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The fifteenth century may be regarded as a period of transition from
the ideals of the Middle Ages to those of modern times. The world
was fast becoming more secular in its tendencies, and, as a necessary
result, theories and principles that had met till then with almost
universal acceptance in literature, in art, in education, and in
government, were challenged by many as untenable.
Scholasticism, which had monopolised the attention of both schools and
scholars since the days of St. Anselm and Abelard, was called upon
to defend its claims against the advocates of classical culture; the
theocratico-imperial conception of Christian society as expounded by
the canonists and lawyers of an earlier period was forced into the
background by the appearance of nationalism and individualism, which by
this time had become factors to be reckoned with by the ecclesiastical
and civil rulers; the Feudal System, which had received a mortal
blow by the intermingling of the classes and the masses in the era of
the Crusades, was threatened, from above, by the movement towards
centralisation and absolutism, and from below, by the growing
discontent of the peasantry and artisans, who had begun to realise,
but as yet only in a vague way, their own strength. In every
department the battle for supremacy was being waged between the old and
the new, and the printing-press was at hand to enable the patrons of
both to mould the thoughts and opinions of the Christian world.
It was, therefore, an age of unrest and of great intellectual
activity, and at all such times the claims of the Church as the
guardian and expounder of Divine Revelation are sure to be
questioned. Not that the Church has need to fear inquiry, or that
the claims of faith and reason are incompatible, but because some
daring spirits are always to be reckoned with, who, by mistaking
hypotheses for facts, succeed in convincing themselves and their
followers that those in authority are unprogressive, and as such, to
be despised.
This was particularly true of some of the Humanists. At first
sight, indeed, it is difficult to understand why the revival of
classical learning should lead to the danger of the rejection of
Christian Revelation, seeing that the appreciation of the great
literary products of Greece and Rome, and that, even in the days of
the Renaissance, the Popes and the bishops were reckoned amongst the
most generous patrons of the classical movement. Yet the violence of
extreme partisans on both sides rendered a conflict almost unavoidable.
On the one hand, many of the classical enthusiasts, not content with
winning for their favourite studies a most important place on the
programmes of the schools, were determined to force on the Christian
body the ideals, the culture, and the outlook on the world, which
found their best expression in the masterpieces of pagan literature;
while, on the other, not a few of the champions of Scholastic
Philosophy seemed to have convinced themselves that Scholasticism and
Christianity were identified so closely that rejection or criticism of
the former must imply disloyalty to the latter. The Humanists mocked
at the Scholastics and dubbed them obscurantists on account of their
barbarous Latinity, their uncritical methods, and their pointless
wranglings; the Scholastics retorted by denouncing their opponents as
pagans, or, at least, heretics. In this way the claims of religion
were drawn into the arena, and, as neither the extreme Scholastics
nor the extreme Humanists had learned to distinguish between dogmas and
systems, between what was essential and what was tentative, there was
grave danger that religion would suffer in the eyes of educated men on
account of the crude methods of those who claimed to be its authorised
exponents.
Undoubtedly, at such a period of unrest, the Church could hardly
expect to escape attack. Never since the days when she was called upon
to defend her position against the combined forces of the Pagan world
had she been confronted with such a serious crisis, and seldom, if
ever, was she so badly prepared to withstand the onslaughts of her
enemies. The residence at Avignon, the Great Western Schism, and
the conciliar theories to which the Schism gave rise, had weakened the
power of the Papacy at the very time when the bonds of religious unity
were being strained almost to the snapping point by the growth of
national jealousy. Partly owing to the general downward tendency of
the age, but mainly on account of the interference of the secular
authorities with ecclesiastical appointments, the gravest abuses had
manifested themselves in nearly every department of clerical life, and
the cry for reform rose unbidden to the lips of thousands who
entertained no thought of revolution. But the distinction between the
divine and the human element in the Church was not appreciated by all,
with the result that a great body of Christians, disgusted with the
unworthiness of some of their pastors, were quite ready to rise in
revolt whenever a leader should appear to sound the trumpet-call of
war.
Nor had they long to wait till a man arose, in Germany, to marshal
the forces of discontent and to lead them against the Church of Rome.
Though in his personal conduct Luther fell far short of what people
might reasonably look for in a self-constituted reformer, yet in many
respects he had exceptional qualifications for the part that he was
called upon to play. Endowed with great physical strength, gifted
with a marvellous memory and a complete mastery of the German
language, as inspiring in the pulpit or on the platform as he was with
his pen, regardless of nice limitations or even of truth when he wished
to strike down an opponent or to arouse the enthusiasm of a mob,
equally at home with princes in the drawing-room as with peasants in a
tavern --Luther was an ideal demagogue to head a semi-religious,
semi-social revolt. He had a keen appreciation of the tendencies of
the age, and of the thoughts that were coursing through men's minds,
and he had sufficient powers of organisation to know how to direct the
different forces at work into the same channel. Though fundamentally
the issue raised by him was a religious one, yet it is remarkable what
a small part religion played in deciding the result of the struggle.
The world-wide jealousy of the House of Habsburg, the danger of a
Turkish invasion, the long-drawn-out struggle between France and
the Empire for supremacy in Europe and for the provinces on the left
bank of the Rhine, and the selfish policy of the German princes,
contributed much more to his success than the question of justification
or the principle of private judgment. Without doubt, in Germany, in
Switzerland, in England, in the Netherlands, and in the
Scandinavian countries, the Reformation was much more a political
than a religious movement.
