Chapter I: Freedom Of Teaching And Ethics (1)

Now for a closer examination of the problem of freedom of teaching, from the point of _general ethics_, not of law. This is an important distinction, not seldom overlooked. The former point of view deals with freedom in teaching only in as far as regulated or circumscribed by ethical principles, by the moral principles of conscience, without regard to state-laws or other positive rules. The freedom in teaching as determined by governmental decrees may be called freedom of teaching by state-right. It may happen that the state does not prohibit the dissemination of doctrines which may be forbidden by reason and conscience, for instance, atheistical doctrine. There may be immoral products of art not prohibited by the state; yet ethics cannot grant license to pornography. The state grants the liberty of changing from one creed to another, or of declaring one’s self an atheist; yet this does not justify the act before the conscience. The statutes do not forbid everything that is morally impermissible; their aim is directed only at offences against the good of the commonwealth. Moreover, even such offences may not be prohibited by statute, for the simple reason that the enactment of such laws may be impossible on account of the complexion of legislative bodies, or because of other conditions.

We will now take the ethical position and try to judge the freedom of teaching from this point of view. First of all, we shall have to explain the _social character_ of teaching and the _responsibility_ attached thereto. We start again with the meaning of freedom of teaching. It demands that the communication of scientific opinions should not be restrained in unwarranted manner. “In unwarranted manner”; because, manifestly, not all bars are to be removed; no one will assert that a man may teach things he knows to be false. Every activity, including scientific activity, must conform to truth and morals. Hence there is only the question to determine, when is freedom in teaching morally reprehensible, and when not; which are the bars that must not be transgressed, and which bars may be disregarded? Is it allowed or not to teach any opinion, if the teacher subjectively believes it to be true? Here the views differ. However, one thing at present is clear:

Freedom of Teaching is Necessary.

Also in respect to method. Even the teacher in public and grammar schools, though minutely guided by the plan of instruction, must be granted, by the demands of pedagogy, a certain liberty; he should be free to arrange and to try many things. Only where individual spontaneity is given play will love for work be aroused, which in turn stimulates devotion to the cause and makes for success. This applies with even greater force to the college-professor, in respect to method, course of instruction, subject, and the results of his research. He must be free to communicate them, without consideration for unwarranted prejudices, or for private and party interests.

If the scientist were condemned to do nothing but repeat the old things, without change and variance, without improvement and correction, without new additions and discoveries, all alertness and impulse would disappear; but his alacrity and ardour will increase, if allowed to contribute to progress, if assured beforehand of publicity for the new solutions he hopes to find, if allowed to promulgate new discoveries.

This freedom is demanded, even more imperatively, by the vocation of science to work for the progress of mankind, primarily for the intellectual and through this for the general progress. The demand in behalf of the individual is even more urgent in behalf of science at large: no standing still, ever onward to new knowledge and the enrichment of the mind, to moral uplift, to a beautifying of life—and ultimately to the glorification of God! For, verily, the purpose of the whole universe is the glory of the Creator. Glory is given to Him by the world of stars, as they speed through space, conforming to His laws; glory is given to Him by the dewdrop, as it reflects the rays of the morning sun; glory is given to Him by the butterfly, as it unfolds the brilliancy of colours received from His hand. The chief glory of all is given to Him by the reason-endowed human mind, developing its powers ever more fully, the crowning achievement of visible creation, wherein God’s wisdom reflects brighter than the sun in the morning-dew. And for this is needed the freedom of scientific progress, which would be impossible without a freedom in teaching.

And this applies not only to fixed conclusions; it must also be
permitted, within admissible bounds, to teach scientific
_hypotheses_. Science needs them for its progress; they are the
buds that burst forth into blossoms. Had men like _Copernicus_,
_Newton_, _Huygens_, not been free to propound their hypotheses,
the sun would still revolve around the earth, we still would have
_Ptolemy’s_ revolution of the spheres, and the results of optical
science would be denied us.

A Twofold Freedom of Teaching and Its Presumption.

There cannot be any doubt that science must have freedom in teaching. But of what kind? One that is necessary and suitable. Yes, but what kind of freedom is that? Here is the crux of the question. Now we are again at the boundary line where we stood, when defining the freedom of science in general, at the parting of the ways of two contrary conceptions of man.

One is the Christian idea, and also that of unbiassed reason. Man is a limited creature, depending on God, on truth and moral law, at the same time dependent on social life, hence also dependent on social order and authority; consequently he cannot claim independence, but only the freedom compatible with his position. Therefore the barriers demanded by truth and by the duty of belief are set to his research; hence his freedom in teaching can only be the one permitted by his social position; personal perception of truth _and_ consideration for the welfare of mankind will be the barriers of this freedom.

This view is opposed by another, claiming full independence for both research and teaching, a claim prompted by the modern philosophy of _free humanity_, which sees in man an autonomous being, who needs only follow the immanent impulses of his own individuality; and this especially in that activity which is deemed the most perfect, the pursuit of science: this hypostatized collective-being of the highest human pursuit is also to be the supreme bearer of autonomism. As a matter of course this results in the claim for unlimited freedom in teaching, a freedom we shall term _liberal_: in communicating his scientific view the scientist need merely be guided by his perception of truth, without any considerations for external authorities or interests, provided his communication is a scientific one, viz., observing the usual form of scientific teaching. This latter limitation is usually added, because this freedom is to apply to the teaching of _science_ only; to the popular presentation of scientific views, appealing directly to the masses, such a freedom is not always conceded.

