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IV. THE MODERN WORLD
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Dictionary of the History of Ideas | ||
IV. THE MODERN WORLD
1. The Age of the “Wars of Religion.” The principle
of cujus regio ejus religio (religion is
determined by
the ruler) prevailed from 1559, not because the aspi-
ration for a
“universal” Church, a single form of
Christianity,
had been surrendered, but because some-
thing
of a stalemate had been achieved. The various
states now blossomed out as
differing forms of “Chris-
tian
Society”; and it might be the accidents of history
and geography
(rather than any antecedent national
“spirit”) that
led e.g., England and Scotland or the two
halves of the Low Countries to
diverge from one an-
other. It might be the form
of confession then adopted
which, for the future, conditioned the
developing
character and tradition of a country. The process of
nation-making was still continuing, and religious
differentiations still
tended to play a considerable part
in this. With the breakdown of the medieval “univer-
sal” idea, the overall
picture became more disturbing;
Europe had very slowly to find its way to a
new kind
of international order, a new conception of the society
of
states. For the time being, a momentous religious
issue had arisen to
complicate the relations between
governments and to embarrass European
diplomacy.
For nearly a century the world was torn by a succession
of
wars in which religion (however closely it might
be combined with other
factors) was the primary
motor, or the real source of the fanaticism and
bitter
feeling.
But monarchs—though they were greatly elevated
under the system
of cujus regio ejus religio—were
not
always masters of the situation. Mary Queen of Scots
was unable to
prevent Scotland from being Calvinist,
and the rulers of England could not
prevent the Irish
from remaining Roman Catholic. In the northern
provinces of the Low Countries a minority of Calvin-
ists, using sometimes almost gangster methods, cap-
tured the magistracies in the cities and reduced a
majority of Catholics to the status of “second-class”
citizens, during the rebellion against Philip II. By the
end of the
sixteenth century, the humane and scholarly
tradition that was associated
with Erasmus had asserted
itself in this region, and brought distinction to
the
University of Leyden. There emerged the Arminian
movement, which
sought to soften the severities of
predestinarianism amongst the
Calvinists, and this was
supported by a burgher aristocracy whose
culture
acquired a leading position in Europe in the first half
of the
seventeenth century. The movement was re-
sisted, however, by the populace, who were incited
by the
intransigeance of the Calvinist ministers and
supported by the House of
Orange. The defeat of
Arminianism was registered in 1619 at the Synod
of
Dordrecht, which was attended by representatives of
so many foreign
countries that it almost looked like
a Calvinist attempt at a General
Council of the Church.
Because religion was such a momentous matter in
those days, and was
supported by such grim sanctions,
it had the capacity to bring public
opinion to new
importance in the state, and it often increased the
tensions within the body politic. In countries like
England and Bohemia the
resistance of a religious
minority represented virtually the beginning of
modern
political opposition to the reigning monarch. Calvinism
in
particular was no more willing than Catholicism to
be checked by the power
of the king.
This being the general situation, the peculiar pre-
dicament of France was to give this country a signifi-
cant role in the transition to a new order of
things.
Here, the action of the government against heretical
movements
at home had been delayed, partly by one
partly by another who had had a political quarrel with
the pope. When serious attention came to be given
to the problem in 1559, it transpired that the Reformers
had become too strong to be dealt with by any ordinary
police methods. In a way that often happened, an
unhappy social position made sections of the nobility
particularly ready for refractoriness in religion, and
these not only took up the cause of the Calvinists but
endowed it with a military organization. The whole
issue became involved in further disputes concerning
the rights of princes of the blood and the question of
the Regency during a royal minority. On the whole—
and especially in the desperate days of Catherine de'
Medici—the government would try to maintain itself
by holding the balance between the overpowerful
Catholics and the overpowerful Huguenots. For poli-
tique reasons, it was prepared, in a time of great dan-
ger, to adopt a policy of toleration which was anoma-
lous for a Catholic ruler, and which in any case nobody
would have regarded as the ideal.
In these circumstances, not only did repeated civil
wars occur, as the one
side and the other attempted
to capture the government, but the two
religious
parties would look abroad for allies, the ardent Catho-
lics working with Philip II of Spain. At
a time when
France needed to safeguard herself against the pre-
dominance of Habsburg Spain, those who
were gov-
erned principally by love of their
country might be
inclined to a politique foreign
policy too—an alliance
with Dutch and German Protestants, for
example. In
these circumstances the extreme Catholics, looking to
Philip II, tended to behave rather as a hostile force—a
kind of
“fifth column”—within the country itself.
In
France, therefore, the problems of the age of religious
conflict
took an extreme form, and came near to ending
in the destruction of the
state.
Religious toleration begins to emerge as a politique
policy, and some of its upholders recognize that it
contravenes the whole
ideal of the state as a religious
society. They argue, however, that the
killing has gone
on too long and that the body politic itself is being
too radically disrupted. It was as though a terrestrial
morality was being
used to challenge an alleged
supraterrestrial morality, and at first it was
unscrupu-
lous rulers, like Catherine
de' Medici, and not the pious
ones, like Mary Tudor, who were prepared to
allow
religious dissidence. The members of a persecuted
religious
party might protest against the intolerance,
but even so, they sometimes
made it clear that their
objection was not to persecution as such but to
the
persecution of the right religion by the wrong one.
Only the
Socinians in Poland in the latter half of the
sixteenth century proclaimed
toleration as a principle,
and that was because they could claim to be preaching
a
religion without any dogma.
Given the structure of society as it existed in those
days, toleration
itself did not always imply what it
means today. It could involve giving
the nobles a free
hand to force their tenantry to a change of
religion.
And only very gradually did the various Reformation
parties
learn to tolerate one another.
Early in the seventeenth century both Catholics and
Protestants could hope
that, by a special effort, they
might turn the balance in their favor
(particularly in
Germany and the imperial territories). There are
signs
of anxiety and a special fear of war, as though one
were already
conscious of the looming shadow of the
coming conflict—the
struggle that was to last for thirty
years. Plans for the establishment of
perpetual peace
or a remodelling of the map of Europe, the inclination
of the Lutherans to work for appeasement, and the
similar policy which
helped to make James I so un-
popular in
England, are features of the time which
seem to show the effect of these
apprehensions. Projects
for the reunion of Protestants and Catholics
were
brought out by Grotius in Holland, John Drury in
England, and
later by Leibniz in Germany.
2. The Characteristics and Controversies of Re-
vived Catholicism.
