The Freedom of Science :: Chapter IV. Accusations And Objections.

Chapter IV. Accusations And Objections.

Among the notable facts in history one stands out prominently, it is more remarkable than any other, and evokes serious thought. It is the fact that the Christian religion, especially its foremost representative, the Catholic Church, concerning which every unbiassed critic is bound to admit that none has made more nations moral, happy and great than this Church; that nowhere else has virtue and holiness flourished more than in her; that no one else has laboured more for truth and purity of morals; that nevertheless there is not, and never was, an institution which has more enemies, which has been more persecuted, than the Catholic Church. This fact will suggest to every serious-minded critic the question, whether we have not here focussed that tremendous struggle, which truth and justice have ever waged in the bosom of mankind against error and passions—an image of the struggle raging in every human breast. The Church recognizes in this fact the fulfilment of the prophecy of her Founder: “And ye shall be hated by all men for my name's sake” (Luke xxi. 17). And the Church may add, that in her alone this prophecy is being fulfilled.

The Enemy of Progress.

In her journey through the centuries the Church has had to listen to many accusations because she, the keeper of the truth entrusted to her care, has refused to respond to the demand to accept unconditionally the ideals devised by existing fashions. Cantavimus vobis et non saltastis (we have piped to you and you have not danced). Therefore the Church has been called reactionary; the heretics of the first centuries of Christianity denounced her as the enemy of the higher gnosis; a later period [pg 143] denounced her as an enemy of the genuine humanism, in the eighteenth century she was denounced as the enemy of enlightenment, to-day she is denounced as the enemy of progress. Again the Church is accused before the judicial bar of the children of the age. They desire to eat plentifully from the tree of knowledge, but the Church, they say, prevents them. They wish to climb the heights of human perfection, to ascend higher than any preceding generation, but the Church holds them back. She will keep them in the fetters of her guardianship. And with a keen, searching eye the smart children of our age have looked the old Church over, taking notice of everything, anxious to put her in the wrong.

Their charges do not fail to make an impression, even on the Church herself. She wishes to justify herself before the plaintiffs, and still more before her own children who trust in her. Thus she has not hesitated in declaring loudly on most solemn occasions that she is not an enemy of noble science and of human progress, and with great earnest she takes exception to this charge.

No wonder, one might say, that the Church makes such assurances. It is time for her to realize that unless she can clear herself from it this accusation will be her moral ruin at a time when the banner of progress is held aloft, and when even the Catholic world shares in that progress. True, but let us not forget this: if there is anything characteristic of the Catholic Church it is her frankness and honesty. She is not afraid to proclaim her doctrines and judgments before the whole world; she leaves her Index and Syllabus open for inspection, openly avowing that she is the irreconcilable enemy of that emancipated freedom proclaimed by modern liberalism as the ideal of the age. It is the honesty which she inherited from her Founder, who told the truth to friend and enemy, to His disciples and to the Scribes, to Nicodemus, that lonely night, and to Caiaphas. With the same straightforwardness the Church declares that she feels not enmity but sympathy toward civilization. A fair-minded critic will admit here again that the Church is in earnest. “Far from opposing the fostering of human arts and sciences, the Church is supporting and promoting them in [pg 144] various ways,” declares the Vatican Council. “The Church does not underrate nor despise their advantages for human life: on the contrary, it avows that they, coming as they do from God, the Master of the sciences, also lead to God by aid of His grace, when properly used” (Sess. III, c. 4). The Church has put this accusation on the list of errors of the age condemned by Pius X. (Sent. 57). She feels the charge as an injury.

The Testimony of History.

Nevertheless, in anti-ecclesiastical circles it is taken very often for an established fact that the Roman Church has ever tried her best to hamper the progress of science, or has suppressed it, or at least scowled at it. How could it be otherwise? they say. How could she favour the progress made in enlightening reason or in advancing human knowledge? Must she not fear for its intellectual sway over men whom she keeps under the yoke of faith? Must she not fear that they might awaken from the slumber in which they were held prisoners by the suggestive force of her authority, held to be transcendental; that they might awaken to find out the truth for themselves? And what is the use of science? He that believes will be saved: hence faith suffices. If we wish to hear the accusation in the language of militant science, here it is: “Outside the monastic institutions no attempt at intellectual advancement was made (in the Middle Ages), indeed, so far as the laity were concerned, the influence of the Church was directed to an opposite result, for the maxim universally received was, that ‘ignorance is the mother of devotion’ ” (J. W. Draper, History of the Conflict between Religion and Science).

This is the train of thought and the result of anti-ecclesiastical a-priorism and its historical research. Are the plain facts of history in accord with it? The first and immediate task of the Church is certainly not to disseminate science: her task, first of all, lies in the province of morals and religion. But as she is the highest power of morality and religion, she stands in the midst of mankind's intellectual life, and cannot but come in contact with its other endeavours, owing to the close unity [pg 145] of that life. Hence, let us ask history, not about everything it might tell us in this respect, but about one thing only.

We do not wish to show how the Church, headed by the Papacy, has become the mother of Western civilization and culture. Nor shall we enumerate the merits of the Church in art, nor point out the alertness she has certainly shown, in her walk through the centuries, by taking up the intellectual achievements of the time and assimilating them with her moral and religious treasure of faith, withal preserved unchanged. The old Church had done this with the treasures of ancient learning and science; “this spirit of Christianity proved itself by the facility with which Christian thinkers gathered the truth contained in the systems of old philosophy, and, even before that, by assimilating those old truths into Christian thought, the beginning of which had already been made in the New Testament. They were appropriated, without hesitating experiment, without wavering, and were given their place in a higher order” (O. Willmann, Gesch. des Idealismus, 2d ed., II, 1907, 67). This, she unceasingly continues to do, as proved by the high standard of Catholic life and Catholic science at the present, a fact not even disputed by opponents. We point only incidentally to the foundation and the fostering of primary schools by the Church. It is an historical fact that public education began to thrive only with the freer unfolding of the Church.

The first elementary schools were those of the monasteries. Later on there were established after their pattern the cathedral and chapter schools, then the parish schools. Still later there came the town and village schools—all of ecclesiastical origin, or at least under the direction of the Church and in close connection with her. As early as 774 we find an ecclesiastical school law, to the effect that each Bishop should found an ecclesiastical school in his episcopal town and appoint a competent teacher to instruct “according to the tradition of the Romans.” Eugene II. ordained in 826 anew that efficient teachers should be provided for the cathedral schools wherever needed, who were “to lecture on the sciences and the liberal arts with zeal.” “All Bishops should have the liberal arts taught at their churches,”was a resolution of the Council held in Rome in 1079 by Gregory VII.We read in the acts of the Lateran Synod of 1179: “Inasmuch as it behooves the Church, like a loving mother, to see to it that poor children who cannot count upon the support of their parents should not lack opportunity of learning to read and make progress, there should at every cathedral church be given an adequate prebend to the teacher—who [pg 146]is to teach the clerics of this church and the poor pupils gratuitously” (E. Michael, Gesch. des Deutschen Volkes II, 1899, 370). School education flourished more and more; in the thirteenth century it was in full bloom. In Germany even many unimportant places, market towns, boroughs, and villages had their schools at that time. In Mayence and its immediate neighbourhood there were, in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, seven chapter schools; at Muenster at least four schools; the clerical schools at Erfurt had an attendance of no less than 1,000 pupils. About the year 1400 the diocese of Prague alone had 460 schools. In the middle Rhine district, about the year 1500, many counties had an elementary school for every radius of two leagues; even rural communities with 500 to 600 inhabitants, like Weisenau near Mainz, and Michaelstadt in Odenwald, did not lack schools. (J. Janssen, Gesch. des Deutschen Volkes, 15th ed., 1890, 26; cf. Michael, 1. c. 402, 417-419; Palacky, Gesch. v. Boehmen, III, 1, p. 186). Even in far-off Transylvania there was, as early as the fourteenth century, no village without a church and a school (K. Th. Becker, Die Volksschule der Siebenbuerger Sachsen, 1894, y; Michael, 430). There is no doubt that this flourishing state of schools was due in the first place to the stimulus, support, and unselfish effort of the Church.

But we will not dwell longer on this subject. We wish, however, to point out more plainly something more closely related to our subject, viz., the attitude of the Church towards the universities, at a time when the most prominent nurseries of science were first coming into existence and beginning to flourish, when they began to exert their influence upon the civilization of Europe. Here, in the first place, it should become clear whether it be true that the Church has ever looked upon the progress of science with suspicion or even suppressed it. History teaches, in this instance again, that no one has shown more interest, more devotion, more readiness, to make sacrifices in promoting the establishment and growth of the university, than the Church.

When, in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the thirst for knowledge, stronger than at any time in history, made itself felt in the Christian countries of Europe, there were erected in the universities great international homes of science, so as to gratify the deeply felt need of education. And thousands hastened to these places to acquire the knowledge of the period, overcoming all difficulties, then much greater than now. A recent writer remarks about this not without reason: “The academic instruction met on part of the thronging [pg 147] thousands with a psychic disposition more favourable than at any other time. In a way it was here a case of first love” (W. Muench, Zukunftspaedagogik, 1908, 337). At the universities of the Middle Ages there were taught theology, ecclesiastical and civil law, the liberal arts, and medicine. But not in the manner that all four faculties were everywhere represented. Theology especially was quite frequently lacking, though the aim was to have all sciences represented. What since the beginning of the thirteenth century was first of all understood by a university were studia generalia—then the usual name for universities, in contradistinction to studium particulare. Universities enjoyed the privilege of having their academic degrees honoured everywhere, and their graduates could teach anywhere. The universities were of an international character. Hence it happened that at the German universities there were sitting in quest of knowledge by the side of Germans also foreign youths, from Scotland, Sweden, and Norway, from Italy and France, all contending for academic honours—a moment which unquestionably contributed in no small degree to the improvement of education.

Prior to the Reformation, universities were not state institutions, as they are at present in Europe, but free, independent corporations. They were complete in themselves, they made their own statutes, had their own jurisdiction, and many other privileges. The modern university enjoys but a small remnant of those ancient prerogatives. In a public speech, made in the presence of the Duke of Saxony, the Leipsic professor, Johann Kone, could say in 1445: “No king, no chancellor, has any right to interfere with our privileges and exemptions; the university rules itself, and changes and improves its statutes according to its needs” (Janssen, 1. c. 91).

Up to the year 1300 there were no less than 23 universities established in Italy, 5 in France, 2 in England, 4 in Spain, and 1 in Portugal. “Had all intentions been realized, Europe would have had by the year 1400 no fewer than 55 universities, including Paris and Bologna. But of 9 of them there are extant only the charter deeds that were never executed. At any rate, there were 46 of them, of which 37 or 39 existed at the turn of [pg 148] the fourteenth century; a considerable number, which was not known till recent years” (Denifle). Germany, Austria, and Hungary shared in 8: Prague, Cracow, Vienna, Fuenfkirchen, Ofen, Heidelberg, Cologne, and Erfurt. Within fifty years, from 1460 to 1510, no less than 9 universities were founded in Germany—a clear proof of the generous enthusiasm for science of that period.

By their fostering and founding of universities, secular princes have won the lasting gratitude of posterity, and so have the municipalities of a later period for showing an even greater zeal than those princes. But it was indisputably the Church that bestowed upon these homes of learning and culture the greatest benevolence and support for their foundation and maintenance.

In the first place, history shows that the majority of them were founded by Papal charters. Since universities were understood to have the power of conferring degrees of international value, they had to be universally acknowledged; this could be effected only by an authority of universal recognition; hence by the Roman-German Emperor—as the supreme prince of the world-wide Christian monarchy, or by the Pope, who was considered in the first place. He was the general Father and Teacher of Christendom; this is why Papal charters were so zealously sought after, in addition to imperial charters. Of the 44 universities called into existence before the year 1400, 31 were founded by Papal charters. A similar condition prevailed in the fifteenth century and afterwards, up to the Reformation. This was no interference in foreign affairs: such an interpretation would have caused just surprise in the Middle Ages. That the highest spiritual power on earth should have the first claim in education was a matter of general concession. And certainly the manner in which the Church made use of this right, to speak with an historian of the universities, forms “one of the most important, and by no means least inglorious, parts of an activity so manifold and difficult” (V. A. Huber, Die Englischen Universitaeten, I, 1839, p. 14).

These Papal charters breathe a warm benevolence for science. Everywhere we find the wish expressed, that studies thrive in those places which are most suitable for the effectual [pg 149] spread of science, and that the different countries have a sufficient number of scientifically trained men.

Read, for instance, the charter given by Pope Boniface VIII. to Pamiers and Avignon, or the Letter of Privileges granted to Coimbra by Clement V. (apud Denifle, 793, 524), or Pius II.'s Bull founding the university of Basle. The Pope says here about the aim of science: “Among the various blessings to which man may by the grace of God attain in this mortal life, the last place is not to be given to persevering study, by which man may gain the pearl of the sciences, which point out the way to a good and happy life, and by their excellence elevate the learned men above the uneducated. Science makes man like to God, and enables him to clearly perceive the secrets of the world. It aids the unlearned, it elevates to sublime heights those born in the lowliest condition.” “For this reason the Holy See has always promoted the sciences, given them homes, and provided for their wants, that they might flourish, so that men, well directed, might the more easily acquire so lofty a human happiness, and, when acquired, share it with others.” This was the longing desire that led to the opening at Basle of “a plentiful spring of science, of whose fulness all those may draw who desire to be introduced into the study of the mysteries of Scripture and learning.” Even prior to this, the same Pope had written to the Duke Louis of Bavaria: “The Apostolic See desires the widest possible extension of science,” which, “while other things are exhausted by dissemination, is the only thing that expands the more the greater the number of those reached by it”(apud Janssen, 1. c, p. 89).

