THE impression of which we have just been speaking is to a great extent connected with the theoretical, or soliloquizing, attitude assumed by most modern writers on ethics. They record their own ideas and feelings, well knowing that their works will not alter the course of the world in general, but at best will be appreciated, like other such works, by students of philosophy or theology. Rousseau remarked that the strictest views of morality were possible on paper, while in stern reality what is strict and exalted is often inimical to what is good. Catholic theologians come into close contact with real life, and this, as well as the influence exerted in giving advice and instruction, makes it incumbent upon them to take into account the realities and needs of existence far more than Protestants are obliged to do. Recent Protestant writers express regret that their moral theology moves in a sphere too high and too general to influence practically the circumstances of real life.{1}
M. Rade, in one of his speeches, drew attention to the gulf between the lofty ethical teaching of the Bible and modern reality, in which Christianity plays no part. He says: "A professor, who is in a position of social independence, is in teaching ethics but little disturbed by the conflict between the duties of a Christian and the demands of society. Our ethical system is on the whole one for those independently situated; for this reason it possesses no value for the great majority of our fellowmen and for the members of the community. This ethical system demands a moral strictness easily conformed to by professors and pastors, but demanding unheard-of heroism on part of the great mass of mankind who live from hand to mouth."{2} He then proceeds to discuss coöperation in the production of immoral articles, in the printing of bad books, etc., all matters of the same "pettifogging," casuistic nature as those discussed by Catholic moralists. We may say of most theologians what has been said of Schleiermacher's ethical speculations, that they are brilliant displays, but have no more effect upon real life than the wind has upon the grass. Any rational consideration of the actual matters connected with morality is viewed with horror. The simple moral feeling, full of love of virtue and of hatred of vice, is described and extolled as the guiding star of life. Men are apt to forget, however, that there are other feelings in the human heart, most powerful and not of themselves morally reprehensible, such as love of life, of property, etc., and these often come in conflict with the direct moral feeling. In such cases modern man, because guided by his feelings, disregards the law much more radically than a rational consideration would permit him.
Where the old casuists are accused of giving lax decisions, they generally have had in view conflicts of this kind. As far as they give advice at all for the direction of souls, they do so whilst confronted with a doubt whether, by imposing upon a penitent sinner some hard duty, the existence of which is not even positive, they may not repel him, and thus throw him back onto the path of vice.
It is in some degree a result of the very nature of Protestantism, and the way in which it regards faith and law,{3} that its theological and ethical teaching does not touch the individual acts of life, and so has lost all influence over them. Conversely, however, the abolition of confession and the general weakening of the connection between clergy and laity have caused moral casuistry to be considered superfluous and to be misunderstood. In former times, when Protestant theologians were more frequently in a position to counsel rulers, to act as spiritual directors, and to express an opinion on moral questions, they, too, discussed questions of casuistry, and certainly not always with success. Every one knows what advice Luther gave to Philip of Hesse, and of noted casuists of a later date historians of ethics confess that they were not blameless in matters of truth and superstition, that they expatiated with unpleasant details upon matters of married life. Still greater harm has been done to the reputation of ecclesiastical ethics by those who went to the other extreme of mistaken, pietistic severity, which caused Protestant theologians for over a century to quarrel amongst themselves with much heat and subtlety about the depravity of such really indifferent actions as smoking, playing cards, visiting theatres, or the wearing of wigs. The natural effect of such severity was to bring ridicule upon moral precepts.{4} If Protestant theologians of the present day are fairly immune from both dangers, it is due to the slight importance ascribed nowadays to their utterances in most departments of economic and public life.
