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.

Many to whom the Catholic way of thinking is foreign, look upon the duty of obedience which ties the Catholic to his Church as a sort of servitude; to the Catholic it is the tie of love, uniting free people to a sacred authority. Many look upon the Church of Rome as a tyrannical curia, where Umbrian prelates are cracking their whips over millions of servile and ignorant souls; to the Catholic the Church is the divinely appointed institution of truth, that possesses his fullest confidence. He knows that history has given the most magnificent justification to the Catholic principle of authority. Opinions have come and gone, systems were born and have died, thrones of learning rose and fell; only one towering mental structure remained standing upon the rock of God-founded authority in the vast field of ruins with its wrecks of human wisdom. And its ancient Credo, prayed by all nations, is the same Credo once prayed by the martyrs.