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The most traumatic era in the entire history of Roman Catholicism, some have argued, was the period from the middle of the 14th century to the middle of the 16th. This was the time when Protestantism, through its definitive break with Roman Catholicism, arose to take its place on the Christian map. It was also the period during which the Roman Catholic Church, as an entity distinct from other “branches” of Christendom, even of Western Christendom, came into being.

The spectre of many national churches supplanting a unitary Catholic church became a grim reality during the age of the Reformation. What neither heresy nor schism had been able to do before—divide Western Christendom permanently and irreversibly—was done by a movement that confessed a loyalty to the orthodox creeds of Christendom and professed an abhorrence for schism. By the time the Reformation was over, a number of new Christian churches had emerged and the Roman Catholic Church had come to define its place in the new order.

Roman Catholicism and the Protestant Reformation

Whatever its nonreligious causes may have been, the Protestant Reformation arose within Roman Catholicism; there both its positive accomplishments and its negative effects had their roots. The standing of the church within the political order and the class structure of western Europe was irrevocably altered in the course of the later Middle Ages. Although Boniface VIII’s extravagant claims for the political authority of the church and the papacy were undermined by the Babylonian Captivity and the subsequent schism, by the mid-15th century the papacy had recovered and triumphed over the conciliar movement. By the time Protestantism arose to challenge the spiritual authority of Rome, however, the papacy had squandered some of its recovered prestige in its attempts to establish its preeminence in Italian politics. Indeed, the popes were so involved in Italian cultural and political affairs that they had little appreciation of the seriousness of the Protestant movement. The medieval political structure too had undergone change, and nationalism had become a more important force; it is not a coincidence that the Reformation first appeared in Germany, where animosity toward Rome had long existed and memories of the papal-imperial conflict lingered.

Accompanying these sociopolitical forces in the crisis of late medieval Roman Catholicism were spiritual and theological factors that also helped to bring about the Protestant Reformation. By the end of the 15th century there was a widely held impression that the papacy refused to reform itself, despite the relative success of the Fifth Lateran Council (1512–17), which was called by Pope Julius II. The papacy’s reputation had been damaged by the political and military machinations of popes such as Julius, and the hierarchy’s greed and corruption were demonstrated by Pope Leo X’s agreement (1514) to allow the sale of indulgences in the diocese of Mainz. The church also was plagued by the perception that professional theologians were more interested in scholastic debates than in the practical matters of everyday Christian belief and practice.

Despite, or because of, the rampant abuses of the hierarchy, there were efforts to reform the church. The most notable reformers were the Christian humanists, including Erasmus and Thomas More, who advocated an evangelical piety and rejected many of the medieval superstitions that had crept into church teaching. In Spain, Cardinal Jiménez undertook the reform of the clergy, restoring the observance of celibacy and other clerical and monastic rules of behaviour. Although condemned for heresy, Girolamo Savonarola represented the ascetic reformist piety that existed in the late 15th century.

During the Protestant Reformation the church’s conflicting tendencies toward both corruption and reform coincided with the highly personal struggle of Martin Luther, who asked an essentially medieval question: “How do I obtain a God who is merciful to me?” Luther at first attempted a medieval answer to this question by becoming a monk and by subjecting himself to fasting and discipline—but to no avail. The answer that he eventually found, the conviction that God is merciful not because of anything that the sinner can do but because of a freely given grace that is received by faith alone (the doctrine of justification by faith), was not utterly without precedent in the Roman Catholic theological tradition, but, in the form in which Luther stated it, there appeared to be a fundamental threat to Catholic teaching and sacramental life. And in his treatiseThe Babylonian Captivity of the Church, issued in 1520, Luther denounced the entire system of medieval Christendom as an unwarranted human invention foisted on the church.

