data as faithfully as possible. The teaching is polemical. In moral theology, solutions are generally obtained by casuistry. Volumes are written, filled with moral cases of which the author states the solution. The student studies these. Thus he is educated in moral principles.

In Scripture the same cut-and-dried system prevails. Texts are interpreted for the student. He has but to con these interpretations and give them out at examination. The Biblical professor, too, is provided with ready-made interpretations, from which he may not depart without endangering his reputation for orthodoxy. There is a commission at Rome established to solve all Biblical difficulties. But Rome did not feel secure even with this provision. A recent papal decree requires that all Biblical professors must attend a Roman Jesuit school, -over which, incidentally, an American presides, known as the Biblical Institute. It seems that all others are subject to suspicion, liable to teach heresy. In history the student memorizes the opinions set down in the prescribed textbook. Trained in childlike trust, he accepts this deposit of knowledge as his own.

II

In all the years of his training the candidate for the priesthood must strive to mould his mentality to a fixed pattern. If he succeeds he is then said to possess the spirit of the priesthood. His whole seminary life is one of routine and formalism. Every hour of the day is regulated for him. He leads a community life, follows the group in his prayers, his studies, and all his activities. It is thought by these external practices to develop a man of regular habits. It is a system little adapted to produce men of thought and individuality.

The course of training for the priesthood is a narrowing process; it produces fixed ideas. Always the priesthood is glorified. The students must listen daily to pious discourses on the high dignity to which they aspire. From this continual preachment a peculiar psychology is developed in them. They become jealous of the high honors for which they are being groomed. They feel constrained to become champions of the priestly dignity. They grow impatient when confronted with the opinions of those who have not been trained in sacred science. In this frame of mind they go out into the modern world to become leaders of men.

Then it is that the power of the priesthood makes movement in their being. Though they are yet in their early twenties, they are wise from their medieval studies. Though they have no experience of the world and its ways, they are aglow with the supernatural graces of the holy priesthood. They are fathers of the faithful. They have been sent to preach in the name of Christ to preach the theological conclusions which they have learned by rote. They have been empowered to offer the sacrifice of the Mass. Proudly they stand at the altar, clad in sacerdotal robes, while the people kneel before them.

The people respect them, having been taught from childhood to honor the priest as God's own representative. They bow the head, lift the hat, before him. He in turn is a zealot for the honor of the priesthood which is in him. He stands before them and speaks in a strange tongue. When he baptizes their little ones, he must first address them in Latin. Then the whole ceremony is performed in this mysterious tongue. Likewise does he use that dead language when he anoints the sick; when he officiates at funerals; when he

assists at marriage; when he administers the sacrament of penance; when he says vespers and benediction; when he offers the sacrifice of the Mass. He also trains his choir to sing this unintelligible tongue at solemn services.

'Oremus,' he says to the people. Few, perhaps, in the congregation know that he has said, 'Let us pray.' Even now that he is proceeding with a prayer they do not comprehend one word, though he uses the first person plural. The mind halts at this strange procedure.

Strange, indeed, it is to assemble people into a church and then conduct divine services in a language which they do not understand. Why should it be so? Perhaps it has to do with the centralization of ecclesiastical power in Rome. Who knows? But to find a rational basis for the practice is beyond the most zealous protagonist. It is said to be necessary for unity in the Church. Why, then, is it not necessary in the Orient, where some twenty languages are used in these same Catholic services? Latin is not universally used in the liturgy of the Church. It is used only in the so-called Western World.

The Catholic liturgy is beautiful. Yet how pathetic to hear a priest mumbling in a strange idiom such touching prayers on a dying person: 'Depart, O Christian soul, from this world in the name of the Father Omnipotent, in the name of Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, who suffered for thee; in the name of the Angels and Archangels . . . 'The use of Latin is indicative of the spirit which the Church engenders in her priests. They feel that they are officially dispensing salvation.

To be saved, it suffices for the people to follow the routine mapped out by the priest. They are taught that it is their first duty to attend Mass

on Sundays and holy days of obligation. They need not bother their heads about what is going on, in Latin, between the priest and God. The law which makes it a mortal sin to miss Mass on the days appointed does not call for any intelligent attention. Physical presence fulfills the precept. However, it must be admitted that the people are not required to pray in Latin, as they were in the Middle Ages. To-day none other than priests and certain religious are bound to pray in Latin.