But the Church was not satisfied with granting charters. She also gave very substantial material aid to most of the universities. The Popes maintained two universities at Rome, one of them connected with the Papal Curia, a sort of court-school. It was founded by Innocent IV., in order that the many who came to the Papal court from all parts of Christendom might satisfy also their thirst for knowledge. Theology, law, especially civil law, medicine, and languages, including Oriental languages, were taught there. Besides this there was another university at Rome, founded by Boniface VIII. for a similar purpose: it did not flourish long, though in 1514 it counted no less than eighty-eight professors. Many attempts to found or support universities would have proved abortive had not the Popes provided for the salaries of professors by prebends and stipends, and by allotting to that end a portion of the income of priests and churches. Bishops, too, proved themselves zealous patrons of [pg 150] the universities (Paulsen, Gesch. des gelehrten Unterrichts, 2d ed., I, 1898, p. 27).

Thus, to cite a few examples of German universities, there was in 1532, with the consent of the Archbishop Arnest, a contribution raised by the clergy for the endowment of the university of Prague, to which the various cloisters and chapters, especially those at Prague, contributed. With the money thus raised the Archbishop purchased property, the income from which was to provide salaries for the professors. Twelve professors received from Urban V. the canonicates of the church of All Saints (Denifle, 598). Erfurt university was given 4 canonicates, Cologne 11, Greifswald still more. Similarly Tuebingen, Breslau, Rostock, Wittenberg, and Freiburg were cared for (Kaufmann, Die Gesch. der Deutschen Universitaeten, II, 1896, p. 34, seq.). Vienna found a benefactor in the pastor of Gars, who on October 13, 1370, founded a purse for 3 sublectors and 1 scholar. Heidelberg received 10 canonicates. Its great benefactor was the learned Johann von Dalberg, first curator of the university, and later Bishop of Worms. Under him Heidelberg reached the zenith of its lustre, and laid the foundation of almost all that has won it the reputation it at present enjoys. By his co-operation the first chair of Greek was founded; to him the foundation of the college library is due, which later on gained world-wide fame under the name of “Palatina.” He further collected a private library, rich in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew books, the use of which was open to all scientists. “The Rhenish Literary Society” attained its greatest prominence under his direction (Janssen, 1. c. 100-105). Ingolstadt, too, obtained its needed income by the donation of rich church-prebends, to such an extent that the “endowments netted the university about 2,500 florins,” a very large sum for that time (Kaufmann, 1. c. 38). Prantl also admits in regard to Ingolstadt: “The Papal Curia did its best to furnish the university”(Gesch. der Ludwig-Maximilian in Ingolstadt, 1872, I, 19, apud Janssen, 1. c. p. 9).

It is true, the Church then owned much property. But it is just as true that she was ever ready to support science and colleges out of this property. Pope and clergy were also taking incessant pains to make it possible for poor students to attend the university, not only for theological students, but for those of all the faculties, to give an opportunity to rich and poor alike to enjoy the advantages of higher education. Stipends and legacies of this kind are numerous. Even in our own days many a son of an alma mater owes the stipend he enjoys to endowments made by the Church. In the course of time there were established at most of the universities so-called [pg 151] colleges for the purpose of offering shelter and maintenance to poor students.

These colleges contributed essentially to the flourishing condition of the university. Thus Albrecht v. Langenstein suggested, at the founding of Vienna university, to the Duke, Albrecht of Austria, the establishment of such colleges, inasmuch as the continuance of the university was dependent on them, and stated that Paris owed its prosperity to them (Denifle, 624).

The Popes set here the best example. Zoen, Bishop of Avignon, had provided in his testament that eight students from the province of Avignon should be maintained at Bologna by his successors from their estates at Bologna. These estates, however, were sold later on. John XXII. then interfered in favour of the students injured thereby and annulled the deed of purchase. The income was set aside and increased to an amount sufficient for thirty scholars; later on the Pope endeavoured to raise their number to fifty. At the same celebrated academy, which, next to Paris, had long been a beacon of science sought from near and afar, Urban V. founded a home for poor students and directed the appropriation of 4,000 gold ducats a year for it. From June 16, 1367, to June 15, 1368, the home received an appropriation of 5,908 ducats in gold and 155 baskets of cereals. His successor, Gregory XI., set himself to the task of completing the work begun. Out of the income of the Church he ordered appropriated in the future 1,500 ducats a year for thirty students, of whom one half were to study Canon Law, the other half Civil Law. He then decreed the purchase of a home for 4,500 ducats in gold, and ordered to pay out immediately 4,000 florins in gold for the next school year. Besides the college named, Urban V. had founded one at Montpellier for medical students, and another, which had its seat at first at Trets, later at Monosque. During his pontificate this Pope maintained no less than 1,000 students at various institutions. Toulouse also had several colleges for poor students, founded by high princes of the Church. In the year 1359 Innocent VI. devoted his own home at Toulouse with all its possessions and its entire income to twenty poor students, ten of whom were to study Canon Law and ten Civil Law. For their further maintenance he ordered given to them, besides other things, 25,000 florins in gold “manualiter” (Denifle, 213 seq., 308 seq., 339).

Finally, nearly all universities, whether they owed their existence to ecclesiastical or civil power, received many and far-reaching privileges from the Popes. Not the least one was for clerical students the dispensation to free them from the requirement of residence for the enjoyment of their benefices, which made it possible for them to study in remote university towns, where they were free to study not only theology, but other sciences as well. This dispensation was quite common. [pg 152] Furthermore, the Popes protected in the most energetic way the universities in their privileges and freedom every time they were applied to for aid.

This happened, for instance, at Bologna. The students there had their free guilds. The municipal authorities began to restrict their privileges by forbidding native students under heavy penalties to study outside of Bologna, which was later on extended to the alien students. The professors sided with the city. Honorius III.in 1220 called upon the latter to repeal those statutes; if they wanted to confine the students to the city, it should be done by clemency, not with severity and coercion. The city relented. But we see again in 1224 the students appeal, for the third time since 1217, to the Pope, begging for protection. The tension had grown; the city was actually beginning to use force. Honorius sharply rebuked the city for this action, threatening excommunication if the authorities continued to suppress freedom. The city yielded completely, and the freedom of the students was saved, thanks to their protector. Later on the Popes had to interfere again. Clement V. had already ordered the Bishops to protect the students at Bologna. His successor, John XXII., received complaints that privileges of students in Italy were being violated by authorities and citizens of the city. Against the Podesta of Bologna especially complaints were made. The Pope, in 1321 and 1322, bade the Bishops and Archbishops to take measures against those who directe et indirecte impedire dieuntur, ne ad praedictum studium valeant declinare contra apostolica et imperialia privilegia. He appointed at Bologna a special protector and conservator of the university. Some years after, when the Podesta declined to take the juramentum de observandis statutis ejusdem studiis factis et faciendis, he was commanded to take the oath.

At Orleans there was a flourishing law school; especially its jus civile was famous. Professors and students were granted by Clement V. the privilege of an autonomous university with the right of free corporation, with the power to suspend lectures in case they could get no satisfaction for any wrong done them. These privileges were a thorn in the eye of the city; its citizens even allowed violence to be done the university. Then Philip the Fair interfered, but in a way which indicates that he did not know sufficiently the university life of the Middle Ages. Moreover, he annulled the granted free fellowship, and put professors and the students under civil supervision. But this was not tolerated in those days. The king had at the same time given many privileges, but they were disregarded. In 1316 professors and students left Orleans and the university ceased to exist. The first act of John XXII. upon ascending the Papal throne was to restore this school, the French king himself having begged his support in the matter. The king's suggestion to take the privilege of free fellowship from the professors and students was rejected by the Pope. The Pope reaffirmed all privileges granted to the university, whereupon the professors and students returned, to inaugurate the most brilliant epoch of their college.

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Considering these facts, one may subscribe to the judgment of Denifle which he pronounces at the conclusion of his thorough treatise on the universities of the Middle Ages: “So far as the foundation of the universities can be spoken of, its merit belongs to the Popes, to secular rulers, clergy, and laity. But that the lion's share belongs to the Popes every one must admit who has followed my presentment, which is exclusively based on documents, and who examines history with impartiality” (Ib. 792 seq.). Even Kaufmann, who is very unfavourably disposed towards the Church, cannot deny that “numerous Popes have shown warm interest for the fostering of sciences during those centuries, and were for the most part themselves prominent representatives of science” (Ib. 403).

That the mediÆval universities in some points, though not in all, were inferior to modern universities, was not their fault. No good judge of human conditions could expect it to be otherwise. The experience and efficiency of the mature man is not attained at once, but only after the exertions and experiments made by him during the period of youth and development. At a time when all the experiences in the field of school legislation, which are the property of the present day, had yet to be collected, when the relation between lower and higher schools had not been regulated in all respects, at that time it was not possible to be in the position we are in to-day. Future critics of our times will see in our present educational systems many gross defects, which often are not hidden even to our own eyes. But it would be arrogance for them to belittle our efforts, the fruits of which they will once enjoy without any merit on their part. The university of yore conformed to the educational purposes of that period; it was the focus of intellectual life, perhaps to a larger degree than is the case to-day. This suffices. Moreover, the number of professors was quite considerable, that of the students even more so. In Bologna in 1388 the number of professors was 70, not including the theologians, among them 39 jurists; in Piacenza there were from the years 1398 to 1402 71 professors; among them were 27 teachers of Roman law and 22 teachers of medicine (Denifle, 209, 571).

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In regard to the zeal displayed by the Church in promoting universities, it might be objected that she was caring in the first place for theology, not for the other sciences, and that the universities then had chiefly been established for theological students. This, however, is not the case. The universities especially favoured by the Popes were first of all law schools, chiefly of civil law, or medical schools. Those at Bologna, Padua, Florence, and Orleans were principally law schools; in Italy, in general, chief attention was paid to jurisprudence, particularly to Roman law. Montpellier was essentially a medical college; it attained during the thirteenth century preponderance even over Salerno. The assertion has been made that the vigorous life at this medical college was owing to its independence of Rome (Haeser, Lehrbuch der Geschichte der Medizin, 1, 655. Cfr. Denifle, 342). But Denifle has proved that “clerical organs have been the moving spirits of the medical college at Montpellier.”

Nor did the Papal charter deeds exclude any profane science. The common formula, which always prevails, authorizes to teach indiscriminately in jure canonico et civili necnon in medicina et qualibet alia licita facultate. Only one science was frequently excepted, and that was just theology. Of the forty-six high schools that had been established up to the year 1400, about twenty-eight, therefore nearly two-thirds, excluded by their charter the teaching of theology. At first a number of universities sprang up merely as law schools, others as medical schools, and there was then no need to include the science of theology in the schedule of studies. Furthermore, Paris was ever since the twelfth century looked upon as the home and the natural place for theology (Denifle, 703 f.). Hence the benevolence of the Church towards the universities was not merely determined by selfish interest.

Or was it, nevertheless? May the Church not have bestowed so much care on the homes of science in order to increase her own influence thereby, and also with an eye to the future? This assertion has been made. But this assertion is an injustice and it is against the testimony of history. The Popes very often issued their charter deeds only then, when request was made [pg 155] by worldly rulers and by the cities themselves. Hence there was no hurried self-assertion. And the Church has never denied the right to worldly powers to found their own high schools. The theologians of the thirteenth century expressedly declared it to be the duty of princes to provide for institutions of learning (Cfr. Thomas of Aquin, De regimine principum, I, 13; Op. contra impug. relig. 3).

Thus up to the year 1400 nine high schools had received no charters at all, ten only imperial charters or charters from their local sovereigns. If the Popes had cared only about their influence, why then did they treat such colleges with the same benevolence? Spain's first college was founded at Paleneia in the years 1212-1214 by Alfonso VIII.without asking the Pope. When soon afterwards it was in trouble it was Honorius III. who aided Alfonso's successor in restoring it, by assigning some ecclesiastical income to its professors. When the college was nearly wrecked and Rome once more applied to for help, Urban IV. lent an aiding hand because he did not want ut lucerna tanta claritatis in commune mutorum dispendium sic extincta remaneat. Frederick II. had founded a university of his own. When it failed it was Clement IV. who urged King Charles of Anjou to re-establish it. In eodem regno facias et jubeas hujusmodi studium reformari (Denifle, 478, 459). This is not the language and action of one who is only ruled by the passion to spread his own influence, and not guided by benevolence for science.

But it is true, in supporting the higher schools the Church did not aim at science as its ultimate object; it was her view that science should serve the material welfare of man, but still more the highest ethical and religious purpose of life. This in general was the conception of the entire Middle Ages. At that time it would have been considered curious to seek a science ultimately for its own sake.