Luther’s unsparing attacks upon the moral, financial, and administrative abuses of the church were initially prompted by the sale of indulgences in Germany by the Dominican friarJohann Tetzel. Luther insisted throughout his life, however, that the primary object of his critique was not the life but the doctrine of the church—not the corruption of the ecclesiastical structure but the distortion of the gospel. The late medieval mass was “a dragon’s tail,” not because it was liturgically unsound but because the medieval definition of the mass as a sacrifice offered by the church to God jeopardized the uniqueness of the unrepeatable sacrifice of Christ on Calvary. The cult of the Virgin Mary and of the saints, in Luther’s view, diminished the office of Christ as the sole mediator between God and the human race. Thus, the pope was the Antichrist because he represented and enforced a substitute religion in which the true church, the bride of Christ, had been replaced by—and identified with—an external juridical institution that laid claim to the obedience due to God himself. When, after repeated warnings, Luther refused such obedience, he was excommunicated by Pope Leo X in 1521.

Until his excommunication Luther had regarded himself as a loyal Roman Catholic and had appealed “from a poorly informed Pope to a Pope who ought to be better informed.” He had, moreover, retained a Roman Catholic-like perspective on most elements of Christian doctrine, including not only the Trinity and the two natures in the person of Christ but also baptismal regeneration and the real presence of the body and blood of Christ in the Eucharist. (He did, however, reject the Catholic teaching of transubstantiation in favour of what has come to be called consubstantiation.)

Many of the other Protestant Reformers were considerably less conservative in their doctrinal stance, distancing themselves from Luther’s position no less than from the Roman Catholic one. Thus, Huldrych Zwingli lumped Luther’s sacramental teaching together with the medieval one, and Luther in turn exclaimed: “Better to hold with the papists than with you!” John Calvin was considerably more moderate than Zwingli, but both sacramentally and liturgically he broke with the Roman Catholic tradition. The Anglican Reformation strove to retain the historical episcopate and steered a middle course, liturgically and even doctrinally, between Roman Catholicism and continental Protestantism, particularly under Queen Elizabeth I.

The polemical Roman Catholic accusation—which the mainline Reformers vigorously denied—that these various species of conservative Protestantism, with their orthodox dogmas and quasi-Catholic forms, were a pretext for the eventual rejection of most of traditional Christianity, seemed to be confirmed by the emergence of the radical Reformation. The Anabaptists, as their name indicates, were accused by their opponents of “rebaptizing” those who had received the sacrament of baptism as infants (the Anabaptists advocated adult baptism and held that infant baptism was invalid); this was, at its foundation, a redefinition of the nature of the church, which they saw not as the institution allied with the state and embracing both the good and the wicked but as the community of true believers who had accepted the cost of Christian discipleship by a free personal decision. Nevertheless, the Anabaptists retained, in their doctrines of God and Christ, the historical orthodoxy of the Nicene Creed. Those Protestants who went on to repudiate orthodox Trinitarianism as part of their Reformation claimed to be carrying out, more consistently than Luther or Calvin or the Anabaptists had done, the full implications of the rejection of Roman Catholicism, which they all had in common.

The challenge of the Protestant Reformation became also an occasion for a resurgent Roman Catholicism to clarify and to reaffirm Roman Catholic principles; that endeavour had, in one sense, never been absent from the life and teaching of the church, but it was undertaken now with new force. As the varieties of Protestantism proliferated, the apologists for Roman Catholicism pointed to the Protestant principle of the right of private interpretation of Scripture as the source of this confusion. Against the Protestant elevation of Scripture to the position of sole authority, they emphasized that Scripture and church tradition are inseparable and always have been. Pressing this point further, they denounced justification by faith alone and other cherished Protestant teachings as novelties without grounding in authentic church tradition. Echoing the Letter of James (2:26) that “faith without works is also dead,” they warned that the doctrine of “faith alone, without works” as taught by Luther would sever the moral nerve and remove all incentive for holy living.

