The New Position of the Vatican
I
THE fact that the Holy See has come to an understanding with the Italian Government as to its formal position in international politics revives those combatant and vital issues which not long since reminded the world that principles could make America itself into a corrida. The new concordat was not a wonder of seven days; it brings into new debate questions which will exercise politicians and philosophers for many years to come, questions which underlie the claims and even the existence of democratic government; which, if they are considered a little further, invite us to define with a new precision the place of man in the world and the nature of his kinship to the divine mystery.
It is now just on sixty years since Italy changed from what Metternich called a geographical expression into a united whole, and she did so by capturing what had been known for well over a thousand years as the States of the Church. A compact organization of orthodox and international Christianity had grown up on the decline and fall of the Roman Empire, and, as a centre comparatively free from the strife of princes, it had had over a small area its own independent government. No historian now denies that such an organization was best, suited to assert the influence of Christianity among warring states and ambitious emperors, and when the red shirt of bearded Garibaldi moved forward to win for Victor Emmanuel what the fervid nationalist speculations of Mazzini and the shrewd statesmanship of Cavour had thought the one possible capital for Italy, and the Papacy was despoiled of almost all its temporal possessions, the Government of Italy certainly risked a great principle. To establish a national capital in the one centre of an international Church, to turn religious houses into government offices, to appropriate the private palace of the Pope as an office for the invading king, were acts not easy to defend unless moral principles were secondary to expediency. They provoked a just protest from the suffering Church.
But the situation was full of anomalies and compromises which put the protest into the background. The marauding Government passed a Law of Guarantees promising the Pope sovereign honors and full protection, guaranteeing his free diplomatic intercourse with other countries, and offering him an annual indemnity of about $650,000; the Papal Church remained established by the Government, and the State arranged both to pay the priesls and to maintain the churches. The Pope, though he refused the indemnity and all other acknowledgment of the guarantees, found both his income maintained and his prestige finally increased by the sympathy of Catholics in other countries, and the loss of territory freed the Vatican organization for larger tasks. Papal diplomacy turned in a new and more fruitful direction: it asserted its international prestige by proving to peoples the necessity of its function. While Italy found that the Church provided her with much of her glory, and not a little of her income, the Church found that the invader’s move had indirectly improved her own position. At the same time, she could not sacrifice her inalienable principle — the principle, not that she wanted to govern territories, but that, as the representative of divine authority among all nations and above all nations, she must not be in any sort of subjection to any one of them. She must have an absolute independence, so manifest that no one could even accuse her of acting under t he pressure of a coercing government.
The war was the crux. It was clearly seen that Italy was doing nothing to impugn the neutrality of the Vatican, and that the Vatican was perfectly free to play its rôle. Cardinal Gasparri, the Secretary of State, made it clear, on the other hand, that he would accept no settlement of the Roman Question from victorious foreigners, but only by the good will of the Italian people. The subject has been treated in a thorough and illuminating way by Signor Vercesi in a book published a few years ago, L’Italia, la Guerra e il Papato. The war, as he shows, immensely strengthened the Vatican, ridding it of its ihree greatest obstacles — the Czar, the Kaiser, and the Khalif; freeing it from the influence of Austria; forcing countries like Great Britain, Greece, and Holland to maintain diplomatic relations with it; and showing the whole world that Christianity, organized as an international unity, could properly function as an instrument of health and peace in the complex organism of the modern world.
In all this, the Italians saw at once how closely the prestige and influence of the immemorial institution at Rome are associated with their racial genius and their national honor, and they began to take the place of France as the Vatican’s defender; they made it clear how much they would welcome the emissary of the Pope at the Conference of Genoa in 1922, as they have since undertaken to represent his point of view at Geneva. The Fascist Government has done all it can to support the projects of the Vatican. It set up the crucifix in the schools and arranged for religious education; it recognized titles conferred by the Pope, and gave the new Catholic university at Milan the status of the national universities at Naples and Pisa. It supported the Vatican arrangements for the Holy Year, giving excursion tickets to Rome, to which it added free railway journeys to the Holy House at Loreto, to the Madonna at Pompeii, and to the Shrine of Saint Francis of Assisi. It encouraged the revival of the Corpus Christi processions in the streets, and advised the provincial governors, generals, and mayors to take a place in the processions.