The intellectual advances of
Catholicism, its successful missionary
work in Europe
and elsewhere, and the victories of the Habsburg sup-
porters of the papacy in the early stages
of the Thirty
Years' War, brought about a fine feeling of exultation
in Rome when the new basilica of St. Peter's had been
completed there, and
was consecrated in 1626. This
“greatest architectural wonder of
the world” still re-
mained the real
center of artistic activity in Rome
which, under Urban VIII (1623-44) and
his two suc-
cessors, was turned into a
baroque city. The sculptor
and architect, Lorenzo Bernini, and the painter,
Pietro
da Cortona, had a great part in this; and the new
style—which came to be associated with the Jesuits—
imprinted its character on the city more strongly than
any previous style
had done. It was dynamic and sought
dramatic effects, loading churches with
ornament and
gilding, colored sculptures and sensuous curves. It
spread from Rome to Spain, Portugal, Austria, Catholic
Germany, and Poland;
though its influence seems to
have been smaller in France. This whole form
of art
still seems to convey to us something of the exuberant
spirit
of the Counter-Reformation. Here, therefore,
Christianity, entangling
itself once again with the
world, presents pictures and scenic displays
quite
different from the religious landscape of England and
Holland.
In France there emerged in the seventeenth century
a “Catholic
Renaissance” which helped to enhance the
Europe in general. The intellectual strength of the
movement is illustrated by the fact that the clergy
moved over so naturally to the leadership of the state
itself in peace and war. From 1624 to 1642 Cardinal
Richelieu was the effective ruler, and he surrounded
himself with priests and monks—a cardinal becoming
a general, while an archbishop was made admiral—the
most intimate counsellor, especially in diplomatic
matters, being the famous Father Joseph. The new
spirit showed itself in charitable foundations, attempts
at reform and Christian missions to the native peoples
of French Canada; and the beneficent work of Vincent
de Paul was perhaps the most characteristic feature
of the revival. Also there began, amongst the congre-
gation of St. Maur, that scholarly work which was to
bring so much distinction to the Benedictines in the
seventeenth century.
Richelieu himself illustrates the way in which France,
through her special
problems and special position, was
mediating the passage to a new order of
things in
Europe. In spite of his severities in desperate times,
he
was a pious man and he gave the politique policy
a
turn which made it more admissible for the Christian.
He destroyed the
military establishment by means of
which the turbulent Huguenots had
secured their posi-
tion within France; but he
continued the religious
toleration which this party had been enjoying
since
1598, and he seems to have been sincere in his hope
that this
example of generosity would be conducive
to their ultimate voluntary
conversion. In respect of
foreign policy, he judged that France would be
eclipsed
for an indefinite period if Spain were not checked; so
he
gave priority to the policy of war against the
Habsburgs, though, again, he
seems to have been sin-
cere in his
determination to see that this should do
as little harm as possible to the
cause of Catholicism.
In both these cases his formulas more carefully pin-
pointed the valid role of force and
discriminated be-
tween the objectives of
foreign policy, imposing at
home and abroad the idea of warfare for limited
ends.
It was a stage in the formation of a different kind of
international order and in the transition by means of
which even earnest
Christians could find their way out
of the Wars of Religion. It was to end
in the virtual
abstraction of religion from the game of power-politics.
If the Western Church had come to a tragic cleavage
at the Reformation,
however, and if the Calvinism of
the Dutch had later been brought to a
serious crisis
by the emergence of Arminianism, it is interesting to
note that the seventeenth century saw great conflicts
within the revived
Catholicism—conflicts, moreover,
on patterns already
familiar—and that the chief arena
for these should have been
France. Firstly there came
to the forefront again that assertive spirit of nationality
which had been refractory to the papacy before the
close of the Middle
Ages, and which had then been
a factor in the Reformation itself.
“Gallicanism” was
medieval in origin, and it stressed
the national charac-
ter of the French
Church—stressed the authority of
the French bishops as something
more than a mere
delegation from Rome. The movement also had its
internal constitutional aspect, and regarded the French
king as holding his
temporal authority direct from God,
and therefore as not amenable to the
pope in his exer-
cise of it. In a sense, the
king was the protector of
the French bishops against the pope, but they
were
his subjects and if they gained ground from Rome, he
himself
stood out more clearly as their leader and chief.
Also the Gallican cause
was assisted by the fact that,
since the Council of Constance, the king had
more than
once settled the position of the French church in sepa-
rate agreements with the papacy. It had
come to be
easy to see that church as a national affair, to be
conducted for the most part by French bishops under
the French king; and
even the idea of a national
ecclesiastical council had been used as a
possible
weapon against the pope. The Spanish Church had
already
acquired a remarkable independence, and the
French became the chief
mouthpiece of the nationalist
program, though a parallel form of protest
against
Rome distinguished the Venetians, particularly at the
beginning of the seventeenth century.
From the fifteenth century, the French enemies of
the Gallican principles
were beginning to be known
as “Ultramontanes,” and,
after the Counter-Reforma-
tion, it
was the Jesuits who distinguished themselves
in this capacity. In the
period of the “Catholic Renais-
sance” the propaganda campaign involved an interest-
ing development of
politico-ecclesiastical thought; but
Gallicanism rose to a new height when,
firstly the
monarchy came to its climax under Louis XIV, a king
who
received continual incense from a great part of
the clergy, and, secondly
when the movement became
associated with the famous name of Bossuet, who
tried
to hold it within reasonable limits. A “Declaration
of
the French Clergy” in 1682 asserted the principles:
that
the king's temporal sovereignty was independent
of the pope; that even in
matters of faith the papacy
needed the concurrence of the bishops; that a
General
Council was superior to the pope; and that the ancient
Gallican liberties (e.g., the exclusion of papal bulls and
briefs that had
not received the consent of the king)
were to be regarded as sacrosanct.
The result was a
violent conflict with the papacy at a time when Louis
XIV was beset by other serious difficulties, and the
Declaration was
formally withdrawn. Its tenets con-
tinued to
prevail in France, however, and Gallicanism
as setting an example for nationalistic aspirations else-
where.
The posthumous publication in 1640 of Augustinus
by
Cornelius Jansen (1585-1638) was to have tremen-
dous and far-reaching effects for a long period in
France and
neighboring countries. The work tried to
show that Saint Augustine's
teaching conflicted with
that of the seventeenth century (and particularly
that
of the Jesuits); and by stressing the helplessness of man
it
moved to predestinarian ideas, though an admixture
of Catholic doctrine
still distinguished it from Calvin-
ism. The
cause was taken up by theologians at the
Sorbonne, and then by important
scholars as well as
the nuns of Port-Royal-des-Champs. When five propo-
sitions were condemned by Pope
Innocent X in 1653,
the French leader of the movement agreed that the
propositions were heretical and that the Church had
the authority to
condemn them; but he denied that
they were contained in Jansen's Augustinus and
claimed that this was a historical
point on which the
pope's ruling was not authoritative.
The whole controversy flared up again at the begin-
ning of the eighteenth century, when a number of
theologians at
the Sorbonne claimed that absolution
need not be refused to a priest who
maintained this
distinction between questions of doctrine and
questions
of fact. Pope Clement XI denounced this thesis in 1705
and,
as he had the support of Louis XIV, the campaign
against Jansenism was a
powerful one, culminating in
the bull Unigenitus
which in 1713 condemned 101
propositions. Jansenism, which had spread
widely
amongst the people and the lower clergy, was sup-
ported at times by the Sorbonne and the Parlement
of Paris, and for some years the Archbishop of
Paris
refused to submit to the bull Unigenitus. The
persecu-
tion aroused great passions and
led to an enlargement
of the area of the controversy, its victims
appealing,
for example, for a General Council of the Church.