Yet these negative reactions to Protestantism were not by any means the only—perhaps not even the primary—form of participation by Roman Catholicism in the history of the Reformation. The emergence of Protestantism did not exhaust the reformatory impulse within Roman Catholicism, nor can it be seen as the sole inspiration for Catholic reform. Rather, to a degree that has usually been overlooked by Protestant and Catholic historians alike, there was a distinct historical movement in the 16th century that can only be identified as the Roman Catholic Reformation.

The church in the modern period

Catholicism in Revolutionary France

The period of the Reformation and the Counter-Reformation was a time of convulsion for the Roman Catholic Church, but the era of revolution that followed it was, if anything, even more traumatic. This was partly because, despite the polemical rancour of Reformation theology, both sides in the controversies of the 16th and 17th centuries still shared much of the Catholic tradition. In the 18th century, however, there arose a political system and a philosophical outlook that not only did not take Christianity for granted but in fact explicitly opposed it, compelling the church to redefine its position more radically than it had done since the conversion of Constantine in the 4th century.

Although the rhetoricians of the French Revolution spoke as though the church and the ancien régime (the pre-Revolutionary political and social system of France) had been one, no one could study the history of the church in the age of Louis XIV and accept so simplistic an interpretation. Indeed, there had been bitter and uncompromising conflict between the two. Nevertheless, this conflict had taken place within the context of certain shared presuppositions. It is significant, for example, that the French aristocracy, soon to become the hated object of Revolutionary zeal, constituted the source of almost all the bishops of the church in the ancien régime. This also meant that positions of authority in the church were largely foreclosed to the lower clergy because of their class. The theological and ecclesiastical parties identified with opposition to Rome were frequently those that drew the support of the laity; Jansenism, for example, was identified as the position of the lay lawyers who spoke for the French courts of justice against the hierarchy. Despite the hostility between church and state, therefore, the ancien régime appeared to its critics to be a monolith. Thus, when the French philosopher Voltaire (1694–1778) said, “Écrasez l’infâme” (“Crush the infamous one”), he may have meant superstition, ignorance, and tyranny, but what they added up to concretely in the minds of the revolutionaries was the supposed alliance of the monarchy with the Roman Catholic Church. This identification was only confirmed when the defenders of the established order, both lay and clerical, spoke out against the threat of revolution with a greater awareness of its dangers than of its justification.

Complicating the predicament of the church in the ancien régime was the corrosive influence of the Enlightenment on the religious beliefs of much of the lay intelligentsia. Enlightenment rationalism took hold among many defenders of the political status quo as well as among clerical scholars, helping to produce the beginnings of critical biblical scholarship and of religious toleration. It would be an oversimplification, therefore, to put the Enlightenment unequivocally on the side of the critics and revolutionaries. But the confidence in reason and the hostility to “superstition” cultivated by the Enlightenment inevitably clashed with the Christian reliance on revelation and with the belief in supernatural grace as communicated by the sacraments.

The political and social prerogatives of the church were also threatened by the Enlightenment, especially when it became allied with the expanding claims of an autocratic “enlightened despotism.” The brotherhood cultivated by groups such as the Freemasons and the Illuminati, a rationalist secret society, constituted a rival to the feeling of community that the church had once provided. The Masonic alternative to the Catholic mass even became the subject of an opera, The Magic Flute by Mozart.

Although leaders of the state were often more hospitable to the ideas of the Enlightenment than were leaders of the church, the latter proved more accurate in their assessment of the revolutionary implications of these ideas. The “heavenly city of the 18th-century philosophers” may originally have been intended as a substitute for the City of God, but it also provided much of the ideological rationale for the attack upon the ancien régime. In the familiar epigram of the Swiss writer Jacques Mallet du Pan, after the French Revolution, “philosophy may boast her reign over the country she has devastated.”