This great national acknowledgment does not necessarily mean active faith. Mussolini, at whose behest all this was done, was not often seen in church. But he was once seen to kneel for a considerable time before a stat ue of the Virgin when paying an official visit to a town in Northern Italy. He did this, he said in a speech immediately afterward, because he wished to set an example of reverence and respect toward the immemorial traditions and habits of the Italian people, and to associate them with the great institution which had always brought them prestige.
Such an attitude of mind, which is very much that of old Rome, is by no means unknown in contemporary England. For members of the Church of England, whose faith and devotion are ill defined, ‘the Church’ still exists as an institution which represents both the solidarity of national society and the value of national ideals, and there are many who would no more think of disrespect toward it than they would of ordering their lives exactly according to the precepts of the Gospel. Whenever their own interests are at stake, they make their compromise as dignified as possible. Mussolini might have moulded his religious mentality in one of the great English schools — what the English call their public schools.
II
Like Mussolini’s attitude in this is the attitude both Church and State had taken in Italy with regard to the Roman Question. The contentions of the Italian Government were admirably stated by Senator Antonio Fradeletto in the Nineteenth Century of June 1923, and the present writer explained the point of view of the Church in the Contemporary Review of the preceding April. The Italian Government had always acted with moderation, and can envisage no scheme to improve on the present position. In this sense, M. Eugene Guichard, writing in the Mercure de France of December 1923, regarded the matter as settled, and said that if one wanted to know what had happened about it one could only apply the words of Corneille, ‘The combat ceased for want of combatants.’ There is some truth in this, but not all the truth. For the Church, though she was willing to forgo her rightful territories, always insists upon her principles, and could in no way cease to demand the formal recognition of the political independence of the Vatican, as the one centre of international Catholicism. Italy recognized the Pope as a person of sovereign dignity, but recognized nothing as his territory and no one as his subject. A sovereign without sovereignty was, said the Vatican, an absurdity; yet all must admit that it was an absurdity which somehow did not inconvenience over thirty different governments in maintaining official relations with the Papal Court.
The Papacy, however, could never be satisfied with a vague accommodation, no matter how convenient, and, though it felt it could afford to wait, it continued to look for something more: that is to say, either for an international guarantee or for an increase of territorial independence to the Vatican,— possibly a little of the land behind St. Peter’s, stretching toward the pine wood of the Marquis Sacchetti, — to be accompanied by a formal diplomatic relation.
The difficulty about an international guarantee was that it involved other nations in maintaining the independence of a territory touching on Italy’s own capital; and the difficulty about admitting territorial independence, as it is admitted in the case of the little republic of San Marino in the Apennines, was that once more an outside power would be established almost in the capital. Meanwhile, the Pope in his first encyclical referred to Italy as nostra amata patria, and invited Italy to send a representative to the Papal Court.
The accommodation therefore was complete, but it was an accommodation. Mussolini in effecting a final settlement removed the only disagreement in a relation which, though informal, was already extremely close. The whole subject was expounded in 1924 by Jean Carrère, who in his admirable book, Le Pape, showed that an agreement was practically accomplished. Mussolini has only ratified an entente. The importance of his step affects other nations rather than his own.
The steps taken toward a settlement of the Roman Question mean therefore, as we saw, that the Fascist Government has adopted the attitude which Gioberti pleaded before the Risorgimento in his famous book, Il Primato. Gioberti argued that Italy’s place in the modern world was to be that of a leader in Christian civilization, and that her greatness was to be in the closest relationship to the universal influence of her Church. Mussolini has spoken in much the same sense, identifying the power of Italy, not with imperial ambition, but with the moral power of the great Christian organism which connects her life with that of other nations. A secret society of any kind, and in particular a secret society which is international, like that of the Freemasons, is therefore certain of all possible opposition from him. But he is able to reconcile the fiery nationalism of his movement with that serene influence which binds together hundreds of millions out of every nation in loyalty toward the venerable city which Italy now shares as a capital with the Church. With this it is suggestive to compare an utterance made by the present Pope in 1921, when he was enthroned at Milan as Archbishop, ‘The Papacy,’ he said, ‘is Italy’s greatest glory.'
