Of course, free-thought is of a different opinion, especially the one of

to-day. Its principle is: the state need not trouble itself about God and

Religion, that is the private matter of each individual. In the eyes of

free-thought the state is an imaginary being, hovering over the heads of

its citizens; though they may be religious, the state itself should have

no Religion. What absurdity! It is nothing short of nonsense to demand of

the members of a state, the overwhelming majority of whom hold Religion to

be true and necessary, that as a political community they are to act as if

their Religion were false and worthless, as if to deny and to destroy it

were quite proper. What else is the state but an organized aggregation of

its citizens? To make of religious citizens, a state without Religion is

just as absurd as a Catholic state composed wholly and entirely of

Protestant citizens. This leads us to a further consideration. The state

must protect its own foundations. Just as it must defend its existence

against enemies from without, it must protect itself against those enemies

from within, who, whether realizing the consequences or not, are by their

actions actually shaking its foundations. These foundations consist of

proper views on social and political principles, on morals and Religion.

If the state does not intend to abolish itself, it must not permit

doctrines to be disseminated which imperil these foundations and,

consequently, the peaceful continuance of the state. In fact, no state

power in its senses would permit a teacher, who directly attacks the

validity of the state order, to continue; it would retire every professor

of law who would dare to teach that regicide is permissible, or who would

with the oratory of a Tolstoy preach the unnaturalness of a state

possessing coercive power.

As a rule, open advocates of _Socialism_ are kept out of

college-chairs. And rightly so. So long as the adherents of

Socialism see in the state but the product of the egotism of the

ruling classes, and an institute for subjugating the masses, and

in the obtainment of political power the means of doing away with

this state of affairs, so long will it be impossible for the state

to trust the education of the future citizen to a Socialist, nor

can the latter, as an honest man, accept a position of trust from

the state, much less bind himself by the oath of office to

co-operate in the work of the state. Prof. _C. Bornhak_ makes the

following comment: “The decisive point is not freedom in teaching,

but the circumstance that the Socialist professor takes advantage

of the respect connected with a state office, or of his position

at a state institution, to undermine the state. A state that would

stand for this would deserve nothing better than its abolition.”

And _Paulsen_ similarly writes: “A state that would allow in the

lecture rooms of its colleges Socialistic views to be taught as

the results of science ... such a state will be looked for in

vain.”

Hence it is certain the state cannot grant a freedom in teaching that

would jeopardize the foundation of its existence. It must consequently

recognize no freedom which, in lectures and publications, will seriously

injure public morality and religion. Morality and religion are, first of

all, the indispensable conditions for the continuance of the state.

_Aristotle_ says the first duty of the state is to care for

religion. _Plato_ proposes heavy penalty for those who deny the

existence of the gods; a well-ordered state, he claims, must care

first of all for the fostering of religion. _Plutarch_ calls

religion the bond of every society and the foundation of the law.

_Cicero_ declares that there can be neither loyalty nor justice

without regard for God. _Valerius Maximus_ could say of Rome: “It

has ever been the principle of our city to give preference to

religion before any other matter, even before the highest and most

glorious benefits.” _Washington_, in his speech to Congress in

1789, declared religion and morality to be the most indispensable

support of the commonweal. He stated that it would be in vain for

one, who tries to wreck these two fundamental pillars of the

social structure, to boast of his patriotism.

Without religion there can be no firm resistance by conscience against

man’s lower nature, no social virtues and sacrifices, there can only be

egotism, the foe of all social order. No secure state-life can be built

upon the principles that formed the basis of the French Revolution. So we

see, generally and instinctively, the endeavour to prevent as much as

possible anti-religious doctrines from being expounded directly to the

broad masses of the people. This of itself is tantamount to the

acknowledgment of their danger to the state. Yet, millions have tasted the

fruit of an atheistic science, and the poison shows its effect; they have

shaken off the yoke of religion; in its place dissatisfaction and

bitterness are filling their breast, and fists are clenched against the

existing order.

_Bebel_ said in a speech in the German Reichstag, on September 16,

1878: “Gentlemen, you attack our views in respect to religion,

because they are atheistic and materialistic. I acknowledge them

to be so.... I firmly believe Socialism will ultimately lead to

atheism. But these atheistic doctrines, that now are causing so

much pain and trouble for you, by whom were they scientifically

and philosophically demonstrated? Was it by Socialists? Men like

_Edgar_ and _Bruno_, _Bauer_, _Feuerbach_, _David Strauss_, _Ernst

Renan_, were they Socialists? They were men of science.... What is

allowed to the one—why should it be forbidden to the other?”

The notorious anarchist _Vaillant_ said: “I have demonstrated to

the physicians at Hotel-Dieu that my deed is the inexorable

consequence of my philosophy, and of the philosophy of _Buechner_,

_Darwin_, and _Herbert Spencer_.”

The youthful criminal _Emil Herny_ read at his trial a memorandum

wherein he said among other things: “I am an anarchist since 1891.

Up to this time I was wont to esteem and even to idolize my

country, the family, the state, and property.... Socialism is not

able to change the present order. It upholds the principle of

authority which, all affirmations of so-called free-thinkers

notwithstanding, is an obsolete remnant of the belief in a higher

power. I however was a materialist, atheist. My scientific

researches taught me gradually the work of natural forces. I

conceived that science had done away with the hypothesis of ‘God,’

which it needs no longer, hence that also the

religious-authoritative doctrine of morals, built upon it, as upon

a false foundation, had to disappear.”

What political wisdom would it be to honor as science any doctrine that

becomes a social danger the moment it is taken seriously; what logic to

denounce those as dangerous who are putting into practice a science that

is hailed as the bearer of civilization!

One may object: How is the state to determine whether scientific doctrines

are warranted or not warranted? The state has the conviction that in its

political offices it has no organs for the cognition of scientific truth,

for this reason it leaves science to self-regulation. Only the scientist,

it is said, is able to revise the scientist.

Nothing but scholarly conceit can engender such ideas. Then any one would

have the right to pin upon himself the badge of the scientist and become

thereby completely immune. Thus, the bearers of practical political wisdom

are declared incompetent to recognize the chief foundation of their

state-structure; to realize, what daily experience and the experience of

centuries teaches, that disbelief in God, even if sailing under false

colors, undermines authority, that communism and upheaval of moral

conceptions are tantamount to social danger. They are directed to depend

for their information in such matters upon the latest ideas of impractical

scientists. The fact is, the matters at issue have, with hardly an

exception, long been decided. And where the Christian faith is concerned,

the Church and the Christian centuries tell us clearly enough, what has

hitherto been understood by Christianity. If the objection here advanced

were true, then the state would not have a right to decide in the matter

of exhibiting immoral pictures in show windows, without having argued the

matter previously with representatives of art. The state would not be

allowed to pronounce a death sentence because some scientists denounce

capital punishment: the state would have to expunge “guilt,” “expiation,”

and “liberty” from its penal code, because many recent scientists, by

rejecting the freedom of choice, have removed the dividing line between

crime and insanity, between punishment and correction.

Protection for Christianity.

Hitherto we have, in respect to religion, considered chiefly the rational

truths, which are the foundations of every religion and also common to

non-Christian creeds; the existence of a supermundane God and of a life

after death are the most important of them. The revealed Christian

religion contains, beside these truths, some others, which supplement them

and surround them like a living garland, viz., original sin, redemption,

resurrection, the divinity of Christ, grace and the Sacraments, the

existence of a Church with its God-given rights, indissolubility of

matrimony, etc. Should state-power protect the Christian and Catholic

religion by warding off attacks against it, though such attacks are made

in scientific form? This, too, in a state in which perhaps other

confessions are enjoying the freedom of worship?

It would seem superfluous to propose this question specifically.

If, according to the gist of our argument, religion is to be

protected, what other religion can be meant than the Christian

religion? That is the religion of our nations; none other is.

While the stated distinction may have more of an academic than a

practical interest, the discussion of this question will not be

idle, if only for the reason that it will shed even more light

upon our previous statements. Besides, there are manifest efforts

to dislodge Christianity from the life of our people, and with it

all true religion, under the pretext of opposing church-doctrines

and dogmatism. The war against Christianity has not since the days

of a _Celsus_ been waged as it is to-day.

We premise a principle of a general nature. Of conflicting religions and

views of the world, only one can be true; this is clear to every one who

still believes in truth. It is equally clear that this one truth only can

have the right to come forward and to enlist support in public life as a

spiritual power; error has no right to prevail against truth. Hence it

will not do to say simply: There are also the convictions of minorities in

the state; some claim that none of the existing religions is the right

one, others have dropped all belief in God; in our times we wish to

concede to any conviction the right to enter into competition with others,

provided mockery and abuse are barred. These remarks are quite true, in

the sense that neither the individual nor the state may directly interfere

with conscience or prescribe opinions: leaving entirely aside the question

whether any one really could have a serious conviction of atheism. The

foregoing is true also in the sense that public avowal of opinion must not

be hindered by individuals. To interpret this to mean that the state must

grant freedom to any expression of doctrine would be a grave misconception

of the social influence which false ideas are liable to exercise. Does the

state grant this freedom to any kind of medical practice, whether

exercised skilfully or awkwardly, conscientiously or unscrupulously?

Moral-religious error may in public life expect only _tolerance_—just as

many other evils must be tolerated, because their prevention would cause

greater evils to arise. This is the reason why the state may, and often

must, grant freedom of worship even to false creeds, because its denial

would give rise to greater harm to the public weal (_St. Thomas_, 2, 2 q.

10, 11). Freedom of teaching, likewise, must not be granted in the sense

of acknowledging that false doctrines and truth have equal rights; this

would amount to an assassination of truth. Freedom can be conceded to

error for the one reason only, that by not granting it there would be

engendered greater evils. Consequently, if a state-power, or the organs of

its legislative part, are convinced that the Christian religion is the

only true one, they cannot possibly concede to contrary doctrines the

right to pose as the truth and thus deceive minds; they may be granted the

same freedom in teaching only because restrictive laws can either not be

enforced at all, or not without creating a disorder that would give rise

to greater evils. Hence the lesser evil must be carefully ascertained.

With this general principle in mind, it is easily seen that a freedom

large enough to include an open attack on the fundamental, rational,

truths of religion and morals—this having been our subject hitherto—could

be conceded only if disbelief and atheism had gained so much power as to

make impossible its prohibition. In this case, however, the state should

be conscious of the fact that it allows the undermining of its

foundations. If, in another state, religious feeling were at so low an

ebb, that the freedom of the Christian truth could not be obtained in any

other way than by granting full freedom for everything, then even such

unlimited freedom would be a good thing to be striven for; of itself a

deplorable condition and contrary to God’s intentions, but good as the

lesser evil.

But let us return to the revealed religion. In the eyes of those who are

convinced that the Christian religion, namely, the Catholic religion, is

the only true religion, the ideal condition would be to have the entire

population united in its faithful confession; then matters would simplify

themselves in our case. But this ideal hardly exists anywhere. True, in

many countries the population is almost wholly Christian; but the

denominations are mixed, and many have separated at heart from

Christianity. What standards, then, should rule in this case?

Looking at it specially, the demand of ethical reason is no doubt this:

Nations and governments whose past was Christian, whose institutions and

civilization are still Christian, and an overwhelming majority of whose

members still think and believe in a Christian way, would fail in their

gravest duties if they would expose or permit the Christian religion to

remain unprotected against the attacks and the attempts at destruction by

a false science, or by conceding to the adversaries of Christianity equal

rights or even preference. The Christian religion will not be destroyed;

but whole nations may lose it, and its loss will in great measure be the

fault of those in whose hands their fate was laid. Here might be applied

_Napoleon’s_ well-known saying: “The weakness of the highest authority is

the greatest misfortune of the nations.”