The actions of the French Revolution against the church took many forms, but the most significant was the Civil Constitution of the Clergy (1790), which attempted to subject the church to the National Assembly. The entire church in France was reorganized, with the authority of the pope restricted to doctrinal matters. Later in the same year, a constitutional oath was required of all the French clergy, most of whom refused. Pope Pius VI (reigned 1775–99) denounced the Civil Constitution in 1791, and Catholic France was divided between adherents of the papal system and proponents of the new order. The closing decade of the 18th century was dominated by this conflict, and no resolution was provided by either church or state. The ultimate humiliation of the church took place in 1798 when Pius VI was driven out of Rome by French armies; in the following year he was taken captive and dragged back to France, where he died. As papal prestige sank to depths it had not reached since the crises of the 14th century, some critics called for abolishing the office altogether.

Napoleon I and the restoration

The death of Pius as a martyr and his instructions for a conclave in the event of an emergency contributed to a dramatic reversal of fortune for the papacy and the church in the first half of the 19th century. However, the worst excesses committed against the church by the Revolution were overturned by one of the Revolution’s own. After assuming power, Napoleon Bonaparte, recognizing the great division that attacks on the church had caused in France, sought an accommodation, which was achieved in a concordat concluded with Pope Pius VII (reigned 1800–23) on July 15, 1801. It granted freedom of worship to all Frenchmen while recognizing that the faith of most of them was Roman Catholicism. All incumbents of bishoprics were to resign and be replaced by bishops whom Napoleon, as first consul, would nominate. The properties of the church that had been secularized during the Revolution were to remain so, but the clergy was to be provided with proper support by the government.

Many historians maintain that the Concordat of 1801 was as important an event for the modern church as the conversion of Constantine had been for the ancient church. As Constantine had first recognized and then established Christianity in the Roman Empire, so a series of concordats and other less-formal agreements created the modus vivendi between the church and modern secular society. What this arrangement entailed for the papacy was the surrender of most of the temporal holdings of the church in Europe. The eventual outcome was the creation of Vatican City as a distinct political entity, but only after a long conflict over the States of the Church during the unification of Italy in 1869–70.

Although the Concordat of 1801 was of lasting significance, it was not the final act in the tumultuous drama involving Napoleon and the pope. Indeed, the French ruler attached a number of articles to the concordat that restricted papal jurisdiction in France, thus undermining the authority of the pope. Pius’s refusal to accept the additions to the agreement led to worsening tensions between the two leaders and to Pius’s eventual arrest and imprisonment. In January 1813, while in French custody, Pius was forced to sign a new concordat, but he repudiated the document two months later.

Pius ultimately outlasted Napoleon, who suffered his final defeat at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815, after which the victorious powers attempted to restore the pre-Revolutionary order. The Congress of Vienna in 1814–15 helped to establish a basis for the church’s recovery in the 19th century by returning Rome to the pope. Pius further secured the church’s future by signing concordats with the rulers of several countries, and he recognized the newly independent states of Latin America. He also revived the Society of Jesus, condemned Freemasonry, and patronized art and education. His efforts restored the papacy to its former position of respect and reestablished the church as an important force in the affairs of Europe and America.

Pius IX

Few popes of modern times have presided over so momentous a series of decisions and actions as Pius IX (reigned 1846–78), whose early liberalism was ended by the shock of the Revolutions of 1848. During his reign the development of the modern papacy reached a climax with the triumph of ultramontanism—the viewpoint of those who favoured strong papal authority and the centralization of the church—and the promulgation of the dogma of papal infallibility. It had long been taught that the church, as “the pillar and bulwark of the truth,” could not fall away from the truth of divine revelation and therefore was “indefectible” or even “infallible.” Inerrancy had likewise been claimed for the Bible by both Roman Catholic and Protestant theologians. As the visible head of the church and as the authorized custodian of the Bible, the pope had also been thought to possess a special gift of the Holy Spirit, enabling him to speak definitively on faith and morals. But this gift had not been defined in a clear way. The outward conflicts of the church with the modern world and the inner development of its theology converged in the doctrinal constitution Pastor aeternus (“Eternal Shepherd”), promulgated by the First Vatican Council (commonly called Vatican I) on July 18, 1870. It asserted that

the Roman Pontiff, when he speaks ex cathedra, that is, when in discharge of the office of pastor and teacher of all Christians, by virtue of his supreme apostolic authority he defines a doctrine regarding faith or morals to be held by the universal Church, by the divine assistance promised to him in blessed Peter, is possessed of that infallibility with which the divine Redeemer willed that his Church should be endowed.

