LIBRAEY
I
BX 5097 .T3 1840a
Taylor, Isaac, 1787-1865.
Ancient Christianity, and
the doctrines of the Oxford
The John M. Krcbs Donation.
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2015
https://archive.org/details/ancientchristianOOtayl_0
ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY,
AND THE
d <d <k s & KNSS
OF THE
OXFORD TRACTS.
BY
ISAAC TAYLOR,
AUTHOR OF « SPIRITUAL DESPOTISM," &c.
Fas est etenim, ut prisca ilia ccelestis philosophise dogmata processu tem-
poris, excurcntur, limentiir, poliantur; sed nefas est, ut commutentur; nefas,
ut detruncentur, ut mutilentur. Accipiant licet evidentiam, lucem, distinc-
tionem; sed retineant, necesse est, plenitudiuem, integritatem, proprieta-
tem. — VlNCEWTIUS LlRI>ENSIS.
PHILADELPHIA:
HERMAN HOOKER,
1840.
Wm. S. Young, Printer.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
The circumstances of the argument, 21
The substance of the argument, and the dependence of the
modern church upon the ancient church, 40
A test of the moral condition of the ancient church, 93
The third and fourth propositions, and concluding remarks, 170
INTRODUCTORY STATEMENTS.
The subject of the ancient celibacy not to be evaded. A
principal element of ancient Christianity, and inseparable
from the system, 191
CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE WITH THE NOTIONS
ENTERTAINED OF THE DIVINE NATURE.
The celibate the product of gnostic feeling. General prin-
ciples of the oriental theosophy, in its earlier and later
forms: opposition of the church to the series of gnostic
heresies, while it imbibed the sentiment of them. The
abstractive doctrine, and the penitential, both admitted
by the ancient church. Indications of the gnostic theo-
sophy in Athanasius, Gregory Nyssen, Gregory Nazian-
zen, Basil, and Synesius, 206
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE NOTIONS ENTER-
TAINED OF THE SCHEME OF SALVATION.
Combination of the Buddhist, or abstractive, and the Brah-
minical. or penitential principles in popery — and in the
B
IV CONTENTS.
PAGE
ascetic institute of the Nicene church. The consequent
exclusion of evangelical doctrines and feelings. Citation
from Chrysostom — adulatory style of the fathers. In-
stances from Boethius, Vinccntius, Origen. Panegyric
memoirs and epitaphic orations. Isidore; Life of St. An-
tony by Athanasius, and eulogy of Athanasius by Nazi-
anzen: eulogium of Cyprian by the same. Life of Cy-
prian by his deacon Pontius. Ambrose, and his funeral
oration on the death of his brother Satyrus. Ephrem's
story of the monk Abraham and Mary. Chrysostom on
the parable of the ten virgins, compared with Macarius, 245
SOME SPECIAL METHODS OF ESTIMATING THE QUALITY OF
THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
The choice of texts. The epistolary style of the Nicene
writers: their choice of subjects. The mythic exposition
of scripture, and Origen's reason for resorting to it. Alle-
gorical qualities of animals — Ambrose and the vulture.
Chrysostom's expositions. True and false perspective
in religion, and the admissions of the Oxford Tract wri-
ters concerning the slender evidence of church princi-
ples. Analysis of Chrysostom's nine homilies on repent-
ance, 312
Protestant Catholicity, 372
THE RULE OF RELIGIOUS CELIBACY, AS LAID DOWN IN THE
NEW TESTAMENT.
The analogous instance of the rule of martyrdom. Observa-
tion on Luke xx. 35. Import of Matt xix. 12, illustrated
by our Lord's personal behaviour, and this compared with
that of St. Martin of Tours. Import of 1 Cor. vii. Prac-
tical comment of the Nicene monks upon the apostolic
rule. Rev. xiv. 1 — 4 symbolical not literal, 377
THE PREDICTED ASCETIC APOSTACY.
1 Tim. iv. plainly npplicable to the ancient ascetic institute.
Illustrations of the fulfilment of the prediction, 400
CONTENTS.
V
THE EXTENT OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, AND THE SANCTION
IT RECEIVED FROM THE N1CENE CHURCH.
PAGE
Derivation of the anchoretic and monastic life: its general
characteristics and localities. Testimonies in its favour.
Methodius, Lactantius, council of Nice, and synods of
Ancyra and Neocaesarea. The Apostolic Constitutions.
Eusebius, Athanasius, Cyril, Hilary, Epiphanius, Basil,
Gregory Naz., Ephrem, Gregory Nyss. Ambrose, Je-
rome, Mark, Rufinus, Augustine, Cbrysostom, and later
writers, 423
THE OPPOSITION MADE TO THE ANCIENT ASCETICISM.
The extent of the opposition indifferent to the present ar-
gument. Indications of dissent. Jovinian and Vigilan-
tius overpowered by Jerome, Ambrose, and Augustine, 449
MONKERY AND MIRACLE.
The difference between Romish and Nicene legends — Al-
ban Butler and Jerome; life of St. Hilarion, 4C7
MONKERY, THE RELIGION OF SOUTHERN EUROPE.
Permanent characteristics of the south of Europe. The
ancient asceticism as related to a disordered social condi-
tion, 474
MORAL QUALITY OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, AS IT AFFECTED
THE MONKS THEMSELVES.
In its principal elements Basil's monastic life incompatible
with genuine virtue, 480
THE NECESSARY OPERATION OF AN ASCETIC INSTITUTE UPON
THE MASS OF CHRISTIANS.
Visible and arbitrary distinctions among Christians, fatal
to piety and morals, 497
vi
CONTENTS.
THE INDIRECT INFLUENCE OF THE MONASTIC INSTITUTE UPON
THE POSITION OF THE CLERGY.
PAGE
The ascetics constituted a class to be maintained, a class
contributing to the funds of the church, and a class to be
governed, 508
THE DIRECT INFLUENCE OF THE CELIBATE UPON THE
CLERGY.
The progress of opinion, ending necessarily in the enforced
celibacy of the clergy. The fathers and the inspired wri-
ters at issue on this point, 519
THE CONNEXION OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE WITH RITUAL
NOTIONS AND PRACTICES.
The Nicene sacramental doctrine the consequence of the
condition of the clerical mind, and only another expres-
sion of the ascetic principle. The taste for the marvel-
lous, characteristic of the ascetic life, sought its gratifica-
tion in this line. The rites of the church, means of go-
vernment. The present feeling at Rome concerning
Oxford Tract doctrines, 530
Additional References and Citations,.. 547
TO THE VERY REVEREND
THOMAS BEWLEY M ON SELL,
ARCHDEACON OF DERRY,
AND PRECENTOR OF CHRIST'S CHURCH, DUBLIN.
My Dear Sir :
I am already assured of your approval,
which has been so kindly and warmly ex-
pressed, of my intention to take part in the
discussions set on foot by the writers of the
Tracts for the Times; but I am very desirous
to bespeak, also, your acquiescence in the
particular course of inquiry, which, in this
first instance, I have thought it best to insti-
tute, and which may not be precisely what
you would have anticipated.
I have, in fact, taken as my motto on this
occasion, the advice — Festina lente; and if
I appear to have gone about, am yet per-
suaded that I am following a path which
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promises to lead to a satisfactory, and not
very remote conclusion. But I will state, as
briefly as possible, the general views that
have guided me in selecting the subjects,
and in arranging the plan of my argument.
Let me say, then, that the mode of repel-
ling the pretensions of the Romish church,
recommended by the writers of the Oxford
Tracts, seems to me to be at once legitimate
and conclusrve : it is, in substance, an appeal
from the alleged authority of that church, to
a catholicity more catholic, and to an anti-
quity more ancient. On this ground, British
protestantism, or, let us say, if the phrase be
preferred, British Christianity, stands on a
rock, clear of all exception, and, so far as re-
lated to popery, is exempt from all peril.
Within the well-defined limits which it ob-
serves, this line of argument is equally sim-
ple and irrefragable.
But having, in this manner, made good the
external defences of the British episcopal
church, when we come to look within the
enclosure which we have thus walled about,
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we are instantly met by some startling diffi-
culties, of another kind, and are compelled
to confess that, in thus throwing ourselves
back upon Christian antiquity, embarrass-
ments attend us from which there appears
no easy way of escape.
Men of calm minds, indeed, are painfully
conscious of perplexity, while treading the
fields of ancient Christian literature; and to
this feeling is added some alarm when they
witness the fatal infatuations which beset
those who loiter there after surrendering
fhemselves to the guidance of a fond anti*
quarian enthusiasm ; for such are often seen
to yield their faith and reason to illusions that
are not merely unsubstantial, but in the high-
est degree dangerous. In truth, no notions
that have ever prevailed among well-informed
men, can have been more utterly destitute
of firm support than are those which have
been passionately adhered to in relation to
the pristine church ; nor have any been more
fruitful sources of theological and practical
errors.
a2
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The peculiar difficulties that attend the
general subject of ecclesiastical antiquity,
are not, however, obtruded upon the notice
of the world, during quiescent periods; and,
as the documents wherein this species of lore
is imbedded are accessible to few, and fami-
liar to still fewer, as well the instruction with
which they are fraught, as the evils they
may generate, often remain latent for a long
course of years, and, therefore, may ordina-
rily demand no vigilant regard.
But it is otherwise at particular moments,
when the dormant antiquarian zeal suddenly
awakens, and claims a right of interference
with every thing that is professed, believed,
and done, in the open and active world. And
if, at such a moment, this zeal, sharpened by
the prejudices that are its usual characteris-
tics, and animated, or even inflamed, by the
illusions which it engenders, takes a bold
course, and implicates the religious and civil
institutions of the country, there are no limits
hardly to the perils to which every thing
around us is immediately exposed.
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xi
This seems to me precisely what the writers
of the Oxford Tracts are now, with the best
intentions, and with the most devoted attach-
ment to the episcopal church, actually doing;
that is to say, they are fearlessly staking the
credit, the influence, and even the very ex-
istence of the established church, upon the
soundness of notions, regarding ancient Chris-
tianity, which, as I am fully persuaded, will
not endure an impartial examination; nay,
which are miserably contradicted by abundant
and unimpeachable evidence.
There is surely reason enough then, for
those who rank themselves with the friends of
the established episcopal church, to take the
alarm, and to follow closely the steps of these
chivalrous divines. It is possible, indeed, and
not unlikely, that the grounds of the doctrines
advocated by these writers may insensibly
be shifted; and that, finding their early as-
sumptions to be utterly untenable, they may
move off to a better chosen position. But
even if it were so, the necessity would not be
the less urgent for exploring that first chosen
ground. In a word, the time is now mani-
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festly come when the Christian community,
at large, must be thoroughly and authenti-
cally informed concerning the spiritual, and
the moral condition of the church during that
morning hour of its existence, which, too
easily alas! has been surrounded with attri-
butes of celestial splendour, dignity, and pu-
rity.
To collect and diffuse this now indispen-
sable information, is then the task I have
undertaken; yet neither a very easy one, it
must be granted, nor exempt from an invidi-
ous aspect. To dissipate fond dreams may be
a friendly and useful, but is never an ac-
ceptable office. No one, I presume, will
imagine that there remain to be adduced facts,
or indications of facts, not alreadv well known
to those who are conversant with the origi-
nal documents of ecclesiastical antiquity.
But it is nevertheless certain, and the course
of the present controversy has strikingly
shown it to be so, that, what is familiar to a
few, may be altogether unsurmised by the
mass, even of well-informed persons. Our
modern church histories scarcely lift a cor-
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xiii
ner of the veil that hides from us the inner
recesses of the ancient church. And the
fathers may be looked into, here and there,
without a suspicion being awakened of a
state of things which a more searching ex-
amination brings to light.
In commencing, then, these necessary re-
searches, the immediate intention of which is
not so much to controvert the particular prin-
ciples or practices now under discussion, as to
lay open the real condition, moral, spiritual,
and ecclesiastical, of the ancient church, I have
selected that one theme which, as I am fully
persuaded, is better adapted than any other
to answer the purpose of dissipating many
illusions, and of generating a feeling of cau-
tion in the minds of those who may just have
given in, or may be on the point of giving in,
their submission to the Oxford doctrines.
Such, and I believe the number is now not
small, I would here respectfully advise to sus-
pend, a little, their judgment on the questions
in hand, until they may have considered the
evidence which I shall have to produce.
As to yourself, my dear sir, you will not
XIV
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imagine that I am presuming to inform you
of what you are not already acquainted with;
and yet it is possible that the light in which
I have placed some of these well-known facts,
may seem to you new, and such as to deserve
your regard. You will perceive that, while
a single class of objects is before me, I have
kept a double purpose always in view, name-
ly, in the first instance, to loosen a little that
antiquarian enthusiasm which is putting every
thing dear to us in peril; and, in the second
place, to open a path whereon a fresh assault
may be made upon the errors of the papacy.
You will see that, as a preliminary to the
general argument, I have taken some pains
to define and affirm, what some too much
overlook — the dependence of the modern
church upon the ancient church, lest, in les-
sening a little the credit of the latter, I should
seem to favour an ultra-protestant prejudice,
the prevalence of which has, in fact, afford-
ed a handle to the Oxford Tract writers.
And now, my dear sir, will you indulge
me a moment while I make good my per-
sonal plea to be listened to in the present con-
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troversy ? — It will be granted then, that, what-
ever course this wide discussion may take, it
has, in all its branches, so intimate a con-
nexion with ecclesiastical antiquity, as that
it must, for the most part, be left in the hands
of those who have happened to acquire some
familiarity with this branch of learning, and
who, moreover, possess the indispensable ad-
vantage of actually having, under their hands,
the body of ancient ecclesiastical literature.
But these conditions confine, within rather
narrow limits, the choice which the religious
public might make (among those, already
known to it as writers) of any to stand for-
ward as qualified to deal with the general
subject. Then again, among such, few as
they may be, some have already ranged them-
selves on the side of the Oxford writers; and
some, perhaps, would admit themselves to be
altogether disinclined to the task of dealing
severely, with their favourite authors.
On these grounds, then, as actually possess-
ing the Greek and Latin church writers, and
as being, in some degree, used to their com-
xvi
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pany, and moreover, as exempt, in the most
complete manner, from the antiquarian en-
thusiasm, I have felt as if I might, without
culpable presumption, take a part in the great
controversy of the day.
And farther, as this controversy affects, in
a peculiar manner, the welfare of the esta-
blished episcopal church, it seems as if it
should be demanded of those who engage in
it, that they can profess a firm conviction in
favour of the principle of religious establish-
ments, and of episcopacy; as well as a cor-
dial approval of liturgical worship, and spe-
cifically, of that of the established church.
On this ground, then, my deliberate opinions
are such as to allow of my fairly entering
the lists.
There is, however, yet a ground on which
I feel that a rather peculiar advantage, in re-
lation to such a controversy, belongs to rne;
and it is the circumstance of my personal in-
dependence of the established church, and of
my absolute exemption from the influence of
any indirect motive for thinking, or for pro-
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xvii
fessing, thus or thus, in any question affect-
ing its credit and welfare. As a layman, I
have no secular interests at stake in ecclesi-
astical questions. I have nothing but truth
to care for. And, moreover, my actual con-
nexion, by education, and otherwise, with
dissenters, may be accepted as giving to my
decisive opinion in favour of the established
church, the value, whether more or less, that
may attach to principles that have resulted
altogether from serious reflection. And I will
here take leave to remind you, that, in de-
claring myself some years ago on this side,
I did so with a freedom of remark, in regard
to the church, which precluded my winning
any favour from its stanch adherents, or
public champions. In fact, and I hope you
will allow me on this occasion to make the
profession, my convictions, on this subject,
have been so powerful and so serious, as to
lead me to put out of view every personal
and secondary consideration.
None will imagine, my dear sir, that, in
addressing these pages to you, I have, in any
way, compromised your personal or profes-
B
xviii
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sional character, or involved yon in any sort
of responsibility, in regard to what they may
contain. All the burden rests on my own
shoulders. You are clear ; and while I am
much gratified in being able to refer to the
expressions with which, from time to time,
you have honoured me, of your Christian re-
gard and friendship, I am anxious to pre-
clude the supposition that you have done
more than generally approve of my purpose
to engage in the present discussion, and to
express your confidence in the soundness of
my principles and the rectitude of my inten-
tions.
It now only remains for me to disclaim
every hostile or acrimonious feeling towards
the accomplished, and, I have no doubt, tho-
roughly sincere writers of the Tracts for the
Times. If compelled to range myself among
their opponents, I owe them no grudge; and
am very ready to admit the importance of
the services they have rendered to the church,
in reviving some hitherto slighted principles;
and particularly, in bearing a testimony, with
great ability, against modern rationalism. I
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xix
admire, moreover, and would fain imitate, the
mild and Christian temper in which, for the
most part, they write; and should deeply re-
gret the inadvertence, should it appear that,
in any instance, I have allowed an expression
to escape me, that might seem to carry an
unpleasant and personal meaning, or to be
more pungent than the serious import of the
argument would have demanded.
It is true that I have a deep impression of
the mischiefs and dangers attending, or likely
to arise from, the diffusion of the principles
which these divines are so zealously, and, as
it appears, so successfully advocating; and
this conviction must be held to justify the
most determined style of opposition. In this,
however, there is no breach of Christian
charity. The writers must be accounted sin-
cere and devout, although it should appear
that they will have involved the church and
the country in the most serious dangers. The
spread of these doctrines is, in fact, now hav-
ing the effect of rendering all other distinc-
tions obsolete, and of severing the religious
community into two portions, fundamentally
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and vehemently opposed one to the other.
Soon there will be no middle ground left;
and every man, and especially every clergy-
man, will be compelled to make his choice
between the two. What practical decision
can be more momentous, or demand more
deliberation and impartial research ?
I indulge the hope, then, my dear sir, that
I shall be able to afford some aid to those,
especially among the younger clergy, who
may actually be halting between the two
opinions: and I well know that, while giving
myself to my laborious task, I shall have the
benefit of your cordial' good wishes and pray-
ers that that aid and blessing may be afforded
me, apart from which, no endeavours can be
fruitful of good.
It is, my dear sir, with every sentiment of
respect and esteem, that I subscribe myself
yours,
THE AUTHOR.
Stanford Rivers,
Feb. 20, 1839.
ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY,
&c. &c.
The great questions agitated but not determined three
hundred years ago, are now coming on to be discussed,
and under circumstances as auspicious altogether as they
were lately unexpected. The reproach of the reforma-
tion, that it did not fully ascertain its own principles, as
well as the opprobrium of the church in later times, that
little or nothing has been amended since Luther, Cran-
mer, and Knox went to their rest, are now, at last, very
likely to be removed.
While many are looking with terror at the unchecked
spread of Romanism around the English church, and
with alarm at the prevalence of opinions within its most
sacred precincts which apparently contravene the 1 ibours
of the reformers, there is, as I think, room to admit a
very different feeling in relation to these signs of the
times, I mean a feeling of exhilaration and hope as to
the probable, and almost inevitable result, as well of the
busy zeal of the Romish clergy as of the conscientious
labours of the authors and favourers of the " Tracts for
the Times." I must profess to regard the former, and
still more decidedly the latter of these features of our
religious condition, when looked at in their remoter;
though not distant tendencies, as indicative of good, and
such as should awaken to a new activity all who arc pi*
22
ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC.
ously waiting for the renovation of the influence of
Christianity.
And yet, in making this cheering profession, it ought
to be acknowledged, lest we should seem to be conceal-
ing what it is neither candid nor safe to deny, that there
are consequences not very unlikely to be attached to the
Oxford Tract controversy w-hich, in their bearing upon
the peculiar position of the established church at the
present moment, may well excite anxiety in the minds
of its devoted friends, and, indeed, in the minds of all
who acknowledge that an intimate connexion subsists
between the welfare of the established church and the
very existence of our most cherished civil institutions.
It is not surely to pretend to any extraordinary sagacity
to affirm that some of the questions moved by the writers
we refer to, affect, not very circuitously, the constitu-
tional influence of the aristocracy, and even the stability
of the throne.
In truth, great revolutions, as has been said of some
other formidable abstractions, are wont to advance upon
us in noiseless slippers, and taking their rise from some
quarter which was the last to be watched or suspected,
amaze the heedless community with their terrible sud-
denness, as much as with their destructive force. This,
at least, must be admitted by all, that the general scheme
of principles and sentiments that has been imbodied in
the publications referred to, recommends itself by a still
depth, a latent power, a momentum, and a consistency
in its development, which are the very characteristics of
those movements that are to go on, and are to bring with
them great changes, whether for the better or the worse.
Really to despise this system is, I think, very inconsi~
derate, and to affect to despise it, very dangerous.
CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ARGUMENT.
23
The political condition of the country being such as
it is, (if, in fact, we may any longer distinguish between
the political and the religious,) and teeming as it does
with elements of disorder, there are many, no doubt,
who would most gladly remand, to some more conve-
nient season, the agitation of ecclesiastical doctrines
which touch the solid structure of the constitution. This
desire of tranquillity may be reasonable enough in itself;
but it is unavailing, or it comes now too late. Very many
minds, and these, not of the despicable populace, or of
the poorly informed middle classes, but of the best
taught and the best trained, and of those whose personal
interests are the most weighty, have already been deeply
moved, and are as unwilling to be left to subside into
their former state of indolent acquiescence as those who
have so wrought upon them are disinclined to remit
their labours. What event, in fact, can be more impro-
bable than that men whose success in producing this
deep commotion has vastly surpassed their own fondest
expectations, should spontaneously relax their exertions,
or should begin to despond mid way in a broad trium-
phant course? Nothing remains, then, whatever perils
may impend, but for those who range themselves on an
opposite side, to encounter their formidable, accom-
plished, and flushed antagonists in the best manner they
are able.
Yet, even if it were now at the option of any who
might wish to do so, to hush, at this particular moment,
the controversy which is gathering around us — or even
if it might be thought probable that, left to itself, this
dreaded system would share the fate of many a porten-
tous wonder that has quickly sunk into oblivion — even
in such a case, a true prudence might impel us rather to
24
ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC.
promote than to check the rising agitation, and to desire
that, once set fairly in movement, as it now is, the ques-
tion of those great and first principles, apart from the
precise adjustment of which our English protestantism
has remained weak and vulnerable on every side, should
be brought to its close without delay: and better now,
than in some darker hour, when political commotions of
a still more portentous kind than those which at present
disturb the country, would greatly enhance the perils in-
separable from such a controversy, while they must, in
an equal degree, diminish the probability of bringing it
to a happy issue.
The cry of " Popery!" raised by certain of the oppo-
nents of the Oxford doctrines, must be granted to do as
little credit to the discrimination of those who raise it,
as to their candour. Nevertheless, and although the ill-
judged attempt to confound these doctrines with Roman-
ism, or to disparage them, unheard, by an implication
in the same obloquy, and thus to use an unfair advan-
tage, drawn from popular prejudices, is to be strongly
condemned and carefully avoided, it is yet certain that,
in argumentative order, these principles and opinions
must take the lead, as standing first to be considered,
when we have the Romish errors in view; and that the
question of Romanism must follow in the track of the
present controversy, without an interval.
In truth, modem popery will never be dealt with to
any good purpose, on the ground of argument, until the
preliminary discussion which is induced by the Tracts
for the Times, has been disposed of to the satisfaction,
not perhaps of the immediate disputants, but of all honest,
reasonable, and intelligent by-standers.
I have used the words controversy, argument, and
CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ARGUMENT. 25
discussion, correlatives as they are, and implying two
or more parties, visibly in conflict; and yet, in the pre-
sent instance, while, on the one side, the champions
stand forward as a compact band, it is not very easy to
name their actual opponents. To confess a humiliating
truth, the writers of the Tracts for the Times are coolly
looking over the field, and asking for those with whom
they may engage. I am not uninformed of, nor do I
wish to disparage, several able writers who have lately
come forward in this controversy; but, as I shall show,
there are special reasons why their opposition should
be reckoned at less than, intrinsically, it may be worth.
It appears that a peculiar disadvantage attaches to each
of the accrediteil religious parties among us, to whom it
is natural to look, as the opponents of the Oxford divines.
These incidental difficulties constitute, in fact, the most
serious, or, it might be said, ominous circumstance of
the present theological crisis. What I mean precisely
is this — that, whatever we may privately surmise con-
cerning the unsoundness of the principles assumed in
this system, yet that those who maintain it, accomplished
and well skilled in argument as they are, when they
come to confront any one of our religious parties, mani-
festly possess, from incidental causes, the vantage ground,
as related to that single class of antagonists; and so of
each in its turn.
It is only by the sheer necessity of the case, and at
the impulse of motives arising from a very unusual oc-
casion, that I could be induced to enter upon so delicate
and invidious a subject as the weak points — the wound
in the hand, which disables one party and another in
their assaults upon the Oxford Tract writers. Let, how-
ever, indulgence be given to a calm statement of the>
3*
26
ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC.
simple facts, and in terms as free as possible from what
might justly offend any. To name first those who actu-
ally stand foremost, and the description belongs to a
large, and every way considerable body in the esta-
blished church, who, professing the most cordial and
nnexceptive approbation of the church, as it is, in its
constitution, its ritual, and its position as related to the
state, and who are accustomed to admire the fathers of
the English Reformation on no account more than on
that, of their wisdom in carrying amendment just to the
point where it actually stopped, and no farther, and who
deprecate any sort of movement or agitation that tends
to change these stanch and well-contented Church-of-
England men, when they come to deal, in detail, with
the Oxford opinions, may, without much difficulty, be
compelled to confess, first, that the church, as settled by
Edward VI. and Elizabeth, embraces, or favours princi-
ples not as yet fully carried out, either in its offices or
in its discipline and working; and secondly, that the
church, or the country, or both, has been slowly and
imperceptibly moving forward (some will say down-
ward) from the ground whereon it was reared by its
founders, and that, to employ the favourite phrase of
the Oxford Tracts, we, of the present day, have become
t* far more protestant," than were the English protectants
of the sixteenth century. Upon men of this party, there-
fore, the Oxford writers urge nothing but mere consist-
ency: they wish for nothing that is not involved in the
professions of the sound adherents of our protestant
episcopacy: what they plead for is not a reform, but a
return.
Nor can this appeal be otherwise resisted than by a
Jjardy determination to hear nothing which might trou-
CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ARGUMENT.
27
ble the present peace of the church. In fact, as it seems,
numbers belonging to the party now referred to, if it
should be called a party, have given in their submission
to the Oxford leaders, and wait only the aid of a little
more concurrence on the part of others, to promote
openly what they favour silently.
Consisting often of the very same individuals, and
yet needing to be distinguished in regard to our present
object, is the body which stands foremost in upholding,
and approving of, the political constitution of the
church, and which is more concerned (or seemingly so)
for the establishment than it is for the church, and is
zealous for episcopacy, on behalf of prelacy, and is
prepared (unless we do them an injustice in so pre-
suming to divine their dispositions) to admit certain
changes which might even compromise a little the higher
and more spiritual principles of the church, were it
manifest that such alterations would tend to strengthen
the stakes, and to lengthen the cords of the hierarchical
tabernacle.
Between men of this temper and the writers of the
Tracts for the Times, there is a fundamental, and, it
must be added, an ominous discordance, as well of feel-
ing as of first principles. This discrepancy, although
for the present it may be cloaked and hushed by the
discreet, cannot but become more and more notorious ;
nor is it easy to see by what practical expedients the
serious political consequences it involves are to be
evaded. This capital difference, although men may not
be willing to allow it, is nothing less than a rift in the
foundations of the ecclesiastical structure: it is a settle-
ment more narrowly to be looked to than might he the
28
ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC.
broken windows and shattered ornaments that should
mark some rude assault of the mob from without.
It is not merely that the authors and promoters of the
Oxford divinity are, generally speaking, men of a far
more serious temper, and possessed of better digested
notions, and are of more religious habits, than their op-
ponents (of the class now referred to,) and are incom-
parably better prepared to sustain any consequences
which their consistency may entail upon them, and are
therefore stronger, by a settled courage and a calm fore-
thought of trouble; but they have possessed themselves
of lofty principles, in comparison of which the compro-
mising, secular, and heartless maxims of political church-
men will prove, in the collision, as stubble or as sand.
These — that is to say, the political adherents and
champions of the establishment who admire, not so
much the tenderness of our English reformers toward
popery, as their obsequious discretion in regard to the
Tudors, and who, as children of this world, and fond of
tinsel, have always looked upon the trammels of church
subserviency as trappings of honour — these persons now
find themselves suddenly placed in a new and unexpected
position of embarrassment; or rather their actual posi-
tion has been laid bare, with little ceremony, on the
very side where they might most wish to avoid expo-
sure. And by whom has this exposure been attempted?
Not by sour puritans, or reckless levellers; not by the
vulgar and the fanatical; not by the professed enemies
of the church, of whatever class, and with any of whom
it might have been easy to deal, in the wonted modes of
haughty vituperation, or who need not have been listened
to at all, so long as they could have been outvoted.
CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ARGUMENT.
29
Such are not, at present, the troublers of the peace of
the hierarchy; but they are men whose ripe accomplish-
ments as divines, and whose unquestioned attachment
to the episcopal church, not merely exempt them from
contempt or suspicion, but secure for them, and for
whatever they may write, the respectful attention of all
portions of the clergy, and of all among the laity whose
opinions can, in such a case, have weight. Or if any-
thing were yet wanting to secure an advantage which
the one side might desire, and which the other might
fear to see possessed by their opponents, these new
champions of church supremacy actually en oy it, name-
ly, official influence, and the means of moulding the
temper of the younger clergy to their will.
As opposed to men thus advantageously placed, and
thus furnished — men girding themselves to act the part
of confessors, if not of martyrs, political churchmen,
whether whigs or tories, cannot but feel their weakness.
Fatal concessions were made, and dangerous compro-
mises submitted to by the fathers of the English church,
under the despotism of the Tudors, and ,hese very er-
rors (unavoidable, perhaps) are now becone the unto-
ward inheritance of the champions of the protestant estab-
lishment. These, therefore, can wish for nothing so
much as silence and repose : — in serious controversy,
whenever it may come on, nothing awaits them but over-
throw ; and it is a circumstance which none ought to lose
sight of, that, how little soever the declared enemies of
the established church may themselves personally relish
the doctrines of the Oxford Tracts, their instinctive sym-
pathies would at once coalesce with these writers, if seen
to be contending, for high and religious principles, with
the secular minded and political champions of the estah-
30
ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC.
lishment. Obvious motives too, would operate, as well
with Romanists, as with dissenters, and with the atheistic
party impelling them, one and all, to cheer and aid these
bold and learned impugners of church-and-state subser-
viency.
But we must look to another quarter in quest of those
who might come forward, unencumbered, to withstand
the advances of the Oxford doctrines; and may it be to
that, in every sense, estimable portion of the clergy —
call them not a party, which has conventionally been de-
signated— evangelical? It is true that the modern disci-
ples and successors of Romaine, Fletcher, Milner, Cecil,
Scott, and Newton, have by the sheer force of the cur-
rent of church affairs, been carried toward a new position,
and have bean led greatly to modify and to tighten the
ecclesiastical notions professed by their departed leaders.
They never. heless still hold to opinions, and to modes
of feeling, vhich, though, as a matter of fact, springing
up within ths established church, are not of it, are not
its genuine products, or strictly indigenous to its soil;
for they were the products of the new religious anima-
tion diffused through the country by the apostolic labours
of Wesley, Whitefield, and their followers ; nor can it
well be denied that those who have professed these opi-
nions, and who have felt in this manner, have stood as
churchmen, in what is called — a false position; at least
a position of difficulty, and of some practical embarrass--
ment.
If this be the case, or just so far as it may be granted
to be so, nothing can be less desirable to the evangelical
clergy than to be forced into any formal or particular ar-
gument with their accomplished and learned brethren,
pn the very points that have driven some of their most
CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ARGUMENT.
3i
distinguished predecessors, and of themselves, to the
edge of nonconformity, and which chafe many a sensi-
tive conscience. They may, by the aid of peculiar con-
siderations, drawn from the perils of the time, have
brought themselves to believe that they seriously disaf-
fect nothing in the ritual or constitution of the church;
and they may be satisfied with this or that elaborate ex-
planation of certain difficulties ; nevertheless the uneasi-
ness, although assuaged, is not removed, for the difficul-
ty is real, and its reality, and its magnitude, must be
brought afresh before them, to the renewal of many pain-
ful conflicts of mind, whenever the genuine and original
church of England principle and discipline, comes, as
now, by the Oxford divines, to be insisted upon, ex-
pounded, and carried out to its fair consequences.
What the English reformers had in view, was — An-
cient Christianity, or the doctrine, and discipline, and
ritual of the Nicene age, and of the times nearly preceding
that age ; and so far as the altered condition of the social
system, and so far as the secular despotism allowed them
to follow their convictions, they realized their idea, and
probably would have done so to the extent of a close imi-
tation, had it been possible, of all but the more offen-
sive features of that early system. But how utterly dif-
ferent a notion of Christianity was that which animated
the zeal of the founders of methodism, and which, in the
main, was caught by the fathers of the evangelical clergy.
Holding to the same orthodoxy — the same Nicene and
Athanasian doctrine, every thing else in the two systems
stands out as a point of distinction. What parallels
could be more incongruous, even to absurdity, than such
as one might strive to institute, for instance, between
Cyprian and Romaine, Tertullian and Milner, Chrysos--
32
ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC.
torn and Cecil, Augustine and Scott, Jerom and New-
ton !
The evangelical clergy, as Christian ministers, and as
theologians, when they stand on open ground, may in-
deed freely and with advantage contend against what
they may deem superstitious or papistical in the system
of the Oxford writers : but can they do so, precisely as
churchmen? It does not appear how, on this narrower
field, they are to make good their footing.
Or, leaving doctrine and ritual out of the question, and
looking solely to the ominous topic of church supremacy
or subserviency in relation to the state, the evangelical
clergy cannot but feel the discussion to be inconvenient
and undesirable ; for it is they, more than any others, that
must be painfully conscious of what have been the ill
practical influences of the usurpations, and the lay in-
terference that were submitted to, as by dire necessity,
on the part of the founders of the establishment. So it
happens that, in resisting what they regard as the super-
stitions of the Oxford divines, if driven back, they are
driven upon puritanism; while in withstanding the Ox-
ford church-supremacy doctrine, their retreat, if defeated,
can only be toward, either the dead levels of political
expediency, or the swamps of dissent. It is with every
sentiment of respect and affection toward this portion of
the clergy, that I state the fact of their difficult position
in regard to the present controversy; and I do so for the
sake of precluding the fallacious hope that the now
spreading opinions are to be withstood, much less over-
thrown, by those who occupy this particular ground.
It is perhaps unnecessary to insist upon the unfitness
of any class of dissenters to engage in controversy with
the writers of the Tracts for the Times, inasmuch as
CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ARGUMENT.
33
there seems little probability that such an attempt will
be made. Dissenters have had their advantage, and they
have reaped their glory, in contending for our religious
liberties, and moreover they have found points of easy
attack in assailing the loose opinions of political church-
men; they may also have won partial triumphs, in urging
the argument of consistency against the evangelical
clergy; but they would find themselves, as I am inclined
to think, stripped of most of these incidental advantages,
and to be dealing altogether with another sort of adver-
sary, were they to close in with the Oxford divines upon
the questions now agitated. The time undoubtedly must
come, and the increasing learning and intelligence (and
candour too, it is hoped) of the dissenting bodies, tend
to hasten its approach, when the crude assumptions on
which the modern congregational system rests, will be
sifted anew, and when the principle of unchecked de-
mocracy, in church government, will be brought to the
test of scripture. But a controversy with the writers of
the Oxford Tracts could not fail to bring on such a scru-
tiny under circumstances which would render a defeat,
even on single points, peculiarly mortifying. These as-
tute and accomplished men — the Oxford writers, clearly
rid, as they are, of the many embarrassments that have
encumbered the less consistent churchmen, with whom,
heretofore, dissenters have had to do, would, in rebutting
the arguments of congregationalists, find themselves free
to take up aggressive weapons, and might bring the ec-
clesiastical axioms of dissent into question, in a manner
not to be desired by its adherents. It may then be con-
sidered as a point of discretion with the dissenting bodies
to provoke no controversy in the present instance, and
especially as they have no immediate concern in this
4
34
Ancient Christianity, etc.
great argument, and in fact are more likely to get credit
by standing off from the fray, than to reap advantage
From taking a part in it.
Moreover, it is clear that the various, but intimately
connected subjects, theological and ecclesiastical, at this
time likely to be discussed, all come under the common
condition of involving laborious researches upon the field
of Christian antiquity. But this is a field not much fre-
quented, in our own times, by non-conformists of any
class. It is but a few individuals, of these communions,
that profess any direct acquaintance with the Greek and
Latin divines ; nor do the tastes of the dissenting bodies
at all favour any reference of the sort.
But granting, as we may, that, when we have to con-
sider the safety and instruction of the uninformed reli-
gious classes, in relation to any prevailing errors, the
only practicable method is that of a simple adherence
to the biblical branch of the argument ; it is yet perfectly
clear that, when we are turning to those who are them-
selves to be the sources of instruction, and the guides of
the ignorant, theological discussions must include a much
wider range of inquiry: and as to questions, such as
those with which, in the present instance, we have to
do, there can be but one course likely to lead to a final
adjustment of the points in dispute; and this only course
must embrace a patient and piercing examination of the
entire body of ancient Christian literature, so far as now
extant. Any method more summary, specious as it may
seem, will, as I venture to predict, produce only a mo-
mentary impression, and will leave us liable to a speedy
return of the very same controversies. But if the great
argument be courageously encountered at the first, and
entered upon with an immoveable determination to spare
CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ARGUMENT.
35
no toil, to evade no difficulty, and to carry the torch of
modern intelligence, and modern biblical feeling, into
every, and the most intricate recesses of ancient Chris-
tianity, there is a reasonable hope that, under the divine
blessing, a real and permanent progress may be made in
the momentous work of freeing our holy religion, effec-
tually and finally, from the corruptions of many centuries.
There are some, however, who are telling us, and it
must be granted, not without an appearance of reason,
that our notions of the importance of the present con-
troversy are vastly exaggerated, and that therefore no
such laborious courses of argument as those I am now
indicating, can be necessary ; and on the contrary it is
affirmed that, left to itself, this new portent, like many
equally alarming, will quickly disappear from our skies.
It is indignantly asked — if we are to be disquieted in this
degree, and to be moved from our places, at the bidding
of a band of recluses, who. accomplished as they may be
in worthless lore, and respectable and estimable perhaps,
as Christians, or as clergymen, have yet shown them-
selves so feeble in understanding as to bow to the frivo-
lous superstitions of the darkest times. Are we, it is
asked, to be led by those who suffer themselves to be
led by the grim spectres of the twilight age of the
church's history, and the midnight age of the world's
history ?
It must be confessed that, on this ground, a reasonable
doubt may be entertained concerning the triumph of the
particular Oxford confederacy, and of the magnitude of
the issue in which the present movement is to terminate.
A silent acquiescence in trivial superstitions, or even a
forward zeal in maintaining frivolous formalities, affords
no criterion of mental strength, in an age universally
36
ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC.
superstitious, and grossly ignorant; but it is hard not to
consider such compliances, or such solemn trifling, as
genuine indications of an infirm temperament, when they
meet us in times of diffused intelligence, and of vigor-
ous mental activity. It is not to be doubted that many
a spirit of power, in times gone by, has bowed and
cringed, and moulded itself to the pattern of a Cassian's
Institute ; but can any spirit of power now act the same
part? Shall we now any where find strong and sound
minds forcing themselves to lisp mummeries, to prate,
and whisper, and juggle, and drivel, and play the church
puppet, after the fashion of the monkery of the tenth
century ? Few will believe this to be possible : — it is
indeed hard for any to believe it. In an age, not of
idle but of solid learning, an age of genuine, not of
vain philosophy; in an age (be it of too much license
and of irreligious latitude, yet) of real force and manli-
ness, and of rational and steady zeal ; in an age when,
beside the noisy pretenders to high qualities, there are,
on every side, and in the private walks of life, the pos-
sessors of high qualities of mind and sentiment; if in
such an age, men who have wanted no advantages of
culture, are seen, in their imitations of antiquity, not
merely to be bringing before us what might justly be
venerated on the score of pristine purity, but also what,
unless it could boast the hoary recommendations of time,
must be ridiculed as simply absurd, in such a case, more
than a surmise suggests itself, as to the intellectual sta-
ture of the diligent and zealous antiquaries who may be
playing the part here supposed.
But whatever estimate may be formed of individuals
(and it is unnecessary in this instance, as well as invidi-
pus to form any) the opinions in question are to be con-
CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ARGUMENT.
37
sidered in their intrinsic weight and permanent validity;
and also in their bearing-, which is peculiar, upon the re-
lative position of the established church, and of Roman-
ism. In this view no controversy that has been started
in modern times, ought to be thought more important,
and if, at the present moment it have fallen into feeble
hands, (a fact I do not affirm) more sturdy arms, we need
not doubt, will ere long snatch the weapons now un-
sheathed, and will command the respectof theiropponents.
The opinions advanced in the Tracts for the Times,
may die away, for awhile ; but they must revive at
some time not very remote. Motives of discretion, and
the fear of change, natural to men in office, may lead to
a gradual and silent retreat from the ground that was
taken when the probable consequences of maintaining so
advanced a position had not been maturely considered.
The centre principle of the Tracts for the Times —
the unalienable right of the church to an uncontrolled
internal government, and its inherent spiritual supremacy
in relation to the civil power, generally, and to the tem-
porary administration of that power in particular, this
weighty doctrine tends directly, as all must see, to a
disruption of the existing connexion between the church
and the state, or to a schism, a rending of the texture
from the top to the bottom ; the state being now under
the guardianship of parties utterly adverse lo any such
elevated notions, and not at all likely to surrender so
considerable a means of sustaining, from session to ses-
sion, its tottering existence, as is afforded by the pos-
session of an undue and irreligious influence over the
church. Obvious motives of discretion may therefore,
for awhile, restrain the combatants on the one side of
this controversy as well as on the other; and if even
4*
3?
ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC.
the promoters of it have braced their minds to meet all
the consequences of the opinions which, with them, are
serious matters of religion and conscience, it may not
be so with the clergy at large, without whose willing
ear and concurrence it would not be possible, even for
the most accomplished writers, long to bear up against
that tide of public opinion which they have to stem.
With the clergy at lar^e it must rest to decide whether,
by favouring an agitation that touches the principle of
the protestant establishment, they shall bring every thing
dear to them into peril — the establishment itself first —
then the due influence of the aristocracy, and then the
denuded throne; or whether, by promptly withdraw-
ing all support from these agitators, and by turning
away their ear, they shall stave off, awhile, the most
dire commotion, religious and political, that has ever
convulsed this country.
The prediction has often been uttered, and by men of
different parties and opposite feelings, that if England
is again to undergo revolutionary struggles, the heaving
will commence within the church. If then any such
course of events be at all probable, the earliest symp-
toms of its approach should be observed, and the oppor-
tunity seized (if it be offered) of so opening the ground,
as to give free and timely vent to the volcanic fire that
murmurs beneath our feet.
It is therefore on this account especially that, while
yet we may do so in tranquillity, a prompt and thorough
attention should be paid to such at least of the Oxford
opinions, as may be the most readily disposed of; and
so, one by one, to extract the perilous ingredients from
the mass. And whatever circumstance, of an extrinsic
kind, recommends these opinions as they are now ad-
CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ARGUMENT.
39
vanced, furnishes a corroboratory reason for dealing with
them so as that if dispelled, it shall be for ever.
These extrinsic recommendations are in fact nearly
as great as can be imagined ; and they are as extraordi-
nary as unlooked for. The solemn and plaintive tones
of the ancient church, once heard amid the pangs of
martyrdom, or resounding as soft echoes wakening the
solitudes of the deserts of Syria, Arabia, and upper
Egypt, the very same tones, and the same testimony,
at once for great truths and for great errors too — for
eternal verities, and for futile superstitions, are now, and
after so long a silence, breaking from the cloisters of
Oxford.
This revival of the religion, and of the forms, of the
principle, and of the costume of the martyr church, has
not sprung up in Germany, where the love of mysticism
and paradox, recommended by rich erudition, is every
day evolving systems destined to enjoy their turn of
celebrity, and to be forgotten ; but in England, where a
characteristic national good sense, and a vigorous prac-
tical feeling, and the free interaction of all elements,
moral and intellectual, combine to give condensation,
and so much the more force, to whatever courts the suf-
frages of the educated classes. And in England this
revival of ancient Christianity has not burst from among
the sects where, having less confinement, it would sooner
waste its infant strength ; but from the very heart of the
established church, where salutary corrective influences
are as strong and steady as they can be. Farthermore,
it has not, as in certain instances which might be men-
tioned, been fomented among juniors, more zealous than
discreet, and with whom the want of judgment, and the
unconfesscd impulses of hot ambition, might have com-
40
ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC.
bined to cherish extravagance of conduct, and opinion—
not with such have we now to do, but with men of ma-
ture understanding, and of authenticated professional
quality, and whose official sentiments, tending more to-
ward repose than agitation, must be supposed to out-
weigh any irregular desires of notoriety. The writers
of the Tracts for the Times, generally, have far more,
in every sense, to risk, than they are likely to gain by
the course they are pursuing. And finally, it is a cir-
cumstance worthy of notice, and corroboratory of the
general idea of our approaching an extraordinary and
peculiar crisis of the church, that, if one of the English
universities rather than the other could give sanction to
■doctrines and practices drawn from Christian antiquity,
those maintained in the Tracts for the Times are ema-
nating not from Cambridge — but from Oxford.
SUBSTANCE OF THE ARGUMENT.
Concisely expressed, the argument of the reforma-
tion turned upon the alleged difference between the reli-
gion of the middle ages, and that of the New Testament.
The Romanist generally admitted this diversity, and yet
maintained that, whatever constituted the difference, was
binding upon the church: the reformers therefore had
more to do with the principle of the authority which
imposed this difference, than with the difference in its
details, and which was confessed on all sides.
Using, for the moment, a similar brevity of descrip-
tion, it may be affirmed that the argument mooted by
SUBSTANCE OF THE ARGUMENT.
41
the writers of the Oxford Tracts, turns upon the differ-
ence (if there be any) between the religion of the New
Testament, and that of the pristine and martyr church,
which difference, if even it were ascertained, they would
represent to be not merely innocent, but imitable.
After exhibiting this discrepancy, there would remain
to be discussed the very important question concerning
the deference that is due, by the modern church, to the
ancient church, on the alleged ground of its having pos-
sessed, what we have lost, namely, the unwritten mind,
and the practices of the apostolic age; as well as those
authoritative decisions, on various points of discipline
and worship, to which, in their epistles, the apostles fre-
quently refer, as well known, although not then and
there specified. Whatever may be the consequences,
or tendency of their modes of thinking, the Oxford wri-
ters are not, like Tertullian, labouring to establish the
equal authority of a perpetually emanating tradition, or
a power of gradual development, granted to the church;
but are simply affirming the authority of traditions
known, or well surmised to be, strictly apostolical.
Such, as I understand them, are the points we have
to consider in the present argument. On all hands,
within the protestant pale, the well ascertained usurpa-
tions and corruptions of the Romish church are utterly
discarded. What have we, in England, to do with the
Gregorys, the Sylvesters, the Innocents, the Urbans,
of Rome, or with the notions they favoured, or with the
practices they enjoined? What part hath the bishop of
Rome in these western islands ? Prove that he may
lawfully command us, as his spiritual children, and we
submit.
But it is another thing to insulate ourselves from the
42 ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC.
broad continent of ancient and Catholic Christianity: it is
another thing to denounce, unexamined, whatever consti-
tutes the glaring difference between our own Christia-
nity, and that of the times when men were living who
had received their faith, at one or two removes, from
the lips of the twelve. It is another thing to incur the
risks of contemptuously discarding all that the Apos-
tles might have recommended, or might have established,
although only incidentally (or perhaps not at all) alluded
to in their extant writings.
With the indolent hope of evading laborious inqui-
ries, and of escaping from endless discussions, and of
effectively cutting every cord that ties us to Romanism,
with some such views as these, there may be those who
would sink antiquity altogether, well content to reserve,
just the canonical writings. But to do this, is, as I think
may be proved, as impracticable a course, as it is bold,
unwarrantable, and unnecessary. Nothing remains for
us, I am persuaded, but to employ all that serious dili-
gence and discrimination which we may be masters of,
and which the importance of the occasion calls for, in
an extensive research of Christian antiquity.
Admitting the general principle, which, as I now state
it, maybe easily established, that a deference is actually
due to the mind and testimony of the ancient church
catholic, there remains to be determined, first — the chro-
nological limits of that church; or the precise period
within which it was in fact catholic, and entitled, as
such, to respect; and secondly, what are the limitations
under which this deference should be yielded, and this
testimony listened to. Is reverence due to every thing
that was generally believed and practised within the pre-
cincts of the ancient church? If not, what are the ac-
SUBSTANCE OF THE ARGUMENT.
43
tual exceptions; and what the rules that should guide lis
in making1 them?
The writers of the Tracts for the Times have not as
yet effected the indispensable preliminary work of de-
fining the legitimate authority of the ancient church, and
setting it clear of the many perplexities that attach to
the subject. Until this be done, they, in asserting this
authority, and others in impugning it, are beating the air.
In the following pages an endeavour will be made, and
will be repeated from different starting points, so to ex-
hibit the real religious condition, and moral and spiritual
characteristics of the ancient church, as may go far in
aiding us to draw the line between a due, and an undue
deference to this alleged authority. If I should be able
to effect my intention, with any degree of success, I
shall indulge the hope of relieving many wavering minds
from their perplexities.
Whatever analogies may seem to connect the doctrines
of the Oxford Tracts with popery, the difference be-
tween the two is such as that those must certainly be
disappointed who, hastily snatching up the rusty swords
and spears of the reformers, rush, so accoutred, upon
the Oxford divines. To demolish popery (a work, as
it has proved, not so easily accomplished as some had
imagined) is only to leave the ancient Christianity of
the Oxford writers in a fairer and loftier position.
Nevertheless, as I have already said, if we can but
clearly define and wall about the respect due to the an-
cient church, and mark the points where suspicion is to
come in the place of deference, almost every thing will
have been done which mere argument can be supposed
to effect in ridding the world of the illusions of the Ro-
mish superstition. Our present labours then, arduous
44
ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC.
as they may be, are animated by a most cheering hope.
We have indeed a single subject in view; but we have
a double purpose; and the ulterior intention of what we
are proposing, challenges to itself a grandeur and a so-
lemnity which must urge every motive of exertion to
the highest pitch. The human mind can indeed admit
no impulses more powerful than those which press upon
it when, as now, a new hope is presented of aiding in
the destined overthrow of the horrid despotism of the
papal heresy.
Our subject then is not a biblical argument, or a ques-
tion of interpretation; nor is it abstractedly theological,
much less metaphysical or philosophical; but is purely
historical: and — what we have to inquire about is — the
actual condition of the Christian church from the apos-
tolic times, and downwards, toward the seventh cen-
tury.
— The history of Christianity! alas the ominous words,
which sink like a mortal chill into the heart. Christi-
anity has absolutely no difficulties, or none that ought
for a moment to stagger a sound and well informed mind,
none excepting such as attach to its history; but these,
although clearly separable from the question of its own
divine origin, yet how serious and how disheartening
are they! The Christian, if he would enjoy any se-
renity, should either know nothing of the history of his
religion, or he should be acquainted with it so profoundly,
as to have satisfied himself that the dark surmises which
had tormented his solitary meditations, have no substan-
tial bearing upon the principles of his faith.
In truth these difficulties, whatever they may be, when
they come to be accurately examined, are found to press,
CHRISTIANITY AND ITS HISTORY.
45
not upon Christianity itself, but upon certain too hastily
assumed principles of natural theology, which they ap-
pear to contradict. The general aspect of the gospel
economy suggests expectations, as to the divine purposes
toward mankind, at large, which not only have not hi-
therto been justified by the actual course of human af-
fairs, but which the very explicit predictions of our
Lord, and of his apostles, had we properly regarded
them, should have taught us not to entertain. After
listening, in the first place, to the predictions of the Jew-
ish prophets concerning the reign of the Messiah, and
then to the song of the angelic choir, announcing the ac-
tual birth of the Prince of Peace, if we turn, either to
our Lord's public discourses, or to his private conversa-
tions with his disciples, a very remarkable contrast pre-
sents itself; and whether or not we may be successful
in harmonizing the apparent discrepancy, it presents an
alternative strikingly confirmatory of our faith as Chris-
tians. For, in the first place, the perfectly unambigu-
ous, and often repeated announcements made by Christ
to his followers of persecutions, universal hatred, and
cruel deaths which awaited those who were to promul-
gate his doctrine, were the very reverse of what an un-
inspired founder of a new faith would either himself
have admitted, or would have ventured to hold before
his early adherents. Then, and in the second place, these
same announcements, when compared with the. facts which
make up the history of the church, stand forward as pro-
phecies so fulfilled to the letter, as to vindicate the divine
prescience of him who uttered them.
In like manner the well known predictions contained
in the apostolic epistles, and which speak of the cor-
ruptions and the apostacies that should arise within the
5
46
ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC.
church, are available in this same two-fold manner, first,
as evidences of reality and sincerity on the part of the
apostles, and as opposed to enthusiasm and guile, which
would have dictated things more fair and smooth; and,
secondly, of a divinely imparted foreknowledge of the
course of events.
Let it be granted then, that the history of Christianity
painfully contradicts the bright expectations we might
have entertained of what the gospel was to be, and to
do. But does it in any particle contradict our Lord's
own forewarnings, or the apostles' explicit predictions
concerning the fate and position of its adherents in this
world of evil? Assuredly not.
These general observations, often as they have been
advanced by Christian writers, might be considered as
impertinent in this place as to their ordinary bearing;
but they contain an inference peculiarly significant in re-
lation to our immediate object. Let me say then, that,
without prejudging the scheme of ecclesiastical princi-
ples which we are now proposing to sift, we may at
least affirm that it assumes and supposes a state of things
in the early church, much more in accordance with the fond
and vague expectations just referred to, than either with
the well defined predictions of Paul, Peter, and Jude, or
with Ihe pages of church history. Now this difference
should be noted, and it should lead those who hitherto
have overlooked it, to give the more earnest attention to
the details of an inquiry, the intention of which is to
discover whether ancient Christianity was, in fact, what
we should have rejoiced to find it, or, on the contrary,
what the apostolic prophecies would have led us sorrow-
fully to look for.
If at any time, or if in any particular instance, the an-
CHRISTIANITY AND ITS HISTORY.
47
thority of the ancient church is to be urged upon the
modern church, then surely there is a pertinence in turn-
ing to the apostolic prophecies of perversions, corrup-
tions, apostacies, quickly to spring up within the sacred
enclosure itself, which meet us at the threshold, and
seem to bring us under a most solemn obligation to look
to it, lest, amid the fervours of an indiscriminate reverence,
we seize for imitation the very things which the apostles
foresaw and forewarned the church of, as fatal errors!
No practical caution, as it seems to me, can be much
more clear, as to its propriety, or important in itself,
than the one I now insist upon. Say, we are about
to open the original and authentic records of ancient
Christianity, and in doing so, have a specific intention to
compare our modern Christianity therewith, and to re-
dress it, if necessary, in accordance with the pristine,
model. But at this moment the apostolic predictions,,
like a handwriting on the wall, brighten before our eyes,,
in characters of terror. We are entering a wide field,
upon the skirls of which a friendly hand has posted the
— " Beware of pits and swamps, even on the beaten paths
of this sacred ground." To addict oneself to the study of
ancient Christianity, with a credulous, antiquarian ve-
neration, regardless of the apostolic predictions, is to
lay oneself down to sleep upon the campagna, after
having been told that the whole region exhales a malig-
nant miasma: the fate of one so infatuated, would not be
more sure, than merited.
Nevertheless these cautions, which common discretion
not less than piety suggest and confirm, are misunder-
stood if they are used to discourage any researches
which our extant materials afford the means of prose-
cuting. The scoffer and skeptic, casting a hasty glance
48
ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC.
upon church history, and looking, by instinct of his per-
sonal tastes, to the scum and the froth, turns away in ar-
rogant disgust: but the Christian may not do the same.
On the other side, the unlearned believer, finding, in
church history, if he looks into it at all, what revolts his
feelings, clasps his bible to his bosom, with a renewed
affection, and resolves to know nothing else: and it may
be an ill-advised zeal that would disturb such a resolu-
tion.
Mean time, Christians of cultivated minds, and pecu-
liarly all who stand forward as the teachers of Christi-
anity, owe it to themselves, and to others, to free them-
selves from the many perils of ignorance, on this parti-
cular ground; — and on no ground is it more dangerous
to be ignorant or to be imperfectly informed. It is a
happy omen of the present times, that this ignorance, or
slender information lately attaching to all but here and
there a solitary and secluded antiquary, is now being ra-
pidly dispersed; so that on all sides, those who addict
themselves to theological studies, whether exegetical,
dogmatic, or ecclesiastical, are turning, with an animated
and sedulous zeal, to the remains of ancient Christian li-
terature. Some, perhaps with an overweening reverence,
and others with a predetermined contempt; but more than
a few, are, with a well directed and intelligent curiosity,
turning over the long neglected tomes that imbody the
history of our religion: and it is a remarkable fact that,
at this moment, these laborious inquiries, set on foot by
peculiar circumstances, in each instance, are pursued in
Germany, in France, and in England. The combined
result (for the several results must meet at length in one
issue) cannot but effect some momentous changes in each
of these countries; nor is it easy to exclude the expecta-
CHRISTIANITY AND ITS HISTORY.
49
tion of consequences which must affect the religious con-
dition of Europe, and of the world.
Among ourselves, however, there are too many who,
whether from motives of indolence, which one must be re-
luctant to impute, or from a dim forethought of some pro-
bable and undesired consequences, hold back from the
studies which others are so honourably prosecuting.
Looking at the Christian world at large, it is my full con-
viction, that there is just now a far more urgent need of
persuasives to the study of Christian history and literature,
than of cautions against the abuse of such studies. Too
many feel and speak as if they thought there were no
continuity in their religion; or as if there were no uni-
versal church; or as if the individual Christian, with his
pocket bible in his hand, need fix his eyes upon nothing
but the little eddy of his personal emotions; or as if Chris-
tianity were not what it is its glory and its characteristic
to be — a religion of history.
Christianity, the pledge to man of eternity, is the oc-
cupant of all time; and not merely was it, itself, the ripen-
ing of the dispensations that had gone before it, but it
was to be the home companion of the successive genera-
tions of man, until the consummation of all things. Not
to know Christianity as the religion of all ages — as that
which grasps and interprets the cycles of time, is to be
in a condition like that of the man whose gloomy cham-
ber admits only a single pencil of the universal radiance
of noon.
The eager, forward-looking temper of these stirring
times, has withdrawn Christians, far too much, from the
quieting recollection that they themselves are members
of a series, and portions of a mass; nor do we, so much
or so often as might be well, entertain the solemn me-
5*
50 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
ditation, that we, individually, are hastening to join the
general assembly of those who, from age to age, have
stood where we now stand, as the holders and profes-
sors of God's truth in the world. Is there no irreligion,
no want of faith and fervour, indicated by a voluntary
and utter ignorance of those into whose company, within
a few months, or years, we are to be thrown?
Our Christianity is not a system of philosophy, or ab-
stract principles, broached, no one cares when, and having
no visible attachments to place, time, or persons, and
which, as it is pregnant with no hopes, is rich with no
records. Again, it stands vividly contrasted with false
religions of all names, which, contradicted as they are
by genuine history, in what concerns their origin, are
throughout every year and century of their continuance,
more and more belied by the course of events; and are,
as time runs on, loosening their precarious hold of the
convictions of their adherents, by illuding, more and
more, their expectations. Christianity is the reverse of
ail this, in its form, and in the mode of its conveyance,
and in the sentiments which it generates. Its own con-
stant tendency is to gather, not to scatter; and not merely
does it, or would it, bind its true adherents, of each age,
in a visible communion; but it knits together, in one, by
a retrospective and anticipative feeling, the children of
God, who are dispersed through all periods of time.
Because it is of the very essence of truth in religion,
to blend itself with a certain series of events, and to mix
itself with history, example more than precept, biog-
raphy more than abstract doctrine, are made to convey
to us, in the scriptures, the various elements of piety.
Truth in religion, is something that has been acted and
transacted; it is something that has been imbodied in
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
51
persons and societies; and so intimately does this condi-
tion of continuity attach to the gospel scheme, that the
inspired narrative of the past, runs on without a Jjreak,
into the announcement of the future; so as that the en-
tire destinies of the human family — a part narrated, and
a part foretold, a part brought under the direct beams of
history, and a part dimly adumbrated in prophecy, are
grasped by it, and claimed as its possession.
One must be really perplexed when one sees the Chris-
tian, with an historic bible in his hand, and who, by its
aid, commands a prospect over all the fields of time, and
far into the regions of eternity, yet thinking that certain
intermediate periods of the great cycle of God's dispen-
sations are nothing to him; or that he may as well be ut-
terly ignorant of large tracts of this extensive course, as
know them. The forming an acquaintance, so far as
we possess the means of opening it, with our brethren,
and fellow citizens, and precursors, in the Christian com-
monwealth, we owe to their virtues and sufferings; and
we owe it also to their errors and illusions; and if they
themselves, we may be sure, could now send us a mes-
sage of love, it would relate much rather to the errors
against which we should be cautioned, than to the vir-
tues of which we may find brighter examples in scrip-
ture itself.
But there is even a more serious, and pointed motive,
urging upon the ministers of religion, especially, a de-
vout and careful study of church history ; and it is a
motive which has a very particular bearing upon the dif-
ficult inquiries we have now in view. What then is
church history (and especially what would it be, if our
materials were more ample) but a running commentary
upon our Lord's most solemn promise, to be with his
52
THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
servants always, even to the end of the world ? These
words, sacred as they are, and peculiar, as having been
nttered at the most remarkable moment of all time (if
only that of the second advent be expected) can have no
meaning, or none that can render them important to our-
selves, if we are not to look into church history for their
verification.
This promise, so emphatically uttered, with whatever
benefits it may teem, was not given without a clear pre-
science of the very things that most offend and perplex
us in the records of Christianity. Not a heresy that has
troubled the church, not any outburst of pride and pas-
sion among divines, that has disgraced it, no illusion
that has seduced the few, and none that has infatuated
the many, or even the church at large, throughout the
lapse of ages, was unforeseen by him who thus formally
engaged to be with and near his ministers, in the long
succession of their office, until he comes again. How
js it possible to think less than this ? Or how, if we
think it, can we be incurious concerning the actual indi-
cations of that divine presence from age to age?
But the difficulty is this: — these indications of the
Lord's presence with his church, have not been such as
we should have expected to find them ;— the Lord has
net seemed to surround himself with the men whom we
should have chosen for his companions: and those cap-
tious words are almost on our lips; — "This man keepeth
company with publicans and sinners." Now it is pre-
cisely in connexion with some such uneasy feelings as
these- — that many pious persons entertain prejudices,
which have a very unfavourable influence upon their
religious character; and it relates immediately to the
great questions now before us to lay the axe to the root
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
53
of such notions. Let us then consider our actual posi-
tion in this instance.
— When in any case, a well known friend, or a teacher
and guide, or a prince and patron, acts in the very way
which we had anticipated, and when lie says and does
very nearly what we should have imagined him to say
and do, under given circumstances, we stand on one side,
with a quiet, incurious acquiescence, just as we watch
the rising and the setting of the sun, when his undevi-
ating revolutions bring him, at the wonted moment, to the
line of the horizon. But how different are our feelings,
and how much more intense and wakeful is our attention
if, while we still confidently rely upon what we know
of his wisdom, and goodness, he starts aside from the
path we had presumed to mark out for him, and holds a
course which confounds every notion we had entertained
of his character and purposes! — In any such case, we
rouse ourselves from our previous listlessness, and, with
an eager, anxious, intentness of mind, we watch every
movement, listen to every word he utters, and we note,
even the least considerable circumstances of his beha-
viour; his every gesture fixes our eye, and we let no-
thing escape us which may perhaps afford some indica-
tion of those hidden reasons which will at length explain
this unlooked for course of conduct. Do we not tho-
roughly know our friend, patron, prince? May we not
hope then, that, sooner or later, we shall find the means
of truly interpreting the enigmas of his administration.
The application of such a supposed case is obvious,
in this instance. If it be true that the general complex-
ion of church history, through the course of long cen-
turies, is such as to offend our preconceived notions,
and to shock our spiritual tastes, and if, while we bend
54
THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
over the records of those dim eras, the promise of the
Lord to he with his servants, still rings in our ears, as a
doleful knell of hopes broken ; if it be so, or, as far as
such may be the fact, the motive becomes more impres-
sive and serious which impels us to acquire an authentic
knowledge of this course of events, in all its details, —
and if there are any who must acknowledge that they
feel a peculiar repugnance in regard to church history r
they are the very persons, more than any other, whom
it behooves to school themselves in this kind of learning;
for it seems more than barely probable, that this distaste
springs from some ill affection of their own minds, de-
manding to be exposed and remedied. Such persons
may well admit the supposition that they have hastily
assumed certain notions of their Lord's principles of
government, which are in fact unlike what, at length,
they will find themselves to be subject to; and if so,
the sooner they dispel any such false impressions, the
better. On the face of the instance supposed, one
should say, that any perplexities we may feel in regard
to that course of events which constitutes the history of
Christianity, probably spring from some deep-seated error
of feeling, or of opinion, which, for our own sakes, we
should carefully analyze.
Reasons such as these, ought to be enough to engage
the ministers of religion, at least, in the labour of ob-
taining as much familiarity as their more urgent duties
will allow, with the records of our faith, from age to
age. Other motives, very obvious, and often adverted
to, belong rather to individuals, addicting themselves,
from personal taste, or professional obligation, to specific
studies, and who will not stop short of a thorough
knowledge of the subject, To some of these technical
VfoN The ancient church.
55
uses of church history, I shall have occasion presently
to advert ; but these pursuits have yet another, and a
general recommendation, which I do not remember to
have seen insisted upon, although it is not in itself incon-
siderable, and is very proper in this place to be adduced,
when our inquiries are to involve some of the most in-
tricate principles of human nature, as wrought upon by
religious motives.
In all cases, then, in which the materials of history
are copious, as well as authentic, it holds good as a rule,
that the practical utility of each portion of it bears a
direct proportion to the degree in which, among the
people, or within the community so reported, the various
elements of human nature have been developed. A low
or contracted development of human nature, involves a
barren and profitless narrative of events : nothing can be
more parched, or destitute of nutriment, than the story
of the fortunes and misfortunes of savage, or semi-bar-
barous nations : a page or two, comprising the broad
facts of the social condition of such communities, affords
all the instruction we could derive from a volume, were
it written. In truth, although there may be pictures of
the imperfectly civilized races, there can be no history
of them. It is Greece that may have a history, where
the human mind spreads itself out, like a superb flower,
fronting the sun, until the most delicate tints, and the
finest structure of its inmost recesses are laid open : and
the same is true of Rome, and Italy, and modern Europe,
Now on this very principle, although, in comparing
church history with that of civil societies, the former
must be granted to want, almost entirely, the brilliancy,
and movement, that give an untiring charm to the latter,
yet has it its prerogative, and a high one (if solid instruc-
56
THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
tion be sought for) and it is this, that it exhibits men to
to our view, as wrought upon by motives at once more
profound, and less easily understood, than any other
motives. False religions have indeed turned up human
nature from its depths, in a manner never e fleeted by
interests that were merely secular. But true religion,
beside its power in common with the false, to animate
the deepest seated emotions, has exhibited these occult
elements in combination, and in contrast with, emotions
altogether peculiar to itself, and which, without its aid
would lay latent and 'unsuspected, beneath the soil of
human nature, from age to age. It is Christianity, and
nothing else could do it, that has shown man all that is
in his heart. No other stage of human affairs exhibits hu-
man nature, as this does, displaying, now the virtues that
ally man to God, and now the dark passions that seem
to render him the fit associate and minister of fiends.
What line of history then can be equal to church history,
for instructiveness 1 Thus it must be ordinarily; but
it is peculiarly so, as often as occasions arise in which
what may be new to ourselves, who are but of yester-
day, may be found, in iis type or pattern, on this or that
page of the records of the church. On such occasions,
more perhaps than in any other, those possess a great
advantage over their brethren, whose minds are already
richly stored with a well digested mass of instances,
applicable to the novelties (or apparent novelties) of
whatever kind, which, from time to time, blaze out to
alarm the timid, and to allure the simple. A ready recol-
lection of the ancient guise of the very same substantial
error or folly, is all that we need, in many cases, for
allaying our fears, or for securing us against the infatua-
tion which affects others, or for suggesting the remedies
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
57
that arc to be employed. Under circumstances more or
less strictly analogous, we have the invaluable opportu-
nity of seeing1 how our predecessors have discharged
their duty, or have compromised it.
The canonical adage — " nothing new under the sun,"
holds good in a peculiar sense within the precincts of
the church, and it does so for an obvious reason. What
is new, or rather what seems to be new, in the manifold
up- turnings of human affairs, springs from some less-
usual combination of the thousand lighter impulses that
are at work within our bosoms, and these impulses, be-
cause they are so many, and because the individual
varieties of disposition are indefinitely numerous, will
be throwing out, from time to time, rare conjunctions of
temper and of circumstance. "But now those deeper prin-
ciples of our moral and intellectual nature to which
Christianity addresses itself, are very few, and the ele-
ments of truth also are few; and hence, by necessity,
the changes of which the two, in combination, are sus-
ceptible are comparatively few, and therefore must seve-
rally be of more frequent recurrence.
There is little risk in affirming that the first five cen-
turies, or we might say, the first three of the Christian
history, comprise a sample of every form and variety of
intellectual or moral aberration of which human nature
is at all susceptible, under the influence of religious
excitement. No great ingenuity therefore can be needed
in matching any modern form of error or extravagance,
with its like, to be produced from the museum of an-
tique specimens. And how much relief, under any new
perplexity, may be derived from such recognitions, those
can best tell who are the best furnished with the requi-
site erudition. If then there were no other recommenda-
tion of these studies, the one now referred to would be
6
58 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
enough to repay all the labours which they involve. I
venture to add that, in the momentous and intricate
questions to which we are now addressing ourselves, a
fair use of antiquity, as a copia instantiarum, will carry
us safely and undoubtiugly through every strait.
Or if there are, or have been agitators of the repose
of the church, who would resent any recurrence to an-
tiquity, as applicable to themselves, and who would not
be afraid to denounce any appeal to it as futile, super-
stitious, and impertinent, the parties with whom we
have now to do, not merely admit the propriety of such
a reference, but are the most forward to invite it -y
making it iheir boast that the image of what they are,
or what they would fain be, may be contemplated in the
fair glass of antiquity. Nothing remains then but that
they, and their opponents, should together look into that
glass.
These indispensable studies, have, in fact, been revived
of late, to a great extent, in our own, as well as other
countries ; while the use and necessity of them are forced
anew upon the minds of all by the rapid and unexpected
advances of Romanism, whose ministers are taking ad-
vantage of that ignorance of antiquity which has too
long been the reproach of protestantism.
So much importance attaches, at the present moment,
to ecclesiastical learning, that it must not be deemed
impertinent, in this place, to exhibit the futility of cer-
tain suppositions on the ground of which many excuse
their slight acquaintance with it.
In the first place then, it is often roundly affirmed,
that we may know as much of the history of our reli-
gion as can avail us for any practical purposes, through
the medium of some one or more of our modern com-
pilations— called histories of the church. Mow to this
TJPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
assumption it might be taken as a very sufficient reply,
that \vc have at present to do, as well in the instance of
the Oxford divines, as in that of the Romanists, with
men who know vastly more of Christian antiquity than
is to be gathered from such sources. Can we then
imagine it to be safe to enter into controversy with our
antagonists, less well-informed than they are? Besides,
since the time when most of those compilations were
given to the world, the views of the best informed per-
sons, on the general subject of historical composition,
have undergone a great change ; so that even the most
able and noted of our writers, in this line, have lost very
much of the esteem which they once enjoyed ; that is
to say, as historians. Who, now-a-days, thinks it is
enough to know just as much of history as Hume, or
Robertson, may inform him of? History, to subserve
its serious practical uses, is not to be conveyed in broad
generalities, or in the rounded periods of a philosophical
digest: it is not a landscape painting of gay forms, and
well-grouped masses ; but a sedulous adduction of ge-
nuine materials, such as shall enable us, so far as re-
moteness of time admits, to understand, as well the ac-
actual condition of the mass of mankind, at different
eras, as the motives and conduct of those who have con-
trolled public events.
And if nothing less than this sort of elaborate prepa-
ration can be accepted in the walks of secular history,
assuredly we need rather a larger measure than a less,
to render ecclesiastical history of much avail ; and espe-
cially for this reason that, in what relates to religion,
the intimate character and motives of men are, relatively,
more important, as compared with their overt acts, or
public conduct, than in civil affairs; while, at the same
time, these interior facts are liable to be more disguised.
60 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
Statesmen may be truly estimated, much more easily
than churchmen, and yet a just estimation of the latter is
much more important for securing the ends of history,
than it can be of the former. We cannot therefore stand
excused from the task of carefully considering the entire
mass of extant materials of church history, if we wish
to secure any valuable result of sound wisdom, as the
fruit of our labour.
Allowing every merit that can fairly be claimed for
our modern church histories, to what immense deduc-
tions are they not liable, if considered as mirrors of
Christian antiquity ? The ecclesiastical and theological
prejudices of some of these writers, and their pledged
subserviency to particular interests, the utter want of
religious feeling in others, the superstition of some, and
the active fanaticism of a few, are enough to justify our
passing them by, one and all, if what we have in view
be a genuine acquaintance with the subject. Besides,
if such works embrace the sixteen or eighteen centuries
of Christianity, those periods that are in fact the most
important, — nay, almost exclusively important, must be
confined within limits much too narrow ; and even this
scanty allotment of pages, has, in most instances, been
still farther restricted by the admission of tedious disqui-
sitions, on subsidiary points, of no intrinsic value — as
whether a martyrdom occurred in this, or the next year;
or whether a senseless heresy included, or did not in-
clude, such or such an unintelligible dogma ! points which
are dismissed at last with the ingenuous confession, that
they are neither of much consequence, nor susceptible
of any conclusive determination!
But even if we could name a modern history of Chris-
tianity, exempt from all such faults and deficiencies, it
would still be nothing better than — a statement, prepared
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH-
61
and digested, and therefore less than what is indispen-
sable, when momentous questions come to hinge upon a
true and exact knowledge of antiquity. The reading a
modern church history, supposing it to combine every
excellence, if compared with the perusal of the entire
and original materials whence that history was drawn,
and of which it is a digest, might not unfitly be likened
to the listening, in chancery, to a body of written affi-
davits, and statements of facts, carefully and profession-
ally dressed up, and moulded with a special intention;
such a body of evidence, compared with the hearing and
seeing of the actual witnesses, in a court of law. In
the one case the most astute professional sagacity often
fails to reach the naked truth ; while in the other, an
honest and intelligent juryman, conversant with human
nature, wants no assistance, ordinarily, in discerning
the true from the false.
The point I am now insisting upon I feel to be of
great practical importance in relation to the wide range
of controversies which we have in view; for it is my
firm conviction, that nothing will be brought to a satis-
factory conclusion until the moral and spiritual condition
of the early church has been fully laid open. But, in
innumerable instances, it is found that a just and vivid
conception of things or persons, remote, that is to say
— the very truth, apart from which all else that we may
know is substantially false, comes before us, unlooked
for, and while, perhaps, we may have been listlesslv
threading our way down a lifeless page. And such
casual indications, or revelations, as one might call them,
of the naked truth, are more likely than not to be passed
over by the grave compiler of history, as unworthy of
his dignified regard, or as altogether trivial.
It might, indeed, seem as if a judicious selection from
6*
62 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
the Greek and Latin church writers, would sufficiently
secure the benefits to be derived, even from the perusal
of the whole of them, thus saving the time and cost of
doing so. But a moment's consideration will expose
the fallaciousness of such a supposition ; for even allow-
ing the utmost discretion to him who undertakes the task
of selection, on what principle, let it be asked, is that
selection likely to be made ? It must be replied that, at
once the pious tastes of the editor, and his solicitude to
provide, in the best manner he can, for the combined
edification and pleasure of his readers (of the religious
public such as it is) will prompt, nay compel him, to cull
the flowers of sacred literature, as he goes ; and to leave,
where he finds them, the weeds. In a word, he will
gather, as most proper for his purpose, whatever an in-
telligent and pious reader would spontaneously distin-
guish, with a margin pencil line, as worthy of a second
perusal. All this may be well enough, if the mere per-
sonal edification of the private Christian be in view;
but what sort of provision is it, which is thus made for
acquiring a safe and competent knowledge of the merits
and character of the actors in church history ? Misera-
bly will any one be deluded who trusts himself to any
such culled materials ! I think more than a few of the
passages I shall presently have occasion to cite, how
pertinent soever they may be in regard to the questions
at issue, are of a kind that would never have found a
place in any selection from the fathers. Nay, these pas-
sages reveal facts which the compilers of church history
have studiously concealed from their readers.
If we are anxious to know what the church was at
any time, and what its teachers and masters were, then
the more judicious (in one sense) such a selection may
be, the more effectively will it lead us astray: the choicest
T7P0N THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
63
collection, made on any such principle, would be the
most mendacious, regarded as testimony. Such a col-
lection, considered as a material of history, is a splen-
did vapour, hovering as a glare of seductive light, over
a swamp. Materials so brought together, are just what
a body of. evidence, produced in court, would be, if an
advocate were allowed to bring forward every thing in
which the witnesses are agreed, and to suppress every
thing in which they differ. Yet it is precisely by the
sifting of the discrepancies in testimony that truth is eli-
cited.
So far as Christianity is the same in all ages, and in
all hearts, truly admitting its influence, there must be
very much, in the writings of all Christian men (what-
ever system they may have lived under) which, in the
highest and best sense of the word, is catholic; and it
is just this catholic element, or genuine portion of such
writings, that recommends itself to our pious sympa-
thies, meet it where we may, and which therefore will
be seized upon by right-minded collectors of the golden
sayings of good men. But now it is precisely toward
the discordant portions of ancient Christian writings that
the keen eye of historic industry should be directed. It
is not the choice portions, but the refuse, not the sound,
but the unsound, not the symmetrical, but the disfigured,
not the wisdom, so much as the folly, that we have need
to scrutinize, and to trace to its origin. Without a pa-
radox it may be affirmed that, in labouring to know what
the Christian body really was, in any age, it is what is
(in a sense) impertinent, that will prove the most perti-
nent to our purpose. In a word, it is less the sameness,
than the difference, which we should be looking for.
Do we not well know that, in matters of religion, what
appears the fairest, demands often the nicest sifting;
64 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
and that, to be credulous, is to be duped, until we are
driven to doubt of every thing. Those, therefore, who
know, in matters of church history, only what modern
writers may please to have reported, stand exposed to a
cruel shock, and a sad trial of their principles, should it
ever happen to them to learn a little more.
Nor ought any translation to be confided in, as conclu-
sive evidence, in historical disquisitions; for we have not
merely to guard against wilful perversions of the sense
of ancient authors, and the many oversights to which
every translator is liable, but against the constant illu-
sion of attributing, to certain words and phrases, neces-
sarily employed by the translator, a modern instead of
an ancient sense. A translation may be literal, or it may
be free, and in fact the best possible in its kind, and yet
may convey to the modern ear notions substantially dif-
fering from those which were attached to the equivalents,
by the ancient writer, and his reader. And thus it is,
and must be, because the language of every people is not
a universal medium of ideas and notions, common to
mankind; but is the instrument of a particular set of
minds, nicely adapted to its occasions, and whenever
employed by energetic writers, is much more specific,
than generic; and therefore is insusceptible of transla-
tion, in the direct proportion in which it may be worth
translating.
The earliest Christian writers, who, most of them, can
claim very little regard on account of any excellencies of
style, or even of matter, but whose evidence is of the ut-
most consequence in ecclesiastical discussions, suffer pe-
culiarly in a translation; for a false taste, and a dialect
in which the most incongruous elements were mingled —
jumbled together, fill them with unpleasing turns of ex-
pression, which, when they come to be literally rendered
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
65
(and a free version is not in these instances admissible)
make them absolutely repulsive, so that the perusal in a
translation, is more wearisome than it seems in the ori-
ginal. The writers, inestimable as they are on account
of their testimony (the preservation of which ought to
be regarded as an instance of providential interposition,
for subserving important ends) these writers are not to
be known, to any good purpose, otherwise than in their
own language. There is no alternative, in the present
instance, but that of manfully addressing ourselves to a
task of some labour and difficulty . The controversies
upon which the church is now entering, are of vital con-
sequence: the doubts propounded are inveterate, and any
course that may be taken, at the suggestion of indolence
and impatience, and which may seem at first to be sum-
mary and sufficient, will prove, as I venture to predict,
to be as unavailing as trite and meager. At a time when,
in the pursuit of secular interests, men in all professions
are making unheard-of efforts, and are undergoing la-
bours which our fathers did not dream of, ought it to be
considered as a great thing if those to whom the preser-
vation and defence of sacred truths are committed, should
be expected to be fully masters of the subject they have
to do with? The perusal, through and through, of the
Greek and Latin writers, of the first six centuries, is a
labour not to be compared with those undergone, in the
course of his education and early practice, by every ac-
complished lawyer.
Another common, but very unfounded impression, re-
lative to the extant remains of Christian antiquity (the
prevalence of which, at the present time, would leave
a most dangerous advantage in the hands of those whom
we are to withstand) is to this effect: That the Greek
and Latin fathers were men of intellect so slender, and
66 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
are generally either so inane, or so absurd, or so erro-
neous, that the perusal of them, except by a few curi-
ous antiquaries, is a sheer waste of time; or at least that
it can never repay the toil. Or it is affirmed, that, so
far as these writers were sound and judicious, the same
sentiments, better expressed, may be met with much
nearer home, and in our own language. Or, generally,
that whatever accomplishments the ministers of religion
may possess, they may, in these days of benevolent ac-
tivity, employ their time to better advantage than in
brushing the dust from neglected folios. The course of
events is hastening to offer a startling refutation of any
such frivolous assumptions.
It is not, we may be sure, those who possess much
of this indispensable learning, that in any such way set
it at naught; and it is an acknowledged rule, in all
walks of science and literature, that the scoffs and cap-
tious objections of the ignorant need not be seriously
replied to — " know what you are speaking of, and then
contemn it." Now the mere fact of applying any com-
prehensive terms, either of admiration or contempt, to
a body and series of writers, stretching through seven
hundred or a thousand years, and these writers, natives
as they were of distant countries, some of them simple
and rude, while others were erudite and accomplished,
may be taken as a proof of heedlessness, regarding the
matter in hand, sufficient to excuse a silent disregard of
the objection it involves. These " fathers," thus grouped
as a little band, by the objectors, were some of them men
of as brilliant genius as any age has produced; some,
commanding a flowing and vigorous eloquence, some,
an extensive erudition, some, conversant with the great
world, some, whose meditations had been ripened by
years of seclusion, some of them the only historians of
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
67
the times in which they lived, some, the chiefs of the
philosophy of their age; and, if we are to speak of the
whole, as a series or body of writers, they are the men
who, during a long era of deepening barbarism, still held
the lamp of knowledge and learning, and, in fact, afford
us almost all that we can now know, intimately, of the
condition of the nations surrounding the Mediterranean,
from the extinction of the classic fire, to the lime of its
rekindling in the fourteenth century. The church was
the ark of all things that had life, during a deluge of
seven hundred years.
Such is the group which is often conveniently dis-
missed with a concise phrase of contempt by some! It
may be suspected that very many of the delighted ad-
mirers of the History of the Decline and Fall of the
Roman Empire, are little aware of the extent of Gib-
bon's obligations to — the fathers. Were it possible to
draw off from that seductive work the entire materials
derived by the indefatigable author from the ecclesias-
tical compartment of his library, it is no small propor-
tion of the splendour, the accuracy, the correct draw-
ing, the vivid colouring, which are its charm and praise,
that would be found wanting. Well would it have been
if some of the professed champions and historians of
Christianity, had been as thoroughly conversant with the
remains of Christian antiquity as was its most dangerous
assailant.
The ignorance of which we are here complaining has
once endangered our faith as Christians; and it is now
endangering our faith as protestants.
Nearly of the same quality, and usually advanced by
the same parties, is the portentous insinuation, or the
bold and appalling averment, that there was little or no
genuine Christianity in the world from the times of Jus-
68 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
tin Martyr to those of WiclifTe, or of Luther! and the
inference from this assumption is, that we are far more
likely to be led astray than edified by looking into the
literature of this vast territory of religious darkness.
I must leave it to those who entertain any such som-
bre belief as this, to repel, in the best manner they are
able, those fiery darts of infidelity which will not fail to
be hurled at Christianity itself, as often as the opinion is
professed. Such persons, too, must expound as they
can, our Lord's parting promise to his servants.
Notions of this sort, and there are many of like kind,
all take their rise from some narrow and sectarian hy-
pothesis concerning Christianity. We do not, perhaps,
find, during certain cycles of the church's history, that
style or dialect, which, by an intimate association of
ideas, has combined itself with our religious sentiments ;
and therefore, it is to us, and our peculiar feelings, as if
Christianity itself had actually not been extant at such
times. If these are our feelings, it is well that we get
rid of them with all speed. Christianity is absolute
truth, bearing with various effect, from age to age, upon
our distorted and discoloured human nature, but never
so powerfully pervading the foreign substance it enters
as to undergo no deflections itself, or to take no stains;
and as its influence varies, from age to age, in intensity,
as well as in the particular direction it may take, so does
it exhibit, from age to age, great variations of form and
hue. But the men of any one age indulge too much the
overweening temper that attaches always to human na-
ture, when they say to themselves — our Christianity is
absolute Christianity; but that of such or such an age,
was a mere shadow of it.
Let Christians, whose characteristic it should be not
to think more highly of themselves than is meet, cherish
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
89
a very different feeling, and be willing to open, if I may-
say so, a kindly communion with their brethren of dis-
tant times. Surely far too little of this sympathy is felt
by many who, because the authority of the early church
has been overstrained and perversely employed by Ro-
manists, have almost learned to feel toward their brethren
of the early ages, as their adversaries in a controversy,
just as a man is apt to harbour a grudge against a good
neighbour who happens to have been subpoenaed by his
enemy, to give evidence against him in a suit. If the
fathers have given a handle to popery, we must remem-
ber they little knew what it was to which they were
giving a handle.
It will presently be my task — a task not to be evaded,
to adduce evidence in proof of the allegation that certain
extensive and very mischievous illusions affected the
Christianity of the ancient church; nevertheless, the very
men whose example must now be held up as a caution,
were, many of them, Christians not less than ourselves,
nay, some of the most deluded by particular errors, were
eminent Christians. Nothing is easier (or more edifying,
in the inference it carries) than to adduce instances of
exalted virtue, piety, conslancy, combined with what all
must now admit to have been an infatuated attachment
to pernicious errors. Yet may our brethren of the early
church well challenge our respect as well as affection:
for theirs was the fervour of a steady faith in things un-
seen and eternal; theirs a meek patience and humility,
under the most grievous wrongs; theirs the courage to
maintain a good profession before the frowning face of
philosophy, of secular tyranny, and of splendid super-
stition ; theirs was abstractedness from the world, and a
painful self-denial; theirs the most arduous and costly
labours of love; theirs a munificence in charity, altoge-
7
70 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
ther without example; theirs was a reverent and scrupu-
lous care of the sacred writings, and this merit, if they
had had no other, is of a superlative degree, and should
entitle them to the veneration and grateful regards of the
modern church. How little do many readers of the Bi-
ble, now-a-days, think of what it cost the Christians of
the second and third centuries, merely to rescue and
hide the sacred treasure from tiie rage of the heathen!
While, as yet, every thing in the church, and in the
world, was precisely what the Lord had given them
reason to look for, while Christians were still a rescued
band — sheep among wolves, and were, many of them,
literally, pilgrims and strangers upon earth, cast out of
the bosom of the state, and driven from the social circle ;
while, as yet, those unlooked for and inexplicable events
had not taken place which have so much staggered the
faith of later Christians; while the near coming of their
Lord was firmly expected, and while nothing had hap-
pened of which he had not given his people an intima-
tion; then, and during that fresh morning hour of the
church, there belonged to the followers of Christ, gene-
rally, a fulness of faith in the realities of the unseen
world, such as, in later ages, has been reached only by
a very few eminent and meditative individuals; the thou-
sand then felt a persuasion which now is felt only by
the two or three. In later and analogous seasons of per-
secution, if there may have been a similar confidence in
the bosoms of the many, it has been disturbed by some
mixed sentiments. Questions of doctrine or points of
ecclesiastical right, have ruffled, at least, the spirits, or
soured the temper of the suffering party. But the first
persecutions were the manifested rage of Satan and of
his ministers, against Christ and his people. Later per-
secutions have been, in some degree, struggles of parties,,
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
71
alternately ascendant, and both claiming to act for Christ.
Nero, Domitian, Galerius, Diocletian, acted in their pro-
per guise; but Ximenes, Ferdinand, Mary, Bonner,
glozed their atrocities under colour of evangelic zeal, and,
perhaps even the arrogance of their pretensions, and
their sophistry, abated the comfort and courage of many
a martyr.
Those who, in terror of Rome, and her lying tradi-
tions, may wish to lay the axe, as they think, to the
root of the tree, and to disclaim, in every sense, and to
renounce dependence upon, and appeal to, those extra
canonical documents of Christianity which have come
down to us from the early and apostolic churches, may
make the attempt, if they please, but they must soon
find themselves standing upon ground on which still
greater difficulties than those they run from, are in their
way. "We cannot, if we would, cut ourselves off from
the benefits which the singular providence of God has
secured for later times, in the preservation of the various
memorials of the early and intervening ages. On this
point I very forcibly feel that the inconsiderate and
sweeping measures which some would recommend,
must, if adopted, leave us our work to do over again,
not only in the present argument, but in our controversy
with popery. I cannot, therefore, advance without en-
deavouring to make good my footing on this particular
spot.
All mystification apart, as well as a superstitious and
overweening deference to antiquity, nothing can be more
simple than the facts on which rests the legitimate use
and value of the ancient documents of Christianity, con-
sidered as the repositories of those practices and opi-
nions which, obscurely or ambiguously alluded to in the
canonical writings, are found, drawn forth and illustrated,
72 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
in the records of the times immediately succeeding.
These records contain at once a testimony in behalf of
the capital articles of our faith, and an exposition of
minor sentiments and ecclesiastical usages, neither of
which can be surrendered without some serious loss and
damage.
How plain is the case before us (putting now aside
the momentous testimony of the martyr church in behalf
of fundamental truths.) It must be admitted that all
things are not amply and indubitably laid down in the
apostolic writings; and, in a few instances, this indeter-
minateness, or inconclusiveness of the canonical books,
affects particulars in which we fain must make a practi-
cal choice, and must adopt either one course or its op-
posite. Now, what had in fact been done, or recom-
mended, or allowed by the apostles, in the churches they
personally founded, or governed, could not but be tho-
roughly known in those churches during the lapse of a
generation or two; say, at the least, forty years. But
we possess the various writings of the men of the ap-
proximate generation, and therein find, as is natural, di-
versified statements, and innumerable allusions to prac-
tices and to opinions universally admitted, as of apos-
tolic origin. Let us sift this evidence as we may, and
it demands, as we shall see, to be severely sifted ; and
let it be reduced to the smallest possible amount, yet
there remains what no man in his senses can deny to be
a mass of good historical evidence, touching such or
such points of apostolic Christianity. Shall we, then,
listen to this evidence, or, at the impulse of some inex-
plicable qualm, resolve not to hear a word of it? Or,
are we, in fact, so destitute of historical acumen, as to
render it a hopeless task to discern between the genuine
and the spurious, in this body of materials? And so, in
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
73
matters of exposition, how lightly soever we may esteem
the judgment of the ancient commentators, they pos-
sessed, at the least, (or many of them) a vernacular fa-
miliarity with the canonical phraseology, to which it is
arrogant and absurd not to pay a respectful attention.
Shalt the men of eighteen hundred years hence — the
critics and professors of the universities of Australia and
New Zealand — pretend to understand the language and
idioms of the divines of the seventeenth century far bet-
ter than we do, of the nineteenth?
We may, and undoubtedly do, possess a critical ap-
paratus such as gives us, in certain respects, an advan-
tage over even Origen, Jerome, Basil, Theodoret, and
Chrysostom; nevertheless they, as actually speaking
and writing, or as being familiar with, the language of
the New Testament, surely possessed prerogatives that
can never be reasonably denied, any more than snatched
from them. Origen may have been wrong in a hundred
instances, or in more; but he read the gospels and
episiles so as we can never do, with the fresh familiarity,
and the idiomatic contact proper to the perusal of writings
in one's own language, and less than two hundred years
old; that is to say, precisely as we are now reading Til-
lotson, Jeremy Taylor, Barrow, and Baxter. The mo-
dern spirit of self-sufliciency, seems to me to reach its
climax in the afTectcd contempt thrown upon those who,
endowed with as much learning and acumen as our-
selves, read the scriptures while the ink of the apostolic
autographs had hardly faded.
To the early church also belongs the signal and una-
lienable advantage of having expressed its sense of Chris-
tian principles, previously to those perturbations of the
spiritual atmosphere that arose from the great contro-
7*
74
THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
versies of the fourth century, and which left nothing al-
together in its unsophisticated condition. Whatever of
precision or explicitness in doctrine might be the fruit of
those controversies, there still attaches, as their charac-
teristic, to the pristine writers, a plain and unimpaired
straight-forwardness, which has its peculiar charm, as
well as value. Less logical, we grant, and less theolo*
gical, and less acute, and less subtle, and sometimes, as
I shall have occasion to show, involved in worse errors,
the earlier writers are more calm and more refreshing
than the later, and sooner win our affection, if they do
not (which is certain) secure our confidence.
There is, however, a still closer dealing with the uses
and claims of tbe early Christian literature, to which the
controversies moved by the Oxford writers make it ne*
cessary accurately to attend; and, in fact, it lias already
become, or must soon become, a duty, in no way to be
evaded by the leaders of opinion among the ministers of
religion, so to apply their minds to this subject as to at-
tain a well defined and permanent conviction, such as
may guide their decisions on trying occasions, which
are not very unlikely to arise.
Let us, then, first state the case of those who, taking
up the (modern) protestant pass-word, in its utmost ex-
tent of meaning — " The Bible and the Bible alone " —
would fain cut themselves off from all connexion with
every intermediate record, as well as with every remote
community of Christians. M If I have the word of God
itself in my hands, which is able to make me, and all,
wise unto salvation, what is antiquity to me?" — thus
speak many; but with how much reason, remains to be
inquired.
