judgment of _Denifle_
which he pronounces at the conclusion of his thorough treatise on the
universities of the Middle Ages: “So far as the foundation of the
universities can be spoken of, its merit belongs to the Popes, to secular
rulers, clergy, and laity. But that the lion’s share belongs to the Popes
every one must admit who has followed my presentment, which is exclusively
based on documents, and who examines history with impartiality” (Ib. 792
_seq._). Even _Kaufmann_, who is very unfavourably disposed towards the
Church, cannot deny that “numerous Popes have shown warm interest for the
fostering of sciences during those centuries, and were for the most part
themselves prominent representatives of science” (Ib. 403).
That the mediæval universities in some points, though not in all, were
inferior to modern universities, was not their fault. No good judge of
human conditions could expect it to be otherwise. The experience and
efficiency of the mature man is not attained at once, but only after the
exertions and experiments made by him during the period of youth and
development. At a time when all the experiences in the field of school
legislation, which are the property of the present day, had yet to be
collected, when the relation between lower and higher schools had not been
regulated in all respects, at that time it was not possible to be in the
position we are in to-day. Future critics of our times will see in our
present educational systems many gross defects, which often are not hidden
even to our own eyes. But it would be arrogance for them to belittle our
efforts, the fruits of which they will once enjoy without any merit on
their part. The university of yore conformed to the educational purposes
of that period; it was the focus of intellectual life, perhaps to a larger
degree than is the case to-day. This suffices. Moreover, the number of
professors was quite considerable, that of the students even more so. In
Bologna in 1388 the number of professors was 70, not including the
theologians, among them 39 jurists; in Piacenza there were from the years
1398 to 1402 71 professors; among them were 27 teachers of Roman law and
22 teachers of medicine (_Denifle_, 209, 571).
In regard to the zeal displayed by the Church in promoting universities,
it might be objected that she was caring in the first place for
_theology_, not for the other sciences, and that the universities then had
chiefly been established for theological students. This, however, is not
the case. The universities especially favoured by the Popes were first of
all law schools, chiefly of civil law, or medical schools. Those at
Bologna, Padua, Florence, and Orleans were principally law schools; in
Italy, in general, chief attention was paid to jurisprudence, particularly
to Roman law. Montpellier was essentially a medical college; it attained
during the thirteenth century preponderance even over Salerno. The
assertion has been made that the vigorous life at this medical college was
owing to its independence of Rome (_Haeser_, Lehrbuch der Geschichte der
Medizin, 1, 655. Cfr. _Denifle_, 342). But _Denifle_ has proved that
“clerical organs have been the moving spirits of the medical college at
Montpellier.”
Nor did the Papal charter deeds exclude any profane science. The common
formula, which always prevails, authorizes to teach indiscriminately _in
jure canonico et civili necnon in medicina et qualibet alia licita
facultate_. Only one science was frequently excepted, and that was just
theology. Of the forty-six high schools that had been established up to
the year 1400, about twenty-eight, therefore nearly two-thirds, excluded
by their charter the teaching of theology. At first a number of
universities sprang up merely as law schools, others as medical schools,
and there was then no need to include the science of theology in the
schedule of studies. Furthermore, Paris was ever since the twelfth century
looked upon as the home and the natural place for theology (_Denifle_, 703
f.). Hence the benevolence of the Church towards the universities was not
merely determined by selfish interest.
Or was it, nevertheless? May the Church not have bestowed so much care on
the homes of science in order to increase her own influence thereby, and
also with an eye to the future? This assertion has been made. But this
assertion is an injustice and it is against the testimony of history. The
Popes very often issued their charter deeds only then, when request was
made by worldly rulers and by the cities themselves. Hence there was no
hurried self-assertion. And the Church has never denied the right to
worldly powers to found their own high schools. The theologians of the
thirteenth century expressedly declared it to be the duty of princes to
provide for institutions of learning (Cfr. _Thomas of Aquin_, De regimine
principum, I, 13; Op. contra impug. relig. 3).
Thus up to the year 1400 nine high schools had received no
charters at all, ten only imperial charters or charters from their
local sovereigns. If the Popes had cared only about their
influence, why then did they treat such colleges with the same
benevolence? Spain’s first college was founded at Paleneia in the
years 1212-1214 by _Alfonso VIII._ without asking the Pope. When
soon afterwards it was in trouble it was _Honorius III._ who aided
_Alfonso’s_ successor in restoring it, by assigning some
ecclesiastical income to its professors. When the college was
nearly wrecked and Rome once more applied to for help, _Urban IV._
lent an aiding hand because he did not want _ut lucerna tanta
claritatis in commune mutorum dispendium sic extincta remaneat_.