Those who opposed the official declaration of papal infallibility argued that such a declaration would widen divisions within the church and increase animosity and misunderstanding between the church and the modern world. This opposition was, however, ineffective, and the dogma of infallibility became the public doctrine of the church. Those who continued to disagree with the dogma withdrew to form the Old Catholic Church, which was centred in the Netherlands, Germany, and Switzerland.

In September 1870, while Vatican I was in recess, Rome was occupied by forces of the Kingdom of Italy, and the council was forced to suspend its work. During the subsequent period of the “Roman Question,” which lasted until 1929, the official position of the church was that the pope was a “prisoner” in the Vatican.

Even before the promulgation of the dogma of infallibility, Pope Pius had exercised the authority that it conferred on him. In 1854 he defined as official teaching the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin Mary, “that the Most Blessed Virgin Mary, at the first instant of her conception, was preserved immaculate from all stain of original sin, by the singular grace and privilege of the Omnipotent God, in virtue of the merits of Jesus Christ.” Although the doctrine was very popular in an age of increasing Marian devotion and was supported by bishops and theologians, it was pronounced by the pope as a demonstration of papal infallibility. Ten years later Pius issued a document that was in some ways even more controversial, the Syllabus (December 8, 1864). In it he condemned various doctrines and trends characteristic of modern times, including pantheism, socialism, civil marriage, secular education, and religious indifferentism. By thus appearing to put the church on the side of reaction against liberalism, science, democracy, and tolerance, the Syllabus seemed to signal a retreat by the church from the modern world. Be that as it may, the document did clarify Roman Catholic teaching at a time when it was being threatened on all sides.

The church’s hostility toward modern thought and society led to a serious confrontation with the Prussian government in the Kulturkampf of the 1870s and ’80s. Because he was a Prussian and a Protestant, Prime Minister Otto von Bismarck resisted the basic trend of the developments just traced. In his view, the Roman Catholic parties in the German states were an obstacle to the political union to which he was dedicated—i.e., a predominantly Protestant Germany without Roman Catholic Austria. Moreover, he believed that both the Syllabus of Errors and the dogma of infallibility were expressions of the church’s opposition to the very sort of state he was trying to establish. Much of the theological opposition to papal infallibility came from German thinkers, notably Ignaz von Döllinger, to whose defense Bismarck sprang.

The Kulturkampf began with the elimination of the Roman Catholic bureau from the ministry of education and ecclesiastical affairs in the Prussian state. Bismarck asserted the state’s authority over all education in Prussia and expelled the Society of Jesus. Then, in direct defiance of the Syllabus of Errors, he made civil marriage obligatory, regardless of whether the couple had exchanged vows before a clergyman. Laws were passed to compel candidates for the Roman Catholic priesthood to attend a German university for at least three years. Bismarck summarized his defiance of the church in an allusion to the conflict between Pope Gregory VII and Emperor Henry IV in the 11th century: “We are not going to Canossa!” When Pius IX died in 1878, the conflict was still unresolved.

Leo XIII

Leo XIII (reigned 1878–1903) was no less conservative in his ultramontanism and his theological inclinations than his predecessor, and on issues of church doctrine and discipline his administration was a strict one. It was during his reign that the movement known as Modernism, which advocated freedom of thought and the use of biblical and historical criticism, arose within Roman Catholicism. Although the formal condemnation of its tendencies did not come until 1907, four years after his death, Leo made his opposition to this trend clear by the establishment of the Pontifical Biblical Commission as a monitor over the work of scriptural scholars. His conservative and centralizing tendencies also were reflected in his relations with other churches. Although he voiced a more open attitude toward the Eastern churches, he sought their return to obedience to Rome. In 1895 Leo appointed a commission to decide the long-mooted question of whether, despite the separation from Rome in the 16th century, the priestly ordination of the Anglican Communion was valid, as was that of the separated Eastern churches; in 1896 he issued Apostolicae curae (“Apostolic Concerns”), which denied the validity of Anglican orders and was a setback for ecumenical hopes on both sides.