“Research,” we are told, “demands full freedom, with no other
barrier but its own desire for truth, hence the academic teacher
who teaches in the capacity of an investigator is likewise not to
know any barriers but his inner truthfulness and propriety.” “In
this sense we demand to-day freedom in teaching for our
universities. The freedom of the scientist and of the academic
teacher must not be constrained by any patented truth, nor by
faint-hearted consideration. We let the word of the Bible comfort
us: ‘if this doctrine is of God, it will endure; if not, it will
pass away’ ” (_Kaufmann_). Whatever the academic teacher produces
from his subjective veracity must be inviolable; he may proclaim
it as truth, regardless of consequences. “The searching
scientist,” so says another, “must consider only the one question:
What is truth? But inasmuch as there cannot be research without
communication(?), we must go a step further: the teaching, too,
must not be restricted. The scientific writer has to heed but one
consideration: How can I present the things exactly as I perceive
them, in the clearest and most precise manner?” (_Paulsen_).
“Scientific research and the communication of its results must,
conformable to its purpose, be independent of any consideration
not innate in the scientific method itself,—hence independent of
the traditions and prejudices of the masses, independent of
authorities and social groups, independent of interested parties.
That this independence is indispensable needs no demonstration.”
“Nor can any limitation of the freedom of research and teaching be
deduced from the official position of the scientist or teacher”
(_Von Amira_). Just as soon as he begins his research according to
scientific method, _i.e._, adapts his thoughts to scientific
rules, customs, and postulates, he may question Christianity, God,
everything; neither state nor Church must object, no matter if
thousands are led astray.

This freedom is pre-eminently claimed for philosophical and religious thought, for ideas relating to views of the world and the foundations of social order; because only in this province is absolute freedom of teaching likely to be seriously refused. In mathematics and the natural sciences, in philology and kindred sciences, there is hardly occasion for it; there only petty disputes occur, differences among competitors, things that do not reach beyond the precinct of the learned fraternity. Whether one is for or against the theory of three-dimensional space, for or against the theory of ions and the like, all that touches very little on the vital questions of mankind; but the case is quite different when it comes to publicly advocating the abolition of private property, to the preaching of polygamy: it is here where great clashes threaten. Here, also, there enter into the plan the social powers, whose duty it is to shield the highest possessions of human society against wanton attack. Nevertheless the demand is for unlimited freedom in teaching. What, then, are the arguments used in giving to this exceptional claim the semblance of justification? This shall be the first question.

Unlimited Freedom in Teaching not Demanded.

1. Not by Veracity.

Veracity is appealed to first; it obligates the teacher, so it is said, to announce his own convictions unreservedly, for to “deny one’s own convictions would offend against one of the most positive principles of morals”; hence the academic teacher could not grant to the state the right to set a barrier in this respect, “it would be a violation of the duty of veracity, which is innate to the teacher’s office” (_Von Amira_).

Was it realized in making this claim what the duty of truthfulness really demands? This duty is complied with when one is not untruthful, that is to say, does not state something to be his opinion when secretly he believes the contrary to be true; to force him to do this would of course be instigating untruthfulness. Truthfulness, however, does not require any one to speak out publicly what he thinks; one may be silent. Or is cautious silence untruthfulness? It is oftentimes prudence, but not untruthfulness. There is a considerable difference between thinking and communicating thought, even to the scientist.

Or is the scientist _obliged_, for instance, to proclaim publicly views he has formed contrary to the prevailing principles of morals,—views he calls the “results of his research,” so that mankind at last may learn the truth? Was _Nietzsche_ in duty bound to proclaim to the wide world his revolutionary ideas? Any sober-minded man might have told him he need not worry about this duty. Has the teacher of science this duty? How will he prove it? How are they going to prove that it is incumbent upon an atheistic college-professor to teach his atheism also to others? Or, must he teach that the fundamental principles of Christian marriage are untenable, if this has become his personal opinion? Is it, perhaps, impossible for him to refrain from such teaching in the lectures he is appointed to give? This view will mostly prove a delusion. A conscientious examination of his opinion would convince him that he, too, had better abandon it, since it is merely an aberration of his mind. But let us assume that he could neither correct his views nor refrain from proclaiming them, that he would declare: “I should lie if, in discussing the question in how far this or that public institution is morally sanctioned, I were to halt before certain institutions; for instance if, having the moral conviction that monarchy is a morally objectionable institution, I omitted to say so” (_Th. Lipps_).

Well, he has the option to change his branch of teaching, or to resign his office; he is not indispensable, no one forces him to retain his office. Indeed, he owes it to _truthfulness_ to leave his post the very instant he finds he is not able to occupy it in a beneficial way; he owes it to _honesty_ to yield his position, if he has lost the proper relation to religion, state, and the people, to whom his position is to render service.