Under
desperate pressures the movement tended to
change character, claimed to
produce miracles, and
had convulsionist manifestations. It turned into
a
broader kind of opposition to Church and monarchy
in the eighteenth
century and achieved at times an
almost revolutionary atmosphere.
At the same time a great number of French Jan-
senists fled to Holland where a permanent schismatic
organization was established in Utrecht. The move-
ment spread to North Italy and the system which it
established
at Pistoia was condemned by Pope Pius VI
in 1794. The
“Jansenism” which was supposed to influ-
ence the ecclesiastical policy of the French
Revolution
had departed far from the original movement, and
involved
Gallican ideas and democratic claims in re-
spect of the rights of the lower clergy. It has been
suggested that “Jansenism” in North Italy in
the nine-
teenth century became transmuted
into a kind of secu-
lar religion.
3. The Transition to the Age of Reason.
Because
the practice of the right religion was considered so
important, and because there was such a conviction
that only one form of
religion could be right, it was
only by a very slow process (and by certain
changes
in the very structure of Christian thinking) that tolera-
tion could come to be itself a
religious ideal. In the
middle of the seventeenth century it seems to
come
almost as a “discovery” to some people that the
other
man's creed, instead of being the product of perversity,
might
be as much a case of conscience as one's own;
and perhaps it required the
standing presence for a
considerable period of rival sects to produce the
per-
suasion that, though a man may hold
his own faith as
an absolute, he must treat the matter with a certain
degree of relativity in his relations with other men,
who have the same
right to follow their conscience.
Some progress was made through pondering on the
current doctrine that ethics
required the granting to
others of the treatment one expected to receive
from
them. It was more easy for the various branches of
Protestantism
to adopt this attitude towards one an-
other
than to give Roman Catholics the benefit of it.
When sects were
multiplied—as in Puritan England—
and when religious
variety had become a standing
phenomenon, it was more easy to see that the
individ-
ual judgment had come to have
preponderant signifi-
cance; and some sects
were individualistic, some highly
insistent about the Inner Light. It meant
a kind of
intellectual revolution, but when one came to see that
voluntariness of belief was itself an essential thing (and
that the quality
of belief even had some relation to
its voluntariness), Christians in the
course of time could
come to wonder why they had ever permitted perse-
cution at all. Protestants came to feel
that diversity
itself might be enriching for Christendom, that truth
might be served by the clash of controversy, and that
the right could be
brought to prevail in the long run
by force of mere persuasion.
But the laymen played a great part in the coming
of toleration. In England,
a certain religious indiffer-
ence—or a reaction against fanaticism—was
visible
from the 1650's. There may have been an increasing
squeamishness about the infliction of suffering for reli-
gious reasons and a feeling that extravagant sects
had
exposed the pretentions of authoritarianism. The set-
tlement in the Treaty of Westphalia in 1648, the need
for manpower in Germany to aid in the work of eco-
nomic recovery after the devastation of the Thirty
Years' War,
the growing importance of the laity in
society and the decline in the
general prestige of the
clergy—these, as well as special
political conjunc-
which still left dissenters penalized in some ways. As
the eighteenth century proceeded a country like
England ceased to have the appearance of a “Christian
Society” and the Church of England became more like
a privileged “Establishment” in a secular state. In both
England and Ireland, the Catholics were still harassed
by cruel penal laws. In 1685 Louis XIV revoked the
Edict of Nantes, and deprived his Protestant subjects
of the toleration they had enjoyed for nearly a century.
In the meantime, however, other factors had been
altering the place of
religion in society and in life, and
making the survival of religious
intolerance all the
more anomalous. Christianity had successfully con-
fronted the superior culture of
Greco-Roman antiquity.
In the Middle Ages it had subjugated Aristotle to
its
own purposes and had survived the contact with what
had been in
some respects the higher civilization of
the Arabs. At the end of the
seventeenth century it
was to find itself more seriously embarrassed by
a
scientific movement which sprang in a sense from its
own
bosom—a movement absolutely and uniquely
European, rising from
the traditions of the Western
world itself. The scientific movement of the
seven-
teenth century carried human
thought beyond anything
that ancient Greece or ancient China had ever
given
the promise of producing, and the student of its ante-
cedents would find himself carried back
to some of the
subtle thinking of the scholastic writers.
The movement was promoted to a considerable
degree by men who often believed
that, by concrete
enquiries into history and nature, they were
glorifying
the Creator and illuminating the work of Providence.
It was
one of its essential principles that men should
turn away from the
discussion of final causes and the
ultimate essence of things, topics which
had hitherto
proved so tantalizing and distracting. They should
observe how one particular thing in the natural world
acted upon another,
and by reflection and inference
upon the observed results, they should
climb to a range
of important intermediate generalizations. So they
freed their minds for a more specialized form of re-
search, freed science itself from its compromising en-
tanglement with “natural
philosophy.” Some of them
were looking for laws before they
properly knew how
to discover them, and were seeking to embrace every-
thing in the realm of
law—leaving no gaps in the
clockwork universe—before
they had found the clue
that might lead them to such a system. And they
said
that they were vindicating the rationality of God the
“Creator,” a God whom they could not believe to be
guilty of arbitrariness or caprice in his arrangement
of the cosmos.
It was Sir Isaac Newton who, when he had estab-
lished the automatic working of the solar system, was
seized with misgiving, because he realized that instead
of
leading to the greater glory of God, it might tempt
men to think that a
deity was henceforth a superfluity.
At this point he seemed to show an
uncommon anxiety
to find some loopholes in the system that he had pro-
duced. The inferences from the system
itself, and the
victory of the mechanistic (or, as it called itself,
the
“geometrical”) kind of thinking that now
became
fashionable—the overall result of the seventeenth-
century revolution in
science—opened the door to a
“deism” which
allowed the existence of a Creator who,
after setting everything in motion,
had become the
complete absentee.
The Church confronted the crisis at an unfortunate
moment, a moment when
religion in general had come
to an exceptionally low state. Fanaticism had
continued
until the middle of the seventeenth century and it had
added
to the bitterness of war in Europe, as well as
the constitutional struggles
in England. The Puritan
regime in England had been followed by the
relaxation
and license that is associated with the reign of Charles
II. The religiosity of the latest period of Louis XIV's
reign was followed
by a similar reaction—the levity
and the laxity of the
subsequent Regency. The conces-
sion of
religious toleration in England at the end of
the seventeenth century
coincided paradoxically with
the decline of the body who were to have been
its
main beneficiaries—the Presbyterians—some of
whom
began to move into Unitarianism. Only the advent of
John Wesley
put an end to what had been a serious
religious setback in the country at
large. The conflict
between the Protestant and the Catholic versions
of
religious authority would seem in any case to have had
the effect
of undermining confidence in any kind of
claim to authoritativeness.