It is a well-known fact, often exaggerated to suit certain purposes, that Catholic confessors and learned religious were frequently asked by secular rulers to give advice on political affairs, especially in the centuries when casuistry flourished. The Medici often visited the convent of San Marco in Florence, Spanish kings consulted the Dominicans, and Jesuits held prominent positions at courts of Catholic princes. Rade remarks ironically that in politics we are now free from "false idealism." "We have grasped the secret of power and without scruple treat questions of power as such. In our world of thought a very considerable region has imperceptibly been occupied by this new view of things and withdrawn from the control of Christian ethics" (p. 13). Our predecessors are blamed for not recognizing the social and moral importance of trade and money-making, but it cannot be denied that men like Molina and Lessius showed great understanding of economic life and dealt with it with circumspection and moderation, and that casuistic moralists laid down sound principles and decisions on the questions of meum and tuum.
Nowadays law and morality are separated, the regulation of the material side of life is left to legislation and judicial decisions, and Christian morality is regarded as something too exalted to have anything to do with things of this kind. It is, then, easy to describe in fine words the Christian indifference to worldly possessions and to speak of inward liberty and heavenly disposition; but there is a danger that, by assigning such a lofty position to morals, free play is given to another disposition -- viz., the plain greed for money which fears only the penalties of the law -- or to business maxims that are laxer by far than the moral teaching of the casuists. Rade remarks that hitherto "no one of our writers on ethics has written a book on the ethics of business, although it must be possible to do so. Business has only one great object -- the making of money. After a business man has safely passed through all the troubles and risks of his early career and has gathered his harvest, he can perhaps afford to carry on his business on the noblest principles. But whilst working his way up and facing dangerous competition, it is impossible (!) for him to be a Christian and at the same time to push on his business interests" (p. 12, etc.). Another writer on theology complains that "the Church possesses no practical system of ethics; she has no bearing upon the chief factors of life. . . . But in the course of time it becomes intolerable for the people to have ethics cut off from life, and life from ethics."{5}
At the present day Catholic theologians are not often consulted by the rulers of states, but the priest, both in the confessional and outside of it, very frequently has to give a decision regarding moral obligations in private matters; e.g., compensation for wrongs inflicted, disputes about inherited property, divisions of money, claims upon insurance companies, etc. The simple plan, to recommend always the safest and highest course, is often impracticable, because what is advantageous to one is harmful to another. For instance, a man, acting in the interests of his family, can and must pay only what strict duty requires of him, not what Christian idealism might be willing to give. In many cases it may be best to leave doubtful cases to the decision of secular courts of justice, but even the secular court does not aim at excluding all moral rules from the domain of business life; and occasionally the intervention of a priest is sought for the express purpose of avoiding the necessity of going to law. Owing to the absence of confession amongst Protestants, their clergy are not treated with the same general confidence as Catholic priests, and this in itself is a reason, and a very creditable one, why Catholic ethics goes more into detail and must put up with the reproach of being hairsplitting. Modern social development is very similar. In agreement with the view taken by liberal political-economists, that the economic life is independent of the moral law, is the opinion of Protestant theologians that "in social and political affairs the Church does not possess the word of God." This certainly saves their ethics a great deal of trouble, but it causes a fatal cleavage between Christian morality, which then leads with its strict principles and high ideals a purely contemplative existence, and the practical forces that control the business of life. Intelligent supporters of Protestantism look with a certain envy at the Catholic Church, whose ministers, from the Pope downwards, regard it as the duty of all those in charge of souls not only to preach in general the moral tenets of the Gospel, but also to use insight and zeal in applying these tenets to the circumstances of modern, industrial life. In social matters, too, in addition to an active Christian spirit and a proper enthusiasm for social improvement, we must, in order to win recognition for the demands of morality, examine circumstances in a rational way, not overlooking details; we must distinguish clearly between justice and charity, between obligatory honesty and a large-hearted generosity. The text that a "labourer is worthy of his hire" does not decide the question whether the hire ought to be enough for a numerous family to live on; the employer who raises such a question does not care whether he would do a noble deed by paying for the support of a family rather than of an individual, he rather wants to know whether he is in justice bound to do so, apart from the further consideration that his indiscretion on the side of generosity may impose an unrightful burden upon others. Nor can we apply the proverb "honesty is the best policy" indiscriminately to all cases in which an insured person has made a false statement, if we have no real knowledge of the nature and aim of the insurance.