2. Not the Duty of Science.

“Nevertheless,” we are told, “the representatives of science have the duty of freely communicating their opinions; they are called by people and state to find the truth for the great multitude, that is not itself in the position to pursue laborious research. Where else could it get the truth but from science?” “The multitude participates in truth generally in a receptive, passive manner; only a few pre-eminent minds are destined by nature to be the dispensers and promoters of knowledge” (_Paulsen_), and with this vocation of science a restriction of its freedom of speech would be incompatible.

The idea has something enticing about it. It also has its justification, if the matter at issue concerns things outside of the common scope of human knowledge, such as the more precise research of nature, of history, and so on. But the idea is not warranted when applied to the higher questions of human life. Here it is based on the false premise that man cannot arrive at the certain possession of truth without scientific research. We have demonstrated previously how this notion involves a total misconception of the nature of human thought.

There is, beside the scientific certainty, another true certainty,
a natural certainty, the only one we have in most matters, and a
safe guide to mankind especially in higher questions, nay, in
general much safer than science, which, as proved by history, goes
easily astray in such matters. Long before there was a science,
mankind possessed the truth about the principles of life; and it
possesses this truth still, through common sense and, even more,
through divine revelation, which offers enlightenment to every one
regardless of science. Here apply the words of the poet:

“Das Wahre ist schon laengst gefunden
Hat edle Geisterschaar verbunden
Das alte Wahre, fasst es an!”

Nevertheless, it is claimed, science remains the sole guide to truth and progress. Must not truth be searched for and struggled for always anew? There are no patented truths for all times—each age must sketch its own image of the world, must form new values. And it is for science to point out these new roads. Therefore, full swing for its doctrines. “Science knows not of statutes of limitations or prescription, hence of no absolutely established possession. Consequently real, scientific, instruction can only mean absolutely free instruction” (_Paulsen_). We may be brief. Every line bears the imprint of that sceptical subjectivism which we have met so often as the philosophical presumption of modern freedom of science. It is the wisdom of ancient sophistry, which even Aristotle stigmatized as a “sham-science,” “a running after something that invariably slips away.” A freedom in teaching with such a theory of cognition can never be a factor of mental progress, least of all when it seeks to rise above a God-given, Christian truth to “higher” forms of religion. This, however, is often the very progress for which freedom in teaching is intended—the unhindered propagation of an anti-Christian view of the world.

3. No Innate Right.

Very well, we are told, leave aside the appeal to the province of science; but it cannot be denied that man has at least an innate right of communicating his thoughts in the freest manner. The first right of the human individual, a right which must not be curtailed in any way, is his right to free development according to his inner laws, provided the freedom of the fellow-man is not thereby injured. Hence every man has the right of freely uttering his opinion, in science especially, because the free right of others is thereby not infringed upon in any matter whatsoever.

This is the claim. It is again rooted in the autonomy of the human subject, the main idea of the liberal view of life, and, at the same time, the principal presumption of its freedom of science. It leads to the _individualistic theory of rights_, which declares freedom to be man’s self-sufficient object, viz., freedom in all things regardless of the weal and woe of others, no matter if the sequel be error, scandal, or seduction, if only the strict right to freedom be not violated.

“Act outwardly so,” says the philosophic preceptor of autonomism,
“that the free use of thy free will may be consistent with the
liberty of others according to a general law.” “This liberty,”
continues _Kant_, “is the sole, original right of every man by
virtue of his humanity.” And _Spencer_ concurrently teaches:
“Every one is free to do what he wants, as long as he does not
infringe upon the liberty of others.”

This is termed the “Maxim of Co-existence.” Accordingly any one
may say and write anything at will, no matter if people are led
astray by his errors. Even the government must in no way limit
this freedom, except where rights are violated; to defend religion
and morals against attacks, to guard innocence and inexperience
against seduction, is, according to this theory, not allowed to
the state. _W. von Humboldt_ writes: “He who utters things or
commits actions, offending the conscience or the morals of other
people, may act immorally: but unless he is guilty of
obtrusiveness, he does not injure any right.” Hence the state must
not interfere. “Even the assuredly graver case, when the
witnessing of an action, the listening to certain reasoning, would
mislead the virtue or the thought of others, even this case would
not permit restraint of freedom.”

We are dealing here with that misconception of the social nature of man which has always characterized liberalism. It knows only of the right and liberty of the individual; of his duties to society it knows nothing, not even that men should not injure the possessions of others, but rather promote them; nor does it know that men are placed in a society that requires the free will of the individual to yield to the common weal of the many. To liberal thought human society is only an accidental aggregation of individuals, not connected by social unity. The autonomous spheres of the single individuals are rolling side by side, each one for itself: wherever it pleases them to roll, there they are carried by the autonomous centre of gravity, whatever they upset in their career has no right to complain. This principle of freedom was given free rein in the economical legislation of the nineteenth century. Free enterprise, free development of energy, was the rallying cry; the result was devastation and wreckage.

Unrestricted Freedom of Teaching Inadmissible.

Hence the claim for absolute freedom in teaching is not warranted; on the contrary, its chief arguments are borrowed from a philosophy that is unacceptable to the Christian mind. Is it even admissible? Though not warranted, is it permissible at least from the viewpoint of ethics? It is not even this. The claim is ethically inadmissible, because the _religious, moral, and social_ institutions, especially the _Christian faith_ and the Christian morals of mankind, would be seriously injured. In other words: The claim that it is permissible to proclaim scientific theories which are apt to do great _damage_ to the foundations of religious, moral, and social life, especially to Christian conviction and morals, is ethically reprehensible.