_Frederick II._ had founded a university of his own. When it
failed it was _Clement IV._ who urged _King Charles_ of Anjou to
re-establish it. _In eodem regno facias et jubeas hujusmodi
studium reformari_ (_Denifle_, 478, 459). This is not the language
and action of one who is only ruled by the passion to spread his
own influence, and not guided by benevolence for science.
But it is true, in supporting the higher schools the Church did
not aim at science as its ultimate object; it was her view that
science should serve the material welfare of man, but still more
the highest ethical and religious purpose of life. This in general
was the conception of the entire Middle Ages. At that time it
would have been considered curious to seek a science ultimately
for its own sake.
And the universities repaid the Church by gratitude and devotion. The
effort has been made to demonstrate that the modern separation of science
from religion had already begun in the Middle Ages, and had showed itself
everywhere; this tendency for autonomy “appeared at first only timidly and
in manifold disguises” (_Kaufmann_, 14). How easy it is to find such
disguises may be shown by an example. The university of Paris had after
the death of _St. Thomas_ asked for his remains. _Kaufmann_ holds that the
notion of the autonomy of science had found sharp expression in the
memorandum wherein the university stated the motive of its request. Now
how does this harmless document sound? “Quoniam omnino est indecens et
indignum ut alia ratio aut locus quam omnium studiorum nobilissima
Parisiensis civitas quae ipsum prius educavit nutrivit et fovit et post
modum ad eodem doctrinae monumenta et ineffabilia fomenta suscepit ossa
... habeat.... Si enim Ecclesia merito ossa et reliquias Sanctorum honorat
nobis non sine causa videtur honestum et sanctum tanti doctoris corpus in
perpetuum penes nos habere in honore.” Evidently the university requests
the relic for itself, or rather for the Parisiensis civitas, not in
opposition to the Church, but in opposition to other cities, altera natio
aut locus. I wonder if the Parisian admirers of St. Thomas ever dreamed
that they would one day be put in the light of forerunners of liberal
science, because of their pious application for the bones of their great
teacher? This is tantamount to carrying one’s own idea into the fact.
_Denifle_, probably the most competent judge of the affairs of mediæval
universities, writes as follows: “If we weigh the different acts which
suggest themselves to us in these various foundations, and if we compare
them with one another, there is revealed to us, in the realm of history of
the foundation of mediæval universities, a wonderful harmony between
Church and State, between the spiritual and material. This is the reason
why the universities of the Middle Ages appear to us as the highest civil
as well as the highest ecclesiastical teaching institutions.
Fundamentally, they are the product of the Christian spirit which
penetrated the whole, wherein Pope and Prince, clergy and laity, each held
the proper position” (l. c. p. 795).
One consequence of this relation between the universities and the Church
was that “they attained their greatest prosperity as long as the unity of
Church and faith remained unimpaired, and that, at the time of the
Reformation, they all sided with the Church with the exception of two,
Wittenberg and Erfurt. Torn away from their ecclesiastical and established
basis only by violent means, they were led to the new doctrine, but really
succumbed to it only when their freedom had been curtailed and they had
been reduced to state institutions” (_Janssen_, l. c. p. 91). They had
been, as the learned _Wimpheling_ wrote at the close of the sixteenth
century, “the most favoured daughters of the Church, who tried to repay by
fidelity and attachment what they owed to their Mother” (De arte
impressoria, apud _Janssen_, l. c. 91).
A False Progress.
Hence history cannot subscribe to the accusation that the Church is the
enemy of progress. How then does it happen that this accusation is made so
frequently? The idea suggests itself that there may be here a different
meaning given to the word “progress,” that the Church opposes a certain
kind of progress which her enemies call “the” progress. And this is the
actual fact. If we examine the proofs which are to show the hostile
attitude of the Church, we meet at every step _Galileo_, the Copernican
system, the Syllabus, and Index. But this appears only on the surface,
which hides beneath it something that is easily overlooked by the cursory
glance. And this is the precise definition of scientific and civilized
progress. Progress has ever been an ideal of powerful attraction. The
noblest and best of men have ever displayed the most earnest endeavour
onward and upward. In our times, however, this ideal comes forward
differently garbed, in the name of the new view of the world, and
resolutely censures as reactionary everything that will oppose it. What is
this definition?