It remains an anomaly that a state, the members of which for the most part

are Christians, should treat this religion with indifference, and tolerate

that its tenets and traditions be represented as fairy-tales and fables,

its moral law as a danger to civilization, and perhaps its divine Founder

as a victim of religious frenzy. If the state is the expression and the

_representative of its subjects_, then such disharmony between public and

private life is unnatural. Moreover, the Christian religion is held by the

majority of its citizens to be the most precious legacy of their

forefathers; they must demand from the state _protection for their

greatest good_. And this may be claimed with even greater right by

provinces where the population almost unanimously clings to the creed of

their ancestors; at the colleges in these parts the faithful people will

be entitled to protection more than elsewhere against dangers to its

inherited religion. It would be unnatural in this case to apply the

thoughtless principle of dealing uniformly with all provinces of the

state. The state is not a heap of uniform pebbles, but an organism

composed of different parts, each desiring to retain its own peculiar

life.

Do not say this presumption does not admit of application to our

conditions, the majority of the people of this age being long

since estranged from Christianity. It is true, if we turn our eye

only to the more conspicuous classes of society, the classes that

control the newspapers and mould public opinion, this view might

be admitted as to some countries. But if we look at the masses,

those not infected by half-education, then this opinion is true no

longer. And there are many who at heart are not so distant from

faith as it would seem. In public life they pose as free-thinkers,

but their domestic life bears frequently a Christian character.

And often they approach more and more the faith, the older they

grow. This is known to be the fact even of scientists. Instances

are men like _Ampère_, _Foucault_, _Flourens_, _Hermite_, _Bion_,

_Biran_, _Fechner_, _Lotze_, _Romanes_, _Littré_, and others.

_Plato_ claimed that no one who in his youth disputed the

existence of the gods retained this view to his old age.

“Christianity,” observes _Savigny_ rightly, “is not only to be

acknowledged as a rule of life, it has actually transformed the

world, so that all our thoughts are ruled and penetrated by it, no

matter how foreign, even hostile, to Christianity they may

appear.”

It is a sign how deeply Christian religion has sunk its roots into the

heart, that it remains _the_ religion even for those who have turned away

from it. To be sure, for our nations Christianity is _the_ religion. For

them the religion of a _Confucius_ or _Zoroaster_ does not enter into

consideration; nor any of the products of modern religious foundations,

which would replace Christianity with substitutions of all kinds of

religious essences; they are on a level with the attempts at

reconstructing sexual ethics: both are regrettable delusions.

“Improvement” of Christian morality is tantamount to abandoning all

morals, and desertion from the Christian religion, amongst our people, has

always been apostasy from all religion. The Christian religion is so true,

that no one can renounce it inwardly and then find peace in a self-made

one. And all efforts aimed at displacing Christianity lead only to an

abandonment of all religion.

Look at the number of people from whom slander and insinuation have torn

their old religion to be replaced by another—a freer, higher religion;

their moral decadence soon bears testimony of the religious consecration

which has been given to them. Woe unto those authorities who, while able

to oppose, are indifferent, and who lend a hand in causing Christian

thought to withdraw more and more from our mental atmosphere, to be

replaced by another spirit, a spirit that will gradually control the

decision of the judge, the practice of the physician, the instruction of

the teacher, and thus more and more enter into the life of the people.

It is not assured to those nations of Europe, whose public life is

feeding to-day upon the remnants of their Christian past, that

they will not relapse into a state of moral and religious

barbarity. “Maybe civilized mankind, or our nation at least, is

really losing its hold more and more upon definite moral

standards,” so complains a modern pedagogue; “possibly the

emancipation of sensuality will increase without end, perhaps we

have passed forever the stage of true humanity and of a live

idealism, and we shall henceforth glide downward.... These are no

mere, feverish dreams; there is good reason for facing these

possibilities with a determined eye, and no accidental or

philosophical optimism can ignore them” (_Münch_).

“It is quite possible,” we are told by another, “that much will go

down in our old Europe during the next centuries; and the downfall

will not be restricted by any means to Church and Christianity,

and in the crises that will come Europe will hardly get the needed

support from an æsthetic heathendom, from the Monists’ Union, or

from the evidences of science” (_Troeltsch_).

If it does not come to it, it will not be the merit of authorities

who let the vessel of state drift rudderless toward the rocks of

dechristianization.

They do not realize that they greatly endanger thereby also the

foundations of the state. _The foundations of our governments rest upon

Christianity._ The Christian faith created the state, created matrimony,

family, and the education of the youth; created the social virtues of

loyalty and of obedience. What we have of religion is Christian, what we

have of the religious support of morality is equally Christian;

“Christianity, Christian faith, Christian formation of life penetrates all

vital utterances of the Occidental world like an all-pervading element”

(_Paulsen_).

It is one of the first principles of political prudence not to shake the

foundations upon which the state rests. States and nations are not

ephemeral beings, existing from one day to the other, they are historical

structures measuring their lives by centuries; past generations join hands

with present generations, deeds and customs of the fathers live on in

their sons.

States must remain on the historical tracks on which they have travelled

to success, at least until the new track has stood the test of

reliability. So far anti-Christian philosophy has terribly shaken

governments; it has not yet proved itself a state-conserving principle.

It is a sad condition to see the guardians of states, devoid of historical

appreciation, allow their people to tear themselves away from the soil

wherein reposed the roots from which they drew life and strength. Sad,

too, that complaints are made of college-professors who abuse freedom in

teaching by constructing an unproved contradiction between knowledge and

faith, by misrepresenting Christian tenets, by lowering the prestige of

the Church, by distorting her historical picture. It would be regrettable

for a Christian state, if the complaint were justified that for the most

part our colleges have become places where religion is ignored; where the

name of Jesus Christ, the Redeemer of mankind, is no longer mentioned;

where the name of God never occurs in history, in natural and political

science; where religion is considered the most unessential factor of

mental life, a factor that has nothing to offer, that can answer no

question—a treatment which, by the force of suggestion, must lead young

men to think that religion is of no account. It is a banishment which in

its effect is little different from an attack upon religion.

Sadder still would it be if the following view were to prevail at

our colleges: “A right of the student to see protected and not

destroyed any views and convictions, including those of a

religious nature, which he may bring to the university from his

home surroundings, from his preliminary education, as it is

asserted time and again in the frequent complaints about the

dechristianizing of youth at the universities—does not exist and

cannot exist, because it would be in contradiction to the very

essence of the university and its tasks” (_Jodl_).

Is not this the ethical principle of the bird of prey? Is it not

allowed to guard the defenceless chick against the hawk? Christian

people send their sons to the university, and demand that the

education of the parental home be spared, that the inexperience of

youth be not misused. The state must demand that the

religious-moral education which it furthers in its public schools

be not destroyed by the higher schools. Yet, all these rights must

be silenced the moment the vision of the absolute freedom of

teaching makes its appearance, since to refrain from

dechristianizing the youth would be contrary to his tasks.

If such abuse in the management of the power of knowledge, within and

without colleges, is not counteracted by all possible means, then none

need be surprised when a science free from religion and Christianity is

followed by an elementary school free from religion, when in public and

preparatory schools the free-thinking teacher is telling the pupils that

there is no creation but only evolution, and that the gospels and biblical

history are poetical stories such as the Nibelungenlied and the Iliad and

Odyssey.

We cannot be astonished to find the following rules advocated for

the instruction in public schools: “Religious instruction in

schools should not differ from the instruction in other subjects,

namely, one of full freedom, bound only by recognized documents

and personalities of religious literature and religious science.

The school must teach that which is, it must present the tenets of

all times and all nations in so far as this is possible within its

modest compass.... But if the pupil should ask, What really is?

What position should the teacher assume toward this question? In

my opinion, he should speak in plain terms. He should say: There

are people who believe all that is taught by the different systems

of religion.... The child may further ask of the teacher whether

he himself believes. No teacher who claims the confidence of the

children should shirk the answer. He may confess his faith or

disbelief, without need of worry. It cannot hurt his prestige in

the eyes of the child, because, if for no other reason, either way

he will find himself in an equally large and good company”

(_Tews_).

But we hear much more radical utterances. For instance, the

official organ of teachers in a Catholic country urges defection

from the Church in the following words: “How long will

Social-Democracy, now so formidable, remain inactive against

clerical arrogance? How much longer will it shirk a duty that is

clear to the dullest eye? If the millions of our Social-Democrats,

including the women and children, would break away from Rome, the

priestcraft in Austria is as good as defeated. A grave

responsibility rests upon the Social-Democratic leaders. Should

they miss the moment to act, they will be judged by history!”

(Deutsch-oesterreichische Lehrerzeitung, June 1, 1909).

Another organ of teachers declares Christianity to be nothing else

but _victorious heresy_, for which Christ had to lay down His life

the same as _Giordano_, _Hus_, and countless others. “The subject

of religion as taught in the preparatory schools is for the most

part taken from ages whose customs and morals are—happily—no

longer ours.” We see radicalism rampant in large circles of public

school teachers, demanding noisily, excitedly, and, of course, in

the name of modern science and enlightenment, the abolition of the

divine service, of prayer, and religious instruction in school,

giving as reason that, “as to matters of mental freedom no

difference should be made between a university and a village

school.” That our people will “carelessly waste their Christian

patrimony, this is the great danger.”

Our argument is not that only Catholics should be professors, nor even to

limit the teaching office to Christians. But one thing must be demanded of

the college-teacher, that he possess the pedagogic qualifications to

render him competent of educating the hope of the Christian people. As a

rule this demands a religious, Christian disposition. One thing the state

must absolutely demand of the teacher, that he have appreciation for the

foundations of the Christian state; he who has no understanding for the

historical forms of the life of a nation, who even regards them with

hostility, should remain away from this vocation.

In the United States the Jesuit Order has five free universities, founded

and directed by the Order. Their professors are not all Catholics; there

are professors of other creeds, even Jews. All work in harmony to the

common end of the university.

Men who sincerely and conscientiously strive for the interests of

science will everywhere show not only consideration, but even

understanding and respect, for what is true in the ideas of

others. “I gaze,” so writes Prof. _Smolka_, “upon the likenesses

of my venerable Protestant masters, under whom I studied at

Göttingen. Thirty-seven years have passed since I went to them, in

full confidence to find in their school the leaders who would be

free from the influence of the Catholic view of the world. To

their profound knowledge I owe, first of all, the emancipation

from the prejudices I was raised in, from the views of an

atmosphere devoted to Indifferentism in which I had passed my

youth. Prof. _Waitz_ opened my eyes to the grandeur of the

Catholic Church in the course of the centuries, in the repeated

prostration of the Papacy and its ever-following rise to

unsuspected heights, a fact unparalleled in the history of human

institutions. Prof. _Lotze_ rebuked me at the very beginning of my

studies at Göttingen for a slighting remark about scholastic

philosophy: later he imbued me with profound respect for it and

for the wealth of problems it embraces. These scientists,

Protestants without exception and in exclusively Protestant

surroundings, inoculated me with sincere love for scientific

truth, regardless of the consequences it would lead to. They also

introduced the youthful mind to the tried methods of scientific

research, indicating the boundaries where the domain of research

ends and the right of dogma, or arbitrary rule of subjective

imagination, begins.”

Restriction of Right.