III
Closely akin to this contention is the principle that underlies the unexpected politic which led Mussolini to accept Canon Law for Italy. Canon Law is neither more nor less than the Code Napoleon of Cardinal Gasparri. For years he was at the head of the great committees which were busy in revising the Church code. It is now an application of the philosophy of Saint Thomas Aquinas to morals, to politics, to economics, and to citizenship. Knit up as it is with the traditions of Roman law, it is in its broadest outlines the same as that which unites the AngloAmerican system of law with that of the Code Napoleén, which still survives in Italy as it does in France and Spain. The Catholic principles of law are not fundamentally opposed to the Code Napoléon any more than they are to the Constitution of the United States. But there are of course extremely important differences of detail. The chief is in relation to benefit of clergy, the subject of the old debate between Becket and Henry II. The Canon Law still gives the clergy particular privileges: they are, until they are unfrocked, outside the ordinary civil jurisdiction. They must be tried in their own courts, and punished in their own penitentiaries. A layman may not even sue a priest for libel without special permission, and must apply to the Pope himself for this permission if the offender is a prelate. It can hardly be supposed that these clauses will be popular in Italy, which from the time that Boniface VIII was struck in the face at Anagni has seen to it how to keep the priest in his place. A priest very rarely enters a private house in Italy, for example, unless called to perform a sacerdotal function. He moves, long before his ordination, as one apart. But, needless to say, it is not the clergy who make up the bulk of the criminal classes in Italy, and this part of the Canon Law will not make much difference. Even in England, the police have sometimes said nothing about a priest’s delinquencies when assured he would be dealt, with by his Church.
Similarly, with regard to marriage, the Italian State has never recognized divorce, and punishes adultery with arrest. In this matter, therefore, the acceptance of Canon Law will not mean anything so revolutionary as it would mean in America, or even in France. In practice, doubtless, the changes will be modified still further. But it is worth noting that the Canon Law recognizes no distinctions of moral standard between the two sexes. It will not therefore tolerate what has been known in Italy as the ‘house of tolerance.’ By the Crisp! Law of 1893 scandal was removed from the open streets, but brothels were licensed and inspected. No one who has listened to young Italians talking in cities could contend that business has languished within them, and if Fascism, which has already preached in Italy reform in the morals of the flesh, succeeds in enforcing it, we shall see Italy adopting for her young unmarried men standards as strict as those of America. This for a Latin country will indeed be revolutionary. Again, it must be noted that, though there are some very evil towns in Italy, the masses of the peasantry — and they make up the great bulk of the population — live healthy lives, marry young, and have several children. Fascism has already strengthened this tradition; the Canon Law respecting the use of contraceptives will not have to swim against the tide of Fascist patriotism. The changes made are accommodations of detail.
Nevertheless, the concordat is one of the most pregnant issues of contemporary history. It is also a piece of remarkably astute diplomacy. It looks like an agreement in which the Pope has lost nothing, but gained everything. The seizure of Rome by force was not, as we know, morally defensible, but it was proved to have conferred an immense benefit upon the Holy See. The Pope had, in fact, the freedom that he wanted, and it seemed that he had nothing to barter with Italy. How, then, was secured a sum of some eighty million dollars, and the acceptance of Canon Law which implies the supremacy of the Church over the State, as well as, of course, the Pope’s railway station, his two palaces, and the piazza of St. Peter’s? There is only one explanation: it is the latent unpopularity of Fascism.