It is quite true that the essence of morality and perfection is to be found, not in minute regulations for conduct, but in inward purity and energetic enthusiasm for God and virtue. But it is doubtful in the first place whether the most effectual means of diffusing this sense of morality is to begin by describing and recommending virtue. Of greater efficacy are practical training in right conduct, affecting every action, the silent influence of example and environment, and the impression produced by heroic deeds and dogmatic representations. The history of Western Christianity shows that the Catholic Church is unrivalled in following this mode of educating nations and individuals. However great an importance may be assigned to ethical principles in training the intellect and disposition, there remains in the second place the necessity of applying these principles to individual cases and of supplying a field of beneficial activity to the noble impulses of the heart. Aristotle pointed out that moral instruction on particular points was more useful than such as dealt only with what was general. Perfection in ethical science lies in the harmonious union of the practical and the theoretical element; where the former is undervalued, morals are regarded too much as a matter of speculation.
Even Kant, who lays great stress upon the interior and general character of moral maxims, raises some "questions of casuistry" at the end of the theoretical section in his work on ethics. How plain and concrete, and to how great an extent casuistic, are the rules for religious laid down by St. Pachomius and St. Benedict! How readily do they pass from general instructions on virtue to the regulation of daily life, of dress, etc.! Modern theologians or any society for ethical culture, in undertaking to write a guide to perfection, i.e., to the highest form of moral life, would set to work very differently and present their readers with enthusiastic exhortations and glorious prospects.
Yet these plain and almost illogical rules have done more to promote the perfection of innumerable Christians and the civilization of nations than any deep and ingenious theory of morals. St. Augustine, though able to soar in spirit to God Himself, did not think it beneath him to attend to the externals of everyday life, and his rule for religious women contains instructions regarding their meals, dress, and outward behaviour. In numerous letters he answers questions asked by laymen on matters of conscience, and these replies invariably display his intellectual powers and dignity, though taking into account even small, exterior matters.
Later casuists may, it is true, sometimes be blamed for their want of intellectual grasp and their inability to take a wide view of their subject, so that chief points are obscured by minute investigation of detail. But every one is not bound to equal St. Augustine; and our modern science, which almost loses itself in minute inquiries, should not be too ready to condemn, as trivial and ridiculous, details that may not bother the modern conscience. Every particle of a language, now regarded as formed by the creative intellect of man, the minutest elements as parts of the economy of nature, every pathological malformation as a deviation from the biological standard -- they are all alike considered important enough for long and learned dissertations. Why, then, should it be unscientific to pay attention to details in matters of morals and to examine in them, too, any pathological phenomena by the standards of law? Gauss, the eminent mathematician, says: "There are questions upon the answers to which I set an infinitely higher value than upon mathematics; viz., questions on the subject of ethics, on our relation to God, and on our future." Why, then, should a moralist be forbidden to display that thoroughness and careful consideration of every detail in his problems which strikes a layman, who happens to open the book, as trivial and hairsplitting? Upon this layman the theoretical or mathematical discussion of any other matter would make the same impression.
But does not the moral sense decide immediately in questions of conscience? Is not a scientific examination of such questions superfluous and confusing? This is undoubtedly the opinion of many modern writers on ethics, and this view appeals to Protestant theologians more than the acceptance of moral ideas as objective rules of thought and action.
