Cardinal Dulles presented the following address to The Cardinal Newman Society in 2001, the same year he was elevated to cardinal by Pope John Paul II. He died in 2008.

Dulles was often compared to St. John Henry Cardinal Newman. Both converted despite strong opposition from family and friends; Dulles was the son of U.S. Secretary of State John Foster Dulles, a Presbyterian, who nearly disowned him. Both were courageous witnesses to fidelity; Dulles taught theology at Fordham University, amid the corruption of Jesuit higher education. Both were elevated from priest to cardinal near the ends of their lives, in honor of their distinctive contributions to the Church.

John Henry Newman, writing in England in the mid-19^th century, proposed a vision of Catholic higher education that takes account of major difficulties that were prevalent in his day and are no less prevalent in ours. Although his proposals are for the most part framed in positive terms, I shall summarize them in contrast to four tendencies that Newman found unacceptable—utilitarianism, fragmentation, secularism, and rationalism.

1. Utilitarianism

By utilitarianism, Newman meant the philosophical movement associated with the name of Jeremy Bentham. The editors of the Edinburgh Review, together with influential figures such as Lord Henry Brougham and Sydney Smith, proposed to dethrone the classics from the position of supremacy they held at Oxford and Cambridge and to replace them with “useful” knowledge leading to a trade or profession. Newman contended, on the contrary, that the primary end of education was not the acquisition of useful information or skills needed for a particular occupation in life, but cultivation of the mind. The special fruit of university education, as he saw it, was to produce what he called the “philosophical habit of mind.” The study of the classics, he believed, had proved its capacity to “strengthen, refine, and enrich the intellectual powers” and to enter into the rich heritage that modern Europe had acquired from the providential confluence of biblical revelation and classical civilization.

Newman was convinced that the mental refinement that comes from literary and philosophical training is something good in itself, quite part from its utility. But he added that, far from being useless, an education of this sort would equip the student to enter many walks of life. Whether one becomes a soldier, a statesman, a lawyer, or a physician, one will need the ability to think clearly, to organize one’s knowledge, and to articulate one’s ideas so as to deal effectively with the questions at hand. A narrowly professional or vocational program of training would therefore fail the test of pragmatic usefulness, not to mention the additional test of liberal knowledge as its own end.

2. Fragmentation

Newman was troubled by the increasing compartmentalization of education. He was not against the multiplication of disciplines. In his Irish University he set up not only a school of arts and sciences but also schools of medicine and engineering. He made provision for a chemical laboratory and an astronomical observatory. All these elements, in his view, had a rightful place in the university as a place of universal learning. But the very multiplicity of disciplines increased the necessity of a principle of order, governing the whole, so that the student would be able to perceive the significance of each particular branch of knowledge in relation to the rest.

Philosophy, as Newman used the term, was not so much a special discipline as a meta-discipline. Understanding philosophy as the exercise of reason upon knowledge, he maintained that it is unlimited in its horizon. From its own perspective, it embraces truth of every kind and locates every method of attaining it. In this way, the study of philosophy overcomes the threat of fragmentation.

3. Secularism

The exclusion of religious knowledge from higher education. A good share of the blame, Newman believed, fell upon the Evangelicals, who depicted religion not as knowledge but as a matter of feeling and emotion. If religion were no more than this, Newman granted, it could not properly claim to merit a chair in the university. But for him, religion was a matter of truth. Through reason and revelation, the mind could attain genuine knowledge about God, and the knowledge so attained could be built into a system.

The university must obviously take account of truths about God that are accessible to all thoughtful persons, such as the articles of natural religion. But it should not omit revealed truth, since Divine Revelation is necessary to keep reason from going astray. The university, as Newman conceived of it, was not a seminary, and for that reason it would not explore in depth questions of dogmatic and sacramental theology, but it would seek to impart what he called “general religious knowledge.” No part of Catholic truth could properly be excluded from the university.