We need no further proof that the state is justified in restricting the

freedom of teaching, whenever demanded by the business of the state as

described above. Restriction of this kind can be considered unjustified

only by a state theory of liberalism, which holds that the object of the

state consists in merely protecting individual liberty, no matter if this

liberty should lead to the gravest injuries so long as it does not affect

the freedom of others; a theory which changes the state community from an

integral organism into a conglomeration of autonomous individuals.

_Lasalle_ scornfully termed this theory the “nightwatchman idea” of the

state. The state has the right and the duty to exert a necessary influence

upon the pursuit of science, especially at the universities. Against it

the pleading of _autonomy of the college_ and its teacher will not hold.

They have a certain autonomy, that was even greater in former times. An

important part of it is the right to propose appointments for vacant

chairs. It must be admitted that this method of appointment is proper; it

vouches for the scientific fitness of the appointee, and will prove a

protection against the exercise of undue political influence and

ministerial absolutism, provided that this method is impartially

exercised. But an autonomy that disputes the right of the state to protect

its interests, where free science conflicts with it, that would demand, as

has been asserted, that “no infringement of the freedom in teaching must

be deduced from the official position as teacher,”—such autonomy would be

a palpable misconception of the dependency of the college-teacher and of

the social service of science. The rules that apply to other,

non-judicial, officers should apply to teachers appointed by the state,

and offences in their office, or conduct injurious to the purpose and the

dignity of their office, should be treated similarly as in the case of

other public servants. Nor should members of the legislature be forbidden

to defend the rightful interests of their constituents in regard to

schools. They are elected by the people for this purpose, and the people

have a claim on the schools, which are supported by their taxes and to

which some of their greatest interests are attached.

It has been demanded to concede to college-teachers the

independence and immunity of judges. This, however, would be

overlooking the vast difference between professors and judges. The

judge has to render legal decisions in concrete cases, according

to existing laws; in order to lessen the danger of his being

guided by outside considerations he is given a large measure of

independence. But what questions has the college-professor to

decide? Mathematical or physical questions? There his

incorruptibility is not in such danger that he must be made

independent of government. Religious and moral questions,

questions of views of the world? These he is not compelled to

decide. Neither state nor people have appointed him to question,

time and again, the fundamental foundations of human life, and to

render decisions which nobody requested.

It is not clear why science, pleading its independence, should oppose

justified restrictions. As a matter of fact _this independence does not

exist anywhere_. Numerous are the considerations, often unwarranted, it is

actually tied to, yea, often tied to by its own hands. He who is familiar

with scientific doings, especially academic doings, knows numbers of such

ties—there is the professional opinion in scientific circles; woe unto him

who in his scientific works dares to confess a supernatural view of the

world!—ties of the predominance of certain leaders or schools, without or

against whose favor it is difficult to attain recognition, approval, or

position; the ties of parties and cliques in an academic career; the tie,

too, of that insinuating power of the state that confers much-desired

decorations and titles.

“Where is this freedom of science?” asks a modern academic

teacher. “Some will say science and its teaching are free in our

country. True, it is so written on paper. But those charged with

keeping this principle inviolate are human. For instance the

monists have the chief voice in appointments to zoölogical chairs.

They will propose only scientists who are not opponents to the

monistic faith. Far be it from me to assume any _mala fides_. They

simply believe that only their faith is the proper one to promote

science. But I ask again, where is the freedom of science?”

(_Dahl_).

_H. St. Chamberlain_ tells of an amusing incident in his life:

“Many years ago, when I desired to devote myself to an academic

career, a chemist said to me: ‘My dear fellow, since you belong to

the profession, I tell you as a friend that it is not enough for

you to be proficient: you should try, first of all, to marry the

daughter of one of the professors, of a privy counsellor if

possible.’ ‘This advice comes too late,’ I replied, ‘I am already

married.’ My well-wisher was visibly shocked. ‘What a pity! Too

bad! You don’t realize what an influence this has here upon one’s

career.’ What trouble I had to obtain even the _venia docendi_!

and then I stuck fast and could not budge despite all achievements

until I undertook to marry the daughter of one of the

‘head-wirepullers’; then things were fixed within three months. I

may have looked at him in a peculiar way, for his wife was a

veritable Xanthippe, and, he added with a laugh: ‘You know I am

all day at the laboratory, from morning until late at night.’ ”

There is nothing new under the sun. In the year of grace, 1720,

_Johann Jacob Moser_ started his lectures in Tuebingen, but could

get no audience. “No wonder, even a cleverer man than I would not

have fared better at that time, when everything depended on

nepotism.” The young man had crossed Chancellor _Pfaff_ by

rejecting a marriage arrangement (_Horn_).

One will find these things very human. Moreover, it would be

unwarranted to assume that they happen always and everywhere. But

they prove that the pursuit of science rests also on general human

grounds, and does not always remain aloft, in the ethereal heights

of pure truth.

The Freedom of Teaching in History.

When we said that it is the duty of the state to protect the common

benefits of life against injury by freedom in teaching, and to stand guard

over its Christian past, we stated nothing but what has been the

conviction of the Christian nations and their rulers up into the

nineteenth century. Absolute freedom in teaching cannot plead the support

of history, it is only of yesterday. History shows it to be the natural

child, not of the first awakening of the consciousness of freedom, but of

_the de-Christianizing of the modern state_. Its official entry coincides

with the increasing de-christianizing of public life during the nineteenth

century, after the modern state adopted more and more the principles of

liberal thought. A naturalistic view of the world, without faith, was

struggling for supremacy; science had to proclaim it as higher

enlightenment, and vehemently urged freedom in its behalf. The state

receded step by step, confused by the commanding note in the new demands,

by high-sounding words about the rights of science; it allowed itself to

be talked into the belief that it must become the leader in the new

course, and it took the banner that was forced into its hands. It has

always been so; claims presented with impudence will intimidate, and

assume in the eyes of many the appearance of right.

In so far as it signifies the removal of the religious-moral bars

in teaching, the freedom in teaching developed first in Protestant

Germany, together with the increasing change of universities into

state institutions. Reformation and the ensuing _Enlightenment_

had gradually prepared the way for it. Neither the rationalism nor

the pietism of the eighteenth century could have an understanding

for the tenets of the faith. In addition there was the confusion

engendered by the multiplication of Protestant denominations, none

supported by an overtowering spiritual authority; it led more and

more to the parting between science and religious confession;

political reasons, too, made it desirable to disregard

confessions. Thus the severance of science from religion increased

and the “freedom of teaching” in this sense was finally adopted

also by Catholic states as an achievement.

The enlightenment that had developed outside of the universities

made its entry into the halls of universities chiefly under the

Prussian Minister _von Zedlitz_, a champion of enlightenment and a

friend of the philosophers _Wolff_ and _Kant_. That the

universities at that time were controlled by free-thinkers is

illustrated by a saying of _Frederick II._ On January 4, 1774,

_von Zedlitz_ asked of the king whether _Steinhauss_, M.D., should

be denied the appointment for professor extraordinary at

Frankfort-on-the-Oder, for the reason that he was a Catholic. The

king decreed in his own handwriting that “This does not matter if

he is clever; besides, doctors know too much to have belief”

(_Bornhak_).

In the year of the Revolution, 1848, freedom of teaching became a

political catch-word. “The terms freedom of teaching and freedom

of learning, that became popular in 1848, when any phrase

compounded with freedom could not be often enough repeated, have

been ever since reminiscent of barricades, and men who have

witnessed those times become nervous at their mere sound”

(_Billroth_).

What was understood by freedom in teaching at the turning point of

the eighteenth century is shown by the demand of _Thomasius_ for

“freedom of doctrines that are not against God and the state.” The

first move was to break away from _human_ authorities, _Aristotle_

and others. Thus the Kiel University, by its regulation of January

27, 1707, ordered that “no faculty should enslave itself to

certain principles or opinions, in so far as they are dependent on

a human authority” (_Horn_).

In Göttingen and Halle freedom of teaching also became the maxim,

and “_Libertas sentiendi_,” as _Münchhausen_ declared, “was open

to every one and not restrained by statute, except that there

should be taught nothing _ungodly_ and _Unchristian_.” In those

days this restriction was looked upon as a matter of course. It is

known that _Kant_ was disciplined by Minister _Woellner_ in 1794,

because of his treatise on religion; at Koenigsberg this reproof

was accepted with good grace, and both the philosophical and the

theological faculties pledged themselves not to lecture on

_Kant’s_ religious philosophy. As recently as the middle of the

nineteenth century a restriction in this sense was ordered by the

Prussian Minister _Eichhorn_, and the restriction was observed.

The Materialist _Moleschott_ was cautioned in 1845 by the Senate

of Heidelberg University, and in reply he resigned his post; in

the following year at Tübingen _Büchner’s venia legendi_ was

cancelled, because, as he himself stated, “it was feared I would

poison with my teaching the minds of my young students” (_Horn_).

In 1842, _Bruno Bauer_, the radical Bible-critic, was removed by

the Prussian faculties from the academic chair because of his

writings. _D. Strauss_ lectured on philosophy at Tübingen, but was

forced to resign when the first volume of his “Life of Jesus”

appeared in 1835. Later on, when called by the authorities of

Zurich to the chair for Church history and dogmatics, an emphatic

protest of the people made the appointment impossible.

While showing a regrettable indifference for attacks against religion, the

modern states, inoculated with the principles of Liberalism, have not

entirely forgotten their traditions. Many sections in their penal codes

still protect religion, not only against defamation, but, as is the case

in Austria, also against public anti-Christian propaganda, and the

“religious-moral education” in public schools is made compulsory by law.

Of course there is a contradiction, between the conviction of the state

that the principles of morals and religion must be preserved, and the

grant of full freedom to an anti-religious misuse of science, whose effect

upon the masses is unavoidable. It is a contradiction to tear down the dam

at the river and then erect emergency levees against the onrushing flood.

The amazing presumption, that holds inviolate and sacred everything that

poses under the name of science, is the fault of it all.

Freedom of Teaching and Party Rule.

In some countries the complaint is heard that a certain faction has

obtained control of the universities, and so exercises its control that

those who are not of its bent of mind are excluded from both teaching and

taking part in the administration of its affairs, despite the fact that

freedom in teaching and learning has been guaranteed by the state. It is

the faction that professes free-thought and cultivates the freedom of

science in this sense. This condition forces students faithful to their

religion to study in a strange atmosphere, and they are looked upon as

strangers. The parties so accused seek to disclaim these charges as

unjust; for they feel that, if justified, it would disclose an unlawful

condition of things. Nevertheless the facts are so notorious, that all

protestations will be without avail.

These facts must be painful to the sense of justice, order, and

good-fellowship; and to this sense it is not pleasing to deal

further with matters which have often been the cause for indignant

resentment, and to go into concrete details. We shall but briefly

recall to mind how persistently candidates for academic positions

are pushed aside when they are known to be of staunch Catholic

mind. This is borne out by their trifling percentage among the

large number of college-teachers; by the high pressure that is

often needed to lift the embargo for a _Catholic_; by assaults

which not seldom resulted in physical violence. This small number

is glaringly emphasized by the considerable, even disquieting,

number of college lecturers of Jewish extraction. Furthermore,

there is the improper usage that the theological faculty is passed

over at the annual election of the rector, and likewise, that

teachers even of lay-faculties are excluded from academic offices

when they profess themselves openly as Catholics.

Catholic students have seen themselves treated as strangers at

more than one university; they were not given the usual

privileges, and were accorded rights only in the proportion that

their number had to be reckoned with. Their corporate bodies were

ignored, self-evident rights either denied or grossly violated.