Since the _theory of evolution_ of _Lamarck_ and _Darwin_ entered biology,
it has also more and more invaded other branches of science. The principle
is now that everywhere, in the organic or inorganic world and in the whole
province of human life there is a gradual growth and change—nothing
permanent, nothing definite and absolute. Uninterrupted evolution
hitherto; hereafter restless development; especially in the greatest good
belonging to human life, thought, philosophy, and chiefly religion. Here,
too, there are no forms nor dogmas which evolution in its continual
development does not evolve and elevate. This idea of evolution is
supplemented by subjectivism with its _relativism of truth_: all views,
especially philosophical and religious “Truths,” are no longer the
reproduction of objectively existing things, but a creation of the
subject, of his inner experience and feeling; hence each age must proceed
to new thought of _its own_.
“The methods of scientific research,” we are told, “are determined
by the idea of evolution, and this applies not only to natural
sciences but also to the so-called intellectual sciences,—history,
philology, philosophy, and theology. The idea of evolution
influences and dominates all our thoughts; without it progress in
the field of scientific knowledge is quite impossible.” We read,
for instance, in the modern history of philosophy: “The rise and
fall of a system is a necessary part of universal history; it is
conditioned by the character of its time, the system being the
understanding of that time, while this understanding of the time
is conditioned by the fact that the time has changed.” At
_Roscellin’s_ time the nominalists were intellectually inferior;
but where there is question of undermining the militant Church of
the Middle Ages the nominalists will be considered to have been
the greater philosophers. In this the realists “by the futility of
their struggle proved that the time for nominalism had arrived,
hence that whoever favours it understands the time better; that
is, more philosophically. After the beginning of the Renaissance
we notice an attempt at philosophizing in such a way as to ignore
the existence of divine wisdom taught by Christianity. The
pre-Christian sages had done so: to philosophize in their spirit
was therefore the task of the time, and those who had a better
understanding of the time philosophized that way better than by
the scholastic method; though their method may appear reactionary
to unphilosophical minds” (_J. E. Erdmann_, Grundriss der Gesch.
der Philosophie, 3d ed., I (1878), 4, 262, 434, 502). This is a
frank denial of any truth in philosophy: the more neological and
modern a thing is, the more truth there is in it! Realism was
right in _Roscellin’s_ time, but a later period had to sweep it
away. The Christian religion was right for the Middle Ages, but
when the Greek authors began to be read again it was no longer
modern.
Apostasy from the faith is considered a mark of progress. “Italian
natural philosophy,” we are told, “reached its pinnacle with
_Bruno_ and _Campanella_, of whom the former, though the older,
appears to be more progressive on account of his freer attitude
towards the Church” (_R. Falkenburg_, Gesch. der neueren
Philosophie, 5th ed. (1905), page 30, _seq._). Hence evidently
further development of Christianity, too, is demanded. According
to subjectivistic views it was hitherto only an historical product
of the human intellect: hence “onward to new and higher forms
corresponding to modern thought and feeling, onward to a new
Christianity without dogmas and authority!” “Break up those old
tablets,” spoke _Zarathustra_.
Such is progress in thought and science, for which the way must be opened.
That the immutable dogmas of Christianity, that the task of the Catholic
Church to preserve revelation intact, are incompatible with it, that the
Church appears reactionary, and as an obstacle to this progress, is now
self-evident. Here we have the _deeper contrast between progress, in the
anti-Christian sense, and the essence of Christianity_ in general, and,
especially, of the _Catholic Church_.
“It is frankly admitted that the issue is the struggle between the
two views of the world—between the Christian, conservative
dogmatism and the anti-dogmatic evolutionary philosophy” (Neue
Freie Presse, Jun. 7, 1908). Faith according to its very essence
is immutable and stationary, science is essentially progressive:
they had therefore to part in a manner which could not be kept a
secret. “A divine revelation must necessarily be intolerant of
contradiction, it must repudiate all improvement in itself” (_J.
Draper_, History of the Conflict between Religion and Science,
VI). “The great opposition between the rigid dogmatism of the
Roman Catholic Church and the ever progressing modern science
cannot be removed” (Academicus, l. c. 362). So say the opponents
of the Church.