A few remarks in explanation. We merely speak here of the freedom in teaching relating to the philosophical-religious foundations of life; that it cannot be the subject of serious objection in other matters we have previously mentioned. Nor do we yet inquire what social powers should fix the needed limitations, whether state or Church should regulate them; we are merely investigating, from the viewpoint of ethics, what barriers are set by the law of reason, and would have to be set even in the absence of state laws, because of the important influence exercised by scientific doctrine upon the social life—the social welfare of mankind is the consideration beside the truth that is decisive in considering freedom in teaching.

The teacher or writer may himself be of the opinion that his pernicious errors are not dangerous; he may fancy them even of utmost importance to the world; hence he thinks he has the right, even the duty, to communicate them to the world. And do we not hear them all assure us that they desire only the truth? We do not wish to sit in judgment on the good faith of them individually; we make no comment when a man like _D. F. Strauss_, looking back upon the forty years of his career as a writer, vouches for his unwavering and pure aim for truth; and when even _Haeckel_ asserts this of himself. Every fallacy has made its appearance with this avowal.

But, by way of parenthesis, there is no reason to boast in a
general way of the sincere aim at truth and the pure mind for the
ideal, alleged to prevail in the modern literature of our times,
especially in philosophical literature. He who stands upon
Christian ground knows that the denial of a personal God, of
immortality and other matters, are errors of gravest consequence.
Furthermore, if one is convinced of the capability of man to
recognize the truth, at least in the most important matters, and
if one knows that God has made His Revelation the greatest
manifestation in history, and proved it sufficiently by
documents—indeed, had to prove it; that He will let all who are of
good will come to the knowledge of the truth; then it remains
incomprehensible how modern philosophy considered as a whole is
said on the one hand to be guided by a sincere desire for truth,
while on the other hand it clings with hopeless obstinacy to the
most radical errors.

Such talk of general sincere searching for truth is apt to deceive
the inexperienced. He who has obtained a deeper insight into
modern philosophy, he who steadily watches it at work, will recall
to mind only too often the word of the Holy Ghost: “For there
shall be a time when they will not endure sound doctrine, but
according to their own desires shall they heap to themselves
teachers ... and will indeed turn away their hearing from the
truth and shall be turned unto fables” (2 Tim. iv. 3).

Even if the teacher is himself convinced of the truth and inoffensiveness of his theory, it does not follow by any means that society is obliged to receive it. Indeed not. The state prohibits cults dangerous to the common weal: it does not intend to suffer damage just because the adherents of such cults may be in good faith. And if some one thinks himself called to deliver a people from its legitimate ruler, let it be undecided whether his purpose is good or not, he will nevertheless be restrained by rather drastic means from proceeding according to his idea. This proves that the principle of “no barrier but one’s own veracity” is not conceded in practical life. The teacher and author, this is the sense of our thesis, must ever be conscious of the grave responsibility of science, against whose power the unscientific are so often defenceless; his great duty will be to make use of this power with utmost compunction, to teach nothing whereof he is not fully convinced, nor to announce for truth anything he is still investigating.

As we turn to the demonstration of our proposition, a start from the _definition of scientific teaching_ suggests itself; manifestly this must be decisive for the measure of its freedom. No doubt, its purpose obviously is: to promote the weal of mankind by communicating the truth, by guarding men against errors, especially against those which would most harm them, by elevating and increasing the blessings of this life: for knowledge guides man in all his steps, it is the light on his way.

Science is not self-sufficient. It is an equally false and pernicious notion to make science a sovereign authority, throning above man, who must pay homage, and subordinate his interests to it, but which he must not ask to serve him for his own ends in life. There are such notions of science and also of art. Art, too, it is sometimes claimed, should serve its own ends only; the demand, that it should edify, or promote the ideals of society, is deemed a desertion of its purposes, “the furtherance of worldly or heavenly ideals may be eliminated from its task” (_E. von Hartmann_). These are the excrescences of unclarified cultural thoughts. Since man and his culture is more and more replacing the divine Ideal, this culture itself has grown to be the overshadowing ideal of the Deity, without whom evidently man cannot live. The Egyptians worshipped Sun and Moon; modern man often burns incense before the products of his own mind. It is a reversal of the right proportion. Science and its doctrine are activities of life, results of the human mind. Activities of life, however, have man for their end, they are to develop and perfect him: man does not exist for the clothes he wears—the clothes exist on account of man; the leaves exist for the sake of the tree that puts them forth, nor can grapes be of more importance than the vine that has produced them.

Hence, where science does not serve this end, where it in consequence becomes not a blessing, but an injury to man, where it tears down, instead of building up, there it forfeits the right to exist; it is no longer a fruitful bough on the tree of humanity, but a harmful outgrowth. Like every organism actively opposes its harmful growths, society, too, must not tolerate within its bosom any scientific tendencies which act as malign germs, perhaps attack its very marrow.

