Two thousand years ago Christianity established itself upon the wreck of ancient civilizations, preserving that which in them was immortal. Grafted upon the Roman world, the gospel of democracy which it preached could be accepted as the official religion of the Empire only at the cost of its own purity. How could God and Mammon rule together? How could a Constantine rise to an understanding of the Teacher who said: “Ye know that they which are accounted to rule over the Gentiles exercise lordship over them, and their great ones exercise authority over them.... But so shall it not be among you; but whosoever will be great among you shall be your minister; and whosoever of you will be the chiefest shall be servant of all.” (St. Mark x. 42–44.) Christ had established religion among his followers as distinct from worship. The people soon relapsed into worship, whilst for the clergy theology took the place of religion.
With the alliance formed between Church and State in the Christian community, much of the Sermon on the Mount was necessarily forgotten; many of the parables in which the Teacher embodied his doctrine of justice, of tolerance, of love and humility, were to lose their living force. Under the banner of faith, conduct sank to the second rank. The dry subtleties of scholasticism helped to crush morality beneath the words and formulæ of a learned dialectic. Although for centuries the spirit of Christ continued to protect the weak and the lowly, although from the very body of the Church, then ever ready in its arrogance to cast its anathemas upon every effort of man to assert his freedom, sprang reformers who endeavored to restore to the gospel some of its early significance, the Church strayed ever farther from its founder. Was this because, as Michelet said, the reformers themselves needed reforming? Once more man found himself crushed under the law which Christ had declared was made for him, until, at last, in the forcible words of Mr. Darmesteter, of all the Teacher’s lessons Christian Rome seemed to remember only one, “Return unto Cæsar that which is Cæsar’s.” However fiercely monarchy might struggle against the temporal encroachments of the Church, it joined with it to repress the people. “Authority rested upon a mystery. Its right came from above. Power was divine. Obedience to it was a sacred duty and inquiry became a blasphemy.”
Then from the great schools and universities the developing intellect of Europe awakened to a sense of its rights. Suddenly there came inquiries into the reality of this spiritual power over human souls and over the human understanding which Rome claimed to be derived from Heaven. In its revolt against dogma, from Abélard and Arnold di Brescia to Huss and Wickliff, from Luther and Pascal to Voltaire and Rousseau, the human thought struggled for freedom under the banner of learning and of reason, and fought for the rights of the people against the privileged few. “I will not speak of tolerance,” cried Mirabeau, in his plea for the emancipation of the Jews in the National Convention (1791); “the freedom of conscience is a right so sacred that even the name of tolerance involves a species of tyranny.”
At the close of the last century, freedom at last planted its standard in Europe above the ruins of despotism. In the fiery torrent which swept away the ancient traditions of the Church, as well as those of the State, it seemed for a time as though religion as well as the church, right as well as might, must disappear from the surface of the earth, and that, in the smoke of battles and the revelry of reason, truth and morals must perish and anarchy prevail. But a moral rule is indispensable to society, and “Religion is after all but the highest expression of human science and of human conscience.” Its germ, innate in man, grows with his understanding in its constant strain to establish a relation between himself and the universe.
To the moral chaos that for a brief space followed the overthrow of the old order of things succeeded, in the beginning of this century, a period of readjustment, and now, in the words of a poet whose own mental processes are a type of those of his time, “Of a hopeless epoch is born a fearless age.”
After the absolute negations of the early years of the nineteenth century, after the violent controversies not only of arrogant science and of prejudiced faith, but of scientific and theological schools inter se which fill the serious literature of the last generations, a reconciliation between faith and science is taking place, a certain unity of thought is being reached with regard to conduct and to the rights of men. And the century, at its close, shows us the Protestant churchman less tenacious of his dogma, the Romanist less certain of the infallibility of Rome, the scholar less convinced of the infallibility of his science, the agnostic less boastful of his skepticism, the monarchist awakened from his dreams of a divine right of kings and of a preordained subjection of men, the socialist sobered of his revolutionary frenzy and repudiating the extremes of anarchy and nihilism born of his earlier teachings, all marching shoulder to shoulder under the banner of a broad tolerance toward a common goal, in a united effort to lift the masses from the depths of poverty, ignorance, vice, and often crime, to which centuries of repression seemed to consign them, and seeking in friendly coöperation to bring about a better social order.
For in our time has taken place a great broadening of the moral standpoint from which the old rules of conduct are in future to be applied. Toward the end of the last century the equality and fraternity of men was proclaimed to the European world and received a baptism of blood. This official declaration of the rights of men professed to be universal; but, like other dispensations that had preceded it, in its application it fell short of the democratic ideal. All men were declared equal, yet with striking inconsistency those who proclaimed the new creed held others in bondage, and race disqualification survived.
The honor of leading in the greatest moral reform which the world has seen is due to the French Revolutionary leaders. On February 2, 1794, the Convention decreed the abolition of slavery throughout the French colonies, and all slaves were admitted to the rights of citizenship. It was only in 1833 that slavery was abolished in the British colonies by Act of Parliament, and that coolie labor was substituted. In 1861 Emperor Alexander II., following the policy inaugurated by his father, Nicholas I., freed the serfs in Russia. It is a curious fact that the United States, which for many reasons might have been expected to lead in the movement, only followed in 1863. The terrible struggle of the public conscience against expediency and class interest, which then took place upon this continent, must form one of the most important lessons which this century will offer to posterity.
Right prevailed, and with this triumph of justice the human conscience, throwing aside casuistry and evasion for a time, faced its problems honestly and asserted its own sovereignty.
The consequences of the mighty struggle did not stop here. Once the principles of abstract justice established, not only against might but against tradition and expediency; once the rights not only of men (as in 1776 and in 1789), but of all men, recognized in a broader application of the principles of a true democracy, there came a tendency to extend its application to mankind at large; and women, who according to their station in life had hitherto been dealt with theoretically as either useful or ornamental possessions, began to find their place as members of the community. The rights of slaves as men had been officially proclaimed. The rights of women as citizens began to be discussed.