There is no error, says _St. Augustine_, which does not contain some
truth, especially when it is able to rule the thought of many. Hence its
capacity to deceive. The same is true in the present case.
There is evolution and progress in everything, or at least there should
be. The individual gradually develops from the embryo into a perfect form,
though it becomes nothing else than what it had formerly been in its
embryonic state. Mankind advances rapidly in civilization; we no longer
ride in the rumbling stage-coach but in a comfortable express train, and
the tallow candle has been replaced by the electric light. Thus we demand
progress also in knowledge and science, and even in religion. Many things
that were obscure to older generations have become clear to us; we have
corrected many an error, made many discoveries which were unknown to our
ancestors. Many doctrines of faith, also, appear to our eyes in sharper
outlines than before; of many we have a deeper understanding, discovered
new relations, meanings, and deductions. Thus there is progress and
development everywhere.
But it would be erroneous to conclude from all this that there cannot be
any stable truths and dogmas, that progress to new and different views and
doctrines is necessary. By the same right we might conclude that the main
principles of the Copernican system cannot be immutable, because they
would hinder the progress of science. Progress certainly does not consist
in throwing away all certainty acquired, in order to begin anew. Or does
it really belong to progress in astronomy to again give up _Copernicus_,
to go back to _Ptolemy_ and let the sun and all the stars revolve again
around the earth? Does not progress rather consist in our studying these
astronomical results more closely, in building up the details, and, first
of all, in trying to solve new problems?
The champion of the faith will reply: Just as established results do not
hinder the progress of science, just so do the doctrines of faith not form
an obstacle to progress and evolution. The fixed doctrines of the faith
themselves, in themselves and in their application to the conditions of
life, offer rich material for the growth of religious knowledge. And there
is the immense field for progress in the profane sciences. If any one
should say that the believing scientist, who is bound by his dogmas, can
do nothing further but reiterate his old truths, one might in turn argue:
Then the astronomer bound by the fundamental rules of the Copernican
system could have only the monotonous task of drawing over and over again
the outlines of his system, while the mathematician who holds the
multiplication table to be an unalienable possession would not be allowed
to do aught but to repeat the multiplication table.
Or the argument may be put thus: We have made great progress in the
material province of civilization, in science and art; “can an old
religion suffice under these new and improved conditions, a religion which
originated at an age when these conditions did not exist? This
contradiction is shocking.... Progress in culture demands progress in
religion.... We want a more perfect religion, a higher religion”
(_Masaryk_, Im Kampf um die Religion, 1904, 29). Note the logic of this
demonstration. We no longer light our rooms by the dim light of a small
oil lamp, we walk no longer at night through dark narrow lanes, but
through brightly illuminated avenues, does it follow from this that it can
no longer be true that Christ is the Son of God, nor that He has worked
miracles, or founded a Church, and a new religion is therefore necessary?
We have made progress in our knowledge of history; we know a good deal of
Rome and Carthage, of the civilization of ancient Egypt and of Greece, and
of their mutual relations; we have other fashions of life than our fathers
had, we build and paint differently—our political life, too, has grown
more complicated; does it follow from all this, that it cannot be true
that we are created by God, that we must believe a divine revelation,
hence a new religion is necessary? Progress and evolution to consist in
ever abandoning the old and advancing to new and different views—this is
_absurd_. Absurd, in the first place, because it is no _progress_ at all,
but a retrogression, a hopeless alternation of forwards and backwards.
There can be no progress if I am always withdrawing from my old position;
progress is possible only by retaining the basis established and then
advancing therefrom. And _evolution_ is not a continuous remodelling and
shaping anew, but a continuance in growth. Evolution means that the embryo
unfolds, and by retaining and perfecting the old matter gradually becomes
a plant; evolution is in the progress from bud to blossom; but not in the
changing mass of clouds, swept away to-day by the current wind and
replaced to-morrow by other clouds. An absurdity, also, for the reason
that it violates all laws of reason, that once there was a revelation of
God to be believed, but that this is no longer true.