The results of the scientific revolution were some-
times popularized and transmuted into a new world
view by men
like Fontenelle in France, who had caught
skepticism not really from
science itself but from the
writings of classical Greece. The wider
knowledge of
the globe, the writings of travellers, the study of primi-
tive peoples and distant civilizations,
and developing
notions of comparative religion, made it possible to
reckon with cultures that had never been touched by
Greece and Rome, and to
envisage the traditions of
Christendom as not in any sense universal, not
neces-
sarily even central, but
something of a regional phe-
nomenon. On this
view, all religions were merely the
effect of an original and basic
“natural religion” which
in every place had come to
be overgrown with peculiar
local accretions, local mythologies, local
legends.
When Sir Isaac Newton clinched the success of the
seventeenth-century
scientific revolution, there was a
sense in which, in any case, the
authority of both the
Middle Ages and the ancient world was at last over-
rapidly; and at the end of the seventeenth century the
intellectual leadership passed to the regions which
were industrially and commercially the most advanced
—England, Holland, and France, particularly the
Huguenot part of France. The learned world had lost
its leading position; the arbiters in the realm of thought
were a wider reading-public, a bourgeois class that
prided itself on a worldly-minded kind of common
sense.
4. The Eighteenth Century.
From this time we see
the spread of unbelief amongst the
intelligentsia, and
in the latter part of the eighteenth century the
deism
is sometimes changing into atheism, though it is too
easily
forgotten that the nineteenth century was still
to be a great epoch in the
history of religion and that,
in England, for example, the churches still
had a great
hold on the masses at the beginning of the twentieth
century. From this time, too, the Church—and partic-
ularly the Catholic Church—came to be afraid
of
science and discovery, beginning what was to be a long
and unhappy
rearguard action against the forces of
modernity. In France, where the philosophe movement
brought the Age of Reason to its
climax, the conflict
between the Roman Catholic and the liberal or pro-
gressive sections of society seems to
have produced an
almost permanent sundering of the national tradition.
In England the antithesis in the eighteenth century was
less severe, partly
because the churchmen there proved
to be no mean antagonists, and partly
because the
influence of nonconformity helped to bridge the gap
between religious conservatism and secular liberalism.
In Methodism a
strong desire to awaken the social
conscience of the country was balanced
by a moderate
political outlook which is sometimes regarded as hav-
ing helped to save the country from the
turmoil of
a French Revolution. Protestantism, moreover, proved
more
flexible than Catholicism at the critical period.
There emerges now a
Protestantism in many ways
radically unlike that of the sixteenth century.
It claims
to be the ally of humanism, rationalism, individualism,
and
liberty.
At this point in the story a significant part was
played by that interesting
figure, the “lapsed Chris-
tian”—the man who has thrown overboard the theo-
logical dogmas, but has not been able to
jettison a host
of assumptions, mundane evaluations and ideals, views
about personality and the structure of the human
drama, which had been
associated with the Christian
tradition. One aspect of the eighteenth
century is the
more or less unconscious attempt to provide a counter-
system to
Christianity—at least to fill the gap which
was left when the
Church was taken out of the picture.
It showed itself in minor writings,
provincial move
ments, local activity—an interesting attempt for ex-
ample to teach a secular morality, a kind of
public
spirit, and to promote virtue by rewarding it with civic
prizes.
Sometimes the rivalry became conscious and the
enemies of the Church would
claim that they were
the better Christians; they were solicitous for the
hum-
ble and poor, while the church-people
were intent
on mere ceremonies. Sometimes the critics were justi-
fied in their accusations and it would
seem that they
themselves, by breaking with the Church, had disem-
barrassed themselves of conventions
which hindered
the realization of what Christian charity really did
require. One enemy of the Church still made the curi-
ous note that it would be good for men to meet once
a week for a
homily on morality. And the famous
“philosophies of
history”—the attempts to lay out the
shape of the
whole course of centuries—were (down
to the time of Hegel) a
curious reflection of earlier
Christian attempts to lay out the plan of
world history,
the design of Providence. A number of
ideals—liberty,
democracy, egalitarianism, socialism,
communism—
had been caught first from biblical sources and Chris-
tian principles by religious dissidents
who, as a minor-
ity, could more easily dare to
follow principles to their
logical conclusion. But the real battle for
their actual
realization was often fought either by non-Christians
or
by religious nonconformists, and by a curious para-
dox the official church sometimes seemed to be the
principal enemy
that had to be fought. In this realm,
too, the churches too often committed
themselves to
a lengthy rearguard action. Having imagined that
Christianity could not survive the destruction of the
Aristotelian cosmos,
they easily convinced themselves
that it might not survive the destruction
of a particular
kind of regime. In other words, they had tied their
religion too closely to various types of mundane sys-
tems. And the course of history drove them to enquire
more
deeply into the question: What was the essential
thing in the Christian
faith?
Protestantism fared better than Catholicism in the
eighteenth century; for
in Britain's American colonies
the earlier half of the century saw a
religious awaken-
ing in which Jonathan
Edwards was a central figure;
it might be said that the Seven Years' War
(1756-63)
decided that the northern continent of America should
be
predominantly Protestant; and the rise of Prussia
and Russia added great
weight to the non-Catholic part
of Europe. Even in the religious and
devotional life,
it was Protestantism that showed itself the more dy-
namic throughout the period. On this side, the
story
illustrates the point that one can hardly put limits to
the
conditions which provoke a religious revival. The
thing can come by
surprise at the moment which seems
the routine of religion in official churches may be just
the kind to bring out a spontaneous growth, a develop-
ment outside the recognized program.
In the later decades of the seventeenth century (just
as deism was coming to
the front) there emerged in
Germany a pietism which may have had
antecedents
in the later Middle Ages, and which, as it spread to
neighboring countries, may have owed something to
English Puritanism and to
movements in Holland. It
first became important in the Lutheran church
in
Germany, but in the Netherlands and then in Germany
it spread to
the Reformed churches, and its influence
was increased by the ascendancy
that it acquired in
the university of Halle. A similar movement was
that
of the Moravians, who were established in the lands
of Count
Zinzendorf and extended their influence
abroad, even to England and
America; John Wesley
was one of the people who acknowledged a debt to
them.
Evangelicalism in the English-speaking world is in
fact a parallel
phenomenon. It was an essential feature
of the movement that mere
membership in organized
churches and the routine participation in the
offices
of these were not sufficient for the authentic Christian.
The
nominal believer still needed to be properly
“converted” and to bring the matter home to himself;
and the “conversion” should come after he had been
seized with a vivid conviction of his sinfulness. No
great interest was
shown in theological discussions and
dogmatic controversy—there
was just an insistence that
a man should be born again, and that he should
have
a personal experience of Christ. At the same time Bible
reading
was emphasized, there was a great love of
hymn singing, great importance
was attached to
philanthropic work. One might remain a member of
the
state-church, but in any case one would join little
informal groups which
were meant for fellowship,
study, and prayer.