As to the small number of religious-minded lecturers at colleges

it is not to be denied that the number of those who combine

fervent religious persuasion with high scientific efficacy is not

considerable these days. Their long suppression furnishes a reason

for it, but not the only one. A modern university professor

rightly states: “While there never has been a want of courageous,

determined confessors of the Catholic faith who have occupied a

prominent, even leading, position in the progress of science, in

the perfection of methods and means of scientific research, they

were and still are the exception. They were men of _self-reliance

and independent_ judgment, who were able to exempt themselves from

an humble submission to the powerful view of the world, which

emanates from the hatred of Christianity and prevails in educated

circles. The issue is still the same secular contrast between the

two views of the world, which _St. Augustine_ illustrated with

unsurpassed mastery as long as fifteen hundred years ago. But the

view of the world which has been in the ascendant in scientific

circles long since, has certainly nothing in common with

scientific research.”

Our task, however, is not to examine the facts, but to prove that such

conditions are unlawful, no matter where and when found. We do not wish to

discuss further the fact that a university polity, exclusively in the

spirit of a liberalism that gradually goes over into radicalism, would

constitute a grave danger for Christian traditions. Indifference to the

Christian and every other religion, or to an extent direct rejection, must

make it appear more and more inferior and obsolete in the eyes of educated

circles; this view will then easily find its way to the people. Nor do we

intend to enlarge upon a second point, viz., the interest of science

itself. The kernel of liberal research in the province of the spiritual is

a frivolous agnosticism, with a rigid bondage to its naturalistic

postulates, with which we have become sufficiently acquainted. Principles

of this kind are poison for true science. For this reason alone it is

necessary that a Christian philosophy be placed by the side of a

philosophy in fear of metaphysics, one that never extends beyond puzzles

and problems; that a history guided by Christian principles be placed

alongside of one inspired by anti-ecclesiastical sentiment; in general

that a spirit of veracity assert itself, which would give an example, from

the home of highest culture, not of vain arrogance, but of that mental

firmness which, conscious of the limits of human knowledge, is also ready

to believe. How can our universities remain the seats of sterling mental

life, if the highest power of truth that has ever been, the Christian

religion, is ignored there, and even maligned; and if in its stead is

cultivated a philosophical-religious research which leads only to the

negation of everything that hitherto was our ideal, and which gives birth

to a mental anarchy, which, before the forum of history, makes it a

principle of pauperization.

One point to be particularly emphasized is the _violation of rights and

the oppression of mental liberty_, resulting from a party-rule in the

realm of higher education. Under a government of law every one, assuming

he possesses the necessary qualification, has an equal right to teach:

this is elemental to freedom of teaching. The state with its institutions

exists for the benefit of all classes, not for one certain class that has

formed the notion that it is the sole bearer of science. Enemies of the

state should be excluded from teaching, but not good citizens. Nor can it

be demanded, as a necessary preliminary for academic teaching, that one

must subscribe to the catch-phrases of any particular party, and so

discard one’s religious belief. And there is the violation of the rights

of faithful Christian people. Since their money in the form of taxes

maintains to a large extent the schools and their teachers, they surely

can demand a conscientious administration of their interests, and a

representation of the Christian view of the world, in a way becoming its

past and its dignity; Christian people can demand that their sons receive

an education in consonance with their Christian convictions, and that the

universities will train officials, physicians, and teachers, in whom they

may have confidence. If there are no other but state universities in a

country, and these are monopolized by a free-thought party, then a

condition of mental bondage will arise for those of a different mind. They

are compelled either to have their sons forego the learned profession, or

else expose them to an atmosphere wherein they see danger of a religious

and moral nature, in ideas, association, and example. No right is left to

them, but the right to pay taxes toward the budget of education, and then

to look on how an irreligious party is striving to turn the higher schools

into training camps of obligatory liberalism, and to monopolize the entire

mental life for this purpose. Now and then there is great indignation

against state monopolies; it is said, shall the state determine what kind

of cigars I should smoke, and what I am to pay for them! Now, then, where

is freedom if the majority of the Christian population is to be forced

into taking mental nourishment it does not desire and rejects, and pay for

it besides? If we recall to mind the past, which gave birth to the most

venerable universities of the present, a sorrowful feeling comes over us.

We see how far our colleges have deviated from their original purpose, how

our governments have lost their old traditions. Promotion of the Christian

religion and of the fear of God, was the lofty aim which their founders

had in mind.

In bestowing the charter upon Vienna University, Duke _Albrecht_

stated that he beheld in the university an institution “whereby

the glory of the Creator in heaven and His true faith on earth

would be furthered, knowledge would be increased, the state

benefited, and the light of justice and truth brightened.” And

when, in 1366, he donated property to the university, he declared

the object of the donation to be “that the university may increase

the prosperity of the entire Church.”

When Leopold I, on April 26, 1677, signed the charter of Innsbruck

University he declared that he founded this university

pre-eminently for the protection and prosperity of the Catholic

Religion, as a means for its preservation, and also that many of

those who had lost the faith might be led back to religion, for

the honour and the glory of the Tyrol.

In the charter of Tübingen University, _Eberhard_ of Württemberg

states: “I believe I can do no better work, none more helpful to

gain salvation, none more pleasing to the eternal God, than to

provide with special diligence and emulation for the instruction

of good and zealous young men in the fine arts and sciences, to

enable them to recognize God, to know, to honour, and to serve Him

alone.” “In those days there was no hesitation to assign to

science the loftiest vocation and to declare ... that, coming from

God, science should also lead back to Him as its origin.... The

school was charged to work for the spread and the defence of the

true belief. Christian truth was once queen at these universities;

now, she has only too often become a stranger, to be denounced at

times if she attempts to knock at the portals of her old home”

(_Probst_).

Free Universities.

Another manner, to provide proper freedom of teaching, is open to the

modern state by incorporating free universities. Unlike the state

institutions, they are not directly controlled by the state, but are

independent of it in their internal affairs; they are founded and managed

by private persons or societies. Universities of this kind are found in

Belgium and in England, to some extent in France, but their home is

chiefly in the United States. At the head of the free university of the

United States is the president, with a governing body and a board of

trustees elected from members of the university; they appoint teachers,

prescribe schedules of study and examinations, and conduct its business.

True, the state cannot relinquish its right to oppose a system of teaching

dangerous to the common weal; it will also provide that those to be

licensed to practice the professions possess the necessary education and

training; but the state refrains from further interference in the

management of free universities.

It is no doubt difficult to establish by private means universities

equally efficient with those of the state; in the countries of Middle

Europe this undertaking is perhaps more difficult than elsewhere, but the

possibility is there, and it is even realized in some places. This,

however, is not a question to occupy us here; we merely wish to declare,

if similar foundations are about to be undertaken, and the necessary

conditions are present, then the state must not prevent them, it must

grant freedom in teaching.

True, the state is obliged to assist its subjects in acquiring material

and spiritual goods, but only in so far as private means are insufficient

thereto: the state must only act in a supplemental way. If it does that

which its citizens themselves are able to do, then the state is needlessly

abridging their free right. This includes the establishment of schools and

the teaching in them. Presuming fitness, everybody has a _natural right_

to teach others; hence, also, to found schools, whether by himself or

jointly with others. Furthermore, instruction is a part of education, even

at the university; it could hardly be said of the graduate of the

preparatory school that his education is completed. Education, however, is

a matter for the parents. Their rights would be infringed upon, if

needlessly forced by the state to intrust their sons exclusively to the

state colleges and to their method of teaching. How could the state’s

exclusive right to teach be proved? Does the pursuit of science belong to

its domain? No one will care to claim this. If science were to be allotted

to the jurisdiction of any one body, the Church would be the first to

enter into consideration, because of her international and spiritual

character. Or is this right to be conceded to the state because it is to

be the bearer of culture? The state is to promote culture, but not to

prescribe a certain brand of it. The argument that private universities

cannot be founded and conducted in the proper way is certainly not borne

out by the facts.

Even if the state, owing to its superior facilities, could provide better

universities than private effort, it would not be entitled to the

monopoly; the fact of being able to do something better does not secure

the sole privilege of doing it. Moreover, in order to attract students,

free universities will have to emulate state universities. The right of

the state to found universities will of course not be disputed; but this

right must not deteriorate into a disguised monopoly, that would grant

privileges to its own universities, and deny them to free universities in

order to put them out of existence. At any rate, the state will always

retain considerable influence over the studies at free universities. It

may require certain standards in candidates for political and professional

positions, for judges and lawyers, teachers at state schools, physicians;

it may insist upon state examinations, or it may make its stipulations for

recognizing the examinations and academic degrees of the free schools.

By free schools of higher learning, a greater degree of freedom in

teaching and in learning would be assured, or, speaking generally, a

greater freedom in the intellectual life. If these higher institutions of

learning are exclusively in the hands of the state, it cannot fail that

the higher intellectual life will be dangerously dependent upon the state,

or fall into the control of a dominating clique. As an example might be

cited the restrictions placed upon jurisprudence by Prussia in the

eighteenth century; the long-continued control of Hegelian philosophy; the

Université Impériale of Napoleon; the predominance of anti-Catholic

thought in our own schools. Universities, founded upon a positive,

Christian basis, would surely be a comfort for thousands.

No need to say that such foundations may also be undertaken by the Church.

This right cannot be denied to the Church, just as little as to any other

corporation. Nay, much less! Because of its intellectual and international

character science is most closely related to the Church. The latter,

furthermore, has an eminent, historical right; no one has done more for

the foundation and promotion of the European universities than the Church.

A remarkable and at the same time _characteristic attitude_

towards free, particularly Catholic, universities is assumed by

Liberalism. The stereotyped objection to Catholic universities is

known; it can be reduced to this formula: At a Catholic university

there can be no freedom in research nor freedom in teaching; but

without them there can be no science; consequently, a Catholic

university is a contradiction. It is the same old song: there is

but one science, there is but one freedom—the free-thought that

rejects belief. If it is really so obvious that a Catholic

university is a contradiction to science, hence incapable to

foster it, why the excitement? Either such universities are

incompetent, or they are not. Let the experiment go on; the result

will tell. If the result is certain, as is claimed, very well, one

may serenely await it. Liberalism shows itself again here in the

shape of that nasty hybrid of freedom and intolerance for which it

is known. It is the head of Janus with its two faces: the one

showing the bright mien of freedom, the other the sinister scowl

of an intolerant tyrant. They shout for freedom, freedom they

demand; Church and Revelation are put under the ban, because they

restrain freedom. The state is denounced as soon as it wants to

interfere. But if others attempt research free and independently,

though not just so as Liberalism would like, then tyranny

immediately takes the place of liberty, the herald of freedom

resorts to oppression, and those who just now proclaimed the

independence of universities from the state, who protested against

the interference of the state in science, turn about and loudly

call for the help of the state, avowing that science can thrive

only under state control.

The Church and the Universities.

In discussing the position of the social authorities toward freedom of

teaching, we have chiefly considered the state. Of the Church we shall say

but a brief word. It will suffice to recall what has been said previously;

what has been stated about the relation of the Church to freedom of

research, applies in many respects equally to freedom of teaching. Little

will have to be added. The Church, and the Church alone, has received from

her divine Founder the command to preserve the doctrine of revelation and

to proclaim it to mankind. “Going, therefore, teach ye all nations”—this

is the commission of the Lord.

For this reason the teaching of the revealed truth, Theology, is the

privilege of the Church. But the rest of the sciences will not be exempt

from the obligation to listen to the admonition of the God-appointed

authority, in all cases where religious grounds are invaded. To the Church

is intrusted the religious-moral guidance of her faithful; she cannot

remain indifferent, when in the public teaching of science a system is

followed detrimental to the Christian principles of the faithful. And

whoever has entered the Church by baptism, remains subject to her

authority in all matters within her sphere.