And the universities repaid the Church by gratitude and devotion. The effort has been made to demonstrate that the modern separation of science from religion had already begun in the Middle Ages, and had showed itself everywhere; this tendency for autonomy “appeared at first only timidly and in manifold disguises” (Kaufmann, 14). How easy it is to find such disguises may be shown by an example. The university of Paris had after the death of St. Thomas asked for his remains. Kaufmann holds that the notion of the autonomy of science had found sharp expression in the memorandum wherein the university stated the motive of its request. Now how does this harmless document sound? “Quoniam [pg 156] omnino est indecens et indignum ut alia ratio aut locus quam omnium studiorum nobilissima Parisiensis civitas quae ipsum prius educavit nutrivit et fovit et post modum ad eodem doctrinae monumenta et ineffabilia fomenta suscepit ossa ... habeat.... Si enim Ecclesia merito ossa et reliquias Sanctorum honorat nobis non sine causa videtur honestum et sanctum tanti doctoris corpus in perpetuum penes nos habere in honore.” Evidently the university requests the relic for itself, or rather for the Parisiensis civitas, not in opposition to the Church, but in opposition to other cities, altera natio aut locus. I wonder if the Parisian admirers of St. Thomas ever dreamed that they would one day be put in the light of forerunners of liberal science, because of their pious application for the bones of their great teacher? This is tantamount to carrying one's own idea into the fact. Denifle, probably the most competent judge of the affairs of mediÆval universities, writes as follows: “If we weigh the different acts which suggest themselves to us in these various foundations, and if we compare them with one another, there is revealed to us, in the realm of history of the foundation of mediÆval universities, a wonderful harmony between Church and State, between the spiritual and material. This is the reason why the universities of the Middle Ages appear to us as the highest civil as well as the highest ecclesiastical teaching institutions. Fundamentally, they are the product of the Christian spirit which penetrated the whole, wherein Pope and Prince, clergy and laity, each held the proper position” (l. c. p. 795).

One consequence of this relation between the universities and the Church was that “they attained their greatest prosperity as long as the unity of Church and faith remained unimpaired, and that, at the time of the Reformation, they all sided with the Church with the exception of two, Wittenberg and Erfurt. Torn away from their ecclesiastical and established basis only by violent means, they were led to the new doctrine, but really succumbed to it only when their freedom had been curtailed and they had been reduced to state institutions” (Janssen, l. c. p. 91). They had been, as the learned Wimpheling wrote at the close of the sixteenth century, “the most favoured daughters [pg 157] of the Church, who tried to repay by fidelity and attachment what they owed to their Mother” (De arte impressoria, apud Janssen, l. c. 91).

Hence history cannot subscribe to the accusation that the Church is the enemy of progress. How then does it happen that this accusation is made so frequently? The idea suggests itself that there may be here a different meaning given to the word “progress,” that the Church opposes a certain kind of progress which her enemies call “the” progress. And this is the actual fact. If we examine the proofs which are to show the hostile attitude of the Church, we meet at every step Galileo, the Copernican system, the Syllabus, and Index. But this appears only on the surface, which hides beneath it something that is easily overlooked by the cursory glance. And this is the precise definition of scientific and civilized progress. Progress has ever been an ideal of powerful attraction. The noblest and best of men have ever displayed the most earnest endeavour onward and upward. In our times, however, this ideal comes forward differently garbed, in the name of the new view of the world, and resolutely censures as reactionary everything that will oppose it. What is this definition?

Since the theory of evolution of Lamarck and Darwin entered biology, it has also more and more invaded other branches of science. The principle is now that everywhere, in the organic or inorganic world and in the whole province of human life there is a gradual growth and change—nothing permanent, nothing definite and absolute. Uninterrupted evolution hitherto; hereafter restless development; especially in the greatest good belonging to human life, thought, philosophy, and chiefly religion. Here, too, there are no forms nor dogmas which evolution in its continual development does not evolve and elevate. This idea of evolution is supplemented by subjectivism with its relativism of truth: all views, especially philosophical and religious “Truths,” are no longer the reproduction of objectively existing things, but a creation of the [pg 158] subject, of his inner experience and feeling; hence each age must proceed to new thought of its own.

“The methods of scientific research,” we are told, “are determined by the idea of evolution, and this applies not only to natural sciences but also to the so-called intellectual sciences,—history, philology, philosophy, and theology. The idea of evolution influences and dominates all our thoughts; without it progress in the field of scientific knowledge is quite impossible.” We read, for instance, in the modern history of philosophy: “The rise and fall of a system is a necessary part of universal history; it is conditioned by the character of its time, the system being the understanding of that time, while this understanding of the time is conditioned by the fact that the time has changed.” At Roscellin's time the nominalists were intellectually inferior; but where there is question of undermining the militant Church of the Middle Ages the nominalists will be considered to have been the greater philosophers. In this the realists “by the futility of their struggle proved that the time for nominalism had arrived, hence that whoever favours it understands the time better; that is, more philosophically. After the beginning of the Renaissance we notice an attempt at philosophizing in such a way as to ignore the existence of divine wisdom taught by Christianity. The pre-Christian sages had done so: to philosophize in their spirit was therefore the task of the time, and those who had a better understanding of the time philosophized that way better than by the scholastic method; though their method may appear reactionary to unphilosophical minds” (J. E. Erdmann, Grundriss der Gesch. der Philosophie, 3d ed., I (1878), 4, 262, 434, 502). This is a frank denial of any truth in philosophy: the more neological and modern a thing is, the more truth there is in it! Realism was right in Roscellin's time, but a later period had to sweep it away. The Christian religion was right for the Middle Ages, but when the Greek authors began to be read again it was no longer modern.

Apostasy from the faith is considered a mark of progress. “Italian natural philosophy,” we are told, “reached its pinnacle with Brunoand Campanella, of whom the former, though the older, appears to be more progressive on account of his freer attitude towards the Church” (R. Falkenburg, Gesch. der neueren Philosophie, 5th ed. (1905), page 30, seq.). Hence evidently further development of Christianity, too, is demanded. According to subjectivistic views it was hitherto only an historical product of the human intellect: hence “onward to new and higher forms corresponding to modern thought and feeling, onward to a new Christianity without dogmas and authority!” “Break up those old tablets,” spoke Zarathustra.

Such is progress in thought and science, for which the way must be opened. That the immutable dogmas of Christianity, that the task of the Catholic Church to preserve revelation intact, are incompatible with it, that the Church appears reactionary, [pg 159] and as an obstacle to this progress, is now self-evident. Here we have the deeper contrast between progress, in the anti-Christian sense, and the essence of Christianity in general, and, especially, of the Catholic Church.

“It is frankly admitted that the issue is the struggle between the two views of the world—between the Christian, conservative dogmatism and the anti-dogmatic evolutionary philosophy” (Neue Freie Presse, Jun. 7, 1908). Faith according to its very essence is immutable and stationary, science is essentially progressive: they had therefore to part in a manner which could not be kept a secret. “A divine revelation must necessarily be intolerant of contradiction, it must repudiate all improvement in itself” (J. Draper, History of the Conflict between Religion and Science, VI). “The great opposition between the rigid dogmatism of the Roman Catholic Church and the ever progressing modern science cannot be removed” (Academicus, l. c. 362). So say the opponents of the Church.

There is no error, says St. Augustine, which does not contain some truth, especially when it is able to rule the thought of many. Hence its capacity to deceive. The same is true in the present case.

There is evolution and progress in everything, or at least there should be. The individual gradually develops from the embryo into a perfect form, though it becomes nothing else than what it had formerly been in its embryonic state. Mankind advances rapidly in civilization; we no longer ride in the rumbling stage-coach but in a comfortable express train, and the tallow candle has been replaced by the electric light. Thus we demand progress also in knowledge and science, and even in religion. Many things that were obscure to older generations have become clear to us; we have corrected many an error, made many discoveries which were unknown to our ancestors. Many doctrines of faith, also, appear to our eyes in sharper outlines than before; of many we have a deeper understanding, discovered new relations, meanings, and deductions. Thus there is progress and development everywhere.

But it would be erroneous to conclude from all this that there cannot be any stable truths and dogmas, that progress to new and different views and doctrines is necessary. By the same right we might conclude that the main principles of the Copernican system cannot be immutable, because they would [pg 160] hinder the progress of science. Progress certainly does not consist in throwing away all certainty acquired, in order to begin anew. Or does it really belong to progress in astronomy to again give up Copernicus, to go back to Ptolemy and let the sun and all the stars revolve again around the earth? Does not progress rather consist in our studying these astronomical results more closely, in building up the details, and, first of all, in trying to solve new problems?

The champion of the faith will reply: Just as established results do not hinder the progress of science, just so do the doctrines of faith not form an obstacle to progress and evolution. The fixed doctrines of the faith themselves, in themselves and in their application to the conditions of life, offer rich material for the growth of religious knowledge. And there is the immense field for progress in the profane sciences. If any one should say that the believing scientist, who is bound by his dogmas, can do nothing further but reiterate his old truths, one might in turn argue: Then the astronomer bound by the fundamental rules of the Copernican system could have only the monotonous task of drawing over and over again the outlines of his system, while the mathematician who holds the multiplication table to be an unalienable possession would not be allowed to do aught but to repeat the multiplication table.

Or the argument may be put thus: We have made great progress in the material province of civilization, in science and art; “can an old religion suffice under these new and improved conditions, a religion which originated at an age when these conditions did not exist? This contradiction is shocking.... Progress in culture demands progress in religion.... We want a more perfect religion, a higher religion” (Masaryk, Im Kampf um die Religion, 1904, 29). Note the logic of this demonstration. We no longer light our rooms by the dim light of a small oil lamp, we walk no longer at night through dark narrow lanes, but through brightly illuminated avenues, does it follow from this that it can no longer be true that Christ is the Son of God, nor that He has worked miracles, or founded a Church, and a new religion is therefore necessary? We have made progress in our knowledge of history; we know a good [pg 161] deal of Rome and Carthage, of the civilization of ancient Egypt and of Greece, and of their mutual relations; we have other fashions of life than our fathers had, we build and paint differently—our political life, too, has grown more complicated; does it follow from all this, that it cannot be true that we are created by God, that we must believe a divine revelation, hence a new religion is necessary? Progress and evolution to consist in ever abandoning the old and advancing to new and different views—this is absurd. Absurd, in the first place, because it is no progress at all, but a retrogression, a hopeless alternation of forwards and backwards. There can be no progress if I am always withdrawing from my old position; progress is possible only by retaining the basis established and then advancing therefrom. And evolution is not a continuous remodelling and shaping anew, but a continuance in growth. Evolution means that the embryo unfolds, and by retaining and perfecting the old matter gradually becomes a plant; evolution is in the progress from bud to blossom; but not in the changing mass of clouds, swept away to-day by the current wind and replaced to-morrow by other clouds. An absurdity, also, for the reason that it violates all laws of reason, that once there was a revelation of God to be believed, but that this is no longer true.

Furthermore, the demand to follow always “the ideas of the period” suggests the question: Who is to represent the period? Who represented Greece, the sophists or Plato? Who was representative of the first days of Christianity, the Roman emperors or the martyrs? Will not the passage in Goethe's Faust apply in most cases: “What they call the spirit of the times is but their own mind wherein the times are reflected”? True, if progress is taken to be the overstepping by human reason of the eternal standards of immutable truth and the barriers of faith, if it is to be the attempt at emancipation from God and religion, then there is no more resolute foe of progress than the Christian religion, than the Catholic Church. But this is not progress but loss of the truth, not higher religion but apostasy, not development of what is best in man, but retrogression to mental disintegration by scepticism.

[pg 162]

The Syllabus.

In the eyes of many it is especially the Syllabus of Pius IX. by which the Catholic Church has erected a lasting monument to its enmity to civilization. It is the Syllabus, we are told, in which Pius IX. has “ex cathedra condemned the freedom of science” (W. Kahl, Bekenntnissgebundenheit und Lehrfreiheit, 1897, 10); “in which modern culture and science is being cursed” (Th. Fuchs, Neue Freie Presse, Nov. 25, 1907); in which “the most general foundations of our political order, the freedom of conscience, are rejected” (G. Kaufmann, Die Lehrfreiheit an den deutschen Universitaeten, 1898, 34); “in which it has simply anathematized the achievements of the modern concept of right” (F. Jodl, Gedanken Über Reformkatholizismus, 1902, 5); the Syllabus “strikes blows against the autonomy of human development of culture, it is a non possumus, I cannot make peace, I cannot compromise with what is termed progress, liberalism, and civilization.” The Syllabus is a favorite stock argument of professional free-thinkers and agitators, and the one with which they like to open the discussion. For this reason we must say a few words about it.

When a Syllabus is spoken of without any distinction, the Syllabus of Pius IX. is meant. It is a list of eighty condemned propositions which this Pope sent on December 8, 1864, to all the Bishops of the world, together with the encyclical letter “Quanta Cura.” Pius IX. had, prior to this, and on various occasions, denounced these propositions as false and to be repudiated. They were now gathered together in the Syllabus. They represent the program of modern liberalism in the province of religion and in politics in relation to religion. They are repudiated in the following order: Pantheism; liberal freedom of thought and of conscience as a repudiation of the duty to believe; religious freedom as a demand of emancipation from faith and Church; religious indifferentism; the denial of the Church and of her independence of the state; the omnipotence of state power, especially in the province of thought. The single propositions are not all designated as heretical, hence the contrary is not always pronounced to be dogma; they are rejected [pg 163] in general as “errors.” It is not necessary to discuss here the question whether and to what extent the Syllabus is an infallible decision. Suffice it to say it is binding for believing Catholics.

Has the Catholic any reason to be ashamed of the Syllabus?

It was a resolute deed. A deed of that intrepidity and firm consistency which has ever characterized the Catholic Church. With her fearless love of truth the Church has in the Syllabus solemnly condemned the errors of the modern rebellion against the supernatural order, of the naturalization and declaration of independence of the human life. For this reason the Syllabus is called an attack upon modern culture, science, and education, upon the foundations of the state. Is this true?