If it did not frequently happen that vague impressions,
the grounds of which have never been examined, are
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
75
allowed to exert an influence, not only over the un-
thinking and the uninformed, but over the educated and
the intelligent, there could be no need to dwell for a
moment upon a point which, like the one now before
us, barely admits of what deserves to be called argu-
ment. And yet, even if I might otherwise think myself
excused from the seemingly needless task of making
good my path in this instance, the peculiar character of
the controversy before us would render it proper to do
so. Every thing turns upon the clearness and sound-
ness of the rule which is to be established in regard to
the extent of the deference due, by the modern church,
to the ancient church ; and nothing would be so certainly
fatal to the principle we hope to substantiate, as to un-
derrate that deference, in any such way as must leave
our position liable to just and important exceptions.
"With all the brevity possible I will propound the case,
which, in fact, has often been appealed to; and will do
so in the convenient form of question and rejoinder, the
interrogatories being put by a supposed protestant advo-
cate of antiquity, to one whose protestantism appears to
be somewhat extreme, or inconsiderate: as thus: —
" We possess, by the divine favour, the word of God,
able, as we both allow, and able by itself, that is to say,
apart from, and independently of, any other writings or
traditions, to make men wise unto salvation: but I have
two questions to put, and first, whence, proximately, did
you receive this inestimable gift?"
" From those who, before me, by the same divine
goodness, had possessed and loved it: and, of course,
they, in like manner, from their predecessors in the faith
and hope of the gospel; and so from the first."
" The Bible, then, is not sent to us, individually, from
heaven; but has been consigned, like all other books,
76
THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
nay, on the very same conditions as profane literature,
to the hands of successive generations; that is to say, it
has been transmitted from fathers to sons, and is, itself,
in this sense, a tradition: and, fully agreed, as doubt-
less we are, as to the mere facts of the mode and cir-
cumstances of this continuous delivery of the scriptures,
we may well unite, first, in gratitude to God, whose pro-
vidence has so watched over his written word, as that it
has not merely been conserved, through long periods of
confusion and ignorance, but lias come down to us purer,
and more copiously verified, as to the integrity of the
text, than any other collection of ancient writings; but
we may, also, as I presume, unite in a grateful and af-
fectionate sentiment toward those to whose industry,
from age to age, and to whose constancy and courage, at
particular seasons, we are immediately indebted for the
preservation of the inspired volume. Thus far you will
admit, with me, the obligation of the modern church to
-the ancient church ?"
"Assuredly: my feelings towards those who, from
age to age, have thus kept and handed down the precious
deposite, are precisely analogous to those of a poor be-
liever upon whom a more Opulent brother in Christ be-
stows a Bible: he thanks the charitable donor; but he
does not so misunderstand his obligation as to surrender
a particle of his Christian liberty and conscience to his
benefactor. Come to us whence it may, the word of
God is absolutely independent of the medium of its
transmission from age to age. The pearl of great price
may have traversed some stormy seas, but it has actually
reached our shores, and we have acquitted our obliga-
tion towards those who, at the peril of their lives, have
brought it, when we just thank them, and say good
morrow."
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
77
" Thus far, then, there appears no ground of disa-
greement between us. But I have now to put my second
question; and, well-informed as you are on all points of
biblical criticism and of literary history, I shall be in no
danger of shaking your religious convictions by pro-
pounding my difficulty. On what ground, then, do you
receive the Bible, collectively, or its prophets, histories,
gospels, and epistles, severally, as indeed the word of
God? The inspired pages do not shine out with any
supernatural splendour, nor do the writers always affirm
their own canonicity; or even if they do, there are spu-
rious writings that contain equivalent asseverations of
divine authority, to wit, the Clementine Constitutions,
and many others, as you need not be told. Or if we
think of the collection, as a whole, it is no where made
up, and catalogued, within the book itself. Now, I will
anticipate all that part of your reply to my question
which must refer to the customary, and, as I grant, un-
impeachable internal evidences of the genuineness of the
books of scripture, severally, and concerning which we
should have no difference of opinion. The whole of
that critical history of scripture, by which it is proved,
beyond possibility of doubt, (concerning most of the
books,) that, in the ordinary sense of the phrase, they
are genuine, is known to both of us, and is assented to
by both; and it is farther admitted, in common, that the
proof of the antiquity and genuineness of the books of
the canon involves, by a sound historical and logical in-
ference, their divine authority, or inspiration, leaving us
in no doubt whether or not they exhibit the will of the
Lord, to which we owe absolute and implicit submis-
sion, in faith and practice.
" But now, before I reach my ultimate position, I re-
quest you not altogether to overlook the incidental, and
78 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
yet ineffably important service that has been rendered to
the modern church by the ancient church, or, let us say,
the long series of Christian writers, who, in their copi-
ous, and, for the most part, exact quotations of scrip-
ture, and by their reverent manner of appealing to it,
have afforded the amplest means, first, of tracking the
very text of scripture, whole and entire, up from age to
age, as the very same text (various readings allowed for)
which we now read, and so as to exempt us from all
reasonable anxiety concerning this text; and, secondly,
of ascertaining particular readings, with a degree of
assurance which, otherwise, would not have been at-
tainable. See, then, as well the extent of our obliga-
tions to our Christian predecessors, as the intimacy, and
the incalculable importance of that constant correspon-
dence which the church must hold with the extant re-
mains of Christian literature. Will you look at the
facts of the case, and then dare to say, as some do, * I
hold the Bible, and I care nothing for antiquity: the fa-
thers! let them fall, one and all, into the hands of ano-
ther Omar.' Does your protestantism go to this length ?"
— " Need you ask it? Who thai is ever so moderately
informed in such matters can deny, or can wish to dis-
parage the critical use of the Greek and Latin Church
writers ? The aids they afford are, I grant, of inesti-
mable value ; but I can allow all this, and yet hold them,
one and all, very cheap as authorities in doctrine, or as
expounders of scripture, or as examples in practice; and
you do not forget that, in the sense of which we are now
speaking, an heretical father serves us, to the full, as
good a turn as an orthodox one, and that the schismatic
Novatian is as available an authority for establishing a
reading, as the orthodox Athanasius."
— " This admission does not appear to touch the point
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
79
in debate ; but would it not sorely grieve many a stanch
protestant to hear you attribute so much importance,
even as this, to those whom they have been taught to
think of only as the parents and abettors of popery?
They would insinuate, I think, that it might be well to
look out for some more thorough-going champion of the
good cause. Let this, however, pass: you divine what
I next intend. After we have allowed all the force that
can be claimed for it, to that method of proof which,
looking solely to the text of an ancient author, as it is
in itself, and to the literary history of the book, esta-
blishes its genuineness, will you affirm that we want
nothing more in deciding the all-important questions that
arise concerning a particular book, or epistle, whether
it be canonical and a part of God's word or not? Let
us assume the instance of the second epistle of Peter.
The antiquity of the writing is, to a certain point, clearly
ascertained, and, moreover, a nice examination of its
style and recondite peculiarities, well supports the belief
that it is what it professes to be; and that it may safely
be appealed to in support of doctrines and duties. But
is the argument in this particular instance concluded, or
is there no other consideration which ought herein to be
regarded ?"
— "I know what you intend; but rather than make
my answer at this point, I request you to state your in-
tention fully. I will then reply so far as may be neces-
sary to save my protestant principle."
— "I affirm then plainly, That, whatever sufficiency
and completeness we may attribute to the critical proof
of the genuineness and integrity of the text of the seve-
ral books of scripture, there is yet a link in the chain of
argument wanting, and this link is supplied by nothing
80 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
else but the judgment and the testimony of the ancient
church, concerning these books, individually, that they,
and not others, (although sustained by specious preten-
sions,) were the productions of the apostles, and had
been, from the first, so received and reverenced. I say,
in deciding the question of genuineness or spuriousness,
or in discriminating, for instance, between the gospel of
John, and the acts of Peter, or in distinguishing among
genuine writings, the inspired from the uninspired; the
epistles of Paul from jthose of Clement, Polycarp, and
Ignatius; we are thrown upon the judgment and autho-
rity of the early church. Notwithstanding all the ex-
ceptions that have been urged against this averment,
when advanced, as it so often has been, by the advocates
of tradition, and notwithstanding the ill use which has
been made of the instance, I must profess to think that
the plain fact carries with it an unquestionable and im-
portant inference to this effect, namely, That, by the
mode chosen for consigning the sacred writings to after-
times, the divine providence has connected the later with
the earlier church, by a link which can never be severed,
and which connexion implies a general duty of ac-
quainting ourselves with the records of the early church,
and of yielding such a specific deference to its testimo-
ny and judgment, as is not to be claimed for the church
of any later period. Bring the principle to a test in the
instance, already named, of the second epistle of Peter:
a critical examination of the two epistles affords what
the best modern biblists have regarded as full and satis-
factory evidence of the genuineness of the latter. But
is there any one who, in order to give proof of his con-
fidence in the sufficiency of this mode of argument,
would refuse to search for references to the epistle, in
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
61
the early writers? None would do so; on the contra-
ry, it is with a lively pleasure that we find this epistle
quoted by Clement, Hennas, Justin, Athenagoras. This
then is the second head of argument, or kind of proof,
available in the case ; and it is such as to leave no rea-
sonable doubt concerning the fact of the existence of the
epistle in the age of those writers, or of its reputed au-
thenticity. But there is yet a third argument, proper to
the subject, and this consists in that judgment of the
whole case which was formed by the learned divines of
the fourth century, who, notwithstanding the doubts en-
tertained during an early intermediate period, reviewed
the evidence, and admitted the epistle into the canon. Now
not only do we assent to this decision as a sound one;
but, even if we are not absolutely dependent upon it,
for our own opinion, on so important an occasion, we
are yet deeply indebted to those who thus anticipated the
critical decision of modern scholars; for (let it be re-
membered) had these divines otherwise determined, and
had they actually excluded the epistle from the list of
inspired writings, even if it had come down to us at all,
the task would have been one of great difficulty and anx-
ety, to have replaced it in the canon by mere force of cri-
ticism. And it is very doubtful whether, so sustained, it
would have won the assent of the church at large : a much
more probable event would have been its resting to the end
of time, under a ban, as apocryphal ; and thus would the
church of all ages have been mulct of much edification,
and moreover deprived of certain points of belief which
rest exclusively upon affirmations contained in that
epistle."
"Be it so: but, without staying to contest the point
with you, as to the relative or absolute importance that
8
32
THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
attaches to this third branch of the argument, concern-
ing the genuineness and canonicity of the books of
scripture, I may easily grant to you the general utility
of a reference to antiquity, on this single ground,
without compromising my great principle, the Bible
alone."
— " Nay, you cannot grant so much as this, without,
on the one hand, breaking in upon, and offending the
self-sufficient presumption of a large and forward class
of prolestants, and, on the other hand, implying all that
I am now careful to secure, namely, a deference, as
cautious and discriminating as you please, due by the
modern church, to the ancient church. I affirm that the
Lord himself, by that very arrangement which has
thrown so much importance upon the testimony and
judgment of the pastors and divines of the early ages,
in the matter of the discrimination of the inspired
writings, has virtually constituted them, to a limited ex-
tent, our masters; or, at the least, has virtually forbidden
the attempt to sever ourselves from them. Nevertheless,
and this I most readily grant you, there are urgent rea-
sons, and more than enough, for exercising the utmost
possible caution in yielding this due deference, in each
single instance in which it may be challenged."
But I must insist with some strenuousness upon the
general inference I am wishing to derive from the plain
fact of our dependence, in so momentous an instance,
upon the judgment, fidelity, and discretion, of the pri-
mitive church. Consequences, affecting every part of
the present controversy, flow from the principle which
this inference involves, and, as I think, it very clearly
excludes the extreme opinions, as well of the upholders,
upon the ancient church.
83
as erf the impugners of the authority of antiquity. I
very well know that indeterminate conclusions, such as
the one now in view must be at the best, may easily be
spurned by an opponent, as unworthy of his serious re-
gard: be it so: I am not just now thinking of what a de-
termined adversary, or rigorous disputant, may choose to
allege ; but rather am offering considerations to one whom
I suppose to be willing to listen to whatever may appear
to deserve the regard of a religious mind ; whether or
not it may be available in a formal and categorical argu-
ment.
Listen, then, to me with a little indulgence ; and those
need not listen at all who can afford none. All will agree
that the settlement of the question of canonicity, or the
divine authority of each book, alleged to bear this sacred
character, is one of primary and unspeakable import-
ance ; it is the preliminary of our faith and duty; nor
can it be supposed that we attach more importance to the
subject than is attached to it by the Lord himself, who
will neither give his honour to another, nor lightly allow
the honour belonging to his authentic word to be shared
by spurious compositions. It is also clear that such a
formal announcement of the canonical writings might
have been given (as, for example, in an undoubted final
epistle of the last surviving apostle,) as should altogether
have superseded either any reference, on our part, to the
judgment of the early church, or any exercise of that
judgment. On the other side, it might so have been,
that several apparently apostolic writings had descended
from the apostolic age, having such internal recommen-
dations as would have made the task of discrimination,
in later times, hopelessly difficult; in which case, we
should have been thrown, without appeal, upon the de-
cisions of antiquity.
84
THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
But neither of these things has happened to us ; and
instead of either, we find ourselves planed under an
economy, in this particular respect, which, in a very
significant manner, blends the conditions of dependence
and independence. We cannot but refer to, and avail
ourselves of, the judgment and final decision of the
early church, concerning the canonicity of each portion
of the New Testament ; and yet this decision is not our
only resource. Farthermore, the two lines of proof do
(and in the opinion of the best modern scholars) so coin-
cide, as wonderfully to authenticate each other. In each
instance the literary, or internal evidence, is such as to
win our approval of the judgment of antiquity; and
again the judgment of antiquity has neither presented to
us, finally, any book which the internal evidence disal-
lows, nor has it pronounced against any extant book,
which that evidence might have allowed. The result
is — a rational and firm assurance, more or less entire in
each instance, that the New Testament is constituted of,
and includes, the divinely inspired apostolic writings.
Thus then are we, and all believers to the end of time,
connected with the pristine church, by an indissoluble
and vital cord. Yet are we not bound to it servilely.
Our relation is that of pupilage, not of bondage. We
inherit as sons; we do not occupy as serfs; our highest
interests have been at the disposal of our predecessors ;
but have not been subjected to an unconditional despot-
ism. We can no more shake ofF our dependence to the
extent which it legitimately reaches, than the inheritor
of an entail can dispose of his real estate as he may of
his personals. In relation to this point, we are neither
indulged with the liberty which the wilfulness of our
nature so fondly seeks for ; nor are we so fettered as the
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
89
sullen advocates of despotism would wish: and, placed
as we are, it is equally a fault to spurn authority, or to
cringe before it.
Now I must think that our position in this particular
instance imbodies a general principle, applicable to most
of the perplexing questions now agitated, or likely to be
brought under discussion; and it is in this belief that I
so much urge the consideration of it. In many of those
cases in which the ambiguous, or incomplete language
of the inspired writers, in incidentally alluding to points
of discipline or faith, has given rise to schismatic diver-
sities of opinion, we are (as in the question of the canon)
by necessity thrown upon the testimony and judgment
of the early church; but yet are not thrown thereupon
helplessly, or without opportunity of appeal to collateral
arguments. Thus, in regard to the principle of the in-
herited and transmitted clerical authority, there is a se-
rious practical meaning in the principle; nevertheless
the existence of Christianity in the world, or in any par-
ticular country, is by no means so involved in it as that,
in the event of an accidental rupture of the chain of or-
dination, there could be no more faith or holiness on the
face of the earth, or in this or that region, until a new
investiture had been sent down from heaven, and mira-
culously attested. A single bible, thrown ashore from a
wreck, might, as I will not doubt, become the seed of a
true church, in the midst of a heretofore atheistic com-
munity. Nevertheless such a new and extraordinary
germination of the tree of life would by no means inva-
lidate the general doctrine (rationally held) of the minis-
terial succession. A real dependence, but not a slavish,
or abject, or hopeless dependence, is, as I think, the
law of the spiritual economy.
8*
36
THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
But whatever demur may be raised against the alleged
authority of the ancient church in matters of opinion,
and in cases where the first Christians were as liable to
error as ourselves, it is clearly impracticable to exclude
their testimony as to matters of fact ; and the operation
of this testimony extends, I think, rather farther than
some appear willing to admit. It is easy to find illus-
trations, real and imaginary, of the deference which (all
superstitious affection apart) common sense, and the
universally admitted principles of historical criticism,
compel us to yield in such cases.
The epistles, for example, contain allusions, either
very slight, or actually ambiguous, to many matters of
usage, some of them altogether unimportant to ourselves,
and others so connected with discipline, worship, govern-
ment, or even doctrine, as to render it, to say the least,
highly desirable to know just so much more as may serve
to exclude controversy on the subject. Now, and as
might have been expected, the very same points are
either alluded to, or are explicitly defined by the Chris-
tian writers of the next generation, or of the next age.
It would have been strange indeed if it had not been
so; and equally strange, nay, utterly absurd, were it, if
we were to refuse to avail ourselves of the aid of this
subsidiary evidence, so far as it may fairly be resorted
to. Did Paul preach the gospel in these islands? a
question of little or no importance to British Christians
of the present times, and yet of some curiosity : and
who is there that would not gladly gratify so natural a
feeling, if the means of doing so are at hand in the ex-
tant written traditions of the early church ? Did Peter
preach the gospel at Rome; or, if so, did he found and
govern the church there? a question this which has hap-
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
pened to become important, and which we must take the
same means, if they be within our reach, for determining.
Now either in the one instance, or the other, nothing
can be less pertinent than the preclusive, ultra-protestant
outcry — " Oh, the Bible, and the Bible alone : I care
nothing for what cannot be proved by texts of scripture."
We may easily find occasions more fit, in which our
zeal for the honour and sufficiency of the inspired volume
may make itself heard. The question is a question of
fact; and as such, it is open to all those various methods
of proof, or of disproof, which are ordinarily had re-
course to in historical inquiries. It might reasonably
have been thought that not a word could have been
needed in making good so simple and obvious a rule of
proceeding.
Other instances, variously affected by this same rule,
or coming within its application in different degrees,
have a hundred times, and especially of late, been ad-
duced; and some of these will present themselves, which
demand all the caution, the acumen, and the diligence
that can be brought to bear upon them. They are, how-
ever, all governed by a general practical principle, not
very difficult to be established or applied (although con-
tested by certain parties) and it is this first, That no arti-
cle of worship, discipline, government, or opinion, which,
however well attested as belonging even to the apostolic
churches of the first century, is no where alluded to, or
enjoined, in the inspired scriptures, can be binding
upon the church in after-times ; for we adhere to the
belief, and on this very ground renounce Romanism,
that, whatever our Lord intended to be of permanent
observance in his church, he has caused to be included
in the canonical writings: and, secondly, that points so
88 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
attested as ancient, and yet very slightly or ambiguously
alluded to by the inspired writers, are not to be regarded
as of prime necessily, or insisted upon as conditions of
communion. The reason of the first part of our gene-
ral principle carries with it this second ; for we may re-
ligiously believe that all points, at once of great moment,
and of universal application, are so affirmed in scripture
as to carry the convictions of every humble and docile
mind.
T shall have occasion, once and again, in the following
pages, to quote that favourite of the Romanists, and, as
it seems, of the Oxford Tract writers, Vincent of Lerins,
and therefore will not cite him here, on a merely inci-
dental point; otherwise it would be easy to obtain his
explicit sanction to both parts of the rule now stated.
In truth, I would not scruple to refer the controversy, as
to its principles, between the church of Rome, and our-
selves, to the sole arbitration of this very writer. How
can Romanists dare appeal to him, except on the pre-
sumption that their opponents will never know more of
him than is contained in the passages they may please
to adduce ? I would even venture to argue the present
questions before the same arbiter, and abide by his deci-
sion, fairly taken. But to return. —
An instance often adduced in this connexion, is that
of the religious observance of the first day of the week,
which, after we have found it clearly, though not copi-
ously alluded to by the inspired writers, as the practice
of the first Christians, is sufficiently proved, by subse-
quent testimonies, to have been so observed by those
who immediately succeeded them. It is (not to mention
here the more general grounds of argument) a well
confirmed TKADiTioN, taking its rise in the apostolic
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
89
writings, and thence onward supported by unquestion-
able evidence. Those must create a difficulty, who find
any in this instance, in distinguishing between a proper
and necessary appeal to antiquity, and an unwarrantable
and dangerous deference to it. The religious reason
for observing the Lord's day is, that the apostles them-
selves, as we fully believe, observed it, and sanctioned
its observance in all the churches which they founded.
The historic reason for believing that they did so, is
drawn partly from the two or three allusions to this ob-
servance in the New Testament; and partly, we might
say chiefly, from the incidental and the explicit mention
of the observance by the early Christian writers, as well
as by Plin}', Plutarch, and others.
If we imagine ourselves entirely deprived of this lat-
ter portion of the evidence on this point, it must be ad-
mitted that the argument in support of an institution so
vitally connected, as it is found to be, with the very ex-
istence of religion in the world, would be reduced to a
slender and precarious inference, or argument from ana-
logy. Here then we are absolutely compelled, and those
especially who are rigid more than others in their regard
to the Lord's day, are compelled to resort to the aid of
ancient usage, as recorded, not by the inspired, but by
uninspired writers; and we may well appeal to the can-
dour of such persons, and ask them, whether, when con-
tending with latitudinarians, on this important subject,
they would not eagerly avail themselves of any new, and
still more explicit testimony concerning the usage of the
churches in the apostolic age, supposing some such evi-
dence, heretofore overlooked, were now suddenly to be
discovered. I presume that they would do so, without
allowing any qualm, as to " the great protestant princi-
ple," to stand in their way. It is in fact a circumstance
93 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
worthy to be noticed, that even the most ultra-protestant
of ultra-protestants, if it happens to him to meet with a
real or apparent confirmation of his peculiar views, with-
in the circle of ecclesiastical antiquity, shows no reluc-
tance whatever in snatching at it, and in turning it to the
best account he can, piously quoting Irenasus, or Tertul-
lian, or Ignatius, like any good Romanist! It is — " the
Bible, and the Bible alone," just when the evidence af-
forded, on some disputed point, by the writings of Ig-
natius, or Irenseus, or Tertullian, happens to tell in the
wrong direction; otherwise, these " papistical authori-
ties " are good enough.
The two cases then that have here been adduced, (and
I have purposely avoided such as involve controversy)
seem, as I think, to establish, beyond a doubt, all that I
am concerned for at present; and which, expressed as
broadly and inoffensively as possible, amounts to this
general principle — That it is as impracticable, as it would
be undesirable, and even irreligious, to detach ourselves
from all dependence upon Christian antiquity; and that,
as in the capital and foremost article of the antiquity,
and canonicity, and genuineness, of the books of scrip-
ture, so in various matters of discipline, worship, go-
vernment, and doctrine, nothing else can be done by the
modern church, but listen (with just so much deference
as may be due) to the testimony and judgment of the
ancient church.
There may indeed be those who would freely avail
themselves of the evidence of antiquity in relation to
matters of fact, while they would be extremely jealous
of it, or totally exclude it, in relation to matters of opi-
nion. Now granting that the distinction between facts
and opinions, or doctrines, may be real, and pertinent,
too, in the present case, yet surely no one can forget
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
91
that pure matters of opinion, or doctrines, become, to
all intents, matters of fact, whenever they attach to large
bodies of men, or communities, for a length of time,
and are customarily professed, and perpetually repeated.
The Mahometan doctrines of the unity of God, and of
the pleasures of paradise, are not at all less matters of
fact, than are the conquest of Syria, or of Egypt, by the
caliphs. And thus it is that the faith of the ancient
church may be ascertained, as a matter of fact, not less
easily, or less certainly, than its sufferings, or its modes
of government, or its spread, in this or that country.
Nor is the ascertaining of such facts, whether of
usage, or of doctrine, so perplexing, or so ambiguous
as might be imagined; for as Christianity, instead of its
having been cooped up in Judea, during two or three
generations, instantly pervaded all the countries around
the Mediterranean, every one of its most conspicuous
elements was laid open to the observation and report of
unconnected witnesses, so as to exclude, not merely col-
lusion in regard to the facts so reported, but in regard to
the preparation of the evidence which has come down
to us. In the most unexceptionable modes of proof, we
may know what was the religious system of the Chris-
tian societies of the second century, throughout the coun-
tries between the Euphrates and the Atlantic, and be-
tween the deserts of Lybia and the Danube.
The principle, above staled, (in whatever terms we
may choose to imbody it) while it consists with the ge-
neral laws of the social system, and is in harmony with
the conditions on which all advancement in knowledge
depends, plainly and unavoidably results from that pe-
culiar economy under which the Lord himself has placed
the gospel dispensation. He lias not allowed his peo-
ple, in any age, the undesirable liberty of cutting them-
02 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH
selves off from all dependence upon their predecessors,
any more than he has left them free so to act, as if their
conduct, as Christians, would not have an influence over
the religious well-being of their successors. The church
is one church, stretching throughout the ages that are to
elapse between the first, and the second advent.
But now this dependence of the modern church upon
the ancient Church, has, in fact, been misunderstood,,
and abused, in an extreme degree; and, moreover, it in-
volves some real and serious difficulties in all occasions
of controversy. What then remains to be done? Not
to cut the knot by renouncing the dependence: — this we
are not free to do; but, and there is no alternative, we
are summoned to exercise, although at the cost of pain-
fid labours, a necessary discrimination, by the aid of
which we may avail ourselves, without abusing it, of the
testimony and judgment of the ancient church. Some
may indeed resent this alleged necessity, and- may have
recourse to various expedients to evade it; but their
struggles will be to no purpose in regard to the cause
they wish to serve; while there will be not wanting some,
quick to perceive, and prompt to turn to their advantage,
the argumentative boon, thus unwisely surrendered to
them. It has been nothing so much as this inconside-
rate " Bible alone " outcry, that has given modern popery
so long a reprieve in the heart of prolestant countries;
and it is now the very same zeal, without discretion,
that opens a fair field for the spread of the doctrines of
the Oxford Tracts.
I venture, then, not without diffidence, and yet with
a calm confidence in the soundness of the course I am
pursuing, to invite those who already feel the moment
of the controversy set on foot by the writers of those
tracts, and Mho perceive the double consequence which
UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
93
it carries, to enter upon such researches, in the field of
Christian antiquity, as may be found requisite, whether
more or less laborious, for obtaining a well-defined con-
viction as to the extent and conditions of the deference
that is due to the practices and opinions of the early
church. May He who giveth liberally, and without
upbraiding, as well wisdom as strength, to those who
are conscious that both must be given from above, gra*
ciously, in this instance, aid our endeavours !
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
So far as we may have in view the usurpations and
the lying pretensions of Rome, nothing can be clearer
than the course to be pursued by protestants. Such and
such practices, or opinions, and in which popery con-
sists, may be proved to be of such or such a date; they
are, therefore, not apostolic; they are not catholic; they
are not even ancient, any more than they are scriptural:
why, then, should we receive and submit to them? " I
am catholic, not you," may every protestant say to every
Romanist, and with as full an assurance as that with
which the genuine Cambrian may say to the Fitzwil-
liams, the Wallers, the Villiers, the Godfreys, " I am
British, not you ; I had turned this soil ages before you
Normans had set a foot on the island." We are not
compelled, by any logical or argumentative obligation,
9
94
A TEST OF THZ MORAL CONDITION
to do more than passively to reject, and resolutely to re*
sist, Romanism, that is to say, the false, debauched, and
tyrannous superstition of the middle ages. Protestant-
ism, as opposed to popery, is a refusal to accept innova-
tions, bearing an ascertained date.
Or, we might confine our protest against popery within
the pithy denunciations of the Romanists' own saint,
Vincent of Lerins — Annuntiare ergo aliquid Christianis-
caiholicis, praeter id, quod acceperunt, nunquam licuit,
nusquam licet, nunquam licebit; et anathematizare eos,.
qui annunciant aliquid, praeterquam quod semel acceptum
est, nunquam non oportuit, nusquam non oportet, nun--
quam non oportebit.
But, after thus remanding popery until it can show
some cause why it should, for a moment, be listened to,
serious difficulties meet us in our upward course toward
apostolic Christianity; nor does there appear to be any
summary process by which these difficulties may be
surmounted. By the determined opponents of antiquity
they wilf be stated in terms so strong as must, if we
listen to them, lead to the conclusion they desire, name-
ly, an utter rejection of whatever comes to us through
the contaminated channels of ecclesiastical tradition.
Such a one will not fail briskly to put the question — .
" Why draw a line, where there is no important dis-
tinction, between the religion of the tenth century and
that of the ninth, or of the eighth, or of the seventh?"
or he will demand that we should show that Christianity
was in a much purer state in the sixth century than in
the seventh ; or that it had not become vitally corrupted
even in the fifth ; or that, in the fourth, it retained its es-
sential purity : and if these questions, put in broad terms,,
are pushed on toward the earliest years to which our ex*
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
9h
tant materials extend, a real perplexity will attach to the
answer that is to be given to them: in truth, we shall
never be able to deal with the subject in the abstract, or
in mass; for it means nothing, or nothing as to any prac-
tical bearing, either to say, vaguely, the ancient church
was in error; or, as vaguely, to deny such a charge.
We must descend to the particulars, and must sift the
evidence with a minute and impartial scrupulosity, and
the result, which we may confidently anticipate, is pre-
cisely what a true knowledge of human nature, sup-
ported by the evidence of all history, would lead any
calm aud philosophic mind to expect, namely, that,
while the testimony of the pristine church, concerning
certain facts and doctrines, remains unimpeached, and is
in the highest degree important, and while its faith, its
constancy, its courage, its charity, its heavenly-minded-
ness, are the objects of just admiration and imitation, it
had admitted certain specific errors, and had yielded
itself to some natural but pernicious impressions, which
make a blind obsequiousness toward it, on our part,
equally dangerous and absurd. There is, surely, no
mystery in all this, nor any miracle; but simply what is
in analogy with the uniform course of human affairs,
even when benefited by the intervention of heavenly in-
fluences. Either to worship the pristine chureh, or to
condemn it, in the mass, would be just as unwise as to
•treat the church of our own times, or of any other times,
in a manner equally undiscriminating. But, although
there be neither miracle nor mystery in the facts which
an impartial research brings to light, concerning the re-
ligious and moral condition of our Christian predeces-
sors of the early ages, how much of mystification has
darkened the minds of many, in their notions of anti-
90
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
quity, and how much of what must have been, had it
had place, really miraculous, has virtually and silently
been attributed to the course of events, in the church,
from the death of the apostles, to the time when it ceases
to be any longer practicable even to imagine any such
supernatural control of ecclesiastical affairs!
In truth, there have been, and are, many (and as it
seems, some of those that embrace the opinions of the
Oxford writers are of the number) who, while they might
perhaps deny the claim of the martyr church to the pos-
session of miraculous powers, and disallow the entire
series of legends, of the healing the sick, and raising the
dead, yet cling to the fond belief that the church, during
the early centuries, was favoured by some more imme-
diate divine superintendence than is the church of our
own times; or, in a word, that a species of theocracy,
with its Urim and Thummim, and its Shekinah, had an
existence — vigorous at the first, and gradually fading and
melting away, into the merely human hierarchical econo-
my of the papacy. A vague notion, such as this, may
indeed appear to be sanctioned by certain of our Lord's
expressions; but those who entertain it should not forget
that, unless those expressions were intended to be limit-
ed to the apostles and first teachers, they are undoubt-
edly the property of the church in all ages, and without
any privilege in behalf of the early ages. And then it
will follow that they confer no claim to deference, or
general authority, for the ancient church, than what be-
longs to the modern; and thence also it follows that, if
we actually find, within the precincts of the modern
church, strange and unsightly combinations of high and
sacred truths, and solid virtues, with preposterous errors,
and sad delinquencies, so may it have been, and so was
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
97
it, in an equal, and, as I think, in even a greater degree,
within the enclosure of the ancient church.
I do not wish, in the present argument, to employ at
all the phrases — philosophical temper, or philosophical
views, lest 1 should be so far misunderstood, or misre-
presented, as to be supposed to favour that modern guise
of infidelity, called rationalism. Instead, therefore, in
the present instance, of saying we should learn to look
at the history of the primitive church with a philosophic
eye, I will urge the necessity of regarding the dim ob-
jects of those remote times, with the cool and piercing
perceptions of an undamaged eye; or, in other words,
under the guidance of plain good sense, which, amid all
kinds of illusive appearances, adheres to the constant
principle, that human nature, however much it may have
been raised above its ordinary level in particular instances,
has always quickly subsided, and been substantially
the same, in every age, and country. There never yet
has been, on earth, a community of angels: there have
been saints; that is to say, men, in the main, good and
wise; but there has been no corporation or entire band of
saints, any more than any faultless individuals. Or if it
were allowed, which I think it must be, that some pe-
riods have very far excelled others in piety and wisdom,
I should still demur to the allegation that the era imme-
diately following the death of the apostles can claim any
such pre-eminence. Nay, I am compelled to say, that
the general impression, made upon my mind by the ac-
tual evidence, is altogether of a contrary kind.
On this subject, however, important on so many ac-
counts, as nothing but the plain and simple truth, so far
as attainable, can render us any real service, or be ac-
cepted by any sound mind; so, any thing else than the
OK
f>8
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
simple truth, will not fail to exaggerate, or to pervert our
notions upon most religious subjects; and while enter-
taining any such illusions, our alternatives will be a ser-
vile superstition, or sheer infidelity.
It does not appear that we have as yet, on any side,
obtained, a full, clear, and matter-of-fact idea of the moral
and religious condition of the ancient church; and I am
strongly inclined to believe that, whoever may be suc-
cessful in eliciting such an idea, and in giving it clearly
to the church at large, will, in so doing merely, have
gone far toward effecting the silent and final disappear-
ance of many inveterate errors. Nay, I believe that it will
be on this side that the fibres of popery itself, will be
severed, and so the horrid excrescence disengaged from
the religious convictions of the civilized world.
So great a work (yet in itself simple, although vast in
its consequences) will not be effected by a single hand:
indeed, the mere thought that this were possible, would
oppress the mind that should address itself to the task.
Meaning no more then, than to do my part, however
small, I shall attempt, in this line, what the occasion
seems to demand. And in doing so, instead of carrying
forward a multifarious inquiry, concerning twenty topics
of early opinion and practice, I shall select, in this first
instance, and confine myself to a particular topic, and
shall clear a path, as I go, right onward toward the high-
est antiquity. But then this selected subject of inquiry
must be one, not of an incidental, but of an intrinsically
important kind; and it must have intimate alliances with
the entire ecclesiastical and religious system of antiquity,
and it must, from its peculiar character, be well adapted
to the general purpose of bringing, vividly and distinctly,
into view, the general, and the special merits and faults
of the times in question.
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
99
Such a subject, recommending itself to our choice,
with singular completeness, by its conformity with the
above-named conditions, is found in the ancient, and the
universal opinion entertained in the Christian Church,
concerning the merits, and the spiritual efficacy of celi-
bacy, and especially of uncontaminated virginity; taken
in connexion with the practices thence immediately re-
sulting, and the sanctioned institutions to which, in an
early age, it gave rise. With what belongs to Romanism,
we have nothing now to do: — nothing with the compul-
sory celibacy of the clergy, nothing with the penal rigours
of the monastic vow; nothing with the corruptions, or the
horrors, engendered by this system when its proper influ-
ence had come to take effect upon the European com-
monwealth. These things we altogether remit, or only
glance at them in passing, and direct our vigilant regards
to the very same system in its young days, and before
it had rendered itself execrable; and while it was yet
recommended by lofty virtues, and by some substantial
fruits, as well as excused by many subsidiary reasons.
"What we have to do with, touches — the view taken by
the church, of Christianity, as a moral economy, or ethi-
cal system, from the very earliest times; it touches too
the principles whence sprang the most ancient notions
concerning the mysterious properties of the sacraments;
it touches intimately the position and the power of the
clergy; it touches the fundamental doctrines of justifica-
tion, and sanctification; in a word, it leaves nothing in
the theological, or the ecclesiastical system, of ancient
Christianity, untouched. I offer no apology then, for
the choice I have made in the present instance; for the
momentous controversy now before the church justifies
any means clearly tending to bring it to a determinate
issue, which a religious writer can wish to resort to*
100
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
Let it be enough that I pledge myself to respect every
pure and manly feeling which should belong to one who is
himself a husband and a father. Very much that pro-
perly belongs to the subject, and which, if adduced,
would powerfully sustain the inference I have in view,
can neither be brought forward, nor even alluded to. I
shall cite just so much as is indispensable, in regard to
the important conclusion toward which we are tending.
And at the outset I must profess my serious and delibe-
rate belief that no other element of ancient Christianity
so well, as the one which I have chosen, would subserve
therpurposes of the general argument, or tend so directly
to open the way for terminating the controversy which
now divides the church.
But a nice question presents itself on the threshold,
which perhaps I am barely entitled to put to the writers
of the Tracts for the Times, and it is this — Why they have
hitherto avoided, so scrupulously, a subject which, as they
very well know, stands forward as the most prominent
characteristic of ancient Christianity? These learned
persons do not need to be told that, whenever we turn
our eyes toward the dim distance of the pristine ages,
there is one glaring spot, the glitter of which dazzles the
sight; and that this luminous point of the piety of the
early church, is — the celestial, or angelic excellence of
virginity. They well know that this opinion, and con-
comitant practice, was no accident of the system; but
its very nucleus, the emanating centre of feeling and be-
haviour; and that, even putting out of view the extrava-
gances of individuals, this opinion comes down to us
sanctioned by the authority of all the most illustrious
doctors and confessors — the entire catena patrum. They
well know that this at least is no popish innovation; and
that the course pursued, from age to age, in reference to
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
101
it, by the Romish authorities, was only a necessary fol-
lowing up of universally admitted principles. They
well know that, had it been possible, at any moment,
during the first five centuries, to have withdrawn this
opinion, and these practices, altogether from the ecclesi-
astical system, the entire structure of polity and worship
must have crumbled to the dust, leaving nothing but the
rudiments of Christianity — a system how vastly dif-
ferent!
One cannot then but be perplexed with the question,
Why this foremost characteristic of ancient Christianity
has been overlooked, as yet, by the Oxford divines. Let
them, if they will, leave St. Bernard out of their view,
for he is a papist; but how can they forget Cyprian and
Terlullian ? let them be silent concerning the extrava-
gances of St. Francis, or St. Dominic, but why do so
little justice to Athanasius, to Chrysostom, to Jerome, to
Ambrose, to Augustine, to Theodoret, to Basil, to the
four Gregorys, to Leo, to Benedict, to Macarius, and to
a host beside, as to say nothing concerning that one
highly illuminated theme, upon which these great and
good men made it their duty and their glory to expend
the prime force of their eloquence, and upon which they
strewed, on all occasions, the gayest and most fragrant
flowers of their flowery rhetoric? whence has arisen this
oversight?
A singular oversight it must surely be regarded ; for,
while these erudite divines, conversant as they are with
Christian antiquity, (more so, perhaps, than with the
real conditions of the age they live in,) are, in the tones
of a solemn remonstrance, calling upon the church to
retrace its heedless steps, and to realize, so far as possi-
ble, an imitation of the religious notions and practices
102
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
of the second and third centuries, and while they would
fain render the apostolic English church a very copy
(its sufferings excepted) of the church as we find it un-
der Dionysius and Cyprian, yet exclude from their copy
the most characteristic and prominent feature of their
venerable pattern! If they reply that, on this one and
only point, the doctrine and practices of the ancient
church were mistaken, we grant it indeed ; but must
then go on to say, that the error — theoretic and practi-
cal— was of such a depth and magnitude as to bring the
whole system, of which it formed so principal a part,
under grave suspicion, and to render the utmost circum-
spection indispensable, when we are called upon to be-
lieve, or to do, this or that, because it was believed or
done by the ancient church.
Unable to conceive of it as possible, that the Oxford
writers can simply have forgotten this foremost article
of the faith and morals of the early church, 1 cannot but
plainly express my conviction that they are not so devoid
of worldly discretion, or so regardless of the temper of
the times they live in, as not to have felt that, to protrude
the ancient doctrine concerning the merits of virginity,
at so early a stage of their proceedings, however " hap-
pily omened," would have been a measure that must
have proved instantly fatal to the cause they are pro-
moting. Whatever whims or illusions the well-informed
classes in this country may, for a lime, give themselves
up to, there is among us always a vigorous good sense,
and a strong right feeling, in matter of morality — a sense
of the fair and honest, such as would not have failed to
resent with vehemence any endeavour, even the most
cautious, to subvert the first principles of the social eco-
nomy, and to poison the springs of natural sentiment.
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
103
Every just and manly emotion, and every pure feminine
emotion, would have been kindled, and would have
covered with shame any attempt to bring back upon us
the demure abominations, and the horrors of religious
celibacy. The Oxford Tract writers have much yet to
do — a Herculean task to perform, (not indeed to cleanse
the stables of monkish pietism, but to deluge the land
with their filth,) before they may venture so much as to
whisper their desire to revive this great article of ancient
Christianity, or to restore to its honours the — illustrior
portio gregis Christi. This flos atque decus ecclesiastici
germinis, is, let them believe it, withered to the root,
and wo and shame to those who may strive to raise a
new plant from its pernicious seeds!
And yet it is hard to say, if certain principles be
granted, why we should not emulate that which the fa-
thers, one and all, considered as the choicest part of
Christianity — the fair, the ripened, and the fragrant fruit
of its highest influences: if we are to imitate the subor-
dinate characteristics of the same system, why not its
principal ? Let us, as good protestants, reject with hor-
ror the institutions of St. Dominic; but why abstain
from those of St, Benedict? We will not choose to
copy St. Cecelia, but why not follow St. Anthony?
We loathe, perhaps, the principles of St. Ignatius Loy-
ola, but dare we stop the ear at the soft call of St.
Ephrem, and St. Basil, when they invite us to rend
every social tie by which we may be connected with
the world, and to retire to a vacant cell next to their
own ?
Our ears have been so much and so long used to the
sound (repeated by protestant writers, one after the other,
and without any distinct reference to facts, and probably
104
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
without any direct knowledge of them,) of the pro-
gressive corruption of Christianity, and of the slow and
steady advances of superstition and spiritual tyranny,
that we are little prepared to admit a contrary statement,
better sustained by evidence, as well as more practically
significant in itself — namely, that, although councils, or
the papal authority, from age to age, followed up, im-
bodied and legalized, certain opinions, usages, and prac-
tices, which were already prevalent, in an undefined
form, it very rarely pushed on far in advance of the
feeling and habit of the times; but that, on the contrary,
it rather followed in the wake of ancient superstition and
contemporary corruption, expressing, in bulls, decretals,
and canons, (which were not seldom of a corrective
kind,) the will or temper of the ecclesiastical body. Or
to state the same general fact, as it is seen from another
point of view, it will be found true that, if the opinion
and sentiment of the church, at different eras, be regarded
apart from the authorized expressions of the same, there
will appear to have been far less of progression than we
have been taught to suppose; and that, on the contrary,
the notions and usages of a later, differ extremely little,
or not at all, from those of an earlier age; or that, so far
as they do differ, the advantage, in respect of morality
and piety, is quite as often on the side of the later, as of
the earlier ages. Particular points had in view, it might
be affirmed, that popery was a practicable form, and a
corrected expression, of ancient Christianity.
This is especially the case in reference to the subject
which we have now before us ; nor do I at all hesitate
to affirm, that pages, and pages again, may be adduced
from writers of the second and third century, which,
suppressing names and incidental allusions, an intelligent
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
105
reader might easily suppose to have been taken from
those of the twelfth or thirteenth century. What, then,
I am peculiarly desirous to place in a conspicuous posi-
tion, is, the fact that, instead of a regular and slow de-
velopment of error, there was a very early expansion of
false and pernicious notions, in their mature proportions,
and these attended by some of their worst fruits. This,
then, is the very point and hinge of our argument; and,
in making good the weighty allegation, I shall use, not
only all requisite diligence of research ; but, as I trust,
a strict and conscientious impartiality. It may be, in-
deed, that later writers express themselves in more ful-
some terms, or, in worse taste than the earlier ; and it
may be that the popes and saints of the middle ages ex-
hibit less acquaintance with the classic models of style
than was the boast of the well-taught doctors of the third
and fourth centuries ; but, in the substance of their reli-
gious system, and in extent of moral obliquity, they do
not, I venture to say, a whit surpass them. The infe-
rence affecting other and more disputed points of Chris-
tian morality, ecclesiastical usage, and theological opi-
nions, will force iiself upon every thoughtful reader.
And how well might our vigilance be quickened when
highly respectable Romanist writers are heard affirming
(and not without an appeal to good evidence,) as much,
in behalf of the characteristic corruptions of their own
church, as certain protestants among us are now affirm-
ing in behalf of other ancient practices and opinions,
authenticated in precisely the same mode, and to the
same extent !
" The celibacy of the clergy," says Alban Butler, " is
merely an ecclesiastical law, though perfectly conforma-
ble to the spirit of the gospel, and doubtless derived from
10
106
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
the apostles." We have then to see whether the proof
of the antiquity and universality of the opinions of
which this law was merely a formal expression, be not
as good as can be adduced in support of practices and
principles now urged upon us, because ancient and " apos-
tolic."
In making good my general allegation, I shall adduce
evidence in proof or illustration of the following five
propositions, which, if established, may be held to su-
persede much of the argument, otherwise requisite, in
reference to points now actually under discussion ; at
the same time, the passages to be cited will afford the
means of exhibiting, in its true colours, the general con-
dition of the ancient church, moral and religious, and
will, therefore, serve to dissipate the illusions that are
apt to surround the objects of remote antiquity. My pro-
positions are —
I. That the lapse of eight hundred or a thousand years
exhibits very little, if any, progression, in the quality or
extravagance of those notions which gave support to the
practices of religious celibacy; and that the attendant
abuses of this system were nearly, or quite, as flagrant
at the earlier, as at the later date.
II. That, at the very earliest time when we find these
notions and practices to have been generally prevalent,
and accredited, they were no novelties; but had come
down from a still earlier era.
III. That, as these notions and practices are of imme-
morial antiquity, so did they affect the church universal
— eastern, western, and African; and that thus they come
fully within the terms of the rule — quod semper, quod
ubique, quod ab omnibus.
IV. That these opinions and practices, in their most
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
107
extreme form, received an ample and explicit sanction,
and a solemn authentication from all the great writers
and doctors of the church, during the most prosperous
and enlightened age of any preceding the reformation;
and that, on this head, popery has no peculiar culpabi-
lity.
V. That the notions and practices connected with the
doctrine of the superlative merit of religious celibacy,
were, at once, the causes and the effects of errors in the-
ology, of perverted moral sentiments, of superstitious
usages, of hierarchical usurpations; and that they fur-
nish us with a criterion for estimating the general value
of ancient Christianity; and, in a word, afford reason
enough for regading, if not with jealousy, at least with
extreme caution, any attempt to induce the modern
church to imitate the ancient church.
THE FIRST PROPOSITION.
My first thesis, then, is to this effect —
That no essential change, or progressive deterioration,,
took place during the course of many centuries, dating-
from what is called the pristine age of" the church, in re-
gard to the notions entertained concerning the merit and
angelic virtues of celibacy; and that the extreme evils
usually considered as inseparable from these notions, at-
tached to them from the earliest times; or in other words,
that the vices and absurdities of Romanism, on this
108
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
ground, are only the vices and absurdities of ancient
Christianity.
For the purpose of establishing the position here as-
sumed, and which, if actually made good, will go far
toward clearing a path over the ground of the present
controversy, I shall study brevity and condensation, as
far as may consist with a satisfactory and (if it were pos-
sible) a final treatment of this initial portion of the ar-
gument. It will manifestly be requisite to adduce pas-
sages, first from some two or three of the authenticated
writers of the later and mature times of Romanism, by
the side of which must be placed analogous, or parallel
quotations from the leading Ante-Nicene fathers; and on
a comparison of the two, it will be for calm and candid
minds to determine whether my first thesis affirms more
than ought to have been asserted.
It was not, as I have already said, the authorities of
the Romish church — popes, cardinals, councils, that
pushed forward the system of spiritual prostitution, su-
perstition and tyranny; but much rather a deeply-work-
ing spirit acting from within the church; and this spirit
is one and the same, whether uttering itself from the fer-
vid lips of St. Dominic de Guzman, or St. Bernard, or
the not less fervid lips of a father of the second and
third century. This spirit proved itself in fact to be far
more potent than the authority which the popes them-
selves exerted, even about the walls of the Vatican. A
curious instance presents itself, with which I may com-
mence my series of testimonies. So late as the twelfth
century many of the monastic institutions continued to be
of an open kind; that is to say, some of the religious esta-
blishments were merely lodging-houses, for persons pro-
fessing more assiduity in the offices of piety than their
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
109
neighbours; and where the freest access was allowed to
the parents and friends of the mis-called, recluses. In
other cases, even residence in the nunnery was dispensed
with, so that those who had enrolled themselves as mem-
bers of a certain society, and as intending to adhere to
the rules of the order, continued to live with their friends;
and to mix pretty freely in general society. This laxity
of practice, open as it must have been to abuses, and
being as it was a departure from the practices of the early
ages, and tending to weaken much the hold which the
church might have had over the entire system, had long
engaged the zealous endeavours of Innocent III. to re-
dress it; but he, despot as he was, had laboured with
little success, even in Rome itself, to effect an absolute in-
carceration of all who had bound themselves by the mo-
nastic rules, and to seclude them effectively, not from
the world merely, but from their nearest relatives. The
letters of this pope betray, at once, his extreme anxiety
to bring about this necessary reform, and the vexa-
tion with which he witnessed the small success of his
endeavours. But wherein a pope, and such a pope as In-
nocent III. fails, and confesses himself over-matched, a
Dominic easily triumphs, after only a second effort, and
without the necessity of exhibiting more than a single
and customary miracle. To the vagrant and giddy nuns
of Rome, this saint had offered his own newly elected
monastery, in that city; with the hope of tempting them
to abandon the laxity of their practice; and at length he
obtained their reluctant consent to make this sumptuous
palace of poverty their abode, and their prison. Their
alarmed relatives, however, succeeded in bringing them
' OCT
to renounce their inconsiderate promise; nor was it until
after a new and more strenuous exertion of his spiritual
10*
110
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
influence, that he finally triumphed over the impulses,
as well of their better, as of their worse natures. On
Ash-Wednesday, 1218, the abbess, and some of her nuns
— the elder sisters probably (of the monastery of St.
Mary beyond the Tiber) went to take possession of their
new abode; where they found already, the saint, in con-
ference with three cardinals — commissioners, in this in-
stance, with himself. But hardly had the first compli-
ments passed, between these reverend persons, when it
was suddenly announced by a messenger, tearing his hair
to admiration, that a young nobleman, named Napoleon,*
and who was the nephew of one of the said cardinals,
had just been thrown from his horse, and — killed on the
spot! Forthwith the conference is broken off, and the
lifeless and lacerated body is, by command of the " that**
maturgus of the age," brought within doors: mass is said
— the saint, in celebrating the divine mysteries, shed a
flood of tears, and while elevating the body of Christ in
his pure hands, he was himself, in an ecstasy, lifted up
a whole cubit from the ground, in the sight, and to the
amazement, of all who were present. After awhile,
and as might have been expected, while St. Dominic
himself continued suspended in the air, he cried, with a
loud voice, " Napoleon, 1 say to thee, in the name of
our Lord Jesus Christ, arise." That instant, in the
sight of the whole multitude, the young man arose,
sound and whole! "What then could the refractory or
reluctant nuns of St. Mary do, but, at the bidding of this
* This morning-star of the race of Napoleon, could, no doubt,
sham dead as handsomely, and naturally, as his illustrious name-
sake, of our times, acted the part of a good musulman, or a good
catholic, when needful.
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
Ill
raiser of the dead, rush into the net prepared for them;
and pine away the residue of their years, within the
gloomy walls of the monastery of St. Sixtus?
But now, you say, all this is mere popery; and what
have we .to do with its superstitions, or with the impi-
ous frauds that were perpetrated to give them credit?
What we have to do with these things is this — to retrace
the course of time, a thousand years, or nearly as much,
and there and then to discover, in the bosom of the pris-
tine and martyr church, not perhaps the very same forms,
usages, frauds, follies; but those substantial elements of
religious opinion, and of moral sentiment, which gave
support to all these abominations, and apart from which
they would never have had existence. This then is the
gist of our present argument — that there is absolutely
nothing in the ripe popery of the times of St. Dominic
(certain elaborate modes of proceeding excepted) which
is not to be found in the Christianity of the times of
Cyprian or of Tertullian.
The last named father I reserve to be placed side by
side with a kindred spirit of the middle ages ; and at
present turn to the mild, pious, and judicious, as well as
eloquent, martyr, archbishop of Carthage. Let us then,
at a leap of one thousand years, pass the abyss of popery,
and imagine ourselves fairly landed upon the terra firma
of pristine purity — the realm of the still bleeding and vo-
luntary church, whence may be descried, like a waning
twilight, the brightness of the apostolic age. The pas-
sages 1 am to offer are not merely highly significant,
in themselves, and indispensable as links in our argu-
ment, but they tend directly to lay open what was the
real condition, spiritual and ecclesiastical, of the early
church. In abridging, so far as may be requisite, my
112
A TEST OF THE MOfcAL CONDITION
quotations, and in taking single expressions from para-
graphs, I stand pledged (and am open to an easy rebuke *
if detected in any wilful perversions) to omit nothing
which, if adduced, might serve to contravene the infer-
ence I have in view; and if, on the other hand, I am
compelled to retrench not a little which would most
pointedly support that inference, I do so in deference to
the propriety which our modern refinement prescribes.
Whoever will look into the authors cited will, I am sure,
admit that, to have availed myself of the materials before
me in a less scrupulous manner, would not a little have
strengthened the position I maintain.
You will not tell me that you are already familiar with
the passages which you foresee I shall fix upon ; and
that the general fact which they are adduced to illustrate,
is sufficiently understood, and is generally admitted.
This may perhaps be true, though one would not think
it when one listens to the customary style, either of the
favourers of antiquity, or of its impugners, who, on the
one part, seem to be discreetly concealing the real and
simple facts, which, on the other side, appear to be but
slenderly or confusedly apprehended. The time, how-
ever, is come when it is indispensable that we should
make ourselves thoroughly and authentically familiar
with whatever we have the means of knowing, concern-
ing ancient Christianity.
At a time not more remote from the apostolic age,
than we, of this generation, are from the times of Bar-
row, Tillotson, Taylor, Baxter, we rind all the elements
of the abuses of the twelfth century, and, not the ele-
ments only, but most of those abuses in a ripened, nay,
in a putrescent condition.
Cyprian, and his presbyters, writes, in reply to Pom-
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
113
ponius, a suffragan bishop, who had reported certain
scandals, in treating which he needed direction and au-
thoritative support. From this letter it appears that the
rash and unwarrantable vow of perpetual celibacy, or
virginity, taken, or forced upon multitudes of young
women, in some moment of artificial religious excitement,
had been too late repented of by many of its victims,
who, finding themselves cut off from the virtuous en-
dearments of domestic life, had rushed into irregularities,
loading their conscience at once with a real, and a su-
pererogatory guilt, and had, under the colour of spiritual
intercourse with the clergy to whose care they had been
consigned, and who themselves were galled by the same
impious extravagance, admitted the grossest familiarities,
and thus had diffused an extreme corruption of manners
among the very men to whom were intrusted the moral
and religious welfare of the people. So early had this
false fervour produced its poisonous fruit, and had ulce-
rated, in its vitals, the body of the church! " Concern-
ing those," says Cyprian, " who, after having solemnly
devoted themselves to continence, have been found co-
habiting with men — detectae in eodem lecto pariter man-
sisse cum masculis — yet professing themselves inviolate
—cum viris dormisse confessac sint .... you have de-
sired my advice. You well know that we do not recede
from the evangelic and apostolic traditions .... and
that, in regard to the welfare of all, church discipline is
to be maintained .... wherefore it is by no means to
be allowed that young women should (non dico simul
dormire) live with men. If indeed they have cordially
dedicated themselves to Christ, let them modestly and
chastely, and without subterfuge, hold to their purpose,
and, thus constant and firm, look for the reward of vir-
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
ginity — prsemium virginitatis. — But if in fact they will
not (vel non possunt) so persevere, let them marry.
Take your Cyprian from the shelf, and tell me whether
the passages, and the expressions I have omitted, do not
make it certain, that this pretended "Apostolic institu-
tion," namely, of religious celibacy, or, as it was called,
dedication or espousals to Christ, had not already, and
even amidst the fires of persecution, become the imme-
diate occasion, in a very extensive degree, to licentious
practices, which must have been fatal to all piety, as well
as frightful in themselves. In truth, if we are thinking
of the preservation of morality at large, or of the purity
of the church in particular, I could not, for my own part,
hesitate to prefer the tremendous irreversible vows, and
the dungeon monasteries of later times, to the loose fa-
natical profligacy of the times of Cyprian. If we are to
near much more of the purity of the early church, there
will be no choice left but to quote Cyprian and Tertul-
lian, without retrenchment.
" And if all," continues this truly faithful pastor, "are
bound to observe a necessary discipline, how much more
are those bound to do so who should afford an example
to others ! How shall they, the clergy, praepositos et
diaconos, be guides in the path of piety and virtue, if,
in fact, from them proceeds a contaminating warranty of
vice ! . . . . Thou hast therefore well done in withdraw-
ing from the deacon and others, qui cum virginibus dor-
mire consueverunt."
Nothing could place in a stronger light the absurdity,
and the inevitable abuses, inseparable from this ancient
practical error, than to mention the ineffably degrading,
as well as precarious condition upon which, by Cy-
prian's directions, was to depend the restoration of the
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
115
guilty, or of the suspected, to the communion of the
church — a condition of which he had himself intimated
his distrust (cum .... saepe fallatur) but this we forego,
only remarking the significant fact, as attaching to so
early a time, that already a rational solicitude concern-
ing spiritual and moral character, had been displaced by
a stupid regard to what was merely external and formal.
Did the religious character of these loose ladies gain
any real warranty from the report of the obstetrix ? Or
were their clerical paramours rendered more fit teachers
of Christianity by the issue of any such ordeals? Al-
ready had the first principles of the social system, as
divinely constituted, been so perverted, and the senti-
ments of real virtue so broken in upon, by this perni-
cious system of factitious super-human piety, that the
sexes could no longer be suffered, with any safety, even
to live together under the same roof! and thus, as it re-
garded the ministers of religion, at least, the whole of
that happy and genial influence which is found to result
from Christianized domestic relations, was turned aside;
and in its place came habits and modes of feeling, which
may not be described or contemplated. But all this evil
sprang from the desire to make up a loftier sort of reli-
gion than that which God had given to the world !
The palliations that may be found for these grievous
errors, and the almost inevitable infatuation which held
the minds of those who had been trained to support and
reverence them, and the relation they bore to the ex-
treme corruptions of the times, and also to the frequent
and severe sufferings to which the church, during three
centuries, was exposed — these themes of extenuation are
not now our subject; — an occasion may perhaps present
itself, for offering a general apology in behalf of those
116
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
whom now we are arraigning. What we have at pre-
sent to do with, is the fact of an early and extensive re-
ligious illusion; and the inferences this fact involves.
Let this, however, be said, that the church, looking
abroad upon the universal and frightful dissoluteness of
the heathen world, conceived the belief that the enor-
mous evil could never be amended by applying to it the
simple, firm, and natural morality of the gospel, as pro-
mulgated by Christ, and his apostles; but they thought
it could be counteracted, if at all, by nothing but a spe-
cies of virtue that was exaggerated in a proportionate
degree. This artificial purity, was then a violent re-
action, ending, as might have been foreseen, and as
every convulsive moral struggle must, in a correspon-
dent corruption, as well of manners, as of principles.
It is curious, in this point of view, to compare our Cy-
prian's rhetorical description of the dissoluteness of his
times (ad Donatum) with the facts admitted, or indicated,
by himself, in his endeavours to repress the spreading
plague within the church; not that the practices them-
selves were equally flagitious; but yet were they ren-
dered the more culpable by those advantages of light
in which the heathen had no part.
How much turns often (and it is an observation per-
petually offering itself in the perusal of church history)
upon an insensible substitution of a technical, for the
general and genuine sense of an ethical term! It was
just by the aid of some of these hardly perceptible sub-
stitutions that the eminent men we have now to do with
(and Cyprian not less than any) found the ready means
of gaining an apparent scriptural warranty for practices
flagrantly contravening the spirit and meaning of scrip-
tural morality. Thus it is that he reiterates his quota-
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
117
tions from the Psalms, and the Book of Proverbs, in
support of that ecclesiastical discipline which the vow of
celibacy involved, by adducing- texts in which the in-
struction, correction, or reproof recommended by David
or Solomon is rendered disciplina, in the Latin version
of the Old Testament, which he used : as thus — " Those
who refuse instruction shall perish;'1 or, as the Latin
has it — " those shall perish," and under the anger of
the Lord, who infringe the rules of this artificial disci-
pline, enjoined for enforcing the system of factitious pu-
rity. Tertullian, long before, had appropriated this term
in the same manner. The Greek Church writers em-
ploy the word philosophy in a sense nearly equivalent.
But we have yet to see what those generally received
and accredited notions were, to which the shepherds of
the church ordinarily appealed, when handling the sub-
ject of religious celibacy, and which so sober-minded a
prelate as Cyprian alleges as the foundation of his com-
mands and exhortations, when labouring to repress the
abuses which, at this early period, had come in, like an
inundation upon the church. An exposition of these no-
tions and opinions we find placed in the front of the
treatise, or dehortation, 44 concerning the attire of vir~
gins," (nuns) that is to say, of those who had dedicated
their bodies, as well as their souls, to the Lord; and
who, under the designation of the spouses of Christ,
held a distinct place as a visible order, or sodality, in
the ecclesiastical system, taking rank above the class of
widows, and second only to the confessors, or those who
had triumphantly sustained torture from the hand of the
heathen.
Now it appears, too plainly, from the stern reproba-
11*
118
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
tions, and the indignant, yet repressed flourishes whieh
mark this treatise, that a laxity, nay a licentiousness,
hardly to be believed, and little suspected by the gene-
ral readers of church history, had become common
among these religious ladies, of the church of Carthage.
In fact, it cannot be doubted that, to indemnify themselves
for the abjuration of the virtuous happiness of domestic
life, they had become proficients in every meretricious
allurement, not merely bestowing extraordinary cares
and costs upon the attractions of dress and jewellery,
and frequenting scenes of indecent revelry, but inviting
and allowing the grossest familiarities on the part of
their spiritual guides, to whom they had a too easy ac-
cess; and even yielding themselves to shameless ex-
posures in the public baths, of which ablutions the good
bishop well and smartly says, such washings do not
cleanse, but pollute the body, and not only the body, but
the soul. That the indecencies of the Carlhagenian
nuns were not a single instance of irregularity, may be
gathered from the very express and detailed reference to
the same practices made, some years earlier, by Clement
of Alexandria, who, in foct, uses expressions which one
might believe Cyprian to have read. So much for the
boasted purity of the pristine age of the church! How
much longer is common sense to be outraged by the re-
petition of this miserably unmeaning phrase — unmean-
ing, unless applied with the greatest caution, and a se-
vere limitation, to a very brief period, and to a few bright
spots !
" But now," continues our zealous and upright pre-
late, " I have to address myself to the virgins, (nuns,)
whom, as their reputation is so much the more exalted,
we must make the objects of a proportionate care.
OF THE AN'CIENT CHURCH.
119
Those, in truth, are the flowers of the ecclesiastical
plant, the grace and ornament of the heavenly grace ; a
gladsome produce, a work whole and incorrupt of all
honour and. all praise; ihe image of God, reflecting the
sanctity of the Lord, and the most illustrious portion of
Christ's flock. By these (nuns) and in these, is the
noble fecundity of mother church recommended, and
made copiously to flourish ; and just by so much as this
plentiful virginity swells its numbers, does the mother
herself augment her joys. It is to these, then, that I
speak; it is these I proceed to exhort; yet in affection,
rather than in the tones of authority."
I must here remark that, already, the constant and in-
evitable tendency of a system, essentially superstitious,
to fix the attention, even of the best men, with more so-
licitude, upon what is extrinsic and symbolic, than upon
what is moral, spiritual, and rational, had fully deve-
loped itself in Cyprian's time — indeed it is the general
characteristic of the early (as of later) church writers;
and it is the capital article of the contrast which so
forcibly strikes us in comparing the entire body of an-
cient religious literature with the scriptures. The apos-
tles, without contemning or forgetting that which is ex-
terior, give all their serious cares to that which is sub-
stantial— to the weighty matters of the soul's condition,
spiritual and moral. The fathers, on the contrary, with-
out contemning, or altogether forgetting, that which is
substantial, are fretting themselves perpetually, (like
their modern admirers,) and chafing, about that which
is subsidiary only, and visible; the form, the institution,
the discipline, the canon; in a word, the husk of reli-
gion, fondly thinking that, so long as the rind and shell
of piety could be preserved without a flaw, there could
120
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
be no doubt of the preservation of the kernel ! Alas !
these ill-directed anxieties left the adversary, at his lei-
sure, to perforate the shell and to withdraw the kernel,
almost to the last atom ! Thus our good archbishop,
after saying that " the continence and pudicity proper to
a nun do not consist merely in the inviolate perfection
of the body," leads the modern reader, at least, to sur-
mise that he is about to recommend the inward and spi-
ritual grace of genuine purity of heart; but no, this is
not what he is thinking of — " True modesty, beside the
integrity of the body, consists in — the fair and modest
attire and ornament of the person!" Here is excellent
quakerism, as well as popery, and both sixteen hundred
years old !
" How shall they receive the wages of virginity,
which they are looking for from the Lord, unless it be
evident that they are labouring to please him, and none
other? .... What, then, can such have to do with those
terrestrial decorations which are attractive to the eyes,
not of the Lord, but of men? as Paul says — If I seek
to please men, I am no longer the servant of Christ.
What do ornaments mean; what means decking of the
hair, except to one who either has, or who is seeking a
husband ? . . . . Peter dehorts married women from an
excessive ornamenting of their persons, who might plead,
in excuse of their fault, the will and taste of their hus-
bands ; but what excuse can virgins find for a like re-
gard to dress, who are liable to no such interference ? . . .
Thou, if thou goest abroad, frequenting public places,
sumptuously arrayed, alluring the eyes of youth, draw-
ing after thee the sighs of admirers, fomenting lawless
passions, and kindling the sparks of desire, and even, if
not destroying thyself, destroying others, and presenting
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
121
to their bosoms a poisoned dagger, canst not excuse thy-
self on the pretence of preserving a mind pure and mo-
dest. Thy pretext is shamed by thy criminal attire and
thy immodest decorations ; nor shouldst thou be reck-
oned among the maids of Christ, who so livest as if
wishing to captivate and to be loved by another."
After reprehending, at length, and on various grounds,
cosily and meretricious decorations of the person — the
means and materials of which, says the good bishop,
following Tertullian, were given to mankind by the
apostate angels, he proceeds to specify and reprove still
more criminal excesses which had become matter of
scandal, within and without the church, and had afforded
too much colour to the calumnies of the heathen. Such
were, the being present at weddings, "and hearing and
taking part in licentious conversations ; hearing what
offends good morals, and seeing what must not be spoken
of. . . What have the virgins of the church to do at pro-
miscuous baths; and there to violate the commonest
dictates of feminine modesty! . . . Sordidat lavatio ista,
non abluit; nec emundat membra, sed maculat. Impu-
dice tu neminem conspicis, sed ipsa conspiceris impu-
dice : oculos tuos turpi oblectatione non polluis, sed dum
oblectas alios, ipsa pollueris. . . . The places (baths) you
frequent are more iilthy than the theatre itself; all mo-
desty is there laid aside, and with your robes, your per-
sonal honour and reserve are cast off. . . Thus it is that
the church so often has to weep for her virgins; so does
she bewail their infamy, and the horrid tales which get
abroad. . . ."
M Listen, then, to him who seeks your true welfare;
lest, cast off by the Lord, ye be widows before ye be
married; adulteresses, not to husbands, but to Christ,
n*
122 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
and, after having been destined to the highest rewards,
ye undergo the severest punishments. . . For, consider,
while the hundred-fold produce is that of the martyrs,
the sixty-fold is yours ; and as they (the martyrs) con-
temn the body and its delights, so should you. Great
are the wages which await you, (if faithful ;) the high
reward of virtue, the great recompense to be conferred
upon chastity. Not only shall your lot and portion (in
the future life) be equal to that of the other sex ; but ye
shall be equal to the angels of God !"
So much then for the zealous and upright Cyprian,
and his delinquent stew of ecclesiastical virginity, at Car-
thage, and so much for the venerable sanctity of the pris-
tine age! You will grant, I think, that the urgent con-
troversy which we have now to do with, and which
turns so much upon the alleged authority of antiquity,
renders this species of evidence, unpleasing as it is in
itself, yet very pertinent in reference to the general ques-
tion. I cannot however proceed to call in my next pair
of witnesses, without adverting to a fact which forces it-
self upon every well informed and reflecting reader of
the early Christian writers, I mean the much higher
moral condition, and the more effective discipline of the
Romish church in later times, than can with any truth
be claimed for the ancient church, even during its era of
suffering and depression. Our ears are stunned with
the outcry against the " corruptions of popery." I
boldly say that popery, foul as it is, and has ever been,
in the mass, might yet fairly represent itself as a reform
upon early Christianity. Do not accuse me of the wish
to startle you with paradoxes. I will not swell my pages
(which will have enough to bear) with quotations from
modern books that are in the hands of most religious
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
123
readers. In truth, volumes of unimpeachable evidence
might be produced, establishing the fact, that the later
Romish church has had to boast eminent virtues, in con-
nexion with her monastic institutions; and I think virtues,
better compacted, and more consistent than belonged to
the earlier church. Or, to refer to a single instance, look
into the various narratives that have been published re-
lating to the Port-royal institution, as governed by the
illustrious Angelica Arnauld. There was popery entire;
every element of the system developed, and expanded,
under the fervours of the most intense religious excite-
ment! I beg you then, in idea, to place, by the side of
this band of virgins of the seventeenth century, Cyprian's
dissolute crew, the decus et ornamentum, of the martyr
times of the church! If you say these are picked in-
stances, I deny it, so far as my argument is concerned
in the comparison; and I affirm the general fact that the
measures taken by the Romish church, at different pe-
riods, to enforce the celibacy of the clergy, and to bring
the monastic institution under the tremendous, but neces-
sary sanctions which at length were resorted to for hold-
ing it entire, were in the main, measures of reform, found,
by abundant and lengthened experience, to be indispen-
sable as the means of excluding, or repressing the worst
abuses; — that is to say, so long as the core of the institu-
tion— the immemorial doctrine of religious celibacy, was
to be maintained, in the position it had ever held, as an
essential element of Christianity. In a word, the plain fact
is, that this foremost and hinging article of ancient Christi-
anity, after having, from century to century, been im-
bodied in a milder or less compact form, and its usages
enforced with less rigour, and after having in this loose
form, ulcerated the church in a frightful manner, was at
124
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
length brought into some order by the strenuous hand of
authority, aided indeed by the mad fanaticism of certain
fiery spirits. The venerable doctrine of the merit of re-
ligious celibacy has proved itself to be utterly impracti-
cable under any conditions less severe than those which
have, since the middle ages, rendered the religious houses,
when vigorously governed, dens of cruelty and despair.
But then nothing can be more inequitable than to charge
these horrors upon Romanism. The church of Rome
has done, in these instances, the best it could, to bring
the cumbrous abomination bequeathed to it by the saints
and doctors and martyrs of the pristine age, into a ma-
nageable condition. And if we are to hear much more
of the "corruptions of popery," as opposed to " primi-
tive purity," there will be no alternative but freely to
lay open the sewers of the early church, and to allow
them to disgorge their contents upon the wholesome air.
We must now, however, pursue our proposed chain
of evidences a little: farther, and for the purpose of sub-
stantiating, by more than one or two instances, the ge-
neral proposition, that the lapse of many centuries, though
it might give form and consistency to certain mistaken
notions, did not materially, if at all, advance the princi-
ples whence the whole system originated. This is the
very point which, in my view at least, is more than any
other, of importance in relation to the controversy at
present agitated, and you must pardon me, if I seem to
be taking unnecessary pains in fully establishing it. On
these subjects utter misapprehensions have extensively
prevailed, which will not easily give way. Before we
reprobate popes, councils, and Romanist saints, let us
fairly see what sort of system it was which the doctors
and martyrs of the highest antiquity had delivered into
their care and custody. We protestants are prompt
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
125
enough to condemn the pontiffs, or St. Bernard; but let
inquiry be made concerning the Christianity imbodied
in the writings of those to whom popes and doctors
looked up, as their undoubted masters.
There can hardly be a more pertinent comparison* in
relation to our present purpose, than the one I now in-
stitute between the illustrious and highly gifted, as well
as potent abbot of Clairvaux, and his fiery predecessor
in the same field of labour, Tertullian. In such a pa-
rallel we find, brought into opposition, not indeed the
formal institutions, and the legalized practices of the an-
cient, and of the later church, which are circumstantials
only, variable in themselves, and of no importance in
relation to any controversy that can be carried on among
protestants; but the intimate character, or, as Lord Bacon
would have termed it, the inner form, of the two systems,
which in truth are not two, but one and the same. An
interval of nine hundred years is surely a sufficient space
for showing, in any case, and very distinctly, the gradual
operation of time, in modifying opinions, and usages,
whether secular or ecclesiastical. If little or no pro-
gression be discernible within the compass of almost a
thousand years, we may pretty confidently assume that
the system in question had reached its maturity at the
earliest date. In truth, the period marked off from the
entire field of church history, by these two remarkable
names, may properly be considered as inclusive of all
those characteristics of ancient Christianity, which can
have any bearing upon modern controversies. Popery
has at no moment of its entire existence, been more it-
self, than it was in the age of St. Bernard, and of his
nurseling, Innocent II., nor is ancient Christianity,
as distinguished from the Christianity of the New Tes-
126
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
lament, to be met with any where else (at this early date)
so vividly pictured, as in the writings of the African
presbyter. Nor can any fair demur be taken against
him (so far as my present purpose is concerned) either on
the general ground, of the intemperance and extravagance
of his dispositions, or the particular ground of li is fall
into Montanism; inasmuch as I shall avail myself of his
expressions only so far as they may safely be considered
as indicative of the sentiments of the church at the time,
as well as of practices then prevalent, and so far too, as
these expressions and sentiments were afterwards caught
up, authenticated, and expanded, by the series of catho-
lic writers, beginning witli his contemporaries, and on-
wards. In this instance I foresee and preclude the ob-
jection which will be raised against Tertullian's evidence,
by confining myself to passages which mny be matched,
substantially, from the works of the most orthodox and
the most esteemed fathers.
But it is necessary to my purpose, first to give a sam-
ple of the ripe Catholicism (in this particular feature of
the ecclesiastical system) of the twelfth century; and
then to compare with it the boasted "pristine Christi-
anity," of the second or third century; that is to say, of
a period when the immediate successors of the apostles
were still personally remembered.
The religious course, character, and writings of St.
Bernard are, in a very extraordinary degree, fraught with
pertinent and affecting instruction, and I should venture
to say that a full and dispassionate statement of what this
eminent man felt, and professed to feel, and of what he
did, and of what he incited others to do, or permitted
them to cloak witli his name, would afford as effective
a caution as could be found against the lamentable illu-
sions by which fervent religious minds, in every age,
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
127
have been endangered. At the present moment, the un-
expected appearance, and wide prevalence of a species
of religion vividly exemplified in the character and con-
duct of St. Bernard, mark him as the very instance which
young and ardent minds should seriously consider.
The animated, spirit-stirring writings of this father, as
entertaining as they are instructive, abound with tender,
as well as vehement and vituperative reproofs of the cor-
ruptions prevailing in the church, in his times, and espe-
cially of the abuses which, in every age, have been con-
nected with the unnatural doctrine and practice of reli-
gious celibacy. A volume might be filled with these re-
monstrant rhapsodies. " Heartily do 1 wish," says he,
addressing the clergy, " that it were more the practice
among us, of those who undertake to build a tower, to
sit down first, and count the cost, lest haply they find
themselves wanting in the means to finish their work.
Heartily do I wish that those who, as it seems, have so
little command over their passions, and rashly make pro*
fession of perfection, would scruple to enrol their names
in the lists of celibacy. Cosily indeed is this tower,
and of great import is that word which all cannot re-
ceive. Better far were it to secure salvation on the low
level of the faithful commonalty, than, in the loftiness
of the clerical dignity, to live worse than they, and to
be judged more severely." Expressions these, very
nearly resembling those of St. Cyprian, above cited.
One's heart might bleed in following some of St. Ber-
nard's amplifications on this subject. But no proof of
the impracticability, or of the pernicious tendency, or of
the cruelly of this main article of ancient Christianity,
could avail to lead even those who best understood hu-
man nature, to call in question either its validity or its
i'28 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
excellence: on the contrary, the worse it was found to
be in its working, (and this is an ordinary occurrence in
matters of religion,) the more extravagant were the en-
comiums lavished upon it. 1 need hardly remind you
that, in St. Bernard's sense, the term chastity does not
mean that Christian and rational purity of the heart
which the apostles recommend, and which they urge as
well upon the married as the unmarried ; but that artifi-
cial and external purity of the monastic system5, to which
the married could make no pretensions.
" What so fair as this chastity, — which makes, of a
man, an angel? A chaste man and an angel differ in-
deed as to felicity, but not as to virtue; for, although
the purity of the angel be the happier of the two, that
of the man must be admitted to be the more energetic.
It is chastity, and that alone, which, in this abode of
mortality, holds forth the state of immortal glory. This
alone, (on earth,) where the rites of marriage are so-
lemnized, vindicates the manners of that blessed region,
where they neither marry, nor are given in marriage;
offering, as one may say, an example, or experiment, on
earth, of that heavenly mode of life. . . In this earthly
vessel of ours is contained the fragrant balsam, (of chas-
tity,) by virtue of which the mortal elements are con-
served incorrupt This is the glory of the single
life, to live the life of an angel, while occupying the body,
as of a beast."
This is the string, harped upon again and again, that
the religious ccelebs was " an angel among beings of an
inferior order."
*' Who, then, should scruple to call the life of the re-
ligious ccelebs a celestial, an angelic life ? or what will
all the elect be in the resurrection, which ye are not even
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
129
now, as the angels of God in heaven, who abstain from
matrimonial connexions ? Ye grasp, my beloved brethren,
the pearl of great price ; ye grasp that sanctity which
renders you" like to the saints (in glory) and the home
servants of God, as saith the scripture — Incorruptness
places us next to God. Not by your own merits, are ye
what ye are ; but by the grace of God : and, as to chas-
tity and sanctity, I may call you — terrestrial angels,
or rather citizens of heaven, although still pilgrims upon
earth ; for, so long as we are in the body, we are absent
from the Lord/' In all this, and pa^es to the same ef-
fect miijht easily be adduced, you will not fail to notice
that constant characteristic of the fathers — the appropria-
tion, or usurpation of the Scriptures, in behalf of the
elite of the church ; thus depriving the mass of Chris-
tians of almost all their share in its promises and con-
solations. In a word, the entire system of ancient
Christianity, was a monopoly of salvation, leaving, to all
but the few, nothing better than a remote and precarious
probability of an ultimate and far distant escape from
perdition. Was this the gospel, preached by the apos-
tles ? Yet, as we shall see, it was the natural conse-
quence of the false principle we are now exposing; and
it is a consequence inseparable from every similar error
in regard to Christian institutions.
While St. Bernard is before me, I must notice a par-
ticular, which I may hereafter lose sight of, but which
well deserves a passing observation, in connexion with
the system of sentiments recommended in the Oxford
Tracts. Our author was a most ardent and loquacious,
nay, I must really say, a most gallant admirer of the
queen of heaven. Very many entire pages of fulsome
and florid rhetoric are devoted to her peculiar honour,
12
130
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
and every epithet that the most exorbitant superstition
could coin, animated by sundry erotic phrases, is coined,'
or adapted to the purpose of lilting this " unique being,'*
the "dispensatrix of the universe," and " dowager of cre-
ation," above the level of things finite. It is, therefore,
only what we might expect, that St. Bernard is a great
stickler for that capital article of ancient orthodoxy —
the " perpetual virginity of the blessed Mary," a denial of
which actually horrified every stanch churchman. But
why, it may be asked, was there all this anxiety on a
point* apparently so remote from any practical bearing?"
Why? — because the blessed Virgin — "always virgin,"
as the Oxford writers are now telling us, with a solemn
and significant emphasis, — was wanted, as the patroness
of celibacy, and the bright example of immaculate chas-
tity. To have admitted the plain sense of. the intelligi-
ble phrase employed by the inspired evangelist, in refe-
rence to this inconsequential point, would have been
tantamount to a betrayal of the whole scheme of ecele-
siastical celibacy. Only let it be granted that the virtue
of the "mother of God" was simply real virtue, and
that her piety was a principle of the heart, and that her
purity was the purity of the affections ; and only allow
that she was a holy woman, and an exemplary wife and
mother, such as the apostles speak of, and commend,
only to have done this, would have marred the entire
scheme of theology and morals, as fancied, fashioned,
and perfected by the ancient church. The perpetual in-
violateness of the blessed Virgin was well felt to be the
key-stone of the building; or, to change the figure,
Mary's unloosened zone was the tier of the ecclesias-
tical dome, the rending of which would have been a uni-
versal crash. So firm and fixed are those analogies
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
131
which bind systems together, when, from age to age,
they reappear, that, by a perhaps unconscious and in-
stinctive tendency, the modern promulgators of ancient
Christianity are, with a significant sensitiveness, pro-
truding this great orthodox verity, of the perpetual vir-
ginity of the mother of God: they are just putting it
forth, or shoving it forward in advance of their steps,
as an indispensable preparative for their after-work, in
church reform. Do not imagine that this point is an in-
significant one : you will find that it touches the inti-
mate springs of the system ; and I venture to predict,
that, unless these good men take the alarm in time, and
hold back a little, until they feel their success to be bet-
ter assured, we shall hear something more than we have
yet heard, about the " always virgin." Listen, for one
moment, to our zealous advocate of Mary's honours ;
and there is the more reason for doing so, because, as
we shall find, he only echoes the voice of all antiquity,
keeping to the quod semper, quod ubique, quod ab om-
nibus, concerning so fundamental a principle of religion.
"She alone," says St. Bernard, " of all born of women,
was born without sin, and preserved sinless throughout
her life. Well indeed did become the queen of virgins,
this singular privilege of sanctity, to pass a life abso-
lutely exempt from sin !" Thus, and with equal zeal
and confidence, at least as to the " perpetual virginity,"
speak the devout Basil, the truly great Athanasius, and
fifty others — all inwardly, if not avowedly conscious,
thrt this article of their faith was of vital consequence
to their system.
" How are my eyes dazzled by the splendour of the
diadem of our queen, which illuminates the universe . . .
what then are the stars in this refulgent diadem — the chie("
132 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
honours of virginity, and these prerogatives — to have
conceived without corruption — to have been gravid with-
out burden — to have given birth without pain! . . . ."
In fact, this Cybele of the fathers was to be consti-
tuted a goddess, in all points, and she became, at length,
the real and principal object of the religious sentiments
of the (so called) Christian world. But who, let it be
asked, were the authors of this unutterable idolatry?
Who was it that set these blasphemies a-going? — not
the popes, not the later Roman doctors; but none other
tli an the early teachers of Christianity, who, having once
assumed a false principle in religion, were thenceforward
carried, by a latent and irresistible tendency, to adopt
every absurd and impious notion that might favour it. I
might, to some good purpose, detain you yet with St.
Bernard, on whose pages, and entirely apart from his
Romanism, we find expanded the gay petals of those
buds which already show their colours in the writings
of the early fathers. I have gathered a sample only,
such as may serve to arrest attention, when brought into
comparison with corresponding passages of a thousand
years' earlier date.
'* But now, let me ask," says St. Bernard, address-
ing the clerjzy, M how do the bishops and priests of this
our age study to preserve that sanctity of continence, in
heart and person, without which no man shall see the
Lord? Truly hath the Lord, in the gospel, said to
bishops, and without doubt it was so in the primitive
church, let your loins be girt, thereby not merely ap-
proving but commanding chastity (celibacy) — the Holy
Spirit this signifying, that no one should come near the
table of the Lord, or approach that angels' food, unless
purified in mind and body; — that is, by the observance
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
133
of a strict celibacy. But how do we regard this injunc-
tion?— I think it better, on this head, to dissimulate a
little, rather than, by speaking out, to say what might
scandalize the innocent and uninformed. And yet why
should I scruple to speak of that, which they (the bishops
and clergy) do not blush to perpetrate? Brethren, I am
become a fool; but ye have compelled me."
A passage presents itself, in this connexion, which,
while it affords a characteristic example of the perverted
style of applying scripture, is curious, as a conceit played
with by writer after writer, from Tertullian to St. Ber-
nard, and as we have seen, among others by Cyprian.
" I beseech you, my beloved sister, hear with all re-
verence the word of exhortation. . . . The thirty-fold is
the first degree, and it signifies the alliances of the mar-
ried; the sixty-fold is the second step, and signifies the
continence of widows; the hundred-fold is the third step,
in this gradation of ranks; and it intends the crown of
chastity, destined for virgins. . . . Conjugal virtue is
good, the virtue of widows is better; but best is the in-
tegrity of absolute virginity. Nevertheless, better is an
humble widow, than a haughty virgin; better a widow
mourning her sins, than a virgin boasting of her virgi-
nity. . . . Nor ought such to contemn, or to glory over,
married women, living virtuously. When, therefore,
honest wives frequent the monastery, despise them not;
they are the handmaidens of the Lord; love them as mo-
thers. And thou, say not that thou art a dry tree, for if
thou lovest thy Spouse, Christ, thou hast seven sons;
thy first-born, is modesty, thy second, patience, thy
third, sobriety, thy fourth, temperance, thy fifth, charity,
thy sixth, humility, thy seventh, chastity. Thus hast
thou, my venerable sister, by the Holy Ghost, borne
12*
134
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
unto Christ, and without pain, seven sons; that the scrip-
ture might be fulfilled — the barren hath borne seven."
Once more, and requesting you to turn to a passage al-
ready quoted from C} prian, take the following, which
may suffice to show that the sentiment and style of speak-
ing characteristic of ripened Romanism, was nothing but
an echo of the sentiments and language of the earliest
times; as will farther appear from other evidence I have
to produce.
" We come now to contemplate the lily blossom: and
see, O thou, the virgin of Christ! see how much fairer
is this thy flower, than any other! look at the special
grace which, beyond any other flower of the earth, it
hath obtained! Nay, listen to the commendation be-
stowed upon it by the Spouse himself, when he saith —
Consider the lilies of the field (the virgins) how they
grow, and yet I say unto you that Solomon in all his
glory, was not arrayed like one of these! Read there-
fore, O virgin, and read again, and often read again, and
again, this word of thy Spouse, and understand how,
in the commendation of this flower, he commends thy
glory! He, the all-wise Creator, and Architect of all
things, veils all the glory of this world, just with thy
blossom: nor only is the glory equalled by the flower;
but he sets the flower above all glory. In the glory of
Solomon you are to understand that, whatever is rich
and great on earth, and the choicest of all, is prefigured;
and in the bloom of thy lily, which is thy likeness, and
that of all the virgins of Christ, the glory of virginity
is intended See how, in this song of loves, the
Spouse insists upon his fondness for thee — the lily —
saying, as the lily among the thorns, so is my beloved
among the daughters; and again, my beloved goes up
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
135
to his spicy flower beds, and gathers lilies. Admirable
lily! the love of the Spouse! lovely lily! which is ga-
thered by the Spouse! Not truly, as I ween, is it ga-
thered that it should wither; but that it should be laid
upon the golden altar, which is before the eyes of the
Lord. . . . Virginity hath indeed a two-fold prerogative,
a virtue which, in others, is single only; for while all
the church is virgin in sold, having neither spot, nor
wrinkle; being incorrupt in faith, hope, and charity, on
which account it is called a virgin, and merits the praises
of the Spouse, what praise, think you, are our lilies
worthy of, who possess this purity in body, as well as
in soul, which the church at large has in soul only! In
truth, the virgins of Christ are, as we may say, the fat
and marrow of the church, and by right of an excellence
altogether peculiar to themselves, they enjoy his most
familiar embraces."
A passage already cited from Cyprian, and a passage
too, not cited (occurring in his treatise on the attire of
nuns) though not bo pretty, is substantially equivalent to
this of St. Bernard; and it goes the whole length of those
utterly improper accommodations, which, when ad-
dressed to sickly and sensitive feminine imaginations,
must have had a most pernicious and degrading ten-
dency.
So sprightly a conceit as this, was not to be hastily
thrown aside, and we find the reverend gallant, with the
bevy of fair ladies before him, carrying on his pleasant
discourse much farther than we have, at present, either
leisure or inclination to follow him. We shall soon see
in what style the hot and crabbed Tertullian handles si-
milar topics; not nearly indeed so much in the mode of
the rosy-lipped, and scented petit maitre, but yet so as
136
A TEST OF THE ?<IORAL CONDITION
to include all the substance of the same system of per-
verted theology, and of miserably corrupt morality.
But before adducing my next set of evidences, I re-
quest you again to notice the instances contained in the
above quotations, of what I have called the usurping of
scripture, and which is the general characteristic of the
early Christian divines — that is, the taking texts in spe-
cial senses, not simply in the way of misapplication (a
fault that has been too common in all ages) but restrict-
ing a passage which manifestly bears a broad meaning,
to some technical purpose; thus robbing the church at
large of its portion; as in an instance above cited, where,
whatever is said concerning instruction and correction,
is made to mean — the discipline of the monastery: or
when, as we find in St. Bernard, purity and sanctity are
made to mean — virginity, and ah artificial abjuration of
the social relationships. Now you may be charitably
willing to believe that this was nothing worse that an
incidental error of practice, in the interpretation of scrip-
ture. For my own part, meeting with it, as I do, every
where, or nearly so, in the remains of Christian an-
tiquity; and especially in connexion with the supersti-
tions of the early church, I regard it as the natural re-
sult, and the inevitable concomitant, of the adoption of a
grand false principle in religion, the support of which
absolutely demanded, at every turn, some such introver-
sion of the plain meaning of the inspired writers. But
this is a subject of such prime significance, as that it
will ask to be more fully considered hereafter.
I am now to bring forward the most vigorous, as well
as one of the earliest of the Christian writers, and the
contemporary of men who had conversed with the im-
mediate successors of the apostles.
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
137
Tertullian, in the first of his epistles to his wife, dis-
suading her from contracting a second marriage, in the
event of his death (a curious affair altogether) says —
" against all (specious reasons of a contrary tendency,
and which he had enumerated) employ the example of
our sisters (the dedicated virgins) whose names are with
the Lord — penes Dominum (enrolled as nuns in the
church books) and who place sanctity (that is to say,
virginity) above all considerations of beauty or of youth,
which might induce them to marry: they had rather be
married to the Lord; in his eyes fair, on him they wait
as his handmaids, with him they live; with him they
converse ; him, night and day they handle (tractant;)
their prayers, as their dowry, they render to him, and
from him, as pin money, they receive, from time, to
time, whatsoever they desire. Thus have they now an-
ticipated that eternal good which is the gift of the Lord,
and thus, while on earth, in not marrying, they are reck-
oned as belonging to the angelic household. By
using the example of women, such as these, you will
incite, in yourself, an emulation of their continence,
and by the spiritual taste break down carnal affections,
freeing your soul from the stains of the transitory de-
sires belonging to youth and beauty, by the thought of
the recompense of immortal benefits."
You will observe in this passage first, the clear re-
ference to the established custom, at this early time, of
vowing perpetual virginity; and then, that identity of
principle, and analogy of sentiment, and even corre-
spondence in terms, which all serve to support my pro-
position, That this principal element of ancient Chris-
tianity, was as fully developed, or nearly so, in the se-
cond and third century, as in the thirteenth. In what
138
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
follows you will readily distinguish the extravagance of
Tertullian's personal opinions, from those generally ad-
mitted notions, on the ground of which he argues in ad-
dressing others. It is with the latter, not the former,
that we are at present concerned. In the passage to be
cited, our author gives the clue (which may indeed else-
where be found clearly enough, and of which, hereafter,
I must make some use) to the institution of celibacy, as
a permanent order in the church. Satan had his de-
voted widows, and his virgin priestesses, and should not
Christ have the like? The well-known heathen prac-
tices, in this respect, were looked upon with a sort of
jealousy, by the ill-judging leaders of the church, who
deemed it a point of honour, not to be outdone in any
extravagant act or practice of devotion, by the gentiles,
over whom they might have been content to claim the
genuine superiority of real virtue. The same fatal am-
bition, as we shall see hereafter, operated as a principal
means of perverting the ritual and system of worship,
and of spoiling, in all its parts, the simplicity of the
gospel.
" Among the heathen," says Tertullian, " a strictness
of discipline, in this respect, is observed, which ours do
not submit to. But these restraints the devil imposes on
his servants, and he is obeyed; and hereby stimulates
the servants of God to reach an equal virtue. The priests
of gehenna retain their continence; for the devil knows
how to destroy men, even in the practice of the virtues;
and he cares not, so that he does but slay them, whether
it be by the indulgence of the flesh, or by mortifying it."
Well would it have been for the church, had this dou-
ble dealing of the adversary been thoroughly understood,
and so those devices resisted, which were as fatal to the
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
139
serious and fervent as the common bails of sensuality
are to the mass of mankind ! A false principle once as-
sumed, under strong excitements, has the power to in-
fatuate even the strongest and the best informed minds,
and to lead them to any extent of extravagance. Thus
Ave find our author, having firmly attached himself to
the then prevalent belief, that there could be no virtue or
purity, worth the name, apart from celibacy; or, in other
words, that even the lawful matrimonial connexion was,
in some degree, of the nature of vice; or was, as some
of them did not scruple to term it, stuprum conjugale,
goes about, with a perverse ingenuity, to prove that God
had, under the new dispensation of grace, actually re-
scinded the constitutions of nature. This instance of
audacious exposition is really remarkable.
..." The command — Increase and multiply, is abo-
lished. Yet, as I think (contrary to the gnostic opinion)
this command, in the first instance, and now the removal
of it, are from one and the same God ; who then, and
in that early seed-time of the human race, gave the reins
to the marrying principle, until the world should be re-
plenished, and until lie had prepared the elements of a
new scheme of discipline. But now, in this conclusion
of the ages, he restrains what once he had let loose, and
revokes what he had permitted. The same reason go-
verns the continuance, at first, of that which is to pre-
pare for the future. In a thousand instances, indulgence
is granted to the beginnings of things. So it is that a
man plants a wood, and allows it to grow, intending, in
due time, to use the axe. The wood, then, is the old
dispensation, which is done away by the gospel, in
which the axe is laid to the root of the tree."