Furthermore, the demand to follow always “the ideas of the period”
suggests the question: Who is to represent the period? Who represented
Greece, the sophists or _Plato_? Who was representative of the first days
of Christianity, the Roman emperors or the martyrs? Will not the passage
in _Goethe’s_ Faust apply in most cases: “What they call the spirit of the
times is but their own mind wherein the times are reflected”? True, if
progress is taken to be the overstepping by human reason of the eternal
standards of immutable truth and the barriers of faith, if it is to be the
attempt at emancipation from God and religion, then there is no more
resolute foe of progress than the Christian religion, than the Catholic
Church. But this is not progress but loss of the truth, not higher
religion but apostasy, not development of what is best in man, but
retrogression to mental disintegration by scepticism.
The Syllabus.
In the eyes of many it is especially the Syllabus of _Pius IX._ by which
the Catholic Church has erected a lasting monument to its enmity to
civilization. It is the Syllabus, we are told, in which _Pius IX._ has “ex
cathedra condemned the freedom of science” (_W. Kahl_,
Bekenntnissgebundenheit und Lehrfreiheit, 1897, 10); “in which modern
culture and science is being cursed” (_Th. Fuchs_, Neue Freie Presse, Nov.
25, 1907); in which “the most general foundations of our political order,
the freedom of conscience, are rejected” (_G. Kaufmann_, Die Lehrfreiheit
an den deutschen Universitaeten, 1898, 34); “in which it has simply
anathematized the achievements of the modern concept of right” (_F. Jodl_,
Gedanken über Reformkatholizismus, 1902, 5); the Syllabus “strikes blows
against the autonomy of human development of culture, it is a _non
possumus_, I cannot make peace, I cannot compromise with what is termed
progress, liberalism, and civilization.” The Syllabus is a favorite stock
argument of professional free-thinkers and agitators, and the one with
which they like to open the discussion. For this reason we must say a few
words about it.
When a Syllabus is spoken of without any distinction, the Syllabus of
_Pius IX._ is meant. It is a list of eighty condemned propositions which
this Pope sent on December 8, 1864, to all the Bishops of the world,
together with the encyclical letter “Quanta Cura.” _Pius IX._ had, prior
to this, and on various occasions, denounced these propositions as false
and to be repudiated. They were now gathered together in the Syllabus.
They represent the _program of modern liberalism_ in the province of
religion and in politics in relation to religion. They are repudiated in
the following order: Pantheism; liberal freedom of thought and of
conscience as a repudiation of the duty to believe; religious freedom as a
demand of emancipation from faith and Church; religious indifferentism;
the denial of the Church and of her independence of the state; the
omnipotence of state power, especially in the province of thought. The
single propositions are not all designated as heretical, hence the
contrary is not always pronounced to be dogma; they are rejected in
general as “errors.” It is not necessary to discuss here the question
whether and to what extent the Syllabus is an infallible decision. Suffice
it to say it is binding for believing Catholics.
Has the Catholic any reason to be ashamed of the Syllabus?
It was a resolute deed. A deed of that intrepidity and firm consistency
which has ever characterized the Catholic Church. With her fearless love
of truth the Church has in the Syllabus solemnly condemned the errors of
the modern rebellion against the supernatural order, of the naturalization
and declaration of independence of the human life. For this reason the
Syllabus is called an attack upon modern culture, science, and education,
upon the foundations of the state. Is this true?
It is, and it is not. All that is good and Christian in modern culture is
not touched by the Syllabus; it strikes only at what is anti-Christian in
our times and in the leading ideas of our times. It does not condemn
freedom of science, but only the liberal freedom which throws off the yoke
of faith; it does not repudiate freedom of religion and conscience, but
the _liberal_ freedom which will not acknowledge a divine revelation nor
take the Church as a guide. Not the foundations of modern states are
attacked, but only the liberal ideas of emancipation from religion, and of
opposition to the Church. The Church proclaims to the world only what has
been known to all Christian centuries, that, just as the single individual
is bound to have the Christian belief and must lead a Christian life, so
are nations and organized states; that the human creature is subject to
the law of Christ in all its relations. Nor does she contend against
genuine progress in science, education and in the material domain, but
merely against liberal progress towards the irreligious materialization of
life.
This emancipation from the Christian faith poses mostly under the
attractive and deceptive name of “modern progress.” Indeed, it has ever
been the pretension of liberalism to look upon itself as the sole
harbinger of civilization, to claim the guidance of intellectual life for
its aim, and to stigmatize as a foe of culture any one that opposes the
dissemination of its anti-Christian humanism. It is also an expert in
giving to words a charm and an ambiguous meaning that deceive.