The absence of theology, Newman contended, would throw the other branches of knowledge out of balance. Eager to fill the void left by that absence, these disciplines would seek to answer by their own methods questions that cannot be rightly answered except by theology. All of us have probably experienced how professors of physics or economics, medicine or psychology—to give a few examples— tend to operate as though their specialization qualified them to give a complete account of reality and of what it means to be human. Theology is needed, therefore, to keep the secular disciplines within their proper limits and to deal with questions that lie beyond their scope.

4. Rationalism

The university, as a place of intellectual cultivation, tends to treat the human mind as the measure of all things. Absolutizing its own standards and goals, the university aspires to complete autonomy and becomes a rival of the Church even in the Church’s own sphere of competence. To prevent this encroachment, the Church must exercise what Newman calls “a direct and active jurisdiction” over the university. This should not be seen as a hindrance but as a help to the university. Ecclesiastical supervision prevents the university from falling into the kinds of skepticism and unbelief that have plagued seats of learning since the time of Abelard. Because the university cannot fulfill its mission without revealed truth, and because the Church has full authority to teach the contents of Revelation, the university must accept the Church’s guidance.

Newman was quite aware that the results of science sometimes seemed to conflict with Christian doctrine. He counseled patience and restraint on the part of hierarchical authorities and scientists alike. Both should proceed with the assurance that reconciliation can eventually be attained, for it is impossible that the truth of Revelation could be contrary to that of reason and of science.

A decade after writing The Idea of a University, Newman had an opportunity to witness a mighty effort of German Catholic university faculties, under the leadership of Ignaz von Döllinger, to assert their autonomy against the Magisterium. Similar struggles arise whenever Catholic universities seek to absolutize their own freedom and their own methods. Newman saw this tendency as a normal but regrettable expression of the inherent dynamism of the university as such. The higher authority of the Church was necessary to rescue freedom of thought from what Newman called its own “suicidal excesses.”

Lessons for Americans

If Newman were alive today, he would enthusiastically embrace the principles set forth by John Paul II in Ex Corde Ecclesiæ. In that Apostolic Constitution, the Holy Father sets forth the same general principles that I have tried to highlight in Newman’s treatise. He teaches that university education should not be content to produce an efficient workforce for the factory or the marketplace; it should not exalt the technical over the spiritual. He strongly opposes the multiplication of separate departments and institutes, which he sees as harmful to a rich human formation. He calls for a universal humanism and an organic vision of reality. He likewise holds that Catholic universities have the incomparable advantage of being able to integrate all truth in relation to Christ, the incarnate Logos, whom Christians recognize as the Way, the Truth, and the Life for the whole world. On these and many other points, the 19^th-century English cardinal and the present Polish pope may be said to share a common point of view.

In the United States, Catholic universities have been very apologetic, almost embarrassed, by their obligation to adhere to the Faith of the Church. For Newman and for John Paul II, any university that lacks the guidance of Christian Revelation and the oversight of the Catholic Magisterium is, by that very fact, impeded in its mission to find and transmit truth. It fails to make use of an important resource that God in His Providence has bestowed.

Surrounded by powerful institutions constructed on principles of metaphysical and religious agnosticism, the Catholic universities of this nation have too long been on the defensive. They have tried too hard to prove that they are not committed to any truth that cannot be established by objective scientific scholarship. While making certain necessary adaptations to the needs of our own day, they should proudly reaffirm the essentials of their own tradition, so brilliantly synthesized by Newman in his classic work. Shifting the burden of proof to their secular counterparts, they should challenge the other universities to defend themselves and to show how they think it possible to cultivate the mind and transmit the fullness of truth if they neglect or marginalize humanistic, philosophical, and theological studies.

When Pope Leo XIII made St. John Henry Newman a cardinal in 1879, it was an exciting moment for English Catholics! They had suffered more than 300 years of suppression and persecution. But the Church was rising once again in England—what Newman called a miraculous “second spring.”

Newman, however, saw dark clouds on the horizon: an age of infidelity and secularism, in which much of the world would be “simply irreligious” and hostile to the resurgent Church. He devoted his life to confronting this threat by educating lay Catholics, preparing them to evangelize the culture.

