Lord Acton further says, what is confirmed from many quarters, that Cardinal Antonelli feared that the Pope was about to bring upon himself difficulties similar to those which beset the earlier years of his pontificate. Some treat Antonelli's apparent coldness as a ruse. But, Englishman-like, Lord Acton takes the hypothesis that requires least dissimulation, crediting the foresight of Antonelli with real apprehensions.
Lord Acton expresses a belief that there might have been some idea of finding a substitute for infallibility in the suppression of freedom of faith and conscience; with the expectation that the most prominent hindrance to the new dogma would be removed so soon as the Inquisition should be recognized as having one and the same legal position with Catholicism itself. He thinks that a great step in that direction would have been taken if the proposition of the Syllabus had been confirmed which condemns the assertion that the Pontiffs and Councils had ever transgressed the bounds of their power, or usurped the rights of princes. As to usurping the rights of princes, a writer like Lord Acton is at a disadvantage, compared with one like Professor Ceccucci, who wrote the history of General Councils, for the voluminous work of Frond. Ceccucci settles the point with an ease of which Lord Acton has no idea. The Church "never did usurp political power; that possessed by her has always been the most legitimate on earth" (Frond, vol. iv. p. 358).
But one point stated by Lord Acton is that infallibility had been looked upon as a means to an end; and this is the kernel of the matter. Just as, logically, the doctrine of infallible judgment was developed out of that of unlimited power, so, practically, unlimited power must be exercised by an infallible judge. Admit that God has given all power upon earth to one man, and surely you will not deny that, in mercy to His creatures, He will make that man infallible. Admit, on the other hand, that the judgment which bids the secular arm smite this and shield that is infallible, and surely you will own that the secular arm should obey. Liberal Catholics were, not unnaturally, incensed at the writing in the Civiltá at a moment when those in power might have been expected to set an example of moderation. The Freemasons were told that the reason why they dreaded the Council was that they would be condemned, and that no respectable persons would join them after that. And the Liberal Catholics were told that their reasons for dreading the Council were much the same. They professed similar principles with those of the Masons, which were sometimes called Principles of '89, sometimes Principles of Modern Society, or Toleration, or Liberty of Conscience and the Press, or Modern Constitutions, or the Rights of Science, or the Boons of Progress, or Liberalism. No wonder that men who had championed the Church of Rome as the Catholic Church, should tremble when they saw her sinking into a sect so strait as to put all these principles under ban (Civiltá, VII. viii. p. 285).
On November 9 the Pope received the Marquis of Banneville, newly returned to his post as ambassador of France. After many signs of vacillation, the Emperor had finally decided not to ask for the admission of an ambassador. This policy met the views both of the Papal party and of those who desired the entire separation of the Church and the State. The latter had adopted the notion that they took a step towards separation by leaving the Church, while still an establishment of the State, to legislate for the nation over the head of the State. As early as July 10, 1868, M. Emile Ollivier, in the Corps Législatif, dwelling on the fact that the Pope, in his Bull, did not name the Emperor, and that he held all those addressed in it bound by it simply through its being posted up in Rome, said: It is declared that, by the simple fact of its being issued in Rome, every bishop in France is bound and must betake himself to Rome, on pain of disobedience. The Emperor or the civil power is not thought of. It is the gravest act accomplished since 1789. It is the separation of Church and State, proclaimed, for the fist time, by the Pope himself.
On April 9, 1869, Ollivier again raised the subject, protesting that the abstention of the government from the Council amounted to an abrogation of the organic articles of the Concordat. Jules Favre said that it was the separation of Church and State, and as such he gratefully accepted it. These consequences were denied by the minister, M. Baroche, who asserted, "After the Council, the rights of France will remain entire."
This boast passed in France, but not so at the Vatican. The Unitá Cattolica for April 14 showed that the usual ambiguity of the Bonaparte policy marked the replies of the ministers on this critical occasion. The bishops were to go to the Council with "their conscience in full liberty," and yet "after the Council the rights of France were to remain entire." "What," asks the Unitá, "does that mean? Does France want to be free either to relieve or to oppose what the Council will define? After having permitted her bishops to take part in an assembly which every Catholic must believe to be infallible, does Napoleon III mean to hold himself free to prosecute them if they preach the doctrines defined, and enforce the discipline enjoined by the Council?"
This straightforward question shows that M. Picard hit nearer to the point than either Ollivier or Favre; for he cried, "It means a Church free in a State not free."[170] Even that is not quite the truth; which strictly is, A State not free in a Church which is free; for the State is part, and the Church whole; or, to recall the image from the early pages of the Civiltá, the State is the leg and the Church the man. We have seen it roundly asserted by the Civiltá that the Church free means canon law free. That being so, for any man to speak of the State being free, in any modern sense, is trifling. In its expositions of the Syllabus the Civiltá had laid down the true doctrine as follows: The first condition of an efficient alliance of the laws of the State with the laws of the Church, is the application in every case wherein spiritual penalties are insufficient of the means of coercion whereof the State disposes. The voice of the pastor has not always efficacy sufficient to drive away the rapacious wolves from the fold of Christ. Therefore does it appertain to the prince invested with the authority of the sword to arm himself with its force, in order to repel and put to flight all the enemies of the Church (VI. ii. 137). Refusing to stand in this position is, in the esoteric sense, separating the State from the Church. To a conscientious Ultramontane it is absurd to say that a State in this manner subject to the Church is not free, as it would be to say that a body ruled by its informing mind is not free. That is the figure of speech which recurs at every turn of discourse on the subject.
After it had been determined to ratify the policy censured by Picard, De Banneville had his interview. Most writers describe him as a willing tool of the Curia, and as doing all he could to lead France in the way which it might trace out for her. Lord Acton regards him as honestly hoping to compose a difference between the Italian and German schools of theology, by the moderating weight of French influence.[171] Banneville's despatch, on the occasion now in question, would rather seem to countenance the former opinion than the latter.[172] But the Pope in the interview did not say a word indicating his personal opinion as to the questions to be decided. He did, however, say that all must be left to the wisdom of the Fathers—as if all had not been prepared, and doubly prepared. He further said that the rash conjectures of hasty spirits—in manifest allusion to the Civiltá—were to be regretted, as also the premature discussion of questions which would have been better reserved to the Council itself.
It is not probable that this deceived M. de Banneville as to the past, for he well knew how the Pope had encouraged the "premature discussions"; but he might take it as the covering of a retreat from a position found to be too advanced. But a wary man might have felt that perhaps the retreat was only a feint.