Emancipation from religion is “progress” and “enlightenment.” Everything
else is reactionary. Its infidelity is freedom of conscience and thought.
Everything else is “bondage.” Only its secular schools, its civil
marriage, its separation of Church and State are “modern.” Everything else
is obsolete, hence no longer warranted. For the Church to defend her
rights is arrogance; when the Church uses her God-given authority for the
good of the faith, she practises intellectual oppression; the Catholic who
lets himself be guided by his Church is called unpatriotic, bereft of his
civil spirit.
What striking contrast to the honesty in which the Church presents her
doctrines frankly before the whole world, without disguise or artifice.
The reason is that she has sufficient interior strength and truth to
render it unnecessary for her to take refuge in disguise or present the
truth in ambiguity.
The clearest evidence of the Church’s hostility to culture is the
condemnation of the 80th thesis of the _Syllabus_, so it is said.
It is the thesis that the Pope can and must reconcile himself to,
and compromise with, progress, liberalism, and modern
civilization. This is a condemned proposition, hence the contrary
is true: the Pope of Rome cannot, and must not, reconcile himself,
nor compromise with, liberalism and modern civilization. Here we
have the frankly admitted hostility against progress, education,
and science—it is the watchword of the Papacy.
This conclusion can be arrived at only by pushing aside all rules
of scientific interpretation. What progress is this, with what
civilization can the Papacy not be reconciled? The progress of
modern liberalism. The heading of the paragraph containing this
proposition states expressly that “errors of modern liberalism”
are to be condemned. This becomes clear by the Allocution
“Jamdudum cernimus” of March 18, 1861, from which this
condemnation is taken. There it is stated: “It is asked that the
Pope of Rome reconcile himself with progress, to liberalism as
they call it, to the new civilization, and compromise with
them.... But now we ask of those inviting us to be reconciled with
modern civilization, whether the facts be such as to tempt the
Vicar of Christ on earth ... to connect himself with the
civilization of to-day without the greatest injury to this
conscience ... a civilization that has caused the dissemination of
numerous despicable opinions, errors, and principles in conflict
with the Catholic religion and its doctrines.” Of course a
civilization cut off from any true Christianity by education and
science, by family life and political life, a progress, trying to
stop the activity of the Church in every sphere and attacking her
in their speech, in newspapers, and in schools, cannot demand of
the Papacy to join hands with them. No Christian, whether Catholic
or Protestant, can profess this “progress.” We have here at the
same time a specimen of how they proceed in interpreting the
propositions of the Syllabus in order to discover in them all
possible absurdities. Many propositions are short sentences taken
from the work of an author, or from previous Papal declarations.
Hence they must be understood in the sense of those sources.
Furthermore, attention must be paid to what is specially
emphasized. Then, again, we must remember that by repudiating a
proposition only the contradictory is asserted, but not the
contrary; to conclude this would be to conclude too much. For
instance, the seventy-seventh condemned proposition reads: “In our
times it is no longer to any purpose that the Catholic religion
should be the sole religion of the state to the exclusion of all
other confessions.” According to some, _e.g._, _Frins_, the
contradictory is thus formulated: “In our times also it is still
to the purpose....” According to others, however, _e.g._,
_Hoensbroeeh_ and _Goetz_: “In our times also it is
beneficial....” Thus while _Hoensbroech_ and _Goetz_ make the
ecclesiastical doctrine appear to read that it would be beneficial
to hold fast to the Catholic as the sole religion of the state
under all circumstances even to-day, the actual opposite is the
doctrine, that this may be yet to the purpose under certain
circumstances. While no reasonable man could object to the latter,
the former is eagerly exploited against the Church (_Heiner_, Der
Syllabus, 1905, p. 31, _seq._; cf. _Frins_, Kirchenlex, 2d ed.,
XI, 1031; _Hoensbroech_, l. c. 25; _Goetz_, Der Ultramontanismus,
1905, 148).
Of course it may be taken for granted that the Syllabus is distasteful to
modern liberalism, which is branded there as one of the errors of the day.
Yet the Church cannot be censured for not becoming unfaithful to her
vocation of preserving the patrimony of Christianity to mankind, or for
acting as the invincible defender of the Christian religion in the
universal struggle between truth and error, even though the latter pose
with great assurance.
The Condemnation of Modernism.