Had Tertullian never read our Lord's solemn re-an-
nouncement of the old law — " wherefore a man shall
140
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
leave," &c, or Paul's assertion of the apostolic liberty;
to "lead about a wife," or his injunction that the minis-
ters of religion should be husbands ? But all this took
no hold of his mind, inasmuch as he, and the church of
his time, had thoroughly substituted for the genuine idea
of virtue and purity, an artificial and unnatural institute,
having its gradations of excellence, the topmost glory
being claimed for the Lord's spotless nuns ! Thus was
the form of godliness zealously cared for, while the sub-
stance of it was forgotten.
" May it not suffice thee to have fallen from that high
rank of immaculate virginity, by once marrying, and so
descending to a second stage of honour? Must thou yet
fall farther; even to a third, to a fourth, and, perhaps,
yet lower?" ....
It was the inevitable consequence (a consequence
which, in fact, instantly followed) of the notion that
celibacy was a high merit, and matrimony a defilement
and a discredit, that this peculiar advantage should at-
tach to the ministers of religion: the natural inference is
expressly pointed out by most of the early writers ; and
thus it came about that the Lord's appointment, declared
in so many words, was nullified by the absurd and im-
pious inventions of men. Very early the married clergy
were regarded as a degraded class, insulted by their ar-
rogant, and often profligate, or, at least, fanatical col-
leagues, and held in no esteem by the people. Of what
avail is it, then, to inquire at what date, precisely, the
celibacy of the clergy was authoritatively enjoined, as if
we wished to make good an impeachment of the papal
power? This injunction, and the enforcement of it,
ought rather to be regarded as acts of mercy, than as
instances of tyranny; so long as the ancient principle of
the merit of celibacy was to be maintained. For, in fact.
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
141
submission to a universally imposed law is far easier
than a compliance with a variable custom, or prejudice,
which may be broken through. Under painful condi-
tions of any kind, the mind much sooner acquiesces in
a stern, irrevocable rule, than in a partial and often re-
laxed usage. Besides, the enforcement of celibacy re-
moved, at once, the invidious distinction that had ob-
tained between the married and the unmarried clergy; and
it set the seculars, at least, all on one level. It was an
act of mercy, therefore, quite as much as of severity;
and, for ourselves, we must not be so inequitable as to
throw the blame upon popery. Who was it, but the
doctors of the pristine church, that have made themselves
answerable for the corruptions and the miseries, the tears,
the agonies of remorse, the perversions of nature, the
debaucheries, the cruelties, that have directly resulted
from the celibacy of the clergy, through a long course
of ages (not to include, now, the monkish institutions)
who but the sincere and devout, many of them, but
deplorably mistaken, men that, are now quoted as our
masters in Christian ethics and theology?
But I have not quite done with Tertullian. The legal
education and dialectic habits of this writer, as well as
his natural sagacity, made him perceive more clearly,
and, perhaps, sooner than others, that practices such as
those involved in the discipline and order of celibacy
could not be maintained, or enforced, even after perverse
ingenuity and exorbitant rhetoric had done their ut-
most, in the way of exaggeration, without the aid of
some general principle, such as should bear any weigh*
that might be thrown upon it, and which the scriptures
could not be made to sustain. We, therefore, find him
very deliberately going to work to lay this necessary
ia
142
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
foundation, whereon might be reared, and whereon, in
fact, has been reared, a vast and ever-growing super-
structure of superstition, human devices, and tyrannous
canons.
In commencing the present argument with the subject
of the ancient doctrine concerning virginity, I have felt
that it would open to us the most accessible, and the
most direct path, to the principle which is really at issue
between the favourers of antiquity and their opponents;
and I think you will admit, in the end, that I have not
taken up the wrong clue. In the treatise concerning the
veiling of nuns — by the way, do not startle at the term
as employed by a writer of the pristine age, for at this
time the word virgo had, among church writers, already
acquired its technical sense, and, in fact, conveyed all
the meaning afterwards attached to the more peculiar
epithet nonna; in this elaborate treatise, in which all
the subtleties of a special pleader are exhausted upon a
theme utterly frivolous, Tertullian, at the outset, having
laid down the immoveable principles of faith, as summa-
rily expressed in the apostles' creed, affirms that what
affects discipline and Christian behaviour, must admit
perpetual correction (or alteration) even to the end of
time; as it were to adapt the Christian scheme to the in
cessant opposite agency of the devil. " Wherefore it is
that the Lord hath sent the Comforter, that, as the fee-
bleness of human nature could not at once receive the
whole truth, it might, by degrees, be directed and regu-
lated, and led on, until the system of discipline had
reached perfection, under the vicarious influence of the
Holy Spirit of the Lord (ab illo vicario Domini Spiritu
sancto.) "I have many things yet to say unto you,"
saith he, " but ye cannot sustain them at present : but
when He, the Spirit of truth is come, he will lead you
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
143
into all truth, and will declare to you things that are to
be superadded," (supervenientia, instead of quae venturae
sunt) — concerning1 which office (of the Spirit) he had
above spoken. What, then, is this administration of
the Comforter, unless it consist in such things as these
— that matters of discipline be ordered, that the (sense
of the) scriptures be opened, that the mind (of the
church) be restored, and that it should be advanced to-
ward what is better? There is nothing that does not
advance by age. All things wait upon time, as the
preacher saith, there is a time for every thing. Look
at the natural world, and see the plant gradually ripen-
ing to its fruit, first a mere grain; from the grain arises
the green stalk, and from the stalk shoots up the shrub;
then the boughs and branches get strength, and the tree
is complete: thence the swelling bud; and from the bud,
the blossom; and from the flower the fruit; which, at the
first crude and shapeless, by little and little proceeds,
and attains its ripe softness and flavour. And so in re-
ligion, (justitia,) for it is the same God of nature, and of
religion: at first in its rudiments only, nature surmising
something concerning God; then by the law and the
prophets advanced to its infant state; then by the gospel
it reached the heats of youth ; and now, by the Com-
forter, is moulded to its maturity."
In the tract, De Corona, in a passage which has of
late been several times quoted, and to which I must
hereafter revert, Tertullian expounds the same principle ;
but farther on, in the same, after going through with his
argument on the grounds of nature, scripture, and custom,
or the established discipline of the apostolic churches,
our author proceeds, " Scripture is of God, nature is of
God, discipline (usage) is of God ; and whatever con-
tradicts these is not of God. If in any case scripture
144
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
be ambiguous, nature is indubitable, and, sustained by-
its testimony, scripture cannot be uncertain ; or if there
were yet any doubt concerning the evidence of nature,
the discipline, (usage of the churches) which is more
directly authenticated by God, shows the way."
With a more important purpose in hand, I refrain
from quoting the amusing peroration of this tract. Let
us pause then a moment upon the passage quoted, which
so appositely concludes the citations already made, un-
der this head of my argument. We have seen, not
merely the fact attested, of the early existence of the
institution of celibacy, as a standing and prominent part
of the ecclesiastical system, but have heard the cha-
racteristic sentiments, and the artificial notions which
were the strength of this institution, advanced as expli-
citly by early, as by later writers; and now we find the
broad principle formally assumed, and asserted, which
might not merely underprop the discipline of celibacy,
but sustain all other additions to the Christianity of the
scriptures, and in fact give solidity to whatever consti-
tutes the mass of abominations summarily called, popery.
Is then Tertullian's doctrine — his fundamental church
axiom, a good one? Is it true, or not, that Christianity,
as revealed and verbally expressed in the canonical
writings, is a mere sketch, or rough draft, of that mature
truth, which, by little and little, was to be granted to
the church, through the medium of its doctors, and un-
der the guidance of the Holy Spirit? If so, then is
there any where else we can look for the progressive
expansion of this ever-growing truth, but to the church
of Rome; or. if we like it better, the Greek church?
Where is the tree to be found, laden with its fruit, but
where the plant was set? At this rate, protestantism,
under whatever pretext, is nothing better than a multifa-
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
145
rious blasphemy, and a high sin against the Holy Ghost:
and what have its martyrs been, but the justly punished
enemies of God and the church?
If Tertullian's principle of a slow development of
truth be sound, then every separate item of the Romish
superstitions and encroachments, was really a new fa-
vour* granted to the church from above ; — or if not, or
if there are any exceptions, who shall come in, and
name these exceptions, or enable us to distinguish be-
tween the genuine, and the spurious developments of the
great seheme? At this rate, the enormities of the mo-
nastic institution, and the compulsory celibacy of the
clergy, the superstition of relics, the invocation of saints,
the communion in one kind, the mass in Latin, the uni-
versal vicarship of the bishop of Rome, the secular
powers wielded by the church, and — the denial of the
scriptures to the laity, are all so many boons, graciously
sent down from on high, as parts and parcels of that
adult symmetry which is at length to be the glory of the
mature church. But who shall say why, if this princi-
ple be assumed, we should make a stand at tridentine
Romanism ? Has the Spirit withdrawn from the church;
lias the promise of the Lord been revoked; are the fa-
vours of heaven exhausted; are there yet no truths in
reserve; is the treasury of divine elements so soon
emptied? — on the contrary, we ought to be looking
every day for some farther apocalypse, some new and
heaven-born institute, or practice: nay, it is only pious
to believe, that the progressive manifestation shall go on,
until the vast discrepancy between the ripened Chris-
tianity of a remote age, and its rude commencement,
as consignedto the canonical writings, shall utterly dis-
miss these as obsolete and void. It is thus, in fact, that
13^
146
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION'
the church, after she had made so much progress in ad-
vance of her first position, as to render the contrast be-
tween herself and scriptural Christianity a matter of scan-
dal to the simple, wisely (and indeed of necessity) inter-
dicted the perusal of the Bible; nor can she be accused, in
this instance, and if her principle be good, of having
deprived the people of any real or important benefit; for
why should we wish to revert from a more perfect, to a
less perfect exhibition of the divine mind? To look to
the scriptures, instead of looking to the church of our own
times, is as if those under the theocratic dispensation,
had, in contempt of their prerogatives, relapsed to natu-
ral religion; or as if the first Christians had sought to
reinstate Judaism.
Yen must not think that, in all this, I either exagge-
rate the consequences of the doctrine in question, or be-
stow upon it more regard than it deserves. Nothing
can be more clear or direct than is the inference, as it
flows from the premises, nor do I know that the essence
of the argument with which at the present moment we are
concerned, can be much less exceptionably stated than it
is by Tertullian, in the passage I have quoted. Was
Christianity complete and mature in the hands of the
apostles, or was it then in the bud merely, waiting to be
expanded and ripened by the suns and showers of many
centuries? If we assume the former position, and deny
altogether Tertullian's doctrine, then we must not only
reject popery and its usurpations, but the immemorial
errors also of ancient Christianity.
I do not forget that, in reference to the above-cited
principle, it would be easy to refute Tertullian — out of
Tertullian, (a mode of treatment to which every intem-
perate and wayward writer is open) for when he under-
takes to deal with heretics, and feels that he must have
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
147
ground to stand upon that will afford him support in
overturning their foolish novelties, he "prescribes"
them with stringent references to the unchanging autho-
rity of scripture, as sustained by the continuous and
concurrent testimony of the apostolic churches. But
then, mark the predicament in which we stand.— If we
are compelled to make a choice between the two Ter-
tullians, considered as the champions of the notions and
practices of the church at that time, it must be the writer
of the passage above cited, not the more sound divine
whom we find trampling upon the crew of heretics, that
will serve our purpose. The protestant Tertullian may
indeed be the most to our taste of the two; but then he
condemns, by a clear implication, all the most favourite
practices of that early age. It is, therefore, the iridcn-
tine Tertullian of whose rhetoric we must avail ourselves,
for the defence of those articles of ancient Christianity
which some are now fondly admiring, and would fain
restore.
It is thus too with Vincent of Lerins, so often quoted of
late. None better than he, bars the church door against
heretics, or the broachers of new doctrines; but then,
unfortunately, as in some cases, the bar of a door is
found to be the most potent instrument one can lay
hands upon, to employ as a croiv, or lever, for breaking it
open, so are the densely compacted paragraphs of the
cogent Vincent, convertible, in the readiest manner, to
the purpose of demolishing, not merely Romanism, but
the superstitious Christianity of the eastern, and of the
western churches, such as it was in the writer's times.
Give us but that excellent tract, the Commonitorium,
and we might defy, single-handed, all the Bellarmines
of the papacy, and all the fathers; and, with due
modesty be it spoken, the entire band of the Oxford
148
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
Tract writers. But of this more perhaps in another
place.
The often-repeated opinions to which my first propo-
sition stands opposed, would, if correct, justify the ex-
pectation that, in taking so long a period as four or five
hundred years, any where out of the sixteen hundred pre-
ceding the reformation, one should be able, without any
ambiguity, to trace the progress of religious corruption,
and that it would be easy to say — such and such false
notions, or extravagant sentiments, are characteristic of
the later time, from which errors the earlier age is al-
together exempt: but in reference to the subject now
before us (and I think not to this alone) such an expec-
tation is by no means borne out by the evidence. I
must profess to be entirely unable to draw any line of
very obvious distinction, marking the advances of folly,
error, or corruption, in this particular, during the lapse
of fourteen centuries. Some writers, it is true, such as
Gregory the Great, or Palladius, are much more extra-
vagant than some others, on this point; but then this dif-
ference attaches to the individual, and has no reference
whatever to the place he occupies, chronologically, in
the series.
To render our notions, in this instance, as definite as
possible, I would look at the subject in different lights,
and, in doing so, I find only one respect in which ihe
influence of time is clearly to be traced, in rendering the
doctrine and practice of religious celibacy of a later age
unlike what it had been at an earlier lime; and this,
which 1 have already alluded to, relates to those purelv
ecclesiastical enactments, and points of discipline, which,
from time to time, were found to be indispensable, as
corrective of the abuses whereto the entire system was
obnoxious. These changes, or amendments, it would
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
149
serve no purpose whatever, as related to our present ar-
gument, to specify. Let it be remembered, however,
that, although they may have implied some stretches of
tyranny, they are not, generally, of the nature of pro-
gressive corruptions.
In every other respect, time made nothing essentially
worse than it had been almost from the first. To come
to instances : — if we are thinking of those abject and
frivolous observances that have attached to the monastic
modes of life, and to the devotional routine of the mo-
nastery, 1 would request any who may be inclined to
demur at my representations, to compare whatever de-
scriptions he may choose to select of the mummeries of
the monasticism of the twelfth century, with the Insti-
tutes of Cassian, which contain the principles and the
minute details of the monastic institution, as it had al-
ready been digested, and then long practised, in the
east, and the west, so early as the fourth century. There
may be variations, distinguishing the two schemes of
life; but will a reasonable man affirm that there is any
thing to choose or to prefer in the more ancient model?
There is no degradation of the intellect, no bondage of
the moral sentiments, no fatal substitution of forms for
realities; there is no ineffable drivelling belonging to the
middle age monkery, that may not be matched, to the
full, in the monkery of the bright times of Chrysostom,
Ambrose, and Augustine. I here put the question aloud,
to any opponent — " What is it that you precisely mean
by the corruptions of popery, in respect to the monastic
system?" or, in other words, " can you make it appear,
to the satisfaction of thinking men, that this same sys-
tem had become more frivolous, and therefore, in a re-
ligious sense, more pernicious, in the twelfth century,
than it was at the opening of the fourth?" I am templed
150
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
here to cite the very words of Cassian, who, in stickling,
with great seriousness, for some inanity of the monkish
daily ritual, says, . . . qui modus antiquitus constitutus,
idcirco per tot ssecula penes cuncta monasteria intemera-
tus nunc usque perdurat; quid non humana adinventione
statutus a senioribus affirmatur, sed ccelitus angeli ma-
gisterio patribus fuisse delatus. These observances then
could have been no novelties.
But again ; if we think of those enormous follies and
impious whims, which, connected as they always were
Avith the monastic life, imposed a mask, sometimes of
idiotcy, and sometimes of madness, upon the bright face
of Christianity, I ask whether this sort of corruption
was more extreme in a later age, than it had been in an
earlier; or, if any think so, I would send them no far-
ther than to the Lausaic history of the pious and really
respectable Palladius, a bishop, a man of some learning,
and the intimate friend of the illustrious Chrysostom,
and the companion of his exile. I am not about to cite
any samples of the utter nonsense and the spiritual ri-
baldry of this book. Let those refer to it, and satisfy
themselves, who are still clinging to the fond idea of a
golden age of Christianity. The legends, collected by
Palladius, relate, for the most part, to an earlier age than
his own ; and romances of like quality are to be found
in Eusebius, Sozomen, and Theodoret, as well as Ma-
carius, and as belonging to the times of the heathen per-
secutions. No one, I am sure, who really knows what
he is talking about, will dare, with such documents be-
fore him, to play the Quixote, and break a lance in de-
fence of the honour of the ancient monkery.
Or, if we were to make inquiry concerning the half-
confessed, and yet sufficiently attested serious evils and
horrors that have disgraced the institute of religious ce-
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
151
libacy, I think that those who have been used to look
into the fathers will admit there to be reason enough for
believing that the natural and inevitable consequences of
this institute, when once it came to include promiscuous
masses of the religious body, developed themselves fully
from the very first. On this point, I will neither make
references, nor put the clue into any one's hand; but
leave my broad assertion to be contradicted by those
who may think it safe and discreet to dare me to the
proof. One hint only I will drop: and must do so in an-
ticipation of what it would give me no surprise (what-
ever disgust) to witness: I mean a gentle, sentimental,
plausible endeavour, to feel the religious pulse, in refe-
rence to the "celestial and apostolic" practice of " vow-
ing virginity to the Lord." In any such case there would
be no room for compromise, or half measures; but evi-
dence must be instantly spread out before all eyes, show-
ing what have, in every age, and from the first, been the
deplorable consequences of this pernicious custom. Some
may smile at the mere supposition that any such endea-
vour should be made — out of the pale of the Romish
communion. For my own part (unless I may have had
the honour of suggesting a little caution to certain par-
ties) it is nothing but what I think we are to look for, as
the next move in the game.
There yet remains, however, one other point of view,
whence the same subject may be regarded, and that is
the bearing of the institute of celibacy upon the religious
principle, which was appealed to for giving it support:
now, without anticipating what will more properly find
a place, a little way on, I will state the fact, that, at a
very early time, a false maxim of spiritual computation
had become so inveterate, as that the most sedate and
judicious divines, without hesitation, employ it, in the
152 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
estimates they form of the comparative excellence of
different religious conditions. That is to say, a rule of
spiritual eminence is appealed to, which discards, or
overlooks all reference to what is truly spiritual, or, in
any genuine sense, moral; and puts in its room what is
formal, visible, or ecclesiastical. I will refer, in this
instance, to the sober-minded Isidore of Pellusium, also
a bishop, and the personal friend of Chrysostom, and
whose expositions of scripture are frequently such as to
deserve respectful attention. We have seen in what way
Tertullian, Cyprian, and, with not more absurdity, St.
Bernard, pervert the plain sense of scripture, for the
purpose of hitching the virgins of Christ upon the lofti-
est pinnacle of the ecclesiastical structure. Now for Isi-
dore, who, to do him justice, inserts a frequent *7rxyt,
when there appears to be a danger lest, in his recom-
mendation of celibacy, matrimony should be despoiled
of its due honours.
" The warfare of virginity is indeed great, glorious,
and divine; yet does it, (when successfully waged,) di-
minish the arduousness of our conflict with other of our
spiritual adversaries .... as high as the heaven is above
the earth, and as far as the soul excels the body, so does
the state of virginity surpass the state of matrimony ....
Wherefore let the contemners of virginity cease their
prating, and henceforward acknowledge, dutifully, its
princess-like dignity, and submit themselves to its be-
hests; placing themselves under its protection, and avail-
ing themselves of its mediatorial (or intercessory) office.
And (if I may employ celestial emblems) I must com-
pare those who embrace the virgin state, to the sun;
while those who only observe continence, are to be
likened to the moon; and those living in honourable wed-
lock, to the stars; and so, as the divine Paul reckons up
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
153
the degrees of dignity, and says — there is one glory of'
the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another
glory of the stars !"
Now, it is no matter to us, whether Isidore is right or
wrong in the relative position which he assigns to the
three estates; but it is of real importance, and important
to our present argument, to observe the fact that, so ut-
terly fallacious and fatally erroneous a principle of reli-
gious feeling had, at this time, come to be universally
received, and admitted, by even the most judicious di-
vines; and that, in accordance with this principle, the
piety and purity of the heart had come to be subordi-
nated to the visible and ecclesiastical condition, and that
continence was regarded as mere moonshine, when
placed in the same heavens with the solar effulgence of
the virginity of the nun. Mean time, whatever might be
the personal godliness, or the purity, or the solid virtues
of the Christian matron, all were, at the best, but the
faint twinkling of a star! Now, as it seems to me, all
this is not mere rodomontade, which one may smile at,
and let pass, but it is substantially false doctrine, and of
most putrid quality, in regard to piety and morals: it is
the indication of an ulcer — a bad condition of the vitals
of the Christian system, and a condition which had then
become inveterate. Isidore's theology is not popery;
nor was it his own scheme of doctrine; but the inheri-
tance which he had come into: it was the boasted apos-
tolic catholicity, which all his contemporaries had as-
sented to, and which was scrupulously watched over,
and handed down, to the next age. If Gregory I. may
fairly be regarded as the father of popery, using the term
in its proper sense, I am sure he does not, on the point
now before u^, advance any thing which may not rind
14
154
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
its parallel on ths pages of the best writers of the fourth
century: but the proof of this assertion cannot be ne-
cessary to my immediate argument.
I shall then on the whole assume as not to be denied,
the general affirmation imbodied in my first proposition.
That the lapse of many centuries exhibits no essential
change, or progression, in reference to the principles,
the practices, or the abuses of religious celibacy.
THE SECOND PROPOSITION.
I have undertaken to adduce proof of the assertion,
not only that the doctrine of the merit of celibacy, and
the consequent practices, are found in a mature state at
an early age; but also —
That, at the earliest period at which we find this doc-
trine and these practices distinctly mentioned, they are
referred to in such a manner as to make it certain that
they were, at that time, no novelties, or recent innova-
tions.
Now I am aware that a statement such as this, if it
shall appear to be borne out by evidence, will excite
alarm in some minds; The dissipation of erroneous im-
pressions, is always a critical and somewhat perilous
operation; nevertheless dangers much more to be feared,
are incurred by a refusal to admit the full and simple
truth. Yet the alarm that may be felt in this instance,
at the first, may soon be removed; for although it were
to appear that certain capital errors of feeling, and prac-
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
155
lice, had seized the church universal, at the very mo-
ment when the personal influence of the apostles was
withdrawn, yet such an admission will shake no princi-
ple really important to our faith or comfort. In fact, too
many have been attaching their faith and comfort to a
supposition, concerning pristine Christianity, which is
totally illusory, and such as can bear no examination —
a supposition which must long ago have been dispelled
from all well-informed minds, by the influence of rational
modes of dealing with historical materials, if it had not
been for the conservative accident, that the materials,
which belong to this particular department of history,
have lain imbedded in repulsive folios of Latin and Greek,
to which very few, and those not the most independent,
or energetic in their habits of mind, have had access.
Certain utterly unfounded generalities, very delightful
had they possessed the recommendation of truth, have
been a thousand times repeated, and seldom scrutinized.
But the times of this ignorance is now passing away:
and I think the zeal of the Oxford writers will have the
effect, as an indirect means, of disabusing effectively,
and for ever, the religious mind, in this country, and
perhaps throughout Europe, of the inveterate illusions
that have so long hung over the fields of Christian anti-
quity. It will be utterly impossible, much longer, to
make those things believed which we have been taught
to consider as unquestionable; and the result must be,
(how desirable a result) the compelling the Christian
church, henceforward, to rest its faith and practice on the
only solid foundation.
The actual impression, moral and spiritual, made
upon the Jewish and pagan world by the preaching of
the apostles themselves, and of their personal colleagues,
has, I fear, been somewhat overrated by the generality
156
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
of Christians; and yet, if it be so, and if we are called
upon to surrender a portion of our too hastily assumed
belief, on this subject, we directly gain a proportionate
enhancement of the collateral argument which proves the
divine origin of Christianity, from the fact of its spread,
audits eventual triumph, overall opposition; for the
less it was, morally and spiritually, in its commence-
ment, the stronger is the inference to be derived from its
steady advances.
And then, as to the period immediately following the
death of the apostles, and of the men whom they per-
sonally appointed to govern the churches, we have too
easily, and without any sufficient evidence, assumed the
belief that a brightness and purity belonged to it, only a
shade or two less than what we have attributed to the
apostolic times. This belief, is, in fact, merely the cor-
relative of the common protestant notion concerning the
progressive corruptions of popery, it being a natural
supposition that the higher we ascend toward the apos-
tolic age, so much the more truth, simplicity, purity,
must there have been in the church. Thus it is that we
have allowed ourselves to theorize, when what we should
have done, was simply to examine our documents.
The opinion that has forced itself upon my own mind,
is to this effect, that the period dating its commencement
from the death of the last of the apostles, or apostolic
men, was, altogether, as little deserving to be selected
and proposed as a pattern, as any one of the first five
of church history; — it had indeed its single points of ex-
cellence, and of a high order, but by no means shone
in those consistent and exemplary qualities which should
entitle it to the honour of being considered as a model
to after ages. We need therefore neither feel surprise
nor alarm, when we find, in particular instances, that
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
157
the grossest errors of theory and practice, are to be traced
to their origin in the first century. In such instances,
for my own part, I can wonder at nothing but the infa-
tuation of those who, fully informed as they must be of
the actual facts, and benefited moreover by modern
modes of thinking, can nevertheless so prostrate their
understandings before the phantom — venerable antiquity,
as to be inflamed with the desire of inducing the Chris-
tian world to imitate what really asks for apology and
extenuation. Any such endeavour must, however, ine-
vitably fail ; nor can it be for more than a moment, after
once the subject has attracted general attention, that an
illusion, so fantastic, can hold the minds of any except
a very few, who are constitutionally disposed to admit
it. When the bubble bursts, let the promoters of ancient
principles look to it, that they are provided with some
other means of keeping their doctrines in credit; and I
am far from assuming that the general doctrines of the
Oxford writers will disappear along with the ill-founded
prejudice they have laboured to support in favour of
ancient Christianity.
The actual origination of the Christian doctrine and
practice concerning religious celibacy may, I think, be
very satisfactorily laid open; but it would carry us too
far from our more immediate object to pursue this sub-
ject; all that I am now concerned with is the fact, that
an error which, as I shall be able to show, affected every
element of the theological and ecclesiastical system, had
acquired the stability which time only can confer, at the
earliest period when the references to it are explicit and
ample.
I am unwilling to tire you with Tertullian, or other-
wise might properly bring him forward again, as a wit-
14*
158
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
ness, under this second head of my argument. Suffice
it then to remind you, that, how extravagant soever may-
have been the opinions which he adopted, concerning
the unlawfulness of second marriages, and their ex-
treme impropriety in the case of the clergy, the princi-
ples he assumes, and on which he reasons, as admitted
on all hands, imply nothing less than that, within little
more than one hundred years after the death of St. John,
an obloquy had come to be attached, in the minds of
Christians generally, to the matrimonial connexion, as if
it involved a degree of impurity, and rendered a man
less fit to officiate as a priest, or, as the notion was, as
a mediator between God, and the herd of Christians.
It is also certain that, as a consequence of these prevail-
ing notions, a voluntary abjuration of the sexual relation-
ship had come to be considered as highly meritorious —
next to martyrdom; and farther, that, in imitation of the
analogous pagan institutes, an order of dedicated virgins
had been established, and that these constituted a dis-
tinct band, or choir, a grex segregatus, in the church; —
to what good purpose let Cyprian say.
Digamus tinguis? Digamus offers? asks the indignant
Tertullian; " shall one who has contracted a second mar-
riage baptize; or shall such a one make the eucharistic
oblation?" Now let us coolly consider how much is in-
volved, as found in a writer of so early an age, in a
question such as this: — for it plainly implies the concur-
rence of the Christian community in certain feelings —
such as that of a false sensitiveness, in regard to exterior
purity, and a superstitious feeling toward the sacraments,
as if they demanded in the administrator, certain per-
sonal qualities, or exemptions, which might be dispensed
with in those who conducted the ordinary offices of wor-
ship; and a belief too that degrees of spiritual merit,
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
159
were attached to degrees of separation from the ordinary
relationships of life. From such notions, generally pre-
vailing-, nothing could in the end result but what we rind
actually to have resulted, namely — the monastic institute
— the enforced celibacy of the clergy, and the supersti-
tion of the sacraments. But I now fix upon the mere
fact, that such notions had already gained the authenti-
cation of time, at the close of the second century.
Looking only to the evidence furnished by Tertullian,
we might be led to believe that the coslibate institution
had its origin in the highly culpable ambition of the
leaders of the church, to secure for it the glory of pos-
sessing whatever, in the heathen system around them,
appeared at once heroic, and capable of amalgamation
with Christianity. Satan, it was alleged, had too long
monopolized certain good things, which it was now high
time to snatch from his grasp: and among these, the
principal was the sacerdotal celibacy, enjoined upon the
ministers of some divinities, and the consecration of the
vestal virgins. Unhappily, this same ambition, abso-
lutely impious as it was, took effect upon, and perverted,
every other element of visible Christianity.
But this was not all; and if we extend our researches
a little farther, and higher, we shall find the indications
of the, perhaps, blameless existence of this practice,
reaching up to the actual times of the apostles. What
then? will it follow that, because certain individuals, who,
from temperament, came within the meaning of our Lord's
recommendation (Matt. xix. 12) devoted themselves to a
single life, in order to be free from all entanglements that
might withdraw them from evangelic and charitable la-
bours— does it follow that, therefore, a celestial pre-emi-
nence should have been arrogated by, or for them, or
that shoals of young persons, u ithout regard had to their
160
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
individual temperament, should have heen urged, in mo-
ments of factitious excitement, to bind themselves by a
rash vow? Here was the false step of the early church;
a step which would never have been taken, unless, al-
ready, the true purport of the gospel had been misunder-
stood, and the form of godliness had been put in the
place of the power and substance of it.
The good Justin (second apology) in recommending
to the imperial philosopher and persecutor, the principles
and practices of his Christian brethren, makes it his
boast that he could point to many, men as well as wo-
men, who having followed the Christian institute from
their earliest years, had remained, to an advanced age —
sixty or seventy years, incorrupt — ayBcpoi Jin/uivcvri, un-
married, or inviolate. These persons, then, must have so
devoted themselves very soon after the martyrdom of
Paul and Peter; and the practice having rapidly spread
itself throughout the church, in all countries, and being
at once promoted and exaggerated by the effect of perse-
cution, soon brought it, that is to say, within the com-
pass of another thirty or forty years, to its mature state,
such, in fact, as we tind it in the times of Tertullian.
In his time, as we have seen, the prevailing practice had
generated notions palpably contradictory to the apostolic
precepts. Paul had assumed that, ordinarily, both bishops
and deacons were to be married men ; and he clearly
implies that, in the exemplary discharge of the domestic
duties, they would find the best opportunities for adorn-
ing their ministerial function. A bishop's wife, was, in
Paul's idea, a main article in a bishop's qualification for
ruling the church of God; and a deacon's children were
lo furnish, to a deacon, the occasions for exhibiting
the influence of Christian principles. Such was Aros-
tolic Christianity — a system of real, not of fictitious
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
161
purity; a system of virtue and piety, adapted to the pur-
pose of elevating and blessing man's actual condition,
in the present state. Did there attach to the apostle's
idea of the matrimonial connexion any, even the re-
motest idea, of impurity, or of spiritual degradation?
Boldly we say not the faintest supposition of moral or
religious contamination entered his mind, in relation to
this subject. The apostles were intent upon the esta-
blishment, not of celibacy, but of virtue!
Such, we say, was apostolic Christianity; but not
such was ancient Christianity, even that of the age
immediately following the death of the apostles. The
difference does not reach to the mere amount of a di-
versity of usage, or of a shade of feeling; but it involves
nothing less than the substitution of one principle of
virtue and piety for another. The sclieme of religious
sentiments had shifted its foundations; a different stand-
ard of good and evil had come to be appealed to; the
commandments of God were displaced, without scruple,
by the whims of man; so that, within so short a period
as a hundred years, the very practices which Paul had
solemnly commended were impiously spoken of as de-
grading, by Teriullian, who, in this instance, only re-
flects the general feeling of his times.
At the present moment, the Christian community, and
especially the clergy of the episcopal church, are called
upon to make their choice between apostolic Christi-
anity and ancient Christianity; and this weighty al-
ternative must soon merge all other distinctions, leaving
only the two parties— the adherents of the inspired, and
those of the uninspired documents of our religion.
But now I shall be told that I have inferred far too
much from the language of the intemperate Tertullian,
as to the sentiments of the church at large in his times.
102 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION'
I am provided against this objection, and can rebut it by
evidence altogether of another kind.
When a question arises concerning the existence, or
prevalence, at a particular era, of certain opinions, the
first mode of establishing the alleged fact is that of citing
the language of writers who explicitly profess such doc-
trines; but then this direct evidence may be liable to a
demur, inasmuch as it may be imagined that these writers
are advancing nothing better than their personal notions,
in behalf of which they are assuming much more gene-
ral acceptance than they were entitled to claim for them.
But even this demur is removed, when it can be shown,
as in the instance of Tertullian, that a writer himself
distinguishes between the common opinion and the one
which he is labouring to promote.
But allowing, for a moment, the pertinence of the ob-
jection, we then turn to our second class of proofs, which
consists of passages from writers who, impelled by a
reasonable anxiety for what they consider as endangered
truths, vigorously oppose the very opinions in question,
as generally prevalent.
Thus, if it were supposed (which cannot be actually
granted, the facts being indubitable) that Tertullian, fiery
in temper and extravagant in sentiments, had been im-
pelled to speak of the institute of celibacy, by anticipa-
tion, or as if it had, in his time, received an authentica-
tion which, in truth, was not granted to it until long
afterward, what, then, are we to think when we find a
writer, earlier by some years than Tertullian, and a
man of extensive learning, who had visited the churches
throughout the east and the west, a man, moreover, of
singular good sense, and sobriety of judgment, such a
writer, labouring to defend the divine institution of mat-
rimony, against the swelling fanaticism of all around
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
163
him? What conclusion are we to adopt when we hear
the accomplished master of the Alexandrian school
calmly and modestly asserting the great principles of
nature, and of genuine pieiy, which he saw were likely
to be swept away, as before a deluge of factitious ex-
citement? The only conclusion, surely, with which
such facts will consist, is that which my second propo-
sition imbodies.
After plunging in Tertuliian's turbid stream, it is really
a refreshment to walk at ease, and breathing a whole-
some atmosphere, in the broad and pleasant garden of
Clement of Alexandria. Some dozen of the fathers
might be sifted, before we should get together as much
plain good sense as may be found, within the compass
of a few pages, in this writer.
We have heard Tertuliian's doctrine in regard to the
gradual development of truth, from age to age; the con-
sequence of which, if sound, is, that the Christians of
every age owe a pious deference, not merely to the cur-
lent orders, or the inventions of the church authorities
in their own times, but to all such inventions, of pre-
ceding times, which, in fact, as proceeding from the
same source, are not a whit less to be regarded than the
dictates of written revelation. The writer now before
us holds a very different style, and, in various instances,
manifests the sense he had of the dangerous tendency of
the human mind in matters of religion to throw itself
hack, indolently, upon antiquity and established custom.
On this ground, and with a manly freedom, he expostu-
lates with the adherents of the ancient polytheism; and
again, in those parts of his writings in which he ad-
dresses Christians, he does an honour to the divfpely-
inspired scriptures, and dissuades from an indolent de-
ference to usage or mere opinion, in a manner which
164 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
distinguishes him among the church writers of his own
or of the following ages. As a remedy for that igno-
rance which is one of the causes of vice, he knows of
nothing but " the convincing demonstrations of the testi-
mony of the scripture — the written truth;" and here,
by the way, he incidentally refers to the defection or de-
linquencies of " multitudes of the Lord's people," in his
times — a fact significant in relation to our general argu-
ment. To some such he addresses himself, " not, in-
deed to the contumacious, who spurn all instruction,
and who, nevertheless, are more to be pitied than hated
(a style of speaking of heretics very unlike that em-
ployed by most nf the fathers) but to those whose errors
might be treated as remediable. Well would it have
been," says he, " for some (certain heretics) had they
been able to learn what was at first delivered (by the
holy apostles and teachers in the inspired scriptures)
instead of giving heed to human doctrines. He, there-
fore, and he alone, may be accounted to live aright, who,
pursuing his course from year to year, in converse with,
and conformity to the scriptures, keeps to the rule of the
apostolic and ecclesiastical purity, according to the gos-
pel and those established trukhs which, as given by the
Lord, by the law, and by the prophets, whoever seeks
shall find."
Our learned Alexandrian, along with his contempo-
raries, might err in particular interpretations of scrip-
ture; but, at least, he pays homage to their sole and un-
rivalled authority, in all matters of faith and practice:
his errors, therefore, whatever they may be, are not
seeds of mischief. How different is the language of
Tertullian. In harmony with this simple adherence to
the inspired writings, and at the impulse of his native
good sense, this writer treats the subject of the Christian
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
105
use of riches, and also the rule of martyrdom, on both
of which points, even before his time, the mass of Chris-
tians had run into absurdities. In relation to the latter
subject, let .Clement's good sense (Strom, lib. iv.) be
compared with the extravagance of Ignatius. The com-
parison will a fiord a proof, one of many, that the calm
reason and genuine dignity which, distinguish the con-
duct and writings of the apostles, did not attach even to
their immediate successors.
But we have now to cite the evidence of Clement on
the special point in hand, and in proof of our position,
that although a dissentient voice might be heard once in
a century, the church at large had, from the earliest pe-
riod to which our documents extend, admitted a perni-
cious illusion subversive as well of morals as of piety.
The evidence of Clement, as 1 have stated, is of that
conclusive kind which results from the struggle of a soli-
tary sound mind, in resisting the inundation of error. I
request you, however, especially to remember, that if,
in some of the passages now to be adduced, the force of
my inference might seem to be lessened by the circum-
stance that our author is professedly contending with
certain heretics, and not opposing himself to the general
opinion of the church, I have at hand the instant means
of excluding any such exception, by turning to the con-
temporary orthodox writers, and their immediate suc-
cessors, who go to the same length of extravagance,
saving an impious or indecent phrase or two, which
dement reports as attaching to the opinions of the here-
tics he names. 1 adduce him, therefore, as an unexcep-
tionable witness to the alleged fact, that, within consi-
derably less than a hundred years from the death of the
last of the apostles, the church, at large, had yielded
15
166
A TEST OF THE .MORAL CONDITIO]*
itself to a capital and widely extended error of senti-
ment, practice, and theory.
Clement (Strom, lib. iii.) while refuting, on one side
the profligate, and on the other side the fanatical heretics
of his time, employs scriptural and rational arguments,
of which neither Cyprian, nor Tertullian, could have
availed themselves, without condemning the system to
which they, and the church, had pledged themselves.
He urges, in a tone of modern good sense, and in a man<~
ner of which very few instances are to be found in the
writings of the fathers, the general principle, that " the
kingdom of God is not meat and drink, or a system of
formal and visible observances, or of servile abstinences
from ordinary enjoyments; but righteousness and peace:
and that it is the inner, nor the outer man, which God
chiefly looks to.'* He, moreover, points it out as a cha-
racteristic of 44 antichrist, and of the apostacy of the last
times, that there should be those who would forbid to
marry, and command to abstain from meats;" and in face
he very nearly approaches a protectant style of remon-
strance, against the then spreading fanaticism. It ap-
pears that, while the church had borrowed the institute
of religious celibacy from the heathen worship, it un-
happily availed itself of the wild errors of heretics in
getting up, among the people, the false excitement whence
this institute was to gather its victims. Clement's plain
good sense, in asserting the honour and sanctity of vir-
tuous matrimony, not only contradicts the particular er-
rors of the heretics whom he names, but it stands op-
posed to that notion which, every where else, presents
itself, of moral or spiritual degradation, as attaching to
that state; so as that those who abjured it stood upon a
higher platform, whence they might look down, with
pity or scorn, upon the mass of their brethren. It was
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
167
this very notion that was the seed of mischief, which,
at an early period, choked the ecclesiastical field with a
rank and poisonous vegetation.
" What," asks our author, " what, may not self-com-
mand be preserved under the conditions of married life?
May not marriage be used, and yet continence respected,
without our attempting to sever that which the Lord
hath joined?" Presently afterwards he touches the prin-
ciple of real virtue, which the church at large was then
losing sight of, in the pursuit of a phantom. " The
kingdom of God is not meat and drink; and in like man-
ner as genuine humility consists in meekness of soul,
not in the maceration of the body; so, and in like man-
ner (true) continence, is a virtue of the soul, and relates
to that which is hidden (in the heart) not to the outward
life."
Just so much good sense and Christian truth as this,
it is hard to meet with, in whole folios of the fathers.
What a different story would church history have pre-
sented, if principles so manifestly reasonable, had been
generally regarded? But now, at a time earlier only by
a few years than that in which we hear the fanatic Ter-
tullian, with affected horror, putting the question — "Di-
gamus tinguis, Digamus offers," Clement demands of
those who would fain be holier than the Lord himself,
whether they really mean to reprove the apostles, two
of whom (at least) Peter and Philip, were fathers, the
latter moreover having given his daughters in marriage;
or Paul, who asks — h Have we not power to lead about
a sister or wife, even as the other apostles?" Farther
on, our author, and with much copiousness, offers a
eulogium of woman — woman, the helper and compa-
nion of man — woman, the wife, and mother; and in all
which there is nothing of the fulsome nonsense about
168
A TEST OF THE ?,IORAL CONDITION
virginity, which renders the perusal of the fathers, ge-
nerally, so nauseating; and he affirms too the equality of
the sexes, in regard to piety and virtue. If, in fact, Cy-
prian and Tertullian had heen writers of the ninth cen-
tury, we might well, in comparing them witty Clement,
have pointed to the difference, vast and glaring as it is,
and have thereby confirmed ourselves in the common
notion, that popery was a gradual departure from the
good sense and purity of the early times of the church.
But in truth these writers were the actual contempora-
ries, though younger men, of Clement; and a portraiture
of the Christianity of the period is to be found in their
works, not in his.
It is true that many of the fathers, or most of them,
in their headlong course of fanaticism, and while beating
the "drum ecclesiastic," to get recruits for the monas-
tery, think it due to their reputation to pull in for a mo-
ment, once and again, and in so many words to disclaim
the heresy of attributing the matrimonial institute to the
devil. Yet the mere fact of their feeling it necessary
to do so, is proof enough of the extent to which they
were running. But, so far as I know, Clement of Alex-
andria is the only extant writer, of the early ages, who
adheres to common sense, and apostolic Christianity,
through and through. Those who, at a later date, ven-
tured to protest against the universal error, were instant-
ly cursed and put down as heretics, by all the great di-
vines of their times; and were, in fact, deprived of the
means of transmitting their opinions to be more equita-
bly judged of by posterity.
Ii appears, or at least we should gather it from the
language of Clement, that at Alexandria, the choir of vir-
gins had not, in his time, been regularly constituted, as
a standing order in the church; for where this band had
/
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
169
been so sanctioned, it always took precedence of the
corps of widows, and is mentioned, when they, as a part
of the ecclesiastical system, are mentioned. But (Strom,
lib. i.) where our author, in a formal manner, enume-
rates the three orders of the clergy (as he does once and
again) presbyters, bishops, and deacons, lie subjoins,
" and the widows." Now in the " Apostolic Constitu-
tions/' in the canons of the Ante-Nicene councils, and
generally, in the writers of the same period, where any
enumeration of orders occurs, it is — " the virgins and
the widows."
In Clement's time, as he says, " the wells of martyr-
dom were flowing daily;" we may therefore presume
that as much of general seriousness, and sincerity, at-
tached to the Christian community then, as usually be-
longed to it; and yet what sort of description does he
give us — altogether calm in its style — of the usual ap-
pearances, on a Sunday, at the church doors, when the
congregation broke up? Why, one might imagine one-
self to be loitering about the doors of a fashionable cha-
pel, in London, Bath, or Brighton. A world of illu-
sions is sometimes dispelled by a very few simple sen-
tences; and I think that were certain devout and credu-
dulous worshippers of " venerable antiquity," and of
the 14 holy and ancient church," by chance to open upon
the page of Clement which is now before me, having
first been told that it described the breaking up of ail
assembly of the "martyr church," within a hundred
years after the death of St. John, they would scarcely
think themselves the same persons after having read it.
Yet there is nothing extraordinary in this passage, there
is no solemn lifting of a veil of mystery; absolutoly no-
thing but an incidental allusion to facts, of an ordinary
kind; — it is a description which might find its counter-
15*
170
A TF.ST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
part in nny age, or any country, and is worthy of being
noted on no account but because it lends to dissipate the
fond, unphilosophical, and, as it now happens, the mis-
chievous fancy about " pristine purity," and a golden
age, to which we ungodly moderns should devoutly yield
our judgments and conform our practices.
" Those who make profession of Christianity," says
Clement, " should be all of a piece — they should, in the
entire course of their lives, preserve a decorum and con-
sistency, such as might agree with the exterior gravity
to which they fashion themselves, just while at church;
and they should strive to be, not merely to appear, what
they would pass for; — so meek, so religious, so loving.
Rut now, and how it is I hardly know, our folks, with
change of place, change also their guize, and their modes
of behaviour; and are something like polypi, which, as
ihey say, resemble the rock on which they chance to
fasten, and take their tinge from its colour. So these,
the moment they get out of chapel, lay aside the demure
and godly colour of sanctity, which they had worn while
there; and, mingling in the crowd, are no longer 10 be
distinguished from it. Or, as I ought rather to say, they
then put off that well fashioned mask of gravity, which
they had assumed, and are found to be such as they had
not passed for. After having reverently waited upon
Cod, and heard of him (in the church) they leave him
there; and, out of doors, rind their pleasure in ungodly
fiddling, and love ditties, and what not — stage playing,
and gross revelries. Thus, while they sing and respond,
these (our people) who just before had been celebrating
the glories of immortality, wickedly take their part in
the most pernicious canlicleg; — as if saying, Let us e;it
and drink, for to-morrow we die. They indeed, not to-
morrow, but now already, are dead unto God."
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
171
Much more, nearly to the same purport, might be
cited, were it needful, from the pages of Clement. In
a word, his was an unimpassioned mind; and while he
calmly and steadily insisted upon (so far as he understood
it) the inspired rule of morality, he saw things around
him, just as they were, and speaks of them, just as he
found them; and his testimony, about which there is no-
thing cynical, ought to be accepted as of the highest
value, in correcting the false impression which is made
upon our minds by others, who, as they saw every thing
in an artificial glare, so allowed themselves a wide license
in describing the illusions of their own distempered sight.
There are those, now, I do not doubt, who, determined
to retain the fond fancy of a golden pristine age, will
turn with resentment from a matter-of-fact writer like Cle-
ment, as if he did them a personal wrong in simply
speaking the truth. For my own part, I can find no
pleasure in any thing, bearing upon religion, but the
plainest truth. And the plain truth, in relation to the
early church, is just to this effect — That, although pos-
sessing, incidentally, certain prerogatives which render
its testimony and judgment, on particular points, pecu-
liarly important, it can advance no extraordinary claim
to reverence, on the supposed plea of having possessed
superior wisdom, discretion, or purity. And farther, I
would be bold to express my belief that, if we exclude
certain crazed fanatics of our times, the least esteemed
community of orthodox Christians, among us — which
ever that may be, if taken in the mass, and fairly mea-
sured against the church catholic of the first two centu-
ries, would outweigh it decisively in each of these quali-
ties; I mean, in Christian wisdom, in common discretion,
in purity of manners, and in purity of creed. Nay, I
172
[ A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
am strongly tempted to think that, if our Oxford divines
themselves, and those who are used to take the law from
their lips, and to learn church history at their feet, could
but be blindfolded (if any such precaution, in their case
were needed) and were fairly set down in the midst of
the pristine church, at Carthage, or at Alexandria, or at
Rome, or at Antioch, they would be fain to make their
escape, with all possible celerity, toward their own times
and country; and that thenceforward we should never
hear another word from them about "venerable antiqui-
ty," or the holy catholic church of the first ages. The
effect of such a trip would, I think, resemble that pro-
duced sometimes by crossing the Atlantic, upon those
who have set out, westward, excellent liberals, and have
returned eastward, as excellent tories.
There is one very simple illusion, or as one might
call it, chronological fallacy, which it may seem almost
an affront to common sense to mention; and yet I be-
lieve that more than a few are set wrong a fifty years or
even more, in their notions of Christian history in this
very way. For instance, when the second century is
spoken of, one may, without thought, admit the suppo-
sition that a period of something like two hundred years,
dating from the death of the apostles, is intended;
whereas the notions or practices referred to, as belonging
to the second century, may have had place within the
distance of one hundred years from the cessation of the
apostolic influence; and in fact they may be as ancient
as any thing concerning which we are to derive our in-
formation from uninspired Christian writers. It is thus
with the practices with which we are now concerned;
and which are as ancient as any other characteristics of
ancient Christianity.
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
173
I have referred, above, to Justin's statement concern-
ing those who had dedicated themselves to the Lord, at
a time when some of the apostles yet survived. Igna-
tius clearly alludes to the same practice as then preva-
lent; and he does so in terms indicative of the false and
inflated sentiments which have in all ages been the at-
tendants of this ill-considered endeavour to be " religious
over much." " If any one (Epist. ad Polycarp.) be able
1o abide in purity (celibacy) in honour of the Lord's
flesh, let him do so without boasting. If he boast, he is
lost; or if he consider himself, on that account, to be
more than the bishop, he perishes."
It is not surmising too much to assume it as probable
that, among the means resorted to by the self-willed and
contumacious, for resisting the episcopal authority, and
of which Ignatius was so zealous an advocate, this set-
ting up for a fakir, was one, and perhaps it was one of
the most efficacious. See, on this point, the second sec-
tion of the epistle to Hero. And as, at a later time, the
confessors found themselves possessed of a credit with
the populace which enabled them to defy legitimate au-
thority, so, from the very first, whoever could be stark
monk enough to make himself the idol of the rabble, be-
came a leader of faction, and overawed the bishops and
presbyters. Unhappily these, and the long series of
writers, favoured, instead of wisely repressing, the false
piety that subverted order as well as morals. I would
not, however, omit to mention that Ignatius (ad Heron.)
fully and clearly vindicates matrimony, and honours wo-
man.
To the same purport, as in the passage cited above,
the same father, (to the Philippians) but in terms just so
far diversified as to carry a little more historical mean-
ing, says, after exhorting husbands and wives to love
eacli other, " If any lead the life of purity (that is, pre-
174
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
serve virginity) or if any one practise continence (that
is, either withdraw from husband or wife, or, being wi-
dowed, avoid a second marriage) let him not be lifted up
in mind, lest he lose the reward." Much is compre-
hended in these few words; as, first, and in general, a
clear allusion to the then frequent practice of religious
celibacy; next, there is a note of the distinction which we
find carefully observed, between the pure, and the conti-
nent— terms equivalent, in ecclesiastical import, to the
correlatives — nun, and widow, the former occupying a
loftier place of honour than the latter. In another place
he says — " Guard the virgins, as Christ's jewels," an
epithet often afterward applied to them. Ignatius also
uses, and perhaps was the author of that favourite phrase,
applied to nuns — " the espoused to Christ." Next,
there is the necessary caution against that pride which
had been found to attend this species of church nubility;
and lastly, there is the reference to that definite and pe-
culiar celestial remuneration which was to attach to the
band of virgins. Each of these indications, minute as
they may seem, is pertinent to an historical inquiry.
The Apostolic Constitutions are manifestly a very
early, although a spurious work; and it was evidently
put together with the intention of its passing as the pro-
duction of the apostolic age. So far it may safely be
cited as good evidence in our present inquiry; and here
we find fully admitted that general feeling of the ancient
church upon which Tertullian labours to build a still
loftier doctrine. I mean, the feeling that, although a
priest might be a married man, yet that a degree of de-
gradation attached to that condition, so as that, either to
marry after ordination, or to have contracted a second
marriage, was a total disqualification for the sacred office;
see, on this point, the seventeenth chapter of the sixth
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
175
book; and this same canon exhibits the bondage of early-
Christians to the false principle which puts forms for
substances; for, in allowing to the inferior church offi-
cers, the singers, readers, and door keepers, a little more
license, it .assumes first, the absurdity that there could
be degrees of holiness, corresponding to the degrees
of ecclesiastical dignity; and then, that the circum-
stance of being married, or single, or the having mar-
ried once, or twice, had any thing whatever to do with
a Christian's real sanctity. This twofold delusion,
despicable as we must think it, stands forward as the
broad characteristic of the ancient church catholic. I
remember, in fact, no one but Clement of Alexandria,
for whom an exemption can be claimed in this respect;
nor even for him in all instances. These Constitutions
name also the two choirs, of nuns and widows, as then
permanently constituted. The former, however, are
warned against professing rashly; and it is forbidden to
employ any means of compulsion in inducing them to
do so; — 11 for, in regard to the virgin state, we have no
commandment (as from the Lord) only that, once having
professed, such should adorn their profession.' '
The passages that have been cited, and, if these were
not enough, three times the quantity are at hand to be
produced, may, I think, be accepted as warranting what
is affirmed in my second proposition, concerning the
high antiquity of the notions, and of the accompanying
practices, of religious celibacy. That is to say, this in-
stitute, with all that involves, is as ancient as any other
element of ancient Christianity, and may claim from us
as much regard as is urged in behalf of any other prac-
tice or opinion, on the ground of antiquity. In one
word, religious celibacy comes fully under the quod
semper, or first condition of Vincent's rule of catholicity.
176
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
THE THIRD AND FOURTH PROPOSITIONS,
AND CONCLUDING REMARKS.
We have next to look at the — quod ubique, and the —
quod ab omnibus, in relation to our present subject; that
is to show, that this principle, and these practices, be-
longed to, and were thoroughly approved of by, the an-
cient church, throughout its whole extent, so far as our
historical materials enable us to ascertain the fact; and
were explicitly maintained and promoted by all the
great leaders of the religious commonwealth; and were
excepted against by only here and there a solitary voice,
which was almost instantly stifled by orthodox zeal.
However warmly the ulterior inferences I have in
view may be resented by some, I am sure they are not
the persons who will come forward to call in question
the facts which I here assume. On this ground, there-
fore, the actual citation of proofs might be waived. But,
in truth, as the establishment and illustration of my fifth
thesis, and which it is of the utmost importance to make
good, will demand a reference, more or less copious, to
the extant works of almost every ecclesiastical writer
of the first seven centuries, these numerous citations
will, of course, embrace whatever would have offered
itself as proper for establishing the third and fourth pro-
positions. We may, therefore, save ourselves the labour
of going through a mass of duplicate evidences; and I
therefore, in this place, and once for all, request you to
bear in mind that, if either of these propositions were
disputed, an ample confirmation of them is to be found
in the series of quotations which are to sustain the fifth.
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
177
For the present, then, I assume it as incontrovertible,
whatever consequences it may be found to involve, that
the doctrine and custom of religious celibacy was an ar-
ticle of ancient Christianity, accepted and followed —
semper, ubique, et ab omnibus.
But at this point I am anxious to anticipate, and to
preclude, some probable exceptions, by means of which
it may be attempted to evade the general inferences I
have in view. As, for example, there may be those, al-
though it is certainly not the well-informed, who will
say, "This notion, and these practices, so far as they
might be culpable, were incidental merely, and may
easily be separated from the general scheme of ancient
Christianity, leaving us free to admire and imitate all
the rest." Now, I must ask, what are the senses in
which, in such a connexion, we might fairly apply the
term incidental, to an error of opinion and practice?
The word may mean, then, a notion or practice which
gained credit only for awhile, and which, having had
its day, was forgotten; or, at most, rose to the surface
only at remote intervals. But in no such sense as this
was the doctrine of religious celibacy incidental to the
ancient church; for there is no period, ever so short, that
can be named, during which it lost its place or import-
ance: on the contrary, it steadily held its — we may sig-
nificantly say — proud pre-eminence, from the earliest
times to the latest.
Or, incidental may mean, in this instance, that, while
some one or two of the ancient churches warmly em-
braced the notion, and carried their admiration of it to
an extravagant length, in other departments of the Chris-
tian commonwealth, it was little heard of, or was coolly
regarded, or actually discountenanced. But in this sense
16
178
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
also the term is excluded, inasmuch as the churches of
the east, and the west, the north, and the south, vied
with each other in their zeal on this ground; or, if all
looked toward the east — Syria and Egypt — for bright
patterns of excellence, in this walk of virtue, all showed
substantially the same devotion in ascending the arduous
path; and many were the pious pilgrimages, of some of
which the memorials are on our shelves, that were un-
dertaken expressly for the purpose of importing, into the
remotest Christian regions, the spirit and usages of this
very institute.
Or, again, the term incidental, thus employed, might
mean, an opinion or institution, zealously promoted by
a party or faction, within or without the church; but by
no means favoured by its authorities, or by the mass of
its members. In no such sense then can we here em-
ploy the word. From age to age it was the church au-
thorities, it was the most illustrious teachers and writers,
that made it their glory to magnify this institute, and to
extend its influence: nor were they, on this subject,
listened to unwillingly by the people.
There is, however, one other sense of the word, in
which, if it could in fact be applied to the subject, it
might be held either to loosen or to lessen the force of
the serious inferences I am intending. That is to say,
if it could be affirmed that the theological principle, and
the moral sentiment, imbodied in the institute of religious
celibacy, are easily separable from the theological, ethi-
cal, and ecclesiastical system of which it was an adjunct;
and that it had therewith no such intimate and occult al-
liances as would render a disjunction difficult, or such as
must affect the whole: then, indeed, it would only re-
main for us to perform the desirable amputation, and so
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
179
to restore health and symmetry to the body. But that
no such allegation can be sustained, I shall be able in-
contestably to prove; and, in doing so, shall, as I con-
fidently hope, succeed in affording the most convincing
proof of the fact, that the Christian teachers, from the
very first, and, while they held the formal elements of
truth, or, as it is called, orthodoxy, grossly misappre-
hended the genius and purport of Christianity; and, as
a consequence of this misapprehension, turned out of its
course every Christian institute, and put on a false foun-
dation every principle of virtue; and thus transmuted the
Christian system into a scheme which could find no
other fixed form than that of a foul superstition, and a
lawless despotism.
I think, moreover, that the intimacy of the connexion
between the institute in question and the other elements
of ancient Christianity will so appear as will serve to
clear up the practical embarrassments that have attached,
in modern times, to every endeavour to realize these,
apart from the other. Such imitations have always de-
manded some foreign aid to keep them in existence, and
can subsist only so long as they may chance to derive
vital force and nutriment from an extraneous body. In
this conviction I can think nothing else probable but
that, should the scheme of doctrine maintained in the
Oxford Tracts become, by any means, actually detached
from its present hold on the civil and ecclesiastical insti-
tutions of the country, and be exempted also from re-
straint;— in a word, fairly left to itself, and allowed to
follow its innate affinities, it would instantly resume its
severed element — the ancient doctrine and practice of
celestial virginity. It may seem utterly incredible that
Englishmen, and those who have actually stood in the
radiance of scriptural illumination, and have read the
180
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
lessons of history, should yield themselves to an illusion
such as this. To me, ail this appears far from incredi-
ble; and, unless a timely caution:, and the fear of suddenly
forfeiting the allegiance of numbers, should avail to re-
tard the course of things, it is what I think may be daily
looked for.
But we must meet, in all its strength, a startling diffi-
culty, which will no doubt have occurred to some, in re-
flecting upon the facts to which, in the preceding pages,
I have made reference. Granting, as we must grant, that
the institute of celibacy, when it reached its mature state,
and involving, as it necessarily did, an open contraven-
tion of the apostolic precepts concerning the clergy, was
a great and mischievous error, yet did it not take its
rise from the language of our Lord himself, and of Paul;
and does not the conduct of those who, in the first in-
stance, devoted themselves to celibacy, at the least stand
excused from reprehension, if it be not fully justified
by the passages of scripture usually cited in this in-
stance?
Now I wish the difficulty thus stated to be felt in its
utmost force. Let it be granted, then, that the entire
scheme, with all its consequences, and which have con-
stituted, in the end, the vital elements of the Komish su-
perstition, took its commencement, and in a manner
barely culpable, from certain expressions (albeit mis-
understood) of the inspired writings. Now, this admis-
sion, which I think must in candour be made, gives us
precisely that connecting link, which renders the in-
stance available for the purpose, with a view to which
it has been here adduced. Unless it had appeared that
the principle and practice of religious celibacy took their
/start from the scriptures themselves, neither that high
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
181
antiquity which we have proved to attach to them, nor
the universal testimony of the church in their favour,
would have warranted the use 1 am making of the in-
stance, as closely analogous to the several points now
controverted.
But as it stands, there is absolutely nothing that can
be advanced in favour of any one of those now disputed
articles of belief, or of usage, which may not, and to the
whole extent of the terms, be pleaded in behalf of the
institute of celibacy. Are they immemorially ancient? —
so is this. Did they receive the assent and warm ap-
probation of the long series of Christian doctors? — so did
this. Were they acknowledged and followed out in the
practices of the apostolic churches, throughout the world?
— so was this; and finally, may they pretend to a colour
of support, or more than a colour, from some few ex-
pressions of the inspired writers? — so may this. I chal-
lenge contradiction in affirming that the monastic sys-
tem, and the celibacy of the clergy, rest on ground as
wide and as solid as that which sustains any one of the
doctrines or practices which it has been the peculiar in-
tention of the Oxford Tracts to recommend.
There are, as I presume, very few protestants (it is
hard to imagine how there can be one such) or any cler-
gyman of the protestant church, who would profess to
think the monkish institute, abstractedly, good, and the
celibacy of the clergy a wise and useful provision; or
who would wish to see this system, and the notions and
sentiments that attend it, brought back upon us, in any
form whatever. Although it may have been fondly em-
braced— semper, ubique, et ab omnibus — it is to be re-
jected; and although it may have its texts of scripiure at
hand, nevertheless it is to be rejected. In this instance
we claim exemption, not merely from the usurpations
16*
182
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
and corruptions of Rome, but from the unbroken and
loudly uttered authority of the holy catholic church; and
when it was in its (supposed) condition of pristine purity.
Nor is this all; for we go on calmly to consider the real
import of the passages which have been made to bear
the weight of this system; and we compare such single
passages with the plain import of other passages; and
with the general purport of the inspired writings; and
we judge of them also by considering the genius and
spirit of the gospel; and having done so, we find no real
difficulty remaining; but only a very simple case, de-
manding, just what is demanded always, namely, the
exercise of sound good sense and discrimination.
But, alas! the leaders of the early church would exer-
cise no such discrimination: they would give place to no
dictates of calm good sense; and having surrendered
themselves to a headlong enthusiasm, the opposing im-
port of other portions of scripture was totally overlooked,
or perversely evaded; and they followed whither they
were led, and they led after them the church universal,
until altogether plunged into an abyss of error and of cor-
ruption.
Now the course which every protestant (as I assume)
is absolutely compelled to take, when he is called upon
to consider the Itomish ccelibate; namely, to hold in
abeyance his reverence for antiquity, and to claim ex-
emption from the decisions of the holy catholic church,
and to examine, with care and calmness, the real pur-
port of scripture, taken at large, is neither more nor less
than what every sober-minded protestant is, as I think,
bound to do, when challenged to yield himself to certain
other notions and practices, characteristic of ancient
Christianity. To do anything less than this, is virtually
to surrender all that stands between us and the mon-
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
183
strous superstitions of the times of Gregory the Great.
We may not, perhaps, become Romanists; but we must,
in all consistency, become Such as that it were better to
accept Romanism, whole and entire. A well-defined
and authoritative system (involving elements of evil) is,
I think, much to be preferred to an undefined system,
involving the very same elements; and I firmly believe
that it were, on the whole, better for a community to
submit itself, without conditions, to the well-known tri-
dentine popery, than to take up the Christianity of Am-
brose, Basil, Gregory Nyssen, Chrysostom, Jerome, and
Augustine. Personally, I would rather be a Christian
after the fashion of Pascal and Arnold, than after that of
Cyprian or Macarius; but how much rather after that of
our own protestant worthies, who, although entangled
by fond notions about the ancient church, were, in heart,
and in the main bent of their lives, followers, not of the
fathers, but of the apostles!
The great men I have referred to — the glory of our
English protestantism, were, it must be confessed, en-
tangled with ancient Christianity; and they were so in
a degree that has involved the church they founded in
some serious difficulties: but we may not boast over
them; for we are ourselves stiil labouring with the con-
ceit concerning — venerable antiquity, and the purity of
the early ages; nor will it be very soon that this invete-
rate prejudice will be altogether and finally broken up.
Few will either undergo the labour of becoming fami-
liarly conversant with the documents of Christian anti-
quity, or will severely analyze the notions which this
prejudice imbodies.
In concluding this tract, 1 beg permission to offer
some assistance in instituting this necessary analysis; or
rather, plainly to state the case which this prejudice in-
184
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
volves: and moreover, will view it, as from the position
of those who religiously receive the doctrines of the
Oxford Tracts.
The writers of these tracts have, and, as I must
humbly think, in a very seasonable as well as able man-
ner, protested against the modern phase of infidelity,
called — rationalism, and which, if followed out consis-
tently, can come to nothing but, first unitarianism, and
then deism, and then pantheism, and then the purest
atheism. They may have taken an unfair advantage of
the incautious language of some well meaning writers;
but yet have, as I think, truly exhibited the inner quality,
and the necessary tendency of this modern scheme of
theology. Moreover, they have not merely protested
against this prevailing illusion, but have admitted the fact
that it has actually become the type of our modern pro-
testant Christianity; and also, have intimated their fears
that, unless vigorously repelled, it will, ere long, em-
brace the protestant world, a few remonstrants excepted,
and propel all down the slippery descent toward univer-
sal unbelief.
Now let us for a moment suppose that nearly as much
as this, melancholy as is the idea, had actually come
about in our times; and that (the few remonstrants ex-
cepted) there was no other form of genuine belief extant
in the world than that of the Romish Church, which,
as is admitted, is laden with corruptions. In such a case
then, nor does it appear why we may not imagine it as
possible, or even as probable, there would prevail, not-
withstanding our Lord's promise to be with his church
always, an almost universal defection or apostacy — on the
one side toward atheism, on the other side toward super-
stition.
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
185
We suppose then such an apostacy to have had place,
in the nineteenth century. What then stands in the way
of our supposing an analogous defection to have be-
longed to some preceding age, or even to the first, or to
the second? . If we say- — the extant historical evidence
contradicls any such supposition, this is the very point
in dispute; nor can I allow the question to be begged so
easily. But what general principle is there which for-
bids our admitting such a proposition? Not any vague
belief concerning the divine benevolence toward man-
kind; for this is unchangeable; and, if it must have pre-
vented an apostacy in the first century, must also have
prevented it in the nineteenth; nor by the same rule,
can we admit any other contravening principle, as ap-
plicable to the one period, which does not equally apply
to the other.
Among the predictive promises, or the official instruc-
tions addressed by our Lord to his personal followers,
some, very clearly, were applicable to themselves indi-
vidually, and ceased to have any operation or efficacy,
at the moment when the functions of these individuals
were fulfilled. Other of these promises, not less clearly,
are the property of his servants and ministers, in all
ages. But is there so much as one of these words of
power and comfort, which, while it passes onward be-
yond the individuals who first heard it, yet does not pass
forward for the benefit of the church universal; but stays
within certain limits, as, for example, the limits of the
first, the second, or the third centuries? In other words,
was there any promise of guidance, or assistance, or of
exemption from error, granted to the ancient church,
other than what belongs, in its fullest force, to the church
of all ages? I presume it cannot be pretended that the
WQ A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
ancient church had any such advantage over ourselves;
or that it was in any sense whatever the occupier of a
peculiar benefit " on lease," or " for a term of years."
But if not, then the question concerning the actual con-
dition of the ancient church is entirely open; and after
we have dispelled from our minds, the fancy, really
childish as it is, about " antiquity," and a 11 golden age,"
we then turn, with perfect coolness, to the documents in
our possession, and submit its pretensions to a candid,
but unsparing analysis.
If the ancient church was benefited by no interposi-
tions more direct than those which, in every age, have
maintained truth and piety from utter extinction, then we
must believe, and must expect to find our belief verified,
that, in coming, as it did, suddenly, and without the aid
of any experience, into contact with the most prodigious
evils, it at once imparted an impulse, and admitted an im-
pulse:— or, as we say in mechanics, action and reaction,
were equal. Did Christianity encounter the rigid, punc-
tilious, and self-righteous pietism of the Jew? In the
collision the Judaism of those who, of the Hebrew race,
embraced the gospel, gave way to some extent, and was
Christianized; and, in return, Christianity at large was
Judaized. Or, did it meet the vain philosophy and Pla-
tonism of the speculative Greek? it did so; and Platon-
ism and Christianity thenceforward were intimately com-
mingled. Did it impinge upon human society, then
debauched in a most extraordinary degree? it did so, and,
with a violent revulsion, it distorted its own principles
of virtue, in an equally extreme degree. Finally, did
the religion of the New Testament, rational, spiritual,
pure, confront the degrading superstitions of the pagan
world? it did so, and on this ground, while it bore a
OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH.
187
clear testimony against the doctrine and the flagitious
practices of polytheism, yet merged itself in the bound-
less superstition of the times, as a system of fear, spi-
ritual servitude, formality, scrupulosity, visible magnifi-
cence of worship, mystery, artifice, and juggle. Such
were the antagonist principles, in contending with each
of which the holy religion of Christ triumphed in each
instance, and in each was trampled upon; conquered and
was conquered; — diffused light and health, and admitted
darkness and corruption.
Nevertheless its utter extinction was prevented: — the
external means of its regeneration were preserved, and
the times of regeneration actually came. Forgetting the
things that were behind, and returning once again to the
long buried scriptures, the church has regained its vitality;
and, amid a thousand errors, lives, and prepares herself
to occupy the world, for her Lord.
But if there be only the most general verisimilitude in
the representations above given, in what light are we to
view the incredibly strange endeavour to bring back,
upon the modern and revived church, the very notions
and practices that were the consequences of the struggles
of the ancient church with its antagonists? Shall we
then indeed be led to reverence and imitate the very ar-
ticles that are to be pointed out to as marking the admix-
ture of Christianity with Judaism — with Greek philo-
sophy— with pagan corruption — and with polytheistic
superstition? Shall we part from our religion, as we
find it fixed in the scriptures, and madly follow it, in its
first fearful plunge into the bottomless gulf of spiritual
darkness and moral pollution? If the phrase — Christian
antiquity, can be allowed to convey no idea of pre-emi-
nence beyond what the strict rules of historical logic may,
188
A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION
under all the circumstances, allow to it, then, manifestly,
the inexperienced and convulsive struggles of the infant
religion with its formidable foes, how well soever they
may merit our admiration, are less likely than almost
any other cycle of religious events, to secure our cool
approval, or to command our submission, as if then v.
pattern of wisdom and order were to be given to the
church of all ages.
A religious mind, after having contemplated the
changing scene of human error and folly, from age to
age, and after admitting, for awhile, some painful sen-
timents of reprehension, in thinking of the authors and
promoters of such errors, gladly turns, first, to those
many circumstances of extenuation which may be ad-
vanced in behalf of these mistaken men, and which shall
allow us, notwithstanding, to think of many of them as
brethren in Christ. But then, such a mind seeks a far-
ther solace, in tracing, dimly perhaps, the apparent pur-
poses of Him who, even when most he allows evil to
have its course, yet sways the general movement, and
urges forward still the development of his mighty scheme
of universal government. A religious mind holds to the
belief that He who worketh, in all things, according to
the counsel of his own will, has, in every age, been
evolving a settled plan; whether or not it may be intel-
ligible to the human mind.
Now, in this belief, we are led at once to look, if not
with more complacency, at least with less distress, upon
particular forms of what we must still regard as capi-
tal error, and to think of them as, in some way, tempo-
rary adaptations of truth to the circumstances of man-
kind at such or such a period: in this light considered,
the sharpness of our displeasure is a little broken down,
and our stern condemnation tempered. There is a real,
OF THE ANCIEXT CHURCH.
189
and, as I think, a legitimate consolation to be derived
from considerations of this sort. But then the very
principle whence it is derived, namely, that the Lord has
been giving place to accommodations, or appliances of
this sort, from age to age, thereby effecting a slow, and
often retarded progression, in advancing the religious
condition of mankind, this principle, I say, implies an
unutterable absurdity in the endeavour, made at any ad-
vanced period of the great scheme, to revert to a posi-
tion long ago passed by and obsolete.
If we comfort ourselves with the thought that a vast
scheme has been, from the first, in movement, the end
of which shall be the universal triumph of truth and
peace, then must we be thinking of any thing rather
than of a turning back upon the great road of the church's
progress, and of forfeiting the toils of centuries; or, in
other words, of rendering ourselves, by imitation, such
as that which, when it actually existed, was but a low
alloy of truth, permitted or winked at for awhile. And
if, in any sense, we allow ourselves to be called pro-
testants, our profession must imply the acknowledg-
ment that the great scheme of reiigious development lias,
during the last three centuries, made a conspicuous de-
monstration, and has set us forward far, very far, in ad-
vance of the position occupied by our predecessors of
the fourteenth century. Who must not acknowledge this?
What impiety to deny it!
And what have been the characteristics of this alleged
modern advancement? Not the devising of novelties in
religion, as something that might be added to the apos-
tolic model; not the boldly taking the scriptures in hand,
with the endeavour to cut them down to our likiner, or
to cast them in the mould of our modern philosophy.
This has not been the course we have taken ; but the
17
190 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION, &C.
very reverse, namely, an intent reference to the apos-
tolic authority, in all things, and an almost overwrought
anxiety to know and to imbody the very form of apos-
tolic Christianity. Whereas now, such being the cha-
racter and specific quality of the course of events in the
church, in modern times, the character and the quality
of the course of events in the ancient church was the
very contrary; namely, a perpetual superposition of ma-
terials upon the apostolic foundation, at the capricious
bidding of superstition, enthusiasm, fanaticism, spiritual
tyranny, craft, and hypocrisy: such, I say, being, when
the two periods are broadly regarded, the distinctive
and contrasted features of each, no powers of language
come to one's aid when one would fain express the
sense one has of the folly of the endeavour, to say
nothing of its audacity, to induce the church to relin-
quish its own hopeful characteristic, and to put on that
of the long gone-by period of ignorance, decay, delusion'.
The Lord himself disappoint any such mad attempt!
NOTE.
Lest it should be thought that in affirming pp. 31 and 184, the
Nicene church to have been the mark at which our English re-
formers aimed, and the model of our church polity, I subjoin an
extract from Brett, who is adduced by the Oxford Tract writers
among their witnesses to the soundness of their principles, and
as speaking the sense of the English church.
" As the church never was so strictly and firmly united as in
the primitive times, and particularly about the time when the
Council of Nice was celebrated; so, if ever the church be as
firmly united again, it must be upon the same principles and
practices. The church never was united but upon the principles
and usages which obtained at the time of the Nicene Council;
and we have, therefore, good reason to believe that it never can.
be united but upon those principles and usages."
INTRODUCTORY STATEMENTS.
The course of argument open before us, in the pre-
sent instance, is straightforward, and the inference it in-
volves is clear and conclusive. I have undertaken to
show, by numerous and varied citations, not merely that
the doctrine and practice of religious celibacy occupied
a prominent place in the theological and ecclesiastical
system of the Nicene church, a fact hardly needing to
be proved, but that the institute was intimately and in-
separably connected with, and that it powerfully affected,
every other element of ancient Christianity, whether
dogmatic, ethical, ritual, or hierarchical. If, then, such
a connexion can be proved to have existed, we must
either adopt its notions and usages in this essential par-
ticular, or must surrender very much of our veneration
for ancient Christianity.
The fact of the intimate connexion here affirmed is
really not less obvious or easily established than that of
the mere existence of the institute itself. Modern church
writers may, indeed, have thrown the unpleasing subject
into the back-ground, and so it may have attracted much
less attention than its importance deserves; but we no
sooner open the patristic folios than we find it confront-
ing us, on almost every page; and if either the general
averment were questioned, or the bearing of the celibate
upon every part of ancient Christianity were denied, vo-
lumes might be filled with the proofs that attest the one
as well as the other. Both these facts must be admitted
192
INTRODUCTORY STATEMENTS.
by all unprejudiced inquirers who shall take the pains to
look into the extant remains of Christian antiquity.
But of what sort, then, was the influence which flowed
from the notions and usages of the ancient celibacy?
Was it beneficial and salubrious, or pernicious; or was
it neither the one nor the other — an innoxious ingredi-
ent, which might have been withdrawn without either
sensible advantage or serious detriment? This question
we have the means of bringing to a satisfactory conclu-
sion; or even if the present writer should fail to effect as
much as he has undertaken, some other, more compe-
tent to the task, would not fail to discern, and to make
good use of, so obvious an occasion for winning a signal
triumph in a controversy of the highest moment.
There are those who are now telling the Christian
world (in so many words, as well as by frequent impli-
cations) that the doctrine and discipline which were pro-
mulgated in a crude form by the apostles, reached a ma-
ture state about the time of the council of Nice; and that
it is in the writings of the great divines of that age that
we are to look for the finished model of our religion. It
is, as I think, a most auspicious circumstance that those
who entertain a belief such as this, have done themselves
the honour, and the church at large the service, of
making themselves so clearly understood; and that thus
a multifarious controversy is reduced within narrow li-
mits, and is submitted to ihe rules of a plain historical
inquiry. Only let the Oxford writers adhere to this pro-
fession of their faith, and we may hope to see the con-
troversy reach its issue at no distant period.
But then these same writers will feel themselves com-
pelled to dispose of the critical subject of the ancient
celibacy in some more definite manner than can be ef-
fected by the means of a few timid and ambiguous allu-
INTRODUCTORY STATEMENTS.
193
sions to it; for it will not long be permitted to the cham-
pions and admirers of ancient Christianity to evade a
theme which touches, at a hundred points, the general
scheme of doctrines and practices they are labouring to
recommend. These divines cannot but feel that the
credit so generally given them for religious integrity as
ministers of the gospel, and for honourable ingenuous-
ness as controvertists, imposes upon them the necessity
of frankly stating what their belief is on this cardinal
point.
Either the ancient celibacy, with its allied asceticism,
was abstractedly good, and its influence was holy and
elevating; or the reverse was true; or it was neither the
one nor the other, and altogether indifferent; or it was
partly beneficial, and partly pernicious. Something de-
finite must needs be said on the subject, and a choice
must be made among these suppositions, before we can
be free either to accept, or to reject, the Nicene model
of Christianity. As well attempt to recommend Maho-
met's scheme of religion, and yet say nothing of his
doctrine of paradise, as go about to restore ancient
Christianity, leaving in the shade — its celibate and its
monkery.
The Oxford Tract writers have, no doubt, maturely
considered this untoward subject, and will in due time
declare themselves plainly concerning it; nor does it ap-
pear how they can do otherwise than boldly take up the
only position which their pledged adherence to the Ni-
cene church leaves open to them, and toward which in-
deed they have already opened the way.* Mean while
* Dr. Pusey's Letter to the Bishop of Oxford, assumes, as I
shall hereafter show, the very ground on which the ancient celi-
bacy rested.
17*
194
INTRODUCTORY STATEMENTS.
I invite the reader's attention to a mass and series of
proofs which, as I think, must exclude every supposi-
tion'but one, concerning the influence of the notions in
question, and the real quality of the religious and eccle-
siastical system to which they attached.
The actual influence of particular religious opinions
or practices, is not always found to be such as, at a first
glance, we might have expected: often it is the very re-
verse; and when, at length, we discover the error into
which we had fallen, we are not unlikely to admit, too
hastily, a favourable impression of that which we per-
ceive not to have produced the sort of bad consequences
we had hitherto attributed to it. This is a pitfall always
to be kept in view. Multitudes have relapsed into pope-
ry, and not a few have fallen into Socinianism, simply
because, in becoming better acquainted with the one or
the other, their original and vague notions concerning it
had not been realized.
With the hope then of precluding any such accident
in the present instance, and also, in order to exhibit, as
plainly as possible, what I mean by the diffused and oc-
cult influence which an opinion or practice may extend
over the system it belongs to, I will adduce what may
seem an extreme example, and yet it is a pertinent one.
— Let it be supposed then that we have in view some
religious national system of which the practice of infanti-
cide is a part, and is not merely tolerated, but authorized,
and encouraged, commended, extolled, and practised.
Now none can imagine that such a doctrine, and such a
practice, would be found to have taken no hold of a peo-
ple's manners and sentiments; rather we should be in-
clined, without hesitation or due inquiry, to attribute a
gross and savage ferocity to a community disgraced by
so foul a stain. But herein we might find ourselves al-
INTRODUCTORY STATEMENTS.
195
together in error, and perhaps, when actually convinced
of our mistake, we might almost begin to ask if the
practice itself were really so abominable as we had been
used to think it.
But a better informed, and a more cautious inquirer,
adhering steadily to the immoveable principles of morali-
ty, nor ever skeptical concerning the constant elements
of human nature, would patiently look about, or would
look more narrowly into the system, and beneath its
surface, for what he must at length discover, — namely,
the deep working, and the universally diffused poison,
of this horrid usage. How lofty soever, in style and
mien, such a people may seem, and whatever heroism
may have often connected itself with the atrocious prac-
tice, yet the philosophical moralist, sure of his princi-
ples, will go on with his analysis of the people's senti-
ments and condition, until he has laid bare the ulcer that
is at their heart.
And such an analysis would, in the end, make it cer-
tain, that there was no single opinion, however appa-
rently insulated, no characteristic of the national temper,
no element of the private and domestic economy, actu-
ally exempt from the contamination of this cancerous
tumour. Within this infanticide-community mothers
might perhaps exhibit the highest intensity of the pa-
rental affection, and might be seen, to-day submitting to
the most extreme privations for the sake of the very
babe which, to-morrow, they will coolly offer to the
murderous knife of a fanatical priest. There might seem
to be no want of moral energy among such a people;
and yet assuredly there would be a total want of genu-
ine virtue: and if their morals were vitiated and extra-
vagant, of what sort would be their religion? Nothing
better, we may be certain, than a grim demonology — a
196
INTRODUCTORY STATEMENTS.
worship, not of the author of the human system, but of
its destroyer.
Whenever a religious practice, plainly interfering with
the common principles of human nature, is not found to
be such, in its immediate influence, as we might have
supposed, it will be because itself springs from some
much deeper or higher principle, touching the human
mind more profoundly, and therefore, in so far as it has
its origin more toward the centre, it affects every thing
else in the heart, temper, behaviour, and understanding.
In such a case then, the particular practice in question
may either be assumed as a general characteristic of the
moral system of which it is a part, or it may be em-
ployed more exactly, as a clue, serving us when we
would make our way through the intricacies of that sys-
tem.
It is precisely thus with the celibacy of the ancient
church: far too deeply did it touch the most potent im-
pulses of human nature to be in itself of small account.
Whatever had the power so to thwart and trample upon
the animal and moral constitution, had a power too, to
disturb every thing else within the bosom, or the mind
of man; nor could it fail to exert this power. It were
idle to speak of one who goes about with iron spikes in his
shoes, or with a festering hook in his ribs, as if he were,
in other respects, just like his fellows; or as if he could
retain his hold of the common principles of good sense,
and of the gentle domestic affections: — such a being is
not in truth a man. The fakir may smile, and talk soft-
ly, but all his notions and feelings are such as are burned
into the soul by the indwelling of a fiend. Whatever
it is, whether doctrine or social usage, that lords it over
our physical and moral constitution, will be sure to play
ihe master among things so much more flimsy and piia-
INTRODUCTORY STATEMENTS.
197
bie as are theological dogmas and ecclesiastical constitu-
tions. What! shall a man's heart be grasped, and
wrenched, and torn out of its place by a force which yet
will not, or cannot mould and twist the fleeting creations
of the brain? This will never happen, or never if the
laws of moral and intellectual dynamics are at all to be
calculated upon. Craze a man in his affections, and you
need not set about to craze him in his understanding; for
it is done already. Such a one sees every thing in false
proportions, misjudges all magnitudes, misplaces the
major and minor of every proposition, and has become
a universal sophist, not indeed by ill intention, or want
of reason; but by the cruel misfortune that has disjointed
his moral symmetry.
This is felt by every sound-minded reader in looking
into the ancient church writers: — it is not an error in one
place, and an inconclusive argument in another; but it is
generally a distorted condition of the moral and religious
nature: every thing is as if it had been on the rack.
Often one is perplexed in the endeavour to trace to its
true cause this derangement of notions, of which, never-
theless, one is constantly and painfully conscious; but on
such occasions it is seldom that the mystery is not cleared
up by a recurrence to the leading fact of the terrible vio-
lence that had been done to human nature by the ascetic
system. Here is the fatal secret of very many of the
illusions, and the exaggerations, and the corruptions, of
ancient Christianity.
The instance I have just adduced, by the way of illus-
tration, namely, the practice of infanticide, I have ad-
mitted to be an extreme one; and it is so if we think of
its direct criminality, as compared with the vow of vir-
ginity. But in any other point of view, it is by no
means extreme; and I think that those who are the best
198
INTRODUCTORY STATEMENTS.
acquainted with human nature, will be ready to admit
that the one practice indicates the presence of as great
a power of disturbance (to borrow a phrase) as does the
other. In other words, that the practice of celibacy im-
plies as profound, and extensive a derangement of the
moral system, as does the practice of infanticide: — the
single act was indeed more flagitious; but the motive
prompting it was not of a more sovereign kind, nor less
likely to shed its influence far and wide.
Now whatever recommendations of fervour or of se-
raphic heroism might be found to attach to a communi-
ty practising infanticide, on pretext of religion, it is not
conceivable that we should ever consent to go to such a
society to be schooled, either in theology, or in morals,
or that we should think it safe to borrow from so tainted
a source any order of sentiments; for we should feel that,
whether or not the poison had always broke out on the
surface, every thing thence derived must, in fact, be lia-
ble to the gravest suspicions. But the same caution
ought not the less to be regarded when it is proposed,
as now, by the Oxford divines, to borrow largely and
freely from the plague-stricken Nicene church. What
can be more unsafe than to listen submissively to those
who, themselves, had undergone the moral and the the-
ological mischief, or violence, connected with the celi-
bate doctrine and practice — which practice had already
become loaded with the most extreme and offensive
abuses! If we dare not take lessons from teachers ap-
plauding and practising infanticide, how is it that we can
dare to listen to those who applauded and practised a
custom which, though not in the same sense a crime,
could not have become general, without involving an
equal, or even a greater distortion both of natural senti-
ments and of theoretic principles?
INTRODUCTORY STATEMENTS.
199
The real history of the ancient church (I do not mean
so much of this history as may meet the eye in modern
works) plainly shows, not only that the worst enormi-
ties (sometimes) and the wildest extravagances (often)
attached to the ascetic life, but also, and which is a fact
of more significance, that dogmas and modes of devo-
tional sentiment fitting such excesses, were adopted, or
were fallen into, by even the wisest and best of the the-
ologians of the times. What violence then must be done
to every known principle of analogy, in the moral world,
if, after all, it is to be believed that the Nicene church
had reached, in doctrine, m ritual, in discipline, and in
devotional temper, just that palmy state, bordering on
absolute perfection, which should render it the proper
object of our veneration and imitation! "What may not
be true if this be true? .
But even if so utterly incredible a supposition were
admitted, we should not have made our way through the
difficulties of the case, and these are to be surmounted
only by a procedure from which, as I suppose, all but a
very few would recoil with horror. It is well to look
these farther difficulties fully in the face. — The Nicene
church-system was one system, firmly compacted, com*
pacted by energies, within, and by pressure from with*
out: nothing hung loose upon it; nothing was onto! har-
mony within it. We totally deceive ourselves if, carry-*
ing our modern notions up to those ages, we think that
the Christian community in the fourth century was like
the modern religious mass — a heterogeneous aggregate,
owing submission to no central power, wrought upon
from within, and from without, by a thousand forces,
wholly independent one of the other, giving the lreest
scope to individual impulses, and therefore presenting
200
INTRODUCTORY STATEMENTS.
many glaring instances of anomaly, and contrariety.
The ancient church wore no such many-coloured cloak;
and how much soever it might be distracted by parti-
cular controversies, it was very nearly of one temper,
as to its moral ingredients. This assertion might receive
curious illustration by a collation of the style of men
the most opposed on points of theology. But it must
suffice here to advert to the fact, which will not be dis-
puted, of the homogeneity of the religious system, with-
in the boundaries of the orthodox church, to say no
more. What then is the practical inference thence re-
sulting? Plainly this, that, if we go a borrowing from
this Nicene church, piece-meal, taking out of it what
we may fancy, and leaving behind that which in fact
was woven with it, and formed one texture, we shall
come off miserably disappointed in the result; for what
we have obtained is not, in fact, what we were grasp-
ing at.
As well append an amputated limb to a living body, as
attempt to set certain detached portions of ancient Chris-
tianity agoing, in combination with our modern church
notions and practices. What we have adopted will pu-
trefy, but it will not walk. Yielding ourselves to a fond
veneration of antiquity, we may ape the sanctimonious
carriage of the Nicene age, we may imitate, and punctili-
ously enact, the sacramental superstitions, as got up in the
porphyry-columned basilics of Constantinople, Antioch,
and Rome; we may talk in the big phrases of Chrysostom,
Gregory, and Ambrose, of the " tremendous mysteries "
of the church, and may exhaust all powers of language
in setting forth the efficacy and dignity of the sacerdo-
tal functions: — we may strut and swell, we may rave*
or be sullen, as we please; but all will not do — our copy
Introductory statements.
20f
indeed is perfect to a hair, but there is no life or mo-
tion in it. The Nicene church, with its pomps and aw-
ful rites, embraced a mystery, tremendous indeed — a
motive and a doctrine which, afler trampling, in tyran-
nous mockery, upon the most potent forces of human
nature, lent its superfluous power to whatever else might
seem to need animation or support.
Idle then is the industry of our modern restorers of
antiquity, who are copying the Nicene church, but yet
scruple (or scruple at present) to adopt the master ele-
ment of the system — the heart of the body — the key-
stone of the arch, the cement of the structure. The
Romish copyist knew far better what they were about,
and their imitation of antiquity has stood on its feet,
and spoken, and gone about, and wrought its will, like
a living body: the Romish representation of ancient
Christianity is a daughter — too like her mother to allow
her filial relationship to be for a moment Questioned; but
what is now in course of finishing, within our protec-
tant church, is nothing better than a wax model, which
although it startles us when we come upon it, unpre-
pared, chills us when we touch it, and from which we
presently turn away in contempt.
Marvellously indeed have those shown their ignorance
of hitman nature, who have allowed themselves to think
of the ancient celibacy and its asceticism, as if they were
separable adjuncts of ancient Christianity; and strangely
too have they overlooked the entire evidence of histo-
ry. The philosophy of morals apart, how can we be
justified in assuming those things to have been loosely or
accidentally conjoined, which, in fact, never existed apart
for so long a time as one year, or one day, and were
never sundered in any one church, and which neve#
18
202
INTRODUCTORY STATEMENTS.
came to be parted until the time when the apostolic prin-
ciple of morals, which had been so long superseded,
was recovered, and promulgated anew? Let the " well-
omened " enterprise of the Oxford divines (so far as at
present developed) be crowned with all the success they
can desire, let the episcopal clergy generally, or univer-
sally (which God forbid) yield themselves to the fond
illusion, let the English church be hoisted up to the high
mark of Nicene perfection, and, in order to make the
experiment as complete as possible, let it repel from it-
self so much of the interference of the civil power as
distinguishes the English church under the Tudors, from
the eastern church under Constantine, or Theodosius;
all this effected, and the first Hush of triumphant feel-
ings subsided, and then every one would become con-
scious of a want — a fault, which some would not hesitate
to name; and there would be a general outcry for the de-
ficient element of ancient Christianity; and a few months
would see the " holy virginity" of the Nicene age, freed
indeed from its grosser scandals, and sobered down a
little by English good sense, fairly set a-going among us,
and crowds, of both sexes, high-wrought by this fresh
and specious enthusiasm, would profess themselves
" the espoused of the Lord." That such things should
come about, even in this country, and this age, I cannot
think in any degree improbable. — But are we indeed
prepared to hail them?
Besides the vehement propensity of all things to reach
their deep and true affinities, there is a very obvious ten-
dency in* the superstitious feeling and doctrine concern-
ing the sacraments, to bring about the restoration of the
celibate. If certain imaginative notions of sacred ness
and sanctity arc but once well lodged in many minds,
INT HODUCTORY STATE M F- N TS .
203
and especially in delicately sensitive minds, there comes
in, at the same time, or it will soon develope itself, an
instinctive necessity for carrying them out in all direc-
tions; and in fact, until these morbid notions are so car-
ried out, the conscience is troubled, and the moral senti-
ments are kept on the rack, or are exposed to frequent
and cruel shocks. There would not long be wanting
some tender and devout spirits, nor some of more fana-
tical temper, who would denounce, as insufferable, the
desecration of " Holy Baptism," and of the " Holy Eu-
charist," by the hands of a married priest. Many, and
among these, some of the most exemplary members of
the church, would declare that their inmost nature re-
volted at the thought of receiving the consecrated ele-
ments from "polluted hands." A married priest! shall
such a one touch that altar which archangels tremble
even to look upon! (as says the blessed Chrysostom.)
This may not be: too long indeed has the church, tram-
pled on by profane protestantism, submitted to these de-
gradations. The time, however, is now come that she
should raise herself from the dust, nor ever a^ain per-
mit her " present Lord " to be uplifted by any but hands
washen in innocency, nor the steps of her tremendous
altar to be trodden by any but those whose " loins are
girt about with truth."
All this has actually been seen and heard in the church,
and it will inevitably renew itself among ourselves, if
only ancient Christianity is to be revived, and if Eng-
land, abandoned by God for her sins, is to shut up the
scriptures, to frown upon the gospel, and to take up, in
the stead of it, the heartless "philosophy " of the pa-
tristic folios.
The intimate connexion then of the celibate with all
204
INTRODUCTORY STATEMENTS.
parts of the ancient religious system, presents itself as
a subject of urgent practical importance, at a time when
the notions, rites, and doctrines, of that system, are re-
commended as imbodying Christianity in its mature and
most perfect form; and when, in a word, the Nicene
church is solemnly lifted up, as the standard by which
every thing ecclesiastical should be estimated.
