“The mighty thoughts that make us men.”
Of course we laugh at so preposterous an idea; but Mr. Froude has persuaded himself that Catholicity is all this, and we are trying our best to regard him honestly and as being honest. Nor does he stand alone in his persuasion. There are many who go with him in his estimate of Catholicity, and we have them in view quite as much as he in whatever we may have to say. And the first thing we have to say is this: Is there really a “revival of Romanism”? In what and where is it reviving? Of course we reject the term Romanism, as applied to Catholicity. Still, a wilful man may as well have his way, especially where his wilfulness costs nothing. We have a more important controversy with Mr. Froude than a quarrel over names and a haggling over words. If Romanists we must be from his point of view, why Romanists, in the name of peace, let us be, to the extent at least of an article. Some statisticians estimate us at 200,000,000. We can afford to be called names once in a while.
Surely Mr. Froude is mistaken. If it be true, as a very high authority[[68]] assured us a few years ago, that “in the kingdom of this world the state has dominion and precedence,” Catholicity, as a whole, fares very badly in the kingdom of this world, however high it may rank in the next. And strange as it may appear to Mr. Froude and to Prince Bismarck, Catholics have a singular liking for their own place in this world; they lay claim to at least as lawful a share of the things of this world as do Protestants; and they utterly and stubbornly refuse to live on sufferance. The attempt to make Catholics exist on sufferance, go a-begging for their lives, so to say, and eat and drink, and work and sleep, and play and pray by the gracious favor of certain princes of this world, occasions all the trouble between Catholics and the states governed by such princes. So when a “revival of Romanism” is talked about we naturally look to see how Catholics stand in the world; and the look is not encouraging.
The “kingdoms of this world” are all, or mostly all, dead-set against Catholicity. The Catholic Church is proscribed in Germany; proscribed in Russia; tied down in Austria and Italy; hounded in Switzerland; vexed and tormented in Spain and the states of South America. Looked at with the eyes of ordinary common sense, and from a merely worldly standipoint, the Catholic Church, under these governments, which are so strong and powerful, and play so large and important a part in the world, is in about as bad a condition as its worst wisher could desire. By the governments mentioned, with some inequality in the degree of severity, Catholicity is regarded and treated as at once a secret and an open foe, whom it requires every device and strain of the law and the resources of government to put down. What Emerson, in one of his latest and best utterances, has said of the assertion of “moral sentiment” is here exactly true of Catholicity: “Cities go against it; the college goes against it; the courts snatch at any precedent, at any vicious forms of law to rule it out; legislatures listen with appetite to declamations against it, and vote it down. Every new assertion of the right surprises us, like a man joining the church, and we hardly dare believe he is in earnest.”[[69]]
The press is not only against it of its own accord, but is suborned to be against it. Its supreme Pastor has literally scarcely a roof to cover him in the states that through almost all the centuries of the Christian era belonged to the church, and such a roof as he has hangs on the word of a royal[[70]] robber, who, in turn, holds what he has and what he has so ill-gotten by the slenderest of tenures—the breath of a mob. The city that witnessed the divinization of paganism, its awful and just overthrow, the long agony of the Catacombs, the building up of Christendom on the pagan ruins, the glories of the “ages of faith,” is to-day one of the chief centres of the new paganism, which has for its deity nihilism. In all the world to-day no royal crusader is to be found to draw his sword for Christ and Christ’s cross. The race of Charles Martel, of Pepin, of Charlemagne, of Pelayo, of Godfrey de Bouillon, of St. Louis of France, of Scanderbeg, of Sobieski, of Don Juan of Austria, the race of heroes whose swords wrought miracles at Poitiers, at Jerusalem, at Acre, at Rhodes, at Malta, at Vienna, at Lepanto, seems to have died out, though a foe as terrible to Christianity as was ever the old pagan North and the Moslem South and East besieges and threatens now the citadel of the city of God. It is, perhaps, characteristic of the age that the only one to assume the title of royal champion of the cross should be the present Russian emperor. It is, perhaps, equally characteristic of the wicked assumption that it should have met with so fearful and unexpected a response at the hands of the wretched remnant of a power that true Christianity had crippled, and would have smote to the dust had not the division of Christendom lent allies from within the camp to the ancient foe. Does it not look like a just retribution?
The Catholic Church stands between two revolutions—the revolution from above and the revolution from below. Both alike have decreed its death. The Herods, the Pilates, and the rabble, foes in all else, are friends in this. Delenda est Roma Catholica!
This is no fancy picture. We are not speaking now of the church in herself—that consideration will come later—but of the church as she stands towards governments, or rather as they stand towards her. Even where some comparative freedom is allowed her it is doled out gingerly and grudgingly, or given under silent or open protest. The erection of a free Catholic university in France—that is, a university independent of the government: a government accused, too, of “clericalism”—is the signal for the French “republicans,” as writers on this side of the water insist on calling them, to be up in arms. Men laugh to-day at the English Ecclesiastical Titles Act and the turmoil created by it. Yet it moved liberal England in 1850 till the country rocked with the tumult of it. Its author was a liberal leader. He is still living, we believe, though it is hard to think of Earl Russell living and not using his well-remembered voice. At all events he was living a few years ago, and we heard him then—liberal as ever. He had promised to preside at a meeting at Exeter Hall, London, to express sympathy with Prince Bismarck and the German government in their contest with the Catholic Church—a contest that we shall have occasion to refer to in another place. At the last moment Earl Russell “caught a bad cold” and could not appear, but his place as chief speaker was nobly taken—by whom? By a free American citizen, the Rev. Joseph P. Thompson, D.D., formerly of the Church of the Tabernacle in this city; and his closing advice to Prince Bismarck—an advice thrice repeated—was to “stamp out” Catholicity.
These individual instances are only straws, but straws that betoken a great deal of wind somewhere. Such liberty as the Catholic Church has is only conceded to it when and where the very character and stability of the governments necessitate its concession. Under such circumstances, then, does it not sound strange and startling to be alarmed at a “revival of Romanism”?
So much for the dark side of the picture; and there is no denying that it is dark indeed. There is light, however, and the light is very strong and lovely. If the race of royal men and heroes whose swords were ever ready to be drawn in the cause of Christ seems to have quite died out, the race of true Catholics has not died with them. Royalty, at its best even, was generally and almost necessarily a treacherous ally to the church. The kings have gone from the church, but the people remain. In face of this universal, protracted, bitter, and resolute opposition to Catholicity on the part of so many great states, we find the church, as in the days of the apostles, adding daily to her number “those that should be saved.” Here, too, we find, as in all Christian history, the greatest and sharpest contrasts—those contrasts that it baffles human ingenuity to explain. The Catholic Church is to-day strongest where, according to human calculation, she ought to be weakest, and weakest where she ought to be strongest. She flourishes best in what three centuries of almost total estrangement have made to her foreign soil. This it is that so puzzles Mr. Froude.
“The proverb which says that nothing is certain but the unforeseen was never better verified than in the resurrection, as it were out of the grave, during the last forty years of the Roman Catholic religion. In my own boyhood it hung about some few ancient English families like a ghost of the past. They preserved their creed as an heirloom which tradition rather than conviction made sacred to them. A convert from Protestantism to Popery would have been as great a monster as a convert to Buddhism or Odin worship. ‘Believe in the Pope!’ said Dr. Arnold. ‘I should as soon believe in Jupiter’” (p. 93).