The pope’s conservative nature was demonstrated most dramatically in his condemnation of Americanism. He had difficulty comprehending the burgeoning republic of the United States, American pluralism, and American Catholic praise for religious liberty. The controversy over Americanism arose from a French translation of a biography of Isaac Thomas Hecker, founder of the American congregation of priests, the Paulists. Hecker had sought to reach out to Protestant Americans by stressing certain points of Catholic teaching, but Leo understood this effort as a watering down of Catholic doctrine. Hecker also had used terms such as “natural virtue,” which to the pope suggested the Pelagian heresy. Because members of the Paulists took promises but not the vows of religious orders, many concluded that Hecker denied the need for external authority. Progressive Catholics in America advocated greater Catholic involvement in American culture, which some understood to mean that Roman Catholics should adapt its teachings to modern civilization. In Longinqua oceani (1895; “Wide Expanse of the Ocean”), Leo warned American church leaders—such as the only cardinal in the American church, James Gibbons, archbishop of Baltimore—not to export their unique system of separation of church and state, and in his pastoral letter Testem benevolentiae (1899; “Witness to Our Benevolence”) he condemned other forms of Americanism. Gibbons denied that American Catholics held any of the condemned views, and Leo’s pronouncement ended the Americanist movement and curtailed the activities of American progressive Catholics.

Despite his theological and ecclesiological conservatism, Leo’s attitude toward the modern world was more accommodating than that of his predecessor. More diplomatic and flexible than Pius, Leo also initiated contacts with contemporary scholarship. He encouraged historical studies and opened the Vatican archives to researchers, including even Protestant historians. He also promoted education and the study of astronomy and science. The positive aspects of his theology appeared in the encyclicalAeterni Patris (“Eternal Father”) of August 4, 1879, which, more than any other single document, provided a charter for the revival of Thomism—the medieval theological system based on the thought of Aquinas—as the official philosophical and theological system of the Roman Catholic Church. It was to be normative not only in the training of priests at church seminaries but also in the education of the laity at universities. To that end Leo also sponsored the start of a definitive critical edition of the works of Aquinas. Although he was a staunch Thomist, Leo named John Henry Newman (1801–90), the English scholar whose theology was more Augustinian than Thomistic, a cardinal.

Leo XIII is best remembered for his social and political thought, which earned him the sobriquet the “pope of peace.” Uncompromising in his attitude toward Italy and papal independence, Leo strove to improve relations with France and encouraged French Catholics to participate in their democracy. He also managed to mollify the church’s position toward the policies of Bismarck, and the chancellor in turn moved toward a compromise. Diplomatic relations between Germany and the Vatican were restored in 1882, and gradually the restrictive laws of the Kulturkampf were lifted. But Leo’s greatest achievements in relations between the church and the modern world were his social and political encyclicals. Without repudiating the theological presuppositions of the Syllabus of Errors, these documents articulated a positive social philosophy, not merely a defensive one. In Libertas (“Liberty”), issued on June 20, 1888, he sought to affirm what was good about political liberalism, democracy, and freedom of conscience. Above all, the encyclical Rerum novarum (“Of New Things”) of May 15, 1891, allied the church with the modern struggle for social justice. Although rejecting the program of 19th-century socialism, Leo also severely condemned exploitative laissez-faire capitalism and insisted upon the duty of the state to strive for the welfare of all its citizens. The social thought of Leo XIII helped to stimulate concrete social action among Roman Catholics in various lands, as in the Christian social movement.