It is, and it is not. All that is good and Christian in modern culture is not touched by the Syllabus; it strikes only at what is anti-Christian in our times and in the leading ideas of our times. It does not condemn freedom of science, but only the liberal freedom which throws off the yoke of faith; it does not repudiate freedom of religion and conscience, but the liberal freedom which will not acknowledge a divine revelation nor take the Church as a guide. Not the foundations of modern states are attacked, but only the liberal ideas of emancipation from religion, and of opposition to the Church. The Church proclaims to the world only what has been known to all Christian centuries, that, just as the single individual is bound to have the Christian belief and must lead a Christian life, so are nations and organized states; that the human creature is subject to the law of Christ in all its relations. Nor does she contend against genuine progress in science, education and in the material domain, but merely against liberal progress towards the irreligious materialization of life.

This emancipation from the Christian faith poses mostly under the attractive and deceptive name of “modern progress.” Indeed, it has ever been the pretension of liberalism to look upon itself as the sole harbinger of civilization, to claim the guidance of intellectual life for its aim, and to stigmatize as a foe of culture any one that opposes the dissemination of its anti-Christian humanism. It is also an expert in giving [pg 164] to words a charm and an ambiguous meaning that deceive. Emancipation from religion is “progress” and “enlightenment.” Everything else is reactionary. Its infidelity is freedom of conscience and thought. Everything else is “bondage.” Only its secular schools, its civil marriage, its separation of Church and State are “modern.” Everything else is obsolete, hence no longer warranted. For the Church to defend her rights is arrogance; when the Church uses her God-given authority for the good of the faith, she practises intellectual oppression; the Catholic who lets himself be guided by his Church is called unpatriotic, bereft of his civil spirit.

What striking contrast to the honesty in which the Church presents her doctrines frankly before the whole world, without disguise or artifice. The reason is that she has sufficient interior strength and truth to render it unnecessary for her to take refuge in disguise or present the truth in ambiguity.

The clearest evidence of the Church's hostility to culture is the condemnation of the 80th thesis of the Syllabus, so it is said. It is the thesis that the Pope can and must reconcile himself to, and compromise with, progress, liberalism, and modern civilization. This is a condemned proposition, hence the contrary is true: the Pope of Rome cannot, and must not, reconcile himself, nor compromise with, liberalism and modern civilization. Here we have the frankly admitted hostility against progress, education, and science—it is the watchword of the Papacy.

This conclusion can be arrived at only by pushing aside all rules of scientific interpretation. What progress is this, with what civilization can the Papacy not be reconciled? The progress of modern liberalism. The heading of the paragraph containing this proposition states expressly that “errors of modern liberalism” are to be condemned. This becomes clear by the Allocution “Jamdudum cernimus”of March 18, 1861, from which this condemnation is taken. There it is stated: “It is asked that the Pope of Rome reconcile himself with progress, to liberalism as they call it, to the new civilization, and compromise with them.... But now we ask of those inviting us to be reconciled with modern civilization, whether the facts be such as to tempt the Vicar of Christ on earth ... to connect himself with the civilization of to-day without the greatest injury to this conscience ... a civilization that has caused the dissemination of numerous despicable opinions, errors, and principles in conflict with the Catholic religion and its doctrines.” Of course a civilization cut off from any true Christianity by education and science, by family life and political life, a progress, trying to stop the activity of the Church in every sphere and attacking her in their speech, in newspapers, and in schools, [pg 165]cannot demand of the Papacy to join hands with them. No Christian, whether Catholic or Protestant, can profess this “progress.” We have here at the same time a specimen of how they proceed in interpreting the propositions of the Syllabus in order to discover in them all possible absurdities. Many propositions are short sentences taken from the work of an author, or from previous Papal declarations. Hence they must be understood in the sense of those sources. Furthermore, attention must be paid to what is specially emphasized. Then, again, we must remember that by repudiating a proposition only the contradictory is asserted, but not the contrary; to conclude this would be to conclude too much. For instance, the seventy-seventh condemned proposition reads: “In our times it is no longer to any purpose that the Catholic religion should be the sole religion of the state to the exclusion of all other confessions.” According to some, e.g., Frins, the contradictory is thus formulated: “In our times also it is still to the purpose....” According to others, however, e.g., Hoensbroeeh and Goetz: “In our times also it is beneficial....” Thus while Hoensbroechand Goetz make the ecclesiastical doctrine appear to read that it would be beneficial to hold fast to the Catholic as the sole religion of the state under all circumstances even to-day, the actual opposite is the doctrine, that this may be yet to the purpose under certain circumstances. While no reasonable man could object to the latter, the former is eagerly exploited against the Church (Heiner, Der Syllabus, 1905, p. 31, seq.; cf. Frins, Kirchenlex, 2d ed., XI, 1031; Hoensbroech, l. c. 25; Goetz, Der Ultramontanismus, 1905, 148).

Of course it may be taken for granted that the Syllabus is distasteful to modern liberalism, which is branded there as one of the errors of the day. Yet the Church cannot be censured for not becoming unfaithful to her vocation of preserving the patrimony of Christianity to mankind, or for acting as the invincible defender of the Christian religion in the universal struggle between truth and error, even though the latter pose with great assurance.

The Condemnation of Modernism.

The great excitement caused in intellectual circles by the Syllabus of Pius IX. was aroused again, though not with the same intensity, when some years ago the news of another Syllabus was circulated through the world, and the excitement increased when the rumour was followed by the publication of the encyclical “Pascendi Dominici gregis.” Indeed, the new event was not very unlike the former: in the 60's Rome's sentence was [pg 166] directed against the Modernism of that period, which called itself liberalism. The excitement caused by its condemnation was more intense, because it struck directly at the principles governing the liberal politics against the Church, which principles were claimed to be the foundation of the modern state. Now the Modernism repudiated by the Church's voice was nothing more than the old humanistic, fundamental, errors of liberalism, but put in the form of a religious and philosophical view of the world, and in Catholic garb: it meant man detached from everything supernatural, and dependent alone on himself in his intellectual life, more especially in his religious life.

Now, as then, similar charges were raised: The Church is the irreconcilable foe of modern achievements and the opponent of them; “the encyclical aims at modern intellectual life in all its phases and forms” (XX. Jahrh., 1908, 568). Now, as then, we have the same ambiguity of the terms “modern” and “progress.”

What was condemned by the Church? The document “Lamentabili sane exitu,” issued by the teaching authority of the Church on July 3, 1907, is entitled “A Decree of the Holy Congregation of the Roman and General Inquisition or the Holy Office,” which has to watch over the unadulterated preservation of the faith. The decree soon was christened the “New Syllabus,” because of its similarity with the Syllabus of Pius IX. In a similar way it condemns sixty-five propositions against the inspiration and the historical character of Holy Scripture, against the divine origin of revelation and of faith, against the divinity of Christ, His Resurrection and His atoning death, against the Sacraments, and against the Church. These are component parts of the philosophical religious system of thought which soon after was set forth and condemned by the encyclical “Pascendi,” of September 8, 1907.

Modernism is essentially philosophy, combining modern agnostic-autonomous subjectivism with evolutionism, and applied to the Christian religion, which thereby becomes disfigured beyond recognition. Its chain of thought, excellently stated by the encyclical, starts with the proposition that the supernatural is beyond the knowledge of man, and hence man [pg 167] cannot know anything of God. The faith which unites us to God is nothing but a feeling, born of a blind impulse, which may be considered a divine revelation. If this religious feeling is expressed in forms, the result is “doctrines of faith”; for Christian “dogmas” are this and nothing more, images and symbols of the noble and divine, hence they are of human origin and are changeable according to the disposition and the degree of learning of the individual, as well as of the times. There is no dogmatic Christianity, in the sense of an immutable religious doctrine, nor is there any absolutely true religion, for religion is but a variable feeling, that has nothing to do with cognition and knowledge. For this reason they never can come in conflict. The Christian religion originally was nothing else but the religious experience of Christ, who was not God but a man; in the course of time it has undergone changes which are reflected in the shaping of Christian dogma. Holy Scripture is, similarly, the expression of the religious experience of its human authors; the Sacraments are symbols, arousing religious sentiments; the Church is not founded by God, and only has the task of regulating the development of Christianity, and of sanctioning at any time whatever religious experiences the changeable spirit of progressive civilization may produce.

This is Modernism, as represented chiefly in France, Italy, and to an extent also in England; in Germany it did not appear as a system, but even there its spirit became quite apparent. Thus, Modernism is nothing else but the systematic arrangement of those ideas which we have hitherto met, in various places, as the fundamental principles of modern religious thought opposed to Christianity. It is subjectivism with its autonomy of the human subject, its agnosticism, its relativism of truth, sailing under the name of “historical method of thought” and “progress,” and, finally, with its freedom of thought and conscience which rejects all authority. It is Kant in the robe of a Catholic theologian. Ultimately it is nothing else but the shocking negation of everything supernatural, hence complete apostasy. “The salient point is recognized,” says Troeltsch, “the enemy is the modern historical method of thought, the [pg 168] concept of evolution, the theory of inner experience and relativism as applied to religion, the negation of supernaturalism as taught by the old Church” (l. c. 22). Hence, was it not manifest that the Church had to take measures against this positive denial of Christianity as a whole, the more so as the uneducated could be easily deceived by it? Every organism will throw off excrescences, the more energetically the stronger it is. Any religion lacking this strength is doomed. That the Papal declaration aroused such opposition must not be wondered at; it hit once more the central idea of the anti-Christian view of the world. The judgment was not passed against modern intellectual life, but only against the grave errors inherent in it; the Church did not condemn progress, nor the increase and deepening of knowledge of the truth; not the enrichment of the life of the mind, of feeling, and the will, but only pretended progress; she did not condemn the historical method nor the idea of evolution, but their false application, which dissolved anything and everything in growth, purely natural growth at that, without acknowledging a revelation of absolute truths.

Orthodox Protestants have openly praised this bold deed of the Pope as highly meritorious for the preservation of the Christian faith. Thus the South African Church Quarterly Review (Episcopal) of January, 1908, said: “The Syllabus and Encyclical of Pius X. against Modernism are deserving of the respectful consideration of all Christians.... At the present stage of history the opposing factors are driving with great speed towards a fierce and resolute struggle between Christ and anti-Christ. All who sincerely love Christ, our Lord, must rally under one flag.... Narrow-minded hostility towards the Pope must give way to the desire to be united with the great community which is fighting so valiantly for the old faith of our fathers.... One must be blind, to misjudge the tremendous influence exerted by the last deed of the Pope in favour of the faith.”

Even the Evangelical “Kirchenzeitung” admitted that the encyclical is “directed chiefly against the more or less unchristian modern views of the world ... which we must combat.... Undoubtedly it is not only the Pope's right to lay bare the unchristian tendency of these ideas and their incompatibility with the Christian faith, but it is also his duty and his merit” (November 29, 1908, n. 48).

Puny men, entangled in the ideas of their time and surroundings, are easily led to take for their standard the thoughts and actions of their age. They often imagine that [pg 169] they possess not a little strength and independence, when they are intellectually entirely dependent and unable to rise above their time. “It is the fashion, others think that way, therefore I must think so, too”; these are often the principles of their wisdom, and they ask the Church to do likewise. The Church, however, looks back upon a long history, and numerous ideas and opinions she has seen arise and vanish. And whoever can look back upon a great experience, and moreover carries in himself the call to lead the times, feels no restless impulse to be carried away by changing doctrines.

The Index.

Whenever the subject of Rome's enmity to science and progress of culture is discussed, there invariably appears on the scene, beside Syllabus and Galileo, also the Index. The latter is held by many to be Rome's permanent means of hindering the progress of humanity in general, and the free scientific activity of the Catholic in particular, and to annihilate the freedom of teaching and learning (Hoensbroech, Die Kath. theol. Fakultaeten, 1907, 40 seq.). They say “the Congregation of the Index has no pity nor consideration for the classical works of literature, and condemns in the name of religion the most admirable products of the human intellect” (Grande Dict. univ. du XIX. siÈcle, IX, 640, apud J. Hilgers, Der Index der Verb. Buecher, 1904, 166; much of what we shall say on this topic is taken from this work by Hilgers).

This statement again reminds that the accusations against the Catholic Church and her institutions are to be considered with caution, because of the ignorance of her opponents in Catholic things. This is especially true of the Index. Thus the above assertion is false. Dante's “Divina Commedia” (the work referred to) is neither forbidden nor needs approval nor correction: of the classical literature of the world little or nothing is forbidden; even morally offensive books, that are considered classical, may without ecclesiastical permission be read for the sake of their elegant diction, whenever their reading is required by one's work or duty of teaching.

A few examples of the incredible ignorance alluded to will suffice. In the “Grande Dictionnaire Universel du XIX. SiÈcle” it is actually stated that the works of Albert the Great were condemned by a decree of April 10, 1666. What does the Index really forbid? It states: “Alberto [pg 170]Magno, diviso in tre libri, nel primo si tratta della virtu delle herbe, nel secondo della virtu delle pietre, e nel terzo della virtu di alcuni animali.—Albert the Great, in three parts: the first treats of the virtue of plants; the second, of the virtue of stones; and the third, of the virtue of some animals.” It is the title of a little superstitious book, attributed to “Albert the Great” by an unknown author.