Now Pope Leo XIV has declared our holy patron the 38^th Doctor of the Church! It’s another exciting moment for Catholics worldwide, and especially for The Cardinal Newman Society and educators who have embraced Newman’s vision.

The Church in the United States is enjoying a “second spring.” We rejoice over the exciting reforms in Catholic education—modeled by the schools, colleges, and other programs recommended in The Newman Guide—as well as the inspiring renewal of fidelity and reverence in many areas of the country.

At the same time, however, Newman’s predictions of hostility toward the Church are coming true. Just as Newman experienced in his own time, faithful Catholics across the West are confronted by:

• increasing hostility from a secular and corrupted society
• belligerent demands for conformity to radical ideologies
• violations of religious freedom by state and government agencies, and
• confusion and hopelessness among young people

And today as much as ever, Newman’s witness remains a powerful prescription for a secular age: obey the will of God with every step, trust in His Providence, and ensure that the Faithful are well-formed in truth and wisdom to better know, love, and serve God. If we desire authentic reform and renewal of the Church, Newman can be a great intercessor for our times.

A light in darkness

In 1531, King Henry VIII declared himself head of the English Church and looted Catholic monasteries. He and his successors banished, imprisoned, and even martyred many Catholic priests and lay Faithful. Catholic properties—churches, schools, universities—were seized and became “Anglican.” The Catholic Church was outlawed, and Catholics were barred from most social circles and positions.

Three centuries after Henry VIII, when Newman attended Oxford University as an evangelical Christian, Catholics still were not permitted to attend most English schools or the great universities established by the English Church. Oxford banned Catholic students until 1871, and its affiliated colleges retained many barriers to Catholic students until 1896. Under Anglican auspices, Oxford University became increasingly secular and morally ambiguous, despite more than half its graduates becoming Anglican clergymen.

That’s the path Newman followed. He became an Anglican priest and tutor of Oriel College, and he strived to reform the University and the Anglican Church as a leader in the Oxford Movement. Increasingly, however, he realized that the Anglican Church was Protestant and not the true Church, and in 1845 he became Catholic.

It was no easy thing to do in those days! There was still widespread hatred of Catholics in England. Although the Oxford Movement had made him a prominent figure in the Anglican Church, he was rejected by many countrymen, including members of his own family, when he became Catholic. He lost social status, the prospect of a substantial income, and the likelihood of a prominent position at Oxford.

In short, Newman chose to give up his notoriety and academic career—but God had other plans. Newman was sent to study in Rome, was ordained a Catholic priest, and quickly founded his Oratory of St. Philip Neri in Birmingham and London. Then, in 1850, Queen Victoria responded to floods of Irish immigrants by begrudgingly allowing the Pope to reestablish 14 Catholic dioceses in England.

For Catholics, it was a time for rejoicing! The newly ordained Newman was given the singular honor of preaching to the English bishops at their 1852 conclave, the first such gathering in over three centuries. And Newman delivered his famous “Second Spring” sermon, describing the English Church’s renewal as a certain miracle of God. Everything accomplished by man is corrupted and falls to dust, he said—but here was the Church rising again, like the blooming of flowers and the return of the warm sunshine.

Still, Newman issued to the bishops a dire warning of what was to come. Before springtime brings sunshine and flowers, it brings storms—and those storms can be terrible and violent. Even amid the Catholic renewal in England, Newman said—in fact, precisely because of the Church’s progress—Catholics should expect intensified persecution even to martyrdom. But Newman had great trust in God’s Providence, and he counseled the bishops to welcome the storms and be grateful to endure them, as difficult as that may be.

Today, American Catholics can certainly see the storms gathering against the Church and specifically Catholic education. The last many years of fighting for religious freedom may be the worst of it, but we still see much hostility against teachers who uphold the truth of the Catholic faith. The light that faithful graduates bring to a darkened world will surely be hated by many and perhaps even attacked by some, even as reforms take hold.