The state must acknowledge these rights of the Church, or else forfeit its

claim to be a Christian state; these rights, belonging to the essence of

the Christian religion, are guaranteed by God, and are independent of

human sanction. Hence, in case of clashes in this respect, the state must

listen to the grievances of the Church; this will chiefly concern

Theology, rarely other sciences. Thus it would be partially correct to say

that the theological faculties are subject to the Church, but those of the

rest of the sciences to the power of the state. But only partially;

spiritual interests cannot be marked out by faculties. Interests of faith

may be also violated in other faculties: then cases may arise which lose

their purely worldly character, and extend into the religious sphere of

the Church. If a professor should lecture on a matter touching closely

upon interests of faith, for instance, Catholic Canon law or philosophy,

and should show bias against Church and Christianity, deny its authority,

distort and attack its tenets—then this would constitute an evident wrong

to the Church and a flagrant violation of the interests which to guard it

is her duty, especially in a country overwhelmingly Catholic. In that case

the Church would be entitled to make expostulation.

In rejecting the protests of the Church in such cases, as being the

interference of a foreign power, the state would thereby prove that it

misunderstands both, the religious vocation of the Church and the proper

relation between state and Church. For the faithful, whom the state calls

its subject, are also the subjects of the Church, they are the lambs and

sheep the Church is to feed, in obedience to divine command. Church and

state having in common the same subjects, and being closely connected for

so long a time that it has become historical, it would be unnatural if

they were to treat each other as strangers, such as might be expected in a

heathen country, Japan, for instance. The nature of the case and the weal

of the people demand harmonious action in such matters. It cannot be

denied, moreover, that the Church commonly meets the state government to

the extreme limit of her ability. About the divine rights of the Church

opinions differ, but those able to fully appreciate the precious benefits

of religion and morality will regard it as one of the greatest boons to

humanity, that there exists within its fold an organization which protects

with fearless, awe-inspiring majesty these benefits against all attacks,

even against the state and its all-devouring policy of utility, and in

this way defends the mental dignity of the human individual against

oppression by the reckless reality of external life.

Just to show how an avowed free-thinker appreciates the

significance of a commanding spiritual force as against the state

we will quote the French positivist _A. Comte_, who declares: “The

absorption of the spiritual by the worldly power is a return to

barbarity; the separation of the two powers, however, is the

principle for mental uplift and moral dignity.” “True,” says he,

“men struggle in blind aversion against spiritual power of any

kind; yet it will even then prevail, though in a mistaken way.

Professors, authors, and newspaper writers will then pose as the

speculative leaders of mankind, although they lack all mental and

moral qualification for it” (Cours de philosophie positive).

Short-sighted perception may upbraid the Catholic Church; but a

far-sighted judgment will have to concede that mankind owes

gratitude to the Church and the Papacy. A noted Protestant writer

remarks: “But for the Papacy the Middle Ages would have fallen a

prey to barbarity. Even in our day the liberty of nations would be

threatened with greatest danger if there were no Papacy. It is the

most effective counterpoise to an omnipotent power of the state.

If it did not exist, it would have to be invented” (_Hübler_).

FIFTH SECTION. THEOLOGY.

Chapter I. Theology And Science.

Now one other, the concluding point. So far our discussion has dealt

almost exclusively with the profane sciences, and while there were often

under discussion general principles, applying also to theology, we did not

refer to the latter expressly for the reason that it occupies a special

position in regard to our question. Theology is the science of the faith,

its subjects are truths established by divine or inspired authority;

hence, in teaching, authority plays a larger part in this than in any

other science. For this reason much fault is found with theology, and many

consider that it forfeits thereby its claim to rank as a science. They say

it lacks all liberty, the results are prescribed; it lacks possibility of

progress; nothing but rigid dogmas, rejecting all development and

improvement; its vocation is exhausted by the incessant transmitting of

the immutable; hence it lacks all the essential conditions of a true

science, it has no claim to a place at the university; if it nevertheless

has established itself at the university, as is the case in some

countries, it must be considered as an alien body, a remnant of an

obsolete time.

A keen eye cannot fail to detect in these words the prompting voice of

that view of the world which rejects everything supernatural, and declares

that Christian dogmatics and morals, and ideas of sin, redemption,

humility of faith, cross, and self-denial, do no longer correspond to

modern man. At bottom is the struggle between the two views of the

world—one the philosophy of modern, sovereign man, the other the

contemplation of the world in the light of Christianity: a process of

repulsion, psychologically easily understood, by which the one seeks to

expel the other from the position which it desires to occupy. A closer

examination of the matter will show this.

Theology as a Science.

Is theology a science in the proper sense? May it rightly claim a place

among the branches of human science? This shall be the first question to

be answered. Theology, meaning the doctrine of God, is the science of the

Revelation, or of the faith; of the Revelation which began in the Old

Testament and reached its perfection in Christ, the Son of God, in whom

appeared the fulness of God, the image of the glory of God, the perfection

of all religion; the Revelation intrusted to the Church to be preserved

infallibly, so that by these truths, and means of salvation, the Church

might guide and enrich the life of believing mankind. Hence, in the broad

sense in which it is understood now, theology is the science that gathers

the revealed truths from their sources, endeavours to grasp and to defend

them, and to deduce new truths from them; which also studies these truths

and the means given for salvation, in their development and effect in the

Christian life.

Thus it includes a wide range of subordinate branches, connected by a

common object. The biblical sciences have for their subject Holy Writ; the

sciences of introduction to the Bible deal with its external history, with

historical criticism playing an important part; exegesis is occupied with

the scientific interpretation of the text and uncovers the treasures of

truth in Holy Writ, assisted in this task by hermeneutics and a number of

philosophical-historical auxiliary sciences. Ecclesiastical history and

its branches of patrology, history of dogma, ecclesiastical archæology,

and art, and other auxiliary sciences, describe the doctrine of Revelation

in its historical course through the centuries, and its development in the

bosom of the Church. Dogmatics (with apologetics) and morals have the task

to explain and defend the doctrine of faith and morals, as drawn from the

Scriptures and from tradition, to deduce new truths from them and to unite

them all in a system. Finally, Canon law, and even to a greater degree the

departments of pastoral theology, homiletics, liturgy, show how the

treasures of Revelation and Redemption find their realization in the

practical life of the Church and of the Christian people.

Hence there cannot be any doubt but that theology is a science in the

proper sense, unless a wrong definition of science is presumed. Of course,

if we should identify science in general with empirical science, and

scientific methods with the methods of natural sciences and mathematics,

and refuse to recognize any results as scientific except those gained by

observation and mathematical calculation, then, of course, theology would

not be a science, nor would many other branches of knowledge come under

this head; the fault, however, would lie with a narrow conception, that

limits itself to the portion of human knowledge within its vision,

ignoring everything that exists beyond its horizon.

What are we to understand by science? It is the systematic concentration

of the knowledge and the research of things according to their causes;

hence of our cognition of a subject that can be proved by careful

demonstration to be certain or at least probable. This we find to be the

case in theology. It is the sum total, systematically arranged, of

knowledge and researches concerning the tenets of faith, considered in the

abstract, in their history, and in their effects on the life of the

Church. Applying the method of natural thought, theology first studies the

presumptions and foundations of faith, examines the sources of revelation

by the philosophical and historical-critical method, proves the doctrines

of faith by these sources, endeavours to grasp these truths

intellectually, by the methods of analytical and synthetical thinking, and

to make clear their connection. We have here the same methods as applied

in other sciences: ascertaining the facts, definition of terms, deduction,

induction. In respect to the history of the Church and to Canon law their

similarity with analogous profane sciences is at once obvious.

There is one _difference_: in the theological sciences there is active,

not only rational research, but also the _belief_ in revealed truths. In

some departments, like that of ecclesiastical history, this difference is

less pronounced, they proceed by the method of critically establishing and

connecting the facts; but they, too, are guided by the conviction that

there is in the life of the Church not only natural causation, but also

supernatural principle. Dogmatics takes faith to a greater degree as its

point of support, in order to connect natural reason with the convictions

of faith, and how richly natural reason may unfold itself is shown in the

works of _St. Augustine_ and _St. Thomas_, on the great mysteries of the

faith. As regards faith itself, we must keep in mind that it has a

scientific foundation: the credibility of revelation is proven, it is a

reasoning faith. It may be likened to history. The historian, on the

testimony of his sources, believes in the actuality of human events,

having convinced himself of the credibility of his sources; this belief

becomes then his starting point for further researches of a pragmatical

nature: he penetrates more deeply into the facts, and connects them

according to their causal relations. The difference is this: the historian

rests upon human authority, the theologian upon divine.

Yet the objection is raised: theology is faith, or at least rests on

faith. Faith, however, has nothing to do with science; faith is sentiment,

whereas science is knowledge. That this view of faith is wrong, and the

result of subjective agnosticism that denies to man any positive

understanding of supernatural truths, we have shown repeatedly. Certainly,

if faith were nothing but sentiment, no science could be built upon it;

you cannot build stone houses upon water. But the Catholic faith is not

simply sentiment, it is a conviction of reason, based upon God’s testimony

that the revealed doctrines are true. In the same way that the

historian—to use the comparison once more—believes positively in his

historical facts, on the strength of the authority of a _Livy_ or

_Tacitus_, or accepts as proved some events of ancient times, relying upon

the testimony of Babylonian tablets of clay or upon the pyramids, and

makes these events his starting point for further researches, without

having to fear objections to his work on the ground that knowledge and

belief are incompatible; just so the theologian believes in his religious

truths because they are vouched for by God’s testimony. This proves that

the foundation for his further thought is not formed by uncontrollable,

irrational sentiment, but by a conviction of reason.

Hence, if by knowledge is meant nothing but a conviction of reason—and in

this sense faith and knowledge are usually contrasted by modern

philosophical writers—then faith is knowledge in the proper sense and a

contradiction does not exist. If, however, knowledge is taken to be the

understanding gained by personal insight without reliance on external

testimony, then, of course, there is a distinction, and theology would not

be a science, in so far as it _believes_; just as little as history would

be a science, in so far as it believes its sources. But theology is a

science, in so far as it makes use of experience and reason, examines its

sources, draws from them the facts of faith, and makes them the starting

point for its investigations.

Theology also has mysteries among its subjects, namely, truths

whose actuality is cognizable, but whose contents, while not

indeed inconsistent, yet remain obscure and incomprehensible to

us. But even this does not impair its scientific character. Other

sciences share with it this lot of human limitation. Instances are

plentiful in natural science where the existence of natural forces

of one kind or another is proven; of which it is able to form some

idea, but cannot fathom; they remain a puzzle to science,

sometimes presenting the greatest difficulties. For instance,

ether, gravitation, electricity, the nature of motion, and so on.

The noted physicist _J. J. Thomson_ says: “Gravitation is the

secret of secrets. But the very same holds good of all molecular

forces, of magnetism, electricity, etc. There are in animated

nature even more things we cannot understand. We could say that of

the processes of living organisms we understand practically

nothing. Our knowledge of indigestion, of propagation, of

instinct, is so small that we can almost say it is limited to the

enumeration of them. What we do know and understand is not one

thousandth part of what would be necessary for a knowledge in any

degree complete. ‘If we raise an arm,’ says _Pasteur_, ‘or put our

teeth in action, we do something that no one can explain.’ ”

Theology and Progress.