The first edition of the Index of Leo XIII. in 1900 was sold out in less than a year; a second edition followed in 1901, and, like the first, could be had at all booksellers, at a very moderate price. In December, 1901, there appeared in the Anglo-American weekly, “The Roman World,” an article which says that it is difficult to obtain this list of notorious books forbidden to Catholics, unless one be a Church official, since only a few copies are printed and even these are not handled by general book-dealers; hence that no details could be given about the purchase of the copy referred to; but it was quite evident that it had commanded a good price. “The copy in question, a model of fine printing, might be worth about $40 to $50, but owing to its rareness, it had undoubtedly cost $400. The history of this famous Index is interesting. The one who first hit upon the idea was Charles V. of Spain, about 1550. The first compilation of the book-list was made by the university of Louvain in 1564, Pope Paul IV. assuming the direction of the edition. It remained for 357 years in the hands of the Pope.”Every one of these statements is false. And just as false is the statement that the “Syllabus condemns not only a book written by a Pope, but by Pope Leo XIII. himself.” Still it could not surprise us, since even David's psalter is on the Index! When the Index of Leo XIII.was published, Dr. Max Claar wrote from Rome to the “Neue Freie Presse” of Vienna: “On the old Index we find among other things the Psalms of King David and the Divina Commedia of Dante.” We have already stated that the latter was never on the Index. But how in the world could this man find Holy Scripture condemned on the Index? Perhaps he found this passage: “Il salmista secondo la biblia”and “Salmi (sessanta) di David.” The first is a superstitious booklet, the second is a translation of sixty Psalms of David by the heretic, Giovanni Diodati. The learned doctor in all seriousness mistook them for the Psalms of David (Hilgers, 167, seq.).

What then is the Index, and how is it to be judged?

Ever since the Apostle of the Nations had at Ephesus the superstitious books burned under his eyes, the Holy Fathers, Bishops, and Councils since the first centuries of Christianity have been careful to keep from the faithful writings hurtful to faith and morals. Thus even in the olden time we find several catalogues of forbidden books, then followed the Indices of the Middle Ages. In the year 1571 a special Congregation of Cardinals was formed, the “Congregation of the Index,” which has ever since had charge of the ecclesiastical book-laws. [pg 171] The last edition of the Index, obligatory for the whole Church, emanated from Leo XIII. The title of the work now in force reads, “The Index of Forbidden Books, revised and published by order of and in the name of Leo XIII. 1900.” It is divided into two parts. The first and shorter part contains the general book regulations, giving in short paragraphs the rules on various classes of forbidden books, the permission required for reading them, the examination to be made previous to the publication of certain books. The second part enumerates the writings forbidden by special decree—the Index in the particular sense, and the part most often considered. But it is second in importance to the first, because by far not all books dangerous to faith and morals are named in it. Most such books are forbidden by the general laws contained in the first part, without mentioning the many which are forbidden by mere common sense.

Ecclesiastical legislation on books is composed of two factors: first, the previous censorship—certain books must be examined by ecclesiastical authority before their publication. Second, the prohibition of books already published.

The previous scrutiny in general is delegated to the Bishop; all books dealing with morals and theology must be submitted. The license to print the book is to be given if the book is in accord with the teaching of the Church, in so far as determined by ecclesiastical authority, the decision based on it rests solely with the censor; if the author of the book should fail to see that the passages objected to need revision he may try to clear himself by stating his reasons; however, he is also free to submit his work to another Bishop and to look for a printer in the latter's diocese. If one looks over the numerous books bearing the ecclesiastical imprimatur, he will readily notice how much freedom is given, if the author keeps within the doctrine of the Church.

The condemnation of a book never strikes at the person of the author, nor at what he has intended to express by the passages objected to; judgment is passed only upon what is actually expressed in them. Hence it is not necessary to give to the author himself a hearing, or a chance to explain. [pg 172] The reason is that the judgment is rendered on the sense of the passages, not on the meaning of the author. In general those books and periodicals are forbidden which are likely to do serious damage to faith and morals. The isolated cases of indicting the works of Catholic authors in the nineteenth century—we may mention Lamennais, Hermes, Guenther, Loisy, and Schell—show that the Church proceeds but slowly and with consideration against the author involved.

To appreciate the Index properly, one must try to grasp without prejudice the purpose the Church has in view. This purpose is to protect the faithful from error and from moral contagion, and to preserve the faith intact. “What is more precious than souls, what more precious than the faith? But both suffer damage from such reading.” Such was the judgment of the Council of Ephesus when it drew up its book-decrees; such was the judgment of an Augustine, of Leo the Great, and of the Holy Fathers; such is still the judgment of the Church. Books and writings that offend against morals are a menace to her faithful. They become infected with wrong ideas; they are as a rule not in a position to distinguish by themselves the false from the true, and for the most part they are not morally strong enough to resist the allurements of error. It may also happen that certain thoughts are true in the abstract, yet for the time being would be a danger for many. Now, it is the right and duty of any social authority, beginning with the head of the family and up to the government, to protect with strong hand the precious possessions of its subjects.

The state keeps under control the sale of poison and dynamite, keeps out contagious diseases from its boundaries—it protects the possessions of its subjects. European states have for centuries claimed the right to censure books, and have used it much more rigorously than the Church ever did, to say nothing of the censures of the Protestant Church of former times (see abundant proof apud Hilgers, 206-402). The modern state also, despite the great freedom granted to the press, cannot entirely forego its sense of responsibility. It restricts the freedom of the press by censorship, and by preventive measures often not less drastic than the censure itself, and it [pg 173] always regards the confiscation of particularly dangerous writings to be a matter of course. It puts under censure school-books, political posters, and theatrical plays, and does not tolerate any socialistic literature in the soldiers' barracks. And do we not take it as a matter of course if a father forbids his child to associate with dangerous playmates, and takes bad books from its hands? We cannot find fault with the Church if she seeks to protect her children, if she represses the promiscuous dissemination of false ideas and doctrines, and if she takes dangerous books under her control. “Feed my lambs, feed my sheep,” was the command given to the Church.

The objection should therefore not be made that “such precaution is proper when dealing with children but not with men; especially since the thinking elements among the Catholics of the Germanic tongue or origin are too profound and firm in their faith to warrant a fear of the effects of unrestricted free research” (from the petition of the so-called “Index-league” of Muenster). This perusal may become dangerous even for highly educated men, else how could Modernism break so forcefully into the Church? Manifestly only because learned theologians did not possess that firmness of Catholic faith and Catholic knowledge which would prevent them from being deceived by the misleading ideas of modern philosophy, and of the new Protestant theology. Moreover, all forbidden books may be read upon obtaining the necessary permission.

“Preserve the deposit of faith,” the Church has been told. She cannot look on silently when her doctrines are being falsified and denied, when the most venerable sphere of theology is made the stamping ground for immature minds and a laboratory for all kinds of experiments. When Zola's novel, “Rome,” had been put on the Index, the atheistic literary critic, Sarcey, made the following comment: “If my own criticisms of literature are regarded by many people as highest decisions, why should a positive criticism be looked upon as monstrous just because it comes from the Pope? It is my aim to guard good taste in literature, and it is the aim of the Pope to guard the true faith” (Allgemeine Rundschau, 1908, 828). Every social authority must interfere when its foundations are attacked. [pg 174] A church that tolerates false doctrines cannot be the teacher that Christ sent to the nations. As a matter of fact the Index has from the first helped in no small degree to keep the Catholic doctrine pure, to induce caution in reading certain authors, and to keep awake in the faithful that aversion against immoral and irreligious writings which is the characteristic of Catholics, and which has rescued the faith for thousands.

To judge the Index fairly one must be convinced that the preservation of true Christian doctrine is its highest aim. Then the zeal of the Catholic Church will be intelligible. Of course, he who thinks that the true weal of mankind consists in the speedy emancipation from all Christian dogma, he who holds the task of science to be the establishment of a new “scientific view of the world,” he who no longer knows faith, will see in the Index nothing but restraint. But, whoever is of a different view will not take offence at the restriction of the freedom of writing and reading when it is productive of higher good. Freedom of science cannot be unrestricted, especially in regard to teaching; the welfare of humanity must be considered. Moreover, the Index concerns almost exclusively theology and some branches of philosophy, the rest of the profane sciences but little or not at all; the scientific works prohibited, however, are not removed from scientific perusal: only permission is necessary, and this is granted without difficulty and without cost.

It is true, an error on the part of the Church authorities is not impossible. We know of such a case, putting on the Index the writings of Copernicus, in 1616. But just the circumstance that history knows of but one such case of importance is a clear testimony to the Holy Ghost's direction of the teaching office even when it is rendering non-infallible decisions. Besides, the damage that might result from a few mistakes would not be so great as the damage resulting if everything were allowed to be written and read.

The Catholic scientist who appreciates the supernatural mission of his Church will yield to her guidance in humble confidence, he will practise this submission to the Church by requesting permission for reading forbidden books, and by this spirit he will obtain God's blessing on his work.

[pg 175]

In doing so he may recall to mind the edifying words of St. Francis of Sales, in the preface to his treatise on the errors of the Lutherans and Calvinists, where he gives the assurance of having conscientiously asked for and received permission to read their writings. “We fervently request our Catholic readers,” writes the Saint, “not to let an evil suspicion against us arise, as if we had read the forbidden books in spite of the prohibition of holy Church. We are able to assure them in all truth of having done nothing forbidden to a good Christian, and of having taken every precaution due in a matter of so vast importance, so as not to incur in any way the very just censures of the Church, nor in any manner to violate the profound reverence we owe to her.” The permission granted him, dated July 16, 1608, is still extant; likewise one asked by St. Charles Borromeo.

The Catholic scientist also will readily ask the ecclesiastical Imprimatur for certain of his works. If a careful author before publishing a work submits the proofs to a friend of his profession, taking his comment for a guide, why should we deem it intellectual bondage if the Catholic scientist, in matters of faith and morals, submits his work to the formal approval of his Church, which to him is a higher authority than any other? and does this willingly, as in consistency with his Catholic conviction?5

Via stulti recta in oculis ejus, qui autem sapiens est audit consilia, says the Wise Man. It is characteristic of the fool to be wise in his own eyes, and stubbornly to cling to his own judgment; but the prudent man seeks advice, and suffers his attention to be called to his mistakes.

The believing scientist, too, will submit to correction; should the rare case fall to his lot to have the Church condemn his work, he will know how to be generously obedient. Splendid examples are blazing the way for him. “Were we to draw up a list of the scientists, who, in a similar critical position as FÉnelon, [pg 176] found strength in the virtue of obedience, and on the other hand a list of all those whose subjective scientific views did not allow them to submit, then we should perceive at a glance that their proud persistence in their own opinion has been injurious to true wisdom in the same degree as humble submission proved a benefit to science” (Hilgers, 412). Finally, he who is convinced that the Christian faith is the greatest heritance of truth from the past, which must be preserved in him, he will take no offence if the Church is not impressed even by names like Kant, Spinoza, Schopenhauer, Strauss, men much featured as the captains of modern science and philosophy. In the eyes of the Church nothing is genuine and true science that is contrary to the testimony of God, and errors are errors even then when their perpetrator is receiving cheers and applause. Just as the state prohibits the physician from designedly assisting any one to commit suicide, even though the physician be a noted scientist, just so the Church opposes any one who assaults God's truth, be he journalist or philosopher.

Frequently the great number of forbidden books mentioned by the Index is pointed out. The Index of 1900 contains about 5,000 titles belonging to the last three centuries; of these about 1,300 belong to the nineteenth century. Quite a small number, considering the immense literature of the world. Yet it will look even smaller when compared, for instance, with the censure of books by the Prussian state.

In the year 1845 there appeared the following catalogue: “Index librorum prohibitorum, Catalogue of the books forbidden in Germany during 1844-1845, first volume.” The second volume was issued in 1846. The list is not complete: it does not contain, for instance, the names of prohibited newspapers and periodicals. Yet it contains 437 writings, forbidden by 570 decrees, i.e., two or three times as many as the entire number of German books of the nineteenth century enumerated by name in the Roman Index. The “Historisch-Politischen Blaetter”of 1840 contain an article beginning thus: “Veritas odium parit.In Prussia there are now prohibited nearly all Catholic journals and periodicals, and in order to begin the matter ab ovo they have grasped a welcome opportunity to throw interdicts at wholesale against works not yet published, or to render their circulation difficult to a degree amounting to prohibition.”

How the Prussian censorship proceeded in those days may be illustrated by another example. “At the time of the Vatican Council a publisher, Joseph Bachem, came to Dr. Westhoff, rector of the Seminary of Cologne, a man of venerable years, and told him of his misgivings about the dogma of the infallibility. In his youth he had been taught the maxim that that is Catholic which has been taught always, everywhere, [pg 177]and by everybody; yet he had until recently never found the doctrine of Papal Infallibility taught, neither in schools nor in text-books. Then the reverend old rector took the visitor by the hand and led him into the library of the seminary, where he showed him not less than sixteen catechisms that had been in use in the Archdiocese of Cologne during the eighteenth century, and which stated without exception, clearly and convincingly, the doctrine of Papal Infallibility in matters of faith and morals. The publisher in utter astonishment then asked how it was that this doctrine was not taught in later editions. Dr. Westhoff referred him to the Prussian censure, enforced until 1848, which had expunged this doctrine from all Catholic catechisms. From that moment Bachem no longer wavered in his opinions” (Koelnische Volkszeitung, September 7, 1893).

One may also remember Bismarck's press-campaign during the Kulturkampf. Professor Friedberg, Prussian court canonist, instigated this campaign, and in many ways devised the plan of attack. This much-praised liberalism—how tyrannically it proceeded against the Catholic press! The Frankfurter Zeitung in those days took a census of convictions due to the press law. According to the census, which “does not by far claim to be complete,” there were of newspaper editors sentenced in 1875—21 in January, 35 in February, 29 in March, 24 in April; in four months 137 newspaper writers were either fined or sent to jail. During the same period 30 newspapers were confiscated (Staatslexikon, IV, 550). This is not all. “We could mention at least three instances,” says P. Majunke in his History of the Kulturkampf, “where agents of the Berlin secret police have succeeded in obtaining a position on the editorial staff of Catholic papers, staying for a year or more. Besides serving as spies these fellows had to perform the task of agents provocateurs, viz., to incite the editors of Catholic papers to extreme utterances, similar to the denunciations suggested to correspondents of foreign Catholic organs for their papers.” This happened in a civilized state, despite its constitutional freedom of the press, by order of the same liberalism which always pretends to be full of righteous indignation when the Church prohibits books and puts them on the Index.