Since the shocking murders of Matteotti and Amendola, since the bombardment of Corfu, since the night of murder in Florence in 1925, but above all since Mussolini by one arbitrary coup de théâtre raised the currency to its present exchange against the franc, the mark, the pound, and the dollar and disorganized the commerce and industry of Italy, there has been a violent undercurrent of distrust and criticism. Up and down Italy, there are millions who hate the dictator. In Rome, he seems to support his popularity with vigor, and the sweeping changes he is planning in the city give it a certain sense of exhilaration. But in the provinces the sullenness is obvious. Unable to rouse the enthusiasm of the people by a victory, or by any other dramatic sensation, unable to bombard another Corfu, unable to increase Italian territory, unable to secure favorable immigration laws in America, unable to alleviate the difficulties caused by the increase of population, and unable to admit his financial failure by letting the lira fall again to a value that would give Italian industry a chance to compete with French industry and attract the tourist back to Italy, Mussolini has devised the brilliant expedient of a reconciliation with the Vatican. For two and a half years the pourparlers have been secretly going on. The further they went, the more necessary the dictator felt it to carry the matter to a successful conclusion. It would provide a magnificent sensation, and it would secure the allegiance, not only of the priests and the devout, but of the great conservative strength which had always been associated with the Church, and which had gradually become reconciled to the monarchy. Very well, then, Mussolini must be dramatic. He must shelter under the sovereignty of the Church, her liegeman and her servant. He must make restitution for the wrongs of sixty years ago, even to the extent of eighty million dollars. Secretly the negotiation crystallized. The first rumors leaked out in Germany in December, but nothing was allowed to be put into the Italian papers till all was over. Then suddenly, on the seventh anniversary of the Pope’s coronation, all Italy was suddenly wakened to jubilation.
IV
What of the Pope? A shrewd observer who knows Italy thoroughly, and who well understood that the Vatican’s position would be weakened by any arrangement that was not , or at least did not appear to be, the free choice of the Italian people, he certainly could not wish to change the Vatican traditions of caution in making this arrangement. If Fascism were to collapse, his independence from Italy would collapse with it; the Canon Law would be abrogated, and the revulsion of feeling might well find expression in a violent demonstration against the Church. Once again, as in Paris in 1790, the crowd might shout, ‘Hang the bishops!’ But as the Pope looked further, he saw a way through the danger. Anticlericalism was dead, not because it had been stamped out, but because it had failed naturally. The memory of the people was short, and the Government was not definitely implicated in the murders; even when mistakes were made, they could be forgiven; and nothing human is perfect. His agreement, furthermore, was with Italy as represented in her monarchy, and Mussolini was but the signatory; when all was said, Fascism, which must in any case leave its mark in Italy, — as Napoleon’s principles still dominated France, — had this security, that no one could suggest a practical alternative. But even so, the Pope refused to look on the agreement as final till it received its ratification from the Italian people.
But in completing this agreement the Pope gains a firmer hold over the volatile Italian. Canon Law secures to the Church a control of education, and that is what she has for long most desired. The clergy will return once more to prominence and to power, and much of the success of the new scheme will depend on whether or not they can increase the people’s confidence in them. In Italy the Catholic Church is, in one sense, unquestioned; but a certain skepticism is implicit in the Italian mind. The very bases of dogma are laid in a sense of mystery that implies a certain agnosticism. At Rome, says an Italian proverb, we make a faith for other people to believe. Nevertheless, the Vatican may justly hope that its influence upon Italy will be an evident gain. There is, when all is said, less harm than good in being religious. And the Catholic Church provides Italy with her only conceivable religion.
Apart from the benefit he may rightly expect Italians to recognize, the Pope gains the large sum of money we have mentioned. It is no more than justice. Between 1848 and 1871 the Italian Government seized one after another of the great properties of the Church. In Rome its depredations were scandalous. It took from the Pope also his sources of revenue; and the indemnity of $650,000 a year that it offered was not accepted, for it would have made the Pope the pensioner and dependent of Italy. France and Austria, which came to the rescue then, are no financial help now, and since the war the Vatican has been dependent upon the bounty of America. American Catholicism could practically dictate its own terms to the Vatican. That will no longer be the case. The vast sum of money which the Vatican now has at its command will give it a freedom and a power which will certainly make themselves felt. Equally remarkable will be the revolt of the freedom of the Vatican from its long preoccupation with the Roman Question. For more than eighty years its politic has been preoccupied by the indirectness and the delicacy of its relations with Italy and the preliminaries of a settlement. All that is over now.