With a very superficial conception of theology we might easily arrive at

the opinion that it lacks a characteristic of science, which, in our time

especially, is insisted upon, namely, progress. For it must adhere to

dogmas and not go beyond them. Hence, seemingly, there is nothing to do

for theology but to transmit unchangeable truths, perhaps in different

aspects, but nevertheless the same truths.

It must be admitted that one kind of progress is barred in theology, as

also in other sciences; to wit, the progress of incessant remodelling and

reshaping, the continuous tearing down of the old facts, the eternal

search after truth without ever gaining its possession.

This is often the progress demanded. “The new tuition,” it is

said, “starts from the premise that the truth is to be searched

for” (_Paulsen_). “Science is not a perfected doctrine, but a

research, ever to be revised” (_Harnack_). It is particularly

demanded of theology that it procure a FURTHER DEVELOPMENT OF

CHRISTIANITY, and substitute for it thoughts which modern age has

adopted and which it calls scientific thinking. “There remains the

task,” they say, “of expressing faith and its objects so as to

coincide with the conception formed by scientific thinking of the

natural and historical reality” (_Paulsen_). Hence miracles, the

divinity of Christ, and mysteries of any kind, must be eliminated;

even the notion of a personal God will have to be changed to a

pantheistic notion: “After the great revolution in our cosmic

theories we can no longer think of God, the eternal holy Will that

we revere as First Cause of all things, as the ‘first mover’

throning outside and above the universe, as _Aristotle_ and

_Thomas_ did” (_Paulsen_).

Such a progress is impossible in theology, at least in Catholic theology,

and in any other that still aims to be the theology of the Christian,

revealed religion. It cannot be expected from theology, nor from any other

science, that it will degrade itself to a fashionable science, that takes

for its level not truth but the variable imperatives and moods of the

times, and, destitute of character, changes with each varying fashion. The

science of faith cannot assume this position, so much the less as it must

be aware that its truths often clash with the inclinations of the human

heart, and that its vocation is to lift up mankind, not to let itself be

dragged down. This kind of progress therefore is barred. This, indeed, is

not progress, but a hopeless wavering from pillar to post, a building and

tearing down, acquiring without permanent possession, searching without

finding.

_True progress_ can be shown in theology as in any other science.

The _possibility_ of progress is manifest, particularly, in

Church-history, in the biblical and pastoral sciences: they are closely

related to the profane-historical, philological, social, and juridical

branches of science, hence theology shares in their progress. It would

seem that dogmatics would have to forego progress. Its progress certainly

cannot consist in changing the revealed doctrines, nor in interpreting

differently in the course of times the formulas of creed; here the rule

is, _veritas Domini manet in aeternum_. The development of dogmatic

knowledge consists rather in the following: the revealed truths are in the

course of the centuries more and more clearly perceived and more sharply

circumscribed, more surely demonstrated, more and more extensively

appreciated in their connections, relations, and deductions. The sources

of Divine Revelation flow the richer the more they are drawn from; their

truths are so substantial, so abundant in relation to knowledge and life,

that, the more research advances, the less it reaches its limit. “No one

gets nearer to the realization of truth than he who perceives that in

divine things, no matter how far he progresses, there remains always

something more to be examined” (_Leo the Great_).

Consider the progress in mathematics. No one will say the mathematician is

doomed to stagnation because he cannot change the multiplication table or

the geometrical propositions. The increasing mathematical literature, with

its big volumes, contradicts this notion: but its growth of knowledge is

not the zigzag progress of restless to and fro, it is the solid progress

from the seed to the plant.

As early as the fifth century _St. Vincent_ of Lerin described the

progress in dogmatical knowledge: “Sed forsitan dicet aliquis:

Nullusne ergo in Ecclesia Christi profectus habebitur religionis?

Habeatur plane et maximus. Nam quis ille est tam invidus

hominibus, tam exosus Deo, qui istud prohibere conetur? Sed ita

tamen, ut vere profectus sit ille fidei, non permutatio. Siquidem

ad profectum pertinet, ut in semetipsum quaeque res amplificetur;

ad permutationem vero, ut aliquid ex alio in aliud transvertatur.

Crescat igitur oportet et multum vehementerque proficiat tam

singulorum quam omnium, tam unius hominis, quam totius Ecclesiae,

aetatum ac saeculorum gradibus, intelligentia, scientia,

sapientia, sed in suo duntaxat genere, in eodem scilicet dogmate,

eodem sensu eademque sententia.... Quodeunque igitur in hac

Ecclesiae Dei agricultura fide Patrum satum est, hoc idem filiorem

industria decet excolatur et observetur, hoc idem floreat et

maturescat, hoc idem proficiat et perficiatur. Fas est etenim, ut

prisca illa coelestis philosophiae dogmata processu temporis

excurentur, limentur, poliantur, sed nefas est, ut commutentur,

nefas, ut detruncentur, ut mutilentur.”

The _proof for the actual progress_ of theology is furnished by its

history. It shows how theology has gradually grown from the first seed of

the divine Word, placed by the hand of God’s Son into the soil of

humanity, until it became a great tree, rich in branches and leaves. The

holiest men of the Christian centuries, equipped with the choicest mental

forces, enlightened by the light of grace, have worked on its growth;

toiling and praying, they filled libraries with their books.

It is not our intention to outline here a sketch of this

development. A few hints may suffice. Hardly had the faith taken

root in the civilized nations of the old times when researches

were begun. A long list of Holy Fathers and ecclesiastical authors

were the bearers of the first development. Drawing upon Greek

philosophy in aid and to deepen their thought in the mental battle

against the ancient pagan view of the world, against Judaism and

heresy, they elucidated more and more the tenets of faith and

morals, and endeavoured to draw ever more fully from their

spiritual contents. We encounter among the shining host men like

_Tertullian_, _Cyprian_, _Clement of Alexandria_, _Origines_,

_Cyril of Jerusalem_, _Basil_, _Gregory of Nyssa_, and many

others, up to the powerful dogmatist of the old time, _Augustine_,

who treated scientifically and often extensively the great dogmas

of faith. Truly a voluminous theological literature with a

plethora of genius and truth. The great edition of the Greek and

Latin Fathers by _Migne_ numbers 382 volumes in quarto, each of

1,500 pages or more in close print. Comparing with these 382

volumes the modest book of the Bible, which had been their

foremost source, the progress of these centuries becomes manifest.

Soon the way was broken for systematizing the tenets of the faith,

especially by _St. John Damascene_ (eighth century). Scholasticism

completed the work: it created a systematical whole and connected

theology and philosophy, especially the Aristotelian, into a

harmonious union. Its pioneers were _St. Anselm_ and still more

_Petrus Lombard_ (died 1160). Then, in the Middle Ages, when

universities began to flourish, there followed the great

theologians _Alexander of Hales_, _Bonaventure_, _Albert the

Great_, _Scotus_, and chief of all _Thomas of Aquin_ (died 1274),

in whom scholasticism reached its perfection, and undeniably one

of the greatest minds known in the history of science;

distinguished by an astonishing prolificness, still more by a

wealth and depth of thought combined with the greatest simplicity

and lucidity in presenting truths, he will for ever remain

unapproachable. The decline of scholasticism during the fourteenth

and fifteenth centuries was followed by a new bloom, when the life

of the Church, rejuvenated by the Council of Trent, gave birth to

new forces in theology. The mighty tomes of men like _Suarez_,

_Lugo_, _Gregory of Valencia_, _Ruiz_, _Bañez_, _Billuart_, and

others joined the volumes of their predecessors and continued

their work. At the same time the various departments of the

science were branching off more and more, and became independent.

_M. Canus_ created the theory of theological cognition as an

introduction to dogmatics, _Bellarmin_ and _Th. Stapleton_ founded

the newer controversial theology. Moral Theology became in the

sixteenth century a separate science and was developed by men like

_Lugo_, _Laymann_, _Busembaum_, _Alphons of Liguori_. Similarly a

new period of research began in the biblical sciences. Not that

the first foundations were laid at that time; there had been

_Origines_, who had become the founder of biblical text criticism

by his “Hexapla”; the Antioch school of exegetes, _Chrysostomus_,

_Hilarius_, and especially _Jerome_. But it was fostered with

renewed zeal. The great Antwerp and Paris polyglots furnished

aids, men like _Maldonatus_, _Salmeron_, _Toletus_, _Cornelius_,

_á Lapide_, wrote their exegetic works. To the seventeenth century

belongs the creation of the propædeutics, by _Richard Simon_ and

_Bernard Lami_. The monumental work, “Cursus sacrae scripturae”

(since 1885), containing so far thirty-six volumes, demonstrates,

among other things, that there has been in recent years no

standstill in the research in Holy Writ. In the province of

ecclesiastical history, too, with its branches and auxiliary

sciences, new life was awakened at that time. In the sixteenth

century, when the defence of the creed by the witnesses of a

former age became urgent, patristics and history of dogma enjoyed

their first rise. _Petavius_ was prominently connected with them.

How these sciences have been fostered in the nineteenth century is

indicated by the names of _Mai_, _De Rossi_, _Hergenroether_,

_Hefele_, _Pastor_. There remains to be mentioned the gradual

establishment of the science of Canon law, of the

pastoral-theological departments which have attained an

independent position since the close of the eighteenth century,

and since then produced a voluminous literature. The fear of a

standstill in theological research seems unwarranted in the light

of its history. The errors of the present time will prevent a

standstill. The more vehement the attacks by natural science and

philosophy, by philology and archæology, the more they seek to

shake the foundations of the Christian religion, the stronger

theology must grow by the combat. The solid progress of our times

in knowledge and methodics will not remain without influence; nor

can the empirical, the historical-critical method, the theory of

evolution, and so on, fail to exert their stimulating influence

upon theology.

The progress that Catholic theology has made since the days of the

Fathers, the vast amount of mental work it has performed, is

perhaps made most clear by a glance at the “Nomenclator literarius

theologiae catholicae,” by _H. Hurter_ (2d ed., 3 vols.; the 3d

ed. is in 6 vols., 5 being ready). It gives in concise briefness

the biographical data and the more important works of Catholic

theologians of greater repute. Counting the names there presented,

we find not less than 3,900 from 1109 to 1563; about 2,900 from

1564 to 1663; about 3,900 between 1664 and 1763; finally, from

1764 to 1894 about 4,000 theological authors; hence in the period

from 1109 to 1894 nearly 14,700 theologians. That these 14,700

scientists—and their number is not exhausted by this figure—should

have written their works without offering in them any new

knowledge, would surely be a bold assertion! In addition consider

the long rows of tomes which some of them wrote. Perhaps it would

not be wholly amiss to refer to the restless zeal of many of them,

as recorded by their biographers. _Baronius_ (died 1607) could

truthfully assert before his death, that for thirty years he had

never had sufficient sleep; he usually slept only four or five

hours. _Pierre Halloix_ (died 1656) likewise was content with four

or five hours of rest. _Dionysius Sanmarthanus_ (died 1725) gave

only four hours to sleep and devoted less than half an hour daily

to recreation; likewise _Fr. Combéfis_ (died 1679), during the

last forty years of his life. _A. Fr. Orsi_ (died 1761) contented

himself with three or four hours of sleep; _Fr. Clement_ (died

1793) and _H. Oberrauch_ (died 1808) are said to have slept but

two hours daily. _J. Caramuel de Lobkowicz_ (died 1682) persevered

for fourteen hours every day at his books; _Chr. Lupus_ (died

1681) even for fifteen hours daily. The theologian _Lessius_ is

characterized by “_Parcissimus erat temporis, laboris pertinax_”;

the same holds good of hundreds of others of these men.

A science, enumerating its disciples by so many thousands, with

the greatest intellects among its workers, which has commanded so

much zeal and work for centuries, should be safe from the reproach

of having back of it a history of stagnation.