By the time of his death, soon after the close of the 19th century, Leo had restored the prestige of the papacy, and the church seemed in many ways to be entering a new era of respect and influence. Two historical forces, however, came to dominate the development of Roman Catholicism during the 20th century: World Wars I and II, with the accompanying upheavals of politics, economics, and society; and the Second Vatican Council, with upheavals no less momentous in the life and teaching of the church.

The period of the World Wars

Pope Pius X (reigned 1903–14) symbolized the church’s transition from the 19th century to the 20th. In his encyclical Pascendi Dominici gregis (“Feeding the Lord’s Flock”) of September 8, 1907, he formally condemned Modernism as “the résumé of all the heresies,” and in 1910 he prescribed that clergy and seminary professors take an oath abjuring Modernism and affirming the correctness of the church’s teachings about revelation, authority, and faith. He sponsored the revision and clarification of the Code of Canon Law, which was completed during the reign of his successor and which replaced the code that had been in effect since the Middle Ages. More perhaps than any of his immediate predecessors or successors, Pius X attended to the reform of the liturgy, especially the Gregorian chant, and advocated early and frequent reception of Holy Communion. Yet hanging like a cloud over his pontificate was the growing threat of world war, which neither diplomacy nor piety was able to forestall. The last major document issued by Pius X was a lament over the outbreak of war, dated August 2, 1914; less than three weeks later he was dead.

Benedict XV (reigned 1914–22) began his pontificate by issuing an encyclical, Ad beatissimi (“To the Most Blessed”; November 1, 1914), in which he condemned the extremes of the anti-Modernist crusade, but his efforts in this area were overshadowed by World War I. Although he vigorously denounced the atrocities committed by both sides in the conflict, his diplomatic policy of strict neutrality left him with few friends among the combatants. His peace initiatives were further thwarted by the Italian government, which succeeded in placing a clause in the Allies’ secret Treaty of London (1915) that prohibited papal participation in any peace talks. Although excluded from the peace conference at Versailles, whose decisions he denounced, Benedict played an important role in the years after the war through his financial support of refugees and the wounded. He also improved relations with Italy, laying the groundwork for a final settlement in 1929. In 1920, as part of his program to reconcile Rome and France, he canonized Joan of Arc.

World War I, which is often called the real end of the 19th century, was also a major turning point in the history of modern Roman Catholicism. Since ancient times the church had been accustomed to ordering its relations with secular society through negotiations with kings and emperors, who would preferably be members of its own fellowship. The war and the revolutions attending it brought about the end of the ruling dynasties of Germany (Hohenzollern), Austria-Hungary (Habsburg), and Russia (Romanov) and thus forced the church to come to terms with new democratic, communist, and fascist regimes. Of special significance was a series of pacts with the Fascist Italy of Benito Mussolini. In 1929 the church and the Italian government signed the Lateran Treaty, which regularized relations between them and recognized an independent Vatican City under papal authority, thus finally settling the “Roman Question.” In 1933 the church concluded a concordat with Nazi Germany, hoping to protect its own interests and those of German Catholics; this hope proved ill-founded, and the church’s relations with Adolf Hitler and his regime deteriorated.

