According to some it is her title to glory, but it will be her greatest shame.
Must we renounce the use of this weapon against the enemies of the faith?
she asks.

But can you imagine Jesus joining the school of the rabbins under the pretext of learning how to reply to them, enfeebling his thought by their dialectic subtleties and fantastic exegesis?
He might perhaps have been a great doctor, but would he have become the Saviour of the world?
You feel that he would not.
When we hear preachers going into raptures over the marvellous spread of the gospel preached by twelve poor fishermen of Galilee, might we not point out to them that the miracle is at once more and less astounding than they say?
More--for among the twelve several returned to the shores of their charming lake, and forgetful of the mystic net, thought of the Crucified One, if they thought of him at all, only to lament him, and not to raise him from the dead by continuing his work in the four quarters of the world; less--for if even now, in these dying days of the nineteenth century, preachers would go forth beside themselves with love, sacrificing themselves for each and all as in the old days their Master did, the miracle would be repeated again.
But no; theology has killed religion.

The clergy repeat to satiety that we must not confound the two; but what good does this do if in practice we do not distinguish them?
Never was learning more eagerly coveted than in the thirteenth century.
The Empire and the Church were anxiously asking of it the arguments with which they might defend their opposing claims.

Innocent III.

sends the collection of his Decretals to the University of Bologna and heaps favors upon it.