An important feature of eighteenth-century Protes-
tantism was the formation of religious societies, some
of which
would comprise members of various denomi-
nations—societies which would promote foreign mis-
sions, educational work, the care of the
poor, or a
particular measure of reform, and which became more
numerous as the century drew to its close. From evan-
gelical circles in England there arose the demand
for
an improvement in prisons, the attack on slavery and
the
slave-trade, and the later cry for industrial legisla-
tion. And from laymen who had been trained by
their
activity in religious groups there emerged some of the
working-class leaders of the nineteenth century.
5. Roman Catholicism and the State, 1760-1815.
In the closing decades of the eighteenth century the
secular character of the state was becoming more clear,
and the
Enlightenment itself, which acquired particular
prestige amongst monarchs
and statesmen, seemed
almost to take the place of religion as the
fountain
of influence at royal courts. There now occurred a
series of
dramatic attacks by the modern state upon
the Roman Catholic system; and
the church, which in
any case was hardly in a condition to meet the chal-
lenge, was badly crippled by an initial
strategic blow
in the 1760's, when the Bourbon courts of France,
Spain, Naples, and Parma (following the example of
Portugal) expelled from
their European and overseas
dominions the Jesuits who had once wielded so
much
power as the confessors of kings. It was easy to raise
suspicion
against them because of their alleged views
on tyrannicide, or their
casuistry, or their recent com-
mercial
operations, or the antinational character of
their constitution; but their
impressive importance now
was due to the virtues of their educational work,
which
made Frederick the Great of Prussia and Catherine
of Russia
delighted to receive the exiles.
By this time the governments of Europe were exer-
cising immediate influence on papal elections, and in
1769 they
secured the elevation of Clement XIV, who
could be expected to abolish the
order, and who signed
the Brief of Suppression in 1773. The pope was
now
in the position of having to protest against a Protestant
state
and a schismatic empire that gave the Jesuits a
field in which to work;
but, though he induced the
Prussians to secularize them, he had to agree to
a
subterfuge which enabled the order itself to continue
in Russia and
even to recruit novices (in spite of its
formal suppression), its members
being needed for the
care of Catholic subjects taken over by Russia in
the
first Partition of Poland.
In 1763 an important and influential work by
Nikolaus von Hontheim combined
the teaching of the
Conciliar and Gallican movements in the program
known as “Febronianism” and made Germany a sig-
nificant field of conflict; but similar
writings in Italy,
the Netherlands, and even Austria reveal the tremen-
dous change of outlook that had been
taking place in
the Catholic world. Even Maria Theresa of Austria (the
one great ruler who had been unwilling to see the
destruction of the
Jesuits) was ready, in spite of her
piety, to take action against a
monastic movement that
had run to excess. But in 1780 she was succeeded
by
her son Joseph II—himself a sincere Christian though
in
so many ways a disciple of the philosophes—and
it is astonishing to see the speed and
consistency with
which he not only excluded the authority of the pope
and controlled a movement of ecclesiastical reform,
but established what
was virtually a national church,
in which he decided the character of the
training in
tions of the priesthood, attacked images, etc., in
churches, and insisted on an austere type of piety quite
different from the baroque piety that he regarded as
idolatrous.
In Austria, as elsewhere, what was called Jansenism
implied Conciliar and
Gallican ideas but also a stress
on devotion and on works of charity and a
genuine
desire to raise spiritual standards. At the same time,
the
ecclesiastical work of Joseph II was a remarkable
anticipation by a
“benevolent despot” of the attempt
by the French
Revolution at an overall reconstruction
of the Church. An ecclesiastical
congress in Germany
in 1786 produced the Punctuation of Ems, a program
for which Joseph II lost his enthusiasm when he saw
that the powers it took
from the pope might serve to
aggrandize the metropolitans and bishops of
Germany
rather than the secular authority. A synod of 234 clergy
held
at Pistoia in the same year under the patronage
of Joseph's brother,
Leopold, the Grand Duke of
Tuscany, combined the tenets of the Jansenists
with
those of Gallicanism and called for the abolition of all
religious orders founded since the time of Saint Bene-
dict. But the great mass of the population refused to
follow
Joseph II in his religious policy; and the exten-
sion of this to his Belgian territory led in 1786 to a
revolt of
students at the nationalized seminary of
Louvain—a revolt which
was to prove the prelude to
a wider rebellion. And though Joseph's
brother,
Leopold, was more careful of public opinion, his reli-
gious reforms led to a popular upheaval in
Florence
in 1787.
All this was only the prelude to the cataclysm of
the French Revolution. In
view of the existing distress
and the bankruptcy of the state, it was not
easy for
the French after 1789 to treat as property dedicated
to God a
great deal of the wealth which had for so
long supported luxury and
immorality amongst the
clergy. Church property was nationalized on 2 No-
vember 1789, and then the state, which
proposed to
take the responsibility for clerical stipends, thought to
rationalize the whole system in the interests of the
taxpayer and the
public in general, dissolving religious
orders that had no utilitarian
function, rearranging
bishoprics, fixing stipends, and regulating
discipline.
The Church, under this Civil Constitution of July 1790
was
to retain its communion with Rome, but the pope,
who had not been consulted
about the reforms, was
no longer to invest bishops with their spiritual
author-
ity, and bishops and clergy were
to be selected by
popular election. The clergy were required to accept
this Civil Constitution on oath, but, though the new
system greatly
improved the financial position of the
lower clergy, half of the curés refused to conform. The
government was committed therefore to a policy of
persecution,
and the revolution was jeopardized by a
first-class religious conflict
which helped to provoke
a civil war. Early in 1798 the French invaders of
Italy
established the revolution for a short time in Rome
itself, and
in 1799 Pope Pius VI died an exile and
prisoner of France.
Napoleon Bonaparte, as First Consul, was deter-
mined to make capital out of the errors of the revolu-
tion, which had reorganized the Church without con-
sulting the pope and had brought on itself
the trouble
of a religious war. He determined to secure the credit
for
restoring the Church, and this in fact enabled him
to put greater pressure
on the papacy, which was
anxious for such a settlement. By his Concordat of
1801
he saved essential features of the revolutionary settle-
ment, and acquired for these the assent
of the pope,
while recognizing Catholicism as “the religion of
the
great majority of French citizens.” But when he fol-
lowed this by unilateral action in his 77
Organic Arti-
cles, which asserted Gallican
principles and the pre-
dominance of the
state over the church, the pope and
the French Catholics could do little
unless they pro-
posed to destroy the effect of
the whole settlement.
From 1806 the spread of the Napoleonic Empire
brought a conflict with the pope as a temporal prince;
because of his
spiritual primacy, he felt unable to put
his territories at the service of
the French in their war
against England. The conflict became a dramatic
one,
and in 1809 Napoleon decreed the end of the temporal
power and
declared Rome a Free Imperial City. Very
soon, Pope Pius VII was himself a
prisoner.