Theology and Freedom of Science.

To many it seems obvious that theology lacks at least the other predicate

of science, freedom; because it is bound to dogmas and ecclesiastical

authorities, at least Catholic theology is.

Although this claim is pressed persistently and with confidence, we may

dispose of it very briefly. The freedom missed in theology, and demanded

in its behalf, is none other than the liberal freedom of science, the

nature of which we have had sufficiently long under the searchlight, so

that there remains nothing to be added. We have proved sufficiently that

this freedom is not a freedom from unnatural fetters, but a dissolute

subjectivism, that claims the right not to be bound to any unchangeable,

religious truths. We admit that the Catholic theology does not possess

_THIS_ freedom. Convinced of the truth of the doctrines established by

divine testimony, and by the infallible voice of the Church, theology sees

not freedom but a sin against truth in the license to assert the contrary

of what it has recognized as the truth.

There is but one freedom which science may claim: it is freedom from

hindrance in reaching the truth in its legitimate domain. If this truth is

transmitted to science infallibly, by the highest instance of wisdom—and

of this every theologian is convinced—how can science be said to be

hindered thereby in attaining the truth? Restrained it is, but only by

truth: truth, however, can only be a barrier to license, but not to

precious freedom. This restraint theology shares with the rest of the

sciences. The physicist is tied to the facts brought forth by the

experiments of his laboratory; the astronomer is tied to the results

reported to him by the instruments of his observatory, the historian is

tied to the events disclosed by his sources. Moreover, all sciences are

tied to their methods. In this way, and in no other way, the theologian,

too, is tied to the facts given him by Revelation, and to his method.

Every science has its own method. The astronomer gains his facts by

observation and calculation, the mathematician arrives at his facts by

calculation and study; the historian, by human testimony; the theologian,

however, by divine testimony, at least as to fundamental truths. That they

are transmitted to him not by his personal study, but by external

testimony, does not matter; the historian too draws from such sources. Nor

can theological knowledge be less certain because vouched for by divine

authority: it makes it the more certain. Or is there no divine authority,

and can there be none? This is exactly the silent presumption, which is

the basis of the charge against theology. But where is the proof for it?

It can only be demonstrated by denying the existence of a supermundane

God; for, if there is an Almighty God, there can be no doubt that He can

give a Revelation and demand belief.

Perhaps it may be said further, the theologian is not permitted to doubt

his doctrines, hence he is prohibited from examining them; he surely

cannot be _unprepossessed_.

We can refer to what we have previously said. Unprepossession demands but

one thing, namely, not to assume something as true and certain that is

false or unproved; it demands strong proofs for anything that needs proof.

We may safely assert that there is no other science more exacting in this

respect than Catholic theology, both of the present and of the past. It

has not a single position that is not incessantly tested by attacks as to

its tenability. Any one not unacquainted with theology, who knows the

works of _St. Thomas_ and of the later theologians, with their exact

methods of thinking, who observes the conscientious work in Catholic

biblical-exegetic, historical-critical field, must be convinced of the

serious atmosphere of truth prevailing here. Unprepossession does not

demand to doubt, time and again, that which has been positively proved, to

rediscover it by new research. Positive facts are no longer a subject for

research; in their case research has fully achieved its end. Methodical

doubt, proper in scientific examination, is proper also in regard to

religious truths.

Furthermore, the latitude of the theologian is much larger than presumed

by those who derive their information solely from modern assertions about

dogmatic bondage. One may safely assert that the freedom of movement of

the mathematician is more limited by his principles, his train of thought

more sharply prescribed, than is the case with the theologian. Of course

the theologian is bound by everything he finds infallibly established

directly by revelation and by the authority of the Church; or indirectly

by the concurring teaching of the Fathers or the theologians; he is bound

also by non-infallible decisions, especially those of congregations,

though not absolutely and not irrevocably.

But this is only the smaller part of his province. In many departments,

like the one of ecclesiastical history, there are almost no restrictions

to his research, except those imposed by historical facts. Canon law and

similar departments dealing with the laws of the Church, coincide in

method and liberty of research with the profane science of law. Of all

departments of theology, the dogmatical is the one most affected by the

authority of faith. Yet even here a great deal is left to unhampered work.

Many a void has to be filled, many a question solved, which the theology

of the past has never taken up; even the defined truths still offer a

large scope for personal work, in regard to demonstration, or to the

philosophic-speculative penetration of the dogmas and their

interpretation.

As a fact, the reader of theological literature, both old and new, will,

in a multitude of cases, meet with unrestrained individuality.

Ecclesiastical Supervision of Teaching.

The _Encyclica_ against Modernism (September 8, 1907) gave rise to fears

that any free movement would henceforth be impossible for Catholic

theology. These fears referred chiefly to the disciplinary measures,

prescribed by the Encyclical for the purpose of supervising theological

teaching in each diocese. Then came the papal Motu Proprio, of September

1, 1910, which, among other things, required the teacher of theology to

confirm by oath his confession of the Creed and his intention to repudiate

modernistic errors. Since then many a complaint has been heard about

espionage and coercion. Similar complaint, about an imminent debasement of

the Church, has been raised whenever important measures in the discipline

of the Catholic Church were published, and they emanated primarily from

the camp of the enemy.

It is not to be denied, however, that such an energetic call for

watchfulness and action, issued from the highest ecclesiastical

watchtower, like the one referred to, may lead in some cases to anxiety

and false suspicions. This is no doubt regrettable; but it is an incident

common to human legislation and will surprise no one who has any

experience of life. A glance at these decrees will show that they are

nothing more than an urgent injunction, and the exercise of that

supervision of religious life and teaching which pertains to the authority

of the Catholic Church, and which has been practised by her at all times.

The language is urgent, it has a severity which is softened in the

execution. Its explanation lies in the eminent danger of the modernistic

movement to the continuance of Catholic life. Modernism, as described and

condemned by the Encyclica, is nothing less than the absolute destruction

of the Catholic faith, and of Christianity.

The Protestant theologian, Prof. _Tröltsch_, wrote after the publication

of the Encyclica: “As viewed from the position of curialism and of the

strict Catholic dogma, there existed a real danger. Catholicism had gotten

into a state of inner fermentation, corresponding to the same condition

caused by modern theology within the Protestant churches.”

The danger of Modernism is often enhanced by a deceptive semblance of the

right faith, and by the pretence to urge only the righteous interests of

modern progress against obsolete forms of thought and life, now and then

also by its secret propaganda. Hence this intervention by a firm hand, and

this only after having waited a long time. They were measures of

prevention, like those taken to stave off a serious danger; the tidal wave

receding, their urgency disappears automatically.

The German bishops stated in their pastoral letter of December 10,

1907, that in some Catholic lay-circles there was uneasiness about

the Encyclical, fearing that it might endanger scientific

endeavour and independence in thought and research, and that the

Church intended to prohibit or render impossible co-operation in

solving the problems of civilization. “May they all recognize,”

they said, “how groundless such fears are! The Church desires to

set bars only to one kind of freedom—the freedom to err.” If the

rules and precepts of the Church do sound harsh sometimes, it is

because the Church adheres unconditionally to the principle: The

truth above all. “The Church has at no time opposed the true

progress of civilization, but only that which hinders its

progress: heedlessness, haste, the mania for innovation, the

morbid aversion against the truth that comes from God. But we

Catholic Christians can join free and unhampered, with all our

strength and talent, in the peaceful strife of noble, intellectual

work and genuine mental education.”

The fears of too great a pressure by the ecclesiastical

authorities have been given trenchant expression in most recent

times by a man who, while standing outside of the Catholic Church,

has always shown himself well disposed towards it, namely, the

noted pedagogue, _Fr. W. Förster_ of Zurich. _Förster_ has won

merit and distinction by his manly and spirited defence of the

Christian view in pedagogical science and mental culture. In the

book referred to he again describes urgently the worthlessness and

fatality of modern individualism, that knows a good deal about

freedom but nothing of self-discipline, nor of authority or

tradition, and which represents most superficial amateurism in the

domain of religion and morals. Then he turns to criticize Church

practice; and his criticism becomes a sharp accusation. His main

charge is “fatal restraint of the spirit of universality.” “Some

groups in the Church,” he asserts, “of mediocre learning, have

established a clique rule, under which the others, the more

creative and intensive souls, become the victims of intolerance,

espionage, and false suspicion”; “universality, which unites the

different mental tendencies, has given way to separation”;

“everywhere a one-sided denunciatory information of the leading

circles by accidentally ruling groups and factions; anxious

intolerance for everything unusual, disciplinary austerity and

unintelligent pedantry, individualistic and unchristian spirit of

distrust and mutual espionage”; “levelling of the mental life”;

“one is tired,” we are told, “of the spirit of incessant

disciplining”; “of the invariable cold and disdainful forbidding

and repression.” In the Middle Ages and earlier times it was

different; then “universality was the ruling spirit, the working

of the many into a unit full of life; this policy was changed for

no other reason than because of the struggle of the Church against

Protestantism.” “The greatest harm that Catholicism suffered by

the great rupture of the sixteenth century is most likely seen in

the tendency of the Church to view thenceforth religious freedom

within Catholic Christianity with an anxious, even hostile eye.”

Readers of the literature of the day will recognize here views

often met with during the last years, and the same excited note,

which is quite in contrast to the even temper that ordinarily

characterizes _Förster’s_ books. But what the reader will not find

stated are the proofs for these enormous accusations.

Undeniably, things have happened in the wide range of

ecclesiastical authority that cannot be approved. But where are

the facts that would justify charges of such sweeping nature? A

Protestant author can hardly be presumed to possess such a direct

and positive insight into the ecclesiastical practice of the

higher and the highest order, to give convincing strength to his

bare assertion. Or is the number of dissatisfied voices that make

these charges sufficient proof in itself? If the ecclesiastical

authority be allowed, now and then, to emerge from its passiveness

to take measures against dangerous doctrinal tendencies, is it not

to be expected, as a matter of course, that some minds become

disgruntled and complain about oppression and clique rule? Or must

that right be denied the Church altogether? _Förster_ says

himself: “The spirit of dignity and responsibility has never ruled

all parts of the hierarchy in the same measure as now, and rarely

if ever were there found in its leading circles so many men

leading an almost holy life as at present.” And yet we are asked

to believe that it was reserved exactly for this worthy hierarchy,

and for these saintly men, to forget the traditions of the Church

in the most irresponsible manner. One will have to say: “If

_Förster_ would examine without bias the situation and apply

consistently in respect to authority the principles that he

himself defends, he would be convinced that the Church could not

have acted any differently than it did in regard to the

regrettable events of the last years, and that it has ever been

the aim of the Church, before the sixteenth century as after, to

guard carefully the purity of traditions of faith against any

attack” (Prof. _G. Reinhold_ in a review of _Förster’s_ book).

The Church has never known a universality that did not oppose

doctrinal errors. The Middle Ages did not know it; one need only

read the many condemnations from Nicholas I. to Innocent VIII.;

nor was such a universality known to the great Councils of ancient

Christianity up to the Nicæan, which hurled its anathema against

numerous teachings that opposed no dogmas defined at that time;

nor did the Holy Fathers know such a universality, nor the

Apostles, with their strict admonitions of unity of faith. The

reply is made, the “Church must not yield the least of its

fundamental truths,” that “its centralizing power ought to remain

within the region of the most essential”; whereas she actually

exercises it in the domain of the incidental. The ecclesiastical

supervision of teaching has never limited itself to the most

essential, nor would this practice ever accomplish the object to

preserve pure the doctrine of faith. Furthermore, what is the

“most essential” what is the “incidental”? _Förster’s_ book does

not inform us about this most important question. The views

against which the Church has made front in the last years, do they

relate only to the incidental? Does this apply to the doctrines of

a _Rosmini_ and _Lamennais_, who are referred to in passing? No

well-informed theologian will assert this.