The great excitement caused in intellectual circles by the Syllabus of
_Pius IX._ was aroused again, though not with the same intensity, when
some years ago the news of another Syllabus was circulated through the
world, and the excitement increased when the rumour was followed by the
publication of the encyclical “Pascendi Dominici gregis.” Indeed, the new
event was not very unlike the former: in the 60’s Rome’s sentence was
directed against the Modernism of that period, which called itself
liberalism. The excitement caused by its condemnation was more intense,
because it struck directly at the principles governing the liberal
politics against the Church, which principles were claimed to be the
foundation of the modern state. Now the Modernism repudiated by the
Church’s voice was nothing more than the old humanistic, fundamental,
errors of liberalism, but put in the form of a religious and philosophical
view of the world, and in Catholic garb: it meant man detached from
everything supernatural, and dependent alone on himself in his
intellectual life, more especially in his religious life.
Now, as then, similar charges were raised: The Church is the
irreconcilable foe of modern achievements and the opponent of them; “the
encyclical aims at modern intellectual life in all its phases and forms”
(XX. Jahrh., 1908, 568). Now, as then, we have the same ambiguity of the
terms “modern” and “progress.”
What was condemned by the Church? The document “Lamentabili sane exitu,”
issued by the teaching authority of the Church on July 3, 1907, is
entitled “A Decree of the Holy Congregation of the Roman and General
Inquisition or the Holy Office,” which has to watch over the unadulterated
preservation of the faith. The decree soon was christened the “New
Syllabus,” because of its similarity with the Syllabus of _Pius IX._ In a
similar way it condemns sixty-five propositions against the inspiration
and the historical character of Holy Scripture, against the divine origin
of revelation and of faith, against the divinity of Christ, His
Resurrection and His atoning death, against the Sacraments, and against
the Church. These are component parts of the philosophical religious
system of thought which soon after was set forth and condemned by the
encyclical “Pascendi,” of September 8, 1907.
Modernism is essentially philosophy, combining modern _agnostic-autonomous
subjectivism_ with _evolutionism_, and applied to the Christian religion,
which thereby becomes disfigured beyond recognition. Its chain of thought,
excellently stated by the encyclical, starts with the proposition that the
supernatural is beyond the knowledge of man, and hence man cannot know
anything of God. The faith which unites us to God is nothing but a
feeling, born of a blind impulse, which may be considered a divine
revelation. If this religious feeling is expressed in forms, the result is
“doctrines of faith”; for Christian “dogmas” are this and nothing more,
images and symbols of the noble and divine, hence they are of human origin
and are changeable according to the disposition and the degree of learning
of the individual, as well as of the times. There is no dogmatic
Christianity, in the sense of an immutable religious doctrine, nor is
there any absolutely true religion, for religion is but a variable
feeling, that has nothing to do with cognition and knowledge. For this
reason they never can come in conflict. The Christian religion originally
was nothing else but the religious experience of Christ, who was not God
but a man; in the course of time it has undergone changes which are
reflected in the shaping of Christian dogma. Holy Scripture is, similarly,
the expression of the religious experience of its human authors; the
Sacraments are symbols, arousing religious sentiments; the Church is not
founded by God, and only has the task of regulating the development of
Christianity, and of sanctioning at any time whatever religious
experiences the changeable spirit of progressive civilization may produce.
This is Modernism, as represented chiefly in France, Italy, and to an
extent also in England; in Germany it did not appear as a system, but even
there its spirit became quite apparent. Thus, Modernism is nothing else
but the systematic arrangement of those ideas which we have hitherto met,
in various places, as the fundamental principles of modern religious
thought opposed to Christianity. It is subjectivism with its autonomy of
the human subject, its agnosticism, its relativism of truth, sailing under
the name of “historical method of thought” and “progress,” and, finally,
with its freedom of thought and conscience which rejects all authority. It
is _Kant_ in the robe of a Catholic theologian. Ultimately it is nothing
else but the shocking negation of everything supernatural, hence complete
apostasy. “The salient point is recognized,” says _Troeltsch_, “the enemy
is the modern historical method of thought, the concept of evolution, the
theory of inner experience and relativism as applied to religion, the
negation of supernaturalism as taught by the old Church” (l. c. 22).