The Vatican has a freedom it never had before, and that freedom will surely consummate itself in an amplitude of action. There can be no doubt that in a few years the Vatican Council will reopen, and the Catholic Church will define with fuller precision its hopes for the unity of Christendom, its thought as to the mingling of peace with justice, and the duty of the Church to spread and to ennoble the traditions of Christian civilization. Such were the tasks which were set for it when it opened in 1869. It began with a dogmatic constitution of the Catholic faith which defined the spheres of reason and mystery; it then went on to define the teaching office of the Pope in a way which has received far more attention than it deserves. For the prerogatives of the Pope had been defined in sweeping terms in 1439, and the Vatican decree of 1870 qualified these rather than strengthened them. But the Church will now have to face all that is required to complete the present Pope’s darling project of a concordat with the Oriental Church. The Orthodox are in agreement with Roman Catholics about practically every point except papal supremacy, and the present projects point to defining that in a conciliatory way rather than to making the centrality of Rome more obvious. The problem will probably occupy the Papacy very much as the Italian question has occupied it for the last sixty years.
It is worth while to recall, therefore, in this new connection, the lines on which that diplomacy developed. The first phenomenon was the sense of outrage at a great injustice. This naturally remained the attitude of Pius IX, who was the sufferer. When Leo XIII ascended the papal throne the protest was renewed, but already in milder terms. However, he remained intransigent toward the Quirinal. His successor, Pius X, initiated a cerlain change of attitude, and, although he broke with France over M. Loubet’s visit to the Quirinal, he made several steps toward a rapprochement. Benedict XV went considerably further, though the Jew, Sidney Sonnino, insisted that he should have no voice in the Peace Conference. At Benedict’s death, however, matters had gone so far that it was felt even before the election of the present Pope that he should once again give a blessing to the city of Rome from the loggia of St. Peter’s. The words ‘temporal power’ had gradually been replaced by ‘independent sovereignty’; the seizure of possessions was ignored. The new principle was admirably stated by Cardinal O’Connell at Boston on February 10: ‘If the Church is to be universal,’ he said, ‘that is, to minister to the faithful of all lands, of all times, of all races and of all nations, the head of that Universal Church must obviously and naturally be under the domination of no one people, or no one race; neither should he be, in the perfect fulfillment of his universal office, the subject of emperors, kings, or potentates.’
His office was universal, and by the very nature of things had to be independent of civil or political control. Just what form that condition of independence might take was secondary so long as the fact of independent headship was clear to all the world, so that no one could say that the Pope favored Italy or France or any other country or nation or kingdom in his decisions or declarations governing the spiritual conduct of his Church.
All this had been admitted by Italy from the beginning. What Italy would not do was to give up Rome.
V
It is not impossible to conceive that we shall see an evolution of the same kind with regard to the Eastern Church. The fact that the Pope would allow a freedom of language and tradition and rite is well known, and Eastern churches already united are not in fact bound by the decrees of Roman congregations. If the formularies, therefore, were to insist, as they might well do, on the unity of faith and the rights of bishops, an accommodation might arrive within a reasonable space of time, as it has done with regard to Italy in the course of sixty years.
While that task will remain clearly in view, it is likely that the Pope will continue rather to assert what he shares with others than what he holds differently from them. For some time the Vatican hesitated between opposing schools of thought, intransigence and conciliation, but there can be no question of the Pope’s determination to make a move toward a settlement with the East, any more than of his determination to do everything possible to solidify peace in Europe along the lines of what he has from the first declared to be the motto of his reign: ‘The peace of Christ in the reign of Christ.’ In the autumn of 1926 he instituted the new feast of Christ the King, and it would only be reasonable to expect that this movement, in which the Pope has already shown himself so vigorous in the matter of the Actum Française, would find its completeness in new definitions as to a supernal and sovereign law between and over nations. No one who is watching the developments of either religion or politics can ignore the extraordinary possibilities presented by the fact that the Pope has in his own view openly emerged on to the eminence of the spiritual lawgiver of Christendom.