From the true object of science, as above stated, it follows that it is wrong to disseminate doctrines that are apt to injure mankind in the possession of the truth, which may even imperil the authenticated foundations of life. For nobody will deny that firm foundations are needed to uphold and support the highest ideals of life; they can no more withstand a constant jarring and shaking than can a house of frame and stone. Such foundations are, first of all, the moral and religious truths and convictions about the Whence and Whither of human life, about God and the hereafter, the social duties toward the fellow-man, obedience to authority, and so on. If man is to perform burdensome duties as husband and father, if, as a citizen, he is to do justice to others and yield in obedience to authority, he must have powerful motives; else his impulses will take the helm, the sensible, moral being becomes a sensual being who reverses the order and drives the ship of life towards the cataract of ethical and social revolution. And these motives must rest deeply in the mind, like the foundation that supports the house; they must become identified with it, as the vital principle penetrates the tree, as the instinct of the animal is part of its innermost being. If new notions are continually whizzing without resistance through the mind, like the wind over the fields, repose and permanence are impossible in human life. To jolt the foundations invites collapse and ruin.

It is the duty of self-preservation, for which every being strives, that society guard these foundations of order against subversion and capricious experimentation. Of the Locrians it is told that any one desiring to offer a resolution for changing existing laws, was required to appear at the public meeting with a rope around his neck. He was hanged with it if he failed to win his fellow-citizens over to his view. This custom pictures the necessity of erecting a powerful dam against the inundation by illicit mental tidal waves, that endanger the stability of the order of life. This, of course, does not oppose every new progress. In building a house, firm foundations do not prevent the house from growing in size; but the foundations are a necessary preliminary to a suitable construction. Under no circumstances must a man be permitted, in his individualistic mania for reform, to lay an impious hand at the fundamental principles of life; and the scientist must bear in mind the fact that it is not the task and privilege of his individualistic reason to put the seal of approval on these principles as if the truth had never before been discovered.

To _Christian_ nations the immutable truths of Christianity are these safe foundations. They are vouched for by divine authority, they have stood all historical tests of fitness; they sustain the institutions of family and of government, they determine thought, education, the ideas of right and wrong—a venerable patrimony of the nations. Shall every _Nietzsche_, big or little, be free to attack them? Experiments may be made with rabbits, flowers, or drugs; but it would violate the first principle of prudence and justice to allow every Tom, Dick, and Harry, who may have the neological itch, to experiment on the highest institutions of mankind.

_Primum non nocere_ is an old caution to the physician; for many medical practitioners and surgeons not an untimely admonition. It is asserted, and vouched for by proof, that patients are made the subjects of experiment for purposes of science; not, indeed, rich people, but the poor in hospitals and clinics (comp. _A. Moll_, Arztliche Ethik, 1902). Every conscientious physician will turn with moral abhorrence from such action. Indeed, man and his greatest possession, life, is not to be made the victim of scientific experiment. If this holds good as to the physical things of life, then how much more of the ideal things of mankind!

“Every One to Form His Own Judgment”?

But, then, cannot every one decide for himself as to the teachings of science, and reject whatever he thinks to be false? Then would be avoided all damage that might result from a freedom in teaching. Science does not force its opinion upon any one. With due respect for the discernment of its disciples, science lays its results before them, leaving it to them to judge and choose, whatever they think is good.

Such words voice the optimism of an inexperienced idealism. To be sure, were the devotee to science, be he a student at a university or a reader of scientific works, a clear-sighted diagnostician, who could at once perceive error, and, moreover, if he were a mathematical entity, without personal interest in the matter, the argument might be listened to. But any one past the immaturity of youth, he, especially, who has earnestly commenced to know himself, is aware that unfortunately the opposite is the case.

First the lack of ability to _distinguish error from truth_. Even when recognized, error is not without danger; it shares with truth the property to act suggestively, especially when it repeatedly and with assurance approaches the mind. And often error does pose with great assurance, as the result of science, as the conclusion of the superior mind of the teacher, perhaps of a famous teacher! It is taken for granted that whatever serious men assert in the name of science must be right; or, if not that, there is the overawing feeling that there must be some justification for the confidence of the assertion. Authority impresses even without argument, and impresses the more strongly, the less there is of intellectual independence. The latter is at lowest ebb at the youthful age. That which in hypnotic suggestion is intensified into the morbid: the effective psychical transfer of one’s own thought into some one else, occurs in a lesser form through the influence of the morbid scepsis of our times; it is a poisonous atmosphere, affecting imperceptively the susceptible mind which remains long in it.

For this reason the religious savant, who has to do a great deal
with infidel books, must be on his watch incessantly, even though
he has the knowledge and the intellect to detect wrong
conclusions. Thus we find that great scholars often display a
striking fear of irreligious books. Of Cardinal _Mai_ it is told:
“He said—and this we can vouch for—‘I have the permission to read
forbidden books; but I never make use of it nor do I intend to do
so’ ” (_Hilger_, Der Index, 1905, 41).

The learned _L. A. Muratori_ wrote a refutation of a heretic book.
In the preface he thought it necessary to apologize for having
read the book. He said: “The book got into my hands very late, and
for a long time I could not get myself to read it. For why should
one read the writings of innovators except to commit one’s self to
their folly? I seek and like books which confirm my faith, but not
those which would lead me away from my religion. But when I heard
that the book was circulated in Italy, I resolved to muster up my
strength for the defence of truth and religion, and for the safety
of my brethren.”