Hence, was it not manifest that the Church had to take measures against
this positive denial of Christianity as a whole, the more so as the
uneducated could be easily deceived by it? Every organism will throw off
excrescences, the more energetically the stronger it is. Any religion
lacking this strength is doomed. That the Papal declaration aroused such
opposition must not be wondered at; it hit once more the central idea of
the anti-Christian view of the world. The judgment was not passed against
modern intellectual life, but only against the grave errors inherent in
it; the Church did not condemn progress, nor the increase and deepening of
knowledge of the truth; not the enrichment of the life of the mind, of
feeling, and the will, but only pretended progress; she did not condemn
the historical method nor the idea of evolution, but their false
application, which dissolved anything and everything in growth, purely
natural growth at that, without acknowledging a revelation of absolute
truths.
Orthodox Protestants have openly praised this bold deed of the
Pope as highly meritorious for the preservation of the Christian
faith. Thus the South African Church Quarterly Review (Episcopal)
of January, 1908, said: “The Syllabus and Encyclical of _Pius X._
against Modernism are deserving of the respectful consideration of
all Christians.... At the present stage of history the opposing
factors are driving with great speed towards a fierce and resolute
struggle between Christ and anti-Christ. All who sincerely love
Christ, our Lord, must rally under one flag.... Narrow-minded
hostility towards the Pope must give way to the desire to be
united with the great community which is fighting so valiantly for
the old faith of our fathers.... One must be blind, to misjudge
the tremendous influence exerted by the last deed of the Pope in
favour of the faith.”
Even the Evangelical “Kirchenzeitung” admitted that the encyclical
is “directed chiefly against the more or less unchristian modern
views of the world ... which we must combat.... Undoubtedly it is
not only the Pope’s right to lay bare the unchristian tendency of
these ideas and their incompatibility with the Christian faith,
but it is also his duty and his merit” (November 29, 1908, n. 48).
Puny men, entangled in the ideas of their time and surroundings, are
easily led to take for their standard the thoughts and actions of their
age. They often imagine that they possess not a little strength and
independence, when they are intellectually entirely dependent and unable
to rise above their time. “It is the fashion, others think that way,
therefore I must think so, too”; these are often the principles of their
wisdom, and they ask the Church to do likewise. The Church, however, looks
back upon a long history, and numerous ideas and opinions she has seen
arise and vanish. And whoever can look back upon a great experience, and
moreover carries in himself the call to lead the times, feels no restless
impulse to be carried away by changing doctrines.
The Index.
Whenever the subject of Rome’s enmity to science and progress of culture
is discussed, there invariably appears on the scene, beside Syllabus and
_Galileo_, also the Index. The latter is held by many to be Rome’s
permanent means of hindering the progress of humanity in general, and the
free scientific activity of the Catholic in particular, and to annihilate
the freedom of teaching and learning (_Hoensbroech_, Die Kath. theol.
Fakultaeten, 1907, 40 _seq._). They say “the Congregation of the Index has
no pity nor consideration for the classical works of literature, and
condemns in the name of religion the most admirable products of the human
intellect” (Grande Dict. univ. du XIX. siècle, IX, 640, apud _J. Hilgers_,
Der Index der Verb. Buecher, 1904, 166; much of what we shall say on this
topic is taken from this work by _Hilgers_).
This statement again reminds that the accusations against the
Catholic Church and her institutions are to be considered with
caution, because of the ignorance of her opponents in Catholic
things. This is especially true of the Index. Thus the above
assertion is false. _Dante’s_ “Divina Commedia” (the work referred
to) is neither forbidden nor needs approval nor correction: of the
classical literature of the world little or nothing is forbidden;
even morally offensive books, that are considered classical, may
without ecclesiastical permission be read for the sake of their
elegant diction, whenever their reading is required by one’s work
or duty of teaching.
A few examples of the _incredible ignorance_ alluded to will
suffice. In the “Grande Dictionnaire Universel du XIX. Siècle” it
is actually stated that the works of _Albert the Great_ were
condemned by a decree of April 10, 1666. What does the Index
really forbid? It states: “_Alberto __ Magno, diviso in tre libri,
nel primo si tratta della virtu delle herbe, nel secondo della
virtu delle pietre, e nel terzo della virtu di alcuni
animali._—Albert the Great, in three parts: the first treats of
the virtue of plants; the second, of the virtue of stones; and the
third, of the virtue of some animals.” It is the title of a little
superstitious book, attributed to “Albert the Great” by an unknown
author.