This alleged connexion, fatal as it must be held to be
to the pretensions of ancient Christianity, considered as
a model-system, is not to be exhibited in generalities
merely; but must be traced carefully, and on several
lines of inquiry. This inquiry I am now to pursue, and
with the hope of combining comprehensiveness and bre^
vity, with a sufficient degree of distinctness in the de-
tails, shall arrange the evidences I have to adduce under
five heads, and shall consider the ancient religious ce-
libacy, and the ascetic practices therewith connected, as
affecting —
I. The notions entertained of the Divine Nature, or
the moral attributes of God —
II. The scheme of salvation — its means and end —
III. The system of morals, in its principles, and ope-
ration on the church and society at large — -
IV. The visible institutions of Christianity, and espe^
cially the sacraments — and,
V. The ecclesiastical polity; and particularly the po-
sition, influence, and temper of the clergy.
In order to anticipate any objection, bearing upon my
general argument, I must state the principle which I
bind myself to observe in citing the evidence of writers
of different times, embracing a period of four hundred
years. — I assume, then, that the moment of the Nicene
council is the centre point of historical inquiries, con-
INTRODUCTORY STATEMENTS.
205
cerning ancient Christianity. It is so, first, because, by
general acknowledgment, the church was altogether at
that time in a more settled condition than at any other
period, whether earlier or later. Secondly, because we
are in possession of far more ample materials, relating
to that period, than are extant belonging to any other,
earlier or later, and, therefore, we may, with more cer-
tainty and satisfaction, bring it under discussion; and
thirdly, and especially, because this period has been ex-
plicitly recognised, in the present controversy, as that
wherein was im bodied the pure ideal of doctrine and dis-
cipline, and which many wish to consider as the model
and standard of the English episcopal church. Here,
then, is our resting-place; and in quoting earlier autho-
rities, it is only just so far as these preceding writers
may be fairly taken as having laid the foundations of the
Nicene church; or, on the other hand, if later doctors
are brought forward, it will be when they, as plainly,
are seen to be completing the building, and laying stone
upon stone, after the original plan, and in manifest con-
formity with the mind and purpose of their predecessors.
Thus, for example, if Origen, Irenaeus, or the apostolic
bishops are produced, it will be so far as they were the
fathers of the Nicene Christianity; or, if I come down
so low as to the times of Gregory the Great, I shall ad-
duce his evidence, not as the father of popery, but as the
child and scholar of the Nicene doctors.
In fact, I think there are very few points of differ-
ence, distinguishing the Nicene church, from either the
earlier or the later church, within the compass of two
hundred years, on either side, which modern contro-
vertists, of any class, would much care to insist upon,
as of material consequence to their particular opinions.
18*
206 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
It is well, however, to cast anchor at some one point,
and manifestly the early years of the fourth century af-
ford the hardest bottom for this purpose. The extant,
and principal, writers of the period during which Ni-
cene Christianity may be considered as having remained
entire and unchanged, are barely so many as twenty.
The works, however, of several of these are voluminous,
and they altogether furnish an amount of various and ex-
act information, concerning the opinions and usages of
the time, such as is hardly surpassed in copiousness, or
exactness, by the historic materials of any but the most
recent times. At least it is enough to exclude the ap-
prehension of our being liable to fall into any material
error, in representing, either the notions, or the prac-
tices, or the spiritual and moral characteristics of the
period,
I. Connexion of the ancient celibate with the no*
TIONS ENTERTAINED OF THE DIVINE NATURE.
It is affirmed, then, that the fundamental principle and
the practices of religious celibacy were at once the pro-
duct, and the indication, of certain notions concerning
the Divine Nature, altogether unlike those conveyed in
the scriptures, and which took effect upon every other
element of ancient Christianity.
Few, I suppose, will deny that a stanch orthodoxy
may consist, and has often in fact consisted, not merely
with incidental errors, but with very unworthy and de-
lusive conceptions of the Divine Nature. How many
vehement asserters of Athanasian doctrine have appeared
pn the stage of the church, whose notions of the moral
WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
207
attributes of God, or of what (with reverence) may be
called the divine dispositions, were of no better quality
that such as may have been entertained by the visionaries
of the Ganges, of the Indus, of the Euphrates, or of the
Nile! This fact, instructive as it is, cannot escape the
notice of any intelligent reader of church history. An
orthodoxy, logically precise, has served, with many an
ardent spirit, as the blind of a most corrupt theology;
and the Athanasian creed has been used as a mantle,
wrapping round the illusive principles of the oriental
theosophy. But, in such instances, and they have been
very numerous, although the concealed error may elude
our grasp, while we are in search for it in its dogmatic
form, it never fails to betray itself, somewhere, among
the characteristics of the ethical or ecclesiastical system
of the parties in question.
This is remarkably the case in the instance now be-
fore us; and after we have traced the Christian celibate
institution, very satisfactorily, as we may think, to this,
that, and the other external cause, and have pursued it,
historically, up to its several sources, when we come to
institute a deeper inquiry regarding its inner cause, or
primary motive, we have hardly advanced a step before
we meet unquestionable indications of its real import as
a product of that gnostic sentiment which, even where
the gnostic heresies were the most strenuously resisted,
held possession of the religious mind, almost universally,
along the shores of the Mediterranean, and during a full
seven hundred years.
I here anticipate a brisk and resentful retort on the
part of the champions of ancient Christianity, who, at
the mere mention of any such " calumnious insinuation,"
will triumphantly appeal to the illustrious catena palrum,
208
CONNEXION* OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
who, from age to age, stood as the bulwarks of the
faith, and gave their whole souls to the work of repelling
the gnostic heresiarchs. The well-merited eulogium of
these worthies on this particular ground, I would be for-
ward to assent to, and to repeat. But, when this justice
has been rendered to the anti-gnostic fathers, from Ire-
naeus to Theodoret, a more exact attention to the facts,
and a more calm consideration of them, will lead us to
admit the necessity of observing a distinction, often
overlooked, between the formal and zealous opposition
which men may make to certain definite errors, and the
latent and unconfessed entertainment given to the very
feelings out of which those errors have sprung. As
there is what may be called articulate truth and inarti-
culate truth, and as multitudes, no doubt, have been
saved by their participation of the latter, who have either
not known, or who might even have resisted the for-
mer; so is it with error, and with its influence over the
mind. More than a few, in every age, have stood fore-
most in the assault upon error, as defined and broadly
pronounced by heretics, who, at the same time, have ma-
nifestly been themselves the victims of the false senti-
ment— the intimate illusion, whence that error has taken
its rise. Thus, for example, in our own times, has it
not happened, and, in some signal instances, that the
assailants of skepticism have afforded indications enough
of their suffering, themselves, under that ague of the
soul? 1 consider it, therefore, neither as a calumnious
imputation, nor as a philosophical refinement, to affirm,
that the early church, while employed in meritoriously
and successfully repelling the proteus gnosticism by
which, from the first, it was beleaguered, did itself ad-
mit, and to a much greater extent than has often been
WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
209
supposed, a deep gnostic feeling, which made itself felt
in every branch of its doctrinal and ecclesiastical con-
stitution.
Apart from an acquaintance with the history of that
awful mistress of the ancient world — the oriental the-
osophy which, under a thousand changeful colours, held
the religious mind in thrall during a period of two thou-
sand years — apart from this history, we are neither qua-
lified duly to estimate the divine excellence and purity
of the Christian system, nor to render full justice to the
Grthodox early writers on account of their resistance of
this captivating illusion, nor can we resolve the enigma
of the superstitions which, even while repelling gnosti-
cism, the ancient church admitted. In this last respect,
especially, it is the knowledge of gnosticism, not indeed
as a heresy, but as a feeling, and as the " tyrant of the
cavern " — the lurking witchery of the human spirit, that
must afford us the clue we want in clearing a path through
the labyrinth of ancient Christianity. It is to this gnos-
tic feeling, preoccupying all minds, religiously disposed,
that we must trace most of those peculiarities of senti-
ment and practice which make up the striking contrast
between the apostolic and the Nicene church. This
oriental theosophic sentiment consisted in, and produced
a fatal misapprehension of, the Divine nature, or moral
attributes of God, and its consequence was to give a
totally wrong direction to every thing in theology or in
worship, that might come within its reach.
Gnosticism, repelled by the ancient church, and at
length (by fair, as well as foul means) finally extirpated,
as a visible heresy, did not expire until after it had de-
posited myriads of its eggs within the vitals of the church.
Gnosticism surviving in principle, and polytheism in ri*
210
CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
tual, make up tcgether the bastard religion of the middle
ages, otherwise called popery. The protestant churches
have indignantly shaken off the grosser elements of this
superstition, that is to say the polytheism of popery; but
they have not, or not all, even to the present day, alto-
gether dispelled the more occult and refined element,
namely — the gnosticism of popery: and to speak the
plain truth, it is nothing else than this same element, this
inveterate gnostic feeling, that is now rising to the sur-
face in the Oxford divinity.
The identity of this occult element, working under
so many forms, and daring the lapse of so many centu-
ries, and struggling on from east to west, like a pesti-
lence, born in the mud of the Ganges, and spreading
death to the shores of the Atlantic, becomes manifest
when we keep the eye fixed upon certain of its constant
characteristics. These therefore demand our closest
attention.
We are much accustomed to think of the ancient
gnosticism, in a trivial manner, and only as we find it
grotesquely and hastily portrayed in modern books,
where it appears as an unintelligible congeries of puerile
absurdities, or a mere jargon, saved from contempt, only
by that daring impiety of its language which excites our
resentment. Not such was it in fact; nor as such did it
gather to itself, and fascinate the intellectual masses of
the ancient world; — these masses too, led on by minds
as vigorous and as lofty as any that have figured in phi-
losophy. In forming our notion of this system we must
allow for the disadvantages we labour under, first, as
having to collect our materials entirely from among the
fragments which its triumphant opponents have chosen
to hand down for our inspection; and secondly, as view-
WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
211
ing the whole in the light of a much better understood
Christianity; and thirdly, which is no inconsiderable
circumstance, as having ourselves undergone that severe
training in the demonstrative and physical sciences,
which impels us to regard with cold contempt whatever
cannot make good its claims to respect on the ground of
direct evidence, or logical inference. But to the mind
of antiquity, the ramie want of positive proof, far from
being regarded as a disparagement, constituted the pecu-
liar charms of a scheme of philosophy. The best praise
of a system of theosophy was, that it soared far above
the region of cold demonstration, and that it opened a
fair field of lofty and delicious speculations, exempt from
the impertinent interference of dry dialectic methods of
argument. The ancient mind chose its religion, as a vo-
luptuary chooses a mistress, not for her probity, but her
beauty, to his eye; and it desired, not what could not be
gainsayed, but what was too fair to be rudely questioned.
Gnosticism, all gratuitous as it was, and rich in a gor-
geous pneumatology, on this very account captivated the
meditative, the excursive, and the pensive orders of
minds; because it dared to unfold an upper world, which
could be conversed with only by a spiritual intuition,
disdaining the trammels of reason.
Gnosticism, such as we find itwestw-ard of the Syrian
deserts, or the Euphrates, and such as it appeared from
the apostolic age, and the times of Philo, and four cen-
turies onward, was at once the effort of that instinct of
the human mind which impels it to penetrate the mys-
teries of the invisible world, from mere curiosity; and
it was the struggle of the heart, as well as the reason;
it was its agony under the pressure of those indefinite
surmises thai spring from a contemplation of the actual
212
CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
condition of the human system — its derangement, its1
anarchy, and its corruption, and which painful emotions
seek repose in such a notion of the Supreme Being as
compromises the moral, by the means of a refinement of
the natural attributes. Gnosticism reaches its end, when
it has fashioned a deity allied to the imagination, not to
the conscience.
Under many variations which, during the course of
several centuries, gave some new aspect to the system,
almost every year, these same germinating impulses are
always perceptible. But it is to be observed, and the
observation affords a clue to many of the perplexities of
the subject, that, although the first of these motives,
namely, that imaginative curiosity which gave birth to
the rich theories of gnosticism, seemed always to lead
the way, and to be mistress of the whole, it was in fact
the second impulse, less ostensible, but far more potent,
namely, the agonizing desire to resolve, or to dismiss the
problem of moral and natural evil, as disturbing the
government of an Infinite being; it was this impulse which
really controlled the apparently lawless speculations that
sprung from the first: and in truth, the last and ripened
form of gnosticism — Manicheism, was only the outbreak
of that force which, during centuries, had been inly
heaving the mass. The bold doctrine broached by
Manes, of a personal, independent, and an eternal evil
principle, waging an interminable war with the good,
was only a simplification of the system, brought out, at
the last, by that pressure which was threatening its de-
struction. Gnosticism, less vehemently urged by the
catholic church — the politically powerful church, might
long have continued, as at first, a splendid speculation:
but thus compelled to make a desperate effort, it became
WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
213
a malignant heresy, and as such, offered itself the more
fairly, as a victim, to its triumphant rival.
In the gnosticism of the times of Philo, the brighter
and purer element only appeared on the surface; while
in the gnosticism of Manes and his successors, the darker
and the more foul prevailed; but inasmuch as neither
was at any time altogether wanting, so both, while ex-
plicitly and earnestly condemned by the church, never-
theless deeply affected its opinions, its moral sentiments,
and its practices. It is this unconfessed, and yet exten-
sive and permanent influence of gnosticism upon ancient
Christianity,* that resolves the enigmas of church his-
tory, and indeed affords a key to the difficulties which,
at the present moment, distract so many minds.
What then was the essence of this oriental theosophy,
as distinguished from the genuine theology that had been
handed down, through the inspired patriarchs, to the
Jewish legislator, and by him sent forward, in the hands
of the prophets, and finally given to the world in its
perfect form by our Blessed Lord, and his apostles?
This theosophy, scarcely less ancient than the patri-
archal piety, and much more widely extended, was to
this effect — That the visible world, with its material ele-
ments, jarring one upon another, and its organized and
animated orders, perishable, and corruptible, and inimi-
cal, and its intelligent races, degenerate and wretched,
is altogether unworthy of the Supreme and Infinite
Power, or as he was called — the Father Unknown, who,
nevertheless, is the emanative source of minds, human
and angelic, or at least of the purer classes of minds. —
* Matter (Histoire critique du Gnosticisme,) is far from being
satisfactory on this branch of his general subject, and seems bare-
ly conscious of its importance.
19
214
CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
That this material world was, in fact, the work of infe-
rior and imperfect beings, (or of one such being,) them-
selves removed by many stages of filiation from the
Supreme Deity, and who exercised an ill-fated and pre-
carious empire over this troubled sphere, where man —
unhappy man, finds his present lot to be cast, who,
nevertheless, if he steadily pursue his better destiny,
shall at length, and after long periods of trial and purga-
gation, and under the conduct of the Logos-Redeemer,
reascend to his source, and merge his being for ever in
the boundless ocean of light and life.
It was a side principle of the gnostic theosophy, a
principle at the first advanced for the purpose of op-
posing the Christian church, and abandoned only when
conciliation became necessary, that Jehovah, the god of
the Jews, was not the Supreme Deity, but, on the con-
trary, his foe, and the usurper of his power.
To this system, Christianity opposed itself, not simply
by maintaining its orthodoxy, but more specifically, first,
by vindicating the constitution of the visible world, what-
ever partial disorders it might seem to embrace, as the
work of the Supreme Wisdom and Goodness — wisely
leaving speculative difficulties, or apparent inconsisten-
cies unsolved; secondly, by connecting itself with the
Jewish dispensation; and here again, leaving untouched
whatever might offend the captious in the Jewish history
or poetry; thirdly, by exhibiting the Supreme Being, as
standing in an immediate and gracious relationship to
man; and as the antagonist, neither of matter, nor of
the visible world, nor of what is simply finite and cor-
ruptible, but as the enemy of that only which is morally
evil. This last was practically the chief point of con-
trast between Christianity and gnosticism. The one
system spoke of God as hating nothing that he had made,
WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
215
and hating sin only, which he had not made. Nothing
therefore intervened between God and man, nothing
could intercept the full tide of blessedness, flowing from
the Creator toward the creature, nothing but sin: sin re-
moved, and sin renounced, and then the ineffable com-
munion between the Infinite, and the finite, was restored,
securing the glory of the former, and the felicity of the
latter. But in the other system, the antithesis of the In-
finite Perfection was — the finite and corruptible material
world, of which one of the mere accidents (and man's
sad misfortune) was moral disorder, or sin. The course
therefore to be pursued by man, in extricating himself
from his luckless position, and in getting clear of its ac-
cident— sin, was, by lofty contemplation, by habitual
mental abstraction, and by disengaging himself, as far as
possible, from the humiliating conditions of animal life,
to facilitate, and, in a sense, to anticipate, his relapse
into the infinite Nature.
Such were the two confronted religious systems.
Need it be asked which is the true, the divine, and which
is the illusory, the false? Who can now balance between
the two? The catholic church opposed its substantial
truths to these baseless and malignant speculations, and
triumphed; but alas, it fell in triumphing, and while vi-
gorously repelling the openly pronounced and more dis-
tinct forms of the gnostic delusion, it too soon, and at a
very early period, yielded itself to the undefined and the
more seductive gnostic principle, which made the con-
ditions of animal life, and the common alliances of man
in the social system, the antithesis of the divine perfec-
tions, and so to be escaped from, and decried, by all
who panted after the highest excellence. It was this
gnostic leaven, which through the medium of some ar-
dent minds, gained at length a firm hold of the Chris-
216
CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
tian community, and became the germinating cause of
so much of the ascetic institution as was not expiatory,
as well as of many of those superstitions which have
continued to oppress Christianity, even to the present
time.
None, it is true, who retained their connexion with
the catholic church, or who were recognised by it as its
members, allowed themselves to speak of sin in gnostic
language, or ever openly renounced, or altogether over-
looked, the characteristic Christian doctrine of holiness,
as the end of the Christian life; but at the same time
there were exceedingly few who hesitated to surren-
der themselves to what I have termed the gnostic feel-
ing, in relation to the vulgar conditions of man's
present state; and while the feeble and nickering en-
thusiasm of gnosticism itself was found to be avail-
ing only with a very small class, in carrying them
forward on the thorny path of abstraction and asceti-
cism, and while it left the majority to amuse themselves
with the system as a barren speculation, it was far other-
wise with the Christian body, among whom there were
at work motives far more animating, and better defined,
and more than sufficient for giving practical efficacy to
the very same principle of abstraction, and which im-
pelled multitudes to abandon their position in society,
until, in fact, the wilderness became peopled with soli-
taries, and the church was converted into a sort of thea-
tre for the athletae of the higher spiritual economy.
Gnosticism had its avatar, its JEon deliverer, its
Christos, and Logos, who, sent down to this lower
sphere by the Unknown Father, to oppose and expel the
Demiurge Creator, and god of this world, and the Jeho-
vah of the Jews, was to recall the pneumatici — the purer
minds of the human family, to their original place in the
intellectual system. But gnosticism had no vicarious
WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
217
Saviour, no Lamb of God taking away the sin of the
world — no propitiatory death on the cross: — its Christos
did not suffer when the man, Jesus, was crucified by
Pilate. It had no such Saviour, nor wanted one; for it
did not recognise sin and guilt as the real obstacles in
the way of man's felicity. Only let the human spirit
break away from the material thralls of the creator of
this gross system, and it would instantly be happy: mat-
ter, ^>», being dropped, sin, its accident, would fall
with it.
The ancient church felt the infinite superiority of its
own system of belief; and its constancy, in maintaining
its ground, beleaguered as it was by errors so insidious
and fascinating, may well claim our admiration. But
how insidious and how fascinating are those errors that
spring up in the human mind as the substitutes for long-
lost sacred truths! Moreover, to aim at, and to reach in
religion, something better, or something more exalted
and refined than that which God himself has granted to
us, seems, to fiery and ambitious spirits, not merely in-
nocent, but laudable. Why may we not lift sanctity (at
least for the few,) to a higher level than that of the cold
avoidance of positive sin? Why may not man aspire to
be holy after the fashion of seraphs? Alas! this loftier,
or seraphic sanctity, is not sanctity; but a factitious pie-
tism, involving the substitution of principles fundamen-
tally false, in the place of the motives of genuine virtue.
JSo it was, that the unearthly holiness which the ancient
church from an early period, made the object of its fond
ambition, was not Christian holiness, but mere gnostic
abstraction from the innocent conditions of animal life.
Christianity teaches that a near approach to the Father
of spirits was to be sought for on the path of that virtue
which is opposed to vice. Gnosticism held out the hope
19*
218 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
of such an approximation by mere disengagement from
matter, and from its corruptibility. The ancient church
never denied the Christian doctrine of sanctity; but it as-
sumed along with it, and as a useful subsidiary princi-
ple, the gnostic doctrine: — hence its asceticism, and espe-
cially its doctrine of the angelic excellence of virginity.
When will the church, once for all, convince itself of
the great truth, so amply confirmed by its own history,
that, to tamper, in any way, with the first principles of
religion, or to attempt to exalt and refine them, is an en-
deavour not more impious, than it is fatal? The en-
deavour to elevate and rectify Christianity, has, in fact,
proved to be of worse, or of more permanent ill con-
sequence, than the endeavour to lower its requirements;
for the latter attempt has involved only a relaxation of
principles, while the former has demanded a substitu-
tion of one principle for another, and has therefore de-
ranged every thing else.
Whenever we are considering the ancient Christian
asceticism, it is indispensable that we should keep in
view the difference between what was purely abstrac-
tive, and what was penitential or punitive, in its princi-
ples or practices. This distinction, if not always clearly
defined in the monastic writings, is always easy to be
observed when the sentiments of the ascetics are ana-
lyzed. And it is farther to be noted, that, while in some
places, and at certain periods, the abstractive principle,
prompting to the withdrawment of the spiritual being
from the conditions of animal life, was chiefly thought
of, in other places, and at other limes, the self-torment-
ing, penance-doing doctrine took most effect, and pro-
duced those macerations and inflictions, by means of
which sin might be expiated, and the future reckoning
rendered so much the less formidable. The fact is, at
WITH THE XICEXE THEOLOGY.
219
least, a curious instance of coincidence, (if it be nothing
more,) that the chief centres of gnosticism were also
the localities where the abstractive species of asceticism
made itself prominent; while in the west, where gnos-
ticism, until a late period, was only an imported doc-
trine, the penitential, or rather expiatory asceticism, pre-
vailed over the abstractive. Of this alleged fact, it would
be easy, if pertinent to our present argument, to adduce
many striking illustrations.
Now, keeping in mind the above stated broad distinc-
tion, I presume it will be universally admitted among
protestants, that the existence, at any time, or in any
community, of penitential and expiatory ascetic prac-
tices, affords a sufficient and unquestionable proof of a
corresponding compromise of that first principle of
Christianity — the full and free pardon of sin, through
the expiatory and vicarious sufferings of Him who was
"made a sin-offering for us." Under whatever subter-
fuges he may attempt to hide his error, the man who la-
bours to expiate his own sin, by self-inflicted pains of
the body, has lost his hold of the gospel of the grace of
God: he may be very devout, and very fervent, but the
gospel he has framed to himself, is " another gospel,"
and, in fact, is no gospel; it is not "glad tidings," but
•sad tidings.
Then in adherence to the very same criterion of truth,
we at once say, that the existence, and the general pre-
valence, in any church, of the principles, and practices
of abstractive asceticism, and especially of the doctrine
concerning the angelic excellence of virginity, is to be
held as sufficient proof of a corresponding compromise
of the genuine Christian notion of the divine nature, in
its moral and spiritual attributes, and plainly indicates
the substitution of the gnostic idea of a deity eternally
220
CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
at war with matter, and abhorring the conditions, and
resenting the humiliations of animal life, in the place of
the scripture doctrine concerning the divine holiness,
and hatred of sin.
If then the serious imputation now thrown upon the
ancient church of having, while steadfast in its ortho-
doxy, admitted the germinating principle of the gnostic
theosophy, and of having, so far, compromised the glory
of Christian theology, if this imputation were repelled,
and if proof in support of it were demanded, nothing
more need be done in justification of such an impeach-
ment, than merely to refer to the unquestioned fact, that,
from the first, and thence onward through the track of
centuries, it adopted, and extensively acted upon, the gnos-
tic principle — That the highest order of sanctity, or in
truth the only genuine and perfect sanctity, attainable on
earth, is in the possession of those who withdraw them-
selves, as far as possible, from the conditions of animal
life, and especially, who renounce and abrogate, in their
own persons, the sexual constitution. Religious celiba-
cy, such as we find it in the ancient church, was not an
expiatory sacrifice, it was not a penance; but an act of
abstraction, or an abduction of the incarcerated soul from
the 6x», the dregs and stuff of the lower world, by means
of which separation it placed itself just so much the
nearer to God, as it was the more remote from the natu-
ral life.
This is the doctrine of gnosticism, of its parent soof-
feeisrn, of its grand-parent buddhism, and of the ascetic
institute of the ancient church. Almost in the very lan-
guage, often in the very language of the gnostic teachers,
and even while formally condemning the system, as an
Anti-Christian heresy, do the Christian writers, and es-
WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
221
pecially those of the eastern and Alexandrian churches,
recommend virginity, and speak of it as the only near
approximation w hich man can make to the deity, and as
a forestalling: of the soul's emancipation from the slavery
and degradation of its connexion with matter, and with
animal life. AVhence came the notion universally pre-
valent in the church, and repeated by a thousand tongues,
that the virgins of Christ, male and female, constituted
a spiritual aristocracy, or a choir of terrestrial angels,
and who, as such, were holy by emphasis, holy as a
class, and waiting only the kind hand of death, to lift
them up to the throne of God? All this, in its various
colours of extravagance, came not from the apostles, nor
is it to be traced to the scriptures: — it is nothing but sheer
gnosticism, and it means nothing less than the removing
44 the Father" revealed to men "by the Son," and the
putting in his place the sra-r^ cLyvaxnoc, a being approached
only by the few — the Trvwp atuoi, who had withdrawn
themselves from the laws of the lower world, and had
made common cause with him as the enemy of the de-
miurge creator.
But can it be imagined that a compromise of first prin-
ciples, so fatal as this, could come to its end simply in
originating, and in keeping alive the institute of celiba-
cy? Assuredly not; and it is nothing less than what we
are compelled to look for, when we find that the same
gnostic feeling, and theosophy, which, in the celibate
institution, indicated its presence, and displayed its
power, took effect also upon every other element and
usage of ancient Christianity. Of this we shall discover
evidence enough in the after stages of our inquiry.
I do not, however, wish to stop short where I fairly
might, at this mere reference to the ancient abstractive
222 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
asceticism, as a sufficient proof of the prevalence of the
gnostic theosophy and sentiment, in the ancient church,
but will adduce a few passages, which, although they can
by no means convey the irresistible impression made
upon an unprejudiced mind, by the general tenor of the
ancient church divinity, may yet serve as sufficient sam-
ples of this sort of compromised Christianity.
Who is to be accounted orthodox, if Athanasius be
not so? nor only orthodox, but truly good and great;
and, by his wisdom and courage, more worthy, if we
may accept the arbitration of Gibbon, to have sat on the
throne of the Ca?sars, than either of his contemporary
imperial enemies. And yet this great Athanasius was
himself not more exempt than the craziest fanatic of his
times, from that flimsy ascetic notion of sanctity, which
sprang from the gnostic notion of the divine nature. The
follies of an inferior mind may, in any case, be imputed,
if we please, to the individual, but those of eminently
powerful minds must rather be thrown back upon the
age, and they may safely be assumed as its characteris-
tics. The vigorous and straightforward understanding
of this unbending champion of the faith, could hardly
have failed to have broken through the illusions of the
times, had those illusions been of an incidental kind;
but they had arisen steadily and slowly from deep-seat-
ed false theological principles, they had pervaded the
Christian community, from the east to the west, they had
acquired, by long and undisturbed domination, an autho-
rity such as none (or very few) dared to call in question,
so that the most devout and energetic minds made it
their glory to promote, and would have thought it a sa-
crilege to have examined, the venerable errors. Willing-
ly should we give so estimable a man the benefit of any
WITH THE MCENE THEOLOGY*
223
doubt that may be thought to attach to certain tracts,
usually comprehended in his works; but little or nothing
could be gained, for his reputation, by this scrupulosity,
inasmuch as those of his writings, the genuineness of
which has never been questioned, contain sentiments
fully equivalent to what may be found in those which,
on this ground, we might hesitate to cite as his. The
apology addressed to Constantius may be appealed to
confidently, as genuine, and in this piece Athanasius uses a
style, when adverting to the subject of religious virgini-
ty, which bears out any thing elsewhere occurring in the
works imputed to him. The expressions applied to our
Lord in this tract are far too much in the gnostic style,
and startle the ear by their resemblance to the language
of the gnostic leaders in speaking of their " Logos-Re-
deemer." " The Son of God," says Athanasius, (torn,
i. page 698,) " made man for us, and having abolished
death, and having liberated our race from the servitude of
corruption, hath, besides his other gifts, granted to us to
have upon earth an image 'of the sanctity of angels,
namely, virginity. The maids possessing this (sancti-
ty) and whom the church catholic is wont to call the
brides of Christ, are admired, even by the gentiles, as
being the temple of the Logos, a* v&gv ovo-at tcu xoyou. No
where, truly, except among us Christians is this holy
and heavenly profession fully borne out or perfected; so
that we may appeal to this very fact as a convincing
proof that it is among us that true religion is to be
found."
And thus, in the undoubted tract of the same father,
on the Incarnation, we meet the very same prominent doc-
trine, spoken of as a characteristic of the Christian sys-
tem, and even including the gnostic phrase, applied to
224
CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
virginity, that it was an excellence obeying a rule "above
law." " Who is there, but our Lord and Saviour Christ,
that has not deemed this virtue (of virginity) to be ut-
terly .impracticable (or unattainable) among men; and
yet he has so shown his divine power, as to impel youths,
as yet under age, to profess it, a virtue beyond law?"
(Tom. i. p. 105.) We cannot, therefore, do Athanasius
much wrong in attributing to him sentiments which, even
if they did not actually flow from his pen, are entirely
in accordance with his opinions, as elsewhere professed.
And yet it does not appear that the tract on virginity, or
the ascetic life, is, on any sufficient grounds, assumed
not to be genuine. Let it, however, be taken only as a
sample of the temper and style of the times; — just as
we say of the Athanasian creed, that, whether it be the
composition of this champion of orthodoxy, or not, it
truly expresses his known belief, and that of the church
of his times. If the individual reputation of Athanasius
were the point now in question, then the genuineness of
a particular tract, attributed to him, would be a point es-
sential to our argument; but not so when it is the cha-
racter of the age, rather than of the man, which we are
considering.
Now, looking at the tract I have mentioned, as a whole,
and comparing it broadly with the apostolic writings, one
cannot but instantly and strongly feel that the writer's
notions of Christian sanctity, and those of the apostles,
were almost totally dissimilar; but then these notions
differ just in the same way as the gnostic idea of a deity
abhorring the conditions of animal life, and at war with
the visible world, differs from the Christian idea of the
true God, the Creator of the world, and hating nothing
but sin. I might stop to notice the utterly unapostolic
WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
225
style in which the author, in this treatise, commends
the virtue of lasting. " What doth Christ require of
thee, but only a pure heart, and a body unsoiled, and
made black and blue with fasting?" How much better
were it for us to fall back from Christianity, such as this,
upon the Jewish prophets, one of whom gives us a far
more Christian-like, as well as a more rational reply to a
similar question — " What doth the Lord thy God require
of thee, but — to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk
humbly with thy God?" Can we be at any loss in
choosing between two systems of morality, as thus sum-
marily expressed? What would not fasting do? — every
thing, says Athanasius, and " place man near to the
throne of God." Yes, to the "god unknown" of gnos-
ticism; but not to the God revealed in the scriptures.
Athanasius, and the church of his time, did not altogether
overlook, much less did they deny, what was substan-
tial in morals; but they constantly associated with these
weighty matters, that factitious sanctity which, when-
ever so associated, has not failed to draw to itself the at-
tention of ordinary minds, and, in the end, to reduce its
companion to a subordinate and almost forgotten place.
Tell the mass of men, as solemnly as we please, that
they must be " holy in life and heart," and aho — scru-
pulous in their external purifications, and we shall soon
rind them absorbed in the details of this scrupulosity,
while they make light of justice, truth, mercy, and pu-
rity, as well as piety. It would be of no avail there-
fore, in relation to our present argument, to cite, from
the same tract, the many excellent moral precepts which
it imbodies: — the question is — With what are these pre-
cepts associated, and what are the notions, concerning
the divine nature, which must have been suggested by
the general tenor of the writer's exhortation*. '
226
CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
Now let it for a moment be imagined, that some lead-
ing religious writer, of the present day, and one of high
reputation for intelligence and personal sanctity, as well
as vigour of character, addresses a letter of religious
advice and encouragement, to a devout Christian lady of
his acquaintance, and that, among other advices, excel-
lent as they may be, and in one and the same tone
of serious intentness, this writer presumes to enter her
chamber, in the capacity of her spiritual director, and
when there, gives her precise and solemn instructions, as
to the cautions she should use in performing her ablu-
tions, and the reserves she should adhere to in changing
her linen! — no such insufferable impertinence could pos-
sibly be fallen into by any one, gifted with a particle of
common sense, in these days. No where, scarcely in
the Romish communion, could we find a spirit so mise-
rably enthralled by superstition, as to be led to make the
ceremonials of the foot-bath an awful matter of piety, or
to imagine that He who indignantly contemned the scru-
pulous ablutions of the pharisee, was to be either pro-
pitiated, or offended, by a lady's using, or not using,
both her hands in washing her face! (Athan. torn. i. p.
1050.) I scorn to translate this page: Does it most excite
contempt or indignation?
How is it then that, at a time when the church had
gathered to itself all the intelligence and learning of the
age, a venerable archbishop, and a man of strong under-
standing, and every way of eminent quality, should think
it a proper part of his duty, in addressing the Christian
ladies of his charge, to descend to topics so degrading,
nay, so incredibly offensive? How is it that, in connex-
ion with the changing of an inner vestment, such a man
could bring himself to adduce the most solemn motives
of piety? No other answer can be given to so perplex-
WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
227
ing a question but this — that, in the age of the holy
Alhanasius, the church universal had fallen into notions
of the divine nature far more nearly allied to gnosticism
than to apostolic Christianity; and in fact, that, while
the gnostic heresy was denounced by the lips, the gnos-
tic theosophy had sunk into the heart. With our Lord's
pointed reprobation of pharisaic formalism full before
their eyes, these fathers of the church nevertheless stre-
nuously taught that Christian piety, of the higher sort,
mainly turned upon, or at least could not dispense with,
bodily purifications, and external observances!
A contrast has been drawn by several modern protest-
ant writers, between the apostles, and the early fathers,
and the difference such a comparison holds out, is striking
indeed. There is, however, another comparison which I
do not remember to have seen formally instituted, and
which offers points of diversity still more marked, as
well as highly instructive. What I mean is the vast in-
feriority of the Christian divines of the first five centu-
ries, compared, as teachers of morals, with the Jewish
prophets of five hundred years, reckoning from David
onward. A few words may suffice for setting forth this
very significant parallel. — The Mosaic law — a national
institute, and temporary only, and intended to seclude
the Jewish people from the nations around them, com-
prised various observances of personal ceremonial sanc-
tity, well called "carnal ordinances." But the Chris-
tian law, intended for all nations, and designed for perpe-
tuity, drops every such ritual scrupulosity, and not
merely drops the observances, but pointedly condemns
any regard to them among Christians. The servile de-
sire to Judaize Christianity, is warmly reprobated, as
implying nothing else than a renunciation of the gospel.
And yet, while such are the characteristics of the two
228
CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
systems, respectively, what are the actual characteristics
of the teaching of those who stood forward as the ex-
pounders of the one, and of the other, in the ages fol-
lowing the two institutions? — most remarkable is the
contrasted style of the Jewish prophets, and of the Chris-
tian doctors, in this respect! and how irresistible is the
confirmation it affords of our faith in the inspiration of
the Jewish scriptures!
Every intelligent reader of the Bible must have noticed
the general fact, that the writers of the Old Testament,
impelled, one and all, by an unconscious onward ten-
dency, toward a brighter and a purer, as well as a mere
expansive system than the Mosaic, lay very little stress
upon the personal and more servile observances of the
national law; and, on the contrary, insist, with a manly,
rational, and evangelic ardour, upon the great principles,
and the unchanging requirements of justice, mercy, tem-
perance, as well as upon the development of the more
intimate principles of the spiritual life. What is the
book of Psalms? is it a manual of monkery? What are
the prophets? are they zealous sticklers for ablutions,
and do they chafe and fret on points of the ascetic ritual?
Are David and the prophets, as if by the impulse of an
involuntary gravitation, working themselves down from
the greater to the less, in matters of morality, and de-
scending from the substance to the form, from the spiri-
tual to the ritual? Nay indeed, such are not the charac-
teristics of the inspired writers of the Old Testament;
who are manifestly imbued with the spirit and the power,
with the truth, the reason, of the apostles, although they
did not enjoy the same light.
But how is it with the early, and with the very best
expounders of the Christian code — a code (as found in
the New Testament) of truth and reality, opposed to
WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 229
iifeless ceremony, and abject superstition? The very
characteristics which we have denied to the Jewish in-
spired writers, are what present themselves on every
page of the early Christian doctors. It is, strange to say,
the expounders of Christianity — the teachers of the law
of liberty, who are ever passing off from what is mo-
mentous, to what is trivial in morality, and who seem,
on all occasions, quite as solicitous about the forms, as
they are about the substance of piety; and who rarely,
if ever, fail to mix, along with solid instructions, bear-
ing upon Christian conduct, some repulsive ingredients
of a servile superstition! I would fain ask those who
are the best qualified to answer the question — whether it
be not so? Is it not, in a certain sense, true, that, if we
were to expunge from the fathers the mere phraseology
of the gospel, and were to insert these same phrases in
the Old Testament scriptures, then every thing would
seem to be in its place; as in a system chronologically
developing itself? That is to say, the fathers might then
appear the fit expounders of the Mosaic carnal institute;
while the prophets, Christianized in their language mere-
ly, might be accepted as the genuine successors of the
apostles. Such an adjustment would seem to give the
harmony of regular progression, and of continuity to
the series of sacred literature, as it flows forward through
fifteen centuries. On this ground I should be. inclined
to urge an opponent to confess that the very best of the
writers of the Nicene age, say Chrysostom, Augustine,
Basil, Ambrose, Jerome, and the Gregorys, fall far be-
hind the Jewish prophets, as to the notions they convey
of the benignity and the purity of the divine nature; and
in the breadth of their moral systems, and in the respec-
tive importance attached by them to the forms, and to
20*
230 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
the substance of devotion, as well as in the warmth, the
expansion, the sublimity, and the energy of the religious
sentiment by which they seem personally to have been
animated. In a word, this must, I think, be acknow-
ledged, that the writers of the ancient dispensation were
such as those should be, who were looking onward to-
ward the bright day of gospel splendour; while the ear-
ly Christian doctors were just such as one might well
expect to find those who were looking onward toward
that deep night of superstition which covered Europe
during the middle ages. The dawn is seen to be gleam-
ing upon the foreheads of the one class of writers; while
a sullen gloom overshadows the brows of the other.
Every feeling of rational piety would be outraged,
were those not infrequent passages to be adduced in
which the great divines of the fourth century, while la-
bouring to set virginity " above all praise," endeavour
to mix up the notions it involves, with the ineffable re-
lationships of the Trinity, and, perhaps, in opposition
to the gnostic notion of female aeons, or divinities, in
pairs, attribute an accident of humanity to God himself.
Much of this sort that meets the eye, in the fathers'
must be left where it lies — and may it never find a trans-
lator! But let those who would be warned of the dan-
ger of running into frightful impieties when the reins
are given to fanatical impulses, open Gregory Nyssen,
Tiipi Uafiivi'M, and look up and down, and especially at the
second chapter, beginning >rvvt<rtu>;ycif> */uiv. II we shudder,
as we must, at the presumption of the gnostics, while
they are describing the emanation of the pairs of aeons,
male and female, from the Supreme Deity, can we regard,
without indignant reprobation, the shameless audacity of a
Christian writer, and a biphop, who dares to speak as
Gregory Nyssen does of the relationship of the Eternal
WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
231
Father to the Eternal Son? If this be not gnostic theo-
sophy, it is something worse; and assuredly it is not
Christian theology. Better renounce Christianity, with
the gnostics, than thus insult its most sacred truths, with
Cregory Nvssen. In order to secure for the celibate all
possible patronage, and the highest authority, this writer,
designating our Lord by a phrase of gnostic origin, as
tuv Tr-ri-ynv t»? *<?<3*p<ri*<;, insists upon the fact of his enter-
ing the world in a manner implying a tacit disparage-
ment of marriage; and, in another place, (Oration on
Christmas day,) he does not scruple to adopt a foolislu,
but favourite tradition, concerning the Virgin Mary, the
import of which is to secure her suffrage in support of
the practice of vowing virginity in very childhood, a
practice cruel in itself, and the occasion of the worst
abuses of the monkish system. Joseph, we are assured,
by the authors and retailers of this legend, was pitched
upon as a worthy man, who would consent to take
charge, for life, of the young virgin, (Mary,) in the os-
tensible relationship of her husband, but really as the
guardian of her innocence. And it is remarkable as an
instance of theological infatuation, e*/en witli the sound-
est minds, that the absurd story which Gregory Nysssen
introduces, with some apology, as apocryphal, Augus-
tine, a few years later, coolly alludes to, as if it were an
authenticated fact; and, in his customary mode of atte-
nuated reasoning, labours to infer as much from the
words of scripture. "It is clear," says he, (De Sancta
Virginitate,) "that Mary had previously (ihat is, before
the visit of the angel,) devoted herself to God, in invio-
lable chastity; and, that she had been espoused to Jo-
seph on this very condition; desponsata viro justo, mm
violenter ablaturo, sed potius contra violentos custodituro,
quod ilia jam voverat." And all this was to be affirmed
232
CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
and believed, in order that, as he says, Mary might
"furnish an example to holy nuns in all time to come!"
But, to return for a moment to Gregory Nyssen, I
will refer to the fifth chapter of the tract above men-
tioned, as furnishing an example of that sort of gnosti-
cized Christianity which was felt to be needed in giving
support to the practices and sentiments universally adopt-
ed by the church. The contrast, on this point, between
apostolic and ancient Christianity is striking. Peter
affirms that, "by the promises of scripture we are made
partakers of the divine nature, having escaped the cor-
ruption that is in the world, » tTriGvptx " — a term which,
in its canonical sense, implies always sin, not simple af-
fection. But the writer now before us declares, that
the only way of approach to the Deity, is on the path
of abstraction from the affections of humanity, as con-
nected with our animal and social state; and that the in-
stitute of virginity has this very end in view, that we
may the more effectually withdraw ourselves from the
entanglement of our mundane existence. Now, all this
is sheer gnosticism. The gospel teaches men to deny
ungodliness and worldly lusts; gnosticism taught, or
would fain have taught its followers, to deny and to re-
sent those humiliating conditions which the malignant
or unwise demiurge — the Creator of this world had im-
posed upon the human race; and thus, in substance, and
often with a very near resemblance of language, speak
the ancient promoters of asceticism. If the style of
Gregory Nyssen, on subjects of this class, be compared
with that of Mahometan dervishes, or of Persian sooffees,
or of the Grecian stoics, or Pythagoreans, or Platonists,
or with that of the gnostics of his own times, it does not
appear that any solid advantage can equitably be claimed
lor him. Call Nyssen a Christian father, and Epicietus
WITH THE NiCENE THEOLOGY.
233
a heathen philosopher, if you please, and let the church
pay her homage to the former on the 9th of March, or
on any other day, and let her reprobate the latter every
day of the year; mean time, this I am sure of, that I
could take many entire pages from both, and placing
them, in their naked merits, before an acute and intelli-
gent Christian reader, desiring him, from internal evi-
dence alone, to endorse each quotation with the word
Christian or Heathen, and he would as often interchange
these designations, as apply them truly. And I think,
moreover, that no candid mind would refuse to acknow-
ledge that the praise of good sense, genuine simplicity,
and consistency, must, most decisively, be awarded to
the dark pagan.
" In order that we may," says Nyssen, in the tract
above referred to, " with a clear eye, gaze upon the light
of the intellectual universe, we must disengage ourselves
from every mundane affection, and lay aside the feculence
of the corporeal condition." Thus have talked mystics
of every sect, and in all ages, and, while dreaming about
the "divine nature," have totally lost sight of real piety
and virtue. The mysticism of the fathers is distin-
guished from that of others by a peculiar slang, w hich,
unconsciously, they caught from the gnostic teachers,
their contemporaries.
There can hardly be a more gross illusion than that
of supposing that some few Christian phrases, such as —
** our Saviour, Christ," or, " through the grace of the
Son of God," really avail to Christianize a page, a chap-
ter, or a treatise, which, these naked phrases apart, we
should never have surmised to have come from Christian
lips. Nor are religious writings to be Christianized by
the formal insertion, here and there, of a creed, nor by
the inlaying of texts of scripture. A Christian writing
234
CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
is a composition which breathes the spirit, and which is
marked throughout by the peculiar principles of the New-
Testament. Now, judged by this rule, I think several
of the most noted of the fathers would be cashiered of
their usurped honours, and set down, some way below
the level of the better heathen writers. I fear this would
be the fate of both the Gregorys — I mean Nyssen, just
quoted, and the eloquent Nazianzen.
For propagating their opinions more widely and rea-
dily, the gnostic teachers had had recourse to the charms
of verse; and, to supplant them on this ground, several
of the fathers struck their lyres; among these, Ephraim,
Synesius, and Nazianzen; but of what quality was the
antidote they provided? Let us take some samples —
Synesius by and by, Nazianzen at present. It seems to
have been the belief of these writers that, to make the
nearest possible approach to gnostic doctrine and lan-
guage, while orthodoxy was saved, afforded the surest
means of excluding the specious heresy. A mistaken
notion, surely: but it is thus, that, while their opponents
were ranting about the vileness of their body, and the
sublimity of the endeavour to break away from its hu-
miliations, a Christian bishop could follow on the same
path, and say (Carmina Iambica) —
Tst/uos /uev iirriv ivvcjuo; eapKcev Sttris
"Where did Nazianzen learn any such doctrine as this?
We can only reply — Where he learned such as the fol-
lowing, and neither the one nor the other from the in-
spired writings.
"Happy the course of those, the unmarried-blessed,
who, (in this world,) having shaken off the flesh, are
nearer to the divine purity."
WITH TLlt NICENE THEOLOGY.
235
What teaching1 more delusive in its tendency, than
the telling a company of persons that, because unmar-
ried, they were "near to God." Gnostics taught no-
thing more pernicious; nor any thing, practically, unlike
this. They, or some of them, discouraged marriage,
not merely because it involved distractions incompatible
with the contemplative discipline; nor merely because it
was an additional tie, connecting the soul with the body;
but, because it was the means of carrying on that pro-
cess of "linking spirits to flesh," which the demiurge
had set a-going, despite of the Supreme, and which the
Supreme Deity was labouring to bring to an end. Now,
such notions being afloat, how does a Christian teacher
seek to withstand them? By addressing " a spouse of
Christ" in language such as that of the exhortation,
?r/>o? nap S«ow?, (torn. ii. p. 299,) not merely abounding
with the very cant of gnosticism, about the agency or
influence of matter, the commixture of natures, the har-
mony of spirits, with the Supreme Spirit; but present-
ing, in a distinct form, the gnostic doctrine that the
Christos, the Logos, had descended into this world to
abrogate the original sexual constitution, and to institute
a more spiritual economy. Let the studious reader look
to the whole, as it stands; and if he thinks that a florid
writer's real opinions ought not to be inferred from his
poetic effusions, he may compare, with the composition
here mentioned, the following passage from our author's
thirty-first oration, which offers the same gnostic jar-
gon, and the same gnostic principles, mixed up, indeed,
with a larger proportion of Christian phrases — " She
who is under the yoke (of matrimony) is in part Christ's;
but the virgin is Christ's wholly. The one, indeed, is
not altogether bound to the world; but the other turns
from the world altogether. That which is partial in the
23$
CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
married, is entire with the virgin. Thou hast chosen
the angelic life, and hast ranged thyself with those who
are unyoked, (the angels,) that thou shouldst not be
borne downward toward the flesh, that thou shouldst not
be borne downward l/f v\nyt that thou shouldst not,
even while remaining unmarried, be wedded T»
This is the very style of the Alexandrian gnostics, and
on the ground of this same notion of the wedding of
some souls to matter — a humiliation from which others
were exempt — Valentinian distributed human spirits into
the three classes, of the spiritual, the material, and the
physical. In truth, many passages of gnostic teaching,
reported by Origen, Clement of Alexandria, and Lre-
naeus,. want but a little revision to make them altogether
of a piece with the rhapsodies of Christian divines, in-
recommending the aseetic life.* " How angelic is it to
lead a life, not merely not fleshy, but far raised above
the laws of nature herself!" Looking at language such
as this, by itself, one must rather imagine it to have come
from the lips of the enthusiasts of the school of Simon
Magus, than from those of a well-informed teacher of
Christianity. If the people at large are taught that the
highest perfection attainable by man in the present state
consists in, and is to be pursued by the means of, a di-
vorce of the heaven-born soul from matter, whatever they
may at other times be told to the contrary, they will in-
evitably form a notion of the divine purity, as being the
antithesis rather of corporeity, than of sin; and this no-
tion, far more agreeable as it is to the unrenewed mind
than the other; although it be more abstruse, will, in
fact, give law to the whole of the religious system, of
* Some specimens of this sort will be found in a note at the
end of this .Number.
WlTH THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
which it is an element. The very allusion contained in
the epithet applied by the writer now before us to God,
whom he calls " the only bridegroom of pure souls,"
(twentieth oration,) conjoined with the doctrine that ab-
solute purity is to be attained only by those who renounce
marriage, could not but have the effect of diverting the
minds of ordinary Christians from a genuine and spi-
ritual conception of the divine nature. This substituted
notion is the very egg of gnosticism, and it has made it-
self the parent of all superstition.
Better doctrine than this is met with in a much infe-
rior writer, and one who was himself superstitious
enough in his way, I mean Cyril of Jerusalem, who,
Trtpi eru,juxroi, keeps clear of extravagance on a subject
where very few of his contemporaries could observe the
bounds of moderation. It must also be admitted that
the great man to whose praises Gregory devotes the
above cited oration, although the principal mover and
patron of the ascetic life, yet abstains from many of the
reprehensible sentiments which abound in the writings
of the Nicene age. Basil, far surpassing his brother
Nyssen, and his friend Nazianzen, in substantial quali-
ties, as well of the intellect as of the heart, may pro-
perly be adduced as affording the most impressive ex-
ample that can be imagined of the fatal tendency of the
theology of the age, in perverting minds even of the
highest order. Of Basil's superiority to most of his
contemporaries — the superiority of sound sense, and
right Christian feeling, we might well enough adduce,
as instances, those frequent passages in which his papis-
tical editors feel it necessary to attach a caute legendum
10 a paragraph — that is to say, to places where the wri-
ter is seen to be rising above the superstitions of his
21
238 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
times. Such an instance we find in the Homily on the'
Incarnation, where Basil, touching the topic that had
been so poorly handled by Nyssen, and that was to be'
so abused by Augustine, treats, aS of little practical im-
portance, the very point which they, and others, laboured
to establish as of ineffable moment and solemnity. Ne-
vertheless, and amidst the frequent outbursts of a better
reason and of a better faith, this great and devout man
yields himself, like others, to that same gnostic notion
of the divine character, of which the ascetic doctrine,
and, particularly, the institute of celibacy, were the pro-
per expressions. On what warrant of scripture does
Basil dare to affirm that virginity is, " that which makes
man resemble the incorruptible God?" Neither our
Lord, nor the apostles, utter a word that gives even a
colour to an anthropomorphous sentiment of this kind..
The doctrine is, in fact, puve gnosticism: and the ine-
vitable practical effect of it, is to impel the Christian to
pursue an ideal, or Platonic, instead of a genuine and
spiritual species of sanctity. I can suppose nothing less
than that, while Basil and his contemporaries were treat-
ing subjects of this class, the being they were thinking
of was not the true God of the scriptures, but the incor-
poreal First Mind, of the eastern theosophy.
Let us then listen a moment to the bishop of Caesa-
rea, and say, impartially, whether his style resembles-
most that of Paul, Peter, John; or that of Saturninusr
Basilides, Valentinian. It is not a few sentences, taken
apart, that can convey a just impression of the writer's
mind and feeling. I indulge the hope therefore that di-
ligent and conscientious students will read for themselves
the entire tract I am now referring to, De Vera Virgini-
tate, (torn, i.) and satisfy themselves on the question,
■which has become a very important one, Whether the
WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
239
Nicene church was, or was not, fatally affected by the
oriental poison : I would even stake the present argu-
ment upon an examination of this very tract.
"A great (virtue) truly is virginity, which, to say all
in a word, renders man like to the incorruptible God.
And this (virginity) is not a something that goes forth
from (springs from) the corporeal, until it reaches the
soul, but belonging to the incorporeal soul, (the gnostic
principle expressly) as a choice excellence, avails, by its
own incorruptness, for preserving uncorrupt that which
is corporeal. For the soul having conceived, and hold-
ing to the idea of the true good, is wafted aloft in its ap-
proaches toward it, as on the wing of this incorruptness
(virginity,) and, as like to like, intently waiting upon the
incorruptible God, brings up the virginity of the body as a
ready and obsequious servant to assist it ever in the calm
contemplation of the divine perfections; and for this pur-
pose, and that it may admit, as in a pure mirror, the divine
image, it dispels all those perturbing passions which af-
fect our lower nature." Farther on, in the same treatise,
De Vera Virginitate, the nun is said to strive to present
herself to the incorporeal deity yvjuvw, and unconscious
of any pleasures attaching to the body? I can do nothing
more, consistently, with the limits within which this
branch of the argument must be restricted, than just
point to the places where sentiments of this sort are to
be met with in their expanded form. In the view of the
general reader, who must accept this sort of evidence,
as it is laid before him, my inferences may seem to be
too slenderly connected with the facts, as adduced. Let
them then be contradicted by those who have at com-
mand the means of examining this evidence in the mass.
Or, let the advocates of ancient Christianity favour the
world by including among the "records of the church,"
240
CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
a translation, ivhoh and entire, of this very treatise on
the true virginity.
It is of a piece wit}) the false and gnostic notion of the
mode of approaching the Deity, as advanced by Basil,
that this wise and holy man is found spending his
strength upon the observances of factitious sanctity; and
that, in a practical composition addressed directly to wo-
men, he enters, with the most offensive particularity,
into physical disquisitions and speculations of a kind
not only totally unbecoming in a minister of religion,
and marvellously improper as intended for a lady's ora-
tory, but unconnected, in the remotest way, with the
culture of that " true holiness" of which the apostles
speak. But the two systems of virtue were wrought
out of altogether different elements. Basil, like Nazi-
anzen and others, thinks himself called upon to enter a
Christian lady's dressing-room, and there to give her re-
ligious rules for the whole of her behaviour at the toi-
let, gravely enjoining her, among sundry instructions
equally important, in pity to the angels who visit her
chamber, to use the utmost despatch in the necessary
care of her hair, lest they, to their own peril, should
look too long upon her dishevelled tresses! Then fol-
lows the customary reference to Gen. vi. 2, our author
having before warned the nun of preserving her bash-
fulness, not merely when in the presence of men, but
always, and in recollection of the " circumambient an-
gels," from whose regards she could never withdraw
herself. — (Tom. i. p. 747, of the Paris edition, 1618.)
Now if we assume that these miserable and perni-
cious refinements actually took effect, as they were likely
to do, on the minds of sensitive and superstitious young
women, could the result be any thing else than that of
diverting the thoughts from whatever is truly spiritual
WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
241
and genuine in piety, and putting in its place, a morbid
solicitude concerning the person, so imaginative in its
objects, and so voluptuous in its style, as to differ very
little from the most dangerous species of prurience? A
nunnery, fully brought under this sort of management,
could become nothing better than a spiritual harem.
Shall we then wish for our daughters, that, in place of
the rational and truly apostolic instructions which they
are receiving from modern Christian pastors, they should
be consigned to the influence of divines, such as Basil,
JVazianzen, Nyssen! Horrid thought! nevertheless from
this utterly vicious system nothing could even now save
us, if once we were to resolve to surrender ourselves
to what we are taught to reverence as catholic teaching.
*' Catholic teaching!" Basil's treatise on virginity is ca-
tholic teaching, and a perfectly fair specimen of the lan-
guage and temper of the times. If any thing at all be
catholic, that is to say, ancient and universal, the false
gnostic theosophy of the ascetic institute is catholic.
A few phrases, as I have said, can convey but a very
imperfect impression of the spirit and tendency of a pro-
lix treatise, and yet more copious quotations must em-
brace what it would be. an outrage to every right feeling
to adduce. An unreserved translation of Basil — one of
the best of the fathers, could it be tolerated, would as-
tound the Christian world. 1 have affirmed that a reli-
gious house of the times now in question, could be little
better than a harem; if this imputation be resented, as it
probably may, let the facts implied by Basil toward the
close of the treatise I have cited, be taken as evidence
that a modern Turkish seraglio, might be chosen as a
preferable asylum for female virtue. Or if this evidence
were not enough, I shall presently have to refer to pas-
sages in Chrysostom and in Jerome, the plain import of
21*
242
CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
which, making every reasonable allowance, will leave
a decisive advantage to be claimed for a pacha's palace,
if compared with the ancient koiu^m.
To repress and exclude the abuses invariably attend-
ant upon this vicious system, the great writers of the
time laboured with indignant animation. But not even
one of them, as it appears, set himself to call in question
the principle upon which it rested, or inquired in what
school that principle had been learned. So thoroughly
had the feeling and the notions of what I cannot scruple
to call a baptized soofTeeism, pervaded the Christian com-
munity, that no suspicion seems to have been entertained
of the cheat which so early had put the Buddhist theo-
sophy in the room of Christian theology — leaving to
the church its dry orthodoxy indeed, but hiding from it
the genuine conception of the divine nature.
In an argument such as the one now before us, it may
be well to abstain from citing those writers whose repu-
tation was in any way tarnished, or whose style is not
in harmony with that of the age they lived in; or if re-
ferences of this kind are made, it should be only so far
a9 these less esteemed authorities speak the language
that was authenticated by their better reputed contempo-
raries, and which does but echo prevailing opinions.
Now with these cautions in view, and after the most
esteemed fathers, such as Basil, and the two Gregories?,
have been consulted on the subject of the angelic per-
fection of the ascetic life, let the Hymns of Synesius be
referred to. In these beautiful compositions (some of
them) the oriental theosophy, under whatever temporary
designation it may pass, and whether it be called Bud-
dhism, or soofTeeism, or Pythagorism, or Platonism, or
gnosticism — this same docirine, thinly spangled with
Christian phrases, is dearly and boldly expressed.
WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
243
These hymns then, as the productions of a man, albeit
a bishop, and an associate of the great divines of the age,
who at the time of his almost compulsory consecration,
did not profess himself to be much better than half a
Christian, could not fairly avail us, in argument, as le-
gitimate evidence, if they did not find parallels in the
best theological writings of the time. If indeed a cor-
rect notion of gnosticism is to be gathered from the re-
ports of Clement, Irenseus, and Origen, this airy and
seductive doctrine, utterly unlike Christian theology, is
substantially imbodied in the Hymns of Synesius, leaving
out indeed so much of its jargon, as must have shocked
every Christian ear, and expressing just so much as
might find its apology in the writings of the orthodox.
This gnostic doctrine then, as advanced by the bishop
of Cyrene, implies the total oblivion as well of man's
real condition, as guilty and morally corrupt, and of the
divine purity, opposed to this corruption, and the put-
ting in the place of these truths, the Buddhist idea of the
Father of souls, or ocean of mind, into which pure spi-
rits, struggling away from matter, are at length to return.
If the first and second hymn be compared with Basil's
treatise on virginity, from which I have already made
an extract, not merely a loose resemblance, but a close
analogy must be acknowledged to connect the two wri-
ters, in this instance; and if the bishop of Cyrene em-
ploys a phrase or two which the bishop of Ceesarea
would perhaps have rejected, there is little or nothing to
choose between the two, either as to principle, or ten-
dency.
Many turns of expression, occurring in the hymns of
Synesius, might pass unnoticed by a modern reader
who was not already apprized of the specific sense at-
tached to such phrases in the contemporary gnostic
U44 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE
schools. Some indeed of these modes of speaking would
seem strange in the last degree, and utterly unwarrant-
able: as for instance, when, addressing the Deity the
poet says —
but when we come to open the records of gnosticism,
the real value, or, as it is called, the historic sense of
these characteristic phrases presents itself clearly enough.
Such are the terms — "root of the world," "root of
roots," "fountain of fountains;" and the prosopopeias
of "Wisdom," "Mind," "Generative Power," "Ce-
lestial Silence," and the like. " The wave-troubled
Hyle," the " bright Morpha," the "Primogenilive Beau-
ty," and the "daemon swarm which Nature hatches."
And such too is the language in which Synesius lauds
the abstractive life, which, as he says, "opens to the
human spirit a way of return to the upper sphere" (lan-
guage almost identical with that of Basil; see particularly
the close of the second hymn; or of the third) and he prays
that, until he shall be permitted to lose himself again in
the "ocean of light," and while compelled to submit to
the trammels of the corporeal state, he may at least be
aided in leading a life as exempt as possible from human
affections, and from all contact with the soul-depressing
Hyle. With these aspirations of the lofty mystic, it is
rather curious to compare the temper and conduct of the
real Synesius — the palpable bishop of Cyrene, who does
not dissemble the fact that he would fain have relieved
the tedium of his corporeal existence, now and then, by
the jocund pleasures of the chase.
If an elaborate disquisition on this important feature
of ancient Christianity were in hand (instead of a hasty
WITH THE XICEXE THEOLOGY.
245
allusion to it, which is all 1 can attempt) the hymns of
Synesius might very properly be taken as the text of the
argument; with these, adduced at length, should then
be compared the entire extant specimens of the language
of the professedly gnostic teachers — Syrian and Egyp-
tian. Next should follow, what might easily be collect-
ed, a copious collection of passages from the Nicene
writers, presenting, not merely innumerable coincidences
of expression, but many real analogies, of doctrine, and
near approximations in feeling; and all tending, in the
same direction, to establish, beyond a doubt, the fact,
that the oriental theosophy, while formally repelled by
the orthodox church, had silently worked its way into
all minds; uttering itself in the various modes of mystic
exaggeration, and condensing its practical import within
the usages of the ascetic system. The massive walls of
the church, like a hastily constructed coffer-dam, had re-
pelled, from age to age, the angry billows of the gnostic
heresy, which could never open a free passage for them-
selves within the sacred enclosure. Nevertheless these
waters, bitter and turbid, no sooner rose high around the
shattered structure, than, through a thousand fissures,
they penetrated, and in fact stood at one and the same
mean level, within, where they were silently stagnant,
as without, where they were in angry commotion.
Dare we say that, at rest, they worked themselves either
clear or sweet?
II. CoXXEXIOX OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE NoTIOXS
ENTERTAIXED OF THE SCHEME OF SALVATIOX.
We have in the next place to inquire in what way
and to what extent, the principle and practice of re-
246
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
ligious celibacy affected, as well the doctrine as the sen-
timent of the ancient church, in regard to the scheme of
salvation, and the means of the divine mercy toward
man, as depraved, and as liable to condemnation.
There is surely some prominent truth which broadly
distinguishes Christianity, as compared with every other
religious system, and which may be taken as its leading
characteristic; nor can we hesitate to name, as such, the
mode it propounds for restoring mankind, guilty and pol-
luted, to the divine favour — a scheme utterly unlike
any which man has devised for himself. Every thing
else, belonging to the gospel, may find, elsewhere, its
faint resemblance, or its imperfect rudiment: but this
doctrine is the prerogative of the inspired writings; ob-
scurely, yet substantially unfolded in the Old, fully and
brightly set forth in the New Testament. By emphasis,
this doctrine of mercy, however variously expressed, or
peculiarly expounded in different schools of divinity, is
called — the Gospel; for it is the happy news which God
only could announce; which man never had surmised,
and which, although so worthy as it is of all accepta-
tion, he has perversely shown himself, in every age,
marvellously slow to apprehend, apt to lose sight of, and
prompt to embarrass or deny.
In the present instance, as I am anxious to avoid, on the
one hand, the style and method of a philosophical or
generalized disquisition, so on the other, I would gladly
refrain from the specific, or technical language of a theo-
logical or polemical treatise; keeping close to what is
proper to a plain historical inquiry concerning facts
which may be unquestionably established by an appeal
to evidence. But, avoiding every phrase that has ac-
quired a controversial sense, and every mode of expres-
sion that may recall the " confession" of this, that, or
SCHEME OF SALVATION*.
247
the other religious party, one may surely speak of the
characteristic principle of Christianity, in terms such as,
without being vague, shall carry the concurrence of all
devout and intelligent readers of the scriptures. Is not,
then, the gospel a message of mercy — free, full in its
provisions, and sovereign — a message implying that all
men are, in this regard, on a level in the sight of God,
and that that which is indispensable to the salvation of
the most flagitious offenders, is not the less indispensable
to that of the most amiable and harmless? Is not the
gospel one method of salvation, sufficient and effica-
cious for the worst — necessary for the best? Does not
the gospel (if indeed it be understood,) carry with it as
thorough a lesson of humiliation to one proud heart, as
to another? Does it not bring with it as much, and as
sure a consolation to one guilty heart, as to another?
Does it not convince all men alike, of sin, and of moral
impotency? Does it not confirm all (if indeed it be ac-
cepted,) in the same good hope of acceptance, and of
being regarded as now no longer aliens, but as sons, and
as fellow-heirs with Christ?
In whatever way other religious schemes, that have
prevailed in the world, may be classified, they all stand
at an equal distance from Christianity, in regard to its
peculiarity and its glory, its doctrine of justification,
through faith: some of these schemes may, indeed, ap-
proach it more nearly than others, as to its morality:
some seem to come within the penumbra of the light
which it sheds upon the unseen world; some consist
better than others with the temporal well-being of man; —
but all occupy a ground immeasurably remote from that on
which the gospel takes its stand. All differ from Chris-
tianity, in this respect, just as night differs from day; and
whether tiie night be rendered magnificent by millions
of stars, or be overcast with the thickest clouds.
us
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
If at any time a comparison be instituted between
true religion and false religion, taken absolutely, it may
barely be worth the labour it may cost, to distinguish
among the several kinds of the latter; inasmuch as all
come nearly to the same practical result; the best, as
well as the worst, leaving man uncomforted in the pro-
spect of futurity, and unamended, in his heart and life. «
But when, as now, our intention is to make inquiry
concerning the particular corruptions which true religion
has undergone, in the lapse of ages, it then becomes ne-
cessary to distinguish, and to classify a little, those se-
veral forms of error which have successively overlaid
the truth, one by one; or several in conjunction. Such
a discrimination is absolutely requisite, (as all protestants
admit) in relation to Romanism, which so strangely and
so admirably combines the main principles of every an-
terior false religion. Nor shall we find it, really, less
requisite in following up to their sources, those fatal errors
of the ancient church, which gradually ripened into Ro-
manism.
All religions have been of Asiatic origin; and (the true
now not considered) they resolve themselves easily into
two great principles, conveniently designated by the
historical terms Buddhism, and Brahminism. The in-
fluence of the former, in its more recent garb, as gnosti-
cism, we have already adverted to; and especially in so far
as it gave birth to, and sustained, the abstractive ascetic
practice, and the doctrine of the angelic virtue of virgi-
nity. We shall next have to trace the operation, latent
indeed, but unquestionable, of the Brahminical principle,
combining itself with the former; and the two, hostile
as they were east of the Indus, blending together, most
amicably, within the precincts of the Christian church.
This blended Buddhism and Brahminism is, in a word,
SCHEME OF SALVATION".
249
the ancient monkery, at once abstractive and penitential.
How shall wretched man return to virtue and happi-
ness? The Buddhist, the Sooffee, the Pythagorean, the
gnostic, replied — By extricating the imperishable spirit
from its connexion with matter, the eternal source of
evil; and by merging itself anew in the eternal, univer-
sal good. The characteristic of this scheme, under all
its varieties, is its total disregard of the moral derange-
ment of human nature; or -rather, we should say, its
view of moral evil as a mere accident, and a temporary
consequence of natural evil. In its practical instruc-
tions, therefore, it insisted more upon mental abstraction,
silence, simplicity of diet, and celibacy, than upon any
positive austerities, or propitiatory rites: sin, man's mis-
fortune, not fault, did not need to be expiated.
But the Brahminical doctrine took up the other ele-
ment of theology; and along with its terrible array of
divinities, most of them vindictive, and all invested with
human qualities, it propounded a system of propitiation,
and concerned itself immediately with the moral senti-
ment, and wrought upon the conscience: it addressed it-
self more to the fears, than to the hopes of which the
human mind is alternately the sport: it admitted man to
be guilty, and in danger of wrath; it was, therefore, san-
guinary, gloomy, sumptuous, and elaborate in ceremo-
nial, popular in its aspect, rather than philosophical, and
of unbounded potency, involving as it did, and having
at its command, all the terrors that wait upon guilt; so
that it could enforce the most revolting, and the most
excruciating practices of immolation, and of self-torture.
In the name of the gods, the avengers of crime, it could
command the trembling wretch — its victim, to inflict
upon himself, or to sustain, whatever pains he might
imagine his angrv judge to be prepared to inflict upon
22
250 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
him. If we would see the two oriental systems, and
each characteristically imbodied, (one might say disim-
bodied, for each leaves to man barely a shadow of his
entire constitution) we should only have to look, on the
one hand, to the dreaming soofTee, lost to sense and na-
tural affection, an idiot sage, or, as one might say, a
metaphysic vegetable, just alive, where he sits; and on
the other side, to the Hindoo fakir, crucified without a
cross, his nails piercing his palms; the martyr of con-
science, and grasped by the despair of guilt.
The church of Rome has, without scruple, adopted,
intimately blended, and refined, these two schemes of
religion; and after having formally and tacitly, dogma-
tically and practically, excluded the gospel, it has pro-
vided itself with a circuitous, and somewhat complex
reply to the question which the alarmed conscience is
ever and again propounding. Its answer to the ques-
tion— " What must a man do to be saved?" involves
something of Buddhism, and more of Brahminism; it
takes up the gnostic physical abstraction, and the philo-
sophic sanctity, and this it offers to its elite, the elevated,
impassioned, and devotional few: and then it takes up
the moral element of religion, and deals in penances,
macerations, flagellations, masses, confessions, absolu-
tions, purgatorial expiations, and the vicarious offices of
the clergy, and of the saints, of the dead, and of the
living; and this compound it offers to the rabble of man-
kind— the debauched and trembling multitude, who, as
the long dreaded time comes, when nothing better can be
thought of, thankfully accept from the priests' hands,
any salvation that is offered to them, and on any terms.
In thinking of popery, we should never lose sight of
its two blended elements — its Buddhism, and its Brah-
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
251
minism — its abstractive, and its expiatory principles —
its provision for the few, and its provision for the many.
Both ingredients are brought to bear, as in a focus, upon
the monastic institute, of which, celibacy, the prime
article, stood chiefly related to the first of them ; while
the practices of mortification and penance were related
to the second. The perfect monk, 1 the angel upon
earth,' such as we find him elaborately depicted by the
great church writers from Basil to Bernard, was at once,
and in nearly equal proportions, the soofTee, and the
fakir ; the enthusiast, and the fanatic ; the sublime theo-
sophist, and the bleeding, weeping, whining or puling
martyr of a darkened conscience.
But alas! it is not alone of the superstition of the
middle ages that we have thus to speak ; for ancient
Christianity — the universally accredited system of the
Nicene age, blends, in the like manner, though with less
compactness, the two ingredients of the natural religion
of mankind ; and while it was most explicitly gnostic,
in its temper and sentiments, was also Brahminical, as
well in doctrine as in practice.
If, with the great divines of the fourth century around
us, we plainly put the question to one, and all — " How
shall guilty man approach the just and holy God, and
how secure his favour?" the prompt and formal answer,
no doubt will be — " By humbly accepting the redemp-
tion procured for mankind by the Saviour Christ, and
conveyed through the hands of the church." But then
this reply is ordinarily couched in very indefinite terms;
and when we come to repeat our demand, and to pursue
it as a practical question, then the more exact answer
given, by one and all, is to this effect — " First, that
man may place himself near to God, and may anticipate,
on earth, the absolute virtue and felicity of heaven, by
252
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
removing himself, as far as possible, from the inimical
with which, in the present state, he is implicated;
and with this view, that is to say, if he would be perfect,
he must regard the preservation of an inviolate virginity
as the great business of piety; and then, thus far ex-
empted from the conditions of animal life, he must addict
himself to lofty meditations of the divine attributes: or,
to use the very words of Chrysostom, "That the soul
disengaged from its trammels and all earthly thoughts,
should wing its way to its home, and its native soil."
But secondly, that, in order to regain and secure the
favour of God, man must propitiate his offended judge,
and take into his own hands, in the present life, that
discipline of chastisement which he so well merits, and
may so justly expect as his due. Now, in this latter
point of view, celibacy has its use, as the necessary
condition of that mode of life which leaves a man at full
leisure to practise the whole round of expiatory and
abstersive austerities. How should the married and the
busy get through, from day to day, with the heavy work
of penance? Such, in substance, was the ancient theo-
logy, and the piety of the Nicene church!
Within this system, therefore, religious celibacy was
at once the expression of gnostic feelings (as we have
seen) and the condition, or the preliminary of a course
of penance and expiation,
Yet let it not for a moment be supposed that the Nicene
church, or that the great writers of that age, either for-
mally denied, or failed frequently to mention, the great
doctrine of the remission of sins, granted through the
means of the sacrifice once offered on the cross. The
ancient church no more denied this doctrine, than it re-
jected orthodoxy; nevertheless the relative position into
which it had been suffered to subside, was such as in
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
253
fact involved a loss of its vital influence: it no longer
presented its radiating surface towards the consciences
of men.
The experience of eighteen centuries might surely
now suffice for convincing the church that, to secure the
efficacy of the gospel, something more is requisite than
a formal acknowledgment of a set of dogmas; and that
the relative position of great principles, as foremost, or
as hindermost, is the very circumstance on "which de-
pends their taking any effect upon the human mind. All
systems, professedly Christian, agree in representing
holiness, or an inwrought conformity to the moral cha-
racter of God, as the end and substance of piety; and the
difference between system and system turns upon the
answer that is given to the question w How (as to the
process) is this holiness to be effected?" The gospel,
and this is its characteristic, makes the free and absolute
remission of sins, and an immediate reconciliation to
God, through the mediation of Christ, the spring-prin-
ciple, or motive of morality. To him who would be
near God, and to him who would be like God, it says—
" Behold the Lamb of God, that takelh away the sin of
the world.'' This is the gospel method of holiness.
Reconciled to God, and enjoying the privileges of chil-
dren, the Spirit of holiness dwells in the hearts of be-
lievers, as a purifying influence.
But, if, instead of putting the doctrine of justification,
and reconciliation, and of the free and absolute remission
of sins, foremost, as the source and cause of genuine re-
ligious feeling, and real virtue, we put an ill-digested,
half-philosophic, half-hindoo, notion of sanctity, fore-
most, and if we bend our endeavours toward it, as the
main object, then, whatever profession we may make of
faith in Christ, our motives will have none of the vital i
22*
254
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
ty, or of the force of Christian holiness. The sun is
not indeed driven from the heavens, in such a system;
but it is eclipsed; and the Christian, for such we must
still call him, droops, becomes pallid, gloomy, supersti-
tious, timid, punctilious; a trembling attendant upon
rites, a perfunctory practitioner of ceremonies — fretting,
fasting, upbraiding himself, impatient of earth, afraid to
hope for heaven, and feeling like the dyspeptic patient
who, in his troubled dreams, thinks himself to be labour-
ing to mount a ladder, or to ascend a flight of steps ; and
yet, with all his painful efforts, not rising an inch from
the ground. Such is the sad condition of those in whose
spiritual perspective the truths which should occupy the
foreground, are seen in the distance; — they are indeed
seen; but it is as " afar off," and as a cold glimmer.
In the perspective of ancient Christianity, personal
sanctity stood in front of the doctrine of justification by
faith (or the doctrine, by whatever phrase it may be de-
signated, which is the characteristic of the gospel) and
so far obscured it: but this was not all; for, in front of
this very doctrine of personal sanctify, stood the gnostic
notion of angelic perfection, or virginity: thus was there
effected a double eclipse of the light of the gospel. If
the question had been put — " What is a Christian's
aim?" and it had been replied — " To be holy;" and
again, " How may he become holy in the most absolute
manner?" the answer was — " By avoiding the contami-
nations of matrimony, and by refraining, on earth, from
that which the angels are denied in heaven — the marry-
ing, and the being given in marriage." Of what avail
then would it be to prove, by multiplied citations, that
the doctrine of the remission of sins, and of justification,
in some ambiguous sense of the term, was firmly held
by the ancient church? Let reasonable men ask them-
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
255
selves whether the gospel, such as we find it in the in-
spired writings, could possibly consist with, or could be
efficacious, as a body of motives, in combination with
notions such as these?
Is the doctrine of the atonement, and of a full remis-
sion of sins, thereby procured, a doctrine of universal
application, or is it not? Have all men equal need of
it; or is it only a desperate resource, left for those who
have unhappily failed to secure heaven for themselves
in a more direct, honourable, and legitimate manner?
This question is a vital one in relation to Christianity,
and on the answer that may be given to it, whether our
reply be formal or tacit, turns the entire character of our
piety. Let then this question be repeated in any such
pointed manner as may seem the most likely to bring it
conclusively to an issue. All allow that the thief on the
cross must have been saved by a sovereign extension,
toward him, of that mercy, the means of which were,
at that moment, being secured by the suffering Saviour.
But if the " beloved disciple " had been dragged to Cal-
vary, along with his Master, and if, as might have hap-
pened, he had occupied the right-hand cross, would he
too have been saved by the same means as the thief, and
on the very same principle? Or, had he already reached,
by merit of virginity, and by the purity of his man-
ners, such a proximity to the divine holiness, as that he
needed nothing but just to drop the encumbrance of the
flesh, and to find himself at case before the eternal
throne? We surely should not gather any such suppo-
sition as this from his own language, when he says of
the fc-uviour that "He is the propitiation for our sins."
But now there would be no end to our citations, were
we to adduce all, or a third of those passages from the
fathers in which the celibate, when held to in the strict-
#56 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
est manner, is spoken of as a mode of life differing from
that of the angels in heaven, neither in purity, nor in
security; and only so far in felicity, as resulted from the
conditions of mortality: " drop the flesh, and then the
monk, or the virgin nun, is at once a seraph!" That no
such passage might be produced, I will not affirm, but
certainly I have met with not so much as one, in which
the inviolate virgin is spoken of as being, like others,
even like any repentant Magdalene, dependent altogether
for salvation upon the vicarious merits of the Saviour*
Allowing, however, that some such passage might be
hunted up, yet assuredly it is not the usual style of the
great church writers of the Nicene age. Certainly this
way of putting the case, in relation to the monk and
virgin, is not characteristic of "catholic teaching.'*
Catholic teaching runs in a contrary direction, and the
clear import of it is to this practical effect — That, to
have exhorted a "spotless nun," in her last hour, to
look to the atonement, as the only ground of hope for a
dying sinner (or saint) would have been a very inappro^
priate, unseemly, and even offensive sort of interference
with the honour and comfort she was entitled to: and
would have been an insult, like thrusting an obolus into
the palm of a Croesus.
I boldly ask any one competent to give me a reply*
whether herein I misrepresent the general character of
ancient catholic teaching; and if not, then I ask, appeal-
ing, not merely to the few, who may be able to turn to
the patristic folios, but to the right-minded Christian
world at large, whether the first element of the gospel
was not effectually and fatally compromised by an in-
stitute which, in practice, superseded the "only hope"
that " maketh not ashamed?"
At this point we touch that article of discrimination —
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
257
that test which exhibits the difference between aposto-
lic, and Nioene Christianity. Does Paul, when, either
obliquely or directly, he expresses his personal hope of
heaven, so speak as to imply that he looked to be ac-
quitted, accepted, and saved, on any other principle than
that which he would have urged upon a penitent prodi-
gal, called, at an hour's warning, to appear before God?
We confidently assume that the apostle who, if any
ever have understood Christianity, understood it, was
used to make no distinctions whatever between man and
man, when persuading all to "lay hold of the hope set
before them in the gospel."
But how different is the style of the doctors of the
Nicene and following age! Then, a spiritual aristocracy
had grown up within the. church; and those of this class
who could profess that their celestial escutcheons were
shamed by no spot — these, if never plainly told that
they stood above the range of the gospel scheme of sal-
vation, were seldom, if ever told, that they could claim
no exemption, and were entitled to no prerogative, and
must be saved, if at all, even as others. What then!
after all her conflicts with nature, all her tears and fast-
ings, must the spotless virgin, the spouse of Christ,
submit, at the last, to the humiliation of standing along
with the married, on the same level, needing mercy,
even as others? alas! if it comes to this, has she not
driven a poor trade?
Those can know very little of the human heart who
can believe that monks and nuns, talked to as they con-
stantly were by their spiritual guides, and told that, be-
cause virgins in body and soul, they stood as near
to God as flesh and blood can stand — that these victims
of delusion could, nevertheless, be humbly and contrite-
ly relying, as sinners, upon the propitiatory work of
258
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
Christ. It was not so in fact; no such spirit breathes
through the extant records of monkish piety, here and
there we gladly catch a faint gleam of sunshine, as in a
wintry and watery day; but monkish piety, on the whole,
was nothing better than what we must expect to meet
with, as the proper fruit of this " catholic teaching."
Catholic teaching! let us hear a little of it; and, for a
sample, take the portrait of a spotless nun, as drawn by
the master hand of Chrysostom himself: and be it re-
membered, we are not now about to gaze upon the blind
pharisee, whose lips, life, and manners, said to all around
him — " Stand by, I am holier than thou;" but upon an
ideal of Christian perfection, conceived and expressed by
one who, irrespective of his high station in the church,
has always been granted to stand forward as the prince
of the fathers.
The passage I am about to quote is taken from a tract
to which I must again refer: it was composed by Chry-
sostom, with the hope of repressing the infamous prac-
tice against which, as we have seen, Cyprian, long be-
fore, and in another quarter of the church, had vehe-
mently protested, namely, that of nuns cohabiting with
men, and which tract, with its companion, addressed to
monks, contains admissions and exposures which one
must have thought exaggerations, if they were not borne
out by concurrent testimony. But let the archbishop's
immaculate nun step upon the stage. Our author had
just told the nun that, like cherubim and seraphim, she
and her order, constituted, not the attendants of the
eternal King, but his very chariot.*
* In quoting Chrysostom I shall refer to the volume and page
of the recent Paris reprint of the Benedictine edition, which is
perhaps as likely as any other to be accessible to the studious
reader. The above occurs, torn. i. p. 321.
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
259
" The virgin, when she goes abroad, should present
herself as the bright specimen of all philosophy;
and strike all with amazement, as if now an angel had de-
scended from heaven; or just as if one of the cherubim had
appeared upon earth, and were turning the eyes of all
men upon himself. So should all those who look upon
the virgin be thrown into admiration, and stupor, at the
sight of her sanctity. And when she advances, she
moves as through a desert; or when she sits at church,
it is with the profoundesl silence, her eye catches no-
thing of the objects around her; she sees neither wo-
men nor men; but her Spouse only; and he, as if pre-
sent and apparent; and then retiring to her home, there
again she communes with him, in prayers, and his voice
alone she listens to, in the scriptures; and of him there
she thinks, whom she desires and loves; and whatever
she does, it is as a pilgrim and a stranger, to whom
things present are as nothing. Not only does she hide
herself from the eyes of men, but avoids the society of
secular women also. The body she takes care of only
so far as necessity compels her, while she bestows all
her regards upon the soul: and who shall not marvel at
her? who shall not be in ecstasy, in thus beholding the
angelic life, imbodied in a female form? And who is it
that shall dare approach her? Where is the man who
shall venture to touch this flaming spirit? Nay rather,
all stand aloof, willing or unwilling; all are fixed in
amazement, as if there were before their eyes a mass of
incandescent and sparkling gold! Gold hath indeed by-
nature its splendour; but when saturate with fire, how
admirable, nay even fearful is it! And thus, when a soul
such as this occupies the body, not only shall the spec-
tacle be wondered at by men, but even by angels."
Miserable teaching this, whether catholic or not. How
260 CONNEXION Of the celibate with the
■ . *
could the subject of any such rhapsody, if any might
actually have thought herself the archetype of the pic-
ture, how could she imagine herself obliged to listen,
like others, to the humbling doctrine of the cross? But
such as was the teaching and the system, such were its
practical effects; and it is remarkable that, for an inge-
nuous statement of these effects, we need go no farther
than to the two tracts above named; for actually within
the distance of a page or two from the place where thi3
44 lump of molten gold" dazzles the eye, we find de-
scriptions barely fit to be translated, of the ordinary
night-scenes in a Constantinopolitan convent, or, more
properly, ecclesiastical /m&<rrf>o7rioK Could nothing lead
so wise and good a man as Chrysostom to entertain the
suspicion that the church had, in this instance at least,
utterly misunderstood the purport and spirit of the gos-
pel?
■ Under another head of this present argument, I shall
feel it unavoidable to revert to the two connected tracts,
from one of which the above-cited passage is taken :
leaving, therefore, its context untouched at present — per-
tinent though it be, I will here only observe that ths quo-
tation is a sample, one among hundreds, nay thousands,
which might be easily produced, of a fault generally
characteristic of the great writers (and the small writers)
of the ancient church — I mean the propensity to magni-
fy and glorify what is merely human; in fact, to worship
and to deify the creature, more than the Creator; that is
to say, so to magnify human virtue, as that, upon the
general field of the people's view, the encomium of man
subtends a larger angle, than the praises of God, and
of his Christ. Do not the fathers then worship God?
do they not adore the Son of God? Assuredly: but
when they muster all the forces of their eloquence, when
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
261
they catch fire, and swell, as if inspired, whenever (I must
be permitted to make the allusion, for it is really appro-
priate,) whenever they take their seat upon the tripod
and begin to foam, the subject of the rhapsody is sure to
be — " a blessed martyr," it may be an apostle; or a re-
cently departed " doctor," or, " a virgin confessor;" or
it is the relics of such a one, and the miraculous virtues
of his sacred dust. If, in turning over these folios, the
eye is any where caught by the frequency of interjec-
tions, such a page is quite as likely to be found to spar-
kle and flash with the commendations of the mother of
God, or of her companion saints, as with the praises of
the Son; and more often does the flood-tide of eloquence
swell with the mysterious virtues of the sacraments,
than with the power and grace of the Saviour. The
Saviour does indeed sit enthroned within the veil of the
Christian temple; but what the Christian populace hear
most about, is — the temple itself, and its embroideries,
and its gildings, and its ministers, and its rites, and the
saints that fill its niches. In a word, what was visible,
and what was human, stood in front of what is invisible
and divine; and when we find a system of blasphemous
idolatry fully expanded in the middle ages, this system
cannot, in any equity, be spoken of as any thing else
than a following out of the adulatory rhapsodies of the
great writers and preachers of the Nicene church.
Of this impious adulation the martyrs and confessors
were the first objects; and then came those "terrestrial
seraphs," the monks and virgins. The ancient church,
well knowing its real and vast superiority, on all grounds
of theological truth, and moral principle, as compared
with the polytheistic world, or with the schools of phi-
losophy, and yet trampled to the dust, and contemned,
23
262
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
and exposed to humiliations, such as human nature very
seldom well sustains, sought to right itself, as far as it
could, by indulging in exaggerations of every kind; and
no sooner did it get the upper hand of its enemies, that
is to say — its abstract Enemy, and its personal persecu-
tors in every particular vicinity, than it gave vent to its
stifled pride and resentment, in torrents of adulatory
congratulation, in the hurry of which the glory of God
stood in abeyance, while the vindicatory praises of man
were to be uttered.
In advancing this general allegation, I must decline to
appeal, for support, to those who, by a long and fond
converse with Christian antiquity, and by mere familia-
rity with its style, have ceased to feel what others would
most painfully be conscious of; but I am willing to be
judged by any well-informed persons, of sound and unda-
maged mind, who, fraught with genuine Christian senti-
ments, and hitherto unacquainted with the writers in
question, shall look through the orations of the most
noted of them, such, I mean, as Chrysostom, Basil, the
two Gregories, Jerome, and Augustine. On what oc-
casions then do these great orators and doctors kindle
and glow? When is it that they exhaust the powers
of language, and return upon their theme, as if they
could never think that they had done it justice? Is it when
they are holding forth, before the multitude, the glory
of the Saviour of sinners? Is it when they are blowing
the silver trumpet of mercy, in the hearing of the guilty?
Alas! it is not so. The Saviour, not denied indeed, but
not glorified, is left, by these orators, to sleep in the
hinder part of the ship: or he is imprisoned in the creeds
and liturgies of the church, while commendations, which
Grecian and Roman sages would equally have loathed
to have pronounced, and have blushed to have received;
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
263
are lavished upon the heroes of the church and its an-
chorets.
Are these representations fair or not? I appeal to
those who will go with fresh and modern Christian feel-
ings, into the company of the fathers. But if the facts
be such as I allege, will any pretend that an unaffected
and heart-stirring proclamation of the gospel — the glad
tidings of mercy, free, and adapted to all men's accep-
tation, was likely to consist with so much bombast and
frippery, about the merits, miracles, and virtues of the
shoals of saints that burden the calendar? Two such
abhorrent elements will never coalesce; and if the church
must and will have her demi-gods, to adorn her state in
the eyes of the prostrate multitude, she must even fore-
go the presence of her Lord.
A dry, polemic orthodoxy, severed from the gospel,
is the doctrinal description of ancient Christianity: and
I here refuse to be put to silence by any who shall re-
turn the phrase 44 the gospel," upon me, as if I used it
in the cant sense of ihis, or that, modern sect; and as if
it conveyed some restricted and special scheme of doc-
trine. By the gospel, I mean nothing more or less than
the frank declaration of God's mercy to guilty man, as-
suring to him, through faith in Christ, the full and ab-
solute remission of his sins, and an exemption from "all
condemnation," and fear of wrath. I do not affect to
speak as a theologian; nor care to cut and trim the
phrases I may employ, so as shall make them square
with this or that 44 confession." Does the Bible offer
no broad and universally intelligible sense, even on the
most momentous subjects? If it do, then it does so
in conveying, to the troubled conscience, a message of
joy — authentic, simple, efficacious, and such as subdues
the grateful heart to obedience.
264
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
— Now, meaning this by — the gospel, I affirm that,
from beginning to end of the patristic remains, the clear-
ness and brightness of the message of mercy is obscured,
its simplicity encumbered, and its efficacious power al-
most entirely nullified. In entering the awful and gor-
geous edifice of the ancient church, one's feelings are
very much such as might belong to a descent into some
stalactite cavern, the grim magnificence of which is never
cheered by the life-giving beams of -heaven; for there is
no noon there — no summer. The wonders of the place
must be seen by the glare of artificial light; human hands
carry hither and thither a blaze, which confounds ob-
jects, as much as reveals them, and which fills the place
more with fumes than with any genial influence. In
this dim theatre forms stand out of more than mortal
mien, as if a senate of divinities had here assembled;
but approach them — all is hard, cold, silent. Drops are
thickly distilling from the vault; nay, every stony icicle
that glistens in the light, seems as if endued with peni-
tence, or as if contrition were the very temper of the
place: but do these drops fertilize the ground on which
they fall? No, they do but trickle a moment, and then
add stone to stone — chill to chill. Does the involuntary
exclamation break from the bosom in such a place —
Surely this is the very gate of heaven! Rather one shud-
ders with the apprehension that one is entering the sha-
dows of the valley of death; and that the only safety is
in a quick return to the upper world.
Negations and deficiencies are not easily to be set
forth, in any of the usual modes of adducing evidence;
nor is it to be supposed that the general allegation of a
want of that element which makes the gospel, a gospel,
as attaching to ancient Christianity, could be established
by the citation of a few passages collected here and
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
265
there. The fact alleged, presents itself to a rightly prin-
cipled mind, in passing up and down through the patris-
tic theology. What we ought to meet with in Christian
writers, we do not find; or find it seldom, and find it
overlaid, and find it wrought up with neutralizing ingre-
dients. I will, however, endeavour to put a clue into the
hand of the diligent student, which may enable him,
with less labour than otherwise, to verify or to correct
the averment here made, namely, That the religious ce-
libacy of the ancient church, springing as it did from a
gnosticised theology, excluded, or did not in fact consist
with, that clear, cordial, efficacious, announcement of
God's free mercy to a guilty world, through the propi-
tiating work of Christ, which is the characteristic of the
inspired scriptures, and which it has pleased God to re-
vive, more or less fully, in the modern church. It is this
heart-stirring preaching of Christ (no imputation of em-
ploying the phrase in a sectarian sense, shall deter
me from the just use of it) it is this which makes
Christianity a living doctrine; and it is this, of which
we find but faint and feeble indications, look where we
may, among the early writers. Between a dialectic and
partisan orthodoxy on the one hand, and on the other, a
mystification of the sacraments, and a stern, or fanatical
asceticism, the gospel nearly disappears. Those who
have known what it is, with a hand, warm with health,
to take within their own the hand of a corpse, know how
the chill ascends to the heart, and enters the soul. Of
this sort is the feeling with which, if the mind be quick-
ened by scriptural piety, it makes its first acquaintance
with the body of ancient Christianity.
A sample or two of each of those kinds of evidence
of which the present subject is susceptible, I shall now
adduce; such, for instance, as formal statements of be-
23*
366 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
lief—expositions of scripture — panegyrics of distin-
guished individuals, and accidental expressions of reli-
gious feeling. Of the first, we may take the following
" Short Summary of Christian Belief," conveying the
faith of the accomplished Boethius, an orthodox, whe-
ther or not a Christian writer. This compendium,
" Brevis Fidei Christiana? Complexio," after defining
the Athanasian doctrine, as opposed to the several chief
heresies of the times, goes on with an historical enume-
ration of the leading facts of Christianity, up to the mo-
ment of our Lord's ascension, and the commission given
the apostles, to evangelize the world, and then adds,
"and whereas the human race, by the demerit of its na-
ture, derived to it from the fault of the first sinner, had
become pierced with the darts of eternal punishment,
nor was sufficient for its own cure, (or salvation) having
lost it in its progenitor, He (Christ) granted to it certain
remedial sacraments, to the end that it (the human
race) might acknowledge the difl'erence between what it
merited by nature, and what it received by gift of grace;
and that, as nature could bring punishment only, grace,
not called grace if granted to merit, might furnish what-
ever appertains to salvation."