6. The Nineteenth Century.
A course of curriculum
history which concentrates on governmental
affairs and
on the writings of the intellectuals in eighteenth-
century Europe may do less
than justice to the ordinary
life of town and country, and the mood of a
great part
of society. It is easy to forget the famous hymns which
the
eighteenth century produced, the choral music of
Bach, Handel's Messiah, the tremendous momentum
of the Methodist
movement, and the way in which
religion itself could even come to terms
with the new
outlook. At the same time, human needs, which the
hard,
dry thinking of the Age of Reason failed to satisfy,
are to be recognized
in the quasi-religious aspirations
of Rousseau and in certain aspects of
that romantic
movement which was sometimes associated with the
nostalgias of lapsed Christians—even (particularly in
Germany)
lapsed sons of the manse. Almost at the very
time when Napoleon was
realizing the political capital
that he might gain within France itself
from a Con-
cordat with the papacy,
Chateaubriand, in his Génie
du
Christianisme (1802) registered a new mood which
was capable of
reviving the power of religion, and his
gave more place to sentiment than profound reasoning.
At the same time the cataclysms of twenty-five years
were calculated to
revive both a religious awe and a
distrust of human systems; and, after
1815, it became
easy (while, for many, it was a matter of high policy)
to preach that the writings of the philosophes had
been
responsible for the recent tragedies, and that the
human race
cannot afford to turn its back on history.
The new situation helped to
increase the significance
of history and—particularly when
combined with the
romantic mood—it tended to alter the character
of
the historical endeavor, creating a disposition to turn
it into
what was much more a study of the past for
its own sake. One result of this
was the awakening of
interest in the Middle Ages and a discovery of
the
achievement of the medieval Church; and this was
initially the
work of Protestant scholars, though it
became a source of considerable
stimulus to Roman
Catholicism. After the example had been set in
England
by Edmund Burke before the end of the eighteenth
century, the
cause of tradition in both the political and
the religious field came to
find its expositors amongst
the European intelligentsia, and conservatism
itself
acquired a more imposing intellectual support. These
factors
help to explain why, in the nineteenth century,
religion again became a
power in the world, and why
also the most remarkable features of the story
were
the revival of Roman Catholicism and the emergence
in the 1830's
of the Oxford movement.
Yet, to a considerable degree, the movement against
Christianity increased
in power, and the hostility to
ecclesiastical systems now turned more
definitely into
an attack on religion as such. The formidable
character
of the secularizing forces helped in fact to provoke
a
counter-movement (to alarm the Tractarians in
Oxford, for example) and the
conflict between belief
and unbelief became a more profound and
serious
affair. It is interesting to see that in France, where the
hostility to Rome and to Christianity itself was still
so strong, the
growth and the assertiveness of Catholic
piety became particularly evident;
and the very power
which the state acquired over the church in the
Napoleonic settlement drove Catholics to recognize
the papacy as their true
support, the old Gallican
prejudices giving way to Ultramontanism.
The century saw the continued enlargement of the
power and the scope of the
state—a state now by
necessity increasingly engrossed by secular
preoccupa-
tions—and this
became irksome at times even to
Protestants, irksome even to sections of
that highly
national body, the Church of England. Precisely be-
cause the state was so obviously no longer a
“religious
society,” virtually coextensive with a
church, Christians
were thrown back on the idea of the Church as a
separate body,
functioning for special purposes and
existing by virtue of a divine
commission. Something
of the resulting aspiration for autonomy is visible
not
only in the Oxford movement but even in Germany,
where princes in
the period after 1815 still had great
power over their churches, and were
able to bring
about the unification of the Lutheran and Reformed
systems in many regions.
At the same time the natural sciences, and the out-
look that was associated with them, began to present
more serious
difficulties. In the 1830's and 1840's geol-
ogy
challenged the book of Genesis, though progressive
Christians were able to
meet the difficulty by reverting
to more flexible ideas about biblical
inspiration—ideas
which had been held before, and the resort to
which
was coming to be necessary for other reasons. But the
doctrine
of evolution, particularly as developed by
Charles Darwin in the Origin of Species (1859), seemed
to involve a more
radical change in one's views about
the nature of man, the character of the
universe, and
the potentialities of science. All the while the develop-
ment of biblical study and the
application of the his-
torical method in
that field—including a closer analysis
of the
Gospels—was producing equally disturbing re-
sults, especially in the work of the Tübingen school,
for example the Life of Jesus (1835) by David
Friedrich
Strauss. Some people met all this with blind con-
servatism, some left the Church, and
from memoirs,
biographies, and fiction we can see how often this was
accompanied by great heart-searching, carried out as
though it were itself
a religious act. Some kept the
old belief that in the long run religion
would become
compatible with both science and history, and were
driven
to think more deeply about the essential nature
of their faith.
Apart from the ferment of the liberal and democratic
ideas which had come
down from revolutionary France
and had been disseminated over Europe
through the
victories of Napoleon, the rise of industrialism, the
emergence of vast urban concentrations, and the plight
of the new working
classes resulted in an environment
more hostile to religion, more
refractory to ecclesias-
tical teaching.
For many centuries it had been almost
too easy to be a believing Christian.
Now, it was not
so easy, and those who adhered to the faith had to
think more deeply about the nature of it and revise
their notion of the
duties that it carried with it.
Roman Catholicism may have gained considerable
strength from the fact that
it set itself so consistently
against the very things that were to become
the pre-
vailing tendencies of the nineteenth
century. It seems
to have acquired internal depth and spiritual
intensity
from the fact that it stood so firmly by its ancient
Its revival had begun before 1815, and it produced a
restoration of religious orders (including the general
reestablishment of the Jesuits in 1814); also an intellec-
tual revival in Germany which made Munich an ex-
hilarating city before the middle of the century. The
creation of an unprecedented number of congregations,
societies, etc., meant that the activity and support of
the laity as well as the clergy were recruited, as never
before, for the care of the distressed, the carrying of
the gospel to neglected areas in the towns, and the
missionary work abroad.
Attempts to reconcile the religion and the authority
of the papacy with a
program of modern democratic
ideas were firmly suppressed, however. For a
little while
after his elevation in 1846 Pope Pius IX tried to coop-
erate with liberalism in the Papal States;
but the drift
to extremism, and the crucial demand that
he—a
prince of peace—should turn
“nationalist” and help
to drive the Austrians from
Italy, showed the impos-
sibility of this.
In 1864 his Syllabus of Errors made
clear how Rome had been setting itself
against the
encroachments of the state in ecclesiastical matters,
including education; it was also against the views of
liberals on
toleration, and against any qualification of
the claim that Roman
Catholicism was the single true
religion. There was specific condemnation
of any sug-
gestion that the Supreme Pontiff
either could or ought
to reconcile himself with “progress,
liberalism, and
modern civilization.” If the year 1870 saw the
great
humiliation of the pope—his loss of Rome and his
disappearance as a temporal power—it saw also the
Infallibility
Decree of the First Vatican Council and
the explicit recognition of his
supremacy in the spirit-
ual realm.