However, this conception of morality as a matter of feeling is based on false principles, as von Hartmann has shown in his severe criticism of Herbart's conception of morality as a matter of taste,{6} and it is practically misleading. I cannot refer, in support of the latter statement, to any more conspicuous instance than an affair that was much discussed a few years ago. An officer shot down another, who had insulted his brother, in order to save this brother from fighting a duel, the result of which would probably have been fatal to him. The motives for this action were apparently most noble -- love for his brother and the brother's family, courage and self-sacrifice even to the point of giving up his own happiness in life. But in the whole folly of duelling so much stress is laid upon the sense of honour that people fail to judge the fact reasonably. They overlook the fact that it is possible for an action to be in itself so reprehensible that no nobility of motive can make it objectively excusable. In this case, therefore, the blind impulse of an apparently heroic feeling drove a man to commit actual murder.
Such fatal confusion of thought is encouraged by modern ethics, because it denies or undervalues the inner morality of actions. Modern writers on ethics declare even suicide to be permissible in certain cases, and they allow a physician, with certain limitations, to use poison to deliver an incurable patient from a painful and useless existence. Such writers maintain that nothing is in itself good or bad, that an action becomes so through the intention and circumstances under which it is performed. They regard the "laws" of morality from a purely empirical standpoint; the general idea is only an abstraction, not a binding rule. Protestant teachers of moral theology do not combat this nominalism with sufficient decision; they even encourage it by setting an excessive value upon sentiment and purely subjective reason. Otto Ritschl regrets that there is still so little individualization in matters affecting moral life and thought, and rejects "ethical rationalism with its tacit assumption that all men possess the same amount of reason, and that this reason has to determine for all alike their moral intentions and actions." He says that when the question is asked whether a lie is permissible to save a persecuted person, we still care too little for "what the conscience of the person concerned decides and what he feels to be quite definitely his duty." We still fail, he thinks, "to perceive that one's own conscience is the ultimate judge of what is morally good and bad, and that the judgment of conscience frequently does not coincide with the generally accepted code of morality!"{7}
To prevent such a complete abandonment of the general ideas and rules of morality, other theologians recommend that ethics should proceed more in accordance with reason. "It is only worth while to touch upon details when the broad outlines have been defined. Without dogmas, fundamental ideas, and abstractions, Christian knowledge must finally go wrong. . . . We have become very weak in our conceptions, and so much stronger in sentiment." The widely spread obscurity on the subject of moral perception is ascribed chiefly to the evangelical style of preaching. "It is important to make up for lost time in this respect, lest the obscurity due to making morals a matter of feeling alienates minds of a thoughtful and practical tendency even more completely from religion and the Church than is already the case."{8}
Do we Catholics, then, possess, instead of deceptive feeling, a clear insight based on reason, and are we able to settle every moral question with infallible accuracy? Do we agree with Kant in thinking that "it is quite easy for the most ordinary intelligence to perceive without hesitation what the moral law requires" by means of the categorical imperative? Certainly not! And precisely because we do not share Kant's opinion do we regard some amount of casuistry as indispensable. Paulsen gives an excellent refutation of Kant's exaggerated view of the principle of reason, and shows that it is often difficult for the conscience to arrive at any decision. But he is wrong if he supposes Kant's exaggeration to be connected with the essence of every kind of intuitive morality that accepts laws to which there are no exceptions. An intuitive morality concerned simply with a priori formulae, and not deriving its ideas from reality, has certainly no need of casuistry; and, conversely, a purely empirical morality, that recognizes no absolute laws, has no clue to guide it out of the labyrinth of confused individual motives. Taking into consideration the manifold aspects of life, we may well find it difficult to give to such a commandment as "Thou shalt not kill" so clear and definite an interpretation that it will assume the form of a law admitting of no exception. But as, in spite of varieties of race, human nature is everywhere the same, some general laws governing human actions can be laid down, to which every conscience must assent in so far as it has attained light and truth. Catholic ethics examines according to the reason of the act the exceptions to the fifth commandment -- the taking of life in war, in self-defence, and under the criminal law -- and distinguishes directly wilful and deliberate from indirect and merely permitted killing. In this way it arrives at a scientifically precise statement of what is absolutely forbidden to take the place of the current form "Thou shalt not kill." Having done this, it is able to answer without difficulty in a uniform and conclusive manner such questions as whether duelling is permitted.