Such is the sum of the gospel, according to Boethius^
who adds not a word more concerning the scheme of
mercy. It may be said that he affirms salvation to be
by grace, not merit, but what are the channels or the
expressions of this grace of heaven? Nothing else than
the remedial sacraments, in duly accepting which, from
the hand of the priest, guilty men receive all that they
have any need to think of; just as if the sacraments
were potent drugs, or chemical antidotes, infallibly dis-
persing the poison inherited from Adam! But was that
which animated the labours of the apostles* in traversing
SCHEME OF SALVATION,
267
kingdoms, and in crossing seas to proclaim the unsearch-
able riches of Christ, was it, in fact — to impart the sa-
craments, and to open, in every country, genuine dis-
pensaries of these panaceas for guilt and wo? There
may be those who will not hesitate to reply in the affir-
mative, and who, with the Pauline epistles before them,
will nevertheless profess their belief that, to give men
every where a ready access to the two sacraments, was
the object and completion of Paul's unwearied labours.
There are those who will say this. Thank Cod there
are multitudes who have read their Bibles to better pur-
pose, and who, while happily ignorant of ancient, under-
stand something of apostolic, Christianity.
When a question is in progress concerning the alleged
absence of some important element of truth, there is a
convenience, at least, in referring to small, and yet com-
prehensive tracts, which may soon be sifted. Now,
with this view, we might take up again the often-quoted
commonitorium of Vincent of Lerins. The writer's in-
tention, and a commendable one, plainly was, to afford
to a Christian man the ready and certain means of an-
swering, for himself, the momentous question — " Am I
right in matters of faith?" — " am I on the road that leads
to heaven?" And with this view he offers rules, well
condensed, and carefully guarded, by application of
which, in every particular instance of doubt, a Christian
may discriminate between catholic truth, and heretical
pravity, or, which is the same thing, novelty. But now
the whole of this criterion of doctrine turns upon the
perfection of triniiarianism; not a hint is dropped, any
where, that there are other principles essential to Chris-
tianity, after the Nicene faith has been duly secured. A
reader of this tract is left to suppose that, if he do but
hold the doctrine of the trinity, •« uncorrupt and entire,"
268 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
nothing farther is wanting to him: — he is then a Chris-
tian— he is within the pale of the church, and as safe as
all are on board a ship which is destined to reach her
port. An orthodoxy purely logical, and which turns
upon nicely trimmed phrases, came in the place of the
entire Christianity of the apostolic writings. Vincent's
catholicity has no more warmth, no more vitality, in it
than Aristotle's Ethics; nay, is really much less likely
to generate sentiments of virtue. There is not in this
treatise a paragraph, or a sentence animated by a refer-
ence to the rich mercy of God in the gospel. We find
the honours of the Mother of God — the Theotocos, care-
fully affirmed; but very little is said of the glory of
Christ as the Saviour of the world. Re it observed
then, that, while a dry and verbal trinitarianism would
well enough hold its place by the side of a gnosticised
and ascetic ethical system, the life-giving gospel, speak-
ing peace to the troubled conscience, and supplying the
motives of true holiness, in the doctrine of justification
by faith, this doctrine, which sets Christianity in utter
contrariety to every other scheme of religion, has never
consisted, can never consist with, any modification of
the ascetic system: and in fact, the evangelical glory
faded from the view of the ancient church at the moment
when the oriental philosophy lodged itself within its
bosom: from that time forward the condition of the
church was such as might very aptly be described in the
language which Vincent himself applies to certain half
heretics — " half dead, half alive, who have swallowed
just such a quantity of poison as neither kills them, nor
may be digested, nor compels them to die, nor suffers
them to live."
It must by no means be imagined that the early decay
and the disappearance, at length, of the evangelic energy
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
269
from the church, is attributable solely, or primarily, to
the ascetic doctrine, and to the celibacy which it en-
joined. To preclude any such supposition, which, in
being dispelled, might seem to weaken my argument, I
must, in passing, advert to the easily established fact,
that this decay had commenced before the time when
the ascetic practice had very perceptibly wrought its
own effect upon the opinions and sentiments of the
Christian body. By itself indeed it was enough (when
fully expanded) to exclude the vital element of Christi-
anity; but this element had already been edged off, by
little and little, from the theological system, under the
operation of several other causes; one of the chief of
which, plainly, was the circumstance that Christianity,
as early, at the latest, as the middle of the second cen-
tury, had fallen into the hands, and thenceforward re-
mained under the guardianship, of astute dialecticians,
and wordy sophists, thoroughly trained in tiie intellec-
tual gymnastics of the Grecian schools of philosophy,
and who, while they found in the trinitarian doctrine a
field well enough adapted to the performance of the evo-
lutions in which they excelled, turned, with an instinc-
tive distaste, from the Gospel, the ideas and sentiments
connected with which were altogether unmanageable, as
the materials, either of logical, or of metaphysical exer-
cise.
A pertinent exemplification of this order of things, in
the course of which whatever, in the Christian scheme,
was the most nearly allied to the favourite subjects of
pneumatology, in its various branches, came uppermost,
while the evangelical element was left to subside, is pre-
sented in Origen's four books, vtpi «g£«r. This work,
of which indeed we should speak more confidently if it
had come down to us in the author's own language, and
270
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
which is known to have undergone some trimming
under the hand of Rufinus, to whom we are indebted for
the Latin version now extant — this work professes to
present a digest of Christian principles, as its title im-
ports; and, in fact, along with the questionable opinions
of the benign-minded writer, it sets forth, as then under-
stood, the orthodox faith, and moreover argues all those
topics of religion to which the dialectic and metaphysic
apparatus was really applicable. — And there it stops; —
nothing — literally nothing, beyond a mere phrase, does
Origen find to say about the scheme of reconciliation —
the means, process, freeness, sufficiency, or divine rich-
ness, of " the redemption that is in Christ." Again and
again we are told in this treatise, that, at the last, all
men will be dealt with, pro meritis. Let this be true;
but there is another truth, which the contrite reader of
the New Testament thinks he finds clearly affirmed
there, but which no reader of the " De principiis"
would ever surmise to have belonged to the system
which Origen was expounding.
The suppression of the gospel, under the hand of the
ancient masters of logic and pneumatology, is however
a subject, highly important as it may be, which is foreign
to my present purpose, and to which I have here advert-
ed only in order to anticipate an objection, as if I were
attributing to the ascetic doctrine an extent of influence
which may be shown to have arisen from more sources
than one. Let then this be understood.
Another probable objection I must also exclude. In
adducing the polemic treatises of the ancient church, as
affording instances of the alleged decay of evangelic
principles and feeling, it may be said, that the appeal is
neither fair nor conclusive, inasmuch as it does not al-
low for the peculiar position of the church, as called
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
271
Upon by the heresies of the times, most of which bore
upon the trinitarian doctrine, to insist almost exclusively
upon subjects of that abstruse class: whereas (it may be
said) only let us look to these same writers when they
had laid aside their weapons, or to those of their col-
leagues who stood off from the contest, and we shall
find that they understood, and personally rejoiced in,
and warmly promulgated, evangelic principles even as
the apostles themselves.
A counter-statement such as this, if it could be sub-
stantiated, or even made to appear probably correct,
ought to be at once yielded to. Nothing can be more
equitable than the general principle on which it proceeds.
But can it be made good? In a word, is there any rea-
son to believe that the great champions of orthodoxy, or
that their less distinguished contemporaries, when not
engaged in repelling the assaulis of heretics, thought and
spoke more, or with greater energy, and vivacity, of the
doctrines of reconciliation, than may be gathered from
the tenor of their polemical writings? With the hope
of resolving this question, I shall now move into a posi-
tion, so to speak, alongside of the ancient church — look-
ing at it on those special occasions which, if any could,
must be held to be proper for displaying the real and
intimate feelings of individuals, and of the community
they belonged to. I proceed then to examine ancient
Christianity in the concrete; that is to say, as imbodied
in the characters and sentiments of eminent individuals;
and these individuals, we lake as their portraits have
been drawn by the most distinguished of their contem-
poraries. When a Christian writer undertakes to com-
pose the panegyric of a departed friend, or eminent
teacher, whom he, and others, consider to have reached
272 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
as near to the point of perfection as is ever permitted to
humanity, in the present state, it is natural, nay inevi-
table, that, in arranging the materials of his eulogy, he
should so place foremost what, in his esteem, are indeed
the principal excellencies of the Christian character, as
shall make manifest his own notions of the general
scheme of Christian doctrine and practice: in other
words, such a panegyric, especially when elaborate, and
when it has evidently been well considered, may fairly
be regarded as imbodying the writer's confession of
faith, dogmatic and ethical, only put in the concrete
form. 1 propose then to look into two or three of the
principal writers of the Nicene age, either citing, or re-
ferring to, the most remarkable of those eulogistic or
funereal compositions with which they abound; only
reminding the reader that these great writers and
preachers are never more at home, than while exhaust-
ing their rhetorical powers upon themes of this particu-
lar description; and I will ask, at the outset, whether
there is not a good probability, on all grounds of philo-
sophical, I mean genuine, reasoning, that, in this line
of evidence, we shall catch what was indeed the temper,
character, and tendency of ancient Christianity; our im-
mediate object being to inquire whether the divine rich-
ness, and the distinguishing glory of Christianity, as the
revelation of God's mercy to a lost world, occupied the
place due to it, in the view of the writers in question?
and then, if the contrary appears to be the fact, we
shall have the opportunity of seeing whether the fore-
most place which the gospel should have filled, is not
in fact usurped by those gnostic and ascetic principles
of which celibacy was the core.
In this case, the question being — Whether certain
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
273
compositions, many of them of considerable length, do,
or do not, comprise certain elements of truth, there
are only two methods of proceeding that can be ac-
cepted as conclusive, the one being that of producing
the entire tract, oration, or epistle; and the other, that
of giving the studious reader such references as may fa-
cilitate his obtaining satisfaction, on the point, for him-
self. It is manifest that the former method is, in the
present instance, altogether inadmissible, inasmuch as
it must swell this tract to the dimensions of a bulky vo-
lume. I must, therefore, content myself with the lat-
ter, and, in adopting it, will express my very earnest
wish that those who, at this time, may be preparing
themselves to accept ancient Christianity, in the
stead of apostolic Christianity, would first, and before
they come to so fatal a decision, give themselves the
pains to follow the clue I am putting- into their hands,
and to read through and through, the pieces to which
I shall refer. Can it be denied that this particular line of
evidence is very likely to expose (or say, exhibit) the
true character of ancient Christianity? We are taking
the church by surprise, not unfairly indeed, but just
when it is sitting for its portrait, blushing and toying be-
fore some enamoured and favoured Zeuxis or Apelles.
Will an opponent choose to stake the credit of the Ni-
cene age on this very ground? I suppose not; but I
think that those who have studied human nature, and
who are accustomed to generalize upon the materials of
history, will grant that the use now to be made of the
patristic literature, is legitimate, and pertinent to our ar-
gument.
I will begin with a very sober writer — a stanch as-
cetic indeed, and such a one as Evagrius, the historian,
24
274
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
(lib. i. cap. 15,) calls a "living column, holding forth
the perfection of the monastic and contemplative life."
I have already quoted him — Isidore of Pelusium, a bi-
shop, and the intimate friend of Chrysostom, as well as
of the chief ecclesiastics of his time, and who, if any
did so, understood well the religious system, dogmatic
and practical, of his age. He has bequeathed to our
times two thousand, one hundred, and eighty-three epis-
tles, or short commentaries and notes, upon subjects of
all kinds naturally coming within the range of a church-
man of that age. Punctiliously orthodox, and moreover
professing the doctrine of the atonement, or propitiato-
ry work of Christ, here and there, in unexceptionable
terms; as for instance, in the 73d and 100th epistles of
the fourth book, and yet, much more often writing like
a mere stoic, or a Flatonist, whose style glitters with a
few shreds of Christian truth.
This Isidore (lib. ii. epist. 151) undertakes with much
diffidence, and almost in despair, the epitaphium of a
defunct brother, whom he speaks of as having reached
the very acme of perfection, and with whose various
praises he fills a folio page: " better was he than all
praise, the temple of sobriety, ihe home of prudence,
the tower of virtue, the metropolis of righteousness, the
cell of philanthropy, the sacred enclosure of gentleness;
and to say all in a word, the treasury of all the virtues."
Then follows the catalogue of these virtues, the fore-
most being a tyrannous mastery of the bodily appetites,
yx.<rTf>i(t kai todv jtAtrtt yairregx. 7rabu>v ; and the last, a modest
and retiring munificence toward the poor. The bare
word Christian, does indeed once occur in this eulogy;
but it contains not so much as a syllable besides, which
would enable the reader to guess that the subject of it
was any other, or any better than many a Mahometan
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
275
dervish has been; — not a word concerning- an humble re-
liance upon the merits of the Saviour; not a word indi-
cating it as the belief of this saint, that the best of men
must, at the last, stand with the most imperfect, as owing
every thing to sovereign mercy; not a word savouring
of the temper of the apostles: but, on the contrary, the
whole tends to convey and support the opinion that no-
thing could be wanting to those who pursued a spotless
ascetic course, but just to drop the 0v»tgv, and then to
take their place among seraphs. Is this Christianity?
but it is the common style of the ancient epitaphic elo-
quence. Not without reluctance, I must again call the
venerable Athanasius into court.
And yet, who shall show cause why we should not
bring evidence in illustration of the character of Nicene
Christianity from the writings of Athanasius? — if not,
where at all is any such evidence to be found? But if
this be unexceptionable and pertinent testimony, then,
while we turn to this great man's polemic and dogmatic
writings, in order to find there the abstract Christianity
of the times, what better can we do than seek for the
concrete — the living and imbodied Christian excellence,
in an elaborate and encomiastic biography, by the same
hand, of one whom Athanasius holds up to the church
as a pattern of Christian perfection, and who also was
in fact so esteemed by the church catholic. We turn
then to the life of St. Antony, and in doing so, I must
clear the way for the inference I have in view. St. An-
tony, with his picturesque infernal legions, has become
the jest of modern times, and is thought of, much ra-
ther as an excellent subject for Flemish art, than in any
more serious connexion. Or if his name has occurred
on the page of modern church history, it has been hasti-
ly dismissed, with a word or two of philosophic scorn.
276
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
But this loose style of treating such subjects, will not
serve us any longer; inasmuch as we are now called
upon to look narrowly into many things which, awhile
ago, might, without damage, have slept on, in the ob-
scurity that so well befits their intrinsic merits.
This St. Antony then, the transcendental prince of the
ancient monkery, drew toward himself the wondering
eyes of all Christendom, from the east to the remotest
west; and he was allowed to have touched the point of
Christian perfection as nearly as may be thought possi-
ble to any in the present life. Multitudes, animated by
his example, rushed into the desert, and trod his steps.
His universal reputation obtained for him the title of the
" Patriarch of Monks." If then we were to go no far-
ther, but, resting upon the unquestionable rule, that
whatever, in any age, is the object of universal esteem
and admiration, may be taken as a sure indication of the
taste and the opinions of that age, we might, without any
hazard of error, consider this same pattern-saint of the
ancient church, as a fair sample of the feelings and no-
tions of that church. Who can except against the use
of such a criterion? But this is not all. It might in-
deed so have been, that, although our ascetic hero had
become the idol of 'the vulgar of the Christian commu-
nity, he yet stood low in the esteem of the well-informed
leaders of the church; and, if not openly condemned by
them, yet was but coldly approved, and his extrava-
gances pointed to in the way of caution. The fact is
the very reverse; for, in the first place, the great, and
strong-minded Athanasius — the chief of the " first three,"
in the esteem of the modern admirers of antiquity —
charges himself with the task of giving this eminent ex-
ample of more than human sanctity, to the Christian
world, in the form of a very elaborate and carefully
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
277
composed memoir, occupying not less than fifty-four
folio pages. Here then is the portrait of a picked an-
cient Christian (so called) at full length, and from the
pencil of the greatest master of the age. May we not
learn something of what ancient Christianity was, in
looking at this picture? But we do not yet state the
whole case; for we find each great writer of the Nicene
age, bowing in his turn, and worshipping this same
idol: — Nazianzen, Jerome, Augustine, Chrysostom. The
language of the latter is so pertinent to my argument,
that I cannot but cite it. " And truly, if you will visit
the Egyptian deserts, you will find there what is better
than any paradise: there you will find, in human form,
innumerable choirs of angels — tribes of martyrs, assem-
blages of nuns; in a word, the tyrannous empire of Satan
brought to nothing, and the kingdom of Christ shining
forth:"* and after much more in the same strain, the elo-
quent preacher goes on to introduce St. Antony, " whom,"
after the apostles, Egypt "has produced, blessed and
great;" and whose life, as related by Athanasius, is said
to hold forth all that the Christian institute " oi t&v Xpt<r-
tou xoyoi " demands. What more than this can we re-
quire, as authorizing the course we are taking, in consi-
dering the life of St. Antony, by Athanasius, as a com-
plete sample of ancient Christianity?
I heartily wish that, with this very view, the entire
piece were perused by whoever is still admiring, and
yet has a misgiving concerning, the gay bubble — anti-
quity. The question is — Did the ancient celibacy and
its concomitants, consist with, and promote, evangelic
doctrine and feeling, or did it thoroughly exclude and
nullify both! And if this question be answered, as I am
* Horn. VIII. in Matth., torn. vii. pp. 147, 149.
24*
278
CONNEXION* OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
sure it must, we shall still by no means be compelled lo
deny sincerity, and a species of devotion, and a high
measure of certain of the Christian virtues, to St. Antony,
and to those like him. The memoir before us may, in
fact, be read with pleasure, and even edification, taken
for just so much as it is worth; but as an exemplar of
the Christian character, one may find as good, nay, some
much better, among the monkish records of the worst
times of Romanism. In ail these fifty-four pages, scarce-
ly so much as one sentence meets the eye of a kind to
recall any notions or sentiments which are distinctively
Christian. There is indeed an unimpeachable ortho-
doxy and a thorough-going submissiveness in regard to
church authority; and there is a plenty of Christianized
sooffeeism, and there is more than enough of demono-
logy, and quite enough of miracle; but barely a word
concerning the propitiatory work of Christ: barely a word
indicating any personal feeling of the ascetic's own need
of that propitiation, as the ground of his hope. Not a
word of justification by faith; not a word of the gracious
influence of the Spirit, in renewing and cleansing the
heart; not a word responding to any of those signal pas-
sages of scripture which make the gospel " glad tidings "
to guilty man. Drop a very few phrases borrowed from
the scriptures, and substitute a few, drawn from the
Koran, and then this memoir of St. Antony, by Athana-
sius, might serve, as to its temper, spirit, and substance,
nearly as well for a Mahometan dervish, as for a Chris-
tian saint. The sort of piety herein exhibited has grown
up under almost all religious systems, and samples of it,
more or less refined, may be discovered in every age
and country where the religious instinct has been pow-
erfully developed.
SCHEME OF SALVATION".
279
Although the task would be far from a pleasing one,
it might, at this time, be a useful undertaking, to give to
the Christian world this life of St. Antony, without re-
trenchment; appending to it, by way of foil, a memoir or
two, of the worthies and martyrs of our English refor-
mation. None could fail to discern, in a contrast so
violent as this, the vast, the immeasurable difference be-
tween that apostolic Christianity which, by the divine
mercy, was restored in the sixteenth century, and that
ancient Christianity — the sooffeeism of the Nicene age,
which we are now called upon, by the Oxford divines,
to put in its room! In a parallel such as I am now sup-
posing, there would be points of agreement, good and
bad; as, for instance, the ancient ascetics, and the modern
reformers, were alike pure in their orthodoxy; both,
moreover, were encumbered and depressed by a demo-
nological belief, grotesque enough: and let it be added,
that the one, as well as the other, held their faith as
Christians with a firmness which, when occasions arose,
carried them manfully through tortures and death. But
how vast is the difference still! The one, in surrender-
ing themselves (as the church universal had done) to the
old oriental illusion, or, as we must call it, the gnostic
principle, had lost their hold of all but the slenderest
remnants of that evangelic system which, recovered by
a return to the scriptures, imparted to the others — the
reformers, a vitality, a force, a feeling, truly apostolic.
It is impossible not to feel, when the two sets of men
are placed in close comparison, that the one are mere
drivellers, doting insufferably about the merest trifles;
while the others, whatever trifles they might at times
strive to invest with importance, nevertheless acted
and spoke and wrote like men and like Christians
of the apostolic school. Is there a mind so infatuated
280
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
as that it could, while referring to the temper and cha-
racter of Paul as a standard, set by the side of it the
puppet Saint Antony, and our Latimer or Ridley; and
then choose and prefer the former! and yet we are
now taught to think and speak of the reformers either
with a hesitating approval, or even as worthy of our con-
tempt, if not hatred, while we are enjoined to go back a
fourteen hundred years, and to gather our Christianity
anew from the lips of the idiot ascetics of the Nicene age,
or of the blind doctors who worshipped them!
It is not to be imagined that the most intelligent body
of clergy in Europe should give ear, for more than a
moment, — a moment of illusion, — to advice such as
this, — advice so pernicious, — and yet not more perni-
cious, than it is perverse and unutterably absurd.
But the point we are here engaged with is of such im-
portance, and it so nearly touches the marrow of the con-
troversy now on foot, that I must pursue it a little far-
ther, and, in doing so, it will be at once curious and in-
structive to turn from the life of St. Antony, by Atha-
nasius, to the portrait of a far better and wiser man,
drawn by a greater master than even Athanasius — I
mean the portrait of this same Athanasius, as given to
us very elaborately by the eloquent Nazianzen.
Why should we hesitate to look into a formal and au-
thoritative panegyric of the best and greatest man of the
ancient church, as imbodying, more or less distinctly,
every principal element of the religious system of the
times? It is thus, in fact, that the orator, in this instance,
regards the task he has undertaken. (See Nazianzen's
twenty-first oration.) " In praising Athanasius, I shall
be praising virtue itself; for, in speaking of him, in
whom were summed up all the virtues, nay, rather, who
now possesses all, I commend all in one." I must here
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
281
pass over the exordium, presenting, as it does, a piously-
worded sample of the gnostic style of the age, and
which describes the blessedness of the " genuine philo-
sophy." Now, lei it be granted that, in the peculiar in-
stance of this great champion of orthodoxy, the merits
of Athanasius, as such, should be made the prominent
subject of his encomium: yet, would it not seem as if
some single sentence, or even solitary phrase, calling up
the recollection of those truths which are the life of
Christianity, and its distinction, might well have found
a place in the orator's elaborate panegyric? The perso-
nal virtues of the saint are particularly enumerated, and
various excellences of his character, beside his ortho-
doxy, are fervidly extolled; yet there do not meet the
eye, in the whole composition, filling four and twenty
folio pages, hardly three words, which could suggest to
an uninformed reader the idea that Christianity comprised
any element distinguishing it from the Grecian philoso-
phy— the doctrine of the Trinity excepted. Few traces
do we here find of the gospel; and no allusion, ever so
remote, to the doctrines which are the main subjects of
the Pauline epistles. Or to come nearer home, never
would it be surmised, from any thing occurring in this
oration, that there are principles of Christian belief, such
as those so clearly iinbodied in the 9th, 10th, 1 1th, 15th,
17th, and 31st articles of the English church. Grant
it, that we should not demand, in a commemorative ora-
tion, a logical synopsis of doctrine; but may we not de-
mand, from a Christian preacher, and a bishop, that, as
often as he stands before the people, he should afford
them the means of knowing that his own heart, as a
harp in tune, responds, in all its wires, to the harmony
«of heaven? Can we imagine any one of the leaders of
282
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
the English reformation to have pronounced Nazianzen's
21st oration? or would any one of them have concluded
any such harangue, had they pronounced it, with an in-
vocation of the dead Athanasius, now to look down upon
him with favour, and to aid him in the government of
his church! No such incongruity, no such contradiction,
can be even imagined to have had place; for every one
feels that Nazianzen's Christianity, and the Christianity
of Jewell, Cranmer, Ridley, Latimer, Hooper, were
two systems, the one excluding, or forgetting, that which
the other made the most account of ; the one dry, ab-
struse, extravagant, turgid, formal, vapid; the other, cor-
dial, rich, efficacious; and, if tinged with superstition,
yet immeasurably more concerned with the momentous
realities than with the mere rites of piety.
It would be an error of serious consequence to sup-
pose that the zealous archbishop of Alexandria was no
better a Christian than we might gather reasons for
thinking him, from the language of his panegyrist. His
various writings forbid any such comfortless supposi-
tion. Athanasius was not only better than Nazianzen's
portrait of him; but better, and the same may be said in
a thousand instances, than his own notions of Christi-
anity (considered as a system) would have made him.
While he and his contemporaries took up the foreign
gnostic element, the presence of which deranged the
entire scheme of the gospel economy, he and they, or
many of them, so retained their hold, personally, of its
genuine and vitalizing principles, as that they still drew
sap enough from the vine to adorn their branches with
clusters of fruit. We may properly denounce and reject
a particular form of Christianity, without being com-
pelled to unchristianize those who have known nothing
better.
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
283
But I must return a moment to Nazianzen. It might
be thought, and with some appearance of reason, that,
on so special an occasion as the one above referred to,
and when he had to hold up, to popular admiration, the
great champion of orthodoxy, the one prominent subject,
the doctrine of the Trinity, would naturally exclude
other topics of theoretic or practical theology. Let it
be granted then; and on this supposition, we can do no
better than turn from the panegyric of Athanasius, to
that of Cyprian. In this instance at least, the remote-
ness of the subject from any local, temporary, ecclesi-
astical, or theological interest, may fairly be held to
have exempted the orator from any such preoccupation
of mind, as might have precluded the full and sponta-
neous expression of his feelings, as a Christian. The
eulogium of the martyr of Carthage, is surely open
ground; and in this instance we shall not fail to discover
those features of Christianity which were foremost in
the view of the speaker.
Of what sort then is this florid oration? (the 18th.)
Not a whit more evangelical than the one already re-
ferred to. Utterly devoid is it of those notions and modes
of feeling which, in the strictest and most proper sense,
are Christian. A dry, punctilious orthodoxy, with more
than a spice of offensive superstition, are its character-
istics: there is indeed, what we may find elsewhere, and
among heathen philosophers, a high contempt of the
world, and of its pomps, luxuries, and vanities; but there
is not even a beam of that splendour — the radiance of
heaven, which, in the scriptures themselves, gladdens
the hearts of the contrite. If the ten lines concerning
Christ, the " protomartyr," may be urged in mitigation
of this averment, let them be produced; but they amount
only to a profession which no Christian could avoid
284
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
making; and such a turn is given to the allusion to the
sufferings of Christ, as serves to ally the doctrine of
the atonement with the dim theology of the times.
" Many things there are indeed, which tend to lead us
into the better way; and many which train us in virtue,
such as reason, law, the prophets, the apostles, and even
the sufferings of Christ, the protomartyr, who ascended
the cross, leading me thither, that he might attach to it
my sin, and triumph over the serpent, and sanctify the
tree, and vanquish pleasure, and rescue Adam, and re-
store the fallen image (of God in man.)"
Let, however, this profession pass for as much as it
can be worth, conjoined with what follows; and I do
not see another line that is equally, or in any proper
sense, evangelic. But what is it that follows? Such
things as these — a love story (whence derived does not
appear) but the purport of which is, that Cyprian, be-
fore his conversion, being desperately enamoured of a
beautiful nun, had pursued her so importunately as to
reduce her almost to despair. In this terrible extremity,
to whom should she have recourse, but to the blessed
Mary, the queen and patroness of virgins: not indeed as
if forgetting God, and her Saviour — m m b^v u.*riupt»y*i;
but, as the readiest and surest means of obtaining im-
mediate assistance. " She supplicated the Virgin Mary,
iKiTiucvo-*, beseeching her to afford aid to a virgin in
peril; and, by the medicine of fasting and prostrations
on the bare earth, she farthered her purpose, partly that,
by these means, she might tarnish those charms which
were the cause of her trouble, and so remove fuel from
the flame; and partly, that, by her sufferings and humi-
liations she might propitiate God: for indeed by nothing
is God so well pleased, Qtfxrtvrrat, as by the sufferings
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
285
of the body, and it is to tears that he is wont to render
his compassion."
This is 14 antiquity;" this is 44 catholic teaching;" this
is that "perfect form of our religion," which, as we are
now told,. was at length brought out, after a three hun-
dred years' preparation, or concoction of its rude ele-
ments: this is the venerable system which we are to put
in the place of the Christianity of the reformers? Many
who, seduced by fair words, and a very partial, and
therefore fallacious exhibition of what ancient Christi-
anity really was, are giving in their submission to what
is called Catholicism, would be horror-stricken did they
fully know what this Catholicism actually includes.
If it should be said that passages such as the above
are but spots on the disk of the sun, and need be taken
no account of, our part then will be, in the place of
every single quotation, to produce a hundred; and all of
the same dark colour. Is it possible that the gospel,
such as the apostles gave it to the world, should consist
with the practice of praying to the Virgin Mary? No;
if there be any consistency in religious principles. Nor,
in fact, did these irreconcilable elements cohere: the
worse presently expelled the better, and brought with it
every kindred superstition: — as for instance —
— After the executioner had done his office, says our
orator, the body (of Cyprian) strange to say, was not to
be found, a<?iVK «v : the *4 treasure had, however, been
taken care of by a pious lady, who long concealed it,
whether it were merely that it pleased God thus to ho-
nour and reward her piety; or whether to prove us, and
to try if the deprivation of the sacred relics would really
distress us. However this might be, at length private
advantage was made to yield to the public welfare, and
the God of the martyrs brought the sacred remains to
25
286
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
light! What honours have not been granted to women!"
. . . Then follow the innumerable miracles of heal-
ing effected by this holy dust! all which those were
ready to attest, who had made proof of their efficacy.
To translate at length the nauseous drivelling of Na-
zianzen in this, and similar instances, is a task I must
decline: — let those who are hovering between Christi-
anity, and " catholic antiquity," read it for themselves;
or let the Oxford divines give to the English public,
whole and entire, the festival orations of the two Gre-
gorys, and of Chrysostom. All would then know, fairly
and at once, the extent to which they will have to go in
accepting the latter, and in relinquishing the former.
Fitly, in this instance, as in others, Nazianzen in-
cludes, in his peroration, a devout prayer to the glorified
martyr. " And thou, from thy seat, look down upon
us propitiously . . . aiding us in the government of the
flock." That this was not a rhetorical flourish appears,
not only from the seriousness and frequency of similar
invocations, but from a formal profession which the
speaker, in the funeral oration for his father, makes of
his opinion on this point of " catholic belief." (See the
19th oration.) "I am persuaded," says Nazianzen,
" that our father's intercession now avails us more than
his teaching did while present with us in the body; now
that he has got near to God, has shaken off the fetters of
the body, and, freed from the mud of earth, approaches
naked the naked." . . .
It might be well to follow this same father through
his panegyric orations. Let the diligent inquirer do so;
and if he finds, here and there, expressions fitting a
Christian preacher, consider always with what ingre-
dients these shining fragments are mingled. .
It may, however, seem probable that, although Nazian-
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
287
zen's florid eloquence might conceal the belter and purer
elements of Cyprian's Christian character, these would
not fail to make their appearance if we could look into
some memoir of the martyr, composed by a contempo-
rary, and one, therefore, who was nearer, by a century,
to the apostolic age. Such an opportunity is then actu-
ally afforded to us in the Life of St. Cyprian, as written
by his own deacon, his constant attendant and friend,
Pontius. Be it that Nazianzen plays the part of the
mere orator, ambitious to shine, and looking at his ob-
ject through the haze of time, and the mists of supersti-
tion: but Pontius was the disciple and intimate com-
panion of the martyr, and the sharer of his perils.
What materials then does this authentic record present,
pertinent to our argument? — we find in it the same abso-
lute destitution of evangelic sentiments, and the same
ascetic feeling. The deacon commences his portrait of
his master precisely in the style that ciiaracterizes the
fathers, from Tertullian downwards. "The preserva-
tion of continence, and the treacling under foot the con-
cupiscence of the flesh by a robust and thorough sanc-
tity," was, we are told, the prime rudiment of Cyprian's
Christianity, and the most direct means, in his esteem,
of rendering his bosom the fit receptacle of truth!
The modern reader should be on his guard against the
error of attaching, either a protestant or a classical sense,
to the terms which meet us in this instance, and on every
page of ecclesiastical literature; and which, as there em-
ployed, carry always a technical sense; as, for instance,
in this place, sanctimoniu, is not holiness, either in an
apostolic, or a modern sense of the term; but the sancti-
moniousness, or factitious purity of the ascetic life: the
concupiscentia carnis, is the abstract affection, proper
to our nature, not its irregular or depraved excesses: the
288
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
continentia, is not purity of heart and manners, but ce-
libacy: and the pectus idoneum, is such a preparation of
the animal nature, as, according to the gnostic notion,
was the prerequisite of all correspondence with the Su-
preme Being. The rest of this Life of Cyprian is oc-
cupied with the martyr's virtues, his charity, diligence,
courage, contempt of the world, and so forth; — virtues,
springing from motives far more powerful than any that
were known to heathen philosophy, and reaching a prac-
tical extent in proportion, and such as heathenism had
never dreamed of. What stoics have ever acted as Cy-
prian did, during the pestilence at Carthage? what stoics
have ever died as he did? Nevertheless, Cyprian's vir-
tue would be much better described as a stoicism puri-
fied and animated, than as Christianity imbodied. None
could fail to feel powerfully the vast difference between
apostolic (and protestant) Christian sentiment on the one
hand, and gnosticised ancient Christianity on the other,
who would do themselves the justice to read Pontius's
Life of Cyprian, by the side of any memoir of the mar-
tyr bishops of the English reformation. Was not Cy-
prian, then, a good man, and a Christian too? Who can
doubt it? but yet not nearly so well taught a Christian,
as have been scores of Romanist bishops and monks, of
the middle ages. If, therefore, we choose to reject the
reformers as our masters in theology, it were far better
to stop short near at hand in the church of Rome, where
we may find spirituality, as well as fervour, and a more
full expansion of doctrines, than to go up to the Nicene,
or the Cyprianic age, where all is dim and unformed.
This, I am persuaded, will be felt and frankly acknow-
ledged by all open to conviction, who, laying aside their
terror of popery, will deliberately and calmly compare
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
289
the best Romish writers with the best Nicene or ante-
Nicene fathers. It may be very true that a return to Ro-
manism, on the part of the English church, would in-
volve some very awkward practical consequences, which
are not involved in a return to ancient Christianity, and
which we might bring about, as it were, silently and un-
observed. But if, political and ecclesiastical considera-
tions apart, we were to entertain the question of such a
proposed change, on purely religious grounds, I verily
believe that we should see reason enough for accepting
the former alternative, rather than the latter.
I do not suppose that any champion of the fathers,
calling himself a protestant — any one who yet holds by
the articles and homilies of the English church, will
bring forward a writer like Gregory Nyssen, with the
view of counteracting the impression made by the pas-
sages cited, or referred to above. All know that, be-
tween Nyssen's Christianity and popery, the distinction,
if any, is of the nicest kind — hard to catch, and. harder
to keep one's hold of. I leave him therefore, much as
my argument might be served by adducing the evidence
he furnishes of the errors of his times.
The temper, as well as the style and method of the
Latin theologians, differs much from that which distin-
guishes the eastern and Alexandrian churches' writers.
And yet, notwithstanding the contrast presented by the
richness, the exuberance, the refinement and subtlety,
and the theoretic tendency of the latter, and the severi-
ty and practical directness of the former, the sovereign
influence of the system to which the one as well as the
other had bowed, is every where apparent. In the place
of the gospel, as preached by the apostles, and 44 wor-
thy of all acceptation," and equally necessary for all, the
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CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
church had adopted a transcendental mysticism, the ho-
nours and benefits of which were offered to a very few;
while to the many, instead either of the free gospel, or
of the prerogatives of the upper species of virtue, the
church offered its sacraments, as tangible conveyances
of so much grace as might secure salvation to those
whose faith and virtue were of a vulgar stamp.
In whatever respects Ambrose of Milan may differ
from the Gregorys, or from Chrysostom, he is thorough-
ly in accordance with them, so far as the above general
description goes: — they indeed may incline toward the
mild, abstracted, and imaginative sooffeeism, — or Plato-
nism; while he, and the Latins, less given to meditation,
and more conversant with the business of life, leaned
toward the stern and stoical system: they, speaking of
Christianity as a scheme of philosophy (the term con-
stantly employed by the Greek fathers) these calling it a
system of discipline. The general product, however, of
the two institutes was the same, and both alike dimmed,
or removed from its place, the glory of the gospel.
To the instances which I have adduced above, it may
perhaps be objected that the occasions on which the for-
mal orations I have quoted were uttered, were not the
most favourable for bringing forth the intimate and per-
sonal sentiments of the speakers, as Christians; and that,
just on these annual festivals, the temptation to make a
show of sparkling rhetoric overcame the better feelings
of the preacher. — Be it so. Let us then take up an in-
stance in which, if in any that is conceivable, a preach-
er may be supposed to have had his best and most cha-
racteristic Christian sentiments so powerfully wrought
upon, as to carry him far above the range of the inferior
motives of intellectual ambition. When is it that our
modern pulpit orators are seen, if not to the greatest ad-
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
291
vantage as orators, yet to the greatest as men, personal-
ly imbued with the quickening motives, and animated
by the hopes of the gospel? Surely it is, when the
fountains of grief having been broken up, by some sud-
den bereavement, whatever, in their ordinary style, may
have been formal, or artificial, or perfunctory, is tho-
roughly dispelled by the agony of the heart; and when
the energies of faith impart life and power to every word
that is uttered. We may then, on the ground of this ge-
neral rule, very properly make our way into the crowd-
ed episcopal church at Milan, at the solemn hour when
the holy father — Ambrose, smitten with the keenest
shaft of sorrow, and yet compressing and commanding
his tumultuous grief, harangues the multitude, a few
days only after the death of his beloved brother, Saty-
rus. Now, surely, if at any time, we shall hear the
Christian freely uttering Christian sentiments; and now,
if ever, in the eulogistic enumeration of the departed
saint's virtues, we shall see what ancient Christianity
was in the concrete, and when the most fully developed.
Of the two orations pronounced on this mournful oc-
casion, the second, on the faith of the Resurrection, we
may pass by, noticing only the proof it furnishes of that
coldness of the affections, and mere intellectuality, which
has ever been the fruit of the ascetic system: nothing
can be more chilling than this discourse, considered in
reference to the circumstances which attended its de-
livery. The first oration pronounced in the great church
whither the corpse of Satyrus had been carried, presents
those perpetual antitheses, and smart turns intended to
catch the ear of the vulgar, which belong rather to the
bad taste of the times, than to the mind of the indi-
vidual speaker; they indicate, however, the same in-
292
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
tellectual frigidity, and that thoroughly sophisticated sen-
timent, which the religious system had brought in with
it.
Ambrose professes the tenderest affection to have sub-
sisted between himself and his deceased brother, who
had been his solace, stay, and adviser, amid the cares
and labours of his public life. Natural affection had, in
this instance, only cemented the more intimately an at-
tachment which the amiable and exalted qualities of Sa-
tyrus must alone have rendered fervent and devoted.
This beloved brother, after having narrowly escaped
from shipwreck, was attacked soon after his return to
Italy, with an acute disorder, which snatched him from
the fondness of his family and friends, and from the pub-
lic service. Alas! it appeared from the event, that he
had asked only of " St. Laurence the martyr,"- — what
had indeed been granted to his prayers — a safe passage!
Would that he had prayed also for length Of years! Let
not the protestant reader, who may lately have heard
Ambrose named as one of the great three, to whom we
are to look for our idea of finished Christianity, let him
not be startled at this praying to a saint. Ambrose in
the west, as well as Nazianzen, Nyssen, Chrysostom,
in the east, and others, too many to name, had con-
vinced himself that no prayers were so well expedited
on high, as those which were presented by a saint and
martyr already in the skies! In fact, a good choice as
to the " patrocinium," was the main point in the busi-
ness of prayer. These matters were, however, regu-
lated by a certain propriety and conventional usage,' —
may we say, etiquette: it was not on every sort of occa-
sion that the Virgin was to be troubled with the wants
and wishes of mortals: each saint had, indeed, come to
SCHEME OF SALVATIOX.
293
have his department; and each was applied to in his par-
ticular line. In connexion with subjects such as this
how can one be serious? unless indeed considerations
are admitted that agitate the mind with emotions of in-
dignation and disgust.
It was, however, a consolation to Ambrose, in the loss
of his brother, that he had lived to return to Milan,
where the sacred dust would be at all times accessible,
affording to him means of devotion of no ordinary value
— " habeo sepulcrum," says he, " super quod jaceam, et
commendabiliorem Deo futurum esse me credam, quod
supra sancti corporis ossa requiescam." Ambrose was
truly a gainer by the death of his brother; for in place of
his mere bodily presence, as a living coadjutor, he had
the justifying merits of his bones, and the benefit of his
intercession in heaven! Ungracious task indeed is it to
adduce these instances of blasphemous superstition, as
attaching to a name like that of Ambrose; but what
choice is left us when, as now, the Christian commu-
nity, little suspecting what is implied in the advice,
are enjoined to take their faith and practice from the di-
vines of the Nicene age, and from Ambrose, Athanasius,
and Basil, especially?
The weeping orator having spent a little his verbose
grief, returns upon his path, in order to set before the
people — the plebs sancta, this exemplar of virtue, or
compendium of Christian graces. It is certain therefore
that this highly finished portrait of one so well known
to him, and so fondly admired, will contain whatever
was, in the preacher's opinion, most important to the
Christian character: — the instance is then every thing
we could wish for, considered as a criterion of ancient
Christianity, in the concrete. Without a play upon.
294 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
words, it may properly be called an experimentum crucis.
We proceed then to analyze this most conclusive record.
What were the virtues and graces of Satyrus — a perfect
Christian after the Nicene model?
First comes his reverential regard to the rites of re-
ligion; of which a striking instance is afforded. The
vessel in which Satyrus was returning to Italy having
got on the rocks, he, not as yet initiated in the higher
mysteries, and not regenerated, yet not fearing death,
but fearing lest he should die without them, had recourse
to those on board who had in their custody the conse-
crated elements (ordinarily carried, in a journey, as a safe-
guard against all perils) and having obtained them , wrapped
them in a stole, or sacrificial kerchief, which he tied about
his neck; and, thus armed, in any event, fearlessly threw
himself into the sea: itaque his se tectum atque munitum
satis credens, alia auxilia non desideravit. A good be-
ginning, is it not? The modern admirers of antiquity
seem to be offended when they are accused of " putting
the sacraments in the place of the Saviour;" but now
they are turning us over to masters of divinity who re-
commend what, if it do not imply some such substitu-
tion, is altogether unintelligible. Thrust this same in-
cident into the memoirs of any one of the insulted fa-
thers of the English reformation: will it suit the connex-
ion, and consist with the spirit and doctrine of the con-
text? It would not, and those are miserably betraying
the English church, who, under cover of a mystification
of plain and untoward facts, are striving to put the de-
based Christianity of Ambrose, Jerome, and Basil, in the
place of the gospel recovered by its founders.
But we proceed with the virtues of Satyrus, the list
of which includes fortitude, and pious gratitude, evinced
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
295
in his thanksgiving on account of the deliverance above
referred to; — gratitude, the expression of which gave
evidence of, and augmented his faith, and a faith such as
had enabled him to confide almost as calmly in the effi-
cacy of the consecrated elements tied about his neck, as
he could have done had they actually passed into his sto-
mach! Next comes an instance of his cautious regard to
legitimate church authority. Then, the childlike sim-
plicity of his disposition and manner, and his singular
modesty — pudor and purity, in speech as well as deport-
ment and person. And such an admirer of chastity was
he, and yet so abhorrent of ostentation, that, " when
urged by his family to marry, having resolved to main-
tain his purity, he rather dissembled his purpose, than
professed his determination. Who then shall not ad-
mire a man who, not wanting in magnanimity (sense of
distinction) and standing as he did between a sister pro-
fessing virginity, and a brother of high rank in the
church, yet affected not the honours of either condition,
while himself replete with the virtues of both?"
The frugality and temperance of Satyrus kept pace
with his chastity; all which were cemented by the cardi-
nal virtue justice, and a regard to the claims of all, whe-
ther those claims were of the definite or indefinite class,
and not least, those of the poor. Such is this portrait;
and the preacher, having satisfied his own conception of
the congeries of Christian virtues, indulges again in the
sorrow which yet he reproves, and concludes by com-
mending the " innocent soul," as an offering to God.
Innocent, that is to say, one of those whom Ambrose,
in another place, (De Pcenitentia, lib. ii. sect. 10,) says it
was easier to find, than any who had duly practised pe-
nitence.
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CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
But not one line does this funereal panegyric contain
breathing an evangelic feeling, or adverting to the great
principles of the gospel! It would be wrong to speak
of this elaborate composition as defective, or ambiguous,
or erroneous, in relation to the leading truths of Chris-
tianity; for it touches them not even in the remotest man-
ner. As well say that the Phsedo of Plato is wanting
in evangelic perspicuity, or that Cicero, De natura deo-
rum, does not fully express the doctrine of the thirty-
nine articles. Cicero, Seneca, Epictetus, any one we
may choose to name, is as evangelic as Ambrose, so far
■as the composition before us goes. Nor is the contrast
more violent between the writings of heathen moralists,
and the epistles of Paul, than that which offers itself
when, by the side of the inspired writings, we place this
Nicene oration.
The inference I draw from so signal an instance would
be in no degree invalidated by adducing, from the same
writer, passages of an evangelic aspect. Such passages
would either come under the designation of dry dogma-
tic statements; or they would express those occasional
outbursts of a better feeling which enable us yet to be-
lieve that these writers were personally better than their
system. But then, the Romanist writers, even those of
the darkest times, may readily be supplied with a simi-
lar apology. And how much more full and satisfactory
is such an apology in the instance of more modern Ro-
manists, as for example, those of the Port Royal school!
Whatever may be the demerits of Romanism, as com-
pared with Nicene Christianity, it is not to be denied,
that, in fervour and evangelic feeling, too, its best wri-
ters are decisively superior to those of the earlier time.
In fact, it would be extremely difficult to collect, any
where, from those distinctively called — the fathers, a
SCHEME OF SALVATION,
297
mass of Christian sentiment, such as might be brought
together, with the greatest ease, from the devotional and
practical works of the middle and later ages. It would
be perfectly safe to accept a challenge to adduce three
passages from Romanist authors, for every one from
the Nicene fathers, such as would satisfy a modern pro-
testant ear.
Or the comparison might be instituted on a rather dif-
ferent ground, as for example, on that of the presence
or absence of expressions, utterly offensive to every sound
Christian feeling; and which it is very hard to reconcile
with the supposition of genuine piety, in the writer.
Now, it must be confessed, that many things meet the eye
on the pages of the great writers of the Nicene age, of
a kind that finds no parallels in the accredited and most
esteemed Romanist writers. Altogether, those proprie-
ties, both moral and religious, which modern refinement
demands — and properly demands, are far better observed
by the later, than they were by the earlier authors; and
especially will this appear to be true, if we confine our-
selves to those of the highest reputation, respectively.
None, I think, will attempt to deny this advantage, as
belonging to the Romish church, in regard to the obser-
vance of the moral decencies of style, or subject; nor
do I see that it can be refused in relation to theological
proprieties: as for instance —
Ephrem the Syrian, a highly esteemed writer of the
Nicene school, and one who, ascetic as he is, may be
read with pleasure and advantage by those who are bet-
ter taught than himself, and who know how to supply
his deplorable deficiencies in evangelic principle, gives
us a story to the following effect. Abraham the hermit,
his own intimate friend, had had consigned to his care,
26
298 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
in the wilderness (alas the luckless girl,) an orphan
niece, the heiress of an ample fortune, then in her se-
venth year, whom her relatives (such were the notions
of the times,) conveniently disposed of, by incarcerating
her in a cell, destitute of every comfort, adjoining that
of the hermit. In this den the poor girl's hours were occu-
pied in the performance of menial offices for her uncle,
and in the routine of penance and devotion. It was
her misfortune, moreover, to be very handsome, so the
legend runs. Seen and seduced by a monk, who, on
pretence of spiritual perplexity, frequented the holy se-
clusion, she abandoned, at once, her profession, her pri-
son, and her keeper; who, after awhile, discovers her
shame, and the place of her sojourn; whither he follows
her in disguise, acting a part the most foreign to his ha-
bits. A.t last, discovering himself to the fair runaway,
he brings her to tears and shame, and among the induce-
ments, by means of which he labours to restore her to
virtue, and to the ascetic life, he says, with the view of
obviating her despair of forgiveness, "Mary — I will be
answerable for thee before God in the day of judgment.
I will repent for thee on account of this course of sin. —
Upon me be thy sin, my child; of my hands shall God
require this thy sin; only listen to me, and return with
me to thy place," Ephrem. p. 231. Oxford edition.
It is only the inferior class of Romanist writers who,
in any such way, are found to outrage all propriety.
How miserably must those have lost the consciousness
of their own position, as sinners, needing mercy, who
could have fallen into the habit of making themselves
responsible for the sins of others!
Until of late, in perusing the fathers, we have been
accustomed to take very little, or no account, of flagrant
impieties such as this: and passing them, perhaps, with
SCHEME OF SALVATION
299
a smile, have simply said — " Sucli was the style of the
times." But we must no longer allow ourselves this
sort of easy philosophic indifference. The Nicene fa-
thers, with their superstitions and their sooffeeism, are
now to be forced upon the English church, in the room
of her wise, holy, manly, and Cliristian-like founders.
The substitution is horrid: it must be resisted; and to re-
sist it, and to dissipate the illusions which favour the
traitorous attempt, the real quality of these writers, and
of their theological system, must be laid bare, without
scruple or mercy.
Now it will not do, slightly, to say in reply — 14 Oh,
the fathers had their blemishes, no doubt, and so have
the best writers, of the best ages; and we leave these
minor imperfections where we find them; and we think
the bringing them forward is an instance of ill-directed
industry." This mode of disposing of the difficulty
will not meet the occasion. — A blemish may be either a
spot or stain, tarnishing the surface of a solid and pre-
cious substance; or it may be a corroded speck, or a
worn point, or edge, in the mere gilding that hides a
worthless material: a blemish, of the former sort, may
be removed, witli equal ease and advantage to the body
to which it has attached; but to rub and scour an atte-
nuated gilding, what is it but to reveal, at every stroke,
the vile brass, or wood, or clay, to which we had fond-
ly attributed a hundred times its intrinsic value?
The lives, labours, and writings of our English refor-
mers, are disfigured by many blemishes; grant it. But
it is also true, that, in making ourselves acquainted with
them, our own minds being imbued with biblical senti-
ments, we become more and more impressed with the
conviction of their solid excellence: — they were men of
God, and, taught as they were from above, whatever
300
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
may have been their faults, they understood and pro-
fessed what is the most momentous in the Christian sys-
tem. The result of an equally thorough examination
of the Nicene fathers, and under the guidance of ge-
nuine principles, will be, if not of an opposite, yet of
a very different kind; and we shall be compelled to con-
fess, that those vital elements of truth which the one set
of men had recovered, under the divine guidance, from
the scriptures, the other set did but dimly discern, and
faintly hold, and were continually surrendering, for a
mere phantom of piety.
The limits of this tract, and the range of subjects it
must embrace, render it impracticable for me to acquit
myself otherwise than very imperfectly, of the task I
have undertaken; but I shall be content if I shall have
induced any to pursue, for themselves, the line of inquiry
which I have indicated. If a hundred instances were
added to the few already given, the complexion of ail
would be the same. That is to say, whenever we look
at ancient Christianity, in the concrete, or as imbodied
in the lives, sentiments, and practices of those who en-
joyed the highest reputation for sanctity, we find, ever
and again, the same ingredients, and these placed nearly
in the same order; and with the same utter want of evan-
gelic feeling. — There is foremost, the high-wrought as-
cetic virtue, and its indispensable condition — virginity;
or, what we may fairly call, an illuminated stoicism:
then follow the virtues which best harmonize with the
ascetic life, and the motives of which are drawn, with
much effect, from the Christian doc*trine of another life.
The accessories — sometimes the leading excellences of
this order of piety, were, a prostrate submission to
church authority, and such a regard to the sacraments,
especially to the holy eucharist, as is not surpassed, a
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
301
whit, by the boldest professors of transubstantiation.
This description applies, with hardly a shade of differ-
ence, to all instances intervening between the times of
Tertnllian, and the age of Gregory I.
To afford a digested summary of the style of expound-
ing scripture by the Nicene writers, and such as should
fairly represent it, seems altogether impracticable; and,
especially, because nothing short of lengthened quota-
tions would enable the reader to judge the whole ques-
tion. A sample or two may be offered, merely in illus-
tration of what is meant by the broad assertion — That
the notions universally entertained of religious celibacy,
and of its high merits and importance, had the effect of
dislodging the most momentous truths of the Christian
system: as thus —
I suppose that, in expounding the parable of the ten
virgins, most modern and protestant writers have consi-
dered the solemn meaning it conveys as intended for the
benefit of Christians at large, and by no means as re-
stricted to the members of a spiritual aristocracy. More-
over, it has, I think, been generally understood, that our
Lord, by " the oil in the lamp,'' meant that principle of
genuine piety which distinguishes his true followers from
mere pretenders, or professors; so that the general pur-
port of the parable is to incite us to make serious in-
quiry into the state of our hearts, as "alive to God," or
not. But it is in no such manner that the illustrious
Chrysostooi understands, or interprets, the allegory:
let us hear him, {rift ^ihshm;, Horn. III. torn. ii. p. 348.)
" What! hast thou not understood from the instance
of the ten virgins, in the gospel, how that those who,
although they were proficients in virginity, yet not pos-
sessing the (virtue of) almsgiving, were excluded from
26*
302
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
the nuptial banquet? Truly, I am ashamed, and
blush and weep when I hear of the foolish virgin. When
I hear the very name, I blush to think of one who, after
she had reached such a point of virtue, after she had
gone through the training of virginity, after she had thus
winged the body aloft toward heaven, (sheer gnosticism
this,) after she had contended for the prize with the
powers on high, (the angels,) after she had undergone
the toil, and had trodden under foot the fires of pleasure,
to hear such a one named, and justly named, a fool, be-
cause that, afler having achieved the greater labours, (of
virtue,) she should be wanting in the less! .... Now,
the fire (of the lamps) is — Virginity, and the oil is—
Almsgiving. And, in like manner as the flame, unless
supplied with a stream of oil, disappears, so virginity,
unless it have almsgiving, is extinguished But
now, who are the venders of this oil? — The poor who,
for receiving alms, sit about the doors of the church.
And for how much is it to be bought? — for what you
will. I set no price upon it, lest, in doing so, I should
exclude the indigent. For, so much as you have, make
this purchase. Hast thou a penny? — purchase heaven,
ttyopAo-cv tov cvguvcv, not, indeed, as if heaven were cheap;
but the Master is indulgent. Hast thou not even a pen-
ny? give a cup of cold water, for he hath said, &c. . . .
Heaven is on sale, and in the market, and yet we mind
it not! Give a crust, and take back paradise; give the
least, and receive the greatest; give the perishable, re-
ceive the imperishable; give the corruptible, receive the
incorruptible. If there were a fair, and a plenty of pro-
visions to be had, at the vilest rate, — all to be bought for
a song, — would ye not realize your means, and postpone
other business, and secure to yourselves a share in such
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
303
dealing? Where, then, things corruptible are in view,
do ye show such diligence, and where the incorruptible,
such sluggishness, and such proneness to fall behind?
Give to the needy, so that, even if thou sayest nothing
for thyself, a thousand tongues may speak in thy behalf;
thy charities standing up, and pleading for thee. Alms
are the redemption of the soul, xwrpov t*™ va»(**tonm*
And, in like manner, as there are set vases of water at
the church gales, for washing the hands; so are beggars
sitting there, that thou mayest (by their means) wash
the hands of thy soul. Hast thou washed thy palpable
hands in water? wash the hands of thy soul in alms-
giving!"
The preacher then makes an allusion, such as no pro-
lestant would disallow, to the context, "inasmuch as ye
did it," &c: and then proceeds, "My brethren, alms-
giving is a great matter. Let us embrace it, to which
nothing is equal ivStv i<nv, for it is sufficient for the
wiping out of whatever sins" (Chrysostom's expression
x*t «>a*f, a/uapri*!, must carry this sense, or something
like it) " and for warding off condemnation. Even if
thou standest speechless, it shall plead for thee; rather I
should say, there is no need of words, to him who has
gained the mouths of the poor. Give what thou hast,
for the reward is according to intention, not of constraint
. . . Hut I return to the virgins." . . .
"What follows, although the citation be long, is too
pertinent to our present purpose to be omitted.
" But what is it which, after so many labours, these
(foolish) virgins hear? — I know you not! which is no-
thing less than to say that virginity, vast treasure as it
is, may be useless! Think of them (the foolish virgins)
as shut out, after undergoing such labours, after reining
304 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
in incontinence, after running a course of rivalry with
the celestial orders, after spurning the interests of the
present life, after sustaining the scorching heat, TCy
Kxvrwci <rov fxiynv, after having leapt the bound (in the
gymnasium) after having winged their way from earth
to heaven, after they had not broken the seal of the body
(a phrase of much significance) and obtained possession
of the form of virginity (the eternal idea of divine purity)
after having wrestled with angels, after trampling upon
the imperative impulses of the body, after forgetting na-
ture, after reaching, in the body, the perfections of the
disimbodied state, after having won, and held, the vast
and unconquerable possession of virginity, after all this,
then they hear — Depart from me, I know you not!
" Now you will not imagine that I make small account
of virginity, great as it is. So great is it indeed, that
none of the ancients were able to hold to it. For by the
great grace (that has come to us) what was the most for-
midable in the view of the prophets and the ancients,
has become to us an easy matter, so that the things
which to them were the heaviest, and most extreme,
namely, virginity, and the contempt of death, are now
thought nothing of (as difficult,) even by mere girls.
So difficult then was virginity esteemed, that none at-
tempted to practise it. Noah, a just man, and one to
whom God himself bore witness, nevertheless cohabited
with a wife! as did also Abraham', and Isaac, the heirs
of the promise. Joseph, that pattern of chastity, yet
cohabited with a wife! A heavy thing indeed was the
profession of virginity; nor until that time did virginity
become efficacious, when the flower of virginity had
blossomed (an allusion to our Lord's birth of a virgin)
and so it was that none of the ancients (none living be-
SCHEME OF SALVATION.
305
fore the birth of Christ) were able to addict themselves
to the ascetic practice of virginity.
"A great matter indeed it is to rein the body. Paint
to me now the figure of this virtue, and learn of what
magnitude it is; seeing that it is waging a warfare which
knows no truce, even for a day, a warfare worse than
that with barbarians; for the contest we carry on with
these have some interval, some truces; if now the sa-
vage hordes assail us, now again they desist, and there
is something of order, and an observance of seasons, ad-
hered to. But the warfare of virginity hath no quiet,
for the devil himself is the enemy, who regards no sea-
sons of attack; nor ever waits while his adversary pre-
pares for the assault; but stands every moment watching
to find the virgin stripped, so that he may inflict upon her
an opportune wound. Nay, so far from being permitted
to rest, she carries her arch-enemy about with her. The
condemned see their prince and judge, only at a season,
and do not constantly endure the same torments; but the
virgin, go whither she may, bears her avenger in her
bosom, and supports her adversary in her arms, who al-
lows her no repose, at eventide, or in the night, or in
the dawn, or at noon; but still wages war, »J0v»v u7tot/6»-
fAivcc, y*fjtov [amvw ; so as that an advantage may be gain-
ed over her;
6*xa>; viratauofjttvii. Think then what the labour is which
this course of life exacts! and yet, even those who have
undergone all this, may hear the words — Depart from
me, I never knew you! And see how great a virtue vir-
ginity is, seeing that she hath for her sister — Almsgiving!
having nothing that can ever be more arduous, but will be
above all. Wherefore it was that these (foolish virgins)
entered not in, because they had not, along with theis*
306
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
virginity — almsgiving! — Thou hast then that
efficacious mode of penance almsgiving, which is able to
break the chains of thy sins; but thou hast also a way
of penitence, more ready, by which thou mayest rid thy-
self of thy sins. — Pray every hour!"
These citations I would not curtail, inasmuch as they
tell upon our argument in more ways than one. Let
them, fraught as they are with the darkest errors of the
darkest times of the church* sink into the mind of every
protestant who, while he is being cautioned against
popery, is invited (inveigled might we not say) to accept
the overcast Christianity of Chrysostom and his contem-
poraries. The practical amount of the above cited pas-
sages is this, and nothing better, that whoever could ap-
pear at the gate of heaven with virginity in the one hand,
and a sixpence of alms in the other, might boldly claim
admission. When Chrysostom, drawing to a conclusion,
afier dwelling upon the hard-earned merits of celibacy,
comes to say — Nevertheless all this merit may, at the last,
avail its possessor nothing; one fully expects to hear
him add — "unless it be accompanied with, and unless
it spring from, a genuine and gracious principle of piety;"
but such is not the doctrine of this prince of the Nicene
church;— virginity, celestial virtue as it is, will not pur-
chase heaven, apart from almsgiving. Heaven! what is
its price? virginity and an obolus! The burden of sin,
how is it to be got rid of? by virginity and an eleemosy-
nary obolus! Let us now be plainly told whether pas-
sages such as these, cited from this principal divine of
the Nicene church, do really imbody, and fairly express
the doctrine, and the general tenor of the articles and
homilies of the English church. Was it to establish
pharisaic delusions so gross as those which Chrysostom
SCHEME OF SALVATION'.
307
laboured to uphold, that the illustrious victims of Mary's
fury died in the tlames at Oxford and in Smithfield?
The time must come when it will be felt, by all ingenu-
ous minds, among the clergy, that, although the English
church may have been allied to the Nicene, by the re-
tention of a few untoward phrases, in some of its of-
fices, the heart and mind of the English reformers, and of
the Nicene fathers, were totally dissimilar: the gospel,
recovered for us by the one, had little or nothing in
common with the dreaming theosophy of the other; ex-
cept just the nomenclature of Christianity. The real
question now at issue is< — whether we shall go over to
Chrysostom, Ambrose, and Basil; or stand fast by the
English church and its founders.
That the doctrine advanced by Chrysostom, in his ho-
milies on repentance, was not a hasty rhetorical nourish,
appears from its recurrence, in nearly the same terms, in
his exposition of the gospel of Matthew (Horn, lxxviii.
torn. vii. p. 848,) and where he very distinctly affirms that,
vast as is the merit of virginity, it will not avail apart
from almsgiving. We may, however, meet with doc-
trine a little less grossly erroneous elsewhere among the
Nicene expositors: thus for instance Augustine, who, by
the way, appears to be much less in favour with the
Oxford divines than are his more popish predecessors
and contemporaries, offers an explication of the same
parable, which, making due allowance for the style of
the times, may be admitted as rational and scriptural
(see the Sermon on the Parable, and, De diversis quest,
lix. and Enarratio in Psal. 147) notwithstanding the
conceit about the five senses, as prefigured by the five
virgins, and which had been adopted by several of the
fathers. Jerome's exposition approaches, in some de-
308 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
gree, that of Augustine; and yet holds in part also to
that of Chrysostom. Venditor hoc oleum, et multo emi-
tiir prelio, ac difircili labore conquiritur, quod in eleemo-
synis eunctisque virtutibus et consiliis intelligimus raa-
gistrorum. (Jerom. in loco.) Hilary (Comment, in
Matt.) says that the lamps (flames) prefigure the "light
of those resplendent souls that shine in the brightness
of the sacrament of baptism: the oil is the fruit of good
works: the vessels are the bodies of men, within which
is hidden the treasure of a good conscience: those who
sell this oil, are they who, needing the aid of the faith-
ful, make this return, and by the supply of their neces-
sities, furnish the buyers with what they seek. These
(works o\ charity) are the copious material of a flame
that fails not. In ascending higher, we do not meet with
notions much more evangelic. Origen (in loco) says —
44 those who rightly believe and live, are properly corn-
pared to the five prudent; but those who, while profess-
ing faith in Christ, have not prepared themselves by
good works for salvation, are likened to the five foolish
virgins."
Among those who occupy the foremost rank in the
ancient church, and who are now, by name, held up as
our masters in theology, there are shades of difference,
and yet very nearly the same mind — a mind dimly illu-
minated by the apostolic light, and from which the first
principle of Christianity was almost wholly expeiicd by
a substantially false notion of sanctity. There is, how-
ever, solid satisfaction, in finding that, while men high
in station were, with one consent, hotly driving the
Christian world onwards toward the precipice into which
the Romish church plunged it headlongr there were
those, in the shade, and of obscure name, who held to a
SCHEME OF SALVATION*.
309
better doctrine, and who, as we may well believe, dif-
fused, unnoticed and unknown, a life-giving illumination
of truth, within their narrow circles. Whoever may-
have been the author of the Homilies and Apophthegms,
attributed to Macarius, the Egyptian — a hermit of the
Nicene age, he evidently knew far more of Christianity,
and more clearly perceived its real intention than any of
the great orators and doctors of the same age. The re-
cord of the true church is on high, and we may well
believe that our Lord's promise to be with his church
always, has received its accomplishment from age to
age, in relation to thousands whose names make no
figure in the patristic folios.
Without affirming more of the following passages
than they seem to deserve, I think they may with ad-
vantage be contrasted with the quotation just above made
from Chrysostom. " Behold the five virgins, prudent
and vigilant, who, hastening to admit into the home of
their nature — the vessel of their heart, the oil, that is to
say, that grace of the Spirit which descends from above"
(compare this with Chrysostom's virginity, lit up with
a penny's worth of eleemosynary oil) " were able to
enter with the bridegroom into the heavenly marriage-
feast. Wliereas the foolish, abiding in their own natu-
ral state, ev r» iStA Gum ctTro/ueivsLo-itt did not watch, nor took
care to receive the oil of gladness into their vessels; but,
just as they were in the flesh, slumbered through care-
lessness, laxity, and indolence: or through ignorance,
and a false notion of their own righteousness" (just such
a notion as the language of the fathers above cited tended
to foster) 11 wherefore they were shut out from the royal
banquet; not being such as could please the heavenly
Bridegroom. For being held by the chain of mundane
affections, and the love of things earthly, they had not
27
310
CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE
rendered their entire hearts, in cordial attachment, to the
heavenly Spouse, nor had received the unction; where-
as souls seeking to entertain the divine guest, to wit,
the sanctification of the Spirit, are bound by an undi-
vided love to the Lord, and walk with him, converse
with him by prayer, fix their thoughts upon him; from
ail else diverted, and so are deemed worthy to receive
the oil of the heavenly grace, and thence are enabled to
lead a life without offence, and altogether to please the
spiritual Bridegroom." (Macarius, Horn, iv.)
Much might be quoted from this same author, which,
saving a phrase or two here and there, would pass as
protestant and scriptural writing; and which offers al-
most the strongest possible contrast to the manner and
spirit of the great contemporary divines. It is particu-
larly to be noted that this writer, although himself an as-
cetic, a hermit, abstains from the favourite ascetic topics;
and often speaks in disparaging terms of celibacy, fast-
ing, and the like. His style also, in regard to the sa-
craments, differs essentially from that current in his
times: in a word, he speaks of these means of grace in
a manner befitting one who was spiritually taught. It
is important to mark the latent alliances of doctrines, or
that secret principle of affinity, which brings seeming-
ly unconnected notions into actual conjunction. Thus,
while the great Nicene writers, one and all, are seen to
exclude the gospel, and to substitute a flimsy home-made
justification, hammered out of celibacy, almsgiving, fast-
ing, and all the frippery of the ascetic discipline, they
are also heard to indulge in the wildest extravagances
regarding the efficacy of the sacraments, the dignity of
the sacerdotal office, the power of the church, and the
like. They are also heard invoking the saints, adoring,
or near to it, the relics of martyrs, and magnifying
SCHEME OF SALVATION'.
311
whatever is formal and human, while they depress or
forget whatever is spiritual and divine.
The very reverse, in all these respects, is true of our
obscure Macarius, who, taught from above, rises supe-
rior, in great measure, to the delusions of the times he
lived in, of which many striking instances might be ad-
duced, and which would make conspicuous that misera-
ble defection from evangelic principles which attaches
to those of the Nicene fathers who are now being cited
as authorities in theology. The contrast is made the
more pointed, if we keep to the particular subject which
we have found to be handled so poorly by Chrysostom,
and others.
" Unless humility, and simplicity, and goodness,
adorn our tempers, a form of prayer will avail us no-
thing; nor indeed any other labours we may undergo,
in preserving virginity, or the like, . . . and, destitute of
these graces, we shall take our part with the foolish vir-
gins, in the day of judgment, who, because they had not
in the vessels of their hearts the oil of spiritual grace,
were named fools, and were excluded from the kingdom,
by the spiritual Bridegroom." And elsewhere: — " un-
less humility, simplicity, love, cleave to us, our prayers,
or, I should rather say, the semblance or pretence
of prayer, will avail us nothing; and what is true of
prayer, is true of other exercises of piety, even the most
painful and laborious, such as virginity, vigils, fastings,
psalmody, ministrations, and such like offices of a spe-
cious godliness." (De custodia cordis.)
We must not indeed expect to find in any writer of
the Nicene age, not even in one who, like Macarius,
gives evidence of rational and scriptural piety, a clear
exhibition of what we emphatically call the gospel; for
this had too long been lost sight of, to be recovered in
312
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
its fulness and power by any single mind. But there
is, at the least — truth to a certain extent, as well as the
absence of gross and fatal errors. Macarius may be
read with pleasure and advantage, by those who are bet-
ter taught than himself; while the principal Nicene fa-
thers, whatever benefits we may receive from the peru-
sal of them, are not to be looked into without distress,
amazement, and the utmost caution.
Some special Methods of estimating the Quality
of the Nicene Theology.
There is a very simple method of ascertaining the
tendency, and theological quality, of religious writings,
which, although it may seem a little arbitrary, yet will,
I think, very seldom prove to be fallacious: it turns upon
the rule that a writer's selection of scripture, incidental,
or formal, indicates his personal feeling, and his doctri-
nal bias. This rule would at once be admitted, by many,
as a safe one, if applied to some of our modern ultra
protestant writers, who, while expounding, and quoting,
a thousand times over, certain noted passages in Paul's
epistles, are found to advert, much less often, to our
Lord's discourses, and very sparingly adduce any of the
merely preceptive portions of the very epistles, the doc-
trinal parts of which engage so much of their attention.
Why may we not then avail ourselves of this same rule,
in other directions? It surely has a foundation in the
reason of things, and it implies that, if at any time, or
in any particular church, certain elements of truth have
lost their due place in the system of doctrines, those
passages of scripture whero such elements are promi-
nent, will be seldom adduced, or when adduced, will be
confusedly and perversely expounded.
QUALITY OF THE NICEXE THEOLOGY. 313
Now, nothing can be more striking than is the result
of a general survey of the patristic literature, as brought
to the criterion of this special rule. The question be-
ing— Did the Nicene divines themselves understand, and
preach, the gospel? Look to their choice of scripture —
the list of- texts, most in favour with them. The gene-
ral reader should be apprized that, in almost all the edi-
tions of the fathers, there is found, besides a general in-
dex, rerum memorabilium, an index also of the passages
of scripture which the author expounds, or which he in-
cidentally cites. By the aid then of these indices, a
pretty exact idea may, without much labour, be obtained,
of the feeling and doctrinal tendency of these theolo-
logians, on the ground of the rule above advanced. It
will not be imagined that the absolute completeness or
correctness of these indices should be vouched for;
nevertheless, their general accuracy may very safely be
affirmed; nor do I believe that the issue of such an ex-
amination would be at all affected by the few instances
of omission, which a diligent research might perhaps
discover.
Assuming, then, these tables of texts cited or ex-
pounded, to be, in the main, correct, we shall find, in
the first place, that, with a remarkable uniformity, they
offer to the eye those half dozen texts which afford a
colour of authority to the principles and practices of the
ascetic institute. Few indeed omit a reference to our
Lord's words — Let him that is able to receive it, &c, or,
They neither marry nor are given in marriage, &c, or,
to Paul's — It is good for a man not to touch a woman, &c.
These tables exhibit also, and of this we do not com-
plain, an abundant gleaning, nay a rich harvest, gathered
from the preceptive portions of the inspired volume:
27*
314
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
generall}r, more from the Old Testament, than from the
New, and more from the gospels, than from the epis-
tles, and more from the didactic than from the doctrinal
parts of the epistles.
But those noted passages which, to protestant ears
are the most familiar, and to the well taught and spiritu-
ally minded, are the most dear, such bright passages
are, in some of these lists, altogether wanting, and in
most are the least frequently cited; or where cited, it is
in a sense, or for a purpose, very unlike (as we must
think) their true intention. There are certain passages
which, setting forth in the clearest manner, the freeness,
the largeness, and the sufficiency of the method of sal-
vation, are the first to convey hope and joy to contrite
spirits; and they are the very same which the most emi-
nent (modern) Christians — the most laborious, and the
most holy, have clung to in their last hours: they are
the passages, moreover, which the most efficient and
enlightened preachers and pastors have employed as the
key-note of their ministrations, public and private; and
the very same are what may be called the hinges of con-
troversy, between the first reformers and their purblind
antagonists of the Romish church.
Now I would earnestly recommend those who are
conscientiously determined to satisfy themselves, by
personal researches, concerning the great question now
at issue, between the Nicene fathers, and the reformers,
to pursue the suggestion I am here offering, and to as-
certain (no very difficult task) whether the allegation be
true or not — That the great divines of antiquity either
avoid all reference to passages of the kind now spoken
of; or cite them in some incidental manner, and apart
from any expression of their own feelings; or, if they
quote and expound such passages, do it in a perverted
QUALITY OF THE N1CENE THEOLOGY.
315
manner, and so as to make it certain that they themselves
discerned little or nothing of the glory of Christianity,
as therein expressed. This strange forgetfulness of
What, on every account, claims our eons taut regard, and
which, in modern times, has, on all sides (among those
who have seriously addicted themselves to the study of
the scriptures) received the most attention, forces itself
upon our noiice, whenever we open the remains of an-
cient Christianity. Every thing is wrought up and ex-
panded, and repeated, and expounded — every thing, but
the gospel itself! From the apostolic fathers, and Jus-
tin, down to Gregory I. and Eoethius, nearly the same
dimness in this respect attaches to all.
I am anxious to suggest to those who will avail them-
selves of such aid, various and independent modes of
bringing to the proof, the patristic theology, on this most
serious allegation, of its sad deficiency in evangelic feel-
ing, as well as doctrine. Among these methods, I have
already mentioned, as peculiarly conclusive, an exami-
nation of those portraits of Christianity, in the concrete,
with which the works of the fathers abound. To this
criterion, let it be objected that the false rhetorical taste
of the times may perhaps have hidden from us, in such
instances, the simple evangelic element, of which we
are in search, and which actually attached, as well to
the orator as to the subject of his too flowery declama-
tion. Be it so; but is it not a rule in historical science,
that, though men may often, after their death, be painted
in false colours, by their admiring friends, they will be
found to have truly painted themselves, in their letters
to their intimate associates?
Now if this rule be a good one, I fear its application
to the Nicene divines will exhibit them in no very ad-
vantageous light, personally, as Christian men. That
316
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
they were, most of them, sincere, devout, assiduous in
their duties, and anxiously intent upon the welfare of
the churches under their care, is incontestable proved
by these remains. But does it appear from the same
documents, that their hearts were warmed by those
truths which are the glory of the Christian system, and
which, when so entertained, impart an unction, and an
animation to Christian communion? I think the affir-
mative cannot be pretended in favour of these divines, by
even their most devoted admirers. What can be more
dead and trivial than a large proportion of the epistolary
remains of the ancient church? I will not name the
epistles of Synesius, or those of Gregory Nazianzen;
but what are those even of Basil, or Ambrose, or Chry-
sostom? If these specimens of ancient Christian friend-
ship are found, generally, to breathe a simple-hearted
evangelic piety, or to glow with an apostolic zeal for
the fartherance of a pure gospel, then let it be acknow-
ledged that whatever unfavourable inferences may seem
to have resulted from a perusal of other portions of the
early Christian literature, we have been mistaken in the
estimate we have formed of the men and of the system.
Are the advocates of Nicene Christianity willing to
abide by the result of a full examination of the extant
patristic epistles? I suppose not; and yet it does not
appear why the criterion should not be regarded as a
fair and conclusive one. Putting out of view, for a mo-
ment, their inspiration, we think ourselves able, in read-
ing the apostolic epistles, to say what subjects were
uppermost in the minds of the writers; nor can proles-
tanl readers of the Bible find themselves at a loss in de-
termining, from these documents, whether the religion
of the writers was a system of fear, servility, bodily
service, ascetic virtue, credulity, exaggeration, sacra-
QUALITY OF THE KICENE THEOLOGY.
317
mental mystification, and ecclesiastical arrogance; or a
system of warmth, affection, hope, joy, love, substan-
tial virtue, and real holiness. Now, judging of the
Nicene writers precisely in the same way, that is to
say, by the general tenor and apparent temper of their
letters to the churches, or to their individual friends, is
there any one bold enough to affirm that the former, not
the latter, are the characteristics of these remains, and to
invite ample citations, in support of so perilous a chal-
lenge? I can only mention these methods of proof, and
express the hope that the conscientious inquirer will
avail himself of them.
There is, however, another criterion, which might
with advantage be appealed to. What I mean is an ex-
amination of the subjects selected by the Nicene writers,
as their favourite themes; or as those which they thought
themselves the most imperatively called upon to treat.
Now, the religious literature of any age may be loosely
classified, as consisting of — Expositions of scripture,
whether consecutive or incidental — Polemic treatises on
the points in controversy at that time — Free, or as we
may say, spontaneous disquisitions, whether in the ho-
miletic form, or otherwise, upon the chief subjects of
practical piety, and of Christian morals — Treatises,
mainly philosophical, or critical, yet bearing upon theo-
logy;— and lastly, though not of least account, Compo-
sitions bearing upon ecclesiastical order, ritual, and the
actual government or welfare of particular churches. In
taking a glance, then, at the contents of the seventy or
eighty folios which comprise the choice of the Nicene
theology, we might dismiss, as not so pertinent to our
immediate object, two of the above-named classes, name-
ly, the Polemical, and the Philosophical, and examine
the remaining three. In the present instance, however,
318
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
I can only oner a remark upon the first, namely, the
ancient expositions — a subject indeed so wide and va-
rious, that it would be absurd to make a cursory allusion
to it, except in reference to particular and well-defined
points. A limited reference then, of this sort, I will
proceed to make.
In looking broadly at the ancient expositions of Scrip-
ture, the well-known, and prominent characteristic of
many of them, namely, the mythic, or allegorizinginter-
pretation of its plain histories, and simple statements of
fact, has a meaning which, I think, has been too little
adverted to. This propensity to mystify the plainest
tilings, may be, and has been, attributed to the opera-
tion of several independent causes; but there is one
which, although the less obvious, was, as I am persuaded,
the principal and the most constant. If Origen be
named (whether justly or not) as the author of this alle-
gorizing method, he will aid us, as we shall see, in
tracing it up to its secret source — that same gnostic
feeling, which explains so many other characteristics of
ancient Christianity. A reference to two or three places
in this learned, amiable, and pious writer, will exclude
any doubt as to the fact, that the Christian church, par-
ticipating with the gnostics, in those sickly and oriental
notions of the divine nature, which led the latter, as
heretics, to attribute the visible creation to an inferior
and imperfect being, and to regard the Jewish history,
and economy, as unworthy of the supreme goodness and
wisdom, this deep gnostic feeling impelled the Chris-
tian expositors to rid themselves, as far as might be, of
difficulties so formidable, first, and where it could be
done, by roundly affirming that certain narrations, in the
Old Testament, are not histories of facts, but pure alle-
gories, or mythic inventions, conveying spiritual truths;
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
319
secondly, where this bold hypothesis was altogether in-
admissible, or where its adoption was not hazarded, by
merely diverting the attention from the plain history, in
the copious use of ingenious accommodations; that is to
say, allegories appended to the history, where the his-
tory could not be absolutely melted down into fable. So
much for the mode of interpreting scripture, in avoid-
ance of gnostic objections. But there remained a rather
more difficult task, imposed by the same gnostic senti-
mentality, which was that of reconciling the gnostic no-
tion of the divine nature, as pure and wise, with the
constitution of the animal creation. Now, this task was
connected with the interpretation of scripture, by the
means of allegorizing disquisitions upon the Mosaic ac-
count of the six days' work. It was not indeed that the
lion, the tiger, the crocodile, the adder, the vulture, the
shark, could be spoken of as other than they are; but
yet, while a thousand gay conceits concerning the " spi-
ritual meaning," couched under these untoward natures,
could be held before the mind, something was done, and
a respite was obtained from the tormenting pressure of
the theosophic conception of the Deity.
Ample, and really amusing illustrations of what I am
now affirming, may be met with by referring to the
Hexaemeron of Ambrose; where the forms, qualities,
habits, of fishes, reptiles, birds, and beasts, are con-
vincingly shown to adumbrate all points of theology and
morals. And to what lengths did this irresistible infatu-
ation carry so respectable a writer? To what use, for
instance, does he dare to convert the (misunderstood) na-
tural history of the vulture? Let the reader look to the
twentieth chapter of the fifth book, and amidst his
amazement and disgust, acknowledge the proof he there,
and elsewhere, finds, of the presence of a motive, pow-
320
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
erful enough to overthrow all soundness of judgment,
and to violate all religious decorum. Nonne advertimus
quod Dominus ex ipsa natura plurima exempla ante prse-
misit, quibus susceptse incarnationis decorem probaret,
et adstrueret veritatem. Basil makes the same offensive
use of the same ridiculous fable; and throughout his
Hexaemeron employs a rich invention in what he, and
others, considered as the laudable endeavour, not so
much to derive lessons of piety from the natural world,
as to obviate, or supersede, the terrible gnostic objection
to the mundane system, as impure and sanguinary. But
we must return for a moment to the mythic interpreta-
tion of the Old Testament history, and see in what way
Origen opens up to us the real motive of this practice.
The principle of allegorical interpretation which he
adopted, is stated and defended, as well incidentally as
formally, in many parts of his writings, and, among the
reasons adduced in behalf of it is this, that it aids us in un-
derstanding passages which, if literally interpreted, would
either involve contradictions, or be offensive, and tend
to encourage sentiments and practices elsewhere explicit-
ly condemned (see the Fragment on Galatians, torn. i. p.
43,' Benedictine, and more at length, in the De Principiis,
lib. iv.) He formally assumes a license for considering
as allegory, whatever, even in the plainest narrations,
does not seem to consist with certain received notions of
what was fitting in the divine dispensations, or in the
conduct of the patriarchs. That this principle of inter-
pretation sprung, not merely from the wish to obviate
gnostic objections, but from a latent admission of their
force, appears clearly enough from the tenor of the fol-
lowing passage; especially when compared with the
places in which the rule of allegorical exposition is ac-
tually applied to particular instances. Origen, having
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
322
established the inspiration of the scriptures, states the
necessity of laying down such a rule of interpretation,
as shall exclude the cavils and false assumptions of Jews
and heretics.
" These latter, when they read such texts as these — a
fire is kindled by my wrath," &e. . . . and a thousand
things of the like kind, have not indeed dared to deny
that these scriptures are from a God; but then they sup-
pose them to have proceeded from the demiurge, whom
the Jews worship, an imperfect, and not benevolent be-
ing; and they affirm that the Saviour has come to an-
nounce to mankind a more perfect Deity, whom they
deny to be the same as the demiurge, or creator of this
world. Having once strayed from the truth, they have
adopted various opinions, at the suggestion of their fancy,
and have adopted notions concerning the visible and the
invisible worlds, as attributable to different creators.
There are moreover, even within the pale of the church,
some of the simpler sort, and who mainly hold to the true
theology, and who yet (in consequence of their adhe-
rence to the literal sense of scripture) think of the true
God in the most unworthy manner Now the sole
cause of all the errors above referred to, whether of the
impious, or of the simpie-minded, is the habit of under-
standing scripture not in the spiritual (or mystic) but in
the naked and literal sense." Our author then proceeds,
at great length, to expound and to recommend his own
remedial system of interpretation; which, as he thinks,
will enable us to evade every difficulty, and to preserve,
unimpaired, those just and elevated notions of the divine
purity, justice, and benevolence, which the gospel con-
veys.
It is manifest then, and other passages might be cited
to the same effect, that, with Origen, who was the au-
28
322
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
thor, or great promoter of the mythic mode of interpre-
tation, the primary motive for its adoption was a tacit ad-
mission of the gnostic sentiment and doctrine. This
system of exegesis, violent as it was, and shocking to
common sense, and precarious too, for it could not be
applied to all cases, even to those the most needing it,
has often, by modern writers, been attributed merely to
" a false taste," or to an " ambition of ingenuity," or
to an oriental exuberance of the imagination. But we see
that it had a deeper and a more serious meaning, and
that it is the indication of what I have called a gnostic
feeling, strong in the minds even of those who were the
most decisive opponents of the gnostic heresies. The
broad expression of this same feeling we have found un-
der another form — the doctrine and practice of abstrac-
tive asceticism and celibacy, and have thus obtained in-
cidental, and yet conclusive proof of the oneness and
consistency of that system which, in the Nicene age,
had come into the place of apostolic Christianity.
I wish especially, on this occasion, to point out the
slightness and fallacy of the mode in which modern wri-
ters have allowed themselves to allude, with an incu-
rious and affected scorn, to the characteristic features of
ancient Christianity. "Monkery and asceticism" —
they were the " follies of the age;" — " superstitious no-
tions and practices;" — the human mind had then " be-
come enfeebled;"— " the mystic interpretation of scrip-
ture"— " the fathers were men of more imagination than
judgment;" and, in a word, 44 we, better taught as we
are, may just glance at these errors, and pass on."
This frivolous style, unsatisfactory and unphilosophical
as it is, might have passed as sufficient in the times that
are gone, or that are going by; but it is now becoming not
simply obsolete and inappropriate, but seriously delusive
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
323
and dangerous; inasmuch as it favours the supposition
that ancient Christianity, although disfigured by some
blemishes, was yet, as compared with the Romanism of
later times, pure and sound.
A more exact, and I must needs say, a more philoso-
phical analysis of the ancient church system, will, as I
am fully persuaded, serve to convince all unprejudiced
minds that these trivial imperfections, or "follies," as
we have been taught to call them, were, in truth, the
several symptoms of one and the same deep-seated dis-
ease; and that, for instance, things so seemingly uncon-
nected and independent as we may think the profession
of virginity, and the mythic interpretation of scripture,
both sprang, in no circuitous manner, from one princi-
ple, and that principle nothing else but the rudiment of
the Asiatic theosophy. But then, this same sovereign
cause gave law to every thing else, or to every thing
which distinguishes the Nicene, from the apostolic
church. Hence the danger of borrowing notions, rites,
and practices, from a system which had come under the
tyrannous control of a foreign and fatal influence.
But there are peculiarities attaching to the ancient mode
of expounding scripture which demand to be noticed as .
illustrating our present position, that the great Nicene
writers were, in a very low degree, conscious of those
truths which protestants regard as constituting the glory
and peculiarity of the gospel.
I have already mentioned that omission of the most
vividly evangelic portions of scripture, which appears
when we examine the indices of texts cited by the fa-
thers. But when we open what professes to be a con-
secutive exposition of an epistle fraught with the most
animating passages, we feel as if, now at least, we must
discover what was the feeling of the writers; for how
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MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
can they avoid what stands directly in their path, and in a
path chosen by themselves? How avoid such evangelic
passages? Sometimes by neatly leaping over them! Of
which several instances may be found in Chrysostom's
expositions of the Pauline epistles. These serious la-
cunae in certain noted ancient expositions, would, if the
continuity of the discourse did not preclude the sup-
position, make one think that a leaf, here and there, had
been torn from the manuscript. But, if passages of the
kind now referred to are not actually passed over, they
are too often expounded in a style that is dry and cold,
or ambiguous, or positively erroneous.
In support of this representation I must confine myself
to one or two instances, but they will be such as to carry
the inference appended to them. Chrysostom's mode of
exposition is characterised by its diffuseness, and pro-
lixity; and we may say, in a sense, its comprehensive-
ness. He stands, moreover, by general suffrage, at the
head of the Nicene divines, and is surely second to
none of them as an expositor — all qualities taken toge-
ther. We may safely, therefore, bring him forward as an
authoritative instance.
The seventh homily on the Epistle to the Romans
contains a diffuse exposition of the latter portion of the
third chapter; and it is such as would, probably, sa-
tisfy many modern readers, clearly affirming as it does,
that salvation is God's free gift; a gift received by faith,
and not to be obtained by the observance of the Jewish
law. So far all is well; and one is happy, too, to meet
with so much of truth; but yet no such distinction is
observed as warrants our supposing that Chrysostoni
had, in his mind, the important difference between the
" making just" and the justifying, or declaring just,
in a forensic sense; nor does he kindle upon the theme,
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
325
nor take the occasion to awaken the hearts of his hearers,
as a modern preacher would not fail to do; but he slides
off immediately into ethical disquisitions, which, pro-
per as they may be in themselves, yet, in the connexion
in which they come, must have tended to cherish, rather
the legal, than the evangelic feeling of those whom he
addressed. The phrase tt*.i<pv*s Smxiom ttghiv, might sug-
gest the belief, that, justification by faith, in the protes-
tant sense, was intended; but when we turn to the
places where the same writer declares his opinion of the
justifying efficacy of baptism, it becomes but too evi-
dent, that such an expression, and much besides, which
might by itself seem unexceptionable, really meant a far
different doctrine; how different, let those say who have
read and considered the two exhortations addressed to
the candidates for baptism. (See especially the passage,
torn. i. p. 2G9.) " Although a man should be foul with
every vice, the blackest that can be named, yet, should
he fall into the baptismal pool, he ascends from the di-
vine waters, purer than the beams of noon." This,
then, was Chrysostoin's sense of the "making just in a
moment." In truth, this is placed beyond doubt by
■what soon follows — " They who approach the baptismal
font, although fornicators, &c, are not only made clean,
but holy also, and just, a.yuv; £ix.*icv;.
Nothing is more necessary, in looking into the fathers,
than to be guarded against the illusion of attributing an
evangelic sense to phrases and passages which can be so
understood only so long as we attribute to them a mo-
dern sense; but which, when collated with other pas-
sages in the same writer, are found to have borne, in the
mind of the ancient church, a meaning totally different;
and, as we must think, a meaning miserably erroneous.
Let us not then be referred to Chrvsostom's exposition
28*
326
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
of the Epistle to the Romans, in proof of the substan-
tial soundness of his opinions, until there be adduced
also passages, such as the one now cited, where, what-
ever a protestant might wish to say of justification by
faith, and of salvation by grace without works, is at-
tached to the baptismal rite, as its constant and proper
effect. Nothing would be easier than, by an artfully se-
lected series of quotations, to make Chrysostom preach
like Luther, or even Calvin; but let Chrysostom be al-
lowed to expound Chrysostom, and then the illusion is
dispelled. " As a spark thrown into the ocean, is in-
stantly extinguished, so is sin, be it what it may, extin-
guished when the man is thrown into the laver of rege-
neration." Nay, he conies forth another man. That
the highest possible importance was attached to the
mere rite, appears from the way in which it is every
where spoken of, and particularly when the preacher is
reprehending those — too many, who deferred baptism to
their last hour, and who, irrespectively of their state of
mind, or moral condition, are solemnly declared to be
liable, until so regenerated, to eternal torments. But
this is a subject too weighty to be cursorily treated, and
which will demand hereafter the fullest explication.
The instance may be enough to illustrate my mean-
ing, in saying that, what may seem the most evangelic
and unexceptionable in the patristic expositions, must al-
ways be held as worth only what it will appear to mean,
after the author's sense of the phrases he employs has
been ascertained from himself; and has been entirely
disengaged from our protestant modes of thinking.
What were Chrysostom's candidates for baptism likely
to be thinking of, supposing them to have been sincere
and devout? Was it the grace and power of the divine
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
327
Saviour, in whom, if they were at that time fit subjects
for the rite, they had already believed, or was it the ab-
stract doctrine of justification by faith, or indeed any
doctrine, or any state of mind, truly called spiritual? It
might have been so; but the direct tendency of the
preacher's very solemn discourse, on this occasion, was
(the human mind being such as it is) to make them think
intently, and almost exclusively, of the rite of baptism — ■
the " pool of regeneration and justification," a descent
into which was the turning point of salvation — the wicket,
in passing through which the man made his way in a
moment, from the confines of the pit of eternal misery,
and set foot upon the terra firma of eternal life: — this
pool, hiding beneath its sparkling surface the most tre-
mendous mysteries, was almost certain to fix the eyes
of the trembling candidate, in the previous moment a
child of wrath, unregenerate, unjustified, and, should any
accident intervene, unsaved. To such a one, nay, to
far the larger proportion of all who approached the awful
brink of those wonder-working waters, the rite took the
place of the spiritual reality, and of the Saviour.
This point, although it lead us a little from our direct
path, we must insist upon a moment. In considering,
practically, the effect of different modes of presenting re-
ligious truths to the mass of minds, the question is not,
whether such and such great principles, acknowledged
to be momentous, are sometimes offered to the view of
the people; but rather this, whether they are so offered
as that the several elements of religion are seen in their
true perspective — the foremost, foremost; the hindermost,
hindermost? Every thing depends upon this perspective,
even all the vast difference between a saving gospel, and a
pernicious delusion. And in considering such a question,
328
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
in a practical manner, we must take into the account,
not the nice and well-compacted notions of a few cul-
tured minds, well trained in analysis, and synthesis,
and order; but must have regard to the thousand, the
many, who, purely passive as to whatever is intellec-
tual, will accept things, just as they are offered to them.
It is precisely on this ground of practical wisdom, that
we (protestants) are used utterly to reject the fine papis-
tical apologies that have been offered for image worship,
and the supplication of the saints. Tell us not how the
few may possibly steer clear of fatal errors, and avoid a
gross idolatry, while admitting such practices. What
will be their effect with the multitude? The actual con-
dition of the mass of the people in all countries where
popery has been unchecked, gives us a sufficient answer
to this question; nor do we scruple to condemn these
practices as abominable idolatries. Tell us not how
Fenelon, or Pascal, might extricate themselves from this
impiety: what are the frequenters of churches in Na-
ples, and Madrid? nothing better than the grossest poly-
theists, and far less rationally religious, than were their
ancestors of the times of Numa and Pythagoras.