All this would have been impossible if he had not
now found in faithful
Catholics throughout Europe a
support more reliable than his predecessors
had re-
ceived from actual governments, and if
there had not
been a widespread resolve to rescue the traditions and
doctrines of the Church from current, fashionable,
intellectual movements.
On the theoretical side, the
conservative attitude itself became imposing
through
the reassertion and reexposition of the scholastic
teaching of
Saint Thomas Aquinas. Before the end of
the century Pope Leo XIII
encouraged French Catho-
lics to cooperate
with the French Republic, but this
did not prevent the complete separation
of Church and
State and further attacks on the religious orders in
that
country. In the ten or fifteen years from 1893 an effec-
tive resistance was made to the Catholic
“Modernist”
movement, which attempted to take account
of
achievements in biblical scholarship and historical
criticism (and
in particular to introduce the more
flexible views of biblical inspiration now familiar
amongst the
Protestants). Though there were features
in this Modernism which disturbed
even enlightened
Protestants, the radical nature of its suppression
lent
color to the view of Baron von Hügel that the Curia
was
carrying reaction too far.
In England and Germany the Pietistic and Evangel-
ical movements went on increasing their power. In
England the
nonconformists had been growing rapidly
in numbers, embracing a quarter of
the population at
the beginning of the nineteenth century. Their expan-
sion became still more remarkable from
this time,
especially in the newly industrialized regions, and it
was
now that “the nonconformist conscience” became
a
formidable affair. From 1833, however, when as a
result of the Reform Bill
it was less easy than before
to regard Parliament as the lay assembly of
the
Anglican Church, and when the Whigs seemed partic-
ularly menacing, the Oxford movement reasserted
the
idea of the Church as a separate, divinely constituted
body to be
governed by bishops who held authority
as the successors of the Apostles.
Still more, they
wished to reassert the Catholic side of the Anglican
tradition, to revive the spiritual life that had been
manifested in the
ancient saints and to restore the
beliefs and ceremonies of earlier times.
The very epis-
copal authority which they
invoked declined on the
whole to tolerate them, and in this predicament
some
of their distinguished representatives—men like
Newman
and Manning—moved over to Rome. Like
the nonconformists, the
Oxford Tractarians had an
influence that extended far beyond their own
circle,
and in their case it was an influence out of all propor-
tion to their numbers.
Germany, on the other hand, not only saw a
quickening of religious life, but
also acquired a re-
markable intellectual
leadership in the Protestant
world. The predominance that she had achieved
in
philosophy and historical science gave her resources
for
adventurous attempts to vindicate the Christian
outlook, and made
Lutheranism more creative than it
had been since the days of its founder.
The German
thinkers tried to meet the challenge of the age by
examining the bases of religion itself—some grounding
theology
on inner experience, some insisting on a
creatureliness and a feeling of
dependence in man,
some stressing the direct apprehension of the
divine,
some holding that all thinking should start with Christ
and
the Gospel. Certain writers raised the question
whether the surrender of
Christianity to Greek thought
in the early centuries of the Church had not
been a
misfortune. Others carried further than ever before the
study
and criticism of the Bible, the examination of
the early Church, and the
history of Christian dogma.
nineteenth century; but even more than Roman
Catholicism it expressed itself in movements to assist
the distressed classes, to reform society, to carry reli-
gion into neglected areas, and to enlarge the missionary
work abroad.
The nineteenth century was important in the history
of religion, partly
because it saw advances in thought
on both the Catholic and the Protestant
sides, and
partly because the conflict with secularism and unbelief
had become so formidable. In spite of the great seces-
sions that took place, both Catholicism and Protes-
tantism appeared stronger at the end
of the century
than at the beginning, besides involving far greater
numbers of their adherents in a clearer act of affirma-
tive decision, and stimulating greater activity in
the
laity. In both great sections of the Church, the clergy,
in their
combination of earnestness, intelligence, and
training, may have reached a
general standard rarely
known in the history of the Church. It would not
be
easy for people today to realize the degree to which,
down to 1914,
the local church was for most people
the hub of their social
life—the place that often pro-
vided
the only societies, sporting clubs, festivals and
parties, informative
lectures, and musical evenings—
the place where men met their
sweethearts and
gathered their circle of friends. A tremendous foreign
missionary endeavor from the 1790's, particularly in
Protestantism (and
facilitated to some degree by the
opportunities open to colonialist
nations), had far ex-
ceeded all precedents and
had carried Christianity into
every quarter of the globe.
In the United States the number of Christians and
the percentage of the
population that were church
members, at the beginning of the nineteenth
century,
were remarkably low and ecclesiastical systems did not
possess the privileges that they so often enjoyed in the
European states.
The material preoccupations of a
pioneer society, and the industrial and
urban develop-
ments as the century
proceeded, would have seemed
calculated to check the development of
religion; yet
a tremendous internal missionary work made the ad-
vance of the churches in the United States
more re-
markable than in the Old World. This
missionary work
accompanied the westward movement, and the pecu-
liar needs of the frontier and of pioneer
conditions
helped to produce “revivalist” methods,
camp-
meetings, circuit riders, and
travelling evange-
lists—techniques of mass-conversion often supported
by
the fervor for “Gospel hymns” and negro “spirit-
uals.” The effect of all
this was to alter the balance
of forces and in general to change the
physiognomy
of American religion. Victory came to the denomi-
nations that had missionary ardor
and the ability to
offer the kind of message that could reach the people.
Within
Protestantism it was now the Baptists and
Methodists who multiplied,
swamping the Congrega-
tionalists,
Presbyterians, and Episcopalians, who had
predominated at the beginning of
the century.
Roman Catholicism from being one of the smallest
became the largest single
religious body in the country,
partly as a result of the great number of
immigrantss.
Protestantism now acquired a remarkable
“popular”
shape which corresponded to the
“popular” side of
Catholicism, though it bore a
vastly different character,
which contributed similarly to the cause of
intellectual
conservatism in the churches. The whole movement
led to a
great splintering of the older denominations
and the founding of new ones,
particularly Mormonism
in 1830, the Seventh Day Adventists, organized
in
1863, and the Church of Christ Scientist in 1879. In
the nineteenth
century and the early decades of the
twentieth there was a vast increase in
the percentage
of the population that was actively connected with
some
church, and, by the close of that period religion—
with its
Social Gospel and its colossal philanthropies—
had done much to
shape the American outlook, helping
first to generate the American ideal
and then, perhaps,
to fasten Christianity itself within the limits of
that
ideal.
7. The Twentieth Century.
In the twentieth century
two World Wars, centered at the heart of
European
Christendom, shook the earth and made history more
dynamic.