_Saint Francis of Sales_, with touching simplicity, gives in his
writings praise to God for having preserved him from losing his
faith through the reading of heretical books. Of the learned
Spanish philosopher _Balmes_ is preserved a saying that he once
addressed to two of his friends: “You know, the faith is deeply
rooted in my heart. Nevertheless, I cannot read a fallacious book
without feeling the necessity of regaining the right mood by
reading Holy Writ, the Imitation of Christ, and the writings of
blessed _Louis of Granada_.”

What then must happen when the needed training is lacking? when one easily grasps the objections to the truth, but cannot find the answer? when one is not in a position to ascertain whether the asserted facts are based on truth, whether something important is kept back, whether there are stated positive facts, or mere hypotheses, or perhaps even idle suppositions? If one is not capable to recognize wrong conclusions, to note the ambiguities of words? Our present treatise cites proof of it. How many earnest men, who in good faith are the warm advocates of freedom of science, are aware how ambiguous that term is; how a whole theory of cognition and view of the world is hidden behind it? How many can at once see the ambiguity of phrases like “Difference between knowledge and faith,” of “experiencing one’s religion,” of “evolution and progress,” of “humanism,” of “unfolding personality”? And of the self-conscious postulate that science cannot reckon with supernatural factors, how many perceive that it is nothing but an undemonstrated supposition? We are told that all great representatives of science reject the Christian view of the world; who knows at once that such assertion is untrue? We read that the Copernican theory was condemned by Rome, even prohibited up to 1835, and this cannot fail to make an impression; but the part omitted in the story, who will at once supplement or even suspect it?

Then there is the great _want of philosophical training_. Formerly a thorough philosophical education was the indispensable condition for maturity, and considered the indispensable foundation for higher studies. All this has changed; frequently there is not even the desire for philosophical training. Of course, modern philosophy in its present state does not promise much of benefit. “Students of medicine and law remain for the larger part without any philosophical education, and among those of the other two faculties but few students do better than come into a more or less superficial touch with philosophy” (_Paulsen_). The consequence is, they cannot scientifically get their bearings in respect to ultimate questions, and easily lose their faith, succumbing to errors and sophisms.

Imagine a young man, untrained; in books, in the lecture room, in his intercourse, everywhere, he is courted by a disbelieving science, with its theories, its objections, its doubts,—tension everywhere that is not relieved, accusations that are not explained; how is he to bring with a steady hand order in all this? To clinch it, he hears the obtrusive exhortation to form forthwith his own conviction by his own reasoning!

He is, moreover, likely to be informed as follows: “The university
is a place for mental struggle, for incessant investigation of
inherited opinions. For years and years the student was fed with
prescribed matter which he had to swallow believingly, ... at last
the moment has arrived when he can choose and decide for himself.
True, this freedom of mental choice—and it is the essence of
academic freedom—has also its anguish. But how magnificent it is,
on the other hand, when the gloomy walls of the classroom vanish,
and the bright ether of research dawns into view with its wide
horizon! He who cannot grasp and enjoy this moment in its grandeur
and exquisiteness, he who prefers to the free life of the colt on
the vast prairies the dull existence in a narrow fold ... he has
taken the wrong road when he came to the gates of the Alma Mater
to study worldly science—he should have remained at the restful
hearth of the pious, parental home, in the shadow of the old
village-church” (_Jodl_).

What a lack of earnestness and of knowledge of man, what lack of the sense of responsibility! Of young men, without thorough philosophical and theological preparation, it is demanded to doubt at once their Christian religion, despite all compunctions of their conscience, and to argue the dangerous theses of an anti-Christian view of the world. They are expected, as if they were heirs to the wisdom of all centuries, to judge and correct forthwith that which their teachers call the result of their long studies—for they are not supposed to follow them blindly, they are expected to sit in judgment over theological tendencies and philosophical systems, and to struggle through doubts and aberrations, untouched by error, to display a mental independence which even the man of highest learning lacks. Such a knowledge of human nature might be left to itself, if the wrecks it causes were not so saddening.

“How terrible is the power of science!” a voice of authority
warned a short time ago. “The unlearned are defenceless against
the learned, those who know little against those that know much;
the unlearned are incapable of independently judging the theories
of the learned; error in the garb of knowledge impresses them with
the force of truth, especially when it finds an ally in their evil
lusts. No wielder of state-power can lay waste, can destroy, as
much as an unconscientious, or even merely careless, wielder of
the weapons of knowledge. Exalted as is the pursuit of knowledge,
and as knowledge itself is if guided by strong moral sentiment and
earnest conscience, so degraded it becomes if it tears itself from
the self-control of conscience. This fatal rupture will happen the
instant science deviates but a hair’s breadth from the truth it
can vouch for upon conscientious examination.... Sacred is the
freedom of science keeping within the bounds of the moral laws;
but transgressing them it is no longer science, but a farce staged
with scientific technique, a negation of the essence of science”
(Count _A. Apponyi_, former Hungarian Minister of Education,
officiating at a _Promotio sub auspiciis_, 1908).