When the eye opens upon a wide and splendid pros-
pect, idly gazing upon it, all its parts are depicted on
the retina, as well as present to the mind. Say, how-
ever, to the listless spectator — "If you keep your eye
fixed upon yonder obscure cottage, you will presently
see the greatest monarch on earth issue from it," and
the effect would be instantly, that, although the same
width of landscape was still before the organ — the same
fields, groves, rivers, mountains, palaces, painted on the
retina; yet nothing would be present to the mind, nothing
but this cottage. The law of intellectual vision is pre-
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
329
cisely analogous to this. It means nothing to say,
"such and such important objects have been placed
within the view of those whom we instruct:" — upon
which, among these objects, has the mind been concen-
trated? All else is nearly as if it were not. And it is,
moreover, to be remembered, that, according to the in-
variable laws of the human mind, while the power to take
a comprehensive and just view of various objects, lying
together within the field of vision, belongs to the calmest
minds only; and, in their several degrees, to every mind
in its calmest moments, the exclusiveness of the mind's
regard to single objects, is always directly as the amount
of emotion at the time. Agitate the soul, in any way,
excite its fears, hopes, or any of the passions, and then
instantly, and just in proportion to the excitement, will
the mind lose its consciousness of all but the single ex-
citing object. Show a man the muzzle of a loaded can-
non, peeping from a thicket, in the distance, and whence
he may every moment expect his death; show him, on
the broad bosom of a tumbling sea, an open boat, in
which his wife and children are tossing, between hope
and despair, and what else will he see!
Now this law of our nature, a law taking sovereign
hold of the mass of mankind; indeed of all but a very
few, has a most important bearing upon the style and
topics of popular religious instruction. You may disre-
gard, if you will, the due perspective of objects when
you are coldly lecturing upon philosophy; but to fall
into this error of position and proportion, when the stir-
ring motives of eternity, when the alternatives of heaven
and hell, are quickening the most intense emotions, and
stimulating the most vivid anxieties, to do so, in such in-
stances, is the same thing as to teach, in a positive form,
the blackest heresies: no heresy can be really more fatal
330
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
than is the practical error of presenting the objects of re-
ligious regard in an inverted order, to a mind deeply
moved by religions sentiments. It is cruel mockery, in
such a case to say — " nay, we set forth all the truth."
On what point was the anxious eye fixed?
Now I am persuaded that the merits of the general
system of popular teaching as practised by the ancient
church, as well as the soundness of what are now termed
"church doctrines," if judged of according to this rule
— a rule founded upon the first principles of human na-
ture, may readily be determined; and the result of ap-
plying such a criterion will be to reject, as far worse
than positive heresy, that practical dislocation of objects
which was the characteristic of ancient Christianity, and
which is the characteristic of the Oxford Tract "church
doctrines." Let us apply this criterion for a moment,
and in doing so, take the ground, and admit the premises,
of the Oxford Tract writers.
In one of the most ingenious, specious, candid, and
attractive of these publications, (No. 85,) perhaps the
most so, after that on " Reserve in communicating reli-
gious knowledge," the difficulties under which "church
principles " labour, as resting upon very slender and in-
direct proofs, are fully and fairly stated — stated, and (let
it be granted) mitigated, if not removed; nay, I would al-
low, so far removed, or the pressure of them so far re-
lieved, as to prevent their being fatal to those doctrines
— other considerations which weigh against them, not
now admitted. It is granted by the writer, that these
doctrines, such as the divine right of episcopacy, the
apostolic succession, the power of the church, the effi-
cacy of the sacraments, the sacrificial virtue of the Lord's
supper, and so forth, are wanting in direct or satisfacto-
ry proof, and are to be established, if at all, only by the
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
331
aid of very attenuated, and nicely managed inferential
arguments. " Every one must allow," says the writer,
speaking in the person of an objector, " that there is
next to nothing, on the surface of scripture, about them
(these church doctrines) and very little, even under the
surface, of a satisfactory character." — " In short, is not,
it may be asked, the state of the evidence for all these
doctrines just this — a few striking texts, at most, scat-
tered up and down the inspired volume; or one or two
particular passages, of one particular epistle, or a num-
ber of texts, which may mean, but need not mean, what
they are said by churchmen to mean, which say some-
thing looking like what is needed, but with very little
strength and point, inadequately and unsatisfactorily?"
And again, the same objection is otherwise stated.—
44 Now, when we turn to scripture, we see much indeed
of those gifts (spiritual) we read much of what Christ
has done for us, by atoning for our sins, and much of
what he does in us, that is, much about holiness, faith,
peace, love, joy, hope, and obedience; but of those in-
termediate portions of the revelation, coming between
him and us, of which the church speaks, we read very
little."— p. 50.
After having thus, and more at length, admitted the dif-
ficulty, the writer goes on, with much address, and let it
be confessed, with some solid reason, so far, to show that,
although so slenderly attested, and so slightly alluded
to in scripture, these doctrines may nevertheless, like
other principles, universally received among orthodox
Christians, have actually constituted a part, and even an
essential part, of apostolic Christianity, and that, whe-
ther we find them in scripture, or elsewhere, they may
reasonably claim our reverential regard.
Let all this conditional reasoning, and the ingenious
332
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
illustrations attending it, be admitted as satisfactory, and
let it (for a moment) be granted that the opinions of the
Oxford Tract writers concerning " Baptism, the Lord's
Supper, Church Union, Ministerial Power, Apostolical
Succession, Absolution, and other rites and ceremonies, "
are sound; that is to say, that these doctrines and prac-
tices are either somewhere contained in, or are virtually
conveyed by, the New Testament, although not thence
to be gathered by any convincing method of proof; or,
that they may be gathered from history. Be it so; that
is to say, that, while the apostles insist upon faith, hope,
love, joy, peace, obedience, and the like, they also taught
and established, in the churches, the " church principles
and practices," such as we find them every where in the
records of ancient Christianity.
For reasons which may lie beyond our ken, it may
have pleased God to convey the spiritual and moral ele-
ments of religion through the medium of explicit written
statements; while the ritual and ecclesiastical elements
of the same great and harmonious scheme were to reach
us more circuitously, or more ambiguously. If this were
granted to be the fact, (which is much more than we
grant,) yet could we go on to believe that the relative
position, or, as we may say, the perspective of objects, —
the spiritual, the moral, the ritual, the ecclesiastical, —
was, with the divine sanction, and in accordance with
the divine will, to be distorted, or inverted, when the
apostolic scheme came into the hands of the next gene-
ration? Grant it, that more belonged to apostolic Chris-
tianity than may certainly or clearly be gathered from
the apostolic writings; but yet, was not this after-portion
to fall into its place, in obedience to the general law
of the system, as we may gather that law from the style,
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 333
temper, and very words, and special decisions, of the
apostles? Was it intended that the individual Christian
was, as soon as the apostles left the world, to shift his
position, and to betake himself to a point of view whence
every thing, spiritual, moral, ritual, and ecclesiastical,
would appear under a totally different aspect, and present
to the eye a side that had not been seen before; and that
these objects, severally, should subtend, on the field of
vision, exchanged magnitudes — the great seeming small,
and the small great? Is this to be believed?
But it must be believed, if we are to take the several
articles of what is called " church doctrine " in the order,
and under the perspective, in which we find them, where
only we do find them at all, namely, in the extant remains
of the early church. If we give up these records, we
give up those superadded practices and principles, or
" church doctrines;" for we have no other sufficient war-
rant for paying them any regard. But, if we adhere to
these records, then on what principle do we submit to
the rites and notions thence derived, as of apostolic au-
thority, and vet reject the relative position therein as-
signed to them? Whence do we draw our authority for
making this distinction, and for acting upon the differ-
ence, between the doctrines or practices themselves, and
the location of them? If the bishops of the early church
are to teach us " the way of the Lord more perfectly "
than we can learn it 'from the apostles themselves, then,
on what ground do we call in question their right to hold
the entire scheme of religion up to our view, in its just
perspective? I do not understand how we can yield
ourselves to this extra-apostolic authority, just in regard
to the articles of Christian belief and worship; and then
withdraw ourselves from it, in regard to the order Ut
which they are to follow one the other.
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334
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
I assume it, then, as certain, that, in taking what are
called the " church doctrines" from the early and Nicene
church writers, we are bound to receive them not insu-
lated, or in fragments; but as we there find them. But,
if so, then we, that is to say, those who yield themselves
to this guidance, are placed in a predicament as serious
as any that can be imagined, for we are not merely called
upon to accept, as of divine authority, very much which
the inspired writers barely glance at; but to regard those
things as foremost which, in the inspired writings, even
if they appear at all, and which is confessed to be
doubtful, are placed hindermost. To make so many
additions to our faith, worship, and practice, is some-
thing; but it yet is nothing compared with the ominous
operation of inverting the entire order of things — spiri-
tual, moral, ritual, and ecclesiastical. What religious
mind will not hesitate and tremble when invited to go
to such a length as this?
No fact in the history of religion, or philosophy, ob-
trudes itself more forcibly, or more frequently, upon our
notice, than that of the utter contrast between the apos-
tolic writings and the writings of the fathers, especially
of the Nicene fathers, (who are now to be our masters,)
in this particular, namely, the relative position of the
diverse elements of religion. I can hardly bdieve that
any will be so bold as roundly to deny, or as in any im-
portant sense to qualify, the statement of this fact. As-
suredly none: not the Oxford Tract writers, for they
have confessed the very contrary; none will dare to say
that the apostles were mainly intent upon the enhance-
ment and glorification of the rites, forms, dignities, and
exterior apparatus of Christianity. If any will say this,
I have no reply to make to them. Nor can I suppose
that any, except a very few, who, by long and fond con-
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
335
verse with antiquity, have lost the vigour of their moral
and intellectual perceptions, will deny that the fathers,
and the Nicene fathers especially, look at the compo-
nents of their Christianity from an opposite point. They
do not, as' I have stated twenty times, deny, or altogether
forget, that which is spiritual in religion; but they place
foremost, and they urgently direct, the minds of the
people towards that which is visible, ritual, and ecclesi-
astical. It is on these matters that their seriousness and
fervour are employed; it is, while upholding these, that
they kindle and spend their force. When do they lavish
rhetoric? in glorifying the Saviour of sinners, and in re-
commending the gospel? — seldom; some of them never.
But they can, one and all, glow, and burn, and roll
thunders, and dart their sparks, when the mysteries and
powers of the church are in question!
An illustration in harmony with the subject offers it-
self among the stores of graphic ecclesiastical antiquity,
where one may find the delineation of this or that sacred
edifice, fairly depicted in bold lines, and strong colours;
embossed, too, and palpable, in its glittering decorations.
Then there are about it, and about it, flimsy, faint-co-
loured cherubs, and seraphs, hovering in the clouds, and
chirping anthems; and, altogether, making a seemly bor-
der to the temple of St. Peter, or St. Mark. Now,
much like this is the view of Christianity presented to
us in the patristic records — there is the church, boldly
drawn, and bodily laid upon the parchment, so as that
one may feel its outlines, as well as look at it; and this
church is mad« awful to the mind of the spectator by its
hiding the "terrific mysteries," while around it, and
over it, flutter the airy figures of spiritual piety — faith,
hope, charity, joy, peace, and the like; and, to render
justice to the system, the moral virtues — temperance,
336
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
self-denial, charity, (almsgiving,) are seen, in substan-
tial quality, moving in and out of the building, as living
personages. Yet, such is the general arrangement of
objects in the piece — such the grouping and the distri-
bution of light and shade. As to the crowd around, if
the few and the better taught kept their eye fixed upon
spiritual objects, the many could do nothing else but look
directly toward that which, in a practical sense, was
alone of any consequence to them. They looked to the
sacraments, which they were solemnly assured conveyed
infallibly, and entire, the benefit they were in search of,
namely, exemption from future peril. Nay, so direct is
the tendency of perverted human nature toward what-
ever is visible and formal in religion, that, with the mass
of men, it was not so much the sacrament, — the whole
religious rite, — which fixed their attention, as the mere
material, or instruments of the sacraments: the glassy
surface of the baptismal pool, as yet unruffled, and re-
flecting the marbled magnificence of the church, seemed
the very mirror of eternity, and, as if, while intently
gazing upon it, the glories of heaven might be dimly
descried beneath. An analogous instance, and hundreds
of the like kind might be adduced, I have already re-
ferred to; 1 mean that of the brother of Ambrose, who
had been taught to attach such importance to the mere
eucharistic wafer, as to think that, tied about his neck,
it would serve him better than the stoutest of the ship's
timbers, in making his way to land, through the break-
ers!
Now, when we have instances of this sort before us,
the question is not, (the immediate question,) whether
the notions of the early church concerning the sacra-
ments, and the wonder-working efficacy of the bread,
the wine, the water, the oil, the salt, the spittle, were
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
337
true or false; but whether, in a broad and practical sense,
the effect of these notions upon the mass of the people,
nay, upon the best-trained minds, (such, for instance, as
Satyrus,) was not to invert the order in which the spiri-
tual, the moral, the ritual, the ecclesiastical elements of
Christianity, were to be viewed, as compared with the
order in which they seem to have stood in the view of
the apostles? I am content that all should turn upon a
fair reply to this question.
Say, that catholic teaching, I mean that of the Nicene
fathers, regarding the sacraments, and other " church
doctrines," is what we ought to adopt and follow. But
now I would gladly put the plain question — an histori-
cal, not a theological question, to any one, competently
informed, and to any one, who has too much of the feel-
ings of a gentleman to resort to evasions, and too much
of the feelings of a Christian to put a false colour or
varnish upon facts touching religious principles, and too
much of the feelings of a minister, or public person, to
compromise, in any manner, his professional character —
to such a one, I would be glad to put the question —
Whether, so far as we can judge by their writings, the
apostles, and the Nicene fathers, and their hearers, re-
spectively, were accustomed to look at the spiritual, and
the ritual, elements of Christianity from one and the
same point of view, or not rather from opposite points of
view? Who will give me such a reply to this question
as shall not leave him open to a speedy refutation?
Shall the answer to such a question be staked upon a
full exhibition of the style and doctrine of Ambrose,
concerning the sacraments; or shall we introduce him,
passionately pleading with God for the soul of Valen-
tinian, who had died uninitiated, unregenerate, unjusti-
29*
338
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
fied, that is — unbaptized: — Solve, igitur, Pater Sancte,
munus servo tuo! Upon the popular mind, what effect
could the ambiguous, anxious intercession of their trem-
bling bishop, when thus supplicating mercy for the soul
of the uninitiated " servant of God," have had, but that
of putting the ritual in forefront of the spiritual element
of religion? In conformity with the same notion, the
church, from an early time, held that the blood of mar-
tyrdom, although nothing else could, might be held, in
the case of a catechumen, to supply to the soul the want
of the water of baptism.
So the custom, general as it became, of deferring bap-
tism to the last hour, a custom so utterly opposed to the
practice of the apostolic age, whence did it arise, but
from the doctrine of the church at the time; for the peo-
ple, estimating, if we may so speak, their chances of
heaven, all things considered, concluded, and not unrea-
sonably, that, although, in doing so, they incurred the
fearful risk of meeting death suddenly, or where the
"regenerating water" could not be obtained, yet, inas-
much as a death-bed initiation, if it could but be had,
would cover all defects, and moreover, as sin after bap-
tism could be expiated, if at all, only in the precarious
and painful methods of penance, which expiatory pro-
cess itself might be cut short by death, leaving no re-
medy whatever; the safer course, although a perilous
one, was to hold in reserve, to the last, and trusting to
good fortune, that one remedy, concerning the efficacy
of which no doubt could be entertained. This course,
moreover, had a farther recommendation, incidentally at-
tached to it, namely, that with the sovereign remedy
still untouched, and at hand, a man might, mean time,
live as he pleased — only let him be so fortunate, at the
QUALITY OF THE NICEXE THEOLOGY. 339
last, as to have a kind priest within call, and all would
be right! In vain the great preachers of the Nicene age
spent their eloquence in denouncing this impiety. Men
coolly made their own calculations, and chose to abide
by what they felt to be their better chance.
It would be of no avail, in this case, to make a loose
admission in regard to the Nicene divines, and to say —
" Yes, we grant that they often express themselves un-
guardedly, or indulge in the language of exaggeration;
or, while insisting upon some one point, forget too much
its relative importance — we grant this." Such an apo-
logy will not cover what it is stretched over. The
question is not concerning a little more or a little less;
or concerning the proprieties of language, but plainly
concerning the relative position, as apprehended by the
people at large, of the spiritual and the ritual parts of
Christianity; and it is here affirmed that whereas, in the
apostolic writings, the spiritual stands foremost, and the
ritual hindermost (where it appears at all) in the Nicene
writings, on the contrary, whatever may be said about
the spiritual, the ritual is so placed as to fix upon itself
the most intense, if not the exclusive regards of the
people. And that this was the actual effect of this re-
versed order, is attested by the simple fact that the peo-
ple did so interpret the church doctrine, as bearing upon
their personal conduct; the more religious class taking
the steep, but certain road to heaven, through virginity,
and the ascetic discipline; while the many — the less de-
vout, in all degrees, down to the gross and sensual, either
secured their salvation within the church, availing them-
sel . es carefully of all its customary remedies, or took a
lodging just under the eaves of it; and, as they hoped,
within reach of the one great remedy, when the worst
should come.
340
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
That is to say, after we have set off from the Nicene
system, the super-human institute of celibacy, which
could avail for only a few, then, and for the many, this
system was precisely what popery has always been — a
RELIGION OF SACRAMENTS.
To return then for a moment to the argument of the
Oxford Tract writer, (No. 85,) if we were to grant that
apostolic Christianity, as conveyed in, and out of the
New Testament, is also a religion of sacraments, we
should still have made no progress toward the desired
point, that of reconciling ourselves to the religion of the
Nicene age, unless we could bring ourselves to affirm
and believe also, that apostolic Christianity is a religion
of sacraments foremost, and of spiritual principles hinder-
most!
It may be asked by some — " Why may we not have
a religion of sacraments — of church mysteries, and
church power, and yet, at the same time, give due pro-
minence to the spiritual and moral realities of the gos-
pel? Why may we not keep the spiritual and the ritual
fairly abreast one of the other?" Such a question ad-
mits of three distinct and categorical answers; as First —
The original constitution of the human mind forbids the
attempt so to hold elements in equipoise, the very na-
ture of which is not to occupy one and the same level.
Secondly, the actual condition of human nature, as per-
versely disposed always to substitute the ritual for the
spiritual in religion, renders any such attempt to place
the two evenly before the mind, or otherwise than as
the scriptures place them, in the last degree, unwise,
nay, mischievous. Thirdly, God forbids this endeavour,
bringing as it does his truth upon the very stage which
all false religions have occupied.
Q.UALITY OF NICEXE THEOLOGY.
341
If we appeal to history, in attestation of these three
answers to the question put, the whole course of it comes
to our aid in one crowded mass — all confirming each,
with undivided force. — It confirms the first and the se-
cond, together, by showing that, as well among highly-
civilized communities, as among the rudest, where the
ritual element of religion has been thrown forwards, or
put out of its place, in relation to the spiritual, the two
have never, actually, rested for a moment, as if in equi-
poise; but, on the contrary, there has been an accele-
rated movement, until the spiritual had entirely subsided,
or retired, leaving nothing but the merest formality, and
the grossest superstition. The third is confirmed by all
those instances in which it has become manifest, even
to the irreligious, that an influence holier and mightier
than that which man can originate, has been at work
within the church; for in every such case, the two ele-
ments have instantly, and as if by a natural gravitation,
resumed their due places — that is to say, they have gone
into the relative position which manifestly they occu-
pied in the apostolic church — the spiritual and the moral
foremost, and uppermost; and the ritual, not excluded,
but held in its subordination. Moreover, the first symp-
tom of decay and decline, has ever been — a revival of
the ritual part of religion, as a mass of solemn forma-
lism, and of impious mummeries: — the Ichabod of the
church has ever borne this very interpretation.
But there is another, and perhaps a more conclusive,
or a more affecting confirmation of the same great prin-
ciple, afforded by those signal, single instances, in which
eminent and sincerely religious men have laboured, and
laboured in vain, from the commencement to the end of
their public course, to hold the two elements of Chris-
tianity, the spiritual and the ritual, in equipoise. None
342
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
have spent their strength, in this endeavour, under more
advantageous circumstances than did the illustrious John
Chrysostom. Nor is there any one of the Nicene fa-
thers to whom an appeal, of this sort, might be made
with the hope of its being more satisfactory, to all par-
ties, or more exempt from exceptions of every kind;
none surpassed him altogether in acquaintance with the
scriptures, in breadth and richness of intellect, in fer-
vour of piety, vigour of character, eloquence, and influ-
ence. To name any one of his distinguished contem-
poraries, of the Greek church, rather than himself,
would seem to be an intentional disparagement of the
sacramental cause. To name Augustine, would not be
conclusive, inasmuch as his reputation, as a theological
authority, is questioned in this case, and is ambiguous.
What could an opponent gain by putting in the place of
the archbishop of Constantinople, either the bishop of
Milan, or the crabbed monk of Bethlehem, or the bishop
of Cassarea, or Nazianzen, or Nyssen? and how much
would they put in peril, by any such substitution?
Now, if we take this great divine as our conclusive
instance, it will appear (or it must be granted by those
who are at all familiar with his writings,) that the whole
of his ecclesiastical course was a struggle, an agony, in-
cited by the vehement endeavour to keep, in even equi-
poise, the spiritual and the ritual elements of religion.
How does he toil and pant in this bootless task! Per-
sonally, too much alive to the spiritual and vital reality
of the Christian scheme to be quietly willing, like most
of his contemporaries, to let it subside, and totally dis-
appear, and yet far too deeply imbued with, at once, the
gnostic and the Brahminical feeling, and too intimately
compromised, as a public person, with the " church doc-
trines" of the times, he could never rest, as did others;
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
343
but was ever tossing from side to side, like one borne
helplessly on by an impetuous tide, through a narrow and
winding Hellespont: — now thrown upon the steep Asi-
atic shore, and now, as by a sudden eddy, carried right
athwart the current, toward the European shallows*
Few great writers offer so little repose as Chrysostom;
few present contrasts so violent; and they are contrasts
of apparent intention, as if his own guiding motive — his
cynosure, had been a binary star, shedding contrary in-
fluences upon his course: and so it was in fact. Scarcely
is there a homily all of a piece, hardly are there two
consecutive passages that can be read without a surprise,
amounting to a painful perplexity, until the secret of all
this perpetual contrariety is understood; and then it be-
comes manifest enough that, within the writer's soul, a
spiritual and substantial Christianity, which should have
been uppermost, was ever wrestling with church doc-
trines, and gnostic sentiments, which would be upper-
most. From no one of the Nicene fathers might extracts
be made so nearly satisfactory to a protestant ear; from
no one may there be gathered wilder extravagances,
such as the papist makes his boast of; and from no divine
of any age or communion, could such instances be ad-
duced of the two kinds in intimate combination.
Nevertheless the convulsive effort spent itself in vain: —
the laws of human nature, and its perversity, and, not
less, the eternal constitutions of heaven prevailed, and
severally took their proper qffect. Chrysostom left
Nicene Christianity what he found it — a religion of
asceticism, and of sacraments, and of high " church
principles." And if we want proof of this, we may
either look to the actual and well-known condition of
the Greek church, in the next age; or, into his own
writings, and especially into those parts of them in
344
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE"
which, from the nature of the subject, and the occasion?
the real relative position of the superior, and the infe-
rior elements of religion, is conspicuously placed before
us. To such an instance I will now appeal, and I do
so with the confidence that it ought to be accepted as
satisfactory and conclusive, and that it will be so accept-
ed by the candid inquirer.
What is Christian repentance? is it a refined species
of natural remorse? is it, as compared with philosophical
reform, a better omened endeavour of the moral nature,
to purify itself, and set out anew on the path of virtue?
©r is it not rather a deep and lasting commotion of the
affections, the moral sentiments, originated from above,
and having for its impulse, and its centre, those facts
and principles which are peculiar to the gospel? I as-
sume that this is the true description, or, at least, the
truer of the two: and then it will follow that, if a well-
informed and devout writer, and a leader of opinion, is
found treating a subject such as this, which may be
called the preliminary of piety, and which touches inti-
mately and directly the rudiments of Christianity — if
such a writer shall be found so treating this subject, as
that the practical result, upon the mass of minds, shall
be to favour their own perverse propensity to adoict
themselves to the forms and the austerities of religion,
and to forget its higher elements, then, and in such an
instance, we are clearly justified in affirming that the
Christianity of the age had slid from its original founda-
tions, and had become effectively corrupt.
Let us then give more than a moment's attention to
Chrysostom's treatise on Repentance (torn. ii. pp. '328 —
414) — a careful composition, comprised in nine homi-
lies, and occupying a space equivalent to the tract now
ia the reader's hand. We may therefore well look int©
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 345
it with the expectation of finding there a fair sample of
the writer's principles, and mode of teaching. In ad-
vancing upon this ground I especially challenge the
reader's attention to the fact, that those passages which
I may cite, or refer to — and with pleasure, as of a re-
deeming quality, that is to say, evangelical and ani-
mating, and nearly allied to our protestant notions, are
peculiarly pertinent to my immediate purpose, inasmuch
as they show that the sacramental principles, and the
'* church doctrines," which, at the same time, the
preacher laboured so strenuously to maintain, possessed,
in this instance, all the advantage they could derive from
their being associated with the better and purer elements
of Christianity. It is not as if I were here adducing
some one of the blind and florid orators of the same age,
whose enormities of superstition are barely, or not at
all relieved, by any indications of genuine pious feeling.
Who is there that shall come after Chrysostom, and hope
to give the ritual principle a better chance than he gave
it, of recommending itself to our approval? Moreover,
I must ask the reader to keep in view the striking indi-
cations he will meet with, as we go on, of the connex-
ion of the celibate with Chrysostom's theological sys-
tem, of which, in fact, it was the master-principle.
To preclude any objection, I will premise a note of
the learned editor, concerning the last three homilies.
"The seventh, eighth, and ninth homilies, do not offer
the same indications of genuineness (as the others.) The
style is inferior to that of Chrysostom, in elegance; and
therefore it is not without some scruple, that we leave
them standing among his undoubted writings; and yet
we have not thought it proper to set them aside, espe*
cially considering (as we have elsewhere stated) that our
holy doctor is not always himself, as it regards language
30
346
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
and manner: other homilies indeed we have in hand, on
the same subject, which, as being manifestly spurious,
we have thrown into the appendix."
The homilies on Repentance were pronounced on suc-
cessive Sundays to his flock, (at Antioch) after an ab-
sence in the country, for the recovery of his health,
during which, as he declares, their welfare, and them-
selves, were ever present to his mind. They express,
therefore, not the hurried emotions of an overburdened
public course, but the calm and refreshed sentiments that
return upon a well ordered mind, in a season of seclusion
-—seclusion amidst the scenes of nature; and when the
perturbations of the soul, and its ambition, have been
stilled by the languors of disease. Now certainly we
shall find the Christian preacher himself.
The iirst of these homilies is occupied chiefly with
illustrations of the opposite dangers of desperation, or
despondency, and of inertness, or indifference, in reli-
gion. Among these illustrations, and for the purpose
of checking despondency, (as promoted by the Novatian
doctrine) he adduces the parable of the prodigal son,
proving, as it does, that repentance is possible, and the
remission of sins attainable, after baptism — a point else-
where held to be very doubtful. "The prodigal son
answers," says Chrysostom, "to those who fall after
baptism: he does so, inasmuch as he is called a son; for
none are sons apart from baptism, with which are con-
nected all the benefits of heirship, and a community of
interests with the family. He is called moreover the
brother of him who was approved; but there is no fra-
ternity (in the church) without the spiritual regeneration"
(baptism.) The second homily opens in a manner very
characteiistic of the preacher's style. "Last Sunday
did ye witness a fight and a victory? the fight indeed of
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 347
the devil, and the victory of Christ? Have ye seen the
commendation of repentance, and the wound of the
devil, and how ill he bore it, and how he trembled and
shuddered? Wherefore didst thou fear, O devil, while
repentance was commended? why groan? why shudder?
Properly enough, says he, do I groan, and trouble my-
self, for this same repentance snatches from me my
choicest treasures."
" — The first course or path of repentance is confes-
sion: Come to church, and acknowledge your sin: come,
if you are a sinner, that you may profess repentance:
come, if you are one of the just, that you fall not from
your righteousness." Some indeed would lay the foun-
dation of (Christian) repentance a little lower, and speak,
first of all, of that conviction of guilt, impotency, and
danger, which the Spirit infuses, and which takes its
force from the doctrine of the atonement. Not so
the divine before us, who introduces no topic of this
sort. "Sinner! be beforehand with the devil — put him
out of his office, which is that of accuser. Enter the
church, and say to God — I have sinned. Nothing else
do I ask of thee: . . . acknowledge sin, that thou mayest
loosen sin!" Then follow various examples in point.
But there is a second means of repentance, " and
what may that be? Weeping for sin. Hast thou sinned?
Wreep, and thou shalt absolve sin. Is this a great mat-
ter? Nothing more do I require of thee, than this — to
weep for sin." In confirmation of which doctrine the
instances are adduced, to wit Ahab, and the Ninevites.
There is, however, a third means of repentance; " for
I have mentioned many, that the way of salvation may
be made the more easy to thee: and what is that? Hu-
mility. Be lowly in mind, and thou hast broken the
bonds of thy sins." The proof and instance we have
348
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
in the parable of the pharisee and the publican; and the
way in which Chrysostorn treats this instance, demands
to be noticed. The pharisee, through his arrogance and
uncharitableness, retired from the temple, having lost
his Ju*ic<ruv», whereas the publican, by his humiliation,
had acquired what he had not before. But here we
might ask, whether, in fact, the pharisee had any genu-
ine righteousness to lose? let this however pass, while
we endeavour to ascertain, from what follows, our
preacher's notion of this same humility, which is one of
the elements of true repentance. " The publican's hu-
mility, then, after all, barely deserved the name; since
his confession — I am a sinner, was nothing more than
the mere truth; but humility indeed is shown when one
who is really great, humbles himself. Now who is a
6inner if a publican be not one? Wherefore if
even this publican, sinner as he was, obtained this great
boon, justification, upon his showing a humiliation,
which indeed was mere truth, how much rather shall
he be so favoured, who, while he is ttaptro?, a proficient
in virtue, nevertheless humbles himself? .... Where-
fore, if thou confess thy sins, and humblest thyself, thou
becomest just. But wouldst thou learn who it is that is
truly humble? Look at Paul, who was humble indeed.
Paul the teacher of the wide world — Paul the spiritual
orator, the elect vessel, the unbillowed harbour, the un-
shaken tower — Paul, who, little as he was, traversed the
world, moving from land to land as if winged; look at
such a one, esteeming himself so little — unlearned, al-
though a philosopher; poor, although rich; such a one,
I say, humble indeed, who engaged in innumerable
toils," Sic. &c. Then follows a page nearly, of that sort
of adulatory exaggeration, lifting Paul to the pinnacle
of praise, and above it, which so often offends the ear in
QUALITY OF THE NICEN'E THEOLOGY. 319
the patristic pulpit oratory: the purport of the whole be-
ing to show, by the comparison between the publican and
the apostle, how great and sure must be the "justifying
efficacy" of humility, if, even when it consisted in the
simple confession of a naked truth, it procured this boon,
falling far short as it did of the transcendental humilia-
tion of such a holy doctor and illustrious philosopher as
Paul!
I do not know how this may sound in other ears; but
in mine it sounds ill; and it seems to imply a sad mis-
understanding of the true grounds and properties of
Christian humility. Not very unlike is it to what one
may find in the " Ethics " of a famous pagan, much
read and esteemed in certain high places; but altogether
unlike any thing found in the New Testament — unless
it be the portrait of the pharisee of the parable and of his
fellows. Chrysostom does in effect put the feeling of
the — "God, I thank thee, I am not as other men," into
the lips of the apostle, who surely, from the moment
that the light shone upon him in the road to Damascus,
had renounced every such notion of his own merits, as
well as of the merit of his renunciation of merit.
M You have forgotten every word I said to you last
Sunday — the beginning, the middle, and the end. Is it
not so? But I will not upbraid you; you have your
families to mind, your homes to take care of, your ser-
vices to fulfil, your crafts to follow, while we think, of
nothing but these sacred themes. Well; be it so; I
commend you, at least, that, leaving every tiling, you
come to church, without fail, on a Sunday." Thus, in
substance, opens the third homily. I hope I shall not
seem to be advancing a captious refinement in saying
that, when the preacher returns to his theme, he makes
a representation which is doctrinally erroneous, and big
30*
350
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
with practical mistakes: let us hear him. " I have said
that many and various are the roads of repentance, so
that salvation may be rendered the more easy. For if
He had given us one only way, we might have rejected
it, saying we cannot follow that path, and therefore can-
not be saved. But now, cutting off from thee any such
pretext, he hath afforded thee, not one way only, nor a
second only, nor a third only; but many and different;
so that the ascent to heaven may be rendered as easy to
thee as possible!"
Surely this is at the best blind teaching, and so blind
as to border upon sheer nonsense, and nonsense of the
worst tendency; or if sense, then downright error. So
far as there could be any good sense attached to Chry-
sostom's statement, in his former homilies, that there
are " several paths of repentance," it must mean that
repentance has various ingredients, or conditions, each
indispensable, and altogether necessary to its perfec-
tion; but here we find him, as it were, standing on the
plain, and pointing to the mount of God, and saying,
yonder is the heavenly hill; and how indulgently has
He dealt with you, who invites you thither; for he has
opened many paths, each of which leads to the gate;
and if you find one of them to be too steep, or rugged,
or on any account not agreeable, you may turn and take
another. That is to say — if you don't relish confession,
shed a plenty of tears, and that will do; or if tears are
not fleet enough with you, practise humiliation, and that
will do: and then he goes on to open yet other paths,
each independent of the other, and eaoh infallible. If
this be not merely foolish, it is intensely false doctrine;
and whether it be most foolish, or most false, it could
not be otherwise than in the last degree pernicious.
What, however, we have to notice particularly is the
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
351
secret consistency of errors, such as these, with the
master error of the ancient church — the independent ef-
ficacy of the mere sacraments, when duly solemnized.
The same principle which led Chrysostom to tell the
people — " only let us dip you, and you are regenerate,
justified, and ready for heaven," impelled him to say
also — This mode of penitence, or that, or that, duly
made use of, will save you; and one of them nearly as
well as another.
But the fourth road of repentance! and what may that
be? Almsgiving!— the queen of virtues, and the readiest
of all ways of getting into heaven. Then follows the
egregious passage, concerning the combined merits of
almsgiving and virginity, of which I have already pro-
duced a sufficient sample. In this instance, however, it
appears that the two courses must coincide; that is to
say, how straightforward soever may be the road to
heaven, through virginity, you may not think to walk
in it unaccompanied by almsgiving! Nothing can be
much more distinct than is language such as the fol-
lowing—
M But now that I come to speak of the way of alms-
giving (as a path of repentance) our discourse becomes
animated. Already we have said that almsgiving is a
vast possession; thence advancing, the open sea of vir-
ginity receives us. Thou hast, therefore, the capital
(species of) repentance by almsgiving; which is able to
absolve thee from the bonds of thy sins; and yet again
thou hast another path of repentance, as ready as possi-
ble, by which thou mayest get a discharge from thy sins.
Pray every hour." It may be said, all this is only an
incautious mode of strongly stating the force and effica-
cy of humility, of charity, of prayer, and so forth; and
that, with a little trimming, it may all be understood in
352
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
a good sense. But was it likely to be so understood by
the mass of the people, and especially when they were
constantly exposed to the same ill-judged and delusive
mode of leaching? Or, to put another question, tending
to the same point — Is any such indiscretion of style
fallen into by men who themselves understand the gos-
pel scheme of salvation, and who moreover well know
how prone men are to find out, and to follow some by-
path to heaven? It is not, in fact, until after the church
has long lost its hold of the truth, that men of so much
intelligence, fervour, and upright intention, as belonged
to Chrysostom, are found using language so dark and
fatal.
Our great preacher, as he goes along, takes care, from
time to time, to make the people understand that it i3
44 in church" that a truce with heaven, on whatever
terms obtained, is to be ratified. "Hast thoit sinned?
Enter the church, and wipe out thy sin."
The fourth homily treats of the consolations of repen-
tance; among which are those derived from the instances
afforded in scripture of its efficacy; and we are more-
over told to follow the example of the saints, proficients
in philosophy, who did not suffer themselves either to
be depressed by calamities, or elated by prosperity. We
are moreover to betake ourselves to God, who is ever
accessible. " At all times, beloved, let us take refuge
in God, who is at once willing and able to release us
from our misfortunes: it is otherwise in our approaches
to men .... But as to God, there intervenes nothing
of the sort between us and him, who may be entreated,
without a mediator (it is not to be imagined that Chry-
sostom here intends to exclude the mediatorial office of
Christ) without wealth, without cost, he yields to prayer:
sufficient is it to cry out from the heart, and to offer
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 353
tears, and immediately entering in, thou mayest draw
him to thy part."
Let our preacher have the benefit of all that is rational
and scriptural in this passage, without deduction on the
score of its questionable phraseology.
The fifth of these homilies is esteemed as one of Chry-
sostom's happiest compositions: is then its subject the
gracious influence of the Holy Spirit in softening the
heart, and in consoling it? Is it the power and willing-
ness of Christ to deliver the penitent from guilt and
fear? is it the sufficiency of the atonement? or the effi-
cacy of the Redeemer's mediation? no such themes oc-
cupy the eloquent preacher, on this occasion; but in-
stead of them we have — The efficacy and merits of
Fasting! Need we ask whether evangelic warmth, and
purity of doctrine, or whether a dead and delusive for-
malism-were the characteristic of the Nicene church?
But let us push our way through the applauding crowd,
toward the preacher: with what a trumpet blast does he
usher in — is it the Saviour, the King of Glory? no,
alas! but the awful personage whom he challenges as a
tremendous prince — Fasting! terrible indeed; yet not to
Christians, but to the race of demons! His approach is,
to us, like that of some august monarch, when his en-
trance into his capital is announced! and yet if we may
credit the intimate confessions of an illustrious modern
professor of "church doctrines," this same awful per-
sonage wears sometimes a very grim visage, even when
looked at by his meekest admirers; so much so, as that
the favour of a few hours of his company has driven the
votary, nolens volens, to seek the consolations of " tea
with cream and buttered toast!" But we hasten from
the cloisters of Oxford to the great church at Antioch,
and step back from the Christianity of the nineteenth
century, to that of the fourth.
354
MEAN'S OF ESTIMATING THE
" Wouldst thou learn what an ornament to men is —
Fasting, and what a guard and preservative? Look well
to the monastic tribe, blessed and admirable as it is!
For these, fleeing from the tumults of common life, and
running away to the summits of mountains, rear their
huts in the tranquil wilderness; as it were moored in a
sheltered creek, and thither lead with them fasting, as
the companion of their lives. Wherefore it — (fasting)
makes angels of them, men as they are. Nor these
alone (the eremites) but those also who, in the midst of
cities (the coenobites) by the same means, reach the
pitch of philosophy. . . . Wherefore pod, at the mo-
ment when he made man, instantly committed him into
the hands of Fasting as to a loving mother, and excel-
lent mistress, intrusted with his welfare. . . If then
fasting were indispensable even in paradise, (Gen. ii.
16) how much more so out of paradise? If this drug
were beneficial before the wound had been received,
how much more after? . . . Hast thou observed how
God's anger was kindled by a contempt put upon fast-
ing? (in Adam's sin.) Learn how he rejoices when it is
honoured!" Then follow the scripture instances; among
them that of Peter (the immediate subject, fasting,
having been dropt) who, notwithstanding his denying his
Master, was, after a brief but fervent penitence, restored
to his dignity as " the praefect of the universal church."
But to return to the virtues of fasting; see the instance
of Daniel, and of the three children. How was it that
the body of the one escaped the teeth of the lions, and
the bodies of the others the power of the furnace? —
" Ask Fasting, and it shall answer thee, and clear up
this enigma." But inasmuch as physicians recommend
that powerful remedies should not be administered upon
a full stomach, lest they be too much for the strength of
QUALITY OF THE NICEXE THEOLOGY.
355
the patient, so should our use of that potent drug, Fast-
ing, be preceded by a degree of moderation. But if it
be resorted to when the body has already been some-
what reduced, and the mind sobered, it, to <p*pf**ito*l will
the more surely avail for the purging of the multitude of
old sins. It is worthy of notice that, whereas in the
exordium of this homily, Fasting is introduced as an
august prince, in the peroration, he makes his appear-
ance in a new character (so regarded by too many) as a
wild beast. Moreover, in what sense practically our
preacher's doctrine was understood, by the mass of the
people, may be gathered from such indications as these.
"If I shall ask you, Why have you been to the bath to-
day? you reply, To cleanse the body, in preparation for
the fast. But if I ask, And why did you get drunk (yes-
terday?) again thou wilt reply, Because I am to fast to-
day." So much for this elaborate discourse upon the
duty and benefits of fasting, as a way or means of repent-
ance! Apart from the customary doxology at the end,
neither the love of God nor the grace of the Lord Jesus
Christ, nor the communion of the Holy Spirit, has any
place or part in this celebrated sermon.
The sixth homily resumes the subject of fasting, and
offers some rational corrective advices, to those who had
just practised it; dehorting the people from the custo-
mary rush toward the amusements of the theatre; or, as
we may say, of the carnival. Nothing affecting our
present purpose, or nothing new, offers itself in this
sermon. The next, the genuineness of which need not
be questioned on account of its doctrine, affords in-
stances of that celerity, in passing from the spiritual
or evangelic, to the formal side of any subject, which is
the characteristic of the Nicene writings. When the
eye is caught by a text which might suggest a strain of
356
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
a happier kind, a disappointment almost always ensues;
and if there be two admissible modes of commenting
upon a passage of scripture, the one which is the most
ambiguous, and the most open to a dangerous miscon-
ception, is most often the one adopted. "In the gos-
pel for to-day, ye have heard the Saviour saying to the
paralytic — Son, thy sins, which are many, are forgiven
thee. Now the forgiveness of sins is the well-spring of
salvation, and the premium, iTruBxov, of repentance. Re-
pentance is the efficacious remedy of sin; a heavenly
gift, an admirable power, a gracious victory over the
penalty of laws." How much better a method of popu-
lar teaching is it to insist rather upon the first cause,
than upon the proximate causes of our deliverance from
guilt and condemnation!
Farther on in this seventh homily, there is a repeti-
tion which the preacher excuses, on account of the im-
portance he attaches to the subject, of his doctrine con-
cerning the all-availing merits of almsgiving, and with
an addition which could not but thicken the darkness al-
ready shed upon the one and only path of salvation.
It seems as if Chrysostom were doing his utmost to put
out of view the true principle of Christian beneficence,
and to substitute the most sordid and mercenary motives.
Condensing the paragraph, the substance of it is to this
effect — If a cup of cold water, which costs nothing,
merits, and shall obtain its reward; with how vast a re-
ward shall the equitable Judge remunerate munificent
charities, and the costly bestowment of garments, mo-
ney, and the like. Should we regard the following, as
any thing more than a foolish extravagance, certainly of
very ill tendency? " He that pitieth the poor, lendeth
to the Lord. Now if we lend to God, we make him
our debtor. Which of the two then wouldst thou have
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 357
him to be — thy debtor, or thy judge? The debtor re-
verences his creditor; the judge entreats not the debtor."
Among the many repetitions which occur in these ho-
milies, one hopes to find amended in one place, what
has been , wrongly put in another; but the preacher's
own mind having too far lost its hold of the great prin-
ciple of the gospel, he does but diversify a little his con-
fused notions of the scheme of salvation. Thus, in the
early part of the eighth homily, he seems to be ap-
proaching a better doctrine, while speaking of the divine
mercy; and yet hardly reaches higher than to the level
of a " gospel according to David." Seldom, that is to
say three or four times, in the course of this elaborate
treatise, does he satisfy the Christian ear; as thus: —
*' Such is the goodness of God, that, to save a servant,
he spared not his only Son; delivering up his only-be-
gotten, that he might redeem his unthankful servants,
and laying down the blood of his Son as the price of
their deliverance. Oh the goodness of the Lord! Say
not then to me again, I have sinned much, how can I
be saved? Thou art not able to effect this, but thy Lord
is able, and so able as to blot out thy transgressions."
Few, and far between, are passages of this sort.
When they occur, they serve to confirm our general con-
clusion, that a religious system, combining capital errors
with something, or even much, of what is true, still
takes its character, as a practical doctrine, from its er-
rors, rather than from its truths. So it has always been
with popery, and so was it, as history clearly shows, with
the Greek church: which became altogether such as the
o
Nicene delusions tended to make it, a religion of super-
stition, of formalism, and of the most puerile mumme-
jies. What the actual and immediate effect of Chry-
3i
358
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
sostom^s own preaching was, may be gathered, but too
plainly, from his constant tone and style, which do not
seem to imply that he felt himself to be addressing spi-
ritually minded and consistent Christians; but rather
the loose church-going and play-going rabble, high and
low, of a debauched and luxurious city. That his con-
gregation was actually of this sort, is, I think, a fact
that is borne on the face of all his homilies. More-
over, the significant, though usual consequence of ex-
aggerating the ritual part of religion, at the cost of the
spiritual, namely, that the rites themselves came to be
contemned by a large portion of the people, is also ap-
parent. It is nothing but a straightforward and energe-
tic teaching of Truth — spiritual truth, that can bring,
even the rites of religion into general esteem. In cor-
roboration of this principle, it may be well to cite a pas-
sage or two from the ninth and last homiiy on Repent-
ance, especially as we shall, at the same time, obtain a
specimen of our preacher's style of speaking of the eu-
charistic rite — lauded more than the Saviour, and never-
theless held in contempt, spite of the preacher's vehe-
ment upbraidings, by the people.
Toward the close of this ninth homily (and of the
treatise) Chrysostom turns toward those who, even during
the hour when the rites of the " dreadful and mystic
table " were celebrating, lounged their time away in idle
company, and, who, in doing so, belied the profession
they had just made in taking part in the liturgical lan-
guage. M Art thou not afraid, dost thou not blush, to
be found a liar at that very hour? What! the mystic
table has been prepared; tae Lamb of God for thee is
slaughtered; the priest for thee contends — the spiritual
fire from the sacred table ascends; the cherubim holding
their stations round about, while the seraphim hovering
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
359
around, and the six-winged veiling their faces, while for
thee all the incorporeal orders, along with the priest,
intercede. The spiritual fire descends; and for thy pu-
rification, the blond from the spotless side is emptied
into the cup, and thou, dost thou neither tremble nor
blush, to be found false (to thy professions) at this
dread hour! A hundred sixty and eight hours are there
in the week, and one only of these has God set apart
for himself; and this one dost thou devour in worldly
business, in merriment, or in any thing that may chance
to come in thy way! With what assurance then canst
thou afterwards (at any other time) approach the myste-
ries? with a conscience how defiled! Wouldst thou
dare, with dung in thy hands, to touch the skirts of an
earthly monarch? Far from it. Not as bread shouldst
thou look at that (bread) neither esteem that (cup) as
wine; for not like other aliment do these (elements) de-
scend into the draught. Far be it; think no such thing,
for just as wax, held to the fire, suffers no detriment, as
to its substance, although melted all away; in like man-
ner hold it to be true, that the substance of the myste-
ries is absorbed by the body (of the participant:) where-
fore, when ye approach (the table) think not that ye re-
ceive the divine body, as from the hand of man; but ra-
ther as was the fire from the tongs of the very seraphim
given to Isaiah!"
Although not inseparably connected with my imme-
diate argument, I feel it impossible to pass the above-
cited passage without directing the clerical reader to a
comparison, which indeed can hardly have failed to
force itself upon his own mind, while reading it. Is the
style, temper, and obvious popular import, of Chrysos-
tom's language, as here quoted, one and the same with
that of the church of England? I would put it to the
360
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
clerical reader, whether he could think it one and the
same thing to read, before the communion, this speci-
men of Nicene Christianity, or the exhortation actually-
appointed, by the English church, to be read, " In case
the minister shall see the people negligent," &c. What
dignity, what simplicity, what fervour, in the one: what
extravagance, what superstition, what revolting pre-
sumption in the other! I verily believe that, even the
most thorough-going of the Oxford Tract divines would
shudder at the thought of such a substitution; and I am
sure the majority of the clergy would regard it as no-
thing less than a treason to the protestant church to ad-
mit it. There may perhaps be a distinction, which
however I have never been able to retain my hold of,
between the Nicene doctrine, of the eucharist, and that
of the church of Rome; but whatever logical and acute-
ly analytic minds may make of such a distinction, this
is clear enough, that, in the view of the people at large,
the two doctrines are not two, but one, practically the
same, and alike tending to fix the gross apprehensions
of the people upon the mere rite, to the exclusion of
whatever is spiritual in religion.
Opportunity, I hope, will be afforded me, when the
ground has been cleared for that purpose, for placing, in
broad contrast, the Nicene and the English churches,
which, allied as they may be by the retention of half a
dozen ambiguous phrases, differ substantially, and im-
measurably. Such a contrast, extreme as it is in its es-
sential features, would warrant an appeal to the honour
and conscience, to the good sense, and to the Christian
feeling of every clergyman, and the appeal would be to
this effect — Do you adhere to the Nicene fathers, or to
the English reformers? The Oxford Tract controversy
can have no other issue, when the whole question comes
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
361
to be fully understood, than that of compelling every
clergyman to make his choice, in this momentous alter-
native.
But, to resume my immediate argument. We have
reviewed Chrysostom's nine homilies on repentance. I
can imagine no reason why this set of sermons should
not be appealed to as a fair sample of the doctrine, and
of the ordinary style, of the great Nicene divines.
"Whatever it presents which may startle our modern and
protestant ears, may be matched with the greatest ease,
from the pages of the same writer, and his contempora-
ries; nor would any purpose be answered by demurring
at the sense attributed to this or that phrase, or passage.
Chrysostom's meaning, to the very same effect, may be
gathered from many other places.
The reader has seen upon what points of doctrine and
practice the preacher chiefly, and the most earnestly, if
not exclusively, insists: — we have heard him, most in-
cautiously, recommending the several accompaniments,
or ingredients, of repentance, as severally sufficient for
securing salvation; a mode of speaking' as grossly delu-
sive, as any thing that is met with in the worst Romish
writers of the worst times. It has, moreover, appeared,
that, while extraordinary importance is attached by him
to almsgiving, as a direct means of salvation, the preacher
reserves his choicest rhetoric, as a free-will offering, to
be laid upon the altar of celestial virginity: this he feels
to be the real strength of the system he is upholding.
But, now, what is it that we do not find, in these
not gLhomiHes? Alas! (some few phrases allowed for)
what we do not find is — Christianity itself. In particu-
lar, there is barely any thing, although the subject seems
necessarily to involve it, concerning the work of the
31*
362
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
Holy Spirit, in softening and renewing the dead, callous,
and depraved affections of man. No* for in the place
of the work of the Spirit, we have the wonders of the
44 justifying pool." There are two or three passages,
affirming the remission of sins, through the merits of
Christ's death; but, then, neither is this truth expanded,
abstractedly, nor is it connected with Paul's doctrine of
justification by faith, nor, which is the worst omission,
(because it implies a positive error,) is the vicarious
work of Christ in any way represented as the spring or
reason of genuine repentance. This is surely a fatal
deficiency. Another omission, highly significant as it
respects our present purpose, must be noticed — namely,
the absence of any of those pointed cautions, which a
well-informed Christian minister, knowing what human
nature is, invariably introduces, when he is insisting
upon the accessories of piety. Let us suppose that a
preacher is urging upon his hearers the importance of
prayer, humility, almsgiving, and the like, as indispen-
sable accompaniments of a genuine repentance, will he
fail to warn the formal, and the self-righteous, of the
danger of a pharisaic substitution of these things, for the
grace, and power, and merit of the Saviour? Very few,
now-a-days, would approach Chrysostom's incautious
style in these instances; nor any, but the most blind,
omit those correctives, apart from which this mode of
teaching reaches the flagitious quality of the worst he-
resy.
Nicene Christianity, then, taken in its fairest samples,
and weighed in the balances of common sense and scrip-
ture, or put in the scales of the church of England, and
compared with the articles and homilies, and with the
lives and writings of the English reformers, is it not
found wanting? Does it not well deserve our indignant
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
363
reprobation, when it is proposed to us as our model and
authority? By Nicene Christianity must be meant, if
any thing is meant, not a shadowy form of things,
which we may fondly imagine to have had place some-
where, we know not where, and to have been in its per-
fection at some time, we know not when; but precisely
the system, doctrinal, ritual, and ecclesiastical, which
meets us in passing up and down, through the extant
works of the divines of the third, fourth, and fifth cen-
turies. This, then, is the system which, although it has
long been reverenced under favour of a disingenuous
concealment, must fall into contempt; nothing can save
it, when once it comes to be fully understood. Let but
a patient hearing be given to the naked evidence, and
the result is inevitable; nor can it be long delayed.
There is yet a consideration suggested, not remotely,
by the instance I have adduced. — Let it be said that nei-
ther Chrysostom, nor his contemporaries, whatever may
seem to be the import of their language, held the doc-
trines we hear them sometimes affirming, uncorrected,
in a sufficient degree, by the vital principles of Christi-
anity.
Be it so, then, that the "church principles" so stre-
nuously maintained by the Nicene divines, were, in fact,
although we cannot perceive it, duly balanced by more
spiritual elements; and, in a word, that the counterpoise
was just such as we might wish to see realized among
ourselves. But how is any such hypothesis sustained
by history? — if there be any meaning in history.
The florid orators, bishops and great divines of the
fourth century, we find, one and all, throughout the east,
throughout the west, throughout the African church,
lauding and lifting to the skies whatever is formal in re-
ligion, whatever is external, accessory, ritual, ecclesi-
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MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
astical: it was upon these things that they spent their
strength; it was these that strung their energies, these
that fired their souls. Virginity they put first and fore-
most; then came maceration of the body, tears, psalm-
singing, prostrations on the bare earth, humiliations, alms-
giving, expiatory labours and sufferings, the kind offices
of the saints in heaven, the wonder-working efficacy of
the sacraments, the unutterable powers of the clergy:
these were the rife and favoured themes of animated ser-
mons, and of prolix treatises; and such was the style,
temper, spirit, and practice of the church, from the
banks of the Tigris, to the shores of the Atlantic, and
from the Scandinavian morasses, to the burning sands
of the great desert; such, so far as our extant materials
give us any information. And all this was what it should
have been! and this is what now we should be tending
toward!
But now, what was the condition of the (so called)
Christian church, as thus taught, trained, and hopefully
sent forward by the Kiccne fathers, within the short
period of two hundred years? Well would it be if this
condition, as well of the east as of the west, at the open-
ing of the seventh century, were far better understood
among us than it appears to be: we should then entirely
leave oft' blaming the church of Rome, as having de-
bauched the Christian world; and should retreat with
alarm, with pity, With disgust, from Nicene Christianity.
Within the short period of two hundred years from
the death of Chrysostom, and within less than a century
from the death of the men whom he and his contempo-
raries had trained, and while still the Nicene system
retained its integrity, Mahomet broke upon the world,
and the tempest of heresy which he raised, came as a
blast of health upon the nations. What Mahomet and
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 365
his caliphs found in all directions, whither their cimeters
cut a path for them, was a superstition so abject, an ido-
latry so gross and shameless, church doctrines so arro-
gant, church practices so dissolute and so puerile, that
the strong-minded Arabians felt themselves inspired anew
as God's messengers to reprove the errors of the world,
and authorized as God's avengers to punish apostate
Christendom. The son of the bond-woman was let
loose from his deserts, to "mock" and to chastise the
son of the free-woman. We read, in the story of the
moslem conquests, a commentary, written by the finger
ef God, upon Nicene Christianity. Or, if we will not,
in that terrible history, acknowledge God's displeasure
against this system of fraud, folly, and impiety, we can
hardly refuse to listen to the notices contained in the
Koran, and the Mahometan writers, of the impression
that had been made upon the Arabian mind by the spec-
tacle of the debauched Christianity of the Greek and
African churches. It is here that we may the most
surely learn what was the actual result of the system
imbodied in the writings of Chrysostom, Basil, Gregory,
Cyril, and their contemporaries.
Does it seem, then, when we come to look into his-
tory, as if these same "church principles" were, in-
deed, the true and wisely-chosen vehicles and preserva-
tives of genuine Christianity? Are the notions we may
have indulged of their excellence and sanctity, altoge-
ther confirmed by our researches among the ecclesiasti-
cal remains of the times of Gregory I. and Mahomet?
What has become of common sense, to say nothing of
philosophy, if we are not, on the contrary, to allow that
the evidence of history frowns altogether upon these
false and pernicious doctrines, and declares that, to ex-
alt the ritual and ecclesiastical elements of religion, into
3G6
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
a position of equality with the spiritual, is a course more
certainly fatal to Christian principles than that of pro-
pagating even impious heresies.
It is, besides, a task of no difficulty to show that, al-
though Nicene Christianity, and the popery of the
middle ages, differ in various incidental points, the for-
mer passed into the latter in the course of an easy and
inevitable transition; and moreover, that, in respect of
apostolic Christianity, the one was to the full as fatally de-
lusive as the other; while as a practical system, or con-
sistent scheme of ecclesiastical despotism, the latter might
well be accepted in the place of the former. A careful
comparison, article by article, of the two systems (if two)
imbodied in the writings of Chrysostom and Bernard,
respectively, would on the whole, such is my persuasion,
leave an advantage on the side of that professed by the
latter.
Yet so complicated are all human affairs, especially
such as are mixed up with matters of opinion, that in-
ferences the most convincing, to plain understandings,
drawn from the actual operation and issue of either a re-
ligious or a political system, may easily be evaded.
Putting such evasions however out of sight, I would ask
unprejudiced persons, whether the religious history (if
we ought to call it a religious history) of Europe, eastern
and western, from the fifth century downward, to the
fifteenth, ought to be admitted as recommendatory, or as
condemnatory of the Nicene church principles? In other
words, does the actual result of the experiment which
was made on so extensive a scale, and under such a di-
versity of circumstances, for proving that Christianity
is best promoted by enhancing its ritual and ecclesiasti-
cal elements — does this result justify or discourage our
QUALITY OF THE NICEKE THEOLOGY.
367
attempting to repeat it? Is it, let us candidly be told, is
it with a fair and well-omened promise of a happy issue,
that now again, we are to set about the work so zealous-
ly urged forward by the Nicene doctors — I mean the
work of magnifying the church, and its mysteries, and
its ministers; while so much heart and labour only as
could then be spared, is allowed to the endeavour to exalt
the spiritual elements of religion?
Against such an enterprise there stands opposed, first,
the entire mass of all experience, as presented on the
pages of history; and next, the whole force of the best a
priori calculation we can make of the tendencies of hu-
man nature, when two such elements are offered, on any
thing like even terms, to its choice. But more than all,
we are, or we should think ourselves, prohibited from so
rash an attempt by the manifest intention of the apos-
tolic writings, in this very behalf, and by the explicit
predictions they contain of the very corruptions which
thence have arisen.
If then it be proposed to us to set about reviving what
are called "church doctrines," our reply might be —
either, that the whole tenor of church history discourages
such an endeavour: — or, that the dictates of common
sense and sound philosophy declare against it; or that
the spirit and letter of scripture are opposed to it. But
now it may be said, and as waiving any such conclusions,
Is it not possible that, as in one age church principles,
relatively, may have been lifted to too high a level,
so in another, and in our own, for instance, they
may have been depressed below, or far below, the
line which marks their due place in the religious sys-
tem?— what then should be done? are we not to en-
deavour to remedy this admitted evil; and must we not,
in such a case, ought we not, to use all means for re-
368
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
storing what has so fallen out of its place? Yes; but by
what means, or in what order of proceeding are we to
make the attempt? Plainly, by endeavouring to invigo-
rate anew the spiritual forces of piety, and then it will
be easy enough, under a wise management, to restore
the ritual elements: nothing is in fact more easy, when
once men are thoroughly awakened to a sense of the in-
finite importance and excellence of the great realities of
the gospel, and when such an awakening spreads through
a community — nothing is more easy than, at such a time,
to secure their reverent regard to, and diligent atten-
dance upon, the exterior means and observances of reli-
gion. It is in this direction only, that what we profess-
to be aiming at, can actually be reached. Nothing is-
more insane — strictly nothing more preposterous, than
the endeavour to work upward, in any case, from the
ritual to the spiritual, in religion.
Look at these two methods as we may imagine them
to have been exemplified in the instance which we have
just now had before us, of the church at Antioch. Chry-
sostom bitterly lamented the general indifference of the
people of his charge in matters of religion, and especial-
ly their contempt of the Lord's supper. Now, with
the hope of effecting a reform in this single particular,
two courses were fairly open before him; the one was
that which he actually adopted, namely, the giving the
reins to extravagance in speaking of the rite, and the
pouring forth torrents of bombast on the subject, telling
the people generally that the eucharist and baptism were
the main instruments of salvation, and assuring them,
as to the former, that cherubim and seraphim hovered
trembling over the altar, veiling their faces, lest they
should catch a glimpse of the consecrated elements; and
moreover, adding the impious nonsense, that these ele-
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 369
ments had the miraculous property of melting away into
the animal system; and that they never took the course
of ordinary aliment!
This was one method of bringing the people back to
a reverent attendance upon the rites of the church; and
it was the method chosen and practised by Chrysostom
and his contemporaries. But there is another method
(oh that it had been once tried!) namely, that of zeal-
ously and affectionately opening up to the people the
evil mysteries of their own hearts — convincing them of
their sin, danger, and helplessness — speaking to them
warmly and solemnly of the sacred influence which
overcomes every obstacle in the way of man's salvation,
and of the power and grace of Him by whom that salva-
tion has been obtained. This is another method, tend-
ing not less certainly (far more so) toward the object at
first proposed, namely, that of leading the people on to
a reverent and profitable attendance upon the external
means of grace. But such was not the method taken,
or ever thought of, so far as we can learn, by the Ni-
cene divines. Yet can we ourselves hesitate in making
our choice between the two?
I must then take the liberty plainly to express the opi-
nion, that the Oxford Tract writers, religiously desirous
as no doubt they are, to correct what they feel to be the
excesses of protestantism, and to renovate church au-
thority, to enhance sacramental reverence, and to deepen
ritual solemnity, show themselves to be by no means
wise master builders, by commencing their labours, as
they do, at what we must think, the wrong end; and by
persisting to carry them on in the wrong direction. In
that direction in which they are toiling so hard, even
their immediate object is not to be attained. A people
may indeed, by such perilous tampering, be led on, and
32
370
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
beguiled, into the swamps of an abject superstition; but
a genuine and reverent regard to religious rites and ordi-
nances, will be the result of nothing but an invigorated
promulgation of a pure, apostolic gospel.
It is surely for the sake of that gospel — for the sake of
the spiritual realities of Christianity, and not for the
mere sake of the ritual and ecclesiastical elements them-
selves, that these zealous, devout, and learned men are
stirring so deeply the clerical and public mind, at the
present moment. So far, they, and those who may op-
pose their endeavours, might seem to be fully agreed;
and then the controversy would appear to relate merely
to the means fittest to be used, or to the course of pro-
ceeding which might be thought the best for securing
the object aimed at by all parties. But such is far from
being the real quality of the controversy; for, by the
opponents of the Oxford writers, it is alleged, and on no
narrow grounds of experience, that, to prosecute this
ultimate object in the mode adopted by the early church,
and carried on by the church of Rome, and now again
so earnestly recommended by the Oxford divines, is not
simply (which we might excuse) to take a longer, in-
stead of a shorter course, but to take a course which, as
to the mass of the people, leads to an abyss whence
there is no return! From that treacherous border the
few would make their escape, heavenward; as the few,
in every age, have escaped from the false bosom of the
Romish church; but the many — the thousands of the
people, would become the pitiable victims of this reli-
gion of sacraments.
It would be a delusion as gross as tills ancient delu-
sion itself, to imagine that a refined and spiritualized
Nicene Christianity, such a system as is now issuing
from the cloisters of Oxford, would prove itself materi-
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
371
ally a better scheme than was its original, or than was
the papal church; or that it would not lead on to the
same spiritual debauchery and tyranny. The principle
is one and the same, and it is a principle with which
neither the gospel nor the well-being of society will ever
consist. If, in fact, this newly refined gnosticism should
retain the highly wrought polish imparted to it by its
modern originators, it would be only so much the more
dangerous; inasmuch as it would captivate more minds,
and be itself less open to assault. But it would not re-
tain its first refinement — no, not through the lifetime of
the next series of its adherents: the tendencies of human
nature are powerful as a deluge, headed up for awhile;
and they will take their constant course. The very
youths who, at this moment, are being lulled by the poi-
sonous atmosphere of the Nicene levels, will, twenty
years hence, or sooner, interpret the doctrine they are
receiving in a new, and a more intelligible, and practi-
cal, and consistent sense; and, in fact, while they will
teach the vulgar to revere their deceased masters, they
will, themselves, and in private, scorn their memory as
scrupulous devotees, and mock the recollection of iheir
devout sincerity. That shall happen to them — the Ox-
ford worthies of our times, which has happened to the
saints of Rome — to be worshipped by the rabble, and
spit upon by the priests. The plague, not otherwise
stayed, a very few years would be enough for bringing
back upon England, not merely the mummeries always
attendant upon a religion of sacraments, nor merely the
filth and folly, the lies and woes of the ancient monkery,
but the palpable and terrible cruelties of the times of St.
Dominic, of Ximenes, and of Bonner. If there are those
who will scout any such anticipation, as a mere contro-
versial flourish, or rhetorical extravagance, or as a dis-
372 MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
ingenuous endeavour, on the part of a writer, to enlist
popular fears and vulgar prejudices on his side, let them
read again the history of Europe, and of the church,
from the second century downwards, and gather thence
what hitherto must have escaped them — the first princi-
ples of human nature, and of the social system as de-
veloped by religious motives. Of this history hitherto
we have, on all sides, known far too little.
I cannot conclude this tract without repeating the pro-
fession I have already made, of an entire exemption
from every acrimonious, or disrespectful feeling towards
the eminent persons whose public conduct, as divines, I
am compelled to speak of in terms of the strongest re-
probation. No one who is accustomed to think of Atha-
nasius, Chrysostom, Basil, and Ambrose, and others of
that age, as devout and upright men, or to peruse the
works of the Romanist writers, with pleasure and defe-
rence (reserving always an opinion of their Christianity)
can feel it to be difficult to entertain sentiments of re-
spect and esteem towards men who are not inferior, pro-
bably, to any of the best of the latter class, and who,
without a doubt, are far more enlightened, as Chris-
tians, than were any of the former.
It remains, then, and it is a task which may be ac-
complished within the limits of the next number, to ex-
hibit the bearing of the principle and practice of religious
celibacy upon the ethical system, and the actual morals
of the ancient church — upon its ritual institutions, and
upon its ecclesiastical, or hierarchical constitutions. We
shall then be in a position, or, at least, so far as so imper-
fect a sketch of a very extensive field can put us in po-
sition, for giving a reply to two questions, First, Whe-
ther the celibate, and its attendant monkery, be really
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 373
separable from the other elements of Nicene Christi-
anity; and if not, then, Secondly, whether, after the sam-
ple we shall have had of the former, we shall accept and
imitate the two, as one system; or whether we shall re-
ject both together?
In acquitting myself of that part of my task which
yet lies before me, while it will be unavoidable to ad-
duce, or to refer to, evidence such as one would have been
glad to have left untouched, I shall also find a proper op-
portunity, which, indeed, I am most anxious to meet
with, for giving its due commendation to the ancient
church; and, in fact, for righting a little the balance
between ancient and modern Christianity. Truth, vir-
tue, and piety, as a whole, have not been the monopoly
of any one age, or communion: nor has any body of Chris-
tians so far, or so completely, fallen from scriptural ex-
cellence, as not to have retained some specific merits, as
compared with other bodies. The ancient church, while
fatally deluded, nevertheless might boast several such
merits; and some, of a high order; and it will be toper-
form at once, an edifying, a gratifying, and a consoling
office, to bring these excellences forward, and to use
them as a means of correcting our defective modern no-
tions and practices.
I feel perfectly certain that, among those who would
the most decisively and warmly resist the culpable en-
deavour now making to foist Nicene Christianity into the
room of the reformation, there are many who would
gladly and meekly listen to any reasonable reproofs, or
corrections, drawn from the example, the lives, or the
teaching of the early Christians, and tending to supply
what may be wanting in, or what may have dropped out
of, our protestant principles or practices. When there-
32*
374
MEANS OF ESTIMATING THE
fore occasions of this sort may present themselves, I
shall readily embrace them, not at all fearing to offend
well trained protestant ears. On the contrary, I am sure
it will afford a cordial satisfaction to religious minds to
find that the church has been the church — a body vivi-
fied by virtue and piety, in every age: nor will this sa-
tisfaction be at all spoiled, rather it will be made the
more lively, when it happens that, from such compari-
sons of age with age, a lesson of humiliation comes home
to ourselves. There would, I am persuaded, be no ha-
zard in engaging, on behalf of the sound protestant com-
munity in this country, that, while it would reject with
indignation the unwise endeavour now made to drive the
church back upon the foolish, flimsy, and pernicious
church principles of the Nicene age, it would meekly
submit itself to a correction, drawn from any bright ex-
amples of self-denial, constancy, or devotedness, which
that age may offer.
VvrE, I mean sound protestants, know what human
nature is, and always remember that, while it has never
been such as should make it a fit object of worship, it
does not at any lime stand excused from the duty of
humbly comparing its rate of wisdom and goodness with
that of other times. We, therefore, neither crouch
before the doctors of the Nicene age, any more than we
do before those of any other period; nor do we utterly
condemn any set or community of our fallible predeces-
sors and brethren. All such superstitions, and all such
intolerance, we utterly disclaim, and leave both to Ro-
manists, to whom, however, in their turn, we are per-
fectly willing and ready to look for any patterns of ex-
cellence, whether more or less complete, which they
may have to produce.
This is our catholicity, and this is our reverence for
QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY.
375
venerable antiquity! We venerate antiquity, and we
are curious to penetrate its secrets, because we firmly
believe that, in every age, God has had his people. We
venerate antiquity, just as we venerate any, even the
most despised community of modern Christians, who
appear, in any degree, to enjoy the presence and influ-
ence of the Holy Spirit; and who, as it may seem, along
with many and deplorable errors, yet *« love the Lord
Jesus Christ in sincerity."
We, too, heartily make profession of our belief in the
" Holy Catholic Church;" and after having made this
profession, and after having attached an intelligible and
most comfortable meaning to the words — venerable words
as they are, we should shudder as much at the cold im-
piety of excluding from its pale the deluded genuine
Christians of the Nicene, or Romish churches, as the de-
luded (if they be deluded) genuine Christians of some
avoided and abhorred sect of our own times. This is
our catholicity; and it fills our hearts with comfort and
our mouths with praise: it brightens the sadness, and
composes the distractions of earth; and it brings into our
bosoms something of the genial emotions which, we be-
lieve, will make up the felicity of the "communion of
saints" in heaven.
Whether we shall find in heaven " all the saints" of
the calendar, we do not well know; but we do know that
we shall meet there " a great multitude," of those whom
the intolerant have wished in perdition, or have sent into
the skies through flames, and from r icks and gibbets; —
and we would almost as soon lend a hand, in this work,
to a Bonner, as admit to our creed or bosom, any notion
or feeling, the effect of which would be to alienate us,
even in thought, from any whom there we shall meet.
This is our catholicity; nor does it take up a grain of
376
MEANS OF ESTIMATING, &C.
that mingled indifference and infidelity which is called
latitudinarianism. This word, as we understand it,
means what is equivalent to professing, either that nine-
teen and twenty are absolutely equal; or that the differ-
ence between the two sums is not worth regarding. But
such a profession, when it attaches to matters of religion,
is not a mere absurdity, but an impiety also; and it is a
certain indication of such a coldness of heart as would
lead a man to throw up his interest in the nineteen parts
of his faith, as easily as in the one. Now, far from
sharing in either the absurdity, or the impiety, of a lati-
tudinarian temper, we give a proof of how justly we es-
timate the value of the nineteen elements, or points of
religion, by recognising their aggregate worth, even when
the one may be wanting.
But now we find fault with the catholicity that attends
" church principles," on this very account, that it drives
men into at once the absurdity, and the impiety, of
making as much ado about the one, as about the nine-
teen parts of their Christianity; or even to attach more
practical importance to the one, than they do to the nine-
teen. While the latitudinarian slights the circumstan-
tials of religion, because lie inwardly cares little or no-
thing about its substance, the zealot of " church princi-
ples," by magnifying enormously the importance of its
circumstantials, puts a real contempt upon the substance;
and he does so, probably, under the influence of the very
same feeling of secret disaffection to that substance.
On the contrary, the catholicity which we profess,
gives the most convincing proof possible of its remote-
ness from latitudinarian indifference, or chilliness of
heart, by opening its arms to all who can furnish any
credible evidence of their possessing that substance. —
Who is it then that steers the farthest from infidelity — he
THE RULE OF RELIGIOUS CELIBACY, &C.
377
r.vho will never acknowledge Christianity at all, except
when it meets him trimly attired in the court livery he
is fond of? or he who heartily welcomes it, even when
he may much dislike the garb which, in any instance, it
happens .to wear?
THE RULE OF RELIGIOUS CELIBACY, AS LAID
DOWN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT.
No difficulty attaches to the subject of religious celi-
bacy if we confine ourselves to what is said concerning
it by our Lord, and the apostles; nor can even the most
fervent-minded Christians be in danger of running into
extravagance on this ground, so long as the great prin-
ciples of the gospel are understood, and their genuine
influence is admitted. But the moment when these
principles are compromised, and when the humble and
happy path of faith and true holiness is abandoned, and
a factitious pietism is courted, then fervour becomes en-
thusiasm, and every folly and enormity of the ascetic
life follows in rapid succession.
Thus it was with the ancient asceticism; nor with this
error alone; and it is a singular circumstance that so
close an analogy subsists between the two subjects of
celibacy and martyrdom, as well in regard to the rule
laid down for each by our Lord and the apostles, as to
the fatal misunderstanding of that rule by the ancient
church, that if any ambiguity may be thought to em-
barrass the one of these subjects, it may readily be
cleared up by a direct analogical argument, derived from
die other. The fact is really curious, as well as impor-
378
THE RULE OF RELIGIOUS CELIBACY,
tant in a practical view, that, from the moment when
the church was left to its own discretion, it went astray,
or, as we might say, ran wild, on both these parallel
lines; so that if we were balancing in regard to the one,
and doubting whether, after all, the practice of antiquity
was not substantially apostolic, we no sooner turn to
the other, than we perceive the not-to-be-misunderstood
indications, of sheer enthusiasm, and of an almost total
want of sound evangelic feeling.
If at any time one were yielding oneself to the natu-
ral and agreeable illusion of supposing that the early
church enjoyed a continuity of that miraculous influence
which preserved the inspired men from the follies and
errors that are incident to humanity, and which are so
abundantly generated by religious excitements — if one
were thinking this to have been the fact, the dream is
instantly dispelled by merely looking into the ancient
martyrologies. Affecting and admirable as are many of
these memorials of Christian fortitude, we instantly feel
that, when compared with the temper, principles, and
style of the inspired persons, a something essential is
wanting, and that a something fatal has come in its place.
We are breathing another atmosphere, and another co-
lour is spread over all objects. These good men, the
early martyrs, spoke, acted, and suffered nobly; and we
love and admire them; and we also find it easy to follow,
in their case, those workings of human nature which,
under trials so severe and unusual, hurried them far be-
yond the modest line of evangelical simplicity. We are
not now intending to deal rigorously with these wor-
thies; but are simply noticing the fact that they did so
act as men are likely to do, who are not benefited, more
than we ourselves may be, by supernatural aids.
This is not the place for entering into argument with
AS LAID DOWN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT. 379
any (a hopeless task in truth) who might profess to
think the early martyrologics, and the florid repetitions
of them by the Nicene orators, to be altogether in the
style and temper of the New Testament. I assume, on
the contrary, that the marked difference is perceived,
and fully admitted, by all candid persons. But then, if
there be such a difference, it involves the fact that the
ancient church had lost its hold of evangelic simplicity
in regard to the rule, and the motives of martyrdom;
and then ihere can be no ground on which to resist the
evidence which attests its having also, and as early, fal-
len into an error in relation to celibacy, which error was
only another consequence of the same departure from
apostolic doctrine.
The rule of martyrdom may be stated to this effect. —
The Lord demands of every one who would not be de-
nied by him at the last, that he shall be willing rather
to suffer the loss of all things, and of life itself, than
deny him before men. This first stipulation of our
Christian profession, is absolute, and clear, and of per-
manent obligation; and if any cases arise in which it may
be doubtful what "denying Christ" means; as when
Christians have been required, by a usurping church, to
violate their consciences in relation to points not of su-
preme importance, then the ambiguous case fails under
a broader rule, namely, that of suffering any extremity
sooner than defile the lips by an insincere profession,
especially if that profession have a bearing upon reli-
gion; for a prevarication of this sort, whatever may hap-
pen to be the immediate subject of it, is a " lying unto
God," and carries a peculiar turpitude.
But then, while this serious duty is peremptory, and
of universal application, not less so is the precept that
the Christian is, in all cases, to withdraw himself from
380
THE RULE OF RELIGIOUS CELIBACY,
so terrible an alternative, if he may do it either by fligrnV
or by availing himself of any civil privilege, or forensic
plea, which, if equitably interpreted, would screen him
from the rage of his persecutors. The apostles, in their
own conduct, exemplified both parts of this injunction.
Peter, indeed, once forgot the first: Paul, again and
again, acted upon the second.
But then a passage or two occurs in which something
beyond this strict rule is held before those who should
actually be called, in compliance with it, to suffer loss,
and to bleed for the sake of Christ. — There is, as it ap-
pears, a gracious reward, and an eminence of happiness,
to be conferred, by sovereign goodness, upon sufferers
for truth. By these promises genuine sufferers for
Christ's sake have in every age been wont to sustain
their fortitude; and just so long as the great evangelic
principle of piety is adhered to, and its humbling influ-
ence felt, all is safe: the due counterpoise of motive is
preserved, and while the heart-cheering hope of a 14 bet-
ter resurrection" is admitted, enthusiasm, self-righteous-
ness and presumption are avoided. It is thus, in fact,
that we find the martyrs of the reformation, generally to
have suffered and died. The gospel, which had then
just been recovered, and which was entertained in its
energy and beauty, carried these worthies, unhurt, not
merely through the ordeal of torture and a fiery death,
but safe through the far more difficult trial of high reli-
gious excitement. In thousands of instances the vic-
tims of papal ferocity have died, not only joyfully, and
resolutely; but what is more — meekly and humbly.
"Why did not the age of protestant suffering (rare and
discouraged instances excepted) why did it not produce
its bands of insolent confessors, its knights spiritual,
stalking in and out of the church, as a privileged class,
AS LAID DOWN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT.
S81
rich in supererogatory merit, and as such entitled to the
honour of violating all church order? Why have not
our protestant preachers been used to spend their choi-
cest rhetoric upon the commemorations of the martyrs
of protestantism? Why is it that a very little of this
sort of declamation has been felt to be more than enough?
Why have we seen no pilgrimages to the spots where
our English worthies suffered? Why have we not been
used to entreat, fcr ourselves and the church, the all-
prevailing advocacy (patrocinium) of Latimer, and Rid-
ley, and Hooper, in the heavens? Why have no mira-
cles been wrought by their rescued finger-bones or teeth?
Why do not our churches boast of bottles of the blood,
and locks of the hair of our martyrs? No such things
have been done, or tolerated, in the protestant church,
simply because the protestant church has understood
something of the first principles of Christianity, and
has, in the main, been not merely orthodox, but evan-
gelic; and has, therefore, abhorred the practices, and
scorned the sentiments, which were in universal esteem
in the Nicene church.
It cannot be necessary In this place to describe what
has so often found a place in modern church histories,
namely — first the enthusiasm, then the fanaticism, and
then the unbounded superstitions which were connected
with, and which utterly spoiled the otherwise, noble
constancy of the ancient church. To say all in a word,
the sufferings of the second and third centuries, became
the curse and ruin of the fourth and fifth; and so it was
that the Enemy, who had altogether been foiled in his
rage, triumphed in his craft.
But what is to be especially observed is this, that all
the enthusiasm, and all the fanaticism of the early mar-
tyrdoms, and much of the superstition which thence
33
382
THE RULE 01< RELIGIOUS CELIBACY,
took its occasion, sprung directly from certain abused
passages of scripture, and that the illusion sustained
itself by quoting text upon text; nevertheless not until
after the genuine principles of Christianity had been
compromised. Now this is precisely the case with the
parallel enthusiasm, fanaticism, and superstition, of the
ancient celibacy — all was justified by scripture — the
gospel having first been discharged from its place in the
minds of the people, and their teachers.
It is even now asked by some, did not the ascetic sys-
tem support itself by an appeal to scripture? Yes, and
so has every superstition of the papacy, and so did the
enormities of the Donatists, and so the atrocities of the
fanatics of Minister; so the lawless bloodshed and cruelty
of the crusades, so the horrors of the inquisition, and
so (to return to our point) the enthusiasm of martyrdom.
But, in all such cases, how specious soever may be the
plea of the deluded party, a simple course, clearing
every difficulty, is open to us — Let but the great princi-
ples of the gospel be restored to their place in the heads
and hearts of Christians, and then the practical misinter-
pretation of single texts is at once obviated; for, not
merely are such misinterpretations then seen to be op-
posed to the spirit and tendency of the New Testament,
but, as they severally spring from modes of feeling which
will not consist with a genuine evangelic feeling, they,
in fact, find no place, where better motives are in vigour.
A man, whose mind is fraught with apostolic sentiments,
will neither adore a relic, nor worship the image of a
saint, nor pray to the Virgin, nor burn a heretic, nor offer
himself to be burned, nor drive spikes into his sides, nor,
if he be unmarried, will he call himself, or allow him-
self to be called a terrestrial seraph. All these follies
AS LAID DOWN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT.
383
and enormities, whether sustained by many texts, or by
lew, belong to darkened souls, and to a dark age.
The rule of religious celibacy, as found in the New
Testament, is, in fact, much more clearly defined than
are some other things which have become the occasion
of serious errors. Three or four passages comprise all
that is said on the subject by our Lord, or the apostles:
and, happily, if any ambiguity might seem to attach to
the letter of the rule, we may derive from our Lord's
personal behaviour, and from the practice of the apos-
tles, such a comment upon it as must be amply sufficient
for removing every doubt; at least, if our own minds be
free from factitious excitements.
It is a remarkable circumstance that, of the four prin-
cipal passages,* relating to celibacy, in the New Testa-
ment, namely, Matt. xix. 12, Luke xx. 35, 1 Cor. vii.
and Rev. xiv, 4, that one is the most frequently referred
to by the ascetic writers, and is made to bear the great-
est stress, which, in fact, is wholly irrelevant to the
subject — I mean our Lord's assertion concerning the
angels, as reported by Luke. But it is not difficult to
divine the motive of this absurd preference. Our Lord's
doctrine of celibacy, as given by Matthew, carries with
it a definite restriction, which pointedly condemned the
general practice of the church, and especially its cruel
usage of inciting children to devote themselves to a
single life. Then, again, Paul's lengthened disquisition
on the subject involves so many principles of practical
wisdom, and so much cool good sense, as made it dan-
gerous to insist very long, or minutely, upon the pas-
* To these texts Cyprian, who musters forces on this point,
adds, Gen. iii. 1G, Exod. xix. 15, and 1 Kings xxi. 4. (Testim,
lib. iii. 32.)
384
THE RULE OF RELIGIOUS CELIBACY,
sage; and then, as to the phrase occurring in the ApO'
calypse, besides that the book altogether was not uni-
versally admitted as canonical by the early church, and
is much less quoted by the ancient writers than other
parts of the canon, the figurative, and, as it seems, the
true interpretation of the passage, as intending the faith-
ful worshippers of God, uncontaminated by idolatry, was
not unknown to the early expositors. — See Origen, torn,
iv. p. 3.
But, if only the absurdity involved in any such ap-
plication of our Lord's language' — Luke xx. 35 — could
be got over, then it afforded precisely the kind of sup-
port that was wanted in favour of the notion of a spi-
ritual aristocracy, or class, answering to the gnostic
Uii, and to whom the epithet " terrestrial an-
gels," or seraphs, might be applied. To obtain the aid
of this passage, reasoning such as this was to be resort-
ed to-^The " marrying, and the being given in mar-
riage," is the condition of our present mode of exist-
ence: but it is not the condition of the future life; there-
fore— how sound the inference! those who, although
actually belonging to this world, and not to the next,
choose to renounce marriage, become, in doing so, an-
gels, and are at once "children of the resurrection."
As if we were to say — animal life is sustained by ali-
ment; not so the angelic life; therefore, to abstain from
food, so far as possible, is, in the same degree, to make
oneself an angel! Illusions so gross as these could ne-
ver have overcome the good sense of the early church,
if the broad road of unbounded absurdity had not first
been opened before it by the gnostic heresies.
Our Lord's intention, in this instance, can hardly be
misunderstood; for, while his main purpose was to re-
AS LAID DOWN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT.
385
fule the sadducee, whose doctrine strikes at the very root
of religion, he took the occasion, also, to reprobate those
gross conceptions of the future life, then current among
the Jewish people, whence alone the hypothetical ob-
jection propounded to him could draw any force. " Your
dilemma supposes that there will be marrying and giving
in marriage, in heaven: absurd and grovelling thought!
know that the heavenly society is constituted on another
principle: what becomes then of your assumed diffi-
culty? The children of the resurrection shall be as the
angels."
So much for a passage of which more use was made
than of any other, in recommending the practice of reli-
gious celibacy! Precisely in the same style of unscru-
pulous logic, were the sanguinary measures of the pa-
pacy excused and recommended — " Compel them to
come in "— 44 I am not come to send peace on the earth,
but a sword" — 41 it is better that one member perish,"
(that one heretic, or a thousand, be burned,) 44 than that
the whole body " (the church) be lost or damaged. Per-
haps the surest indication, in the case either of an indi-
vidual or a community, of abandonment to delusion, is
that of the habit of perversely interpreting single phrases,
or insulated passages of scripture, in open contempt of
its spirit and tendency. This practice, of which the
pattern was set by Satan himself, has been the constant
characteristic of those who have appeared to be 44 led
captive by him at his will." In its entire ascetic doc-
trine, as well as in many other important points, one
can hardly think any thing else than that the Nicene
church had yielded itself to a strong delusion, and was
given over to believe a lie.
Our Lord's direct affirmation, and his implied doc-
33
38G
THE RULE OF RELIGIOUS CELIBACY,
trine, as stated, Matt. xix. 12, does really bear upon the
question of religious celibacy, and it therefore demands
to be seriously considered. The Jewish national belief
and feeling on the subject of marriage, which that people
considered as a positive and universal duty, required, like
some other national prejudices, to be loosened and cor-
rected, in order to make room for a higher, and a more
comprehensive religious system. Our Lord surely did
not intend to condemn or disparage personal cleanliness
when he affirmed that, " to eat with unwashen hands
defileth not a man." What he meant was, to bring in
a spiritual and genuine notion of purity, in the place of
the national and rabbinical superstition of the Jews. He
did not mean either to condemn, or to abrogate the wor-
ship of God in the Jewish temple, when he affirmed that
the time was come for establishing the worship of God
on a broader and more spiritual basis than that of the
Mosaic institute. Nor does he, as we may confidently
assume, in the present instance, intend, either to throw
discredit upon matrimony, (which, here and elsewhere,
he honours by a solemn sanction,) nor to speak of celi-
bacy as if it were a holier and loftier condition; for, to
have done this would have been to have recognised that
very principle of exterior and ceremonial purity, against
which he so strenuously, we might say vehemently, in-
veighed, on various occasions. Although, in this parti-
cular point, the national prejudice of the Jews stood op-
posed to the ascetic doctrine, yet the general principle
of sanctity, as attaching to visible observances, and of a
merit, as belonging to classes of men, on the ground of
peculiar abstinences, was altogether agreeable to the na-
tural mind, and would have been readily listened to by
the pharisees.
Our Lord seems to have intended, after condemning
AS LAID DOWN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT.
387
the lax and flagitious practice of divorce, as then preva-
lent among the Jews, and, after giving the most empha-
tic sanction to the institution of marriage, to take the oc-
casion, suggested by the query of the disciples — "At
that rate is it good to marry?" for introducing a higher
motive of conduct, belonging to the " kingdom of hea-
ven," and which, in opposition to the Jewish opinion
and custom, might lead certain individuals (who are so
described as to preclude a fanatical misinterpretation of
the rule) to separate themselves even from the lawful
engagements of ordinary life, and so the better to pro-
mote this kingdom, in an evil world, unencumbered by
any earthly ties. The sovereign motives of the new
dispensation were of such force, that they might lead a
man even to lay down life itself for Christ, or to sur-
render property, and every social endearment; and, as a
circumstance attending this sort of unsparing devoted-
ness, an abstinence from marriage might be not only a
lawful, but an acceptable sacrifice. " Ye are not your
own, but are bought with a price," — "glorify God there-
fore with your bodies, and with your spirits, which are
his," — "present your bodies, a living sacrifice unto
God," &c. These several injunctions, being only va-
rious consequences, all flowing from the one supreme
reason and motive which the gospel introduces, practi-
cally amount to this — be ready to die, be ready to suffer,
be ready to labour, be content, whether full or empty, as
to earthly enjoyments; and, in a word, hold every thing
in subordination to the one principle of Christian con-
duct; or, to say all at once — "let the same mind be in
you which was in Christ Jesus, who pleased not him-
self." This sovereign rule of behaviour may make a
man a martyr, or may induce him to lead a single life,
or may impel him to traverse the globe, having no cer-
388
THE RULE OF RELIGIOUS CELIBACY,
tain dwelling-place — when the doing so shall clearly,
and, in the judgment of good sense, tend to promote
truth in the world. But, on the contrary, the enthusiast,
or the fanatic, who, for the mere purpose — a selfish pur-
pose— of snatching the martyr's crown, insults a perse-
cuting power; or the ascetic, who, to no imaginable good
purpose, inflicts torture upon himself, or passes his
years, like a wild beast, in a cavern, or who adheres to
celibacy as if it were an angelic excellence, and, in doing
so, puts contempt upon the divine appointment — all such
persons, puffed up by the self-idolizing conceits of an
inflamed imagination, and of spiritual arrogance, wholly
misunderstood the rule (as they are plainly destitute of
the principle) of Christian self-denial. The course pur-
sued under any such false impulses has, in fact, always
diverged so widely from the line of Christian simplicity,
humility, and benevolence, as to make evident enough
the originating error whence it resulted.
In our Lord's rule, above referred to, there are very
distinctly to be observed, first, the well-defined and se-
riously propounded restriction — " All are not able to re-
ceive this word — if &ny man is able to receive it — if to
any this ability has been given, let such receive it;"
plainly pointing to a peculiarity of original temperament,
such as that, having been well ascertained by the indivi-
dual, he might act upon it without peril or presumption.
How frightfully and cruelly was this restriction contemn-
ed by the Nicene writers and preachers, who not only so
lauded the merits and honours of virginity as in fact to
seduce multitudes — tens of thousands, into a snare fatal
to their present happiness and to their souls, but more-
over, laboured with the utmost intensity to promote the
flagitious practice of dedication to Christ (miserable
AS LAID DOWN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT.
389
misnomer) before the age of puperty, nay, from infancy!
This practice was the foul stain of the Nicene church.
Even with our Lord's significant caution on their lips,
we find the great writers of that infatuated age provoking
the fanaticism of parents, and aiding to drive troops of
helpless children and youths onward toward the preci-
pice, and into that fiery abyss the horrors of which
themselves have described!*
But in the second place, our Lord's rule points dis-
tinctly to a motive, which, after the restriction had been
duly regarded, might justify this unusual course of life:
— it was for the sake " of the kingdom of heaven," a
phrase the meaning of which is put beyond doubt by a
comparison of the places where it occurs, and by a con-
sideration of the actual instances wherein its meaning
was confessedly carried out into practice. Now if we
compare this condition of the rule of celibacy with the
ascetic institute, how was it set at naught! Let us ad-
mit the most favourable supposition possible, namely,
that the ascetics were, in the large majority of instances,
the most devoted and spiritually minded members of the
Christian commonwealth; then, instead of seeking to
promote " the kingdom of heaven," by remaining in the
midst of the mass, as a conservative element, and in-
* I have already, p. 230, referred to Gregory Nyssen and Au-
gustine, on this point; and of the style in which this practice was
urged, a favourable specimen may be found in Chrysostom's third
book, addressed to the opponents of the monastic life, torn. i. p.
92, et seq. It appears both from Chrysostom and Basil, that chil-
dren were received into the religious houses, and there trained in
the ascetic discipline until their deliberate choice could be ascer-
tained. Basil, Reg. Fusios. Inter, xv. But this education, if it
disgusted many, must have availed with too many in inducing
them rashly to profess, long before they could know what they
were doing.
390
THE RULE OF RELIGIOUS CELIBACY,
stead of endeavouring to shed a holy influence upon the
dark world around them, they either shut themselves up
in religious houses, located, most often, in the wilder-
ness, or they absolutely secluded themselves from all
human society, passing long years in the crevices of the
mountains. That is to say, they acted upon a principle
of unmixed and avowed selfishness, and in direct contra-
riety to the spirit and precepts of the gospel; and where-
as Christ had set an example to his followers, in not
pleasing himself, and in "going about doing good," and
in " consorting with publicans and sinners," for their
good — " for the kingdom of heaven's sake," these as-
cetics, minding only " their own things," left the church
and the world to take their course. And all this fla-
grant contradiction of the spirit and letter of Christiani-
ty received the admiring approval of every one of the
great Nicene writers.
In the third place, a material circumstance, in this in-
stance, is the absolute want, in our Lord's language, of
any implication, ever so remote, of the great ascetic doc-
trine— the spirit of the whole system, namely, that of
the intrinsic holiness and angelic merit of virginity. No
alliance whatever has our Lord's practical recommenda-
tion with the gnostic-Nicene principle, that marriage is
a pollution, and celibacy a " holy state," and a condi-
tion of proximity to God. If any such notion had been
in our Lord's view, was not this the place to have let it
appear? With the ascetics, if indeed any regard was
had to the possible utility of a single life, that is to say,
its public utility, yet the all in all in their view was —
the sanctity of the state, and its spiritual, or rather ce-
lestial eminence.
In each of these respects, then, the Nicene ascetic in-
AS LAID DOWN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT. 391
stitute was a flagrant contempt of our Lord's rule of
Christian celibacy: that is to say, first, as it wholly
overlooked the restriction with which he had guarded it;
secondly, as putting contempt upon the motive which
might justify the celibacy of the few to whom it would
be proper; and thirdly, as bringing in, and putting fore-
most, a motive or doctrine not merely foreign to Chris-
tianity, but subversive of its very purport.
