Essays Literary, Critical and Historical

by Thomas O'Hagan

There is but one Chicago University in the world, and we might expect its distinguished professors of medieval and modern European history to understand at least the elementary truths of the Catholic Church and something of its spirit and policy.

Let us examine for a moment some of the statements contained in this “General History of Europe,” by Professors Thatcher and Schwill. Here is a choice morsel which will amuse the student of Church history. The topic is “The Church and Feudalism.” The author says: “As late as the eleventh century it was not at all uncommon for the clergy to marry. Since fiefs were hereditary, it seemed perfectly proper that their children should be provided for out of the Church lands which they held. But unless all their children became clergymen these lands would pass into the hands of laymen and therefore be lost to the Church. One of the purposes of the prohibition of the marriage of the clergy was to prevent this alienation and diminution of the Church lands.”

And this little paragraph dealing with the Italian Renaissance, found on page 264 of the same work: “Medieval life knew nothing of the freedom, beauty and joy of the Greek world. . . . The medieval man had no eye for the beauty of nature. To him nature was evil. God had indeed created the world and pronounced it very good, but through the fall of man all nature had been corrupted. Satan was now the prince of the world. As a result no one could either study or admire nature.” Pray note the force of the auxiliary “could.”

Just think of it! A Catholic—a medieval Catholic—was forbidden to look at or admire a flower, a forest, or a mountain peak. How so much of nature got mixed up in the singing of “Old Dan Chaucer,” a Catholic poet of the fourteenth century, we know not. ’Tis a mystery. Chaucer is essentially the poet of the daisy, and robed it in verse long before Burns turned it over with his plough.

Then we have the brown-hooded and gentle Friar, St. Francis of Assisi, who was wont to call the birds of the air and the beasts of the field his brothers, and who composed canticles to the winds, the flowers and the sun. Did the erudite professors of Chicago University ever make a study of Gothic architecture, the distinct inspiration and creation of medieval times? If so, they will remember that plants and flowers play, in symbolism, an important part in ornamentation. The hatred of nature as well as the hatred of art imputed to the early Christians is simply a “fable convenue,” manufactured by the partisan and superficial historian who is either too dishonest or indolent to state or reach the real facts.

It is enough to say that Professors Thatcher and Schwill’s work is actually teeming with historical inaccuracies and gross misrepresentations of the Catholic Church. Whether by inference or blunt statement, these two professors have written themselves down in the pages of their history either as ignorant or dishonest historians, and it is unworthy of a presumably great university, such as Chicago, to give its imprimatur to such unreliable and unscholarly works.

But lest we may not have convicted as yet Professors Thatcher and Schwill of having misrepresented the truth, life and policy of the Catholic Church in the pages of their history, we shall cite one more paragraph found on page 172. It deals with monasticism. The author says: “The philosophic basis of asceticism is the belief that matter is the seat of evil, and therefore that all contact with it is contaminating. This conception of evil is neither Christian nor Jewish, but purely heathen. Jesus freely used the good things of this world and taught that sin is in nothing external to man, but has its seat only in the heart. But His teaching was not understood by His followers. The peculiar form which this asceticism in the Church took is called monasticism. . . . After about 175 A.D. the Church rapidly grew worldly. As Christianity became popular large numbers entered the Church and became Christians in name; but at heart and in life they remained heathen. The bishops were often proud and haughty and lived in grand style. Those who were really in earnest about their salvation, unsatisfied with such worldliness, fled from the contamination in the Church and went to live in the desert and find the way to God without the aid of the Church: her means of grace were for common Christians. Those who would could obtain, by means of asceticism and prayer, all that others received by means of the sacraments of the Church. There were to be two ways of salvation: one through the Church and her means of grace; the other through asceticism and contemplation.”

There is assuredly something of the historical naïveté of the schoolboy in the above. Mark when the Christian Church became corrupt—nearly one hundred and fifty years before it was upheld by the arm of Constantine and when it had been hiding for more than one hundred years in the Catacombs carving and painting in symbol the truths and mysteries of God. This was the corruption, that as Christ had birth in the lowly manger of Bethlehem so the Church, His Spouse, was cradled in humility, hidden away from the purple rage of the Cæsars, and, like a little child whose dreams are of the past and the future, was rudely fashioning her life and soul in terms of eternity, in symbols of the palm, the dove and the lamb.

Now let us cite from Putnam’s “Books and Their Makers in the Middle Ages” an instance of historical contradiction within the compass of three pages. It is said that he who misrepresents the truth must have a good memory, but the author of “Books and Their Makers in the Middle Ages” is evidently devoid of that faculty, otherwise he would not have contradicted himself in almost succeeding pages of his work. Here is the contradiction. He is speaking of book-making at the time of the Italian Renaissance. On page 331, Vol. I., the author says: “A production of Beccadelli’s, perhaps the most brilliant of Alfonso’s literary protégés, is to be noted as having been proscribed by the Pope, being one of the earliest Italian publications to be so distinguished. Eugenius IV. forbade, under penalty of excommunication, the reading of Beccadelli’s “Hermaphroditus,” which was declared to be contra bonos mores. The book was denounced from many pulpits, and copies were burned, together with portraits of the poet, on the public squares of Bologna, Milan and Ferrara.”

On page 333 of the same volume Putnam writes—and we beg the reader will compare carefully the two statements: “Poggio is to be noted as a free thinker who managed to keep in good relations with the Church. So long as free thinkers confined their audacity to such matters as form the topic of Poggio’s ‘Facetiae,’ Beccadelli’s ‘Hermaphroditus’ or La Casa’s ‘Capitolo del Farno’ the Roman Curia looked on and smiled approvingly. The most obscene books to be found in any literature escaped the Papal censure, and a man like Aretino, notorious for his ribaldry, could aspire with fair prospects of success to the scarlet of a Cardinal.”