There is, of course, no better way of working out clear conceptions than to investigate individual cases that seem to lie just on the border line and to make an exception to the law unavoidable. In casuistry as a whole we are far too apt to overlook the fact that, besides the practical motive for our investigations, we are aiming at clearing up our thoughts on the subject. It is the boast of natural science that, by the observation of individual instances, it tries to form general concepts and to throw light upon the nature of certain laws. Can ethics be reproached for adopting the same method as much as is possible? What is regarded as a matter of course in the case of natural science, jurisprudence, etc., is looked upon as superfluous in the case of ethics; viz., a lucidity of concepts and a strict formulation of laws. Instead of these things, the conscience is advised to rely upon the voice speaking within one's own heart, or to seek special enlightenment in prayer. Of course Catholic teachers of morals do not presume that all cases can be decided on paper, and when difficulties arise it is advisable to examine the facts carefully and to ask in prayer for the counsel of God; but nevertheless there are a number of fixed, unchanging rules facilitating the examination of facts. R. von Thering remarks with reference to such casus conscientiae that, when they concern our neighbour, we should refrain from judging, unless he himself confides in us and asks our advice, as often happens to a confessor in the Catholic Church. Ihering speaks of confession as "an institution, the justification and value of which I, though a Protestant, cannot deny, since it sets the objective Church as a support before men in their perplexities instead of their own merely subjective authority, and it has caused the teachers of the Church to deal with the theory of morals, not exclusively from the purely scientific standpoint of ethics, but also from the practical point of view of moral casuistry."{9}
With reference to some forms and manifestations of casuistry there is some ground for the charge that it views things in a petty, one-sided, and superficial way. When it is considered, however, that this charge is made against all casuistry, and with such slight foundation, we cannot help saying that it applies perfectly to those who make it. They themselves judge in a petty way, because they think only of the emotional needs of the educated people of to-day, and do not realize that it is the great, universal task of the Church to give moral training to all mankind, including ferocious savages and degraded criminals.{10}
They judge in a one-sided way, because they do not see that casuistry aims at clarifying ideas and at establishing a basis for what is generally accepted, but they imagine that it contains the whole moral teaching of Catholicism. They judge in a superficial way, because they allow themselves to be misled by the preponderating bulk of casuistry and by some peculiarities that strike them, and so they overlook most important instructions on matters of principle and significant limitations that cast quite another light upon decisions of individual cases. As this one-sidedness and superficiality is the outcome of a careless, contemptuous, and overhasty mode of proceeding, it offers in this respect a very discreditable contrast to the methods of the old casuists, who undeniably displayed thoroughness, fairness, and regard for the opinions of others. Their one-sidedness is, as a rule, due to conscious self-repression, to limiting the point at issue to what is essential, and to failure to record circumstances. However formalistic this method may occasionally appear to us, we must say of it Abstrahentium non est mendacium. If in a treatise de jure et justitia a moralist of this kind comes to the conclusion that such and such an action is not required by law, he may consider it superfluous to refer to virtues such as love, gratitude, etc., which might perhaps render its performance desirable. When he insists on outward reverence and does not mention inward devotion at Mass on Sunday, he has in mind obedience to the law of the Church, and at most he may remark that the natural law and respect for God obviously require also the inward participation in the holy sacrifice.