Christianity was faced by organized systems
such as Communism and Nazism,
which constituted
a more powerful threat to it, and cleared away more
of the traditional fabric of society, than anything hith-
erto known. The acceleration of scientific progress,
the
resulting change in one's notions of the physical uni-
verse, the great power that man had acquired over
nature, the enormous advances of educational systems
that were essentially
secular, and the influence of the
popular press, radio, and television in
the dissemination
of a new world view—all these produced a
greater
intellectual challenge than religion of any sort had ever
had
to meet before. Now, also, the ethical ideas of
society, though so many of
them still carried the marks
of Christian influence, came to conflict in an
unprece-
dented way with some of the
longest and most consist-
ent traditions of
the churches. The fact that the
churches had so often been engaged in a
rearguard
action—sometimes against liberty, sometimes
against
science itself—became a disadvantage, since it left
(as
an additional obstruction to the hearing of the Gospel)
a
resentment in intelligent people, even a fear lest the
Church should ever
recover its power. In other conti-
nents, the
great missionary endeavor (in which man
may sometimes have tried
unthinkingly to tie Christi-
zation) came to be charged understandably, but un-
justly, with having sought to provide cover for
imperialist purposes.
The resulting issues are as momentous as in the days
when the faith of the
first disciples had to confront
the culture of the Greco-Roman world, and
it is not
easy to say what will be the long-term effects of the
new
situation on the intellectualization of the faith and
the attempt to run it
into a new world view. The actual
experiences of the human race, as it
develops the
implications of its current systems, may affect the
story;
and it is not clear that Christianity may not have to
confront
a world somewhat similar to the one which
the early Church had to face in
the Roman Empire—a
hostile world, but suffering strange
nostalgias and
harassed by competing forms of faith.
In some respects the churches may have drawn in
upon themselves as though
determined not to lose
anything essential in their ancient heritage. A
liberal-
ism which, before and after the
First World War, may
have been too directly rationalistic, soon came to
ap-
pear “dated,” and
even Protestants—even noncon-
formists—became somewhat more interested in their
tradition. The situation of the world may help to ex-
plain why Karl Barth in 1918 began to present the
“theology of Crisis,” directly attacking liberalism
and
reviving some of the profounder aspects of early
Lutheranism. But
historiography raised radical prob-
lems,
especially when from 1919 the teachers of
Formgeschichte examined the shape which the early
Church had given to the packets of oral tradition that
lay behind the
Gospels. History emerged again as a
crucial issue for an
“historical religion” in the much
controverted work
of Rudolf Bultmann. He called for
“de-mythologizing”
and presented existentialist ideas
which threw light on some aspects of
Christianity if
not also on history itself.
The Bible retained its influence even amongst people
(including Roman
Catholics) who had accepted the
kind of criticism that could be described
as central.
In the United States the churches retained their high
membership and remarkable vigor for further decades,
the country acquiring
a recognized leadership in the
Protestant world. But, even amid
technological
progress and booming prosperity, influential teachers
issued their moral challenges, took their stand on the
Bible, and
reasserted the pessimistic view of human
nature. The spectacular scandals
and crimes in certain
sections of society did not nullify that compassion
and
that American idealism which owed so much to an
ultimate Christian
influence.
It was natural that, in the new situation, the various
sects and
denominations should lose much of their
former fanaticism and hostility, and should come to
feel one
another as allies against a world of hostile
forces. To a considerable
degree it was coming to be
the case that, within Protestantism, the
differences
between the liberals and the conservatives in the vari-
ous churches were deeper than the
differences between
one denomination and another. Even in the decades
after 1914, it became an important consideration that
the work of foreign
missions was being hampered by
the divisions within Christianity. Unions
between de-
nominations and cooperation
for special objects,
though not unknown before, now became much more
frequent and significant. The Ecumenical movement
was a natural development
of this and a typical feature
of it was the preparation in 1938, and the
official
constitution at Amsterdam in 1940, of the plan for a
World
Council of Churches. The work of Pope John
XXIII and the Second Vatican
Council of 1962-65
stand as one of the most remarkable features of the
twentieth-century story—a significant change in the
relations
between Catholic and Protestant, who (in
spite of rivalries and
hostilities) had never, throughout
the centuries, quite ceased to exert a
beneficent influ-
ence on one another.
Lord Acton once remarked that he saw Providence
in general history (saw it
in the march of “progress,”
as he explicitly stated
on a number of occasions); but
he added that he did not detect it in the
history of
the Church. His attitude is understandable, for ecclesi-
astical systems have not been
exempted from scandals
and crimes; and (at least in those tangible things
which
the secular historian has chiefly in mind) they would
seem to
have been subject to the laws which govern
other religions, including that
of the Old Testament.
Acton may have been misled because he tended to
be
interested in the kind of history that deals with
“public
affairs” and perhaps saw the historical
Church too
much as a politico-religious institution. All the same,
he
must have known in his heart that its essence lay
in the spiritual life
which presumed the immediacy of
divine activity, though it might be
unrelated to
“progress”—a spiritual life
which might be at least as
profound in the fifth or the fifteenth century
as in the
twentieth. He was prepared also to see all history as
the
development of the scope and the quality of the
human conscience, this
conscience being a key to
progress itself and the effective dynamic behind
even
modern revolution, in his view. The enlarged scope
for the
individual conscience had been achieved by the
influence of Christianity,
making the great contrast
with classical antiquity where, he said, man's
duty had
been prescribed to him by the state.
Mazzini regarded the French Revolution as the cli-
max and fulfilment of Christianity which, by making
thing else in the created universe, could be regarded
as working throughout the centuries for the principle
of “individualism,” working for it at times even when
ecclesiastical systems were resisting it. On this view
a Christian civilization operates (as Acton believed) to
produce a regime of freedom, and the effect of its
advance is to bring about a greater differentiation in
personalities, a world in which each man decides the
object he will work for and the God whom he will
serve. Mazzini was not content with this, however, and
insisted that a new stage had been reached—a stage
at which the individual ought to give way to the “or-
ganic People.” And this is perhaps the great issue;
whether men shall be organized, and even herded like
cattle, to carry out a single all-consuming purpose that
is imposed on everybody.
There are elements or patterns of Christian thought
that appear in a more or
less secularized form in a
Voltaire, a Rousseau, a Hegel, a Mazzini, a
Ranke, and
a Marx; and perhaps they come to an end there. From
the
middle of the twentieth century, the world moves
on its own momentum to new
patterns of thought, new
notions of the enterprise of living, new realms
of
human experience. Behind the technological age and
the attempt to
explore the outer universe, and behind
the permissive society are elements
which were part
of the Christian outlook, but which, having become
autonomous, have moved far forward on their own
account. Perhaps the great
compassionateness now
visible in contemporary society will stand as the
most
palpable result of fifteen hundred years of Christian
predominance in Europe. And now, perhaps, for the
first time during those
fifteen hundred years, Christi-
anity
returns to something like its original state—a
world in which it
cannot be objected that, for the great
majority of people, things are
unfairly disposed in favor
of conventional or habitual or hereditary
belief.
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