We shall hardly be wrong in assuming that the charge of

overstraining the ecclesiastical authority is based upon a

presumption of a philosophical nature, which is in evidence in

several other passages of the book—on the view, namely, that in

religion the intellectual moment should recede before the

mystical, before anticipation and inner experience. Hence the

severe censure of “the narrow autocracy of the intellectual

interpretation” against the “preponderance of the intellectual

contemplation” in the Church, which is said to have become so

prevalent as to exert unavoidably a paralyzing effect upon the

entire religious life. Here we have the result of the notion that

theory of life, religion, and faith, depend but little on rational

knowledge. This notion is also in accord with the argument about

the impossibility of an independent scientific ethics. We have

discussed this elsewhere. We demonstrated that religion and faith

relate to positive truths that can be realized, and that can

therefore be accurately defined; they must be so defined. Of

course this realization need not be a scientific one, it can be of

the natural kind that is not clearly conscious of its reasons.

_Förster_, too, touches upon this important distinction when

quoting _Saitschick_: “The inner perception overtowers feeling and

logical reason—here, too, lies the source of a light shining

brighter, stronger, and incomparably more true than any light of

reason”; and again, when his advice is, to foster to a greater

extent the “inner perception.” What is felt here vaguely has long

since been expressed much more lucidly in Christian philosophy.

Certainly a view that fails to lay, first of all, absolute stress

on the protection of the _doctrine_ of faith cannot understand the

Catholic point of view; it will assume only too easily that the

supervision relates to incidentals. It will also engender a

criticism against which the Church may rightly protest, because it

starts from presumptions that do not apply to the Church.

No one will be astonished to find a Protestant author lacking the

clarified conception of the supernatural character of the Church

that is possessed by the Catholic; to see him view the Church

almost invariably in the light of a human organization, similar to

the Protestant denominations which he may cite before the court of

his individual reason and force to bow under the yoke of his

criticism. The Catholic has a better understanding of the words:

“I am with you all days, even unto the consummation of the world.”

There will be foreign to his mind the idea that the Church has

since the days of Reformation, for now nearly four centuries,

deviated from the right way, and degenerated more and more to a

separatistic and insignificant community; a church able to forget

its traditions to the extent of grossly misconceiving its proper

sphere of authority, and fettering itself in a narrow spirit to

incidentals, could not keep his confidence any longer.

The Oath Against Modernism.

The _Motu Proprio_ of September 1, 1910, decreed that teachers of

theology, and also Catholic priests generally, had to bind themselves by

oath to reject modernistic heresies, and to accept obediently the

ecclesiastical precepts. Dispensed from this pledge were only the

professors of theology at state institutions, to spare them difficulties

with state authorities.

This anti-modernist oath at once became the signal for a storm of

indignation, than which there has been hardly a greater one since the days

of the Vatican Council. A cry was raised for freedom of science, for the

exclusion of theological faculties, even for another “Kulturkampf.” The

General Convention of German college professors, held at Leipzig January

7, 1911, issued a declaration to the effect that “All those who have taken

the anti-modernist oath have thereby expressed their renunciation of an

independent recognition of truth and of the exercise of their scientific

conviction, hence they have forfeited all claim to be considered

independent scientists.” Interpellations were made in legislative bodies,

it was demanded that the option of taking the oath should be taken away

from university professors, because “the dignity of the universities would

be lowered if their members had the opportunity to bind themselves by such

an oath.”

Even threats were made by statesmen, hinting at reprisals by the state,

because its interests were being jeopardized, while, on the other hand,

there were those who declared: “If the Catholic Church thinks it necessary

for her ecclesiastical and religious interests to put her servants under

oath, it is her own business; neither the state nor the Evangelical Church

have a right to interfere” (Prime Minister _Bethmann-Hollweg_, in the

Prussian Diet, on March 7, 1911).

The agitation of the minds will soon subside, as on former occasions of

this kind; and, with calm restored, people will find, as _J. G. Fichte_

told the impulsive _F. Nicolai_, one hundred and thirty years ago, that

the fact has only just been discovered that the Catholics are Catholic.

Yes, indeed, the Catholics are Catholic, and desire to remain

Catholic—this and nothing else is the gist of the anti-modernist oath. It

does not oblige to anything else but what was believed and adhered to

before. It obliges to accept the doctrines of faith; but they are the old

truths of the Catholic Church, propounded and believed at all times, and

the necessary inferences from them. Even the proposition that truths of

faith can never be contradicted by the results of historical research, or

by human science in general, is as old as faith itself. In addition, the

oath avows obedient submission to Church precepts; but this has been

demanded for centuries by the _professio fidei Tridentina_, a pledge by

oath to which every professor of theology has been before obliged:

_Apostolicas et ecclesiasticas traditiones reliquasque eiusdem Ecclesiae

observationes et constitutiones firmissime admitto et amplector_. This was

the opinion of all competent judges on this theological question. “We are

convinced,” declared correctly a prominent theological institution, “that

there is not assumed by this oath any obligation new in subject, and no

obligation not already existing. The oath is but the affirmation of a duty

already imposed by conscience” (the professors of Theology of Paderborn,

December 12, 1910). The Breslau faculty said, in the same sense: “The

faculty does not see in the so-called anti-modernist oath any new

obligation, nor one exceeding the rule of faith ever adhered to by the

faculty.” And this declaration was fully approved of by Rome.

Cardinal _Kopp_, at the session of the German Upper House on April

7, 1911, commented on these statements as follows: “Against the

opinions of these circles (having a different opinion of the oath)

I set the testimony and the statement of the most competent

people, to wit, the professors of university faculties and also

those at episcopal seminaries. Those who have taken the oath, as

well as those who have refrained from it by the privilege granted

them by the Holy See, they both declare positively that the oath

does not contain any new obligations, nor does it impose new

duties on them; hence that, on the contrary, they are not impeded

in the pursuit of their tasks as teachers and of their scientific

work of research. Now, gentlemen, I do not think it would be

proper to insinuate that these earnest men, appointed by the

Government, or at least in office by its consent, would make this

declaration against their conviction and not in full sincerity.”

No wonder, therefore, that of the hundreds of thousands of Catholic

priests hardly a handful have refused the oath.

Nor is there anything new in the obligation to swear and subscribe

in writing to a confession of creed. Very often in the course of

the centuries decrees of creed and symbols had to be subscribed to

in writing. In the days of Jansenism, when priests were required

to swear to and sign a statement, many Jansenists tried to dodge

this oath, and the Jansenist _Racine_ complained that this demand

was unheard-of in the Church. Thereupon the learned theologian

_Tournely_ and others cited a number of examples of this kind from

the history of the Church.

Therefore the anti-modernist oath has not created anything new.

Consequently it has not changed anything in regard to the freedom of

theological research. It is the same as before; nor has the oath changed

anything in the quality of theological professors, they merely promise to

be what they must be anyway; nor can, for instance, the oath induce the

Catholic priest, in teaching profane history, to present the history of

the Reformation in a different light than before, and thus render him

unfit to teach history; the oath has created no new, confessional

differences, hence has given no justified cause for excitement—provided

one has the needed theological comprehension of the oath. If one has not

this insight, and will not trust to information from a competent source,

then it will be the act of prudence to leave the test to the future; and

we can await this test serenely.

We referred above to the declaration of German college teachers,

to the effect that all who have taken the oath have thereby

expressed their renunciation of independent cognition of truth.

These stereotyped ideas we have so often heard, with the same

haziness and inconsistency. “Because they have thereby expressed

the renunciation of independent cognition of the truth,” namely,

by the acceptance of certain doctrines. But is not every one who

clings to his Christian belief bound by this very fact to certain

doctrines? Does every one who still prays his Credo express the

renunciation of his independence? If the argument quoted is to

mean anything at all, it means the full rejection of all Christian

duty to believe; indeed, this is the real sense of this

“independent recognition of truth,” as we have already seen. But

cannot some one, because of his conviction, renounce this

independence and believe, and in this conviction accept the

doctrines of the Church? If this conviction is his, and he affirms

it by oath, how can any one see in this oath a want of freedom,

nay, a renunciation of truth? If an atheist solemnly declared his

intention to be and to remain an atheist, he would hardly be

accused of lack of character by the advocates of modern freedom of

thought. The judge, the military officer, the member of a

legislature, the professor, who must all take the oath of

allegiance,—all of these will have to be protected against the

insinuation of disloyalty to truth. If a man affirms by oath his

unalterable Catholic faith, he is without any hesitation accused

of untruthfulness. The government has been urged to forbid this

spontaneous exercise of Catholic sentiment. The inconsistency of

modern catch-phrases can hardly be given more drastic expression.

In order to guard the freedom of thought the government is to

forbid one from pledging himself to his own principles; in order

to remain an independent thinker a man must be forced by penal

statute to confess unconditionally the brand of free science

prescribed by a certain school and by no means have an opinion of

his own; in order to be free in his research the teacher in

theology must be tied to the catch-phrases of liberal philosophy.

This is modern freedom, a hybrid of freedom and bondage, of

sophistry and contradiction, of arrogance and barrenness of

thought, which will exert its rule over the minds as long as they

are guided by half-thinking.

Bonds of Love, not of Servitude.

People to whose mind Catholic thinking is foreign will never be able to

appreciate the energetic activity of the Church authority.

On close examination, however, they will not deny that, _if_ the Christian

treasure of faith is to be preserved undiminished, _if_ in the hopeless

confusion and the unsteady vacillation of opinions in our days there is to

be left anywhere a safe place for truth and unity of faith, this cannot be

accomplished otherwise than in the shape of a strong authority that has

the assurance of the aid of God.

The Catholic theologian may be permitted to point in exemplifying

this fact to the recent history of Protestantism and of its

theology. Protestantism does not acknowledge a teaching authority:

its theology demands complete freedom of research and teaching,

making the most extensive use of both. The result is the

demoralization of the Christian faith, which is speeding with

frightfully accelerated steps to total annihilation. The very

danger which Modernism threatened to carry into the Catholic

Church has overwhelmed Protestant theology: the metaphysical ideas

of a modern philosophy penetrated it without check, and killed its

Christian substance. The measures against Modernism were sharply

criticized by many Protestants who, at the same time, laid stress

upon the fact that nothing of the sort could happen among

themselves. Indeed it could not, at least not consistently with

Protestant principle. But there is not a single fact in all

history which demonstrates more clearly the necessity of the

Catholic authority of faith, than just the condition of

Protestantism at the present time. On the part of believing

Protestants this is admitted, if not expressly, then at least in

practice. To stem the destructive work of liberal theology they

resort to authority; invoke Evangelical formulas of confession,

the traditional doctrine, sometimes even the aid of the state;

neological preachers are disciplined by censures, even by

dismissal, against the loud protest of the liberals. Such action

is easily understandable; one cannot hear without sadness the cry

for help of pious Protestantism, a cry that grows more desperate

every day; one cannot help regretting its forlorn situation in

view of the millions of souls whose salvation is jeopardized, who

are in danger of being despoiled of the last remains of their

Christian faith. Yet it must be admitted that this cry for

authority and obedience signifies the abandoning of the Protestant

principle, and the involuntary imitation and therefore

acknowledgment of the Catholic principle—for the Catholic an

incentive to cleave the more closely to his Church.