In the years leading up to World War II, the church’s relations with Italy and Germany were shaped not only by the desire to protect Catholic interests in those countries but also by a hostility toward communism, which was shared by both popes of this period, Pius XI (reigned 1922–39) and Pius XII (reigned 1939–58). Although the papacy often spoke out against communism during the Spanish Civil War (1936–39), it was silent on the subject during World War II, when Pius XII adopted Benedict XV’s policy of strict neutrality. Although criticized during and after the war for its position, the papacy had enunciated its opposition to the secularist and racist programs of the totalitarian regimes, most notably in Pius XI’s encyclical Mit brennender Sorge (“With Deep Anxiety”), which was read from Catholic pulpits in Germany on Palm Sunday (March 14) in 1937. Pius planned other pronouncements condemning Nazism but died before he could deliver them. His successor, Pius XII, who played a much more controversial role during the war, has been criticized for failing to speak out more forcefully against the genocidal policies of the Nazis. His strongest statement against genocide was regarded as inadequate by the Allies, though in Germany he was regarded as an Allied sympathizer who had violated his own policy of neutrality. Pius also approved efforts to help the Jews and ordered that the Jews of Rome be given refuge in the city’s religious houses. After the war, the Vatican was involved in extensive humanitarian efforts. Pius, however, was criticized for not having done more. A cautious and experienced diplomat who feared that bold actions would cause more harm than good, he was not a prophet at a time when the world may have needed one.

As a diplomat and former papal secretary of state, Pius was obliged, under the pressures of World War II, to clarify and refine the church’s teachings on war and peace as well as to work out a strategy of survival. In the encyclical Mystici corporis Christi (June 29, 1943; “Mystical Body of Christ”) he sought to explain the nature of the church and its relationship to nonbelievers, and in Divino afflante Spiritu (September 30, 1943; “Inspired by the Divine Spirit”) he reinvigorated Catholic scholarship by approving the limited use of modern methods of historical criticism in biblical studies.

Pius also approved liturgical reform, inviting greater lay participation in the service in Mediator Dei (November 20, 1947; “Mediator of God”). After the war he continued to oppose communism, becoming increasingly strident and threatening communists with excommunication. In the last years of his papacy he also moved away from his more liberal encyclicals and showed his more conservative nature. In 1950 he became the first pope since Vatican I to exercise the right of defining doctrine, proclaiming the bodily assumption of the Virgin Mary to be a dogma binding on all members of the church. Earlier in the same year, in the encyclical Humani generis (August 12, 1950; “Of the Human Race”), he had given a reproof to various theological trends that appeared to be reviving the ideas and methods of Modernism.

The Second Vatican Council

From these two papal promulgations of 1950, many observers were ready to conclude that in the second half of the 20th century Roman Catholicism would assume an essentially defensive posture in relation to the modern world. Those who had come to that conclusion were compelled to revise it by the pontificate of John XXIII (reigned 1958–63) and by the Second Vatican Council, commonly referred to as Vatican II. During his brief reign, Pope John issued several important encyclicals. Of special interest is Mater et magistra (“Mother and Teacher”), published on May 15, 1961, which explicitly aligned itself with Rerum novarum of Leo XIII in calling for justice and the common good as the norms of social conduct. Two years later, in Pacem in terris (April 11, 1963; “Peace on Earth”), John addressed himself not only to members of the church but to “all Men of Good Will.” In this encyclical he formulated, more completely than any previous pope had done, a social philosophy of peace among people and between nations.

This spirit of reform and social concern animated Vatican II, which John convoked but did not live to see to its conclusion. The council brought about drastic changes in the life and worship of the church, encouraging the use of the vernacular in the liturgy and greater lay participation everywhere. Perhaps even more historic were its actions regarding those outside the Roman Catholic Church. To Eastern Orthodox and Protestant Christians the council extended the hand of fraternal understanding instead of denouncing them as heretics. To the Jewish community it addressed words of reconciliation and regret for the anti-Semitism of the Christian past. To the world religions it spoke of the church’s admiration for the spiritual values that had been preserved in traditions that did not know the name of Christ. And to all people, believers and unbelievers, the council expressed its respect for the integrity and freedom of humanity and its repudiation of coercion as a means of bringing people to faith. Underlying all this was its Declaration on Religious Freedom (December 7, 1965; Dignitatis humanae), which was based on the philosophy of the dignity of the human person and the right to religious freedom. In its importance for the development of the church, Vatican II will probably rank with the Councils of Nicaea (325), Chalcedon (451), and Trent (1545–63).

Jaroslav Jan PelikanMichael Frassetto

Aftermath of the council

The legacy

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