Towards the end of the last century, again with the aid of liberalism, laws against the socialists were drawn up. After they had been passed war was waged against socialistic literature. In the year 1886 there appeared a real Index Librorum Prohibitorum, its title read, “Social Democratic publications and societies prohibited by the imperial law against the dangerous designs of Social Democracy,” which law had then been in force eight years. A supplementary list was published two years later, in 1888. Hilgers makes this comment on it: “How many additional pamphlets have been condemned in the time from March 28, 1888, to September 30, 1890, we cannot state.” According to the foregoing official statement the average is 130 a year. Hence we assume that the printed matter prohibited during the twelve years that the law was in force amounted to between 15,000 and 16,000. This number of social democratic pamphlets forbidden within twelve years exceeds by far the number of all books prohibited by the Roman Index in the course [pg 178]of the entire nineteenth century—books that are the products of all countries in the world and dealing with all branches; the number of these German prohibitions is ten times that of Roman prohibitions. Indeed, in the course of a year and a half the new German Empire prohibited more writings of Germans than Rome had prohibited during the entire past century. We may mention here Goethe. In the atheism dispute, at the end of the eighteenth century, decision was rendered upon Goethe's advice against the philosopher Fichte; Fichte was discharged in spite of petitions and mediations in his favour. The liberal Grand Duke Karl August of Saxony Weimar granted in 1816, after the French conqueror had been overthrown, freedom of the press. Professor Oken of Jena availed himself of this privilege, and printed in his “Isis” contributions complaining about the government. Goethe had to advise what should be done against it. He thought that the paper should have been suppressed by the police at its very first announcement; “the measure neglected at the beginning is to be taken immediately and the paper is to be prohibited. By prohibiting the ‘Isis’ the trouble will be stopped at once” (Briefwechsel des Grossh. Karl August v. Sax.-Weimar-Eisenachmit Goethe, II, 1863, 90). And this was done, in spite of the freedom granted the press.

Frederick II. is called the Royal Free-thinker; and yet the general introduction of the book censure into Prussia occurred precisely during his reign. The first general censure edict was issued in 1749 and remained in force till the death of the king. All books, even those printed in foreign tongues, were subject to the censure. Even all episcopal and Papal proclamations were subjected to the royal censure. That the leaders in the Reformation and their successors were not prevented by their avowal of the principle of free research from exercising rigorous, often tyrannical, censure, not only against the Catholics but also against their fellow reformers, is well known.

M. Lehmann writes in the Preuss. Jahrb. 1902: “It claims to be infallible, this Papal Church, it wants to be to the faithful everything, in science and even in nationality. It offends every nation. The Index in the shape given it in 1900 by the present Pope proscribes the ‘Oeuvres du Philosophe de Sanssouci,’ Kant's ‘Critique of Pure Reason,’ Ranke's ‘History of the Popes,’ the greatest German king, the greatest German philosopher, and the greatest German historian” (1902, no. 8).

As to Frederick II., his own works appeared only after his death in 1788, and even then only in part; later on there were other editions. None of these is put on the Index. On this list we find since 1760 the “Oeuvres du Philosophe de Sanssouci.” Under this title appeared at first three volumes, in but a few copies, intended for the most intimate friends of the king. The first volume he soon withdrew and had it burned of his own accord; it contained the “Palladion” an imitation of Voltaire's “Pucelle,” a salacious work throughout. In 1762 a new edition was issued. It also contains a philosophical treatise denying the immortality of the soul; this treatise was also published separately and specially prohibited in 1767. A third work put on the Index is a spurious attack on the Popes published by order of King Frederick II., with a preface by him. Its author is said to have been the French [pg 179]abbÉ Jean Martin De Prades, reader to the king. These are the indicted works of Frederick II., all written in French and in substance French Voltairianism. Thus came the greatest German king on the Index!

Ranke's “Roemische Paepste” is on the Index, because the book belittles the constitutions and doctrines of the Catholic Church: not because of the true things the author says about Popes. Von Pastor's “History of the Popes” is not on the Index, notwithstanding the bitter truths he writes about Popes Alexander VI. and Leo X.

He who knows even the fundamental ideas of Kant's “Kritik der reinen Vernunft” will see that not only the Catholic Church, but every Christian denomination, might forfeit its existence if it showed itself indifferent towards it. Heresies are especially dangerous to the uneducated when they bear the names of authors of scientific repute. But the Church willingly grants the permission to read them when there is reason for it. Moreover, it was not Rome alone that took steps against Kant. This was done by the Prussian king Frederick II. also. One may recall his cabinet order, under minister Woellner, against Kant's “Religion innerhalb der Grenzen der blossen Vernunft.” Similarly the works of Spinoza were proceeded against, whereas his indictment by Rome now calls forth protest because he has since been assigned a prominent place among philosophers. Freudenthal registers a list of 500 sharp prohibitions issued against Spinoza's works during the years 1556-1580: they were condemned by the states of Holland, by the court, by synods and magistrates. Those judgments were passed during a period when the competent authorities had views different from those of to-day; when the state deemed it its duty to oppose the undermining of Christianity. The state's judgment has changed in many ways, Rome's judgment has remained the same. But the works of Kant and Spinoza likewise have remained the same, and so is Christianity, against which they occupy an irreconcilable position, still the same.

“In the moral world nothing can support that cannot also resist” is a truthful saying of Treitschke: it is also the principle of the Catholic Church. Without ever surrendering to the unchristian tendency of a time, she opposes error with unsubdued courage. If this be intolerance, it is not intolerance towards erring men but towards their errors, it is the intolerance that the gardener shows in uprooting harmful weeds, it is the intolerance of the physician towards disease. Obedience to the Index makes high moral demands upon the Catholic. But it has been characteristic of the Christian religion and of its faithful children never to shrink before any moral action where it appeared demanded. And if the preservation of moral purity exacts conscientious discipline, this is also true of the preservation of the pure faith, especially at a time when a neo-paganism in [pg 180] league with an uncontrolled mania for reading is threatening in many forms.

Galileo Galilei—but few names have achieved equal fame. Men like Alexander and CÆsar, like Homer and Dante, have scarcely succeeded in writing their names with a sharper pencil on the tablet of history than the astronomer of Pisa. His grand discoveries in natural science have done little to crown his temples with the wreath of immortality—it was the fate of his life that did it. And one may add: if this fate had been caused by the French government, or by a Protestant General Assembly, he would never have obtained his position in history; but since this lot came to him by the human limitation of a Roman Church authority, his name is not only entered on the calendar of the anti-Roman journalist, it also stands surrounded with the halo of a Martyr in the esteem of serious scientists, who see in Galileo and in the consequent condemnation of the Copernican system the proof that dogma and science cannot agree, that the Catholic Church assumes a hostile attitude toward science. Whenever this theme is mentioned, Galileo's ghost is paraded. For this reason we cannot pass by this fact of history. To a son of the Church they are unpleasant recollections, but this shall not keep us from looking history firmly in the eye.

There are some other charges brought forth from history, but the Galileo case overshadows them all. We shall touch upon them but briefly, and then return to Galileo.

Attention is called to the Church's condemnation of the doctrine of Antipodes. The Priest Vigilius was accused in Rome, in 747, of having taught that there exists another world under the earth, and other people also, or another sun and moon (quod alius mundus et alii homines sub terra sint seu sol et luna). Such was his doctrine as stated by Pope Zacharias in his reply to Boniface, the Apostle of Germany, in which he said that he had cited Vigilius to Rome in order that his doctrine be thoroughly investigated: if it should turn out that this had [pg 181] really been taught by him, he would be condemned. Further particulars of his teaching are unknown, because it is mentioned only in the above passage. The assertion ascribed to him is that there is another world besides this one, with other inhabitants and with another sun and moon—an assertion scientifically absurd and dogmatically inadmissible, as this might call in question the common descent of mankind from one pair of parents. The anxiety and rebuke of the Pope is directed solely against the latter point. The condemnation of Vigilius has never taken place, for he remained in his office, won great respect, was elevated to the bishopric of Salzburg, and later canonized by Gregory IX. Had a condemnation of his particular doctrine taken place, this would not have involved the condemnation of the antipodean theory, in the sense that the side of the globe opposite to us is also inhabited by human beings, a proposition which does not conflict with any doctrine of faith. The doctrine described above has another tendency. The entire case is hidden in obscurity (Hefele, Conc. Gesch., 2d ed., III, 557 seq.).

Furthermore, it has been said that at the time when the universities were in close union with the Church, medical science could not advance because the Church had prohibited human anatomy (Prof. J. H. van't Hoff, Neue Freie Presse, December 29, 1907). In amplification it was said: “Boniface VIII. had forbidden every anatomical dissection of a body” (O. Zoeckler, Theologie und Naturwissenschaft, 1877, I, 342). What is true of this assertion?

In the first place, Boniface VIII. did not forbid anatomy. He merely prohibited in 1299 and 1300 the hideous custom then prevailing regarding the bodies of noblemen who had died away from home: they were disembowelled, dissected, and boiled, for the purpose of removing the flesh from the bones so that the latter could be transported the more easily. This process had nothing to do with anatomy. The wish to possess the bones of the dead did not seem to the Pope a sufficient reason for treating the human body in such a way (Cfr. Michael, Gesch. des deutschen Volkes III, 1903, 433). Nor does history know of any other prohibition of anatomy by the Church. It tells us, however, that Frederick II. in his excellent rules for the benefit of his Sicilian kingdom in the regulation of medical science among other things emphasizes the study of surgery: he ordered that no one be allowed to practise surgery who [pg 182]could not show by attestation of his professors that he had studied surgery for at least one year, especially that he had learned at school how to dissect bodies; a physician must be perfect in anatomy, else he may not undertake operations (Michael, l. c. 430). This was done and practised under the eyes of the Church. The accusers also seem ignorant of the fact that bodies of those executed were given to universities for dissection. In the year 1336 the medical students of Montpellier, the famous medical school under the immediate direction of the Church (see above, page 154) were granted the privilege of obtaining once a year an executed criminal's body for dissection. The same privilege was extended to the medical students of Lerida by King Juan I. on June 3, 1391, who decreed that the delinquent should be drowned pro speriencia seu anatomia fienda (Denifle, Die Universitaeten des Mittelalters, I, 1885, 507).

The story is also circulated that the fourth Lateran Council in 1215 prohibited monks from studying natural sciences and medicine (Deutschoester. Lehrerzeitung 15th Dec., 1909). It will suffice to quote this particular decree of the Lateran Council: “No clergyman is allowed to pronounce capital sentence, nor to execute it, nor to be present at its execution. No clergyman is allowed to draw up a document concerning a death sentence: at the courts this should be done by laymen. No clergyman is allowed to assume command of Rotarians (freebooters), of archers or any others who shed human blood; no subdeacon, deacon, or priest is allowed to practise that part of surgery by which cutting and burning is done, nor must any one pronounce a benediction at an ordeal” (Hefele, Koncil. Gesch., 2d ed., V, 1887, 887). This will thoroughly dispose of that charge.

Just as briefly may we settle the story of Columbus having been excommunicated because of his intention to discover new lands. It is said that the “Spanish clergy denounced his plans as against the faith, and that the Council of Salamanca excommunicated him” (W. Draper, ibid. 163). This is a fairy tale. The truth is, that King Ferdinandand Queen Isabella referred the plans of the bold Genoese to a council of scientists and ecclesiastical dignitaries, which was held in the Dominican Monastery of Salamanca, Columbus being present. There never was a Council of Salamanca. Weiss writes in his “History of the World”: “Much has been surmised concerning the objections and their refutation. It is only certain that the majority rejected the plan as impossible of execution, and that Columbus won over a minority of them, especially the priests, among whom the learned Dominican Dezadeserves mention” (Weltgesch. VII, 187). Denthofen, in his biography of Columbus, says: “The Dominican Fathers supported him during the long time the conference lasted, and even defrayed the expenses of his journey. Father Diego de Deza, chief professor of theology, was convinced by the reasons of Columbus, and in turn convinced the more learned of his confrÈres. The majority, however, thought the idea but a phantom, while others deemed it impracticable. The conference adjourned without coming to any definite decision” (Christof Columbus, Eine biographische Skizze ..., 1878, 21). Columbus found his warmest friend in the learned Father Juan Perez, Guardian of the [pg 183]Franciscan Monastery of St. Maria de la Rabida. Within the quiet walls of this cloister Columbus' plans were disclosed for the first time in Spain, and admired and resolved upon. Perez spoke untiringly to Isabella in favour of the plan, and even aided Columbus in gathering men for his crew. This is the fact about the anathema the Church is paid to have pronounced on Columbus.

But let us return to Galileo.6

Galileo Galilei, the great Italian physicist, was born in 1564, at Pisa. At first he was professor in his native town, then at Padua, where he taught the doctrine of Ptolemy, although at that time there was no obstacle to accepting the Copernican system. In 1611 he became mathematician at the court of Cosimo II. at Florence. His talents and happy discoveries soon won fame. In general he was more of a physicist than an astronomer; his astronomical discoveries were, almost without exception, of a kind that did not presuppose a thorough astronomical training. As is known, he was not the original inventor of the telescope, though with its aid he achieved some of the most important of his discoveries; for instance, that of the satellites of Jupiter. The telescope was invented in Holland.