A future of infidelity

Two decades later, St. John Henry Cardinal Newman delivered another sermon at the opening of St. Bernard’s Seminary—the first seminary in the diocese after three centuries of suppression. Again, it was a time for rejoicing.

But that’s not what Newman did. He delivered a sober prediction about “The Infidelity of the Future” and the need to prepare well for the coming difficulties.

Fixed on the Church’s mission of evangelization and salvation, Newman knew that the Church still faced many trials ahead. Many Anglicans resented the Crown’s charity toward Catholics. As the Church grew, and more Catholic priests would be ordained, they would be scrutinized and judged harshly in everything. Opponents would expose the smallest scandal, eager to stir up more opposition.

“There is an immense store of curiosity directed upon us in this country,” Newman said, “and in great measure an unkind, a malicious curiosity. If there ever was a time when one priest will be a spectacle to men and angels it is in the age now opening upon us.”

That age is not simply dangerous because of resistance against the Church, but because of moral relativism and declining adherence to any religious faith.

“I know that all times are perilous,” he said, but “ours has a darkness different in kind from any that has been before it.” The Church had confronted paganism, Protestantism, and other dissent and heresy, but never had it faced a society that was “simply irreligious.”

This Newman saw especially among the educated classes, those who had been formed by a highly secular education: “the educated world, scientific, literary, political, professional, artistic” and the growing urban populations. Here the great champion of education returned to his oft-ignored warning in The Idea of a University—that an education without the influence of the Church would produce the English gentleman, whose worship of the mind and genteel conversation would replace devotion to God and a firm embrace of the truth.

Newman counseled that priests need to be well-prepared for the challenges they would certainly face, growing in holiness and a right understanding of the Faith. Just as he proposed faithful Catholic education as the solution for Catholic laity facing a secular age, a complete seminary formation is of the greatest importance to priests—”the primary and true weapon for meeting the age.”

An appeal to education

In 1879, when Pope Leo XIII honored Newman by naming the humble priest a cardinal, Newman found another opportunity to both rejoice and remind his friends of the work to be done for God’s glory.

He said, “to one great mischief I have from the first opposed myself. For thirty, forty, fifty years I have resisted, to the best of my powers, the spirit of Liberalism in religion. Never did the Holy Church need champions against it more sorely than now, when, alas! it is an error overspreading as a snare the whole earth…”

This “liberalism in religion,” he explained, “is the doctrine that there is no positive truth in religion, but that one creed is as good as another… It is inconsistent with the recognition of any religion as true. It teaches that all are to be tolerated, as all are matters of opinion.”

And from where does this evil spirit arise? From “secular education, calculated to bring home to every individual that to be orderly, industrious, and sober is his personal interest.”

It was during Newman’s lifetime that American bishops like St. John Neumann of Philadelphia and Archbishop John Hughes of New York established the great Catholic parochial school system. They knew the public schools, dominated by Protestant ideas, were dangerous to Catholic immigrants striving to assimilate into American society. They were well aware of what Newman experienced in the hostile Anglican society of Victorian England.

In fact, religious freedom in the United States was never secure for Catholics while England ruled the original colonies. Catholics suffered state-sponsored discrimination and even occasional violence until the First Amendment to the Constitution was adopted in 1791. Still, anti-Catholicism persisted, and the rise of Catholic parochial schools followed the rise of the hateful Know Nothing Party and the Ku Klux Klan.

Today, Catholics have much greater freedom in both the United States and England, and yet both nations have become highly secular and increasingly “irreligious.” Catholic school enrollment has declined precipitously—more than two-thirds in the last 60 years—and most Catholic colleges have nearly erased any resemblance to Newman’s vision for the university. The age of infidelity is upon us!

And so is the reform and renewal of Catholic education, found especially in Newman Guide recommended schools, colleges, and graduate programs as well as faithful Catholic homeschooling. This is Newman’s prescription, for which he is declared a Doctor of the Church. His intercession and his witness to the importance of Catholic formation in faith and reason are sure guides for the Church in this difficult but exciting age.