The priest is bound under pain of mortal sin to pray approximately one hour daily. For this purpose he has a book known as the Roman Breviary. Here the prayers, called the office, are set down for each day of the year. The law requiring him to say this daily portion of prayer does not, however, obligate him to follow the meaning of the words. He need but formulate the words with his lips and tongue. In fact, certain religious, most of whom understand no word of Latin, recite the Latin office daily. It is all based on the principle of formalism, which prevails throughout the practices of the Church. The people are taught to serve God in much the same manner as boys are taught to serve the priest at Mass. These young lads learn to make the responses in Latin without understanding what they are saying. In their haste to follow the priest they usually make elisions and abbreviations that would be ridiculous were the matter not so pathetic.

When the priest gives Communion, he holds the Sacred Host before the people and says in Latin, 'Behold the Lamb of God, behold Him who taketh away the sins of the world. Lord, I am not worthy... May the body of our Lord Jesus Christ keep thy soul unto life everlasting.' The poor devout communicant kneels there ignorant of

all that is being said—unless perhaps he has discovered the meaning of the words from a double-column prayer book. The childlike faith of the people is remarkable.

Traditionally they are Catholic. If conditions are favorable, if respectability demands, and if piety is simple enough, they remain so. They merge their individuality into a form of worship which demands no personal effort on their part. The priest is the one great personage in the procedure. He tells them what to do. He rates the spirituality of his parish, not by the lives of his people, but by the attendance at Mass and the number of Communions and confessions in his record.

III

It is the Catholic teaching on divine grace, perhaps, which has produced this mental attitude. Scholastics long ago evolved the theory that grace may be gained automatically from the reception of the sacraments. More grace, of course, could be gained by those who had fervor. But the mere worthy reception of a sacrament sufficed, even though it were a perfunctory act. Hence the desire on the part of priests to have their people receive the sacraments of the Holy Eucharist and penance frequently.

The people are urged to go to Communion daily and to confess their sins weekly. In this manner they are supposed to grow better and better spiritually. Though the facts do not seem to support the theory, the practice continues. The priest sits long hours in the confessional each week. Often he is there daily.

The confessional presents the most difficult problem of the priest's life. Here he sits as judge between God and man. He must pass upon the worthiness of the penitent to receive absolu

tion from his sins. If he deems the poor sinner worthy, he forgives him in God's name. If otherwise, he sends him away in his sins. For this serious task he needs all his theological lore. He feels that he must answer to God for the judgments he has passed upon his people.

The sinner must be sorry for his sins to be forgiven. The priest must decide whether or not his sorrow is sincere. To aid him in this he has but the teaching of the old Scholastics which he learned in the seminary. He himself knows little of life. His own life has been guarded from worldly contamination since early childhood. He must pass upon the most intimate relations of connubial life. Of this he knows nothing save that which he has read in his ancient textbooks. He, a celibate, must solve the intricate problems of sex. He must sit hour after hour and listen to the description of sex impulses from the lips of both men and women. They must tell all. They believe that willfully to omit one single detail would be to tell a lie to the Holy Ghost. It would constitute the sin of sacrilege, the gravest of sins. Wherefore they must reveal to him every thought, word, and deed contrary to the law of God. They must also tell the number of times they have sinned, including all the circumstances which might affect the character of their sins.

When the confession is completed, the penitent recites the ready-made act of contrition, which he has memorized. Meanwhile the priest administers absolution, always in Latin. For penance the priest usually prescribes a few prayers or some other act of piety. It has grown to be so commonplace that it easily becomes a matter of routine for many. The priest often hears fifty or sixty confessions in an hour. In most cases these hurried confessions are mere recitals of foibles. After pronouncing

the formula prescribed, 'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,' there follows some such narrative as this: 'I missed my morning prayers twice and my evening prayers three times; I failed to say my grace at meals once; I had bad thoughts several times, but did n't take pleasure in them.' Though this list theologically does not indicate the semblance of a sin, the penance is imposed and absolution is pronounced. Another confession has been added to the record. It is easy to see how a great sacrament can become almost a meaningless formulary.

