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PREFACE

THE essays brought together in this volume have appeared: one in the Hibbert Journal, five in the Quarterly, and ten in the Edinburgh Review. It is by the courteous permission of the respective proprietors of these journals that they are published, with a few verbal changes, in their present form. The connexion between them is one of a common bearing. It is as associated, directly or indirectly, with the Modernist movement that the persons, events, and ideas dealt with are discussed. The earlier papers were written from the standpoint of a Roman Catholic, desirous, if not very hopeful, of reconciling the Roman Catholic standpoint with acceptance of the methods and results of historical and critical science; the later, from a position of greater freedom. But in all, the writer's aim was to see things as they were; and the difference between the perspective of the earlier and the later essays is slight.

As a movement, Modernism was a product of the InterimsPontifikat of Leo XIII. Under either his predecessor or his successor it would have been impossible. Both were frankly hostile to scholarship and contemptuous of scholars. The relations between Pius X and Duchesne reproduce those between Pius IX and Newman; both were Popes of the Counter-Reformation-in its decay. Leo XIII was of another type. He was a Renaissance Pontiff; himself literary and artistic, he would be the patron of letters and of art. Politically, he was a Guelf. No Pope ever rated the prerogatives and possibilities of his office higher; different as were his methods from theirs, he recalls the Gregories and the Innocents who made Rome for a second

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time the mistress of the world. He recognised the modern mind as a factor of the situation with which he had to deal. His mistake lay in thinking that he could change its direction; he found that he had harnessed the chariot of the Sun. He retraced his steps, but showed a certain consideration towards those who had followed, or gone beyond, him on the dangerous path. The stars in their courses fought against Modernism, and he could not reverse their movement; perhaps he would not have done so if he could. But, while he lived, individual Modernists were treated leniently; he could not sanction, but he would not condemn. His pontificate was of the nature of an interlude. When it ended, the permanent forces at work resumed their normal action; their outcome was Pius X.

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It would be easy to overestimate the personal element in the change of policy which dates from his cession. It is probable that this affected its manner rather than its substance. A Leo XIV would not have broken with France, or organised the systematic delation and espionnage set on foot by the Encyclical 'Pascendi' (1907); neither his methods nor his instruments would have been of the type which commends itself to the present Pope. But the divergence between the Catholic and the Modernist position is fundamental. In every age a moderate school has faced the Papacy with a 'thus far, and no farther'; in every age the protest has been brushed aside by the logic of ideas and of events. The Vatican Council did but crown the work of preceding generations; it drew the conclusion contained in premisses successfully imposed upon, and accepted with practical unanimity by, the Church. This is the Achilles' heel of the Liberal Catholic. We need not apologise for the Reformation; the acceptance of the Reformation standpoint is the first condition of reform. For there is no arguing with a theocracy. There can be no discussion,' an allocution of the present Pope reminds us, 'as to how far the duty of obedience goes; no search for the point where this obligation ceases. There is no boundary fixed to the domain in which the Head can, and ought to, exercise his will. Against his authority that of no others

differing from him can be set, however learned they may be.'1 The French 'Semaines religieuses,' which see in the Pope 'Jesus incarnate afresh,' do but translate the terms of theology into those of devotion. Their language, like that of Herod's courtiers, has the merit of clearness. 'Qui potest capere, capiat': no more need be said.

But the technical strength of this position has been used in such a way as to disguise its moral weakness. The discipline of a Church, it is said, concerns only its members; if Catholics find Catholicism impossible, the remedy is in their own hands. Applied to a sect, such reasoning might pass; in the case of a world-Church it is misleading and even impudent. The affairs of a world-Church concern the world; the interests affected are too various and too farreaching to make it possible to treat them otherwise than as matters of public and general concern. And, when all allowance has been made for the vested interests of its official class, a Church exists for a larger purpose than their maintenance and extension. The vision of a renovated Catholicism that floated before the eyes of Loisy, of Tyrrell, of Fogazzaro, and of others whose names it would be a disservice to them to recount, was one which they had a right to cherish, a dream which it was well to dream. If it was shattered against facts, so much the worse for facts that have ceased to be living. The days of an institution which can no longer adapt itself to its environment are numbered. This is overlooked by those who stop short at the contention that it was impossible for the Church to come to terms with Modernism. It may have been so. But, in this case, the inference is inevitable: the Church is near its end.

A Church, however, may stand for one of two things: its polity, or the men and women who compose it. In the former sense, Rome, it may be, will go the way of Alexandria and Antioch, formerly centres of the religious and civil life of continents-now shadows of a once great name. But the religious future of Latin Christendom-of the 250 million Christians who now look to Rome for guidanceAllocution to the Apostolic Union,' November 18, 1912.

is another matter. For, whatever may be the case with its local and temporary forms, there is no reason to think that Christianity is incapable of adapting itself to the changed and changing life of the world. Its failure, in so far as it has failed, is, it seems, the result of the secondary in religion having been made the primary. Hence, in Rothe's words: Christum freimachen zu helfen von der Kirche, das musz in unseren Tagen eine der Haupt-bestrebungen der Gläubigen sein.' The reproach of sterility brought against this conception of Christianity is due partly to misconception, partly to temporary causes which are disappearing and at no distant date will have disappeared. In the reformed Churches, because of their more elastic structure, the transition from the letter to the spirit is easier than in the unreformed. But the comprehension of both under a common term is demanded; a Christendom which excluded either would be incomplete.

A. F.

ASHBY ST. LEDGERS:

September 1913.