In the year 1877, at the Fiftieth Congress of Natural Scientists
in Munich, Prof. _R. Virchow_, founder and leader of the
Progressive Party in Germany, sounded a warning to be
conscientious in the use of the freedom in teaching, and in the
first place, to announce as the result of science nothing but what
has been demonstrated beyond doubt: “I am of the opinion that we
are actually in danger of jeopardizing the future by making too
much use of the freedom offered to us by present conditions, and I
would caution not to continue in the arbitrary personal
speculation, which spreads itself nowadays in many branches of
natural science. We must make rigid distinction between that which
we teach and that which is the object of research. The subjects of
our research are problems. But a problem should not be made a
subject of teaching. In teaching, we have to remain within the
small, and yet large domain which we actually control. Any attempt
to model our problems into doctrines, to introduce our conjectures
as the foundation of education, must fail, especially the attempt
to simply depose the Church and to replace its dogma without
ceremony by evolutionary religion; indeed, gentlemen, this attempt
must fail, but in failing it will carry with it the greatest
dangers for science in general.... We must set ourselves the task,
in the first place, to hand down the actual, the real knowledge,
and, in going further, we must tell our students invariably: This,
however, is not proved, it is _my_ opinion, _my_ notion, _my_
theory, _my_ speculation.... Gentlemen, I think we would misuse
our power, and endanger our power, if in teaching we would not
restrict ourselves to this legitimate province.”

And is nothing known of the inclinations and passions, especially of the youthful heart, to which truth is so often a heavy yoke, constraining and oppressing them? Will they not try to use every means to relieve the tension? Will they not gravitate by themselves to a science that tells them the old religion with its oppressive dogmas, its unworldly morals, is a stage of evolution long since passed by, and that many other things, once called sin by obsolete prejudices, are the justified utterances of nature? Will they not worship this science as their liberator? He who once said “I am the truth,” He was crucified; a sign for all ages. Base nature will at all times crucify the truth. _F. Coppée_, a member of the French Academy, led back by severe sickness to the faith of his youth, relates the following in his confessions: “I was raised a Christian, and fulfilled the religious duties with zeal even for some years after my first Holy Communion. What made me deviate from my pious habits were, I confess it openly, the aberrations of youthful age and the loathing to make certain confessions. Quite many who are in the same position will admit, if they will be frank, that at the beginning they were estranged from their creed by the severe law which religion imposes on all in respect to sensuality, and only in later years they felt the want to extenuate and justify the transgressions of the moral law by a scientific system.” “Having taken the first step on the downward road, I could not fail to read books, listen to words, see examples, which confirmed my notion that nothing can be more warranted but that man obey his pride and his sensuality; and soon I became totally indifferent in respect to religion. As will be seen, my case is an everyday case.”

Only exalted moral purity can keep the mind free from being made captive and dragged down by the passions.

In a college town in southern Germany a Catholic Priest some time ago met a college girl who belonged to a club of monists. They started upon a discussion, and soon the college girl had no argument left. But as a last shot she exclaimed, “Well, you cannot prevent me from hating your God.”

Prof. _G. Spicker_ relates in his autobiography instructive reminiscences of his college years. Religiously trained in his youth, and in his early years for some time a Capuchin, he left this Order to go to the university. Previous to this he had been led to doubt by the perusal of modern philosophical writings, and at Munich he sank still more deeply into doubt. Prof. _Huber_ advised him to hear the radical _Prantl_. In his dejection he went to a fellow-student in quest of comfort, and received the significant advice: “Indeed, _Huber_ is right: you are not a bit of a philosopher; you still believe in sin, that is only a theological notion; go and hear _Prantl_, he’ll rid you of your fancies.” Of the impression _Prantl’s_ lectures made upon the susceptible young students he relates: “They were especially overawed by his passionate enthusiasm, his trenchant criticism, his sarcastic treatment of everything mediocre and superficial, and, chiefly, by his self-conscious, authoritative, demeanor. Like a tornado he swept through hazy, obscure regions, whether in science, art, poetry, or religion. Even by only attending the lectures one became more conscious of one’s knowledge and looked down with silent contempt upon semi-philosophers and theologians.” In regard to himself he admits that a few weeks sufficed to destroy the last remnants of his former religious persuasion: “_Huber’s_ prophecy was completely fulfilled, the last stump of my dogmatic belief was smashed into a thousand splinters.”

_Vae mundo a scandalis!_ What a responsibility rests especially upon those who become the scandal for inexperienced youth!

In the upper classes of a largely Protestant college in northern Germany the professor of mathematics, some years ago, asked the question, who among the students had read _Haeckel’s_ “Weltraetsel.” All except four or five rose to their feet. Upon his further question, who of them believed in what is said in the book, about half of the classroom rose. “The immature youth who read the ‘Weltraetsel,’ ” so says _A. Hansen_, “unfortunately conclude: ‘_Haeckel_ says there is no God, therefore we may boldly live as it suits our natural immorality....’ Is _Haeckel_ the strong mind to assume for a long future the responsibility for this conclusion?”

One is frightened by the manner the highest ideals of mankind are often juggled with, what they dare offer with easy conscience to the tenderest youth. Prof. _Forel_ is known by his widely spread book on “The Sexual Question,” perhaps better known even by his lectures on the subject, which some cities prohibited in the interest of public morals. In the seventh edition of his book we find published as a testimonial, also as proof of the good reading the book makes for early youth, a letter of a young woman whose opinion of the book had been requested by the author. Her answer reads: “You ask me what impression your book made upon me. I should state that I am very young, but have read a great deal. My mother has given me a very liberal education, and so I have a right to count myself among the unprejudiced girls.” She assures the author: “I never thought for a single moment that your book was immoral, hence I do not believe that you have corrupted me.” And such books are offered to young girls as fit reading!