The interpretation we should give of our Lord's rule,
may, however, be brought to a very satisfactory test,
that I mean of his personal and immaculate behaviour
(as well as the conduct of the apostles) and this beha-
viour contrasted with the established usages of the as-
cetic life, looked at in parallel circumstances. Be it re-
membered then that, whereas among the Jews, the mo-
ral dignity of woman, and the religious equality of the
sexes, had been far better understood than among any-
other people of antiquity, even the most refined, and
whereas rational and purifying domestic habits, allowing
to woman her due place in society, were still in exis-
tence in Palestine, our Lord, in his personal behaviour,
and in a most remarkable manner, recognised this na-
tional feeling, and allowed himself to be attended, and
" ministered to," by women,* and thus practically re-
cognised, as good and safe, that intercourse of the sexes,
in domestic and common life, which then prevailed.
The first disciples, and the apostles, instead of drawing
back from this wonted liberty, held to, and sanctioned
it;t and in fact, it has been the glory of Christianity,
wherever it has not been overpowered by the gnostic
poison, to have wrought the regeneration of the social
* Luke viii. 1 — 3, and Matt, xxvii. 55.
t Acts i. 14. Phil. iv. 3.
392
THE RULE OF RELIGIOUS CELIBACY,
economy, precisely in this way, that is to say, by raising
woman to her moral level, and by refining and sanction-
ing the home intercourse of the sexes. How deep and
fatal was the injury, in this particular, done to the world
by the ancient asceticism, and to what extent it operated
to debauch the social system, we shall have to state by
and by. At present, let us contemplate the edifying con-
trast of our blessed Lord's behaviour, as compared with
that of the heroes of gnostic sanctity — the Nicene saints.
Our Lord was in some instances attended in his jour-
neys by women, his wants being provided for by their
generous attachment, and his personal comfort secured
by their assiduous affection. But now no injunctions of
the ascetic institute are more frequent or serious than
those which interdict all intercourse between the sexes.
To frequent the society of women, to converse with
them, to lift the eye from the earth where they were pre-
sent, was an offence, or at least an extreme imprudence.
The places are innumerable in which cautions of this
sort occur: — the touch of a female hand, what contami-
nation did it convey!* It may be well, while our blessed
* If the extravagances of inferior writers were here cited, an
objection would be raised, as if an unfair advantage were taken
of the folly of individuals. I will refer therefore to none but the
highest authorities. Among these none is of higher reputation
than Basil, and the reader may, at the cost of an hour's reading,
form his own opinion of the Nicene monkery as to its principles
and rules, in examining the ascetic tracts of this father; 1 mean
especially his replies to the queries of the monks, and his Mo-
nastic Constitutions, to which I shall make some particular re-
ferences in the following sections. Ephrem also, and Cassian,
must be cited in proof of what is here only incidentally affirmed,
namely, that the ascetic sanctity demanded restrictions, in per-
sonal behaviour, which were never thought of by the apostles,
whom we must believe to have been not less holy than these
monks,
AS LAID DOWN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT. 393
Lord's conduct is vividly recollected, to take a single in-
stance of a mode of behaviour, in one of the most pro-
minent personages of the Nicene age, which imbodies
the admitted principles of Nicene feeling and morality,
both as to clerical pretensions, and to ascetic purity.
When we see a "successor of the apostles," in the
fourth century, admitting an adulation and a personal
worship which the apostles themselves would not have
allowed — and at the same time pretending to a sanctity
which the Son of God knew nothing of, we must either
grant, what is now affirmed, by some, that the Christi-
anity of the Nicene age was indeed a purer and a more
finished form of our religion than that which Christ and
the apostles were acquainted with; or else allow that the
striking contrariety that distinguishes the two schemes
of piety and manners, is that which properly character-
ises, on the one side, true holiness, simplicity, and truth;
and on the other, factitious sanctimoniousness, unbound-
ed spiritual arrogance, and a falseness, which was the
product either of delusion, or of knavery, or of both.
Let the reader bear in mind those various incidents of
the gospel narrative which exhibit our Lord's behaviour
toward his female followers; and then turn to the life
of Saint Martin of Tours, as reported by his admirer and
disciple, Sulpitius Severus. (Sulpit. Sev. Dial. II. c. 5, 6.)
This famous St. Martin, "justly compared with the
apostles and prophets, whom in all things he resembled,
in faith, virtue, and miraculous power," had occasion,
soon after his consecration, to visit the imperial palace.
Yalentinian, knowing that he was come to ask for that
which he did not wish to grant, ordered him to be dri-
ven from the gate — instigated to this irreverence by his
wife. The insulted bishop forthwith had recourse to
34
394
THE RULE OF RELIGIOUS CELIBACY,
the wonted aids of fasting, sackcloth, ashes, and prayers;
and at the end of a week an angel appeared to him,
commanding Mm to repeat his attempt to see the empe-
ror, and assuring him that every obstacle should now give
way before him. In fact, neither doors, nor guards, ob-
structed his approach to the royal apartments. The
emperor, however, enraged at his unbidden intrusion,
does not deign to rise at his entrance (a reverence due
by an emperor to a bishop) until the throne itself had
burst out in flames — ipsumque regem ea parte corpo-
ris, qua. sedebat, adflaret incendium! The haughty
prince, thus unwillingly driven from his seat, rose, to
St. Martin; and moreover, being convinced and won by
this same fervid logic, lie granted all that was demanded;
and from that time loaded St. Martin with honours. The
mention of the palace, leads the narrator to introduce
another incident, characteristic of his master's virtues
and manners. The wife of the emperor Maximus was
accustomed to listen with the utmost reverence to the
conversation of the saint, and following the evangelic
example, she washed his feet with her tears, and wiped
them with her hair. Martin, whom never before a wo-
man had touched, knew not how to escape from the as-
siduous attentions, nay rather, the servile offices of the
empress, who, in comparison with the honour of ren-
dering such services to such a saint, held in contempt
all princely pomps, power, and wealth. In the end she
prepared his repast, waited upon him at table, and ga-
thering the crumbs, esteemed them as more delicious
than the dainties of a royal banquet.
The narrator is however here stopped by his friend,
with the startling inquiry, How it could be, that so emi-
nent a saint, whose sacred person a female hand had
never before contaminated, could admit so great a free-
AS LAID DOWN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT.
395
dom on the part of the empress: and he fears what may-
be the consequence, upon some minds, of such an in-
stance of condescension. To this it is replied that the
singularity of the occasion, and the saint's benevolent
errand at that time, seemed sufficiently to justify his re-
laxing a little the severity of his rule; and well were it
for those who might be likely to make an improper use
of his example, in this instance, if they could so con-
sider it as to be confirmed in their adherence to the as-
cetic discipline, Let such consider the case — once in
his life only, and he already in his seventieth year, had
any such thing happened! — Consider too, it was no wi-
dow to whom he granted this indulgence, nor virgo las-
civiens; but a wife, in the presence of her husband, and
at his request; — an empress too, performing these of-
fices: nor did even she dare to partake with him of his
repast! Take the instance as it is — such an occasion —
such a person, such a reverence, such a table — and in
the whole course of life — once only!
Now what is all this but insufferable spiritual prudery —
arrogance — hypocrisy, or much worse? Yet it is the
characteristic style of the Nicene age. The writer,
Sulpitius, more than once impiously sets his saint by
the side of Christ, as if the two characters might be
compared on some ground of analogy; in fact, they
stand in absolute contrast, and not to have seen and felt
this contrariety, was itself an effect of that universal de-
lusion and thick darkness, which had then surrounded
the church. This however is manifest enough, that our
Lord's rule of celibacy neither implied, nor resulted
from, any such notion of sanctity as that which consti-
tuted the principle of the ascetic system.
Biblical exposition I do not profess: nevertheless an
historical inquiry concerning a perverted use of scrip-
396
THE RULE OF RELIGIOUS CELIBACY,
ture, in any important particular, almost unavoidably
implies the making some reference to the plain import
of such passages. The seventh chapter of Paul's first
epistle to the Corinthians demands in fact some careful
criticism, as well historical as biblical; but I attempt, in
this place, only what seems indispensable in reference
to my particular argument.
The essential difference between apostolic and Nicene
Christianity presents itself very prominently in com-
paring the latter verses of the sixth chapter, with the as-
cetic doctrine, of which some samples have already
been produced. " What, know ye not," asks the apos-
tle, " that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost?"
or, as in the third chapter, " Know ye not that ye are
the temple of God? ... if any man defile the temple of
God " . . . . This serious truth he employs in no other
manner than as a most powerful dissuasive from sinful
indulgences, such as those specified in the context; and
it is clear that, in his view, Christians living unblama-
bly under the conjugal relationship, fulfilled the inten-
tion of his injunctions: in abstaining from the works of
the flesh, as enumerated Gal. v. 19, and in cherishing
the fruits of the Spirit, the Christian law was satisfied.
But not so with the ascetics — I mean the train of wri-
ters, now extant, from Tertullian to St. Bernard. The
body of a Christian is the temple of the Holy Ghost,
say these divines, therefore — no part of it, not ordinari-
ly exposed, must ever be seen by another eye, and
therefore, none but the simplest and purest substances,
and those in the smallest possible quantities, are to be
admitted into the stomach, and therefore the grossest
of all terrestrial contaminations, that of the matrimonial
connexion, is to be utterly avoided by whoever would
be holy indeed!
AS LAID DOWN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT.
397
Here then we have before us, most distinctly ex-
pressed, two doctrines of holiness, derived professedly
from the same truth, namely, the indwelling of the Holy
Spirit, but involving totally different principles, and
leading to different practices. Nor is the mere difference
all we have to notice, for, as the ascetic doctrine as-
sumed to itself a higher credit than the apostolic, and
was spoken of as " a more excellent way;" or was, to
use the phrase current in the Nicene age, " a merit be-
yond law," its effect was to dislodge, or we should say
to dethrone, the apostolic principle of morals. The apos-
tle tells you to be holy in abstaining from vice, but we
speak to you of a loftier and a more genuine holiness; —
and if ye aspire to perfection, listen to us, not to him!
The commendation of virginity, re-echoed from all
sides within the Nicene church, that it was " a merit
beyond law," is alone enough to exhibit the opposition
between the two systems. Neither in this passage of the
epistle to the Corinthians, nor any where else in the
New Testament, is there to be discovered the remotest
trace of the doctrine that celibacy is " a merit," or that
it is a holier condition, or that matrimony is, in any
sense whatever, a spiritual degradation, or a pollution.
This is the very point of distinction between the poi-
sonous illusion of the ascetic system, and the simple
rule of religious celibacy, as found in scripture. Among
those who devote themselves to the of the Lord,
and especially to itinerant labours, or perilous missions
to the heathen, it is very plain that a man who has three
children only, must feel himself less obstructed in his
course than one who has twelve; and so he who, al-
though married, has no children, may advantageously
meet difficulties which the father even of two or three
might do belter not to encounter. Clearly then, the un-
34*
398 THE RULE OF RELIGIOUS CELIBACY,
married, supposing always that they have not misinter-
preted their personal calling, have an advantage, which,
if wisely employed, may far more than compensate to
them what they have relinquished. All this is intelligi-
ble enough; and the reasons and motives which such a
doctrine involves are manifestly enhanced in those sea-
sons of trial to the church when severe privations are
to be submitted to by Christians. It was, in our Lord's
view, to be esteemed a favour when the storm of public
calamity fell upon a community during the summer, ra-
ther than the winter, and, at such a time, those were to
be accounted comparatively happy who were not " with
child," or " giving suck." What can be more simple?
And now, let reasonable men say whether such is not
the general purport of the seventh chapter of the epis-
tle before us: or, in other words, let it be asked whether
this chapter teaches the ascetic principle of the higher
sanctity of virginity, as if it were, in the Lord's sight,
an excellence, placing those who adhere to it on a level
above that of the married, and so much the nearer to the
divine nature. The apostle's disquisition on this subject
is long enough, and it is sufficiently precise to have in-
cluded the statement of some such principle, if, indeed,
he had held it: but instead of advancing the ascetic doc-
trine, and at the very turn of his argument, ver. 25,
when he declares that the Lord had enjoined nothing on
the subject, and when it would have been so fit an occa-
sion for insinuating the "higher philosophy," he reverts
to the temporary and special reason which might recom-
mend celibacy — " I suppose that this is good for the pre-
sent distress," for a man, if unmarried, " not to seek a
wife."
If then we come to ask, at ver. 38, what is meant by
" doing better," we have only to look back to the rea-
AS LAID DOWN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT.
399
sons which the apostle had already advanced, and which
involve nothing beyond the practical advantages or im-
munities of a single life, in relation, either to seasons of
persecution, or to extraordinary labours of evangelic zeal,
or to any circumstances under which a Christian (per-
sonal temperament being considered) might think him-
self, or herself, free to use the privilege of " waiting
upon the Lord without distraction." " 1 would that ye
should be without carefulness" — exempt from distract-
ing anxieties: this is the unambitious motto of the entire
chapter; and it is here highly curious to observe, that,
while the ascetics of the Nicene age substituted, for so
homely and reasonable a principle, the lofty doctrine of
seraphic virginity, they did, in their actual practice, in-
volve themselves in all the cares of married life, and in
worse. Let us take Chrysostom's description of " a
holy monk's" manifold solicitudes. Paul says nothing
about a single man's being, on that account, as holy as
Gabriel; but he does say, that those who would please
the Lord, might, in certain cases, do well not to marry.
Be it remembered, that, in every instance of a compari-
son, such as the one now before us, we have the ques-
tion at issue always in view, whether apostolic and an-
cient Christianity be one and the same, or, opposed, and
contradictory.
The custom against which Cyprian had inveighed, as
we have seen, in the third century, at Carthage, was no
incidental or local abuse; for it had spread itself on all
sides, and, in the time with which we have now to do,
it had become, notwithstanding all remonstrances, the
usage of the coenobite ascetics, and even of some of the
anchorets. Not only did the aged monks avail them-
selves of the offices, and enjoy the society of young wo-
men in their cloisters, but young monks also did the
400
THE RULE OF RELIGIOUS CELIBACY,
same, in defiance of the scandals that could not but arise
from so indiscreet a practice, (Chrysost. torn. i. p. 279:)
while, on the other hand, young nuns entertained a cor-
tege of" philosophic" paramours, under various pretexts,
(pp. 310, 312, et seq.) What a sight is it, says Chrysos-
tom, to enter the cell of a solitary monk, and to see the
apartment hung about with female gear, shoes, girdles, re-
ticules, caps, bonnets, spindles, combs, and the like, too
many to mention; but what a jest is it to visit the abode of a
rich monk, and to look about you; for you find the soli-
tary /uovo;, surrounded with a bevy of lasses, one might
say, just like the leader of a company of singing and
dancing girls; what can be more disgraceful! and, in
fact, the monk is all day long vexed and busied with
petty affairs proper to a woman .... not merely is he
occupied with worldly matters, contrary to the apostolic
precept, but even with feminine cares; and these ladies,
being very luxurious in their habits, as well as imperi-
ous in their tempers, the good man was liable to be sent
on fifty errands — to the silversmith's, to inquire if my
lady's mirror was finished, if her vase was ready, if her
scent-cruet had been returned: and from the silversmith's
to the perfumer's, and thence to the linendraper's, and
thence to the upholsterer's; and at each place he has twen-
ty particulars to remember. Then add to all these cares,
the jars and scoldings that are apt to resound in a house
full of pampered women! Paul says. Be ye not the ser-
vants of men; shall we not then cease to be the slaves
of women, and this to the common injury of all?
Christ, who would have us behave ourselves as his va-
liant soldiers, assuredly has not for this purpose clad
us in the spiritual armour, that we should take upon our-
selves the office of waiting, like menials, upon worthless
AS LAID DOWN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT.
401
girls, xopuv rpio0o\i{A!tiav, or that we should busy ourselves
with their spinnings and sewings, or spend the live-long
day by their side, while at work, imbuing our minds
with effeminate trifles!" (Abridged from pp. 295, 296,
297.)
So egregious and ridiculous are the inconsistencies into
which those are sure to fall, who, not content with re-
ligion and morality, such as God has given them to us,
must frame to themselves something loftier. — "What that
loftier profession actually comes to, we may learn (to go
no farther) from Chrysostom's two tracts, above cited;
and let the reader who peruses them throughout, say
whether we do not deal leniently with the Nicene asce-
ticism in speaking of it only as trivial and absurd. And
after such a perusal, and after turning to those many pas-
sages, in the same writer, in which the powers of lan-
guage are taxed to make up the encomium of celibacy,
let him open again Paul's epistle to the Corinthians,
and say — in conscience, whether an utter contrariety of
feeling and of principle does not distinguish the two
writers. Let it be particularly observed that the apostle
not only does not assume any peculiar sanctity to attach
to a single life, implying a correlative pollution as belong-
ing to the marriage state; but he attributes such an honour,
or recommendation, to this state (whatever his language
may precisely mean) as that, even when impaired by
the heathenism of one of the parties, it still conferred an
ecclesiastical prerogative or benefit upon the other, so as
to secure church privileges for the offspring (ver. 14.)
The expressions occurring in the fourteenth chapter
of the Revelation (ver. 4,) although often alluded to by
the ascetic writers, were not, for the reasons that have
been already mentioned, so much insisted upon as might
have been supposed; and at present there are few, I be-
402 THE RULE OF RELIGIOUS CELIBACY,
lieve, who would admit that the passage has any bearing
whatever upon the subject of celibacy. The well under-
stood and ancient import of the phrases in question,
when employed prophetically and symbolically, as in-
tending purity of faith, opposed to idolatrous (adulte-
rous) compliances and corruptions, accords entirely with
the obvious meaning of the context. The subjugation of
Christendom, generally, to an adulterous, that is, an idola-
trous power, arrogating to itself divine honours, having
been predicted, the scene is suddenly brightened by the
vision of the Lamb, with his select company of the faith-
ful, who, through all vicissitudes of their earthly war-
fare and pilgrimage, adhere to their holy profession, fol-
lowing him " whithersoever he goeth." To this vision
succeeds the fall and punishment of the idolatrous ad-
herents of the blasphemous and apostate usurpation.
True Christians, without any regard to the unimpor-
tant circumstance of their being single or married, are
called, by the apostle James (i. 18) a "first-fruit,"
A7r*p%» unto God, and in this place of the apocalypse,
also, the faithful, as distinguished from the false — those
in whose mouth no lie (^Wec, not JWc, is the reading)
was found, are called «ir«f^, " a first-fruit " unto God
and the Lamb; and they are said to be (not apScgo/, which
was the ecclesiastical term technically and ordinarily ap-
plied to the Tra^ivci, but) ajua>{Act, unblamable; not abso-
lutely so indeed; but in respect of their adherence to the
true worship of God. Phrases, all of them turning
upon the same symbolic metonymy recur in every part
of this prophecy. Does any one imagine that the flagi-
tious woman who had debauched the earth with her for-
nications, and seduced kings, means nothing more than
a personification of licentiousness, in the literal sense of
the term? No such interpretation has ever been main-
AS LAID DOWN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT.
403
tained by rational expositors: — the scarlet clad woman,
shameless, and cruel, and arrogant, and the inveterate
enemy of the saints, is an adulteress in the ecclesiastical
and symbolic sense of the word, and whatever actual
profligacy may always have attended idolatrous super-
stitions, it is not the profligacy, but the idolatry, that is
mainly intended by the prophetic style. The correla-
tive, or antithetic import then of the phrases by which
the holy and antagonist company are designated — the
"true and faithful," the "followers of the Lamb," can-
not be misunderstood. These sr«y0tVo#, who are they,
but those that have refused to drink of the wine of her
fornications, who had corrupted the nations? If these
terms are to be understood in their literal sense, so must
other terms with which they are connected, and then
the endeavour to expound the book in any portion of it
must be hopeless.
But if there were room to entertain, for a moment, the
supposition of a literal meaning in this place, then one
could not but look to its bearing upon the general tenor
of church history, or the outline of facts connected with
the extant records of the ascetic institute. Let us then
assume with St. "Bernard (vol. ii. p. 471) that, by this vir-
gin company is actually meant " the virgins of the church,"
who are to enjoy an honour which is not to be shared
by those, however eminent, qui non sunt virgines, quam-
vis tamen sint Christi. In the first place then, such an
interpretation excludes from the privileged choir several
of the apostles — probably all but one or two of them,
and with them, very many of the holiest men and wo-
men of every age. As to the worthies of our own
times — the truly great and wise of the protestant churches,
it is but a few that would not be excluded by this inter-
pretation. On the other hand, what has been the gene-
404 THE RULE OF RELIGIOUS CEIJBACY,
ral moral condition of those whom it must include? As-
suredly it is with the broad characteristics of the com-
munities or classes which it designates, that prophecy
has to do; now a man must be resolute indeed in his
credulity, who can actually look into the extant evidence,
and still persuade himself that genuine purity of mind
and manners, or that any eminent Christian qualities
have generally belonged to the monastic orders. Take
this evidence whence we please, from Cyprian down to
St. Bernard; or look no farther than to the partial testi-
mony, and the reluctant admissions of Chrysostom,* and
Jerome, and it will be impossible to doubt that, while a
few were virtuous and sincere, and at the same time fa-
natical and extravagant, there prevailed among the many
the worst kinds of immorality: — that is to say, either
shameless vices, or a pravity of the heart that was at
once pitiable and loathsome. And yet it is from the
bosom of a community such as this, that the Lord (if
this interpretation is adopted) selects his peculiar favou-
rites! and of these (ecclesiastical) virgins it is declared
that they were "blameless," and that nothing "false"
was found in their mouth! How miserably are any such
* " Alas, my soul! well may I so exclaim, and repeat the la-
mentable cry, with the prophet! Alas, my soul. Our virginity
has fallen into contempt: — the vail is rent by impudent hands,
that parted it off from matrimony: the holy of holies is trodden
under foot, and its grave and tremendous sanctities have become
profane, and thrown open to all; and that which once was had in
reverence, as far more excellent than matrimony, is now sunk so
low, as that one should rather call the married blessed, than those
who profess it. — Nor is it the enemy that has effected all this;
but the virgins themselves!" — Chrysostom, torn. i. p. 304. Such
is the confession of the warmest admirer of the ascetic life — and
such, if we may trust him, had it become in his times. Jerome V.
testimony to the same effect; will be referred to presently.
AS LAID DOWN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT. 405
designations contradicted by the ordinary characteristics
of the ascetic records! Read the " Lives of the Saints"
— read the Lausaic history, and what presents itself on
every page but the details of self-deception and knavery?
What, but a digested system of vain pretensions, and
profitable frauds, or, in a word — Lies, either in the sense
of delusions, or in the sense of wilful falsifications?
Take the very choicest specimens of Nicene monkery
(to some of which I have already alluded,) such, for in-
stance, as the life of St. Antony, or that of St. Hilarion,
by Jerome, or that of St. Martin of Tours, and then let
any one who retains his hold of common sense, deter-
mine whether these narratives are distinguished most
by the spirit of holy simplicity, modesty, and Truth;
or of wonder-loving extravagance, delusion, and Lying?
I ask pointedly for a conscientious reply to this definite
question. In taking instances such as these, we give
the ascetic system the greatest advantage possible; that
is to say, we leave untouched the heap of abominations,
and we adduce the very brightest instances, from what
is spoken of as " the golden age" of the monastic sys-
tem. Few protestants, surely, will be so courageous as
first to adopt the literal interpretation of the passage in
question, and then to appeal to church history, and the
monkish legends in support of such an exposition! The
real meaning of the phrases, surrounded as they are by
symbolic language, drawn from the same analogy, and
concerning which there can be no doubt, will not, I
think, be questioned by any but those who can spare
nothing that may give a seeming support to a groundless
doctrine.
35
406 THE PREDICTED ASCETIC APOSTACY.
THE PREDICTED ASCETIC APOSTACY.
There is however yet a passage, and it is a signal
one, which demands to be adverted to in connexion with
our present subject. I mean Paul's plain prediction of
the approaching apostacy (1 Tim. iv.) But here again
we are met by that protestant habit of thinking, which
has, in so many instances, impelled the anxious oppo-
nents of the papacy to attribute specifically to the Romish
church, what, in truth, belongs to it only in common
with the eastern, and with the Nicene church. Now,
for example, not a phrase occurs in this most remarka-
ble prediction — a prediction announced as "explicit,"
not symbolical, which can equitably be applied lo the
papacy, as distinguished from the church catholic, east-
ern and western, of the Nicene age: each characteristic
of the "apostacy," as here specified, must have been
admitted to have had its accomplishment in the ecclesi-
astical system of the fourth century, even if no such
despotism as that of Rome had afterwards come into
existence. It is otherwise with the mystic and difficult
prophecy recorded in the second epistle to the Thessa-
lonians; this latter having a more determinate and hie-
rarchical import, while the one now in question has a
wider meaning, and has respect rather to the moral
qualities of the predicted defection.
Let us only imagine that the church universal had
been brought back to apostolic purity in the sixth or
seventh century, and that thenceforward, and to the pre-
sent time, it had retained its integrity: how should we,
in that case, have applied this prediction? Clearly, and
without a doubt, to the ascetic doctrine, and to the mo-
THE PREDICTED ASCETIC APOSTACY. 407
nastic institute of the -preceding four centuries. Each
prophetic mark is actually found upon that system; nor
is there any other Christian system, or sect, or institute,
in any age or country, that has borne them. The pro-
phecy having been issued under this very condition of
its being a plain and literal description, we find it to
have been literally realized within the church, and to
have presented itself, with singular uniformity as to its
characteristics, in every section of the church: and this
well-defined error is termed an Apostacy, involving the
church which harboured, sanctioned, and idolized it, in
the most serious reprobation.
Those who choose to do so, may amuse their leisure
with a dozen ingenious methods for evading the appli-
cation of this remarkable prophecy; but no such subter-
fuges will satisfy unsophisticated minds, and it is to such
that the prediction is immediately addressed. Is it not
a Daniel that is appealed to on this occasion? for there
are no dark symbols to be interpreted, there is no my-
thos to be unfolded. The Spirit speaketh, as the
Lord himself had done when he foretold the manner of
his own death and the time of his resurrection. Pro-
phecy, when delivered in this style, differs from history
only in the brevity of its descriptions, and in the mere
circumstance of its preceding the event. And if, in
such an instance, a real ambiguity, or a confessed diffi-
culty is found to attend the application of the prediction,
our alternative must be either the conclusion in which
infidelity would triumph, or the strange supposition that
the church was thus explicitly forewarned of a danger
which it was not to encounter until the remotest period
of its history.
But how stands the prediction when it comes to be
placed by the side of the church history of the first five
centuries?
408 THE PREDICTED ASCETIC APOSTACY.
The Spirit explicitly declares that, in the after seasons;
that is, in the times succeeding the era of the apostolic
personal ministry, some Tim, shall apostatize from the
faith — from the principles of Christianity. Some — as
if it were a portion of the church, or certain churches,
or certain individuals, and not the whole body. Now,
although the entire church, and especially as represented
by its chiefs, did in fact share in the ascetic apostacy,
by approving it, it was specifically the error of a class,
or brotherhood, every where existing indeed, yet no
where embracing the community. It was otherwise in
relation to the worshipping of images, and the praying
to the saints, which were the errors of the church at
large, while the ascetic practice was the error of some,
and the marks of apostacy here mentioned are peculiarly
the characteristics of the anchorets and coenobites, or
the ascetics of the two classes, the solitary and the con-
ventual.
The ellipsis of the third verse being supplied, as it must,
by the word KiKivovrm, or one of similar import, then the
meaning will be that the body, or community, or sect,
to which the prediction relates, will be distinguished by
it insisting, in an absolute and invariable manner, and in
relation to all who come within the circle of its autho-
rity, upon abstinence from matrimony, and from the or-
dinary indulgences of the appetite. Whatever diversi-
ties might be admitted in relation to other points of dis-
cipline within this apostate community, no exceptions
could be allowed in regard to these two. The first law
(and an iron law) of this predicted body should be the
preservation of virginity, and its second law, equally
binding upon all, although susceptible of diversities in
the interpretation, was — a general and severe abstemious-
ness, as to diet, and the most rigorous occasional fast-
ings. So it should be, that, after setting off every va-
THE PREDICTED ASCETIC APOSTACY.
409
riable or incidental peculiarity attaching to this apostacy,
in different times, and communities, these two marks
should always belong to it, namely, the enforcement, or
the pretended enforcement (for hypocrisy was also to be
a characteristic of the system) of celibacy, and of fast-
ing. And we are directed to look, not around the
church, but within its pale, for the defection which is
thus described.
Whatever force we may attach to the words — " For-
bid,"* and "Command," they can mean no more than
a peremptory and invariable injunction, affecting who-
ever comes within the limits of the legislating body. The
Romish church did not enforce celibacy either upon the
clergy of the eastern church, or upon Persian mages;
for its jurisdiction did not extend so far; but its prohi-
bitions reached to the utmost border of its acknowledged
authority, and even within that circle, while it laid down
an irreversible law, admitting of no exemptions, the most
flagrant violations, both in regard to continence, and ab-
stinence, every where prevailed. The papacy took to
itself these marks of an apostate church, by exerting all
its authority for maintaining the ascetic principle and
practice, as well in relation to the secular, as the regular
*Kaxva>, hinder, restrain, deny permission, or forbid, whe-
ther authoritatively and effectively, or only in intention: impe-
dio quovis modo, et factis et verbis, quominus aliquid fiat. To
prohibit by edicts, and under penalties, is a special sense of the
word. But, as well in a more general, as in a more strict sense,
the ancient church, that is, of the fourth century, forbade to mar-
ry— absolutely, within the pale of the ascetic community; and
generally, as to the clergy, by the force of opinion and usage.
What the encratites did in the second century, the church catho-
lic did in the fourth; and any endeavour to affix the prediction,
now before us, to that early sect, must a fortiori, attach it also to
the ascetic system of the next age.
35*
410
THE PREDICTED ASCETIC APOSTACY.
clergy. But then, the Nicene church, long before, had
done the very same thing, and had, in like manner,
branded itself as apostate, and not in an incidental or
partial manner, but by directing the steady force of its
utmost influence toward the end of giving extensive ef-
fect to the ascetic rule of life. The only style of Chris-
tianity which it would consent to speak of as complete,
and pre-eminently excellent, was that which observed
this ascetic rule. The highest encomiums, as we have
seen, were lavished upon these two foremost articles of
the monastic institute — virginity and abstinence. Every
one of its great divines gives his zealous support and
solemn sanction to this institute; and, if celibacy were
not sternly and invariably enforced upon its clergy, they
were taught to think themselves degraded if they refused
to observe it. Mean while, as to the ascetic body, the
law of celibacy was, in the fullest sense, absolute.
The point now before us is of no small importance;
for the inference it involves fixes the apostolic brand of
apostacy upon the Nicene church, and therefore goes
far in determining, by a summary method, the present
controversy concerning " church principles." I confi-
dently appeal, then, in this instance, to plain, unpreju-
diced minds, and ask whether or not Paul's prediction
attaches to the asceticism of the ancient church?*
Protestant commentators, in referring to this predic-
tion, have been wont to call it — "a striking prediction
of popery." But why of popery? as well say, "of
Spanish Catholicism," or " of Irish Catholicism." The
special marks herein given us, attach, distinctively, nei-
* Let the reader consider, in this connexion, Jerome's state-
ment of the errors of Jovinian, of which he courteously says —
hsec sunt sibilia serpentis antiqui. Adv. Jovin. lib. i. toward the
beginning.
THE PREDICTED ASCETIC APOSTACY.
411
ther to the Irish, nor to the Spanish forms of the gene-
ral superstition; nor to the papacy peculiarly. The
Romish church, centuries after the monastic institute
had been every where established, and long after the
time when the celibacy of the secular clergy had been
universally assented to as proper, if not indispensable,
gave its sanction, formally, to the common opinion, by
specific enactments. But in what terms had the Nicene
church uttered itself on this subject long before? — hear
its highest authority; Certe conriteris non posse esse
episcopum, qui in episcopatu filios faciat; alioqui, si de-
prehensus fuerit, non quasi vir (husband) tenebitur, sed
quasi adulter damnabilur.* That is to say, in effect,
whereas, Paul had distinctly spoken of a bishop as a
married man, and a father, the Nicene church, having
first had its " conscience seared as with a hot iron,"
read the apostolic text, and then deliberately decided
that a bishop who did not separate himself from his
wife, should be regarded as no better than an adulterer!
Again; Aut virgines clericos accipiunt, aut continentes;
aut, si uxores habuerint, mariti esse desinunt.\ That
is to say, whereas the Lord had solemnly decreed that
" what God had joined together, man should not put
asunder," the Nicene church, having lost all religious
sensibility of conscience, could cooliy look at this di-
vine law, and then reverse it by its own impious ordi-
nance, that its ministers, in receiving orders, should se-
parate themselves from their wives — a law to which
submission was yielded in innumerable instances. Upon
many, excommunication was actually inflicted on ac-
count of their having returned to the society of their
wives, after ordination: in many instances, when mar-
Adversus Jovin. lib. i.
t Adversus Vigilantum.
412
THE PREDICTED ASCETIC APOSTACY.
ried men had been promoted to ecclesiastical dignities,
in compliance with the tumultuous will of the populace,
a long course of penance was imposed upon them, in
order to expiate the offence. In several recorded in-
stances men who sincerely desired to evade such pro-
motions pleaded their disqualification, on the very ground
of their being married men. The second council of
Carthage, held within the limits of the Nicene era, thus
speaks — Omnibus (episcopis) placet, ut episcopi, presby-
teri, et diaconi, et qui sacrament* contrectant, pudicitire
eustodes, etiam ab uxoribus se abstineant!* Epiphani-
ust offers an apology for those cases in which, by sheer
necessity, married men had been admitted to priest's
orders; and, from Cyprian downwards, the flagrant im-
piety of a man's " putting away his wife," when pro-
moted to the episcopate, received authentication in the
practice of the most eminent persons. During the same
time, not only did thousands of persons yield obedience
to the monastic law, and renounce marriage; but hun-
dreds put away their wives, deserted their children, and
hid themselves in monasteries; and their doing so, es-
pecially when they surrendered their patrimony to the
church, was lauded as the highest act of piety. %
Does then the prophetic mark of " forbidding to mar-
ry," attach, or not, to the Nicene church generally, and
to the monastic institute specifically; oris it equitable to
go on saying, as we have been used to do, that this is a
sign of the apostate papacy? Is not this a question
simply historical, and admitting of a peremptory an-
swer— Yea or Nay?
* Con. Carthag. can. 2. t Haeres. 59.
t Basil will be hereafter cited in illustration of this article of
the monastic economy — namely, the surrender of all property,
and generally to the monastery.
THE PREDICTED ASCETIC APOSTACY. 413
As to the other definite sign, the " commanding to ab-
stain from meat,"* there can, I think, be no need to ad-
duce formal evidence. The practices of abstinence from
animal food, and the rigorous fasts enjoined by the an-
cient church, and especially enforced within the monas-
tic houses, are too well understood, and have been too
often described, to leave room for a question on the sub-
ject. But let us turn to the other, and less definite cha-
racteristics of the predicted apostaey, and in doing so
we may recede, in our order, from the fixed points, al-
ready considered.
These apostate communities, or individuals, within
the church, were so to speak and act, as to prove that
they had lost, in a deplorable degree, their sensibility as
religious men — " having their consciences seared as
with a hot iron." That is to say, as when, to an ulce-
rated or mortified limb (according to the rough methods
of the ancient surgery) a heated iron was applied, with
the intention of destroying, for ever, the sensibility of
the diseased part. What then may be the meaning of
this bold figure as applied to those who prohibited mar-
riage, and enjoined fasting? One should say, that it
described the state of mind of those who, having sur-
rendered themselves to the influence of some false and
pernicious religious principle, had, in so doing, become,
as it were, unconscious of, or incapable of perceiving,
the very plainest injunctions of the divine law. A si-
milar condition of the conscience we have an instance
of in the pharisees, to whom our Lord applies, with in-
dignant scorn, the epithets — "fools, and blind — phari-
* In what way these two main articles of asceticism bore one
xipon the other, producing the worst evils, appears from the con-
fessions of the monkish writers; see, for instanoe, Cassian, p.
759, et scq. and Jerom, ad Eustach.
414 THE PREDICTED ASCETIC AP08TACY.
see, hypocrite — blind pharisee;" and who, with God's
law before them, to which they owned submission, yet,
set it at defiance, and made it void by their wicked and
foolish enactments.
What phrase then can better describe (in so few
words) the religious condition of the ascetic mind? The
false oriental philosophy having been admitted, which
put abstraction and penance in the room of the gospel,
and of true holiness, a thick infatuation thenceforward
took possession of all minds, so that the most extreme
contradictions of the inspired rules of morality were al-
lowed and approved, even while this rule itself was daily
before the eyes, and was echoing in the ears of all. A
sufficient instance of this sort of contumacy is the one al-
ready adduced: no practical rule, any where found in the
apostolic writings, is more clear, or more free from am-
biguity, than that which permits and recommends the
marriage state to bishops; nevertheless, with this rule
full in its view, the Nicene church forbade matrimony to
its bishops. Our Lord, in the tone of the supreme law-
giver, said, "let not man put asunder what God has
joined;" and the apostle determines, that, even the hea-
thenism of one party should not be held aground of ex-
ception to this rule. But the Nicene church, fully in-
formed of God's law, in this respect, decided otherwise,
and, on pain of degradation, or even excommunication,
decreed that a priest or bishop, if already married, should
separate himself from his wife; and it pronounced those
who did not do so, to be living in adultery! Christ had
said, to do this is a sin: the Nicene church said, not to
to do it is a sin; and to do it is an angelic merit. The
apostle says, " whoremongers and adulterers God will
judge:" the church said, he is an adulterer who, on re-
ceiving priest's orders, does not put away his wife!
THE PREDICTED ASCETIC AP03TACY.
415
This then is what we may well understand as " having
the conscience seared as with a hot iron."*
On this point, again, let the substantial injustice that
has so long been done to the church of Rome, by pro-
testants, be adverted to and disclaimed. To the vast
majority of all who have lived under the shadow of the
papacy — clergy and laity, the scriptures have ever been
sealed, or at best, very partially known; and not known
at all, as to the passages that are flatly opposed to the
Romish errors. With respect to such, therefore, there
did not take place this cauterizing of the conscience; and
many affecting instances are on record, of the painful
sensibility of those who, happening to hear something
more than they had heretofore learned of God's word,
mournfully exclaimed, — " If this be God's word, all
that we have hitherto been taught, is utterly false." But
the case was quite otherwise with the Nicene church;
and this indeed is at once its wonder, its merit in one
sense, and its sin in another, that, while the grossest
superstitions were promoted, and the most outrageous
violations of scriptural piety were practised, the scrip-
tures themselves were copiously read and expounded
in the churches, and were actually in the hands of the
opulent, at least, and were thoroughly familiar to many
of the ascetics. t In whatever way we may account for
* Perhaps we could no where find a more striking instance of
this cauterizing of the conscience, than in the case of Jerome,
who, with more knowledge of the scriptures than any other di-
vine of his times (and few of any age have surpassed him) coolly
cuts a path for himself through the sacred text, whenever he has
a point of superstition to carry. His tracts against Jovinian
and Vigilanlius abound with instances of this kind of audacity.
To these we must hereafter refer.
t It ib affirmed by Palladius, Jeieme, and others, in their lives of
416
THE PREDICTED ASCETIC APOSTACY.
this inconsistency, the fact should surely be taken into*
the reckoning' when we are balancing the merits of the
Nicene and Romish churches; and if the particular mark
of a cauterized conscience be in question, it must be
granted to attach more directly to those who, knowing-
fully their Lord's will, yet boldly set it at naught, than
to those who, although doing the same thing, knew not
that will.
" Speaking lies in hypocrisy" — narrating falsehoods,
for the purpose, as we colloquially say, of" making out
a case;" or, " of putting a good face upon things." Now
really one can hardly imagine a phrase that could better
describe the legend-telling style of the ascetic writers.
There is absolutely no class of writers, in the whole
range of literature, at all to be compared with these, in
this respect. Wonder-mongers are they, from the ear-
liest to ihe latest of the tribe; and these wonders — these
tales of exploits, passing human strength and virtue,
have all one meaning, and one and the same manifest in-
tention, namely, that of glorifying the ascetic institute.
Open these books where you please, and you will rare-
ly find two pages together destitute of some tale of saint-
ly prowess; and each has the ever-recurring moral —
" What giants of piety are we monks!" Let the reader
say whether it be not so, and for this purpose let him
take in hand any one of the Nicene ascetic writers, and
then decide whether this mark also of the predicted apos-
tacy does not belong to the ascetic institute of the an-
cient church. Are not the ascetics the tellers and makers
of falsehoods, for an interested purpose — " in hypocri-
sy?"*
the hermits, that some of them could repeat, memoriter, a large
portion of the scriptures, and some the New Testament entire.
* Jerome's Life of St. Hilarion, his contemporary, I recom-
THE PREDICTED ASCETIC APOSTACY. 417
M Giving heed to seducing spirits, and teachings of,
or concerning, demons." Of all error, and of each in
particular, it might be affirmed, that it was suggested by-
evil spirits: the phrases thus understood, would therefore
have no specific import, nor could they avail us in endea-
vouring to attach the prediction to any one of the thou-
sand heresies that have sprung up within the church. —
But as it is the characteristic of the prophetic style to be
definite, we must take these phrases in their characteristic
sense, and assume that the "teachings," to which "some
should give heed," were narrations, and pretended re-
velations, concerning supernal beings, or the invisible
species that are believed to haunt the earth. Now what
is that element which we find every where mixed up
with the ascetic records? what is it by which the con-
tinence, the abstinences, the macerations, and the mi-
racles of the ascetic worthies are made to assume a dra-
matic air? Is it not the ever-recurring tales of conflicts,
personal and visible, with the infernal legions? Is not
this taste for demonological adventures the very charac-
teristic of monkery? and has it not been so from the
earliest to the latest times? The farce of monkery has,
in every age, shown the same personages on the stage —
namely, the gaunt spectres of humanity, the monks and
hermits, and the same aerial troops, besetting these
heroes like swarms of wasps. In proof and illustration
of all these predicted characteristics of the ancient asce-
ticism, we could not do better than appeal to the most
elaborate, and the most authentic of all the extant me-
mend entire to the calm consideration of those who would satisfy
themselves as to the point now in hand. Let this piece be in-
cluded among those selected to make up the Library of the Fa-
thers: the Christian community would then fairly know what is
before them.
36
41b
THE PREDICTED ASCETIC APOSTACY.
morials of this order of piety — the piece I have already
referred to — Athanasius's life of St. Antony. In this,
we have a genuine portrait of Nicene monkery in its
very fairest colours; and the features it presents are pre-
cisely those which constitute the prophetic marks of the
predicted apostacy. — That is to say — a sternly enforced
celibacy, as the chief of all virtues, — a rigorous system
of abstinence, entire as to animal food, and extreme in
all kinds,* — an obstinate contrariety to scripture pre-
cepts and principles, even while scripture is on the lip —
an unbounded credulity in regard to invisible agency,
and a general style of pretension, as to miraculous pow-
ers, and superhuman virtues, such as involves more than
a suspicion of deliberate knavery. I must here warmly
recommend the conscientious inquirer, first, to fix in
his mind the several particulars of Paul's characteristics
of the coming apostacy, and then to peruse those memo-
rials of the Nicene asceticism which he will find almost on
every page of the church historians, Socrates, Sozomen,
and Theodoret, and in Athanasius, Chrysostom, Palla-
dius, and Jerome.
But there yet remains a mark to be considered. Those
who should apostatize, were to do so in giving heed to
" seducing spirits." — False teachers, say the commen-
tators, and no doubt truly; but yet too indefinitely. As
any heresy or error may be attributed to the influence of
infernal suggestions, so does every error take its rise
from, and spread by the means of "false teachers;" —
* Jerome, in his Life of Kilarion, describes, very minutely and
solemnly, the saint's diet, in each period of his long ascetic
course, who never broke his fast until sunset. No person of in-
genuous mind can read this life and not acknowledge that the
Nicene asceticism is distinctl}* marked as the apostacy which
Paul predicted.
THE PREDICTED ASCETIC APOSTACY.
4i e
this vague interpretation, therefore, although true generi-
cally, does not aid us in attaching the prediction to its
object: so understood, the terms will apply to whatever
we please. Let it be inquired, then, whether there be
not a meaning more precise, couched in the phraseology.
The " giving heed" seems to indicate a listening to
something from without, as if a doctrine, foreign to the
church, and of extraneous origin, had caught the ear of
the community, and had captivated certain minds. Now,
with the facts before us, that the church borrowed, as
well the principle, as the practices and rules of its asceti-
cism from the oriental contemplatists, the phrase in ques-
tion receives at once a specific meaning. Those who
" turned away from the faith," did so in listening to a
foreign doctrine.
Then, should we err, or assume more than history-
makes good, in understanding these " seducing spirits,"
as the gnostic teachers, arrogating to themselves the title
7rviu/unTiK6it and whose doctrine was not merely seduc-
tive, or erroneous in a general sense, but specifically
characterised by its lawless and interminable roamings,
through the dark and unknown regions of the spiritual
universe? Such, eminently, were those impostors and
dreamers, in giving heed to whom the more ardent and
meditative members of the early church fell into the
snare of the oriental asceticism, and became the authors
of a system of factitious pietism, which quickly dis-
placed apostolic Christianity.
Let it now be imagined that monkery had been con-
fined to the eastern church, and that it had not arisen
until the sixth century, so as that it had stood related in
no way to any system with which our modern opinions
or institutions are implicated. In that case, should we
have felt any difficulty in appropriating to it the apostolic
420 THE PREDICTED ASCETIC APOSTACY.
prediction — an apostacy, arising within the church, and
marked by the prohibition of marriage, and of meats,
by contempt of the divine law, by impudent pretensions,
and hypocrisies, and by a boundless credulity, in regard
to demoniacal agency? — would not these characters have
been enough to convince us that the prediction had re-
ceived its fulfilment? But, in fact, this same asceticism
has, in an equal degree, affected the western church;
nor have protestant commentators hesitated — how should
they hesitate in so plain a case? — to avail themselves of
this prediction, as marking the apostacy of Rome. Un-
fortunately, however, in our eagerness — the eagerness
natural to controvertists — to attach this brand tc the pa-
pacy, we have too much forgotten that Rome only in-
herited and shared the more ancient apostacy. What
justice then, or what historical accuracy, is there in the
customary protestant comment on this passage — " a
clear prediction of the monastic system of the Romish
church?" With quite as much propriety might the be-
lief of the resurrection be called " a dogma of the pa-
pacy."
Nothing so much favours a bad cause as to load it
o
with more disgrace than strictly belongs to it; for, in so
doing, we enlist in its defence the best feelings. Popery
will live and tr'umph so long as those corruptions con-
tinue to be called popish which, in fact, were much more
ancient. In the present instance I appeal to serious and
candid minds, competently informed in church history,
and ask whether the Brand of apostacy be not herein
fixed by the apostolic hand upon — the Nicene Church?
Perhaps no method more conclusive or concise could be
adopted by a conscientious inquirer, in relation to the
present controversy, than that of so making himself ac-
quainted with the Ascetic Institution of the fourth cen-
THE PREDICTED ASCETIC AFOSTACY.
421
tury, as to be able to reply, for himself, to the question,
— Whether that institution meets and satisfies the terms
of the predicted apostacy?
I am inclined to press this definite argument, nor
shall easily consent to its being evaded. What can be
more summary or clear than the process of reasoning we
have to pursue; for a multifarious controversy converges
to a focus at this point. The Christianity of the fourth
century is now proposed to us as our pattern, or as an
imbodied exposition of the apostolic .mind, written and
unwritten. Specifically, this body of principles and
practices is said to be contained in the extant writings of
Athanasius, Basil, and Ambrose. (Let any others be
added; protestants will exeept against none.) Now
these writers, along with their contemporaries, have
handed down to us, with their warmest approval, be-
side the great dogmas of theology, and the general prin-
ciples of Christian morality, and of worship, and of
church government, a certain artificial scheme of life,
not enjoined, indeed, upon all Christians, but recom-
mended as "the more excellent way," and as that
which the most devoted souls would always embrace.
By eminence this scheme is, in their view, the path of
perfection.
Moreover it is a simple historical fact, that this same
scheme of life, unaltered in any of its principles' or re-
quirements, has come down from age to age, and is now
extant, entire, as a main element of Romanism. The
monkery of the papacy, is in form and substance — the
ascetic system of the third and fourth centuries. The
difference between the two does not amount to so much
as the diversities that distinguish one order of regulars
from another. If an exception to the present argument
36*
422 THE PREDICTED ASCETIC APOSTACY.
-can be raised upon the ground of the difference between
papistical monkery and Nicene asceticism, let that dif-
ference be clearly stated, and be shown also to be such
as affects our intended conclusion.
But, in the monkery of Romanism, and not less in
the Nicene ascetic institute, we find, beyond all doubt
or question, Paul's marks of the coming apostacy; nor
is there any other system, or body, or sect, within, or
around the paie of the church, to which these designa-
tions can be made to attach.
It is also to be observed, and the highest importance
belongs to the fact, that, while the reformers, German,
Swiss, and English, paid a modest and religious regard
to antiquity, and have left many proofs of their desire to
adhere to it, as far as they could, they, one and all, ut-
terly rejected the ancient asceticism, and broadly sepa-
rated the churches they founded from the branded apos-
tacy, ancient, and strongly recommended as it was.
Again, it is to be noticed, that those who, at the pre-
sent moment, are explicitly or covertly giving it to be
understood that they have very little sympathy with the
reformers, and that they would gladly put the Nicene
fathers in their room, are also favourably looking toward
the ancient ascetic institute, in its several elements, and
are not hesitating to recommend its characteristic articles.
These momentous considerations, and significant facts,
I recommend to the dispassionate attention of those
whose consciences are not " seared as with a hot iron."
Let it not however be supposed that I would apply this,
or any such phrase, in an opprobrious sense to the pre-
sent promoters of asceticism, or as if it implied, in their
case, a moral turpitude, or a conscious resistance to truth
perceived. What it does imply, in my own use of it,
in this instance, maybe otherwise termed, a being given
EXTENT OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, ETC. 423
up to an infatuation, which, like a thick fog, actually
conceals from the view, objects the nearest at hand.
Our own times have furnished two or three signal in-
stances of this sort of " strong delusion," of which some
have become the victims, whose sincerity ought not to
be questioned, and who have given notoriety to their
pitiable fate by eminent powers of mind, and many
shining accomplishments. In considering cases of this
sort, a grim suspicion as to the real origin, or as one
might say — authorship, of such delusions forces itself
upon the mind, and returns, again and again, after it
may have been dismissed at the remonstrance either of
skepticism, or of charity. The counterfeit piety of the
monastic system, was the fatally successful "tempta-
tion" of the ancient church: — the revival of the very
same principle and system, under the attractive colours
of a high-wrought refinement, to what can we trace it
but to the immortal craft of the same adversary?
THE EXTENT OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE,
AND THE SANCTION IT RECEIVED FROM
THE NICENE CHURCH.
Nothing is more monotonous than the story of the
monkish life, whether pagan, Christian, or Mahometan.
This phantasy, or ignis fatuus of the ecclesiastical levels,
find it in what climate we may, or, whether we look for
it in our own times, or in the middle ages, or in the
Nicene age, or in the remotest periods of history, shows
the same form and the same hue. Like the long trains
424 THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, AND THE SANCTION
of figures that adorn the passages of an Egyptian tem-
ple, there is throughout, one costume, one physiognomy,
one style of attitudes, one dull ground, and one or two
crude colours.
It is really surprising to find in how small a degree the
widest diversities of religious belief, as well as the most
extensive differences of climate, and national character,
have modified this immemorial species of insanity.
During the lapse of at least three thousand years, the
first principles, the aim, the practices, and even the visi-
ble and graphic characteristics of the ascetics, whether
eremite or coenobite, have remained nearly the same, or
have varied only as a flower in the green-house, or the
hot-house, may differ from its variety, afield. It is, in
fact, just thus that the Nicene monkery is to be distin-
guished from that of the Nubian gymnosophists, and
the Indian brahmans, of the remotest antiquity. The
high and close temperature of the church, brought out
richer colours and more leafage, and even, we may al-
low, a better fruit; but the plant has always been the
same.
The chagrin of the Romish missionaries in finding,
wherever Buddhism had prevailed, the very counterpart
of their own hierarchical and monastic system, was oc-
casioned by the near resemblance, or rather identity of
all institutes founded upon the ascetic principle — " The
devil," said they, " has been at work here, spitefully
mimicking the church for our special mortification."
These good and zealous men would have kept nearer,
at once, to historical and to theological truth, in saying
that, what the crafty adversary had really done was to
set the church mimicking the pagan delusion.
Madmen are said to be insensible to changes of tem-
perature; for the mind, having come under the tyranny
IT RECEIVED FROM THE NICENE CHURCH.
425
of some one idea, or single class of impressions, ceases
to be conscious of whatever might divert it. Sultry
heat and extreme frost are the same to the maniac, and
thus, and it is a highly curious fact, the ascetics of the
torrid zone were not surpassed, as to contempt of the
extremes of heat and cold, by the anchorets of the then
frozen forests of Germany and Gaul, who would give
up no point of their discipline — a discipline borrowed
from Syria and Egypt, during the utmost severities of a
northern winter. Should this fortitude be regarded as
the mild constancy of Christian courage, or as the iron
insensibility of lunacy?
The burning solitudes of Upper Egypt,* and the
craggy seclusions of Nubia, had, from time immemorial,
been occupied by a race of troglodyte sages, whose suc-
cessors of the Nicene era adhered to the very same
modes of life, and professed the very same abstract prin-
ciples, differing only in the phrases they made use of,
and in the circumstance of putting themselves in alliance
with the church, The church, on her part, acknow-
ledged them as her most illustrious and devoted sons,
and made them the objects of her unmeasured admira-
tion. India was, however, the cradle of the anchoretic
life, and Buddhu the father of its doctrines; and in like
manner as all Christendom, during many centuries, was
accustomed to look to Egypt and Nubia for its brightest
patterns of holy abstraction and mortification, so did
these refer to the banks of the Indus, and the Ganges,
as the sources of their doctrine and practice.
# The excavated rocks which, in earlier times, had been te-
nanted by robbers, or by outlaws, and afterwards by the coiners
of base money (Jerom. Vita S. Paul,) afforded sepulchral shelter
to the Christian ascetics.
426 THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, AND THE SANCTION
Strabo,* Arrian,f Piodorus Siculus,i Porphyry, § as
well as several of the fathers, especially Clement of
Alexandria, || and Augustine,^ have handed down inci-
dental notices of the philosophy and manners of the In-
dian and Egyptian gymnosophists, such as are amply
sufficient for the purpose of identifying the ancient, and
the more recent — the Buddhist, and the Christian ascetic
institute. These professors of a divine philosophy, like
their Christian imitators, went nearly naked; they occu-
pied caverns or chinks in the rocks; they abstained en-
tirely from animal food; they professed inviolable vir-
ginity;** they practised penance; they passed the greater
part of their time in mute meditation; they imposed si-
lence and absolute submission upon their disciples; they
professed the doctrine, that the perfection of human na-
ture consists in an annihilation of the passions, and of
every affection which nature has implanted, whether in
the animal or the mental constitution: abnegation was,
with them, the one point of wisdom and virtue, and a
reabsorption of the human soul into the abyss of the di-
vine mind, was the happy end of the present system, to
the pure and wise.
Now, one might reasonably have supposed, that a
system of doctrine and practice such as this, if it were
to come at all "under the powerful influence of Christi-
anity, must have admitted some extensive modifications:
but it was not so in fact: — a few phrases and another di-
* Strabo, lib. xv.
t Arrian, Exped. Alex. lib. vii. c. 1; and Hist. Ind. c. 11.
t Diod. lib. ii.
§ Porph. dc Abstinent, lib. iv.
|| Clemens. Strom, lib. i. and iii.
IT August. Civ. Dei, lib. xiv. c. 17; and lib. xv. c. 20.
** Non enim est hoc bonuni, nisi cum fit secundum fidem sum-
mi boni, qui est Deus. Civ. DeL
IT RECEIVED FROM THE NICENE CHURCH. 427
alect, or slang, adopted, make almost all the difference
which serves to distinguish the ancient gymnosophist,
from the Christian anchoret of the Nicene age. If we
are to confide in those highly encomiastic descriptions
of these latter, which adorn the pages of the Christian
writers of that era, the one institute was a close imita-
tion of the other. The extant information bearing on this
subject is not scanty, and it is furnished, explicitly, or is
incidentally confirmed, by Eusebius, Socrates, Sozomen,*
Theodoret, Athanasius, Palladius, Sulpitius Severus,
Cassian, Jerome, Chrysostom, Basil, Augustine, Isidore,
Ephrem, some of whom furnish the minutest details of
the " seraphic life," and all speak of it in terms of won-
der and admiration.
The more rigid and heroic of the Christian anchorets
dispensed with all clothing except a rug, or a few palm-
leaves round the loins. t Most of them abstained from
the use of water for ablution;t nor did they usually
wash or change the garments they had once put on; thus
St. Antony bequeathed to Athanasius a skin in which
his sacred person had been wrapped for half a century.
They also allowed their beards and nails to grow, and
sometimes became so hirsute, as to be actually mis-
taken for hyaenas or bears. § It need not be said that ce-
* Perhaps there is no where to be found a less exceptionable
statement of the nature and purport of the monastic life than
the one given by Sozomen, lib. i. c. 12. He subjoins also a rca-
sonallc history of the origin of the institution; but let the reader
go on to the history of the monk Ammon !
t Jerom. Vita S. Paul.
} " It is idle to think of cleanliness in a hair-cloth!" Jerom.
Vita Hilarion. 'H vi^st/uivc? ku.v Tcy? Trcfas vfwri. Athan. Vita
S. Ant. p. 504.
§ Palladius reports several instances of this kind : it is super-
fluous to cite passages in reference to facts which have been so
423 THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, AND THE SANCTION
libacy was the first law of this institute, and that an
abstinence the most rigid was its second law. Many,
having scooped narrow cells for themselves in the cre-
vices of precipitous rocks, built themselves in, leaving
only a small aperture, and depended entirely upon the
piety of their disciples, or admirers, for supplying their
daily wants. Of many it is affirmed, that they had
passed fifty years without exchanging a word witli a hu-
man creature. Some inflicted upon themselves the tor-
tures of perpetual ulceration.
Egypt seems to have been the centre of asceticism in
its most terrible form; and it was therefore toward
Egypt that the Nicene writers directed the eyes of the
church, as to the high school of sacred wisdom. In Sy-
ria, in Arabia, and in the mountainous regions of Asia
Minor, especially in Pisidia and Cappadocia, a some-
what mitigated rule of the solitary and monastic life ap-
pears to have prevailed; the hermits building huts, com-
paratively commodious, in the middle and higher regions
of the mountains; and often choosing, like Basil, the
most delicious spots for their abode;* and admitting just
so much relaxation of discipline, as might render this
mode of life not altogether uninviting to those who, in
embracing it, left behind them the racking anxieties, the
often stated, and which no one calls in question. The only cir-
cumstance important to our argument is this, that the extrava-
gances often spoken of as attaching to the more recent monkery
took their pattern from the ascetics of the Nicene age; and of
this no one can entertain a douht who reads Jerome, Cassian,
Athanasius, Sulpitius, Palladius. and Socrates.
* Basil, a thorough enthusiast, as to the ascetic life, paints it in
the brightest colours: his epistles to Nazianzen might seduce
any imaginative reader into the wilderness; if indeed he could
find a wilderness such as Basil describes in a letter to his friend.
JSaz. tom.i. p. 835.
IT RECEIVED FROM THE NICENE CHURCH.
429
wrongs, and the privations of common life. To many,
celibacy and fasting were but a moderate price to pay
for tranquillity, and an exemption from laborious courses,
and dangerous services; especially if already the fervour
of life was gone by, and if, as with many, appetite had
been abated by disease, or early luxurious habits.
At what time precisely, the wilderness exchanged its
pagan for a Christian tenantry, it is not easy to ascer-
tain. In some instances, no doubt, the very individuals
who had begun their course as heathen gymnosophists,
ended it as Christian anchorets. But oftener, probably,
the deserted cell or cavern of the savage philosopher
was taken possession of by one who, having, in the
neighbouring cities, received the knowledge of the gos-
pel, betook himself to the angelic life in consequence of
persecutions, or of disappointments in love or in busi-
ness. This is certain, that many of these solitaries
were well acquainted with the scriptures, and must there-
fore have passed some years in Christian society.*
The coenobite institution reached its organized state in
an irregular manner, and continued, to a late period,
open to many anomalies. In frequent instances, those
who professed virginity or continence, continued to re-
side with their friends, and, in fact, lived at large, using
their profession as a general license, or ticket of liberty,
exempting them from the restraints which the manners
of the age, and country, as well as the common senti-
ments of modesty, imposed upon women wishing still
to be regarded by the other sex, as worthy to be chosen
* The writings of Ephrem may be referred to as a sample of the
mode of instruction usual in the monasteries, and which, what-
ever may have been its defects, yet imbodied copious citations
of scripture. Some of this writer's sermons are little more than
strings of texts.
37
430 THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, AND THE SANCTION
as wives. In truth, the reserves to which, in the an-
cient world, all women of the liberal class were sub-
jected, were broken through, as on one hand by courte-
sans, so on the other by the virgins of the church, nor
did the circumstance of enjoying, in common with the
former, a liberty from which others were debarred, fail
to convey an infectious sentiment of shamelessness to
the habits and sentiments of the latter. Who is it that
appears in public places, unattended, unveiled, and dain-
tily attired? Who and what is she? no, you are
wrong in your conjecture; it is " a virgin of the church."*
The contubernium, or -xoivifiiov, offered many advan-
tages to those who had renounced the business and re-
lationships of common life. It excluded some scandals,
or at least hid them. Moreover in these religious lodging
houses, a common fund, derived in part from the church
chest, and in part from the dedicated or sequestered or
bequeathed property of the rich members of the society,
might the most easily be disturbed. The society (bro-
therhood or sisterhood) thus assembled under one roof,
was conveniently subjected to the daily visitations of the
clergy, and so came under the direct authority of the
bishop. Nor should we, in justice, omit to say, with-
in these seclusions, the routine of religious services
would, with the most effect, be carried on, and the rules
of the monastic life be the best enforced. At the same
time, those manual labours which were an important in-
gredient of the system, could, in such houses, be ren-
dered the most serviceable, and be made to press even-
ly upon all, and to contribute to the support of all.
* Farther on I have made a reference to Chrysostom. in rela-
tion to the manners of the nuns, which those will turn to who
are incredulous on the subject; and which those will gladly
avoid, who would not infect their own minds.
IT RECEIVED FROM THE NICENE CHURCH.
431
Monasteries and convents, in the modern sense of the
terms, do not belong to the Nicene age; and it was the
praise of the Romish church, and especially of certain
reformers, celebrated as the founders of orders, to have
gradually brought the irregular and scandalous practices
of an earlier time under some wholesome restraints.
Unquestionably the monkery of the middle ages was
belter ordered than that of the Nicene.*
The loose, and often exaggerated style of the church
writers, when speaking of the extent of the system
which they so much admired, discourages the endea-
vour to ascertain, even in a general way, the actual
numbers of the anchorets and monks in different coun-
tries. This number no doubt varied, from year to year,
with the changing fortunes of the Christian body; times
of persecution, as well as of public calamity, driving
multitudes into the wilderness who, during seasons of
peace, would not have abandoned their places in socie-
ty. Then again the extraordinary reputation of certain
heroes of asceticism, or an unusual flush of the fanati-
cal impulse, affecting the church, locally or generally,
for awhile, would operate to swell these bands, which
might afterwards see themselves reduced (if we may
borrow a military term) to a skeleton.
* The reader may perhaps here recollect the comparison so
indignantly drawn by Erasmus (Vita Hieron.) between the
monkery of his own times, and that of the times of Jerome; and
it may appear as if this high authority contradicted what is af-
firmed above. But in fact what Erasmus insists upon is the in-
carceration and consequent inanity and misery and frivolity of
the monks, his contemporaries, as compared with the license en-
joined by those of Jerome's times. He does not say that this li-
berty did not give room for much licentiousness. Nor, in truth,
are his statements, in the passage referred to, borne out by the
actual evidence. Basil and Cassian contradict him in each point
of his encomium of the ancient monastic system.
432 THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, AND THE SANCTION
Some of the Egyptian abbots are spoken of as having
had five, seven, or even ten thousand monks under their
personal direction; and the Thebaic, as well as certain
spots in Arabia, are reported to have been literally
crowded with solitaries. Nearly a hundred thousand of
all classes, it is said, were at one time to be found in
Egypt. The western church probably could boast of no
such swarms. This however is certain, that, although
the enthusiasm might be at a lower ebb in one country
than in another, it actually affected the church universal,
so far as the extant materials of ecclesiastical history
enable us to trace its rise and progress. These mate-
rials, that is to say, the writings of the fathers, and the
church historians, leave no doubt as to the prevalence of
the ascetic system throughout the countries to which
they themselves belonged, namely — Syria, Egypt, Ara-
bia, Asia Minor, Thrace, Italy, Gaul, Spain, and North
Africa. Moreover the narratives which they have fur-
nished of the propagation of the gospel in countries re-
mote from the shores of the Mediterranean, and beyond
the limits of the Roman empire, make it evident that,
in most instances, the individuals who carried the know-
ledge of Christianity into those countries carried it un-
der its ascetic guise.*
* The reader may find a pertinent instance, related by Socra-
tes, lib. i. c. 20, concerning the conversion of the Hiberians (be-
tween the Euxine and the Caspian) who were brought over to the
faith by the means of a Christian slave, who " led the philoso-
phic life," practising the ascetic discipline with the extremest
severity. See also Sozomen, lib. ii. c. 7. Another instance of the
same sort this writer reports, lib. iv. c. 36, concerning the con-
version of the Saracens. The conversion of India, under the
direction of Atbanasius, Soz. lib. ii. c. 24, we cannot doubt to
have been effected, in the ascetic spirit. The reconversion of
Britain, under the auspices of Gregory I. has the same charac-
teristics
IT RECEIVED FROM THE NICENE CHURCH.
433
An absolute universality of assent can scarcely be
pretended in support of any one article of the Christian
faith: — there have been some to oppose, or to deny al-
most every doctrine, in its turn. What is practically
meant by the ab omnibus is — the greater number. Or-
thodoxy, during some eras, could by no means claim
the majority as its adherents. As to the ascetic princi-
ple, the assent of the church is more nearly complete
than in most cases, and the dissidents (hereafter to be
spoken of) were very few. It may however be well,
and in order to exclude exceptions, or doubts, on the
part of those who are not conversant with church litera-
ture, to run over the list, and summarily to report the
suffrages of all whose testimony can be of any impor-
tance. But in doing so, as I have had, and shall yet
have, to cite, or to refer to particular passages in these
same authors, all bearing on the subject of the ascetic
institute, a general statement, such as I am sure will not
be contradicted by any who are themselves familiar with
the patristic volumes, is all that can be needed.
What we have now in view is not the earlier history
of the ascetic practice, but the credit it enjoyed, and
its universality in the Nicene age; — or, more definitely,
during the fourth century. We need not therefore here
go back to Tertullian, Cyprian, Origen, Dionysius, con-
cerning whose opinions, however, there can be no ques-
tion.
The extant writers of this period (those not included
of whom some fragments only remain) are not more in
number than about twenty. We shall glance at them in
their order.
The first to be named, and who finished his course in
the last years of the third century, is Methodius, bishop
37*
434 THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, AND THE SANCTION
of Olympus in Lycia, and afterwards of Tyre, and a
martyr. This writer (commended by Jerome*) speaks
the sentiments of the church in the time of Cyprian. A
tone of moderation distinguishes this writer; and amid
the vagaries of an uncurbed fancy, he pays more regard
to good sense and great principles than do many of
higher repute. The Banquet (Symposium) of the Ten
Virgins, assumes as true the universal opinion, that
virginity is the highest of all excellences, and that it is
the only way of near approach to God, which is possi-
ble on earth.t In this writer then we find, and apart
from thp fanaticism and extravagance of the Nicene di-
vines, that settled opinion of the ancient church from
which sprung, inevitably and naturally, the ripe monk-
ish system, and at length, the enforced celibacy of the
clergy. Men of mild disposition, like Methodius, if
they did not "forbid to marry," effectively restrained
from marrying; and in fact, writings such as his were
likely to have more influence in spreading the error, than
those of a sterner character. It may be noticed that
Methodius (as quoted by Theouoret) holds that lofty
style concerning martyrdom, which we have mentioned
as running parallel with the ascetic enthusiasm.
Lactantius, the Christian Cicero, and who is better
worth the reading than most of his contemporaries, had
far too much vigour of mind to give himself blindly to
the extravagances common in his times; nevertheless he
too accepts, as unquestionable, the opinion concerning
the transcendental excellence of absolute continence; and
he says of one who adheres to it, adopting the universal
style, hie erit consimilis Deo, qui virlutem Dei cepit:i
* Catalogue Script. Eccles.
\ As quoted by Photius, Myriob. art. 237.
% Lactant de Vero Ciiltu, lib. vi. c. 2*3.
IT RE' HIVED FROM THE NICENE CHURCH. 435
and he affirms that continence is the height and consum-
mation of all the virtues: he alludes also to the " plu-
rimi," and the 44 multi," who, in his times, preserved
the 44 blessed and incorrupt integrity of the body," and
who made proof of this 44 celestial mode of life." At
the same time this writer's very slender or ambiguous re-
ference to any doctrine properly evangelic, ought to be
noticed. Christ, in his view, lived and died as a pattern
of all virtue, and that he might relieve men from an ex-
cessive fear of death, and show them how to subdue the
passions. Such, at this early time, was the cold Soci-
nianism of too many, calling themselves Christians!
A place among the authorities of the Nicene age ought
certainly to be allowed to the council of Nice itself, and
in connexion with our present subject, a part of its pro-
ceedings, if we are to give credit to Socrates and Sozomen,
demands to be noticed ; premising only an explanatory
statement concerning the opinion of the church, as
indicated by the decrees of preceding councils. The
council of Ancyra, held at the commencement of the
fourth century, had decreed,* and its decision ex-
presses the feeling, as well as defines the practice of
the church at the time, that, if a deacon, when he re-
ceived ordination, made an explicit profession of his in-
tention to marry, as being in his own case unavoidable,
he should be permitted to do so, the bishop's license to
that effect screening him from future censures. But that
if, at the time, he made no such protestation, and on the
contrary allowed it to be supposed that he professed con-
tinence, and yet afterwards married, he should be re-
moved from his ministry. What was this restricted
permission to marry, but a virtual 44 forbidding to marry?"
> Canon 9. Routh, vol. iii. p. 410.
436 THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, AND THE SANCTION
It was clearly an expression of the unfitness of the mar-
ried for the sacred office, and thus an infatuated contra-
vention of the apostolic law on this very point. I can-
not but notice, in passing, the curious coincidence that,
as appears from the 14th canon of this council, there were,
at this time, some of the clergy, "priests and deacons,
who not merely abstained from animal food, but who held
it in such abhorrence that they would not even touch any
vegetables that had been cooked with it. The simple
abstinence the council allows; but condemns this ex-
treme scrupulosity. Did not the prophetic marks at-
tach to the ante-Nicene church?*
The same council (canon 19) decreed that those who
falsified their profession of virginity, should be numbered
among such as had contracted a second marriage! The
same canon prohibits the cohabiting of virgins with
men — a custom of which we find the traces in all direc-
tions. The nuns, thus living under the protection of
their spiritual guardians, were denominated their " sis-
ters," or M darlings," ttycmnv**!.
The synod of Neocsesarea, held about the same time,t
or a little later, but before the council of Nice, decreed
that a priest marrying, should be deposed. If this be
not a " forbidding to marry," what are the enactments
of Hildebrand? It is true that, at this time, and long
afterwards, many priests, and even bishops, continued
to live with their wives, and had children born to them,
* There was a well understood physical connexion between the
two main articles of the ascetic life. Rigorous fasting, says
Jerome, and none knew better than he how necessary it was in
this respect, is indispensable to those who would be perfect, quod
aliter pudicitia tuta esse non possit. Ad Eustoch.
t Ilouth, vol. iii. p. 457. A various reading in this canon
doe3 not affect its meaning in relation to our immediate object.
IT RECEIVED FROM THE NICEXE CHURCH. 437
although still approaching the altar; but none (except the
deacons who had made this express stipulation,) were
allowed to marry after ordination.* For a second mar-
riage, the church imposed a course of penance, more or
less severe.
At the council of Nice, according to the accounts of
Socrates,t and Sozomen,i who tell the same story, it
was proposed, with a view, as it is said, to the reforma-
tion of manners, that a rule should be established, re-
quiring all bisiiops, priests, deacons, and, says the latter
historian, subdeacons, who had married before their or-
dination, to withdraw from their wives, or cease to
cohabit with them; and the colour of the account leads
us to suppose that this regulation, which, in respect to
the church universal, was called " a new law," although
not new to several of the churches, was near to have
been carried, and probably would have been, had not the
good sense and right feeling of one of the bishops pre-
sent defeated the fanaticism of the others. Paphnutius,
a bishop of the Thebais, a confessor, having lost an eye
in the late persecution, and himself an ascetic, rose, and
with spirit asserted the honour and purity of matrimony,
and insisted upon the inexpediency of any such law,
likely as it was to bring many into a snare. For a mo-
ment reason triumphed; the proposal was dropped, nor
any thing farther attempted by the insane party, beyond
the giving a fresh sanction to the established rule or tra-
dition, ap^cLtxv TrxpaS'oo-iv, that none should marry after or-
dination.
In these facts, then, we have the evidence of a preva-
lent, if not a universal feeling, against matrimony, as a
pollution, and therefore, a disqualification in those who
* Routh, p. 464. t Socr. lib. i. c. 11.
f Socr. lib. i. c. 23.
438 THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, AND THE SANCTION
sustained office in the church. And so strong was this
feeling with some, that it impelled them toward the
monstrous impiety of enjoining the actual separation of
man and wife, in direct contravention of the divine law.
Moreover the fact (in other ways abundantly established)
is here attested, that marriage after ordination was then,
and had long been considered, as disgraceful and unlaw-
ful: in other words, the ancient church had deliberately
taken to itself the predicted mark of apostacy, by op-
posing itself to marriage, and by actually forbidding it to
all who desired to make proficiency in piety; and to its
clergy — as such: — a married man might be ordained;
but no ordained person might marry! Common sense
resents the futility of the endeavour to draw an impor-
tant distinction between the papacy, and the Nicene
church, on this ground.
It is of no importance to our present argument to fix
the precise date of the Apostolic Constitutions. This
spurious compilation may at least be taken as good evi-
dence in relation to the notions and usages of the Nicene
age, and it is manifestly intended to represent those of
a much earlier period. This appears among many other
instances from the description given (lib. ii. c. 2,) of the
bishop's qualifications, who " should have, or should
have had," a wife. The class of virgins is however
recognised, once and again,* as a constituted order, in
the church. The main intention of the authors or com-
pilers of this collection being to hitch the Christian hie-
rarchy upon the foundation of the Aaronic priesthood,
and in fact to claim for the bishop, as Pontifex, the ut-
most stretch of honour and of power, according to the
* Lib. ii. cap. 25, 2G, 57; lib. iii. c. 15; lib. iv. c. 14; and lib. viii.
c. 24.
IT RECEIVED FROM THE NICEXE CHURCH.
439
theory which Hildebrand laboured to realize, whatever
does not directly subserve this purpose is very lightly
touched. That the lofty rank, and irresponsible power
assumed for the bishop, was in fact the creation of a
later age than the apostolic, we need no other proof than
the incidental one, afforded by the oversight or blunder
of the forger of these Constitutions, who, in describing
the church (the structure) and the mode of worship,*
betrays, little aware of what he is doing, the costume,
so to speak, of the fourth century. Of the ill opinion
entertained of second marriages, and of the infamy at-
tached to a third, we find the indications.! Neverthe-
less, and it should be remarked, the fanatical extravagance
which attaches to the language of the great Nicene wri-
ters, when they enter upon subjects of this class, is
entirely avoided in the Apostolical Constitutions. In
fact, there is far less of gnosticism, and of the ascetic
mania, in this spurious work, than presents itself, every
where, on the pages of Ambrose, Basil, Chrysostom,
and their contemporaries. It might indeed pretty fairly
be appealed to as exhibiting the difference between the
ancient, and the Nicene church; the latter, rather than
the former, being the model to which we are referred by
the Oxford divines.
The tenth chapter of the sixth book, enumerates, and
condemns, the wild notions of the times, including the
prohibition of marriage, and of animal food, which was
then actually insisted upon by the ascetic party in the
church. Well had it been if the ambitious divines who
are now commended to us as our masters* had known
how to confine themselves to the profession of faith con-
* Lib. ii. c. 57, and lib. viii.c. 12.
t Lib. iii. c. 2; and especially lib. vi. c. 17, where a second mar-
riage is forbidden to the clergy.
440 THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, AND THE SANCTION
tained in the eleventh chapter of this book; well, if even
they could have respected common sense, in relation to
subjects which they were not compelled to make matter
of piety. Let the reader compare certain passages of
Athanasius, and Basil, cited, or referred to, above, with
the sober propriety of the twenty-ninth chapter. But
inasmuch as " church principles " are not to be supported
without the aid of the divines of the fourth century, those
who, by the necessity of the case, are making their ap-
peal to them, involve themselves in a farther necessity
of either disguising, or of professing, every superstition
of the papacy — and among these errors, all the inherent
extravagances of the ascetic institute.
The accomplished Eusebius of Caasarea, took up
Christianity as he found it, and his evidence, in the pre-
sent instance, merely amounts to that of a witness to the
actual state of the church, in his times. The customary
language of admiration in regard to religious celibacy he
employs, without scruple;* speaking of the choir of
nuns, as his contemporaries were wont to do.
There can be no need to make new citations from
Athanasius: I will do no more than request the reader,
after referring to what this great and holy man has writ-
ten on the two allied subjects of virginity and fasting,
and after listening to his credulity concerning demoniacal
agency, to consider, with all seriousness, whether the
scheme of piety which he so devoutly recommends, is
not most distinctly marked with the characteristics of
the predicted apostacy. The admission that it is so
marked, may startle and distress some religious minds;
for long cherished illusions are never dispelled without
* As for instance: — Vita Constant, lib. iv. c. 2G, and 28. Hist,
Eccles. lib. ii. c. 17.
IT RECEIVED FROM THE NICENE CHURCH.
441
pain, amazement, and peril. Yet what can be done, on
the present urgent occasion, but resolutely to follow
truth? I can imagine no plea by aid of which Paul's
prophecy can be warded off from its manifest applica-
tion to that ascetic institute, of which Athanasius was
the principal patron.
The good and superstitious Cyril of Jerusalem we
have already referred to, as more moderate than many
of his contemporaries: he does not, however, scruple to
take up the usual phrases," in connexion with this
subject.
Adhering to the order of time, we pass from Palestine
to the extreme west, and find still the same elements of
the religious system. Hilary of Poitiers, in the places
already referred to,t speaks the language of the times.
He contends for that great dogma of the ascetic system,
the perpetual virginity,! ita venerabilis ejus ostenderetur
in Jesu matre, virginitas: and perplexes himself with an
allegorical exposition of Psalm cxxvii. in order to re-
serve or assert the superior honours and blessedness of
celibacy.
We return from the West to the East, and mention
next, Epiphanius, bishop of Salamis in Cyprus, of
whom, in connexion with our present subject, it is enough
to say that he was himself a severe ascetic, and the foun-
der and abbot of a monastery: — no dissident, therefore,
from the doctrine and practices of the Nicene church.
Basil of Cresarea, who may be taken as a fair speci-
men of the religious system which the fourth century
bequeathed to the eighth and ninth, and which system
we are told to accept as " ripe Christianity," was, as
* Catech. vi. toward the end, and xii. xvi. t P. 308.
+ In Matth. corn, canon i.
38
442 THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, AND THE SANCTION
every one knows, the great promoter of monkery in his
times; and in fact his influence upon after ages has been
deep and extensive. Basil " revised," would, perhaps,
differ very little from the scheme of doctrine, worship,
and discipline, which the Oxford divines, were they once
set quite clear of the untoward labours of the reformers,
would re-establish in England.* In this enumeration of
witnesses it would be altogether superfluous to make ci-
tations from the writings of those who are well known
to have been the most ardent promoters of the ascetic
practices. I therefore merely name, as coming next in
order of time, Gregory Nazianzen, the intimate friend
of Basil — a main pillar of that vast structure of super-
stition and idolatry which we have been used to brand
as popery.
Ephrem the Syrian, who may be read with comfort
and substantial profit, by any, bringing apostolical Chris-
tianity with them, as an antidote, exhibits, perhaps, as
well as any writer of the class he belongs to, the utmost
extent to which the blind gospel of the Nicene church
may be carried, in producing the passive virtues — pa-
tience, self-denial, mortification of the appetites, humi-
lity, or rather submissiveness, obedience, and charity, (in
the sense of almsgiving.) To this list may also be add-
ed a grace for which we have no exact modern designa-
tion— alas the poverty of a protestant church nomen-
clature! What I mean ought not to be called heavenly-
mindedness, for it is the condition of a soul, destitute of
light, and warmth, and hope, and faith; but, if a term
must be coined, we must name it — unearthly -minded-
* Those who will soon be reading the " select, " treatises of this
father, will be virtually misled and imposed upon, unless they
look into his entire works.
IT RECEIVED FROM THE NICENE CHURCH.
443
ness: for it was the contrary of sensuality, covetous-
ness, and turbulent passion; and yet not the genuine and
efficacious opponent of the sordid principles of our na-
ture. In naming Ephrem, I cannot but caution the read-
er against the delusion which may be practised upon him
by " selections." At this urgent moment, when the
church is fearfully vibrating between apostolic Christia-
nity and the Nicene superstitions, nothing can be of any
avail but an appeal to the historical apparatus entire,
whence alone true notions of things may be derived.
Selections are schooled witnesses, and therefore worse
than none.
Gregory of Nyssa, the brother of Basil, and, although
a married bishop, yet so ardent an admirer of celibacy,
that one is apt to think his wife must have been a very
Xantippe. In this writer may be found more than the
germs of every abomination of the papacy. Let it be
granted that, in extravagance of expression, he goes a
little beyond some of his contemporaries; but yet is he,
in no point of superstition or fanaticism, at variance with
them. His scheme of doctrine and discipline is only
Nicene Christianity, vividly expressed; or, as one might
say, the same outline of things in bas-relief. Now I
would gladly receive an ingenuous reply to these follow-
ing plain questions:—
1st. Putting aside the mere ecclesiastical question of
the pretensions of th*e bishop of Rome, can any broad
and intelligible distinction be established between Gre-
gory Nyssen and the Romanism or popery of the tenth
century?
2d. Can any important distinction be made good be-
tween this father and his contemporaries, particularly
Basil, Athanasius, and Ambrose?
3d. And this question I would humbly and seriously
444 THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, AND THE SANCTION
address to men fearing God, (and competently informed,)
Whether each article of Paul's explicit prediction of the
coming apostacy does not find its pointed and complete
fulfilment in the system which this writer's works im-
body?
I can imagine several modes in which these questions
might be evaded, or, " a case made out," very learnedly
and ingeniously, and much to the satisfaction of all who
love to be excused the toils of investigation, and which
should appear to dispose of the difficulty, and of him
who starts it; but I am thoroughly persuaded that, dealt
with apart from prejudice and controversial influences,
they can be replied to only in one manner, and in a
way fatal to the illusion which is now spreading within
the protestant church. I abstain from advancing any
challenge in this instance; but will merely recommend
the conscientious student to read and ponder — Gregory
Nyssen, and then to ask himself, whither he will be
tending in surrendering himself to the Nicene divines
or — to those who have made the Nicene divines their
masters.
Ambrose of Milan, the best authority in support of
" church principles," and in recommendation of — the
virtues of relics — the advocacy of the saints — the celes-
tial excellence of virginity — the efficacy of fasting, and
other works of penance, and of what you please of the
trumpery of the Nicene and popish superstition. In
writing to Pope Syricius, Ambrose submissively says —
quos sanctitas tua damnavit, scias apud nos secundum
judicium tuum esse damnatos.* Well is it for the Lord's
people that they are to receive their award from other
lips; but Ambrose might have added, ** and whatever
your holiness approves at Rome, we approve also at
* Epist. 42. class i.
IT RECEIVED FROM THE NICENE CHURCH.
445
Milan." In fact, he gave all his soul, and devoted his
eminent talents to the work of upholding the church sys-
tem of his times — most zealous, when most in the wrong.
I have already, and must again cite him in the course of
this argument.
The erudite Jerome stands next on our list of witnesses.
It may be permitted to Erasmus,* while indignantly com-
paring the sottish and vapid monkery of his own times,
with the ascetic system of the Nicene age, to say, mo-
nachi institutum, quod ne quis in hoc erret, id temporis
longe diversum erat ab hoc quod hodie videmus. Let it
be that there was a difference in circumstance, between
the two systems; but assuredly not in substance; and
whoever looks into this great writer's ascetic treatises
and epistles, will grant, that on all points of the predicted
apostacy, Jerome carried his notions to the highest pitch
of extravagance: but of This more presently. Yet let us
notice, in passing, a signal instance of that perversion of
all genuine moral sentiments — a perversion fatal to the
virtue of youth, which attended the universal notion of
the celestial merit of virginity. A youth, religiously-
educated, and religiously disposed, overcome by tempta-
tion, falls into some licentiousness of conduct: what then
are the feelings which should attend his recovery to vir-
tue?— sorrow surely, and shame, in recollection of his
tin. It was altogether another thing with the ascetic
Jerome, who, in his own case, deplores, not the sin of
his early fall, but his loss of caste among the terrestrial
seraphs, and his having forfeited those ineffable honours
of which others might make their boast! Jerome's lan-
guage, in this instance, carries with it a volume of mean-
ing in relation to the real quality of Nicene Christianity.
I commend the passage to the reader's particular atten-
* In the life of Jerome above referred to.
38*
446 THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, AND THE SANCTION
tion, and shall cite his own words.* After protesting
that he does not condemn matrimony, he says— Virgi-
nitatem autem in ccelum fero, non quia habeam, sed
quod magis mirer quod non habeo. Ingenua et vere-
cunda confessio est; quo ipse careas, id in aliis praedi-
care. Nunquid, quia gravi corpore terrae haereo, avium
non miror volatus, nec columbam praedico, quod radit
iter liquidum, celeres neque commovet alas? Notions of
this sophisticated sort, are of similar tendency to those
substitutions of the law of honour, for the rules of vir-
tue, which in fact give a license to every immorality that
does not happen to be touched by the penalties of this
arbitrary code. Jerome must take his place among the
foremost promoters of the false principles of the Nicene
church system.
Mark, the hermit, might be cited along with Macarius
the Egyptian, as affording evidence of the consolatory
fact that good sense and spirituality still held a place,
even among the ascetics: an ascetic, however, he is, and
moreover a mystic, going far toward the oriental illusion
and its pantheism.
Differ as much as they might on other points, these
great writers are unanimous on the subject of the ascetic
doctrine: thus Runnus, while rending his friend Jerome's
reputation, with merciless asperity, is as stanch a monk
as he, or as any of his contemporaries.
And so again Augustine, although he claims to be set
off from his contemporaries, on various accounts, never-
theless holds firmly to the catholic doctrine, on this
ground; nor can a more striking, or a more edifying in-
stance be adduced, of the sovereign influence of religious
illusions, in perverting the strongest and the soundest
* Apologia ad Pammach. toward the end.
IT RECEIVED FROM THE NICENE CHURCH.
447
minds. If any are staggered by Augustine's authority in
this instance, and are inclined by it to think well of what
otherwise they would not hesitate to condemn, let them
remember that this same eminent father favours, and
warmly defends, each principal article of the supersti-
tion of his times, and has been, and may fairly be cited,
by Romanists, in support of almost every element of the
papal system.
I will not, however, dismiss Augustine without refer-
ring the reader to a passage in which, by nice distinc-
tions, he labours to set the church clear from the marks
of the predicted apostacy.* Ille enim prohibet, qui
hoc malum esse dicit, non qui huic bono aliud melius
anteponit. True, the church catholic did not forbid
marriage, like certain heretics, universally, or as in it-
self abominable; but it did absolutely forbid it to all
who aspired to walk on the path of what it repre-
sented as the only Christian perfection: it did abso-
lutely (or so far as it could) forbid marriage to all men
in orders: it discouraged the ordination of the mar-
ried: it spoke of a second marriage as adultery; and, in a
word, it universally and uniformly taught a doctrine, and
sanctioned a practice, from which nothing else could re-
sult but that horrible prohibition of marriage, by the
Romish church, which, during a long course of ages, has
deluged Europe with licentiousness and misery. Let
it be temperately asked whether the Romish church has
assumed any general principle, in relation to the celibacv
of the monastic orders, or of the clergy, which is not to
be found distinctly advanced, and warmly defended, by
Augustine himself. If not (and no one will affirm that
it did) then it is equally unjust and frivolous to make a
* Contra Faust, lib. xxx. c. 6.
448 THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, AND THE SANCTION
distinction between the papacy and the Nicene church,
in respect to this mark of apostacy.
All that has been said of Augustine, is true of his il-
lustrious contemporary Chrysostom. We have heard
him using language, in regard both to virginity and fast-
ing, such as is not surpassed in extravagance, or in per-
nicious tendency, by any popish writer.
No important accession to our present argument would
be secured by passing forward into the fifth century, or
by adducing the train of secondary writers who mark
the course of it. Every one knows what their tendency
is, as to the points in question. But, if the reader
pleases, let him look into Sulpitius Severus, (the bio-
grapher of St. Martin,) or into the church historians,
Socrates, Sozomen, Theodoret; or into Palladius, Isi-
dore, Cassian, or Cyril of Alexandria.
Whether the writers above enumerated belong to the
eastern or to the western, to the north African, or to
the Alexandrian churches, they hold the same language,
and seem to emulate each other in their zeal to promote
every one of those notions and practices which, when
digested into canons, decrees, or ecclesiastical usages,
make up what we mean by popery, or Romanism, as
the system adopted and enforced by the papacy.
By protectants it has always been admitted, as it has
always been felt by the Romish church herself, that the
monastic orders are the strength of the system; and it
was the monks who were the most determined oppo-
nents of the reformation. If, then, protestants still think
as the reformers did, and as they themselves have been
used to do, of the papacy, as an ** apostacy," and as a
system of cruelty, corruption, and illusion, the monkery
which has always been the darling of this church, and
its main support, must take an ample share of the repro-
IT RECEIVED FROM THE NICEXE CHURCH.
449
bation with which we regard the papal system. What
then is our dilemma? This same monkery, reprobated
as a principal element of popery, traces itself up to the
Nicene church, and glows in a false splendour upon the
pages of every one of the great writers of the Nicene
nee. -We ought, then, either to embrace asceticism, on
, JO o * , ■
the ground of this " catholic consent," and so to re-
nounce the reformation; or, adhering to the reformation,
to disown the Nicene fathers. There is no consistency
in a middle course; nor can there be coherence in a sys-
tem which would bind in the same bundle the two op-
posed authorities.
THE OPPOSITION MADE TO THE ANCIENT
ASCETICISM.
Whether at all, or, to what extent, if at all, the pre-
valent ascetic doctrine and practice were opposed by any
individuals, or parties, within the pale of the church, al-
though a point of some importance in itself, is not es-
sential to our present argument; I shall, however, devote
a page or two to the subject, for the purpose of excluding
any probable exceptions; but must request that the bear-
ing of it upon our inquiry concerning the deference that
is due to Christian antiquity, may not be lost sight of.
The case then stands thus. —
It has been frankly acknowledged by the advocates of
"church principles," that they are barely indicated, if so
much, in the canonical scriptures: and that they can
never be satisfactorily sustained without the aid of the
Nicene writers. This being admitted, we may suppose
450
THE OPPOSITION MADE
an opponent to say, as a demur to the conclusion toward
which I am tending, " It may be true that the writers
who have been cited did express themselves too warmly,
and with too little caution, on the subject of celibacy,
and the excellence of the ascetic life; but there is good
reason to think that, in doing so, they outran the ge-
neral feeling of the church: in fact, indications may be
gathered of the existence of a contrary opinion and feel-
ing."
Be it so; and would that it had been so to a far greater
extent than we are at liberty to assume. But then, in
what position do we place the extant church writers,
one and all; and what will be the value of their evidence
in establishing church principles? If indeed these wri-
ters— that is to say, all who have come down to modern
times, or all who are usually appealed to as authorities,
in support of these principles, were in fact maddened
by the ascetic phrensy, and if, under its influence, they
forgot moderation, and virtually belied, or greatly over-
stated the general sentiment of the church, in their
times; then, how can we venture to rely upon them, as
our guides, in relation to those other church doctrines,
such as the intrinsic efficacy of the sacraments, and the
high bearing of the sacerdotal office, in relation to which
the inducements were manifest and strong to overstep
the limits of sobriety?
If, after all, the holy catholic church of the Nicene age,
that is to say, the mass of Christians, was much more
moderate and sound than we should suppose, in looking
into the fathers (a most comfortable supposition, truly!)
then it follows, that, in yielding ourselves to the gui-
dance of these writers, we make ourselves the dupes of
their personal enthusiasm and folly; and are just so far,
and to that extent, led astray from what we are profess-
ing to admire, namely, " catholic purity." Most clearly,
TO THE ANCIENT ASCETICISM.
451
the fathers, without whose aid, as it is confessed, church
principles are not to be established, can be safely re-
sorted to only on the strength of the contrary supposi-
tion, that they themselves were in harmony with the
church of their times, and did truly represent its opi-
nions,, feelings, and practices.
But on the other hand, if (and as in fact is evident)
the extant church writers did speak the mind of the great
mass of Christians in their times, though not absolutely
of all, and if, in the main, a true notion of the feelings
and usages of the church catholic, be gathered from
these remains, and if genuine church principles are im-
bodied in the writings of Ambrose, Athanasius, Basil,
and their contemporaries, then, without a question, the
ascetic doctrine and practice — lhat is to say Monkery,
with its illusions, its frivolity, its pretensions, and its
corruptions, was a principal and a darling element of this
catholic system; and then moreover, if, on the authority
of the Nicene fathers, the modern church is to adopt
principles and practices which can in no other manner
be sustained, there can be no consistency in rejecting
(merely because we may not happen to like it) its fully-
sanctioned ascetic system. Let us repress, if we can,
the abuses to which that system has always been open;
but the institute itself, with the doctrines on which it
rests, wants no sanction on the part of the authority to
which, in other matters, we are religiously bowing.
