FRANCE AND THE CHURCH
A great epoch is transpiring in the republic of France—greater, in fact, than the triumphant continuance of the French democracy. The passing of the power of the Roman Catholic Church in that country presents a more marvelous condition or situation than the continued perpetuation of the republican form of government.
The Church of Rome, saving a few years of Huguenot power, and the short-lived revolution preceding the advent of Napoleon, has, for more than ten centuries, linked its history with that of France. In fact, the latter has, since the days of Charles Martel, been known as the “eldest daughter of the church.” And what a history! A Roman pope crowned King Pepin in the eighth century and Napoleon in the nineteenth. Not a line of history, of romance, of tradition, of public or private right, or public or private wrong, but through the ages has been mingled with her name. From Flanders, on the English channel, to Provence on the Mediterranean, from Lorraine, on the east, to Gascoigne in the west, it was all Catholic, and Roman Catholic. The counts of Paris, Flanders, and of Anjou; the dukes of Burgundy, Normandy, of Guise; and the Bourbon Princes, were all originally Roman Catholics.
Who is there that has not in the morning of life read with delight of the martial prowess and religious fervor of Jeanne d’Arc, the Maid of Orleans? Her love of her church, and her love for her country, ought to be remembered by men who are now playing fast and loose with the fortunes of both. Who but will admit that their Excellencies, Cardinals Richelieu and Mazarin, with their imperious sway, did more to extend the glory of France than either of the great Louises under whom they ministered? What student of French history could forget the names of La Valliere, De Montespan, and Maintenon, brilliant, charming, but dissolute, who, losing royal favor, sought and found solace in the sacred precincts of the cloister? The grand cathedrals at Rheims, at Rouen; Nôtre Dame and the Madeleine at Paris; the many rare and splendid chapels to the famous chateaux of monarchs, and princes, that line the Loire, the Seine, the Rhone, and Garonne—do they not speak in ancient protest to the late separation and sequestration? Who but that remembers the sweet, dignified bearing, and devout humility of the peasant husband and wife bowed in prayer, in the field, at the ringing of the angelus, as portrayed by Millet? Typical of religious France! Can such things be swept away and become a mere memory at the beck of secular and temporal power?
The French Revolution of 1789 with its consequent vulgar excess brought about in 1801 the so-called “Concordat,” it being a carefully drawn agreement between Pius VII and Napoleon, which restored, with material restrictions, the power of the church in France. When one writes of the church in France he means the Roman Catholic Church, for ninety per cent of the communicants of religion there belong to that denomination. There is little or no doubt but that Napoleon overreached the Pope in that agreement. Only divinity itself could have coped with the masterly genius of that most wonderful man—the “man of destiny”—who, in changing the map of the world by his sword, wrought a greater change in its human affairs through his policies. Much church property had been confiscated during the revolution, and had passed from the state to other hands. The titles, so acquired, to that property were to be left undisturbed by the restoration of the church. Again, the government reserved, in the Concordat, the right to nominate the archbishops and bishops of the church, and assumed and asserted the right to determine their attitude between the Vatican and the state.
The law of “Separation,” as it is called, was passed December 5th, 1905, by which annual stipends, previously guaranteed by the state to bishops and priests were abolished, and the churches, parochial residences, and buildings used for religious purposes, including monasteries, convents, seminaries, all, should fall under the authority of the state to be regulated by civil corporations known as “associations of worship.” The law provided twelve months from its passage, that it should be ratified by the church.
The civil associations are to hold the church property and have the right to dictate the mode and manner of the worship therein, even the uses for which the property shall be employed.
Is it any wonder that Pius X, speaking for Rome, should have rejected such a law? To confiscate one’s property is one thing—to have the power to dictate one’s form of worship is quite another thing. Any gendarme with the order in his hand issued by any upstart official could disperse at pleasure the worshippers at any sanctuary in the republic. The French law is not a mere separation of church and state; far more, it is a subjection of the church to the state.
In France the seats of the mighty in the main are filled now by the disciples of Voltaire—men of the type of Jaures, Delpech, and Clemenceau. M. Briand, the Minister of Education, the reputed author of the “Associations” bill, is charged with declaring in a public speech to the educational authorities under him:
“The time has come to root up from the minds of French children the ancient faith which has served its purpose, and replace it with the light of free thought. It is time to get rid of the Christian idea. We have hunted Jesus Christ out of the army, the navy, the schools, the hospitals, the insane asylums, the orphan asylums and the law courts; and now we must hunt him out of the state altogether.”
In such a fight Christendom itself ought to have a sympathy. The chief Rabbi of France, M. Lehmann, one of a religion long persecuted, of this action of the French Assembly, says:
“How could one think on the one hand that the state should suppress establishments which had been guaranteed by nearly every constitution since 1791, and protected by every law, and, by means of the same act, should seize the property they have acquired with its approbation?... What we want is that places of worship should belong to those who have built them and who pray in them, and that every religious denomination should preserve the form of organization which is the most conformable to its traditions and aspirations.”
Surely a member of a so-called Protestant communion may say amen! to the foregoing quotation. Surely, any American stands for freedom of religious belief, as well as that private property shall not be taken for public use, without just compensation. Think of the millions in value sequestrated under the French law of 1905, aside from other considerations! What a beautiful and dignified protest has the world recently heard from Archbishop Ireland, not only intellectually the foremost churchman of his faith, but almost unparalleled among orators of this or any other land. Of the rape of the French church, among other things, he says:
“For the moment the situation is, undoubtedly, serious—and serious for the one as for the other of the contestants. Yet, seen more near, it reveals no coloring of despair, either for France, or for the Church of France. A bright morning, I dare predict, will at a not distant time dawn over the field of battle, dropping from the skies sunshine and peace and begetting both in the Church and in France, joy and exultation that the passage-at-arms, angry as it once was, has opened the way to a clearer understanding of mutual interests, to a warmer glow of olden mutual love.
“The Catholic Church,—of course I love her, and I champion her cause with delight. And France, too, I love. While I shall blame her, I shall not forget all that she has been, during her storied centuries, to mankind and the Church, and I now bid my hearers to nurture no rancor against her, and if I beckon her to defeat, it is that she rise from defeat greater and more glorious than victory could have made her.”
Those who have followed with discerning eyes this oldest of human institutions among the works of the ages, will look forward with hope to a speedy and healthy reconciliation between the government of France and a religious institution which for longer than a thousand years has been part and parcel of it; which has conserved in great degree its morals, contended for the peace of its citizens, and especially, during the monarchies, added glory and renown, wherever opportunity offered. The Roman Church has ever been an hierarchy, believing in hallowed or consecrated authority, in what concerns religious order or government, and too often, doubtlessly, extending this idea to secular or state affairs—yet, on the whole, who is so wise as to declare what better results had been to us now had other influences dominated at the many great and appalling crises in history which that ancient organization has had to face? This aside, however, will the Christian governments of the world lie by without a protest to this wholesale confiscation, and avowed determination to uproot religion in the very heart of Europe, when it is their custom to make formidable protests against the action of Turkey in Armenia, and against atrocities of every nature repellant to civilization?
As a humble communicant of a Protestant Church, personally an unworthy Christian, I have taken the pains to give a very abridged history of what is passing in France, and registering a feeble public protest against it.
John Francis Lockett.
Henderson, Ky., Jan., 1907.