When he went to Rome, in 1611, he was received with great honour. In one of his letters from there he wrote: “I have received marked favours from many Cardinals and prelates here, and from several princes. They wanted to hear of my inventions, and were all well pleased.” The Jesuits gave a special reception in his honour at the Roman College. This shows in what esteem science was then held at Rome. But [pg 184] five years later Galileo returned to the Eternal City under quite different circumstances. What had happened? In 1612 he had issued a treatise on “The History and Explanation of the Sun-spots,” in which he declared unreservedly for the Copernican system. And this caused the change. True, Copernicus himself was a Catholic Priest, and had dedicated his principal work to Pope Paul III. But it was generally supposed that he had brought forward the doctrine only as an hypothesis, only to illustrate and facilitate calculations, not claiming for it absolute certainty. This assumption was based on the preface of the first edition of his book, containing assurance to that effect. That preface, however, was not the work of Copernicus, but had been smuggled into the book by the Protestant publisher Osiander, without the author's knowledge, because Osiander feared his own church authorities.

Galileo spoke in quite another tone. He defended the doctrine as true. He soon aroused opposition. Men standing for the geocentric theory were opposed by others, siding with Galileo for the solar system, such as the learned Benedictine, Castelli. Galileo's great bitterness and sarcasm in dealing with his opponents aggravated the quarrel with the “partisans of Aristotle.” Extreme irritability and love of praise were prominent traits of Galileo's character.

It was the custom of that time to bring Scripture into controversies about nature. This was done also in Galileo's case. Passages were quoted against him, referring to the “rising and setting sun,” to the “earth that never moves,” of Joshua's “commanding the sun to stand still.” This prompted Galileo to cross over into the field of theology himself. In a letter to Castelli in 1613 he says: “Holy Writ can never lie nor err; on the contrary, its sayings are absolute and incontestable truth; but its interpreters are liable to err in various ways, and it is a fatal and very common mistake to stop always at the literal sense” (Kepler, even prior to Galileo, had interpreted the respective passages of the Scriptures properly and with surprising skill; especially in his introduction to his “Astronomia nova.” Cfr. Anschuetz, Johannes Kepler als Exeget. Zeitschrift fÜr katholische Theologie, XI, 1887, 1-24).

[pg 185]

Correct as these arguments were, it was nevertheless imprudent for the court mathematician to trespass upon grounds regarded by theologians as their own, instead of furnishing natural scientific proofs. Thus the matter was brought to Rome before the Congregation of the Inquisition. Galileo, worrying about his case, went voluntarily to Rome, in 1615. He failed to assuage the opposition against his theory, though he says he was received favourably by the princes of the Church. Moreover, heedless of the admonition of his friends, he pursued the matter with indiscreet zeal, with vehemence and impetuosity, practically provoking a decision. Cardinal Bellarmin opposed the haste with which the matter was being pressed; the Jesuit Grienberger thought that Galileo should first set forth his proofs, and then speak about the Scriptures. Had scientific proofs been brought forth, theological difficulties would have been easily cleared away; but scientific proof was lacking, and what there perhaps was of it, Galileo failed to offer.

The right of the Congregation to take up the matter can hardly be denied, for although the matter was one of natural sciences, yet, by introducing theology and Scripture, it had assumed the character of theology and exegesis. Galileo personally was dealt with very leniently. During the discussions of 1616 he was never cited before the bar of the Inquisition, nor was his exterior freedom in any way restricted. Only one thing was done: he was cautioned by Cardinal Bellarmin, “by order of the Holy Congregation,” not to adhere to, nor teach any longer, the Copernican theory. The documents of the case say that “Galileo submitted to this order and promised to obey.” The Congregation of the Index prohibited, March 5, 1616, all books defending the Copernican theory, declaring the doctrine to be against Holy Scripture. Even the work of Copernicus was prohibited donec corrigatur—until it be corrected. A decision of the year 1620 declared which passages should be corrected. They are those in which the author speaks of his theory not as an hypothesis but as of an established truth: non ex hypothesi, sed asserando. The Protestant Kepler, upon hearing this, wrote: “By their imprudent acts some have caused the work of Copernicus to be condemned, after it had [pg 186] been left unmolested for nearly eighty years; and the prohibition will last at least till the corrections are made. I have been assured, however, by competent authority, both ecclesiastical and civil, that the decree was not intended to put any hindrance in the way of astronomical research” (A. Mueller, J. Kepler, 1903, 105). The reproach of imprudence was intended for Galileo.

To teach the doctrine as an hypothesis was permitted even to Galileo, and this left the way clear for the development of the hypothesis, because whatever showed the usefulness of the hypothesis was sure to increase its value as a truth, but Galileo would not keep within these limits. Instead of showing in a Christian spirit a submission to Providence, which even an erring authority may demand, he openly violated his promise and disobeyed the command he had received. In the spring of 1632 there appeared at Florence his “Dialogue on the two most important systems of the world.” It contained an open, though by no means victorious, defence of the Copernican system—seeking to hide under a confidence-inspiring mask. It contained many passages of caustic sarcasm, with the evident intention of arousing public opinion against the attitude of the Roman Congregations. It was a flagrant violation of the command given him personally.

The Pope under whom the proceedings against Galileo took place was Urban VIII., who, when a Cardinal, had followed Galileo's discoveries with enthusiasm, though never partial to the system of Copernicus, and, in accord with the custom of the age, he had written an ode to Galileo.

Cited to Rome, Galileo came only after repeated urging, on February 14, 1633. The story of his having been imprisoned and tortured on this second visit to Rome is false. Galileo wrote on April 16 of that year: “I live in an apartment of three rooms, belonging to the Fiscal of the Inquisition, and am free to move in many rooms. My health is good.” This stay in the apartment belonging to the Inquisition lasted but twenty-two days; after that Galileo was allowed to live in the palace of the Ambassador of Tuscany. During his whole life Galileo was never even for an hour in a real prison.

Galileo's demeanour before the Inquisition bespeaks little [pg 187] truthfulness and manliness. It makes a painful impression. Many other events in his life cast dark shades of insincerity upon his character, especially his relations with Kepler. While in his dialogue he openly defended the truth of the Copernican system, while he had written, time and again, that the theory had been demonstrated by “forceful, convincing arguments,” whereas nothing but insignificant reasons could be pleaded for the contrary, he now assumes the attitude before the Inquisition of denying that he had championed that theory, at least not consciously; that he had never taught that doctrine otherwise than hypothetically. And this he asserts although he had taken the oath to say nothing but the truth. We even hear him declare that he considers the doctrine to be false, and that he was ready to refute it at once.

The judges were convinced of the untruthfulness of the defendant. In those times, in order to obtain further confessions, especially when the accused had been previously convicted of guilt, torture was resorted to. This regrettable practice was then in vogue at every European court; the Inquisition, too, had adopted it, but strict rules were laid down to guard against abuses. Very old persons were exempt from the rack; they were only threatened with it. This happened also in Galileo's case, he was never actually put on the rack. Moreover, one can safely presume that this threat did not terrify him much. His reading must have enlightened him on this point, and even without it he must have known the practice by his active intercourse with those theologians of the Curia who were friendly to him. In fact, he clung obstinately to his denial, to the very end of the hearing, although it must be surmised that he would not have aggravated his case by confession. The commissioner of Inquisition, Macolano, at the first stages of the trial had expressed his hope that in this event “it would be possible to show indulgence to the guilty, and whatever the result might be, he would realize the benefit received, apart from all other consequences to be expected from a desired mutual satisfaction” (Letter to Cardinal Fr. Barberini, April 28, 1633).

On June 22 the final verdict was rendered: it told the defendant: “Thou art convicted by the Holy Congregation [pg 188] of being suspected of heresy, to wit, to have held for true, and believed in, a false theory, contrary to Holy Writ—which makes the sun the centre of the orbit of the earth, without moving from east to west, and which lets the earth, on the other hand, move outside the centre of the world, and to have believed that an opinion may be considered probable and be defended, though it had been expressly declared to be contrary to the Scripture.” Galileo was declared suspect of heresy, because, in the opinion of the judges, he had assumed that a doctrine in contradiction to the Scriptures might be defended. Galileo retracted by oath. That upon retraction he arose and exclaimed, stamping with his foot, “Pur si muove!” (“and yet it does move!”) is a fable. He was sentenced to be jailed in the Holy Office. But already the next day he was allowed to go to the palace of the Grand Duke of Tuscany and to consider that palace his prison. Soon after he departed for Siena, “in the best of health,” according to the report of the Tuscan ambassador, Niccolini, and there took up his abode with his friend the Archbishop Piccolomini. After a lapse of five months he was allowed to return to his villa at Arcetri, near Florence, where he remained, with the exception of occasional visits to Florence, till his death. Two of his daughters were nuns in the nearby cloister of S. Matteo. His literary activity was not suppressed by the surveillance of the Inquisition. His lively and fertile mind, cut off from polemics, turned to the completion of his researches in other directions. His lively intercourse with friends and disciples, of whom many belonged to various Orders, proved beneficial to him. In the year 1638 he published his “Dialogue on the New Sciences,” which he rightly pronounced to be his best effort, and by which he became the founder of dynamics. His productiveness continued until he became blind.

We may say without fear of contradiction that, apart from their theoretical error, the Roman Congregations had shown the greatest indulgence towards one guilty of having broken his pledge, and doubtless they would have been still more lenient had Galileo, confirmed by flattering friends in his anger at the supposed intrigues of his enemies, not himself made this [pg 189] impossible; if he had not continued to propagate secretly his views, verbally and in writing, which was bound to be discovered. Considering all this, Rome's proceeding in the case appears to be quite indulgent. Here the position was taken that the spread of the doctrine would mean an imminent danger to the purity of the faith. The unfortunate scientist died on January 8, 1642, at the age of seventy-eight years, fortified by the holy Sacraments. Urban VIII. sent him his blessing. Undoubtedly Galileo had nothing in common with the champions of that unbelieving freedom of science, which now tries to lift him upon its shield; notwithstanding his later bitterness he remained to his death steadfast in his Catholic faith.

Comments on the Galileo Case.

The above is a brief history of Galileo's conviction, and of the occurrences leading to it. An event regrettable to all, a stumbling-block for not a few; for others a welcome event to make the Church appear in the light of an enemy of science. Let us now give more particulars of the merits of the case.

We have before us two decisions of Roman Tribunals: the Index decree of 1616, announcing the rejection of the Copernican doctrine and prohibiting books maintaining it, and the conviction of Galileo in 1633 by the Congregation of the Inquisition. It is freely admitted that these Roman Tribunals committed an error in advocating an interpretation of the Bible which was false in itself, and is to-day recognized as false.

Well, does this confute the infallibility of the Church? It does not. The matter in point is merely an error of the Congregations, of bodies of Cardinals, who were responsible for the transactions and decisions. The Congregations, however, are not infallible organs. There is no Bull or Papal decree designating the Copernican doctrine as false, much less is there extant a decision ex cathedra. Neither in 1616 nor in 1633, nor at any other time, has the Holy See ever manifested its intention of declaring, by a peremptory, dogmatic decision, the new system to be against Scripture.

[pg 190]

It was thus the general understanding of that age that in the present case there was no irrevocable dogmatic decision given. For instance, the Jesuit Riccioli, wrote not long after the decision: “Inasmuch as no dogmatic decision was rendered in this case, neither on the part of the Pope nor on the part of a Council ruled by the Pope and acknowledged by him, it is not made, by virtue of that decree of the Congregation, a doctrine of faith that the sun is moving and the earth standing still, but at most it is a doctrine for those who by reason of Holy Writ seem to be morally certain that God has so revealed it. Yet every Catholic is bound by virtue of obedience to conform to the decree of the Congregation, or at least not to teach what is directly opposed to it” (Almagestum novum, 1651, 162). Descartes, Gassendi, and others of that time expressed themselves similarly (Grisar, 165, seq.). There is an interesting letter of the Protestant philosopher Leibnitz, written to the Landgrave Ernest of Hessia, 1688, begging him to work for the repeal of the condemnation of the Copernican theory, because of the growing verification of this theory: “If the Congregation would change its censure, or mitigate it, as one issued hastily at a time when the proofs for the correctness of the Copernican theory were not yet clear enough, this step could not detract from the authority of the Congregation, much less of the Church, because the Pope had no part in it. There is no judicial authority which has not at times reformed its own decisions.”

But have we here not at least a wilful attack on science? or a manifestation of the Congregation's narrow-mindedness and ignorance, which are bound to deprive it of all respect and confidence of sober-minded people?

This harsh judgment overlooks two points. In the first place, the error of the judges was quite pardonable. Could the liberal critics of to-day, who so harshly denounce the Cardinals of the Congregation, be suddenly changed into ecclesiastical prelates, and transferred back to the years of 1616-1633, and placed in the chairs of the tribunal which had to decide those delicate questions, it may be feared that, did they carry into the decision but a part of the animosity they now show, they would disgrace themselves and compromise the Church even more than the judges of Galileo did. It is true that were we to judge the handling of the question by the knowledge of to-day, we might be astonished at the narrow-mindedness of the judges, trying to uphold their untenable views against the established results of scientific research. But it would be altogether unhistorical to look at the matter in that way. When [pg 191] the Copernican theory entered upon the battlefield, it was by no means certain and demonstrated.

The real arguments for the rotation of the earth were not then known. There were no direct proofs for the progressive revolution of the earth around the sun. Galileo advanced three main arguments for his theory. First, he advanced the argument from the phenomenon of the tides, which, he said, could not be accounted for but by the rotation of the earth: an argument rejected as futile even at that time. Next he argued from certain observations of the spots on the sun: another worthless argument, which others, like Scheiner, looked upon as proof of the older theory. The third argument was that the new theory simplified the explanation of certain celestial phenomena; but the scope of this argument, valid though it was in the abstract, could not be expressed or grasped at the time, especially since the corrections of Tycho de Brahe had removed the greatest objections to the Ptolemaic system. The Copernican theory could not be considered certain till the end of the seventeenth century, after Newton's work on gravitation.

