obey the mandates of their supposed superiors, knelt at the feet of the holy prelate and begged his forgiveness for the crime they were about to commit. It is not claimed by the apologists of the Communists that their illustrious victims were guilty of any offence against the state, or that even the form of a trial was accorded them; and yet there are to be found many persons, considering themselves honorable and intelligent, who openly or secretly applaud that glaring and cruel act of injustice, and who thoroughly sympathize with the European revolutionists—those enemies of all law, who, if they had the power, would repeat in every city in Christendom the late disgraceful scenes of Paris. It is a melancholy fact that outside the Catholic Church the horrible murder of the venerable Archbishop Darboy and so many of his clergy has been the cause of ill-disguised congratulation, not only among those who are in direct affiliation with the revolutionists, but amid the sects who profess to regard the Decalogue as part of their fundamental doctrine. Have we yet heard from the thousands of pulpits and hundreds of newspapers, occupied and controlled by the various Protestant sects, one open and manly protest against the atrocious criminals who have so recently sullied the fair fame of France by deeds that would have disgraced the most degraded forms of savage life? Not one.
A fact like this, so patent and portentous, while it shows how large a portion of civilized society has fallen away from the plainest teachings of Christian charity and justice, must necessarily lead to the inquiry as to the best means of arresting, and, if possible, correcting so monstrous an evil. Recognizing it as such, it is our duty fearlessly and persistently to endeavor to correct it, for “Felix qui
potuis rerum cognoscere causæ” will always be a true maxim, even when we are engaged in the study of the worst of human miseries and disasters with a view to their alleviation.
In contemplating the many evils which now afflict Christian society, the creation and formerly the obedient creature of the Catholic Church, we must recollect that God has not given to his church the gift of being the infallible preserver of the faith in every nation and at all times, no more than she can guarantee to all people civil order and wise government. There is no doubt that the church is the tree set up in this world, the leaves of which are the health of mankind, “et quis tibi imputavit si perierint nationes quas tu fecisti” (Wisd. xii. 12); but who shall accuse her of countenancing the disorders which have arisen through the rejection of her authority, and to which she has ever been strenuously opposed? Our Lord himself contemplates the rebellion of nations and people against his doctrine. To the angel of the Church of Ephesus the Spirit said, “Be mindful from whence thou hast fallen: and do penance, and resume thy first works. Or if not, behold I come to thee and will move thy candlestick out of its place, except thou dost penance” (Apoc. ii. 5). Even the presence of the priesthood among us in adequate numbers is no assurance against schism and infidelity. Though we may have every confidence in their sanctity and the soundness of their teachings, we cannot always be certain that the duties of their holy calling will be performed with uniform discretion, intelligence, and zeal, or that the hearts of their congregations will respond on all occasions and amid all circumstances to the teachings of their pastors. It is true that at all times and in all places the soldiers of the Cross have proved themselves the faithful guardians of
piety and morality, but it must be admitted that occasionally, particularly in Europe, they have not attached sufficient importance to the necessity of the intellectual training of the masses and to the wonderful advances of the human mind in abstract and practical sciences. What the Abbé Fleury wrote of a past generation is partially, at least, true in this. In the preface to his Historical Catechism, he says:
“We see a great number of devout persons who have read great numbers of spiritual books, and are familiar with a large variety of devotional practices, but who are totally wanting in an understanding of the very groundwork of religion.”
Fleury’s testimony receives a remarkable corroboration in the circumstance that, in the last century, whoever derided the traditional belief in God and in the Christian revelation acquired credit with the multitude as an “esprit fort.” In short, the idea of there being so much as the possibility of an “esprit fort” who believed in God and who ex animo professed the faith of the church, appeared to be unknown, and the universal notion in France was that the choice consisted in being feeble and pious or strong-minded and atheistical. Under the influence of this notion, the principal part of the male population of France fell away from the faith, and it has required the persistent efforts of at least two generations of priests, and with but partial success, to lead them back to the church. Religion in Great Britain during the past century is known to have largely taken its complexion from France, and it is remarkable that the bulk of the English Protestants affected to form precisely the same estimate of it, and that it was a power inimical to the cultivation of the understanding and a decided
enemy of knowledge and progress. The same phenomenon appears in Italy. The Italian people are still deeply attached to the traditions of the Catholic faith, but the popular idea of the Catholic religion, misled by the slanders and misrepresentations of the revolutionists, is that it is the religion of the timid, the feeble, and the pious, that its wants are limited to functions and processions, beads and prayer-books, or what would be rather scoffingly called “roba di pietà,” and that it is in no way conscious of any wants proper to a manly understanding, and consequently never expected to take any pains to satisfy them. In Germany, there are perfectly analogous symptoms. Catholics in some parts of that great empire bear the contemptuous name of Dunkelmänner, men of darkness; and they are looked upon, not merely by the positive enemies of all religion, but by the busy throng, as certainly no friends to the legitimate progress and cultivation of the gifts of the understanding.
The consequences of these disastrous tendencies to fall off from the practice of the virtues and observances of the church are apparent to all thinking men, and, if not checked, will have an equally marked effect on the morals and faith of future generations. To some extent, we humbly submit, they are due to a want of thorough education, not only spiritually but humanly, among a large number of Catholics, who, not deficient in piety and the desire to live according to the precepts of Christianity, are too often led away by the sophistries and superior knowledge—real or affected—of the opponents of their faith. Learning is said to be the handmaiden of religion—and is never so brilliant as when employed in her service, while religion, profiting by her assistance, moves on from one triumph to
another. It does not appear to be a part of the providence of God that man should simply grow into a knowledge of the doctrines of the church, in the same manner as he advances to bodily maturity, but by intelligent and persevering teaching and diligent practice. In our world, every year brings new-comers on the stage, and the message to the Church of Ephesus was, “Age pœnitentiam et prima opera fac.” The Catholic clergy inherit a tradition, long anterior to that of the past century, of being the patrons and the cultivators of the human mind, and they still should remember these true and ancient glories of their sacred calling. The language of the sacred liturgy on the day of Pentecost is beautifully expressive on this subject: