"but I could be wrong"

 “but i could be wrong”   

part two, of two (For part one, click here.)

In the VII. chapter of his delightfully wicked portrait of Cardinal Manning, Strachey journeys with the Cardinal to Rome. It is 1870. “The temporal Power of the Pope had now almost vanished,” Strachey writes; “but, as his worldly dominions steadily diminished, the spiritual pretensions of the Holy Father no less steadily increased,” to culminate in “the tremendous doctrine” of Papal Infallibility. Then, “let the modern world do its worst!”

     Not all in or of Rome agreed with Infallibility, whatever they thought of the modern world of 1870.  “Newman was more than usually upset; Monseigneur Dupanloup was disgusted; and Dr. Döllinger prepared himself for resistance.” But they were certainly a minority, even if there were acknowledged “stumbling blocks.” Strachey cites one logical difficulty from the fourteenth century. “The following case arose.”

John XXII. asserted in his bull “Cum inter nonnullos” that the doctrine of the poverty of Christ was heretical. Now, according to the light of reason, one of two things must follow from this—either John XXII. was himself a heretic or he was no Pope. For his predecessor, Nicholas III., had asserted in his bull “Exiit qui seminat” that the doctrine of the poverty of Christ was the true doctrine, the denial of which was heresy. Thus if John XXII. was right Nicholas III. was a heretic, and in that case Nicholas’s nominations of Cardinals were void, and the conclave which elected John was illegal; so that John was no Pope, his nominations of Cardinals were void, and the whole Papal succession vitiated. On the other hand, if John was wrong—well, he was a heretic; and the same inconvenient results followed. And, in either case, what becomes of Papal Infallibility?

Strachey does add, however, that “such crude and fundamental questions as these were not likely to trouble the Council.” They didn’t trouble the Pope.

      Cardinal Manning was convinced in any case. If the Pio Nono felt he was infallible, as he assured all he did, who was the Cardinal to disagree? So he flew to Rome to support his Holy Father. And, heavens, “the whole world seemed to be gathered there.”

Her streets were filled with crowned heads and Princes of the Church, great ladies and great theologians, artists and friars, diplomats and newspaper reporters. Seven hundred bishops were there, from all the corners of Christendom, and in all the varieties of ecclesiastical magnificence—in falling lace and sweeping purple and flowing violet veils. Zouaves stood in the colonnade of St. Peter’s, and Papal troops were on the Quirinal. Cardinals passed, hatted and robed, in their enormous carriages of state, like mysterious painted idols. Then there was a sudden hush: the crowd grew thicker and expectation filled the air. Yes! it was he! He was coming! The Holy Father! But first there appeared, mounted on a white mule and clothed in a magenta mantle, a grave dignitary bearing aloft a silver cross. The golden coach followed, drawn by six horses gorgeously caparisoned, and within the smiling white-haired Pio Nono, scattering his benedictions, while the multitude fell upon its knees as one man.

The multitude may have been falling upon its knees. Amen. But theologians were involved. And the Council was 700 strong - and weak, and in between. They seem to agree on one thing, or they did not.

Now every one—or nearly every one—was ready to limit the Papal Infallibility to pronouncements ex cathedrâ—that is to say, to those made by the Pope in his capacity of Universal Doctor; but this only served to raise the ulterior, the portentous, and indeed the really crucial question—to which of the Papal pronouncements ex cathedrâ did Infallibility adhere?

Where theologians wish to be involved, there will be committees, and where there are committees, time must slow. All views must be consulted even if eventually the Council would come to believe that the definition of his Infallibility which Pio Nono had himself already issued, proprio motu was correct. That is, the Pope, when he speaks ex cathedrâ, is possessed of “that infallibility with which the Redeemer willed that his Church should be endowed for defining doctrine regarding faith or morals.” And, so be it! Strachey goes on,

Thus it became a dogma of faith that a Papal definition regarding faith or morals is infallible; but beyond that both the Holy Father and the Council maintained a judicious reserve. . . . How was it to be determined, for instance, which particular Papal decisions did in fact come within the scope of the definition? Who was to decide what was or was not a matter of faith or morals? Or precisely when the Roman Pontiff was speaking ex cathedrâ? . . . . 

Grave theologians continue to deliberate, but Pio Nono had no, nor would he brook any, doubts.

“In duty to our supreme pastoral office,” proclaimed the Sovereign Pontiff, “by the bowels of Christ we earnestly entreat all Christ’s faithful people, and we also command them by the authority of God and our Saviour, that they study and labour to expel and eliminate errors and display the light of the purest faith.” Well might the faithful study and labour to such ends! For, [if] the offence remained ambiguous, there was no ambiguity about the penalty. One hair’s breadth from the unknown path of truth, one shadow of impurity in the mysterious light of faith—and [the offender would] be anathema! anathema! anathema!

O. Cromwell's press conference
on the 145th anniversary of
the First Vatican Council

Let us pause to take a breath, wondering who could come to rescue any who happened to fall asleep, who failed to listen, who crossed the line or went into an alleyway to escape the noise of the Papal parade. Strachey tries to give us hope, but by contradiction:

When the framers of such edicts called upon the bowels of Christ to justify them, might they not have done well to have paused a little, and to have called to mind the counsel of another sovereign ruler, though a heretic—Oliver Cromwell? “Bethink ye, bethink ye, in the bowels of Christ, that ye may be mistaken!”    (Italics mine.)

And are we not back to the beginning and my friend Gaspar’s complaint and suggestion, his complaint against all pontification that allows no disagreement and his suggestion: Couldn’t the pontificators end their diatribes not with Anathema, amen. but with Sed mea culpa, “but I could be wrong”?

Silly lad. Foolish question.

08.28.17