Then there were difficulties, the greatest of which was probably the old idea of inertia, which at that time meant only that all bodies tend to a state of rest; hence it seemed impossible that the earth could ceaselessly execute two movements at the same time, around the sun and around its own axis. This notion of inertia had not been doubted in 1616; even Kepler adhered to it. Later on Galileo came very near to the new idea of inertia: that bodies tended to retain their state of repose or motion. But this new notion, like everything else new, gained ground but slowly. Then it was only with great difficulty that he could dispose of the objection that were the earth to speed through space, as the new theory claimed, the atmosphere would take a stormlike motion. Lastly, the philosophical objection had to be met: the sun and other celestial bodies, as far as we can know by observation, are moving; if they do not move, then we must admit that we can know nothing by observation.

Thus the new doctrine was not at all proven at that time, as could be easily shown by its opponents; although it cannot be denied that they did not always enter into the discussion with impartiality. The astronomer, Secchi, testifies that “none of the real arguments for the rotary motion of the earth was known at Galileo's time, also direct proofs for the progressive movement of the earth around the sun were lacking at that time” (Grisar, 30). Another famous astronomer, Schiaparelli, writes: “In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the Ptolemaic as well as the Copernican system could serve for the description of phenomena; geometrically they were equivalent to each other and to Tycho's eclectic system” (Schiaparelli, Die VorlÄufer des Copernicus im Altertum (German, 1876), 86).

Hence no direct evidence could be pleaded against the decision of the Congregation, not even Galileo had that evidence. At any rate no judge who observed his demeanour at the trial could have suspected Galileo of coming in conflict with his conscience by swearing off the theory.

[pg 192]

For this reason it would be wrong to call Galileo a martyr for science, because he did not suffer any martyrdom. He has seen neither rack nor prison. But he was not a martyr chiefly for the reason that he could not have had any scientific conviction, apart from the fact that he did not claim any such conviction, even denied it expressly.

No wonder, then, that the heliocentric system had considerable opponents at that time; no wonder the opposite view was even the prevalent one. A. Tanner wrote in 1626: “Ita habet communis ac certa omnium theologorum ac philosophorum naturalium sentia” (Theol. Schol. I, disp. 6, q. 4., dub. 3). Had valid argument been brought forth there never would have been a Galileo case. In this respect a passage from a letter of Bellarmin deserves attention: “If it could be really demonstrated that the sun be in the centre of the world ... then we would have to proceed quite cautiously in explaining the apparently opposite passages in the Scriptures, we would rather have to say that we do not understand them, than to say of things demonstrated that they are false” (to Foscarini, April 12, 1615). The Cardinals of that time could not be expected to anticipate the knowledge of a later period. They had to consult the judgment of their contemporaneous savants. When seeing the majority of them sharply rejecting the new theory and refuting the arguments of their opponents, it is little wonder that the Cardinals could not overcome their theological scruples.

The scruples arose from the opinion, then prevalent, that the Holy Scripture taught that the earth stood still and the sun moved; that the words of the Scripture must be taken literally till the contrary is demonstrated. The unanimous explanation of the Christian centuries was also cited. As a matter of fact, however, the Christian past had not taught this to be the only true sense of the words, but at that time the words were understood that way, because no one could arrive at any other sense in those days.

Under these circumstances, an error was hardly avoidable, if a decision was required. And a decision seemed to be urgent, and this is the second point we must not overlook, if we wish [pg 193] to judge fairly. It was a time eager for innovations, full of anti-religious ideas. A renaissance, sidling off into false humanism, was combating religious convictions, false notions were invading philosophy; in addition, Protestantism was trying to invade Italy. All this caused suspicion of any innovation apt to endanger the faith; interpretations of the Scriptures deviating from the accustomed sense were particularly distrusted. The Galileo quarrel happened at an inopportune time. Indeed a sudden spread of the Copernican theory might have been accompanied by great religious dangers. Even now, after nearly three hundred years, the leaders of the anti-Christian propaganda are still pointing out that the progress of natural science has proved Holy Scripture to be erroneous, and many are impressed by the argument; many thousands would have been confused in those days by the sudden collapse of old astronomical views that were connected with unclarified religious ideas—dreading that victorious science might shatter all religious traditions. Now, if one is convinced that the damage to religion is to be estimated greater than any other, then one may also have the conviction that it was better for the nations of the new era to have their scientific progress a little delayed, than to have their most sacred possession endangered. Of course considerations of this kind will have no weight with representatives of the naturalistic view of the world. Then it can only be emphasized that a science that has no appreciation of the supernatural character of the Catholic Church cannot be in a position to render a fair judgment on many facts in the history of that Church.

What we have said shows sufficiently that the condemnation of Galileo was not due to any hostility to science.

The idea that the Church's attitude towards Galileo and the Copernican theory was a result of her antipathy to science is entirely in contradiction with the character of that strenuous period. In Catholic countries, especially in Italy, intellectual life was zealously promoted by the Popes and their influence. It was developing and flourishing even in the natural sciences. When reading the correspondence of Galileo one must be surprised to see how popular astronomical, physical, and mathematical studies were in the educated circles of the period. These studies belonged to the curriculum of a general philosophical education, and it was a matter of honour [pg 194]for many ecclesiastical dignitaries to remain philosophers in that sense, notwithstanding their official duties. We recall to mind the scientific discussion carried on with Galileo in Rome in 1611 and 1616, by Cardinals Del Monte, Farnese, Bonzi, Bemerio, Orsini, and Maffeo Baberini, and by clergymen like Agucchi, Dini, and Campioli. Similarly in France we meet with names like Mersenne, Gassendi, and Descartes. And in Italy, after Galileo and at his time, we meet with a long list of eminent naturalists like Toricelli, Cassini, Riccioli, and others. In 1667 Gemiani Montanari could write that in Italy there were continually forming new societies of scientists. The advance in knowledge of truth was made on safe grounds; at Naples, Rome, and elsewhere science was enriched by a great variety of new experiences, inasmuch as the scientists were making progress in the observation and the investigation of nature. Targioni-Tozzetti writes: “Astronomy with us, about the middle of the sixteenth century, was a very diligently cultivated branch of science” (Galileistudien (1882) 338 f.). The Church was by no means hostile to this newly awakened life, not even holding aloof from it; on the contrary, it flourished especially in ecclesiastical circles; a proof that narrow-minded disappreciation of natural science did not prevail, and that there was a different explanation for the Galileo case.

And what of the fact that Copernicus remained on the Index until the nineteenth century? Does it not show a rigid adherence to old, traditional method and opposition to progress? The fact is true: The work of Copernicus, and other Copernican writings, remained on the Index until 1835. But it is also true that a great deal connected with this fact is not generally known or ignored. Let us mention here some of these facts.

To begin with, it must not be forgotten that we owe the new world system, and with it the turning-point in astronomy, first of all to representatives of the Catholic clergy. After the learned Bishop Nicholas Oresme had expressed with fullest certainty the most important point of the Copernican system as early as 1377 (in a manuscript hitherto unknown, discovered a short time ago by Pierre Duhem in the National Library at Paris. Cfr. Liter. Zentralblatt (1909), page 1618), and after the learned Cardinal Nicholaus von Kues (d. 1474) adopted a rotary motion of the earth in his cosmic system, it was Copernicus, a canon of the diocese of Ermland, who became the father of the new theory, in his work “De evolutionibus orbium coelestium.” He published it at the urgent request of Cardinal Nikolaus Schoenberg. But the most zealous promoter of his work was Bishop Tiedemann Giese of Kulm. Enthusiastic over the novel idea, he incessantly urged his friend to publish his work, took care of its publication, and sent a copy to Pope Paul III., who accepted [pg 195]its dedication. Again, it was a prince of the Church, Bishop Martin Kromer, who, in 1851, dedicated a tablet in the cathedral at Frauenberg to “The Great Astronomer and Innovator of Astronomical Science.” All these men knew that Copernicus defended his work not as an hypothesis or as fiction, but as true. Before Copernicusissued his great work, Clement VIII. showed a lively interest in his system and had it explained to him by the learned Johann Widmannstadtin the Vatican Gardens (Pastor, Gesch. der PÄpste, IV, 2 (1907) 550).

The first attack against the new system, as being contrary to Holy Writ, came not from Catholic but from Protestant circles. Among the latter the opposition against Copernicus was being agitated, while peaceful calm reigned among the former. Twelve Popes succeeded Paul III., and not one interfered with this doctrine. Luther, even in Copernicus' time, hurled his anathema against the “Frauenberg Fool,” and six years after the publication of Copernicus' chief work, Melanchthon declared it a sin and a scandal to publish such nonsensical opinions, contrary to the divine testimony of the Scriptures. In fear of his religious community the Protestant publisher Osiander smuggled in the spurious preface already mentioned, “On the hypothesis of this work.” The Protestant Rheticus, a friend and pupil of Copernicus, got into disfavour with Melanchthon and had to discontinue his lectures at Wittenberg. The genial Kepler, finally, was prosecuted by his own congregation, because of his defence of the theory. And when on the Catholic side the Index decree of 1616 was already beginning to be regarded as obsolete, Protestant theology still held to the old view even up to the nineteenth century: a long list of names could be adduced in proof.

Certainly no fair-minded person can see wilful hostility against astronomy in this procedure. Likewise there should not be imputed dishonourable intentions to Catholics, if in the course of history they rendered tribute to human limitation.

But did not the decrees of 1616 and 1633 do great harm to research? Not at all. That this was hardly the case with Galileo himself we have shown above. Soon after we find in Italy a goodly number of distinguished scientists; the Church in no way opposed the newly awakened life, nor even held aloof from it. Galileo himself was honoured in ecclesiastical circles. Soon after Galileo's conviction the Jesuit Grimaldi named a mountain on the moon after him.

Nor was there any considerable harm done to the development of the Copernican theory. Although after Galileo the occasions were not lacking, still no further advocate of his theory was ever up for trial. Nor was any other book on the subject prohibited. Freedom was quietly granted more and more. In the edition [pg 196] of the Index of 1758, the general prohibition of 1616 of Copernican writings was withdrawn; it was an official withdrawal from the old position. But not until 1822 were the special prohibitions repealed, although they had long since lost their binding force. The occasion was given by an accidental occurrence. The Magister S. Palatii of the time intended to deny the Imprimatur to a book on the Copernican theory, on account of the obsolete prohibition. An appeal was made, which brought about the formal repeal of the prohibition. Of course there had been no hurry to revoke a decision once given. But according to the astronomer Lalande's report of his interview with the Cardinal Prefect of the Congregation of the Index, in 1765, the removal from the Index of Galileo's Dialogue had been postponed only on account of extraneous difficulties. Leibnitz, while in Rome, worked for a repeal of the decree. According to EmÉry, there are extant statements of Leibnitz vouching for the fact that he very nearly succeeded (EmÉry, PensÉes de Leibnitz, 1, 275). The name of Copernicus, too, was omitted in the next edition of the Index, which appeared in 1835.

But even while the prohibition was still in force, the works of Galileo and Copernicus were read everywhere. As early as 1619 John Remus wrote from Vienna to Kepler that the Copernican writings may be read by scientific men who had received special permission, and that this was done in all Italy and in Rome itself. Besides, it was allowed at any time to make use of the doctrine as an hypothesis. Thus it advanced continually nearer and nearer to the position of an established truth.

Soon after the publication of the decree, according to the report of Kepler, it was the general conviction in ecclesiastical and civil circles of Austria “that the censure was no obstacle to the freedom of science in the investigation of God's work.” In 1685 we are assured by the Jesuit Kochansky, that any Catholic was free to “look for an irrefutable, mathematical, and physical demonstration of the movement of the earth.” It was also known that the condemnation of the theory had been aided by the supposition that there were no valid arguments in support of the new theory. Hence the Congregation's decree had in the eighteenth century for the most part lost its force. [pg 197] The Jesuit Boscovich, a celebrated physicist and astronomer, wrote in 1755: “In consequence of the extraordinary arguments offered by the consideration of Kepler's laws, astronomers no longer look upon his theory as a mere hypothesis, but as an established truth” (Grisar, 347, 350).

Thus in the light of history the condemnation of the Copernican theory appears quite differently from the picture presented by the superficial accusation that Rome up to the nineteenth century condemned this theory. There is no trace of callousness and oppression, but only submission to legitimate authority, in so far and as long as one deemed himself obliged. It was a science enlightened by Christianity, which, in questions not yet clearly decided, laid down upon the altar of the Giver of all wisdom the tribute of humble submission, for the sake of higher interests.

We shall have to class with St. Augustine the uncertainty of human judgments and tribunals among the “troubles of human life,” and say with him: “It is also a misery that the judge is subject to the necessity of not knowing many things, but to the wise man it is not a fault” (De Civ. Dei, IX, 6). May we therefore infer that the teaching authority is an evil? Were that true, we should have to abolish the authority of the state and of parents, because they also make mistakes. We should have to conclude that there had better be no authority at all on earth. Where men live and rule, mistakes will certainly be made. The physician makes mistakes in his important office, yet patients return to him with confidence. Every pedagogue, every professor, has made mistakes, yet they still command respect. The state government is subject to mistakes, yet none but the anarchist will say that it must therefore be abolished. “That the judge is subject to the necessity of not knowing many things, is a misery, but to the wise man not a fault.”

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