There is much routine in religion. The Church organization calls for this. It develops group piety. This is manifest in the number of societies and sodalities that exist. From childhood to old age the people are urged to join these bodies. Such are the Children of Mary, the Saint Aloysius Society, the Young Ladies' Sodality, the Holy Name Society, the Altar Society, and many others. Usually the members are required, at stated intervals, to receive Communion in a body. The parish priest will announce, for example: 'Next Sunday will be Communion Sunday for the Altar Society; it is to be hoped that all the members will be here for confession Saturday afternoon and evening and all present Sunday morning to receive the Holy Eucharist.'

Then follow the seasons of special devotion. The four weeks before Christmas constitute a time of penance known as Advent, and the people are urged to attend the special services held during this period. The six weeks preceding Easter constitute the time of Lent. This is the rigorous season of penance, with fasting and abstinence. Special Lenten services are held several times weekly. There are a course of sermons and also the Stations of the Cross. The Lenten regulations are elaborate, yet mercifully surrounded by many

exceptions and dispensations. The devotions are traditional and vary little in character from year to year.

There is a similar formalism in all the ministrations of the priest. His work constitutes a spiritual rule over the people. All is assiduously arranged for their spiritual lives. They must conform to regulations, fulfill the requirements laid upon them. There is nothing in the system to engender personal religion in the people. The priest is father to his people - an old-fashioned father. He feels that he has done his duty when he has told them what to do or what not to do. Nor does he fail to chide them bitterly when he finds them recreant to his mandates. It is easy to see that in the modern world, when men are learning to think for themselves, the position of the priest is becoming progressively more difficult. Yet there is nothing in his ecclesiastical repertoire which might enable him to meet the spirit of the times.

Much as he might desire it, he cannot recommend to his people the healthy exercise of personal thought. Though a heart of gold beat in his bosom, he must still stand before his people in the guise of a mediæval pedagogue. To be true to his trust he must be a reactionary. He must preach and interpret the teachings of Christ according to the mind of men who never dreamed of an age or a country like this in which we live. His every public expression must conform to the minds of those savants, mostly Italian, who have grouped themselves about the Vatican. They hold it as a sacred duty to fix the standards of his orthodoxy. Rome demands absolute intellectual submission of him. One discordant statement, written or spoken, is sufficient to make him 'suspected' at that high court. The Holy See reserves the right of condemning him, without a hearing, for any opinions which do not conform with the rule of

orthodoxy. Forsooth, this is logical in an ecclesiastical system such as the Catholic Church.

The priest submits humbly, abjectly, if he would maintain his standing. But many there are who rebel at heart. The world would be astounded did it know the number of priests who are struggling with the desire to remain faithful to the forms of ecclesiasticism while their very being cries out against the system. These are not the frivolous, not the careless, the negligent, or the unworthy. They are those who have broken through the fanatic wall that was built about them during the years of their seminary training. They are men who have burned the

midnight oil, and through their travail have come to know the glorious privilege of independent thought. Such men see clearly that religion in the Catholic Church to-day has become a complex and intricate mass of laws, dogmas, and practices that little resemble the simple faith of the early centuries. These men often suffer anguish of soul because of their helplessness. It is not fear that deters them. It is goodness of heart. They would not scandalize those devoted souls who are filled with simple faith. They love the people; they love the Church. They cannot protest against the evils of ecclesiastical bureaucracy without injuring these two objects of their love.

IN the old days, Mrs. Lucy Cashdollar used to run a cooks' agency for bachelor boaters over Bentley's Oyster Booth and Bar in Utica. Her office was a large room, very colorfully got up, with wall-paper patchings, mostly of red and blue; a white china set in the corner cupboard, with broad red stripes round the bulge of the cups; a high walnut bed with a blue quilt folded trianglewise at the foot; a green rag rug with a yellow border; yellow curtains at the window; and a Franklin stove. When she wasn't on duty in the barroom, Mrs. Cashdollar held office hours. At

such times she might have been considered the chief ornament of the

room.

She generally sat in a Boston rocker, wearing a scarlet Mother Hubbard, her stocking feet red or yellow, according to her humor-stretched out to the wood fire, the big toes curled backthrough a hole, as likely as not. There she sat, very comfortable and quiet, her meerschaum pipe trailing smoke toward the flames; and, if no one came in for half an hour, her broad nostrils sang a song in very close harmony with the copper kettle on the stove.