The fundamental principle of the new religion was the principle of
private judgment, and yet such a principle found no place in the issues
raised by Luther in the beginning. It was only when he was confronted
with the decrees of previous councils, with the tradition of the
Church as contained in the writings of the Fathers, and with the
authoritative pronouncements of the Holy See, all of which were in
direct contradiction to his theories, that he felt himself obliged,
reluctantly, to abandon the principle of authority in favour of the
principle of private judgment. In truth it was the only possible way
in which he could hope to defend his novelties, and besides, it had
the additional advantage of catering for the rising spirit of
individualism, which was so characteristic of the age.
His second great innovation, so far as the divine constitution of the
Church was concerned, and the one which secured ultimately whatever
degree of success his revolution attained, was the theory of royal
supremacy, or the recognition of the temporal ruler as the source of
spiritual jurisdiction. But even this was more or less of an after-
thought. Keen student of contemporary politics that Luther was, he
perceived two great influences at work, one, patronised by the
sovereigns in favour of absolute rule, the other, supported by the
masses in favour of unrestricted liberty. He realised from the
beginning that it was only by combining his religious programme with one
or other of these two movements that he could have any hope of success.
At first, impressed by the strength of the popular party as manifested
in the net-work of secret societies then spread throughout Germany,
and by the revolutionary attitude of the landless nobles, who were
prepared to lead the peasants, he determined to raise the cry of civil
and religious liberty, and to rouse the masses against the princes and
kings, as well as against their bishops and the Pope. But soon the
success of the German princes in the Peasants' War made it clear to
him that an alliance between the religious and the social revolution was
fraught with dangerous consequences; and, at once, he went to the
other extreme.
The gradual weakening of the Feudal System, which acted as a check
upon the authority of the rulers, and the awakening of the national
consciousness, prepared the way for the policy of centralisation.
France, which consisted formerly of a collection of almost independent
provinces, was welded together into one united kingdom; a similar
change took place in Spain after the union of Castile and Aragon and
the fall of the Moorish power at Granada. In England the
disappearance of the nobles in the Wars of the Roses led to the
establishment of the Tudor domination. As a result of this
centralisation the Kings of France, Spain, and England, and the
sovereign princes of Germany received a great increase of power, and
resolved to make themselves absolute masters in their own dominions.
Having abandoned the unfortunate peasants who had been led to slaughter
by his writings, Luther determined to make it clear that his religious
policy was in complete harmony with the political absolutism aimed at by
the temporal rulers. With this object in view he put forward the
principle of royal supremacy, according to which the king or prince was
to be recognised as the head of the church in his own territories, and
the source of all spiritual jurisdiction. By doing so he achieved two
very important results. He had at hand in the machinery of civil
government the nucleus of a new ecclesiastical organisation, the
shaping of which had been his greatest worry; and, besides, he won
for his new movement the sympathy and active support of the civil
rulers, to whom the thought of becoming complete masters of
ecclesiastical patronage and of the wealth of the Church opened up the
most rosy prospects. In Germany, in England, and in the northern
countries of Europe, it was the principle of royal supremacy that
turned the scales eventually in favour of the new religion, while, at
the same time, it led to the establishment of absolutism both in theory
and practice. From the recognition of the sovereign as supreme master
both in Church and State the theory of the divine rights of kings as
understood in modern times followed as a necessary corollary. There
was no longer any possibility of suggesting limitations or of
countenancing rebellion. The king, in his own territories, had
succeeded to all the rights and privileges which, according to the
divine constitution of the Church, belonged to the Pope.
Such a development in the Protestant countries could not fail to
produce its effects even on Catholic rulers who had remained loyal to
the Church. They began to aim at combining, as far as possible, the
Protestant theory of ecclesiastical government with obedience to the
Pope, by taking into their own hands the administration of
ecclesiastical affairs, by making the bishops and clergy state-
officials, and by leaving to the Pope only a primacy of honour. This
policy, known under the different names of Gallicanism in France,
and of Febronianism and Josephism in the Empire, led of necessity to
conflicts between Rome and the Catholic sovereigns of Europe,
conflicts in which, unfortunately, many of the bishops, influenced by
mistaken notions of loyalty and patriotism, took the side of their own
sovereigns. As a result, absolute rule was established throughout
Europe; the rights of the people to any voice in government were
trampled upon, and the rules became more despotic than the old Roman
Emperors had been even in their two-fold capacity of civil ruler and
high priest.
Meanwhile, the principle of private judgment had produced its logical
effects. Many of Luther's followers, even in his own lifetime, had
been induced to reject doctrines accepted by their master, but, after
his death, when the influence of Tradition and of authority had become
weaker, Lutheranism was reduced to a dogmatic chaos. By the
application of the principle of private judgment, certain leaders began
to call in question, not merely individual doctrines, but even the
very foundations of Christianity, and, in a short time, Atheism and
Naturalism were recognised as the hall-mark of education and good
breeding.
The civil rulers even in Catholic countries took no very active steps
to curb the activity of the anti-Christian writers and philosophers,
partly because they themselves were not unaffected by the spirit of
irreligion, and partly also because they were not sorry to see popular
resentment diverted from their own excesses by being directed against
the Church. But, in a short time, they realised, when it was too
late, that the overthrow of religious authority carries with it as a
rule the overthrow of civil authority also, and that the attempt to
combine the two principles of private judgment and of royal supremacy
must lead of necessity to revolution.
* * * * *
I wish to express my sincere thanks to the many friends who have
assisted me, and particularly to the Very Rev. Thomas
O'Donnell, C.M., President, All Hallows College. My
special thanks are due also to the Rev. Patrick O'Neill
(Limerick), who relieved me of much anxiety by undertaking the
difficult task of compiling the Index.
James MacCaffrey.
St. Patrick's College, Maynooth, Feast of the Immaculate
Conception.
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