That there is something to be said in favour of this kind of one-sided abstraction has already been pointed out, and I shall refer to the subject again in my next chapter. It is plain that this logical limitation ought not to be interpreted as moral limitation. Probabilism is based upon such an abstraction, and not upon a lax view of the moral law; it assigns limits to individual laws, not to morality itself.{11}
These critics might, with advantage, take to heart a sentence of a historian referring primarily to mediaeval theology, but applicable also to later moral theology: "The outcome of such knowledge is inevitably a refinement of method that is urgently needed in considering works on theology. We have had to pay a bitter penalty for apparently harmless inaccuracies, on our part, in studying books in which scrupulous exactitude in distinctions counts for everything, and which are some of the most subtle works ever compiled."{12}
How much need there is of such refinement in the methods employed, if a just judgment is to be formed, will appear in the discussion of some particularly "offensive" points. I may remark here that my aim in writing the following sections was not to examine the various problems critically, but rather to throw light upon their real meaning.{13}
{1} Von Nathusuis, Die Mitarbeit der Kirche an der Losung der sozialen Frage, 2d ed., Leipzig, 1897, p. 13. "Theological ethics has on the whole no place at all among the realities of life. Whenever I pass from the sphere of political economy to theological ethics I cannot get rid of the impression that I am entering fairyland."
{2} M. Bade, Religion und Moral. Streitsätze fur Theologen, Giessen, 1898, p. 11, seq.
{3} See infra, Part II, Chaps. I, II and V.
{4} Even matters connected with the intercourse of the sexes have been discussed, with disgusting zeal, by pietistic circles. The detailed manner in which Zinzendorf dealt with and regulated the affairs of married life is notorious.
{5} H. Kötsshke in the Christl. Welt, 1904, col. 38.
{6} Phänomenologie des sittl. Bewusstseins, p. 317.
{7} Christl. Welt, 1903, pp. 418, 421.
{8} Ibid., 1903, p. 425; 1902, p. 872.
{9} Der Zweck im Reclit, 4th ed., 1905, p. 39. K. Jentsch considers it "not very conscientious for a Church to limit itself to unctuous trivialities, and to tell a plain man who wants to know how to act under certain circumstances that his conscience alone must decide." He says that, apart from some highflown generalities, there is at the present time great diversity of opinion regarding most important questions of morality, and yet there is no "autonomy," but every one follows "some one else's lead." "How," he asks, "is ultramontane morality to be resisted if we have nothing to oppose to it? And at the present moment we have nothing. Each of us has, I suppose, his own moral code, but we possess no moral code that would be accepted by the great majority of non-Catholics" (Die Zukunft., Jahrg. X, 51, p. 467, etc.).
{10} Even such abstruse casus as whether a man may commit suicide if commanded to do so by a superior, and if it can ever under certain circumstances be permissible to eat human flesh, no longer seem altogether fictitious when we remember the fate of Christian officials in China, or the experiences of those who have been kept in captivity by savage nations.
{11} Herrmann, (p. 66) does not realize this fact when he supposes that, should the police prohibit the use of mantraps, a conscience trained in Probabilism need not bother about any possible injury to a neighbour if there was any ambiguity about the order. As if the natural law, and the fifth commandment, did not make it a positive duty to refrain from injuring one's neighbour! He is mistaken also when he remarks (Christl. Welt, 1904, p. 125) on the casus whether a Christian may, in order to prevent murder or adultery, counsel the committing of some lesser sin: "Whatever sacrifices and dangers may be involved, he does his best to prevent adultery or murder, and keep his hands clean of contributing in any way to the perpetration of another sin." The whole discussion in this case is dependent upon the express presumption that it would be impossible in this particular case "to prevent" the murder or adultery (Christl. Welt, 1904, p. 125).
{12} v. d. Leyea, Allg. Zeit., 1896, supplement 46.
{13} Reference to abuses in casuistry is made in a decree of Alexander VII, dated September 24, 1665, which condemns explicitly the "license of extravagant minds" and their "manner of putting forward opinions completely at variance with the simplicity of the Gospel." Opinions of this kind were condemned not only by Alexander VII, but also by Innocent XI and Alexander VIII (see Denzinger, Enchiridion). For other complaints made by energetic bishops and theologians of the seventeenth century, and later by St. Alphonsus, see Ter Hear, Das Dekret des P. Innozenz XI über den Probabilismus, 1904, p. 32, etc.