Some years ago a sensation was created when in Berlin a young author, twenty-two years of age, _George Scheufler_ by name, killed himself. Though of a religious training, he began at an early age to read the writings of infidel natural scientists and philosophers. His belief became weaker and weaker, and he finally abandoned it entirely. Only a few years afterwards, the young man, who had become a writer of repute, put a revolver to his heart, nauseated by the world, tortured by religious doubts. An organ of modern infidelity commented upon the event in the cold words: “The truth is probably that the undoubtedly talented author had not nerves strong enough for the Berlin life, hence he dies. May his ashes rest in peace!” Heartless words on the misfortune of a poor victim of the modern propaganda of disbelief.

Heavy, indeed, is the responsibility courted by representatives of science when they sin against the holiest ideals of mankind, especially when they induce the maturing youth, with his susceptibilities and awakening impulses, to emancipate himself from the belief of his childhood, and to tear down the fortifications of innocence! If the teacher is high-minded, this cannot mitigate the perniciousness of his teaching, but only increase it, neither can the fact that his personal morals are without a flaw vindicate him. If a man by strewing poison does no harm to himself, this does not give him the right to injure others. If science demands the privilege of assuming the mental education of our people, then science assumes also the duty of administering these interests conscientiously, and the gravest responsibility will rest upon him in whose hand science spreads ruin.

“Knowledge does no Harm”?

“The increase and spread of knowledge” (this is a further objection) “can never harm society, only benefit its interests” (_Von Amira_). Hence, do not get alarmed: nothing is to be feared from science. The apostles of the enlightened eighteenth century tried to quiet their age with similar assertions. “It is not true,” says _Lessing_, “that speculations about God and divine things have ever done harm to society; not the speculations did it—but the folly and tyranny to forbid them.”

If this were amended to read _true_ knowledge can never do harm, then the mind might be set at rest, although even then it might become dangerous to teach the truth without discrimination or caution. Not all are ripe for every truth: truth can often be misunderstood, lead to false conclusions. Thus, it may become certain, perhaps, that a much-worshipped relic, a much-visited shrine, is not genuine: nevertheless in giving such explanation to simple, pious people one would have to display caution in order to keep them from doubting even the tenets of the creed.

But there is also false knowledge; can this “never do harm but only benefit?” Will all knowledge exert the same influence, whether the Christian tenets of love and mercy, or _Nietzsche’s_ moral for the wealthy, whether young people are given to read Christian books, or those of _Haeckel_, _Buechner_, and _Strauss_? The story is told of _Voltaire_, that he sent all servants out of the room when he had friends for guests and philosophical discussions started at the dining-table, because he did not wish to have his throat cut the next night. So this free-thinker, too, did not think that all knowledge is beneficial.

But, we are further assured, let science peacefully pursue its way; if it should err it will correct itself.

It is true, sciences of obvious subjects, that have no direct relation to moral conduct of life, do, sooner or later, correct their mistakes; recent physics has corrected the mistakes of the physics of past ages; historical errors, too, are disappearing with the times. Quite different is the matter when philosophical-religious questions are at issue. Pantheism, subjectivism, “scientific” rejection of faith, are errors, grave errors, yet it does not follow that they will fall of themselves into desuetude; they may prevail for a long time, may return with the regularity of certain diseases. Their error is not tangible, and the desires of the heart incline to them by the law of least resistance. From the earliest ages to this day the same philosophical errors have returned, in varied form.

But let us assume that this would be the case; that these errors, too, would disappear after some time, disappear for good. Is it demanded that the errors in the meanwhile ought to have free play? Shall the surgeon be allowed to perform risky experiments on the patient, because later on he will realize that his act was objectionable? Will the father hand to his son an improper book, consoling himself that truth must prevail in the end, even though defeated temporarily?

These are delusions of the abstract intellectualism of our times, which sees all salvation and human perfection merely in learning and knowledge, and forgets that knowledge signifies education and benefit for mankind only when attached to truth and moral order. Not knowledge, but knowledge of the truth, and moral dignity, make for civilization and perfection; knowledge no longer controlled by truth and ethics becomes the hireling of the low passions, and fights for their freedom.

“The Vehicle of Truth.”

Back of the urgent demands for unrestricted freedom in teaching stands invariably a thought that operates with palsying effect upon the minds: to wit, that science is the embodiment of truth, a genius carrying the unextinguishable beacon of light: to silence it would be to resist the truth.

Our first thought when we began our dissertation of the Freedom of Science was, that science is not the poetical being so often described: it is an individual activity, a product of the human mind, sharing its defects and weaknesses. For this reason science is not the infallible bearer of the truth; least of all in the higher questions of life, where its eyes are dimmed, and where inclinations of the heart still further obscure its strength of vision. And this is admitted, even to the point of despairing of the ability to find the truth on these questions, and if one is not ready to admit this, the fact is made apparent by a glance at the countless errors exhibited in the history of human thinking.