Take it then either way, our inference is saved. — If
the ascetic mania -was in fact more generally opposed
than we have imagined it to have been, then the fathers
are delusive guides, in regard to church principles; and
they are especially to be suspected when they are known
to have been exposed to the influence of powerful motives
for running into extravagance. But if such opposition wa3
452
THE OPPOSITION 3IADE
in facl of small amount, and if the church catholic wen'
all the length of its teachers, then this church catholic —
people and leaders, together, — was the victim of a sys-
tem, which we must think false in principle, and fatal in
its operation, and such as vitiates whatever it is min-
gled with. An opponent may take which alternative he
pleases.
It may be gathered from the language of Chrysostom,
on several occasions,* that objections were raised against
the prevailing practices by, probably, the laxer sort of
professed Christians; and, also, that more than a few,
in and out of the church, were accustomed to make a
jest of the enormous follies, and the hypocrisy, and the
shameless abuses, which disgraced the monkish system. t
It cannot be imagined that in any age, or whatever may
be the influence of the promoters of fanaticism, the com-
mon sense of mankind should be entirely overpowered,
or that absolute silence should be imposed upon either
the remonstrance of the wise, or the ribaldry of the pro-
fane. All the terrors of Rome, in the height of her
pride, did not avail to protect the monks and the monas-
teries from the rebuke and contempt which they de-
served.
In fact, the existence of a somewhat formidable op-
position, and the prevalence of a whispered contempt,
might be inferred from that very style of extravagance
* Tom. i. p. 323, and the Treatise against the Impugners of
the Monastic Life, passim.
t We may easily imagine what would be said and thought by
the people at large, when the monks were seen, in open church,
and during the celebration of the " terrible mysteries," to be
proffering all sorts of gallant attentions to the ladies, their com-
panions. Sec the passage from which I have already cited some
sentences, torn. i. p. 2'.)7.
TO THE ANCIENT ASCETICISM.
453
in which the church writers indulge. Men of sense,
unless provoked, and alarmed, do not often run so far
upon a road where they are sure to be outdone by fools.
There were, in fact, some serious protests made, from
time to time, against the wide-spread infatuation of the
general church; and we find each of its culpable super-
stitions on the one side, branded with merited reproba-
tion, and, on the other, passionately defended by per-
verse ingenuity. But in each case the church catholic
proved itself too strong for the dissidents, who were
cursed, borne down, banished, crushed; and so the goodly
structure of arliiicial piety was preserved from injury,
and safely handed down to succeeding ages. Unhappily
the protesting party, in these several instances, and the
same is true, more or less, of every protest against pope-
ry, down to the time of Luther, took the obvious, but the
ineffective course, of inveighing against the particular
superstitions of the church; the objectors themselves,
probably, not being conscious of that fatal departure
from the first principles of Christianity whence all these
errors had resulted. Luther, on the contrary, steadily
held on his way, and actually brought about a reforma-
tion, because (divinely taught) he felt the apostacy of
the church from the gospel, long before he had learned
to disapprove of the prevalent superstitions; and he an-
nounced to the world the life-giving truth which the
church had long lost sight of, while yet he himself sub-
missively bowed before the papal chair.
Jovinian, Vigilantius, and others, upon whom Jerome,
Ambrose, and Augustine trampled, do not appear to have
understood the secret reason of the errors they de-
nounced. We should think so, judging merely from the
failure of their endeavours to promote reform. What
39
454
THE OPPOSITION MADE
their actual opinions were, is not to be ascertained; for
we possess no evidence better than the reports of their
malignant and triumphant antagonists, to confide in
whom, in such a case, would be something worse than
credulity; for it would involve a cruel injustice toward
men who, by their very persecutors, have been denied
the opportunity of appealing to the candour of posterity.
The personal character of Jovinian, were it known,
might enable us to form a better opinion of his doctrine:
it would not, perhaps, be altogether safe to interpret the
calumnies of his enemies, as so many testimonies to his
virtue and piety. Nothing, however, contradicts the
supposition that he honestly and religiously opposed the
madness of his times: at least he did so courageously,
and he suffered the consequence; for, having been eccle-
siastically condemned at Rome, and Milan, he was ci-
villy banished to a desolate island, where he ended his
days.
In nearly the same path followed Vigilantius, who had
been sustained, as it appears, by certain bishops. Proh
nefas! exclaims the sanctimonious Jerome,* si tamen
episcopi nominandi sunt, qui non ordinant diaconos,
nisi prius There were therefore some, and it is
a consoling thought, who, notwithstanding the rabid
asceticism of the church at large, adhered at once to
common sense, and to the apostolic injunction, and who,
knowing the peculiar temptations to which the clergy
were exposed (especially in consequence of the easy
* Jerome's Epistles, and Treatise, against Jovinian and Vigi-
lantius, as they are not very long, will no doubt be read, or at
least cursorily examined by the reader who has access to his
works. This comprehensive reference may therefore be enough,
on the present occasion. The Epistle to Vigilantius, particular-
ly, deserves a perusal.
TO THE ANCIENT ASCETICISM.
455
access allowed them to convents) wisely required that
those whom they ordained should be married men. It
was on this very account, and precisely because these
bishops paid respect to the commandments of God, dis-
regarding the foolish and wicked traditions of men, that
this crabbed monk grinds his teeth at them, and would
fain have stripped them of their dignities.
It does not appear, as I have already said, that Vigi-
lantius, any more than Jovinian (or than later reformers,
before the sixteenth century) knew how to lay the axe
to the root of the superstitions of his times, by insisting
upon those great principles of Christianity, which, when
understood, exclude these follies in a mass, as by the
force of an inherent energy, repelling whatever springs
from another source. His protest therefore, although
calm, reasonable, and not unsupported, died away; his
party was crushed, and the doctors who trampled the
remonstrants under their feet, had the satisfaction, in
leaving the world, to see the ship of the church,* in full
sail, gaily decked with all the fool's colours and tawdry
tatters which human wit could devise, and making its
way, in gallant bearing, by favour of wind and tide, to-
ward the haven which it at length reached under the
pilotage of the Gregorys, and the Innocents of Rome.
Jerome may fairly claim the praise of having sealed the
fate of Christianity, for a thousand years, by the influ-
ence of his pernicious pen; and especially in crushing,
as he had done, the rising tendency toward reformation.
How different might have been the history of Europe,
how different the spiritual condition and fate (if the word
may be used,) of millions of mankind, if this learned
and able writer — commanding the ear of the church,
* Constit, Apost. lib. ii. c. 57.
456
THE OPPOSITION MADE
eastern and western, had only once given place to a
modest and religious doubt, as to the soundness of the
prevailing notions. If, instead of heaping execrable
scurrilities upon the heads of Jovinian and Vigilantius,
he had mildly considered their remonstrances, and con-
sented to look into the scriptures, to see 44 if these things
were so," a new era might have opened upon the church.
Alas! Jerome, the great apostle and pillar of " church
principles," was conscious of no feelings, as a disputant,
and when irritated, but those of a Torquemada!
But although these remonstrants, and others, did not,
so far as appears, touch the spring of all superstition,
they fully understood the oneness and consistency of
the manifold inventions that had been heaped upon the
church; and they felt that it was a living mass, con-
nected by fibres, not to be severed without affecting the
whole. Along with many diversities of opinion, a very
remarkable agreement is to be observed, as to this point,
among the remonstrants who, in succession, have as-
sailed the prevailing corruptions of the church, from
Jovinian, down to Luther, and this intimate connexion
lias been well understood on the other side; and, from
Jerome, down to cardinal Cadjetan and Tetzel, all have
thoroughly known that, to amputate a limb of this body
of superstition, was nothing else than to leave the whole
to bleed to death. Our modern revivers of church prin-
ciples, too, give indications enough of their consciousness
of this harmony of the ancient notions and practices; and
they are therefore restoring, one by one, all the parts
and members of the Nicene church system.
Occasions such as those now before us, I mean the
remonstrances which Ambrose, Syricius, and Jerome,
united their efforts to crush, offer the means of applying
a very satisfactory criterion to our own religious dispo-
TO THE ANCIENT ASCETICISM.
45?
sitions, individually, and I beg leave to avail myself of
this criterion, as follows —
There are a few signal scenes in history, while con-
templating which, every one's sympathies kindle, and
pass over, entire, or nearly so, to the one side, or to the
other:— our instinctive emotions, the momentary pro-
ducts of our characteristic dispositions, involuntarily wake
up, and choose their part: — we declare ourselves Greeks
or Trojans, whether we will or not. And there is rea-
son in such instinctive movements. It may indeed be
very true that, when we come to look narrowly into the
personal qualities or private worth of the actors, in such
critical scenes, there may appear to be a balance of
merits; or at least all merit may not be on the one side,
nor all demerit on the other. And farther, if the inte-
rests in debate are coolly and minutely examined, a
candid observer may be compelled to acknowledge that
there is, between the antagonists, a sort of partition, or
breaking up of truth and error; it is not always, nor
often, as it was when Copernicus and the church were
debating concerning the solar system, that the one side
is absolutely right, and the other is absolutely wrong.
Nevertheless, after all such allowances have been
made, we impatiently return to the scene of action, and,
without hesitation, resume our seats, on the one side, or
on the other, of the stage, and give our chosen champion
our hearts and prayers. Thus, for an example, a good
Romanist looks on while the heretics, John Huss, and
his disciple, are being consigned to the compassion of
the civil power, to be dealt with as they may deserve:
and so again, such a one waits to hear the incorrigible
monk of Wittenberg sentenced to the flames, by Charles
and his reverend assessors, at Worms; and sighs to
think that the church was then defrauded of her revenge.
39*
458
THE OPPOSITION MADE
Now let any one take in hand Jerome's famous (infa-
mous) letter to Vigilantius, and he will soon find toward
which side his involuntary sympathies are tending. And
let him not be prejudiced against "church principles "
by the revolting malignity which breathes through every
line of this epistle:* — let Jerome's venom on the one
side, and, on the other, the apparent mildness and rea-
sonableness which distinguish the few sentences quoted
from Vigilantius be put out of view, and then, looking
at the mere controversy between the two men (the wolf
and the lamb) let him choose his part. On the one side
■ The few sentences quoted by Jerome from Vigilantius, con-
tain nothing that is offensive;, and we may be pretty sure that,
had there been any thing of this kind, it would have been ad-
duced by his irritated adversary. On the contrary, his own two
epistles, 50 and GO, cannot be read without the liveliest disgust: —
they are the vigorous expression of the worst sentiments to which
human nature is liable. Either to utter or to hear what Vigilan-
tius had advanced, Jerome assures us, is '; a sacrilege." He,
belter called Dormitantius, than Vigilantius, had opened his
fetid mouth, fraught with a putrid stench, against the relics and
ashes of the martyrs. He is a Samaritan, and a Jew, and a mad-
man, disgorging a filthy surfeit. He is a useless vessel, which
should have been shivered by the iron rod of apostolic authority.
A tongue, he had, fit only to be cut out. He is a maniac, a por-
tent, and one who well deserves with Ananias, Sapphira, and
Simon Magus, to be consigned to eternal daikness — non est cru-
delitas pio Deo, sed pietas. Vigilantius is — a dog, a monster, a
servant of the devil, a blasphemer, and of course, a heretic, as
well as an ass, a fool, a sot, a glutton, a dreamer. — What! shall
we listen to such a one, and then be compelled to condemn all
the fathers — all the bishops — all Christian people, and all Chris-
tian princes? for all, says Jerome, have authorized, and approved
and practised what Vigilantius condemns! This was very nearly
true, and it was also tiue that the quod ab omnibus, was a mass
of foolish and pestilent superstitions. The reader who has Jerome
at hand, will doubtless peruse these epistles.
TO THE ANCIENT ASCETICISM.
459
there are church principles, such as— the merits of holy
virginity — the godly usage of pilgrimages to the tombs
of the martyrs — the reverence, if not worship, due to
the relics, and the images of the saints — the interces-
sory power of the saints in heaven — the expediency of
the flambeau church vigils, and, in a word, all the prin-
cipal articles of later and modern Romanism. Then on
the other side there is a calm remonstrance against these
practices and notions, founded on an appeal to scripture,
and to the experience which the church had had of the
ill tendency of all such usages.
Looking, then, at this controversy broadly, and with-
out attempting to mince the particulars, or to make out
fifty nice exceptions, let every one ingenuously say —
was Jerome right, or was Vigilantius right? What is
the verdict of our consciences? AVas it well for the
church that Jerome triumphed, or might it have been
well if Vigilantius had been listened to? But before we
reply, let us look to the consequences of our decision as
affecting ourselves. If Jerome was in the right, and
Vigilantius in the wrong, then Wickliff was wrong, and
Huss was wrong, and Jerome of Prague was wrong, and
Luther was wrong, and the English reformers, the foun-
ders of the protestant church in this country, were wrong;
for all, in their turn, held substantially the same lan-
guage, and the last named have left on record a protest,
couched in language far more animated and severe than
Vigilantius ventured to employ, against the very super-
stitions which he called in question.*
But now, if in thus looking at this controversy of
* It cannot be necessary to remind the clerical reader of the
terms employed by the authors of the Homilies, when speaking
of these same superstitions.
460
THE OPPOSITION MADE
fourteen hundred years, concerning certain principles
and observances, on the one side pretended to be godly
and edifying, and on the other affirmed to be fatal, and
subversive of Christianity — if, in so considering it, we
decide that the English reformers, and that Luther, and
Wickliff, and Huss, and Vigilantius, were right, then
after taking this side of the argument, in what position
do we find ourselves to be placed in regard to the Ni-
cene church? I will boldly say that any attempt to
draw an arbitrary line of distinction somewhere between
the later reformers, and the remonstrants of Jerome's
time, merely with the view of saving the Nicene church,
would be equally frivolous, disingenuous, and unavail-
ing; nor can I imagine that any such attempt will be
made by honest and well informed men. Common
sense rejects the endeavour to distinguish between things
so nearly the same.
Disregarding then any such futile plea of exception,
the Nicene church, with Jerome as its worthy repre-
sentative and advocate, is seen to range along with the
papacy, as the zealous and devoted admirer and patron-
ess of superstition, and as the intolerant and infatuated
opponent of the authority of scripture.
Let it be imagined, however, that some persons, dif-
fident of the guidance of common sense, and foresee-
ing the far-stretching consequences that must follow
from a decision against Jerome, in this instance, will
hold to the belief — a belief that they will not choose
narrowly to scrutinize, that, after all, and although he
might indulge a bad temper, and might go too far, he
was nevertheless, in the main, right, and should be
thought of gratefully, as having upheld " godly usages,
and discipline," against the liberalism of his times. Be
it so: but let us take care not to violate historical justice.
TO THE ANCIENT ASCETICISM.
461
Now, when we open the monkish legends of the middle
ages, and find them crammed with revolting absurdities,
such as almost sicken us of human nature, and bring
our best convictions into peril, we do not hesitate to
say — " Whatever this ascetic system might have been in
its bright days, it had evidently got so far wrong, in
these later times, as at once to paralyze the understand-
ings, and to vitiate the moral sentiments, and to caute-
rize the consciences, of those who came under its in-
fluence." Thus we make our escape from the humi-
liating scene. But what if it shall appear that the
monkery of the darkest ages does not surpass, a whit, in
folly, extravagance, and moral ulceration, that of the
times to which we have been used, inconsiderately, to
attribute wisdom and purity? And what if this always-
vicious system shall be found to have shed its corrupt-
ing and stultifying influence over even the most power-
ful, and the most accomplished minds? Shall we not at
length be convinced that the entire scheme was of evil
quality, when we find a man like Jerome, to be affected,
from head to foot, with the " putrefying sores " of this
spiritual scrofula?
The task of reporting Jerome's ineffable absurdities,
just as they stand, without compromising the sacred
things with which he mixes them, is indeed a difficult
one; but I must attempt it, taking refuge under St. Ber-
nard's axiom — melius est utscandalum oriatur, quam Ve-
ritas relinquatur.
The " Patriarch of Monks," who has been so often
referred to in these pages, and who was adored, almost,
by the Nicene church, and held up (as we have seen)
as a pattern of Christian perfection by Athanasius, had
been, it seems, in danger, at one time, of thinking too
highly of his own incomparable merits. Hobc in men-
462
THE OPPOSITION MADE
turn ejus cogitatio incidit, nullum ultra se perfectum
monachum in eremo consedisse. And, for his humilia-
tion, it was revealed to him that the unexplored depths
of the wilderness had long hidden, from the view of
mortals, a solitary, surpassing himself in the ascetic vir-
tues, as far as he surpassed the generality of his order.
He was therefore commanded to leave his monastery,
and to go in quest of this immaculate pattern of sancti-
ty. It was in his ninetieth year that he thus set out,
propping his tottering frame upon a staff, and not know-
ing toward what quarter to direct his steps. Fainting
under the fervours of noon, yet nothing doubting of his
course, what should meet his eyes but — a centaur — a
creature half man, half horse, quo viso, salutaris impres-
sione signi armat frontem (what good catholic would
not have crossed himself at such a sight!) The beast,
however, was found to be more obliging in temper than
might have been expected, and in reply to the saint's
inquiry — " Whereabouts does the servant of God live?"
he courteously pointed to the desired path, and then gal-
loped off with the swiftness of a bird! The learned Je-
rome does not attempt to solve the weighty question,
whether this centaur was a mere guise of the devil, or a
real and substantial son of the wilderness. Be that as
it might, St. Antony held on his way; but he had gone
only a few steps farther, when lo! he beheld, in a rocky
glen, a negro-snouted urchin, whose forehead budded
horns, while his inferior parts were those of a goat; in a
word, it was a genuine satyr! St. Antony, scutum fidei,
et loricum spei, ut bonus praeliator arripuit. Another
friend, however, (whether beast or devil) presents himself
under this ambiguous form; and one who was gifted, not
merely with urbanity, and with the faculty of speech,
but with reason and truth: — mortalis ego sum, et unus
TO THE ANCIENT ASCETICISM.
463
ex accolis eremi, quos vario delusa errore gentilitas, fau-
nos, satyrosque et incubos vocans colit. To exclude the
incredulity of his readers, Jerome assures them that an an-
imal of this very species, which had been brought alive to
Alexandria, had been sent in pickle to Antioch, where
it had been examined by the emperor. We must how-
ever cut short our story, and bring the holy monk to the
cave of the still holier Paul, an eremite indeed, who,
utterly, and long forgotten by man, had passed nearly a
century in this seclusion, clad only with a wisp of the
leaves of the palm tree, which also, during forty years,
had supplied him with his only diet; since the failing of
which he had received a ration of bread, daily, like Eli-
jah, from heaven. Long did St. Antony knock, and
earnestly did he pray before he could gain admittance.
" Qui bestias recipis," said he, " hominem cur repellis?
.... Quod si non impetro, hie moriar ante postes
tuos: certe sepelies vel meum cadaver!" The door
opens at this appeal, and nothing could be more sweet
than the greetings and the discourse of the two ancho-
rets. While chatting, a crow perches on the branch of
a neighbouring tree, and then lays a whole loaf on the
table; integrum panum ante ora mirantium deposuit!
Now it seems that, for sixty years or more, this same
almoner had brought the hermit, daily, half a loaf; but
this day, a whole loaf! Dominus nobis prandium misit
.... militibus suis duplicavit annonam ! But now who
should have the honour of splitting it in two? Long
and ingeniously was this difficulty discussed, when at
length it was agreed that, each holding his part, they
should break it by their conjoined efforts! The reader
should be told that all these edifying incidents are gar-
nished with texts of scripture, which I must take the li-
berty to omit.
464
THE OPPOSITION MADE
Again, to cut short our instructive narrative, we must
briefly say that the hermit Paul, knowing that his own
departure was at hand, enjoined St. Antony to fulfil the
functions of his undertaker, and sexton, and executor;
but first desired that he would return whence he came,
and fetch, from his monastery, the pallium, given him
by Athanasius, and wherein he would fain be wrapped
for interment. Antony complies, retraces his weary way,
with all speed, seizes the cloak, and returns breathless,
fearing lest he should be too late to discharge the last
offices to his dying friend. On his way he beholds a
heavenly choir of prophets and apostles, and among
them, the departed Paul, in snow-white robes! Too
true a portent! The hermit had already breathed his
last when St. Antony reached the cavern. After in-
dulging his grief awhile, he bethinks himself of the du-
ties of his office; but here comes the staggering diffi-
culty! how shall he dig the grave, having neither spade
nor shovel? While much perplexed, and well nigh in
despair— Moriar ut dignum est. What should he see
but a pair of lions scouring the hills, who, approaching
the spot, and coming up to the corpse, signified, by many
blandishments, and by wagging their tails, their sympa-
thy with the saint, on the sad occasion: nor was this all;
for they forthwith most humanely set about digging a
grave for the defunct; and, strange to say — as exact to
the measure, as the most expert sexton could have done
it! unius hominis capacem locum foderunt; and then,
having finished their task, and looking for their hire,
they threw back their ears, licking St. Antony's hands
and his feet: — at ille animadvertit benedictionem eos a sc
precari! — nor did the saint refuse them a remuneration so
well earned: — blessed lions! We may leave them then,
and him, to conclude the obsequies as they can, and
TO THE ANCIENT ASCETICISM.
465
shall here cut short the legend. Is it enough; or need
we adduce more of like quality from the same great doc-
tor's other ascetic memoirs?*
I do not ask whether the above savours of truth and
piety and reason, a question which would be insulting
to the reader, but whether it be in any way more de-
serving of regard than is the vilest legendary trash of
the most besotted times of monkery? — From this rhodo-
montadc, mixed up as it is with the sacred language of
scripture, every sound mind turns with utter disgust. It
is hard to imagine what that condition of the conscience
could be, which might allow a man such as Jerome, to
sit down, and deliberately string together these misera-
ble inanities. That a stupid monk, who never had had a
nobler thought, should do so, is what one may under-
stand; but in the case of a man of vigorous intellect,
one is driven to the alternative, either of supposing some-
thing like a possession, or infatuation, or otherwise must
believe that he, and some other of his contemporaries,
the makers and venders of the like commodities, having
forbidden the perusal of the gentile classic literature to
the laity, laboured to supply the place of it with what
should be highly entertaining, and at the same time of a
sort to stimulate the fanaticism, and to debilitate the rea-
son of the people. This, however, would not be very
unlike the "speaking lies in hypocrisy."
The gentile classic literature! May Plato and Xeno-
phon and Cicero be mentioned in such a connexion? It
is not without an emotion profoundly painful, that one
turns from the turbid, frothy, and infectious stream of
Jerome's ascetic writings, to the pellucid waters of pa-
gan Greece and Rome. — Reason darkened indeed; but
" Vita Pauli Ere in.
40
466 THE OPPOSITION MADE TO ASCETICISM.
it is reason still, and, moreover, reason, struggling to-
ward the light; and exempt from virulence, from hypo-
crisy, and from absurdity. Such a contrast impresses
the mind powerfully with a sense of the infinite mis-
chief that has been done to mankind by men, who, when
Christianity, with its simple grandeur, and its divine
purity, was fairly lodged in their hands, and committed
to their care, could do nothing but madly heap upon it,
and often for selfish purposes, every grossness and every
folly which might turn aside its influence, and expose it
to contempt.
It may be a Christian-like and kindly office to palliate
the errors, and to cloak the follies, and to give a reason
for the false notions of the Nicene divines; but when, on
the other side, one thinks of the long centuries of wo,
ignorance, persecution, and religious debauchery, which
took their character directly from the perversity of these
doctors, il is hard to repress emotions of the liveliest in-
dignation. As to Jerome, who coined afresh, and issued
anew, all the superstitions of his age, and who sent
them forward for fourteen hundred years, one can hard-
ly think of him otherwise than as an enemy of his kind.
By a line of causation, not very indirect, he has been
the author of a hundred times more human misery (not
to look into the hidden world) than was inflicted upon
the nations by a Tamerlane.*
* In what manner Ambrose and Augustine treated the opposers
of the ascetic system may be seen by referring to the follow-
ing places : — Ambrose, addressing pope Syricius (Epist. 42, class,
i.) a his Lord and well-beloved brother," includes Jovinian in
a list of condemned heretics — Manichees and others, to whom no
indulgence could be shown. These, whom the most benign em-
peror had execrated, and who were indeed deserving, as he says,
'•' of all execration," had been condemned, first at Rome and then
at Milan, whence they had been driven— quasi profugus. Jovi-
MONKERY AND MIRACLE.
467
MONKERY AND MIRACLE.
As every one now knows that, in order to acquire a
genuine acquaintance with history, we must examine the
extant original materials of the times in question; so
every one knows, that these contemporary materials are
to be examined in the full light of our modern good
sense, and general intelligence. To lose ourselves in
the original documents, and to be charmed out of our
wits by their antique fascinations, is to read Homer like
nian's opinion that there was no difference of merit between the
married and the unmarried, is termed 11 a savage howling of fe-
rocious wolves, scaring the flock." It is curious to find the great
church authorities contending, with the most acrid zeal, for the
two doctrines of the merit of virginity, and the efficacy of fast-
ing, as if inseparable principles. Thus, Ambrose, Epist. 53, cer-
tain babblers had come in, qui dicant nullum esse abstinentise
meritum, nullum frugalitatis, nullam virginitatis gratiam . . .
Jovinian, it appears, had belonged to a monastery at Milan,
where he had neither seen any luxury, nor been allowed any li-
berty of discussion. Augustine, in his Retractations, mentions
the motives and occasions of his various works; speaking of the
book de bono conjugali, he says, that the heresy of Jovinian had
prevailed at Rome to such an extent, that several nuns, of whose
purity there had been no previous suspicion, had been induced
by it to fall into matrimony. But — huic monstro sancta ecclesia
qua? ibi est, fidelissime et fortissime resistit. Nevertheless the
poison, not having been altogether expelled, Augustine had
thought himself called upon to apply a remedy. This remedy
(with the bishop's mode of treating his adversary) is to be found
in his several treatises — de continentia — de bono conjugali — de
virginitate — de conjugiis adulterinis — de nuptiis — de bono vidui-
tatis — de opere monachorum — and, contra Julianum. In the
book, de Haeresibus, Jovinian finds his place, and his alleged er-
rors are particularly mentioned, c. 82, Cito tamen ista hoeresis
oppressa et extincta est, nec usque ad deceptionem aliquorum sa-
cerdotum potuit pervenire.
468
MONKERY AND MIRACLE.
a school-boy, who, for the moment at least, believes, not
merely in Homer's heroes, but in his gods and god-
desses. The lecturer upon history finds himself com-
pelled, in giving Ms account of the ten years' war, to
strip off from the Iliad a prodigious quantity of finery, and
to make sad work, with poetry and crests, before Achil-
les, and Ajax, and Agamemnon, are reduced to their
true dimensions, as blustering leaders of so many bands
of brigands and pirates.*
Now shall we allow a similar operation to be per-
formed upon the Iliad of Nicene asceticism, or do we
choose rather to keep a fool's paradise entire on this sa-
cred ground. There is no need to go to Gibbon's school
in this instance; in truth, the best security against the
danger of finding ourselves there, in the end, is to be
had in the prompt exercise of a sound and vigorous
good sense. Renounce this good sense, and then we
must either settle down in the flowery fields of Butler's
Lives of the Saints — the fairy land of unbounded cre-
dulity; or else yield ourslves to a universal skepticism:
and in fact, we are very likely to follow a path through
the former, into the latter; that is to say, if we take our
first lessons from Butler, to take our last from Gibbon.
Grant it, that the task of paring romance down to his-
tory, is an ungracious one. ' Nay, more; If it be reli-
gious romance that is in question, it will be hard en-
tirely to avoid an ill consequence, thence accruing, in-
cidentally, to our own religious sentiments. The mere
circumstance of sitting, for some time, so near to the
" seat of the scorner," is dangerous; but whose is the
fault? not ours surely, who must remove an offence that
has been placed on the path by others. It is the legend-
mongers who have done the mischief. If good and
Thucydides, lib. i, c. 5.
MONKERY AND MIRACLE,
469
learned men, like Alban Butler, will employ themselves
in cramming twelve closely printed volumes with pious
fables, outraging reason, history, and religion, and will
then moor this mole of mud to our common Christianity,
to the great peril of the credulous, and to the still greater
peril of the incredulous, what is to be done? Some will
say — let it alone — leave it to sink by its own weight; and
truly nothing better could have been done, if it had not
happened that this very mass of feculence is just now
being attached anew to our protestant church.
'* The Lives of the Saints!" who, now-a-days, thinks
or cares about the Lives of the Saints? or who would
waste an hour in the serious endeavour to expose to
contempt such a farrago? Unhappily we are not yet
free to treat with contemptuous silence what so well de-
serves it: and why we are not free is easily shown, as
follows: — Let any one open Alban Butler's volumes, at
hazard, and without looking to the dates of the several
lives therein related, let him select a few which appear
the most ridiculously absurd, or which are, on any ac-
count peculiarly offensive, and I will venture to predict
that these articles, so distinguished by their extravagance
and folly, will turn out to be Nicene, and not popish. In
fact, they will be found to be translations, nearly literal,
from Athanasius, Basil, Palladius, Jerome, or some of
their contemporaries. On the contrary, any lives that
may appear to be less objectionable, and, in a sense,
edifying, will be those of modern Romanist saints. If
then the Lives of the Saints, as a whole, be worthy of
contempt, the principal stress of this contempt falls, not
upon the church of Rome, but upon the church catholic
of the third and fourth centuries. I make this averment
without fear of contradiction; and 1 recommend the fact
to the reader's consideration.
40*
470
MONKERY AND MIRACLE.
But let us come to particular instances, for the more
we do so, the more must our present argument gather
strength. Among the enormous and revolting fables of
this vast collection — Butler's Lives of the Saints, I will
suppose the reader to fix upon two, namely the life of
Paul the hermit (above referred to) and that of St. Hila-
rion. But whence has the learned editor drawn these
precious morsels? Is it from the stupid pages of some
dreaming contemporary of St. Dunstan? No, it is from
the vigorous and erudite tomes of Jerome — the most
gifted of the Nicene divines! The uninitiated reader,
however, is very likely to imagine that the popish editor
has garnished his materials, and has added to them what
might recommend them the more to the bad taste of his
credulous and superstitious catholic readers. The very
reverse of this is the fact. Let him see if it be not so:
if Butler's version of Jerome's lives be examined, it will
appear that, instead of rendering them more superstitious,
and more miraculous, and more popish, he has made
them much less so: he omits what is the most offensive,
he softens extravagant phrases, he inserts extenuations,
or plausible explanations of manifest incongruities, and
altogether offers, to the modern reader, in the place of
what in the original is utterly shocking, or in the last
degree puerile, what may be read. In a word, the popish
editor chastises the Nicene legend-monger; and in col-
lating the two — the original and the version, a convincing
proof is obtained of the A\ct that, much more reason, and
more piety too, has belonged to the Romish, than ever
belonged to the Nicene church. It is not to be doubted
that there are devout Romanists who, while they might
bring themselves to approve of Butler, would loathe
Jerome (if not told that this Jerome was Saint Jerome.)
That any protestant should, after examination, profess
MONKERY AND MIRACLE.
471
to prefer Jerome, or Socrates, or Palladius, to Butler, I
can hardly think possible, and will not believe.
But there is a point of justice involved in this compa-
rison between the Romanist and the Nicene biographers,
which it would be wrong to omit to mention. The ex-
cellent Alban Butler, an undoubting son of the church,
set himself, at the distance of twelve centuries from the
times in question, to collect edifying memoirs of the an-
cient ascetics; and hux'mgjirst taken the wise precaution
of closing the window shutters of his library, within an
inch of pitchy darkness, and having laid it down as a law,
that he is never to enter upon any inquiry which, by pos-
sibility, might lead him whither his church forbids him
to go, he, by these means, saves himself (at least in par-
ticular instances) from the flagrant guilt of putting forth
as true, what he personally knew to be false. But how
was it with the original compiler of these same stories?
Jerome writes the lives of his contemporaries! Jerome
was no simple soul, believing every thing from sheer
guilelessness: he had trod the stage of the great wrorld,
and knew mankind; he had formed his taste by the study
of Xenophon and Thucydides; he was thoroughly skilled
in historical criticism; he was gifted with sagacity and
judgment; and, as a literary forester, he had that sharp
scent which enabled him to track a dead lion, if any such
thing were actually in the wind: his temper moreover
was of that corrosive quality which tends to the testing
and the solving of adulterated articles. Now this Jerome
compiles, at some length, the history of a certain won-
der-working monk, his contemporary, who, in search,
as he declared, of seclusion and oblivion, had traversed
the principal countries of the Roman world — Esypt,
Sicily, Italy, Greece, Syria; and wherever he went, he
had wrought the most astounding miracles, emulating
472
MONKERY AND MIRACLE.
those of Elijah, and of our Lord. If then these miracles
were real, thousands of persons of all conditions, Chris-
tians and pagans, were able to attest them, in quality of
eye witnesses; and hundreds might readily have been ap-
pealed to, if it had been thought desirable to institute
any serious inquiry on the subject.
Was then Jerome himself a believer in these miracles?
or did he ever ask himself, while dressing them up for
the entertainment of the church, whether they were true
or false? If he did believe them, so as to preclude the
necessity of any investigation, how gross must have
been the delusion to which he had surrendered his pow-
erful and acute mind! But did he not choose to ask
himself whether he believed them or not; and seeing that
they tended to glorify the church, and to recommend
monkery, and orthodoxy, did he give them all the ad-
vantage of his great reputation, mean while half, or more
than half, suspecting them to be impious fabrications?
I will attempt no solution of these difficulties, but will
only say that, should I be hardly dealt with on account
of my dealing with this Nicene doctor, I must hold up
his lives of Paul and of Hilarion as my defence. To
those who will profess to attach their faith to these pro-
digious legends, I have nothing to say; with those who
think of them as they deserve, I am safe.
Affirmations of miraculous interposition, may, if un-
true, float any where between delusion and fraud; and
therefore they may involve various degrees of culpabi-
lity, on the part of those who promulgate them. But no
such narrative can float between truth and falsehood; for
it must always be either true, or false, that the divine
power has, in any alleged instance, diverted the ordi-
nary course of nature. Now the Nicene ascetic system
was either attested by a copious display of miraculous
MONKERV. AND MIRACLE.
473
powers (as affirmed by the principal contemporary-
writers) or it was not so accredited. If it were, then
what is protestantism, and what is the English church,
which does not embrace, nay, which has put silent con-
tempt upon a divinely sanctioned, and most ancient and
catholic institution? But if the contrary be true, then
what was that system itself, and what the moral condi-
tion of the church which embraced and admired it, while
it made the boldest pretensions — false and blasphemous
pretensions, to the power of working miracles — miracles
in which no room was left for illusion, and easy credu-
lity? The reader will choose his alternative.
The question being then— What was the moral value
of the ancient ascetic system, our first reply is — That
it was what it might be consistently with its pretensions
to miraculous powers: and it should be remembered that,
in the fourth century, if we put out of view the custo-
mary dreams, visions, and various forms of mere illu-
sion, it was none but the monks and hermits, who
claimed to work miracles; this credit therefore, or this
stain — this glory, or this infamy, is the prerogative of
the ascetic institute.*
A second reply to the question in hand, I have in part
anticipated, and shall not pursue the topic farther;
merely stating the fact that the ascetic institute was, in
a moral sense, such as it was likely to be, seeing that it
had been adopted, with no material modification, from
the ancient gymnosophists, and the Buddhist sages.
* Of several of the ancient hermits, there is reason to think bet-
ter than that they should themselves have pretended to the pow-
ers attributed to them. The lie was that of their biographers.
Thus the nonsense and knavery attributed by Palladius to Ma-
carius, the Egyptian, are utterly contradicted by the spirit of his
writings. It was the besotted companions and disciples of some
474
MONKERY, THE RELIGION
MONKERY, THE RELIGION OF SOUTHERN
EUROPE.
A third reply to the inquiry concerning the moral con-
dition and influence of the ascetic institute, turns upon a
consideration of what has always been (at least during
the last eighteen hundred years) the physical and moral
characteristics of the nations bordering upon the Medi-
terranean. Unless we are resolved to shut our eyes to plain
matters of fact, facts of this class must be taken into ac-
count, whenever we look into the materials of the religious
history of these nations. Not to do so is to take up sheer
romance, for solid history; and moreover, as one error im-
plies more, we shall really be doing the ancient church
a great injustice, at the moment when we are wishing
to enhance its credit; for the same reasonable considera-
tions which forbid our being duped by its romantic pro-
fessions, supply also an apology for its follies, and a pal-
liation for its grievous faults.
During the last two thousand years, what has been the
state of manners and morals in all the countries between
the thirty-fifth and the forty-fifth parallels of latitude, and
between the Caspian and the Atlantic? These zephyr-
breathing and garden lands of the world have presented,
throughout this course of time (or only with partial and
transient exceptions) a social condition intimately dis-
ordered by the want of moral tone; and parallel with this
ill habit of the social mass, there has run on a religion
which, while it has very faintly affected the many, or to
any good purpose, has spent its force upon a few, and
of these good men who patched up the legend of their " virtues,"
as soon as they were gone.
OF SOUTHERN EUROPE.
475
these few so removed by artificial distinctions from their
fellows, as to do little or no good, by their example.
Throughout these countries, and during this lapse of ages,
there have been the extremes in morals, but no mean.
The philosophy of the moral, political, and religious
history of southern Europe, turns upon this very fact.
Northward of the forty-fifth parallel (in Europe) may be
found — a generally diffused animal health, and a physi-
cal robustness — and a wide middle class in society — and
a breadth of opinion and feeling — and a soberness and
mild liberality of judgment, and a dislike, and an avoid-
ance of, enormities of conduct, and sentiment; none of
which important elements of national well-being can be
predicted of the south.
Before the absolute moral merit of the nations, re-
spectively, who occupy these two geographical bands,
can be ascertained, many intricate questions must be
gone into; but mean time, the characteristics, above
stated, remain undisturbed. And then, if, on this ground,
the nineteenth century is to be compared with the third
or fourth, it will appear that the difference which marks
the lapse of time, attaches almost entirely to the north of
Europe, where every thing, in that interval of time, has
been regenerated, or absolutely created: while the south,
amid many apparent revolutions, has remained substan-
tially the same — physically, morally, and religiously.
Indeed, whenever the ancient and the modern worlds
are compared (and by ancient, I now intend the declining
period of the Roman empire) the difference discoverable
is such as results, chiefly from that creation of a broad
mean, in the social, political, and religious spheres,
which has come about in northern Europe, during the
last five centuries.
The tendency of (pure) Christianity is always to create
476
MONKERY, THE RELIGION
a mean in society, or as we may say, to consolidate and
extend the political, social, and moral terra firma, or
wide continent of common interests, and ordinary or
standard sentiments. Wherever the gospel is to get a
footing in a country, the proclamation is of this sort, —
44 Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make his paths
straight; every valley shall be filled, and every mountain
and hill shall be brought low, and the crooked shall be
made straight, and the rough ways shall be made smooth."
Not indeed that Christianity is a levelling doctrine, in
the cant, modern sense of the term; but yet its gradual
operation is to call into existence a mean, wherein, and
whereupon, the extremes of high and low may meet,
and be reconciled. Let a pure Christianity now take its
course in Turkey, and what would be the political and
social consequence, after a few years, but to blend the
discordant elements of the national system; and first to
create, and then to empower, a middle class, and a mid-
dle doctrine, and a middle influence, which should at
once elevate the degraded, and chastise and control the
proud? In this happy sense Christ's doctrine is indeed
revolutionary.
Christianity was, in fact, just about to work this its pro-
per effect upon the Roman world, and was making a hap-
py commencement by putting woman into her long lost
place, and by giving her personal virtue, and reverence
and influence, without which, as there is no healthy condi-
tion of the domestic system, so there can be no national
virtue, or liberty, or elevation of character. This happy
change was commencing, when the ascetic fanaticism
came in; first, to poison the domestic system, at the
core, by its hypocritical prudery, and its consequent se-
paration of the sexes; and secondly, to turn off the fer-
tilizing current of the most powerful and elevated senti-
OF SOUTHERN EUROPE.
477
ments from the field of common life, and to throw them
all into the waste-pipe which emptied itself upon the
wilderness. We use no figure, or a figure only in the
terms, when we say that the mighty waters of Christian
moral influence, which would have renovated the Roman
world, and have saved the barbarism of a thousand years,
was, by the ascetic institute, shed over the horrid sands
of Egypt and Arabia — there to be lost for ever!
It was as if, on a rich and virgin soil, favoured by the
sun, one were to find, the plough, and the spade, and the
various implements of husbandry, employed, by a stupid
race, not upon the teeming lands, but in vainly enscalp-
ing the surface of rocks, and in bootlessly furrowing the
faithless sands of the shore! Such, in a word, was that
perversion of the moral force of the gospel which was
imbodied in the ancient asceticism. Southern Europe
was therefore left to be southern Europe still, for ano-
ther cycle of centuries, and monkish fanaticism, with its
celibacy and its fastings, has continued now these fifteen
hundred years, to be the grim antithesis of a wide-spread
dissoluteness of manners. In Portugal, Spain, the south
of France, Italy, Sicily, and the islands about, during all
this lapse of time, while very few temperate and virtu-
ous husbands and wives have blessed the common walks
of life, monks and nuns, of ambiguous character, have
swarmed from religious houses. Little or no national
morality has been seen there; but more than enough of
the madman's imitation of virtue and piety. Through-
out these countries, and during these ages, few families
have been blessed with purity and peace; but miracles
have been a going on all hands; the green leaf and sweet
fruits of piety have not covered the fields; but the secu-
lars and regulars, like a perpetual visitation of locusts,
have brooded on the waste.
41
478
MONKERY, THE RELIGION
In passing, fresh aud full-fraught with English feel-
ings, from our northern latitudes to the south or Europe,
every one feels strongly that the degrading superstition
of the common people is not a doctrine and practice that
have invaded these countries, oppressing and corrupting
the social system, but rather, that it is the spontaneous
and congenial religion of races distinguished by physical
debility, by relaxation of principle, by abjectness of soul,
by ferocity, and by actual debauchery. The gospel,
even now, would indeed bring in upon these very peo-
ple, the energy of moral health, and it would have done
so in the times of Diocletian; but those who were then
intrusted with it, mistook its spirit, and in holding forth
a crazed asceticism as the only genuine virtue, they left
the mass of the people just such as they found it — de-
bauched, ferocious, superstitious; and such, with tran-
sient exceptions, have they continued, under the influ-
ence of the very same system, from that time to this.
Beside many differences, affecting the mere surface
of society, and which belong to our general civilization,
as distinguishing modern from ancient southern Europe,
there is one moral and ecclesiastical point of contrast,
which I would not overlook; and it is this — The church,
in the fourth century, was moving down a declivity:
whereas at present, and long since, it has reached its
point of lowest depression, upon a dead level. Now, so
long as this decline was in progress, all persons of fer-
vent mind, conscious of the general movement, struggled
mightily to arrest it. This eager and anxious struggle
is then that which gives vehemence and animation to the
hortatory compositions of the Nicene age. The great
preachers and writers, whom we have occasion so fre-
quently to name, stood midway, and breast-high in the
torrent; and how passionately do they contend for their
footing, and how manfully do they fight the billows!
OF SOUTHERN EUROFE.
479
There was, therefore, a resistance, an agony, an ani-
mation belonging to the church in the fourth century,
which do not belong to it (in the same countries] at pre-
sent. Yet it would be going much too far to affirm that
the moral condition of the mass of society was better
then than it is now, on the same soils. There is an abun-
dance of evidence proving the extreme corruption of
manners in the era now in question; nor can it be re-
quisite, in this place, to enlarge upon so trite a subject.
It is, therefore, a sheer illusion — although it be one easily
followed, which would assume our northern and English
notions of morality — the morality of our sober middle
classes, and then, attributing any such state of things to
the social system in the fourth century, and to the na-
tions bordering the Mediterranean, imagine that the as-
cetic virtues of those times stood high above any such
level of morals. In taking cur idea of the Nicene mo-
nastic life from the romantic descriptions given of it by
its credulous admirers, we think of it as an obelisk,
pointing to the skies, the base of which rested on firm
level ground, and on a ground of general virtue and
piety. It was in fact no such thing: — the Nicene asce-
ticism rose out of a bog, and it barely kept its apex above
the wide-spread corruption: or it was like these monu-
ments of Egyptian magnificence which just peep out of
the deluge of sand that has long smothered the glory of
so many temples and palaces.
The ancient ascetic virtue, far from being lofty abso-
lutely, was barely so relatively; and indeed, if we are
to trust some of its best informed advocates, it had ac-
tually worked itself down a good way below the general
level of decency, temperance, and continence. It was
therefore very far from being, what we are likely to
imagine it to have been, when we read carefully selected
specimens of ascetic piety.
480 MORAL QUALITY OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE,
MORAL QUALITY OF THE ASCETIC INSTI-
TUTE, AS IT AFFECTED THE MONKS
THEMSELVES.
The evidence of history forgotten, and our better
Christian notions laid aside, it is then easy for an ardent
and serious mind to follow the hermit into his wilder-
ness, or the monk into his cloister, with a vivid sympa-
thy. In fact, the real difficulty with persons of imagi-
native temperament, is to repress that yearning of the
soulfor seclusion and meditation, which impels them to
enter upon the same flowery path. There are those, and
it is more than a very few, to whom the course of self-
denial is — the continuing to live in the midst of the tur-
moil, the duties, and the enjoyments of common life;
and to whom the course of self-indulgence would be that
of dreaming existence away in a cloister, or on the sunny
side of a mountain, far remote from the haunts of man.
He is the Epicurean, who surrenders himself to the
leading of his personal tastes, without regard to duty, or
to the welfare of others: now, these tastes may be of a
sensual kind, or they may be imaginative, or they may
be intellectual, or they may be a mixture of all, and we
may call them religious; but surely a wonderful mistake
rests with those who, while they are giving an unbridled
swing to their particular inclinations as contemplatists or
intellectualists, and are leaving the world to go its own
way; yet speak disdainfully of the glutton, or of the vo-
luptuous, as Epicureans, and speak boastfully of them-
selves as self-denying men! A poor proof of self-denial,
surely, to wear a filthy hair shirt, and to wait until after
sunset for one's breakfast, if, in doing so, a man tho-
roughly pleases himself and no one else! No voluptu-
AS IT AFFECTED THE MONKS THEMSELVES. 48i
ary is so uniform or so thorough-going in self-pleasing,
as the hermit, who, while he permits some charitable
dupe to bring him his weekly rations of bread, makes it
his glory never to see, to speak to, or to thank his bene-
factor.
The capital illusions of the anchoret being duly al-
lowed for. then it is easy to believe that he may have
had his virtues, of a certain sort, and his devotion, too,
and his high-wrought unearthliness: but, then, no de-
scriptions which we may meet with of the loftiness or
of the deliciousness of the anchoretic or monastic life,
ought for a moment to make us forget its inherent sel-
fishness, and its direct contrariety to the spirit and pre-
cepts of the gospel. The institute can never be proved
to be abstractedly good, by any amount of this sort of
incidental recommendation; and it is clear that what-
ever recommendations, of this sort, we may allow to
have attached to the early ascetic life, attach much more
decisively, and with fewer drawbacks, to the institute as
we find it regulated in later times, and when it came
under the eye of the Romish church.
To any then who would indignantly ask — "What! do
you make no account of the pure and holy lives of mul-
titudes of the ancient solitaries?" We may reply — Yes,
we make much of them, even after we have righted the
balance by considering how much selfishness, and how
much delusion, entered into the whole system. But then
we ought to make still more account of what is really
more pure and holy, and is far less open to suspicion,
and is better relieved by instances of learning and uti-
lity, I mean the monkery of modern times. As to any
practical inference, drawn from the assumed sanctity
of the ancient solitaries, in favour of the system, a for-
41*
482 MORAL QUALITY OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE,
tiori may such an inference be made good in favour of
the Romish monastic orders. If, then, this hair-cloth
Epicureanism is to be restored among us, it would be
idle to think that we could do better than follow the mo-
del of the Benedictines, or the Franciscans.*
It is, however, necessary to descend a little farther
toward particulars. With this view I will new offer
some considerations, and adduce some evidence, tending
to exhibit the moral quality of the ascetic institute ac-
cording to its Theory, and assuming it to have been
what its authors intended, and as good in fact as some of
its admirers represent it to have been. We must after-
wards inquire what its moral influence was under its
actual condition; and under each of these heads we must
advert, on the one hand to the case of those who came
within the enchanted circle, and on the other, to that of
those who stood without it.
I here substitute the phrase — the ascetic institute — it
being remembered that celibacy was the prime article of
that institute; the more comprehensive term being em-
ployed, because it is not practicable so to analyze the
moral result of the entire system, as to be able to assign
its precise amount of influence, in the general product,
to the celibacy as distinguished from the abstinences, the
mortifications, the seclusions, and the other observances
of the monastic life.
The greatest possible advantage is given to the Nicene
asceticism by deriving our notions of its Theory! from
* " By all which I havo ever read of the old, and have seen of
the modern monks, 1 take the preference to be clearly due to the
last, as having a more regular discipline, more good learning,
and less superstition among them than the first." — Middleton.
t By Theory I mean the s}-stem entire — contemplative, and
practical, as imbodied in the Monastic Constitutions, and in Ba-
sil's ascetic treatises and epistles.
AS IT AFFECTED THE HONKS THEMSELVES. 483
the writing* of Basil, inasmuch as this eminent man
leaves out of his system many of those offensive enormi-
ties which attached to it as practised in Egypt and Syria;
and at the same time he includes many excellencies and
embellishments which others did not allow.
Take this scheme of life, then, at the best, and sup-
posing it exempt from all suspicion, it is, in its very
idea, a moral suicide. The suicide violates the often
quoted rule — non est injussu imperatoris, &c , by the
sword or the rope; the ascetic does so as effectually by
his vow. Under colour of piety, the monastic system
is a course of contumacy towards the government of
God; or a wilful and captious rejection of the part as-
signed to a man, and the taking up, without leave, ano-
ther part, in compliance with a fastidious, infirm, self-
indulgent, or morose temper. It was a behaviour like
that of a humoured and fractious child, who will be very
good just so long as you allow him to please himself,
and to sit sullen in a corner, but who breaks out into
passion the moment you attempt to control him. As the
ascetic had set out with a total misapprehension of the
spirit of Christianity and of the scheme of salvation, so
did he fall into the most extreme error in regard to the
very nature of virtue, which is not a celestial phantasy,
that may be realized if a man is allowed to shape every-
thing about him to his mind, but a terrestrial excellence,
consisting in the adherence to fixed principles, under ex-
ternal circumstances of whatever kind, and even the
most* disadvantageous. Tins is the very turning point
in the discrimination between real virtue and every sort
of counterfeit, that it is — the acting uniformly, or with
an invariable purpose, under and amidst all diversities,
and those the most perplexing, of external circumstances;
or, as we technically say, "temptations." "I will be
484 MORAL QUALITY OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE,
virtuous," says the ascetic, " if only you will let me
chalk out my own path." While those who alone really
deserve to be called virtuous are confronting every spe-
cies of difficulty, opposition, and seduction, upon the
rugged common of the open world, the nice ascetic turns
off upon a level gravel-walk, between two walls, and
there, forsooth, he too will be virtuous!
An inquiry, therefore, concerning the moral quality of
the ascetic scheme, according to its theory, might fairly
be cut short by the previous exception — There can be
no virtue of a genuine sort in a system of conduct which
allows a man to evade whatever duties he happens to
mislike. Among the many illusions which meet us on
all sides in the Nicene church none, therefore, was more
gross than that involved in the customary language of
the admirers of the ascetic life, who spoke of it always
as the highest style of virtue. Just as well point to a
marble statue, whether it be of a Socrates, or of a Sile-
nus, of a Diana, or of a Bacchus, would make no differ-
ence, and say, " See what temperance is here imbodied,
what command of the passions, what unruffled fortitude,
-what angelic purity, what indifference to the pleasures
and honours of the world!" Not so, for these excel-
lencies are the qualities of a conscious voluntary agent,
and can never be predicated of a block of marble. And
so, it is not the ascetic, in his cell or cloister, who may
justly be called temperate, pure, self-denying, heavenly-
minded; but rather the man who, surrounded by the or-
dinary inducements to act and feel otherwise, neverthe-
less holds control over " the lusts and desires," as well
of " the flesh as of the mind."
And what if, after thus incurring the guilt of moral
suicide, and after running away, as he thinks, from all
temptations, the monk is found, by his own confession,
AS IT AFFECTED THE MONKS THEMSELVES. 485
to have become the abject anil conscience-smitten slave
of heart-burning impurities.* A Christian man, living in
the midst of every social relation, and calmly going in
and out among the occasions of common life, yet prac-
tically remembers that, "his body is the temple of the
Holy Ghost." The ascetic, following implicitly the
holy Basil's instructions, vows chastity; — and in fact
violates it every hour of his existence: he subscribes to
Basil's rule never to speak to, to touch, or look upon a
woman (unless by the most absolute necessity.!) But
shall we listen — no we would not listen to the ascetic's
own pitiable description of his conflicts with "the adver-
sary." If there be any thing at all belonging to the
moral nosology of human nature, which is at once hor-
rible and loathsome, it is that idea of tlie ascetic agonies
which we cannot but gather from incidental confessions
abounding in the ascetic writings. Is then the monk's
actual condition — physical and moral, a desirable one?
and is his the choicest style of virtue — is he the chaste
and virtuous man compared with the Christian husband
and father?
It is easier to allow there to have been a certain order
of piety, than any kind of morality, among the ascetics.
Let it be granted that, to condemn the debilitated stomach
to churn saliva from sun-rise to sun-set, might possibly
promote devotion, but assuredly, there is nothing in
* Ego. . . .soepe choris intercram puellarum: pallebant ora jeju-
niis, et mens dcsideriis restuabat. . . Jerom. ad Eustach. " Listen
not," says Ephrem, " to the enemy who whispers thee, cu Juv&rov
<rev," p. 161. Oxford. Expressions of similar import abound in
the ascetic writings. It is impossible to doubt what was the real
mental condition of many of the ascetics, perhaps of most,
t Const. Monas. c. 3.
486 MORAL QUALITY OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE,
such a discipline which we can call morality. There is
morality in "speaking evil of no man," but no morality
in not speaking at all. There is morality in not eating
more than is good; but none in not eating at all. There
is morality in acting, speaking, and thinking, chastely,
when the temptation to do otherwise is presented; but
none in avoiding those temptations which, in fact, are
the least to be feared, while those are foolishly incurred
which are the most insidious, and the most likely to
take effect. There may indeed have been pure and
holy ascetics; but then their asceticism was no ingre-
dient of their holiness or purity; nor even a means to-
ward it; but on the contrary, and by their own confes-
sion, it was always a greater impediment than the actual
trials of common life could have offered. With the
same grace, and the same inclination towards virtue,
they would have made much more proficiency if relieved
from the intolerable load of their " rule," than they did,
as burdened by it.
A man may, in the wantonness of his presumption,
impose upon himself some task so difficult, and so idle,
as that, while actually making the most prodigious ef-
forts, the visible result is little or nothing; as if one
were to resolve to walk always on the heel and the toe,
without allowing the sole of the foot to touch the ground,
and mean while, not to exhibit any awkwardness of gait,
or to fall behind others: terrible would be the torment
and toil of such an exploit; and a man, using his feet
naturally, might walk twenty miles for one, with the
same fatigue. Now the ascetics, or athletae, as they
were called, sweating and wasting themselves to skele-
tons, on the tread-wheel of their devout task-work, what
did they do but just effect a useless rotation! So diffi-
cult as they confess, and so arduous, was the mere rou-
AS IT AFFECTED THE MONKS THEMSELVES
487
tine of the religious life, that a monk had no chance of
acquitting himself tolerably well, unless he surrendered
himself, body and soul, to the work. To get through
with the daily and nightly task of prayers, psalm-singing,
watchings, scourgings, fastings, and all this time to keep
" the enemy" at bay, that is, to exclude the most abomi-
nable imaginations, was the utmost that mortal powers
might be equal to. Not a particle of moral force, there-
fore, was left at large to be employed in the reasonable
duties of a useful Christian course. The *jtx»jh was a
task for a Hercules, and it would have been cruel to
have demanded from a wretch thus worn down by ex-
cessive toils, any thing more than his rule prescribed.
Those who, on Christian and reasonable principles,
exercise themselves daily in "godliness and virtue,"
personal and relative, find that they have enough to do,
without undertaking any such supererogatory labour as
that of removing a heap of sand, in a sieve, from one
side of the monastery garden to-day, only that they may
have to return it, by the like means, to its former position
to-morrow.
From the general tenor of the ascetic memoirs it ap-
pears clearly that almost the whole moral and spiritual
energies of the soul were spent and exhausted upon the
artificial part of the system of discipline; and indeed it
is but too evident, that, with more than a few, the de-
fence of the citadel of monastic virtue, consumed the
entire forces of the mind and body. Is such a system
then a wise and eligible one, and likely to promote mo-
rals and real virtue on broad ground? Even if we could
believe that it did secure, for the monk, a higher place
in heaven, the ascetic practice cost him nearly all his
virtue on earth. By virtue we ought to mean a^™, in the
Christian sense of the word, that is to say, a quality of
488 MORAL QUALITY OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE,
actions, and of dispositions, and habits, marked by vi-
gour, animation, and productiveness. What is, or can
be, the virtue of the inert, or of the imbecile, or of the
frivolous, or of the abject? at the best, it is only a lan-
guid semblance of the shining reality, like the dimmed,
flickering image of ihe sun, reflected from a puddle: and
such, generally speaking, was the virtue of the monks.
Let the reader, after perusing Basil's Monastic Con-
stitutions, and those expounded, or drawn into detail in
Cassian's Institutes, imagine what would be the effect
which such a system must produce upon his own con-
duct and sentiments. Consider the principal elements
of this system: — beside the vow of celibacy, and the
other rigorous rules and abstinences of the ascetic life,
the monk was removed from the influence of every one
of those motives which impart energy to the human
mind; and he was at the same time brought under the
influence of every motive which tends to break down its
force, to dissipate its individual purposes, and to reduce
it to a condition of hopeless degradation, and ineptitude.
Not content with forbidding to marry, the ascetic Ly-
curgus sternly demanded of the monk, that, as far as
possible, he should break connexion with his nearest re-
latives, and literally cease, henceforward, to know his
parents, brethren, and sisters, according to the flesh! a
measure this which, how severe soever, was found to be
an indispensable condition of the conventual life, and
necessary to the enforcement of obedience. Such was
the first iron-hearted lesson of this schooling in celestial
virtue! It is curious to contrast these atrocities of the
system, with the actual fact, not merely that the monks,
though estranged from their natural connexions, were
used to buzz from house to house, meddling with what-
ever they should have let alone, but that, whenever the
AS IT AFFECTED THE MONKS THEMSELVES.
489
opportunity presented itself, these holy persons, who
had devoted their lives to celestial contemplations, pushed
themselves into courts, and palaces, and halls of justice,
and into the tents of military commanders, taking it
upon themselves to overrule secular affairs, of every
kind, with a high hand.* Thus it was that the men who
had renounced marriage, actually lived in shameless
concubinage; and that those who had disowned their pa-
rents and nearest relatives, were the common mischief
makers in families; and that those who had proclaimed
themselves the citizens of the heavenly country, under-
took the administration of the world's aflairs, and would
be foremost in the control of fleets and armies!
It was the unalterable law of the monastic institute,
that a monk should retain no personal property — scarcely
his right in the filthy rug that covered his shoulders.
The pecuniary consequences of this rule we have not
now particularly to do with, but it is easy to see in what
way it would operate to animate the zeal of the chiefs,
the bishops and abbots, who were the fund-hclders, in
* " Voici une etrange contradiction de l'esprit humain. Les
ministres de la religion, chez les premiers Romains, n'etant pas
exclus des charges et de la societe civile, s'embarrasserent peu
de ses affaires. Lorsque la religion chretienne fut etablie, les ec-
clesiastiques qui etaient plus separes des affaires dumonde, s'en
melerent avec moderation: mais lorsque, dans la decadence de
l'empire, les moins furent le seul clerge, ces gens, destines par
une profession plus particuliere a fuir et a. craindre les affaires,
embrasserent toutes les occasions qui parent leur y donner part)
ils ne cesserent de f'aire du bruit partout, et d'agiter ce monde
qu'ils avaient quitte.
" Aucune affaire d'etat, aucune paix, aucune guerre, aucune
treve, aucune negotiation, aucun mariage ne se traita que par le
ministere des moines; les conseils du prince en furent remplis, et
les assemblies de la nation presque toutes c-omposces." — Mon-
tesquieu, Grand, des Rom. cap. 22.
42
490 MORAL QUALITY OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE:,
trumpeting the delights and rewards of the monastic life .
Vast wealth, by this very means, came under the con-
trol of spiritual persons. But we now think only of the
monk, individually. Manual labours were indeed a part
of his daily discipline ; but then this labour was the
cheerless druggery of a slave; — a slave of the most ab-
ject class; for never could he improve his condition, by
his exertions: toil was toil without a motive. Often it
was a task imposed simply as a proof and trial of im-
plicit obedience: he was enjoined to dig, and to fill in —
to carry, and to re-carry, to build and to pull down.
Could the energy of virtue survive these vilifying exer-
cises? Is a man found, in fact, to retain his dignity, as
the image of God, or does he reserve to himself that in-
dividuality of purpose which is the very ground of his
accountableness, when thus, or in any such way, he is
trodden in the dust? The intelligible and stimulating
motives which ordinarily prompt men to spontaneous
exertions, afford also the fulcrum of all active virtue.
Even those virtues of which there was so much talk in
the Nicene church, as for example almsgiving, were ren-
dered impracticable by the monastic rules. A monk
who could never be master of an obolus, how could he
practise that capital virtue-, apart from which, according
to the authorized doctrine of the church itself, even vir-
ginity could not secure admission into heaven?
The demands of morality are not to be acquitted
in single acts; nor are habitual duties to be transacted
wholesale. The monk, who, just as the reluctant miser
makes his will, did all the charity of his life, at one
stroke, in resigning his estate to the church or monas-
tery, did none at all, in the eye of reason or Christian-
ity;— Christian almsgiving is the imparting, daily, or as
occasions arise, to the needy, something which is a
AS IT AFFECTED THE MONKS THEMSELVES. 491
man's own, and which he might retain to his proper
use.
Inasmuch as genuine morality is the doing right, when
the doing wrong is possible, so, just in proportion as
the personal independence and liberty of an agent is re-
stricted, his sphere of moral excellence is narrowed.
And here let it be noticed that, although you may im-
pose many restraints upon a man's visible, bodily, or
eivil liberty, while yet you leave him in possession of
that liberty of the soul without which he ceases to be ac-
countable, and apart from which he can practise no' real
virtue — in proportion as restraint touches the soul itself,
and passes inward, from the visible behaviour, to the
very centre of the moral nature, the man is deprived of
that liberty whence virtue takes its commencement.
Thus, an over-anxious and rigorous parent is sometimes
seen to keep so stern an eye upon, not the conduct
merely, but the inmost sentiments of a child — looking into
his very soul, that the victim of this well-meant cruel-
ty, while precluded perhaps from overt acts of disobe-
dience, is also denied the very possibility of becoming
in any genuine sense, good and virtuous. Now, in the
monastic system, taking the theory of it from Basil,
where it is to be found in its mildest and least offensive
form, not only was every part of the monk's exterior
conduct, even to the most trivial circumstances of per-
sonal behaviour, prescribed, and compliance exacted un-
der severe penalties; but an unreserved confession, to
the superior or to his deputy, was enjoined; and not
merely the confession of delinquencies in conduct, whe-
ther more or less important, but every faithlessness or
failure of the spirit, and every wandering of the desires,
was to be ingenuously and punctiliously exposed: and
this discipline was to be carried up into the recesses of
492 MORAL QUALITY OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE,
the soul, until the victim of it had surrendered the last
wrecks of his moral nature, and had allowed the foot
of his spiritual tyrant to trample upon the pitiful residue
of those personal affections which make a man, a man.
And this scheme of execrable despotism was glorified
by all the heads and leaders of the Nicene church, as a
school of "divine philosophy," and as a high training
of heavenly virtue!
Virtue!— the last life blood of virtue, or of the energy
whence virtue might have sprung, was bled out of the
tortured monk, drop by drop, and then the needless seve*
rity of binding him, hand and foot, and of bandaging his
eyes, and of gagging him, was exacted, and after all, the
wretch, reduced to this syncope of the moral nature,
was exhibited as a faultless pattern of holiness, the
ayAxjua of all excellence, earthly and heavenly!
Such was the Nicene monkery in its theory, and upon
too many the theory took effect, in all its intensity of
cruelty and horror, or in its sad efficacy to produce the
apathy and vacuity of mind and heart of an idiot. But
in fact, and, as appears, in the greater proportion of in-
stances, every kind of irregularity, and the grossest li-
centiousness came in to mitigate this theory, in its ope-
ration, and so to relieve the cold horrors of the monas-
tery by swamping it with corruptions. A wretched state
of any system truly is that in which the only relief that
can be looked for from the pressure of tyranny, is what
may slip in through the sewers and sluices of profligacy!
So it was, precisely, in the Nicene monasteries and con-
vents. To look at them in the constitutions of the Cap-
padocian bishop, is to feel amazement, but to look into
them, through the remonstrant pages of Chrysostom,
and Jerome, is only to be filled with contempt.
As often as any stern and fanatical renovator came into
AS IT AFFECTED THE MONKS THEMSELVES.
493
the management of these religious houses, a return was
made to the theory of the system, which, taking effect
upon the sincere and simple-hearted, and reducing others
to outward decorum, seemed to work wonders. Such a
reform, just lasting out the life-time of its mover, quick-
ly gave place to the ordinary state of things; leaving the
institute to what may well be called its natural condition
of mingled fanatical and puerile absurdity, of idiot-like
inertness, and of shameless profligacy.
He must be a bold Quixote who should undertake to
show that such has not been the ordinary condition of
the monkish institute from age to age. Or if there are
times in its, history which might claim an exemption,
certainly the period with which we have now to do was
not such a time: — it was not, if we are to receive the re-
port of the best qualified contemporary witnesses; and
especially if we may interpret, on principles of common
sense, the incidental allusions to the state of things
around them, which these witnesses have let fall.
And why should we not deal in this rational manner
with the materials in our hands? On what grounds do
they claim to be handled "with a credulous reverence?
The canonical writings do not ask for any such indul-
gence, why then should the Nicene? But to peruse them
in the unrestrained exercise of a vigorous good sense, i3
to convince oneself that the Nicene monkery was alto-
gether less deserving of respect than that of almost any
other age. It would indeed be easy to 14 get up " a re-
presentation which should seem to contradict this aver-
ment. Single homilies and treatises may be picked out
of the mass, which would charm the uninitiated. But
let the same method be applied to a rather later period,
and we must acknowledge it to be fallacious. Suppose,
42*
494 MORAL QUALITY OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE,
for example, we take the De Imitatione Christi, and as-
sume that the occupants of cloisters, generally, in the
author's time were such as he himself was. — First let
us look into the caustic writings of the author of the
Laudatio Stultitiae, who assuredly will prove a safer
guide to the historical inquirer.
There was indeed a Thomas a Kempis in the fifteenth
century, and there were many kindred spirits, dispersed
among the monastic orders at the same time. There was
a Macarius in the fourth century; and a " seven thou-
sand," unknown to the world, but reserved by sovereign
grace in an age of wild fanaticism and wide-spread pro-
fligacy— religious and irreligious. Religious profligacy!
— I mean the hardened licentiousness of men and women
who, while making the loftiest pretensions, were living
in the practice of the foulest vices; or, to say the least
and the best that can be said, were so living, just within
the pale of ostensible virtue, as to show that their heart
and mind were always wandering beyond it. There
will be false members attached to the purest communi-
ties; but the plain import of Chrysostom's representa-
tions compels us to believe that, among the professors of
asceticism, in his times, the pure were the excepted few,
while the shameless practices against which he inveighs
characterized the conduct of the many. "I do not speak
of all,"* says the indignant yet cautious preacher. What
does this mean, but that he did speak of most, when he
charged the monks and nuns with the most flagitious in-
decencies?
" To such a pass have things come now-a-days, that
a Christian man or woman had better be married than
profess virginity." All, how much better, could but the
* Chrysost. torn. i. p. 306.
AS IT AFFECTED THE MONKS THEMSELVES.
495
Nicene church have understood so simple a truth! Not
understanding it, thousands, and tens of thousands, of
souls were driven on, till they had reached a condition
more frightful than any other which an accountable being
can occupy. The profligacy of the sensual and giddy
herd of mankind has no such appalling aggravation at-
taching to it as that which attends the course of those
whose intemperance has the blackness of hypocrisy,
whose excesses are a sacrilege, who go into the temple
of God with the language of devotion, every syllable of
which, coming from such lips, is a blasphemy; and who
retire from the church to chambers of wantonness, clad
in a garb which should scorch them. Multitudes, in an
early season of religious fervour, were enticed into re-
ligious houses, where every better purpose was speedily
overthrown by the most dangerous seductions, and
where, deprived of the invigorating influence of common
motives, and strenuous employments, and breathing the
sweltering atmosphere of pseudo-spiritual excitements,
they met with facilities they had not dreamed of, for
gratifying the worst propensities.
Enthusiasts err on no point more grievously, than in
the supposition that the many, among whom they may
excite a momentary sympathetic extravagance, will con-
tinue to be as absurd as themselves, when left to the
gravitation of their proper natures. Unhappily, the
broad net which the ascetic enthusiasts cast over the
waters of the church, entangled multitudes who were
susceptible of just so much of the crazy influence as to
prevent their speedy return to the common world; but
by no means of so much as might have enabled them to
leave behind them its vices. — Mad enough to hold to
their profession of celestial virtue, and yet sober enough
to avail themselves coolly of every opportunity to belie it.
496 MORAL QUALITY OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE,
It is but the surface of a subject, such as the one now
before us, that can, with any propriet)'', be touched in a
publication which may fall into the hands of the young.
Those who have read certain of the ascetic writers will
grant, that a due regard to the feelings of the general
reader forbids my making such a use of my materials as
would be the most conclusive. I cannot suppose that an
ingenuous opponent would take advantage of the pecu-
liar difficulty which attaches to the subject; or that, pre-
suming upon the impracticability of fully opening the
wound of the monastic system, he would scout the mea-
ger evidence which I have actually adduced. A cheap
triumph of this sort would be a perilous one. I will
dismiss the subject then with one remark —
Although debauched manners will not consist with ge-
nuine holiness of heart, they will very well consist with
a highly-wrought sentimental sanctimoniousness; — for
there is no real contrariety between a gross voluptuous-
ness, and a refined voluptuousness. Now this general
fact being admitted, as it will by all who know what
human nature is, I request the reader, in the first place,
to turn to the statements already made, pp. 238 — 242,
concerning the imaginative sensitiveness, and the prurient
pudicity with which Basil laboured to affect the female
mind. Let us distinctly conceive of the moral and in-
tellectual condition of young women fully surrendering
themselves to this kind of influence, which led them to
people their dressing-rooms with invisible admirers.
Then let us turn, either to Basil's own intimations con-
cerning the shameless profligacy that was often going on
in the monastic houses; or, still better, to Chrysostom's
very explicit and astounding statements of the manners
of the nuns in his time.* How stands the case then?
* See notes at the end.
AS IT AFFECTED THE MONKS THEMSELVES.
497
Basil had fomented a dangerous sentimentality which
could have no other effect than that which we find ac-
tually to have resulted from it, namely — the loss of the
last remains of feminine delicacy, and a grossness of
conduct which many of the unfortunates whom society
has expelled, would blush to imitate — and in fact would
not imitate, even in the last stages of their degradation.
Yet such is the reach of inconsistency, when once re-
ligion and morals are unhinged, that these same women
— these virgins! could issue reeking from their quarters,
and frequent church, and approach the 44 tremendous
altar," and, as we are assured, could, with unblushing
face, and while all blushed for them, admit there and at
the very moment when the " terrible mysteries " were
celebrating, the coaxing attentions of their monkish pa-
ramours!
Whatever may be the licentiousness prevailing in mo-
dern catholic countries, I believe that the decorum of
public worship is rarely violated; and on the contrary,
that an imposing solemnity, and deep abstraction, cha-
racterize, generally, the behaviour of those who attend
mass. The scenes which Chrysostom speaks of, as of
ordinary occurrence, at Antioch, and at Constantinople,
would not, I think, be tolerated now in any church in
Europe.
THE NECESSARY OPERATION OF AN ASCE-
TIC INSTITUTE UPON THE MASS OF
CHRISTIANS.
Wherever a system exists which is favourable to
such a course, persons of fervent and moody religious
498 OPERATION OF AN ASCETIC INSTITUTE
temper will, notwithstanding the remonstrances of com-
mon sense, and Christian principles, and the reluctances
of ordinary motives, betake themselves to the ascetic
life, which, in truth, has many charms for tl\e inert and
feeble-minded. And such persons will say — "We have
counted the cost; we know what we are doing; and we
think ourselves free to obey what we feel to be a holy
impulse." Let it be so; yet there is one part of this
"cost" which such persons seldom or never take any
account of, namely, the cost to the community, which,
as an inevitable consequence, attaches to the establish-
ment in a country of the ascetic institute; I mean the
cost to public morals. This serious consequence, al-
though seldom adverted to, invariably attends the preva-
lence of such a system. A few words will be enough
for explaining this connexion of cause and effect.
The motives of Christianity are found to take effect
in various degrees of intensity upon any number of indi-
viduals, some admitting them to the full, while others
seem scarcely sensible of their power. Yet still all, and
especially those who occupy an intermediate ground,
feel themselves to be liable, abstractedly, to the entire
force of these motives; and any one of these persons,
even the lowest on the scale of religious feeling, may, at
any time, admit their fullest energy, and may move on-
ward to a higher position, without obstruction. So it
will be, if the natural order of things has not been dis-
turbed; and in such a state of things the fervour and the
attainments of the few, intermingled with the many, ope-
rate beneficially upon all.
But now, if, in such a community, any artificial line
of demarcation is drawn around the few who are pre-
sumed to have made great attainments, and farthermore,
if whatever is the most affecting in the Christian 6ystem
TTPON THE MASS OF CHRISTIANS.
499
be assigned to these few, as their prerogative, then the
many are at once mulct of their shares in what had be-
fore been common property, and, so long as they enter-
tain no hope or intention of forcing their way within the
narrow circle of privilege, they actually sustain a priva-
tion of almost the whole of that influence which before
had, in greater or less degrees, operated upon them, for
their benefit. The more this artificial distinction be-
tween the few and the many is abrupt, arbitrary, and
difficult to be passed over, the more complete will be
the consequent subtraction of spiritual warmth and light
from the outer space.
Let nothing more be done in any society of Christians
than to make a rule that whoever professed eminent se-
riousness should wear a hood, or a tassel to his cap; and,
at the same time, let such a doctrine as this be con-
stantly inculcated — That the virtue and piety of the " un-
hooded," or the " untasseled " commonalty is always of
an inferior quality; and let the custom prevail of never
quoting the choicest passages of scripture, except as ap-
plicable to the liveried aristocracy. The silent, but in-
evitable consequence of such a system upon the minds
of the many must be the almost total withdrawment of
all efficacious motives, and a general subsidence of moral
feeling, such as (if the few really justify their high pro-
fession) leaves a vast interval between them and the
many. In fact, there will soon be no middle and hope-
ful class, but only an alternative of rare sanctity (if it be
sanctity indeed) and a wide waste of lifeless formality.
Such, in fact, from the first, has been the condition of
every community in which the monastic system has pre-
vailed; nor is it easy to follow the history of this insti-
tution, uniform as it is in its characteristics, without be-
ing impressed with the belief that the Satanic craft has
500
OPERATION OF AN ASCETIC INSTITUTE
had to do with the contrivance of the ascetic institute,
Christianity, wherever it actually took effect, produced
a moral revolution, so absolute and so amazing as to
show that, if left unobstructed to pursue its course, every
thing evil must give way before it. Nothing less than
a familiar converse with pagan antiquity (or, instead of
it, a few years' residence in the heart of Brahminieal In-
dia) can enable any one to estimate the vastness, we
might say the strangeness, of the change which the gos-
pel was hastening to bring about. The early apologists,
all of them, appeal triumphantly, and with the calm con-
fidence of truth, to the moral renovation that was then
in progress. The kingdom of the wicked one was visi-
bly shaken; and new counsels must be followed, and
new measures must be tried. The first endeavour was
to crush the rising moral energy by calumnies and tor-
tures; but these methods of open violence only added
force to it. What then remained to be attempted? The
arch-Ahithophel was not to be so soon baffled, and he
presently took a more wily, and a far more effectual
course. " If we cannot fight with this new power upon
the open field, we may do better: we may wall it in."
In other words, the monastic scheme was suggested and
set a going: the enemy found his ready agents within
the church, and a proclamation was loudly made, on all
sides, to this effect — That all who aspired to perfection,
after the model of the new and divine philosophy of
Christ, should throw up their interests in this world's
affairs, and shut themselves up in houses dedicated to
sanctity and prayer! This device, notwithstanding the
violence it did to human nature, took effect to an extent
that could not have appeared probable. The wise and
learned, as well as the simple, caught at the bait; and
scarcely a voice of dissent was heard. In every part of
UPON THE MASS OF CHRISTIANS.
501
Christendom the regenerative force of Christianity was
forthwith cloistered, and although the endeavour to ex-
terminate the gospel had every where failed, the scheme
which entombed it every where prospered. This view
of the authorship of the ancient monastic system, as af-
fecting the moral condition of the social mass, I must
profess to entertain, deliberately and steadily; and do
most seriously believe it to have been Satan's especial
contrivance for restraining and hemming in the gospel,
as to its diffusive moral influence. Not for a moment
forgetting how much piety and beneficence lias, at all
times, been incarcerated within monastic walls, nor for-
getting the many benefits which have incidentally re-
sulted from these establishments, during ages of barbar-
ism and violence, nevertheless, if the weighty question
be put, concerning the monastic institute, Whence was
it? I cannot for a moment hesitate to say — "from be-
neath." That specious scheme which the doctors and
preachers of the Nicene age agreed to admire and ex-
tend, was nothing else, as I firmly believe, but the devil's
desperate device for retaining his hold of the mass of
mankind, notwithstanding the presence of the gospel,
which he had found it impossible to expel from the world
by open force.
If facts were adduced, illustrative of the actual condi-
tion of the (so called) Christian nations in the fourth, fifth,
and sixth centuries, twenty causes might easily be named
rather than the influence of the monastic institute, to
which the general dissoluteness of manners might be at-
tributed. Let us, however, consider (not to look far-
ther) what must have been the effect of the practice of
setting the ascetic seal upon every text of the Bible
which has any peculiar force or stress of meaning. It
43
502
OPERATION OF AN ASCETIC INSTITUTE
would not easily be believed to what an extent this per-
nicious practice prevailed. One is, indeed, amazed at
the perverse ingenuity which was employed in carrying
on this work of exegetical monopoly. Not content with
assigning to the use of holy hermits, monks, and nuns,
all the cream of scripture — its promises especially — and
with giving a twisted application to every general pre-
cept, the ascetic interpreters — I mean all the principal
Nicene writers — took up even those preceptive portions
of the New Testament which most clearly belong to
Christians in common, and set them off for this bye use.
It is thus that the rapacious never rest so long as any
thing meets their eye which has not been appropriated.
Let any number of intelligent persons (not initiated in
the patristic chicanery) read the second, third, and fourth
verses of the seventh chapter of the first epistle to the
Corinthians, and I will venture to say that not one in a
hundred of them would ever surmise any thing else than
that the apostle is there intending to convey certain ad-
vices to the married. No such tiling, says a high au-
thority; and this superficial interpretation we should re-
gard as a specimen only of our protestant tampering
with the mysteries of scripture. All that Paul here ad-
dresses apparently to the married is really said, as Chry-
sostom deliberately assures us, in terrorem, and for the
express purpose of deterring Christians, male and fe-
male, from matrimony! Marry — who would bring him-
self, or herself, under so wretched a bondage? Why! —
a married man hath, as the apostle says, no longer any
power over his own body! — nor hath a married woman
any power over her own body, but has become the slave
of another! — alas the fools who marry! and how wise are
they who rather dedicate their bodies to Him whose ser-
vice is perfect freedom! The passage may, indeed, says
our expositor, at first sight, seem to have a lower and a
I'PON THE MASS OF CHRISTIANS.
503
lenient meaning; but whoever considers it more atten-
tively will perceive that the apostle's real intention is of
a kind more worthy of himself, and of his argument!*
Against a method of interpretation such as this, no
principles of truth can stand; and in the use of it, any
enormity may readily be substantiated. I would engage
to adduce, very quickly, a hundred similar instances of
crooked exposition. The effect was to cut off the wa-
ters of the sanctuary, in their destined course, hither
and thither, to bless the church and the world: the heal-
ing streams, turned by a deep cross-cut into the mo-
nastery, either stagnated in that turbid pool, or sunk
away through bottomless quicksands. Thus it was that
the gospel so faintly affected the European morals as
that the Mahometan deluge came, where it came, as a
cleansing inundation. If Mahomet, plagiarist as he was,
had but included in his scheme the Jewish notions and
usages relating to women, and had his religion embraced
the purifying element of domestic virtue, it must, so far
as we can calculate upon the operation of natural causes,
have triumphed over the debased Christianity of the
seventh century, which, as a system of religion, had be-
come a frivolous idolatry, and which, as a moral system,
or code of manners, had driven all natural sentiments
from off their foundations. The degrading influence of
the Mahometan polygamy, and of its doctrine of a vo-
luptuous paradise, just served to balance the monkish
enormities of Christendom, so as to leave with the lat-
ter enough of advantage to enable it to hold its ground
when borne upon by its rival.
To exclude woman from the domestic and social cir-
cle, is the same thing as to expel all virtue thence. A
Chrysost. torn. i. pp. 351 — 354.
504
OPERATION OF AN ASCETIC INSTITUTE
truism such as this, one would not have ventured to re-
peat, now-a-days, did it not appear that there are those
who are wishing to make a new experiment, with the
view of hitching Christian morals up to a higher level,
by again separating the sexes. This separation, if not
the end immediately aimed at, yet follows as an inevita-
ble consequence from the institute of celibacy; — it is a
measure of discretion, quickly found to be indispensa-
ble, when once the oriental doctrine of the sanctity of
virginity has come to be preached among young people,
and when once a choir of virgins, male and female, has
been set off from the community. If these unfledged
" seraphs " are not to be literally incarcerated, after the
Romish fashion — which incarceration is, in truth, no-
thing but mercy and wisdom; then it will be found, not-
withstanding the lofty style which the senior promoters
of the scheme may think fit to use, an utterly impracti-
cable thing to allow of their freely conversing, either
with each other, or with their former associates in pro-
miscuous society. The Nicene church tried this me-
thod, and the consequence was — just what any man in
his senses would have predicted — the prevalence of
abuses ineffably revolting.
A middle course must then be followed; that is to say,
if the temper of the times forbids the immuring of the
" professed," it must be silently understood that they are
to be seen in society only as spectres, or only as a spec-
tacle in " procession;" or only as the mute personages
of a church pomp; or be it, as angels of mercy, flitting
hither and thither, commendably indeed, among the
wretched. But what has become of the once happy cir-
cles whence these victims have been snatched? Not
only will the domestic and general circle have lost their
brightest ornaments — their "first born" of virtue, puri-
UPON THE MASS OF CHRISTIANS.
505
ty, and piety — that is to say, the very individuals who,
by native elevation of sentiment, and by a high tone of
feeling, were the salt of the mass; but those who are
left behind, thus orphaned, as we may say, are hence-
forward condemned to look upon themselves, and upon
one another, as a degraded class, or as the reprobates of
purity; nor can they feel, speak, or act, otherwise than
under the extreme moral disadvantage of being robbed of
the finer feelings of self-respect, and of mutual respect.
What remains for them is to seek indemnifications, and
these are to be sought, and may always be found, near
at hand, in licentious or perilous freedoms of behaviour.
The Christian father of a numerous and well-trained
amily, finds (many such may soon find to their amaze-
ment) that his " Angelica," or his " Priscilla," or his
'« Agnes," having listened to the whispers and sighs of
some apostle of church principles (whether stern and
demure, or blithe and seraphic) has actually dedicated
herself, ;: in a word, has " professed;" and if she has not
taken an irreversible vow, has so pledged her conscience
and honour, as that to draw back would be infamy. —
Let it be so; the victim has bled; but can we believe
that the "Marthas," and the "Annes," and the "Eli-
zabeths," of this despoiled family continue to occupy pre-
cisely the same moral level that they did before? — Nay,
they have been cruelly robbed, and without their fault,
of the bloom of beauty, the grace and transparency, of
their feminine honour. — Thenceforward they are to
think themselves somewhat less than chaste and pure;
for it is their seraphic sister only, who, as they are
*To take this stop against the will and advice of parents, or
without their knowledge, was an additional merit, with the Ni-
cene doctors.
43*
506
OPERATION OF AN ASCETIC INSTITUTE
taught, merits to be called so in any proper sense: but,
for a woman to be brought to think of herself, and for
her to know that she is thought of by others, as having,
in any way, stepped down from the high place of wo-
manly reverence which she once occupied, is, in fact, for
her to be thrust down to a level where delicacy does not
breathe at ease. The Marthas, and the Annes, and the
Elizabeths. of this family, whose common sense has
stood in the way of their promotion, and who number
themselves among such as may marry, find that the new
code of morals which has got admittance among them
has drawn a broad line through the once united band,
and that, on the one side of it stands chastity, and vir-
ginity, and angelic purity, and on the other side, where
themselves are ranged, there is marriage, not forbidden,
but just tolerated, and a little lower down, according to
the Nicene scale — concubinage, and lower still, the se-
veral grosser forms of licentiousness; and these fair vic-
tims are then offered the alternative either of professing,
with their sister; or — of standing associated with the im-
pure.— Horrid mischief this!
The practical meaning of religious celibaey, as an in-
stitute, is — the degradation of woman* — her expulsion
from general society — the lowering of manners and sen-
timents among young persons universally — the setting
married life off from the circle of the highest and best
motives, and a general licentiousness diffused through
the community. These consequences follow — they ever
have followed, and it is easy to see how and why they
must follow, from the celibate, even supposing the best,
* I say nothing of the consequences of the celibate, as affect-
ing the male sex — directly and indirectly. Those who know
something of monkish history will know why this branch of the
subject must be passed in silence.
UPON THE MASS OF CHRISTIANS.
507
namely, that the "professed" generally justify their
high pretensions. But what happens when, as has in
fact always been the case, monasteries and convents are
known, by every body, to be sinks of pollution — the
sewers of the open world, into which every thing de-
scends that should shun the light! Shall we dare to ima-
gine the effect that would be produced upon our English
manners, supposing the celibate to be restored — under
any imaginable modifications — and supposing that, after ,
the first few years of fresh enthusiasm, it became, in
frequent and notorious instances, just what we find it in
the Nicene age, as described by Chrysostom's monaste-
ries and convents, dispersed through the country, would
breathe pestilence enough to reduce England, quickly, to
the level of Spain and Italy; and meantime every think-
ing man in the land, would have become an infidel.
" Yes, but," say the promoters of church principles,
" we shall know how to obviate these extreme abuses:
we shall go to work on a better-considered plan, and
shall be provided against certain foreseen inconveniences.
True — provision may be made against the shameless
licentiousness of the Nicene monkery; — things may be
better managed than they were then, and they have
been; and it has been found possible to screw the sys-
tem up much tighter than was at first attempted. But
then this was done by the means which the church of
Rome employs. The Romish monastic economy — none
of its rigours excepted, is the only condition under which
the celibate can be endured: and this is what we must
come to. The learned and zealous persons who are
now recommending celibacy and asceticism, well know
that their present endeavours, public and private, can
have no other end; and that they themselves do not re-
coil from such an issue, has become manifest.
508
INFLUENCE OF THE MONASTIC INSTITUTE
THE INDIRECT INFLUENCE OF THE MO-
NASTIC INSTITUTE UPON THE POSITION
OF THE CLERGY.
No reader of ecclesiastical literature can need much to
be said in proof of the assertion that the ascetic doctrine,
and the institutions thence resulting, powerfully affected
the temper, conduct, and official position of the clergy,
in the Nicene age, as well as in later periods. In truth,
it might be broadly affirmed, that monkery without and
monkery within the hierarchical enclosure, comprise the
sum and substance of church history, through many
centuries. What it may be requisite to advance, on this
subject, presents itself under these two general heads,
namely — the indirect influence of the extra-clerical mo-
nastic establishments upon the position and character of
the clergy; — and the direct effect of the usage of celiba-
cy, upon the clergy themselves, and upon their relations
with the laity. We take then the first of these topics,
•which embraces the following affirmations — That the as-
cetic orders — the virgins, monks, anchorets, constituted
what may be called an ecclesiastical substratum, serving
to give breadth, support, and altitude, to the ecclesiastical
structure — That these orders were a class to be. main-
tained, and therefore swelled the amount of funds ad-
ministered by the clergy — That they were also a class
largely contributing to those funds; and, That they were
a class to be governed, and to be made use of, as aids
and instruments in governing the laity.
A calm inquirer concerning the origin of episcopacy,
is liable to be at first, not a little discouraged (if his pre-
dilections are in favour of that institution) by the clear
UPON THE POSITION OF THE CLERGY.
509
indications which meet him, on every side, of the stre-
nuous endeavours of the ancient church to create for it-
self, and to consolidate, a complex hierarchical scheme,
which, from an ample base, should tower to a proud
height. Very manifest it is, that the Pontifex — the so-
vereign bishop, was to be seated at the apex of a lofty-
pyramid: hence the long list of church functionaries,
and dependents, all, to the last and the lowest, personally
interested in the support of the ecclesiastical edifice;
and all looking up to the throne, as the fountain of ho-
nour and emolument. The facts, looked at in this light,
give rise to a prejudice against episcopacy; and the most
impartial mind may easily conceive a disgust, which
would lead to a too hasty conclusion, a conclusion not
sustained (as I humbly believe) by the evidence, when
it comes to be more strictly analyzed.
Nevertheless, while we exempt the primitive episco-
pacy from the prejudice incidentally resulting from the
facts adverted to, it is most evident that, at a very early
time, great anxiety was manifested, and great industry
used, tending to bring about what we find existing, in a
settled form, in the Nicene age, namely — a complicated
and broadly-bottomed hierarchical structure, which,
while it furnished dignities, occupation, maintenance,
and emoluments, to a large proportion of the Christian
body, gave a decisive preponderance, ordinarily, to the
clergy, as balanced against the laity. Particular cir-
cumstances allowed for, it would naturally happen that
all who had a common interest with the clergy, would
be found to stand on their side, and would sustain them,
in any instance of contention with the people: — the peo-
ple were in fact out-voted, and having been robbed of
their proper representatives, and their due influence, by
the insidious absorption into the clerical body of those
510
INFLUENCE OF THE MONASTIC INSTITUTE
who should have acted as their tribunes, and retaining
no control whatever over the funds of the church, they
were either dealt with, at pleasure, by the sacerdotal col-
lege, or, as is usual in despotic governments, they ex-
pressed their will, and inspired some necessary fear, on
signal occasions, in the irregular and dangerous mode of
tumultuary proceedings, and of open violence — the na-
tural remedies against usurpations of whatever kind.
The stability of a hierarchy (or of any monarchy) in
its relations towards the people, and the power of the
single chief toward the various members of the hierar-
chy itself, (or the aristocracy) alike demand not merely
a numerous and diversified body of functionaries, regu-
larly subordinated, from the highest to the lowest; but
also, one or more collateral bodies, which, while con-
stituting a portion of the whole, shall yet have a real
independence, in respect of all but the highest authori-
ties. This appears to be the secret of the monarchical
constitution, civil, or religious; nor has any monarchy
actually stood long, which has not so rested a portion
of its weight upon side buttresses. Now, while the
several ranks of the clergy, and the inferior church
officers, down to the porters, and the sweepers of the
aisles, constituted the bishop's ordinary state, he, and
the few who worked the machine of government under
his immediate control, felt a want, which was at length,
and gradually, supplied. From how slender and unsight-
ly a collection of materials, was that prodigious mass
prepared which has in fact proved the real prop of the
church, through the tempests of many centuries! A
pitiable company of desolate old women, were, if we
may say so, the rubble of the mole, which has propped
the papacy from age to age.
There is reason to believe that, in the ancient world,
UPON" THE POSITION OF THE CLERGY.
611
perilous as were many ordinary employments, now com-
paratively safe, dangerous as were navigation and land
travelling, murderous as was war, reckless as were all
governments of human life and welfare, prodigal of blood
as were the public amusements, horrid as were the
usages of slavery, and withal, wanting as was antiquity
in the medical and surgical care of the lower classes —
the average mortality of the male sex as compared with
the other, vastly exceeded its proportion in modern
times. And whereas, even now, widows are always
many more than widowers, in ancient times, the num-
ber of women whose husbands had been snatched from
them by violent and accidental deaths, was so great as
that these "destitutes" constituted a class, so considera-
ble as to attract peculiar regard. Heathenism might
indeed take little account of its widows and orphans;
but the gospel instantly brought them forward, as the
especial objects of the regard of the church. The first,
or one of the first duties of a primitive Christian society,
W2s to take care of its widows; and as the tendency of
all things, connected with a social economy, is, for what
was at first incidental and liable to the guidance of occa-
sions, to settle down into the fixed form of a regulated
constitution, it was not long before the widows of the
church, numerous as they were, came to make a stand-
ing class, or permanent order, situated, as we may say,
on one side of the hierarchical structure. In what way
this class, with others similar, affected the bishop's
power, as patron and fundholder, we shall presently see.
Apart from this financial bearing of the widow-band,
the appendage of a company of helpless women, might
seem to add little that was enviable to episcopal gran-
deur;— but with it, the consequences were important.
Give to any one nothing better than an irresponsible
512 INFLUENCE OF THE MONASTIC INSTITUTE
oversight of the poor, with power to levy for their main-
tenance, and you have made him a considerable per-
sonage in the state.
But the widow-band served, very early, as the ground
for a more important and sightly structure; — as bundles
of lithe rushes, and sear sticks are used to be laid upon
a bog to sustain better materials. Next came, and at a
very early date, as we have already seen, the illustrious
company of dedicated virgins — a body collateral to the
hierarchy, and independent, at once, of the people, and
of the inferior clergy, and yet (generally) subject to the
bishop, through the means of the most influential among
the presbyters. The regards of the people toward the
widows, we cannot suppose to have been of a kind to
involve much reverence; but their regards — the regards
they were constantly taught to entertain toward the vir-
gins, carried sentiments of awe and deference; and this
credit they could lend when it was needed, to him who,
on particular occasions, might wish to borrow it, Thus
was the hierarchical structure, even in times of suffering
and depression, acquiring, not merely altitude, but a
great breadth of base.
A little later, as it seems, the order of male virgins, or
monks and eremites, encrusted itself about the church;
nor was it long before this body swelled to such a mag-
nitude, and acquired so portentous an influence, with
the mass of the people, as to give it rather too much of
independent consequence. Still, however, in the main,
the monasteries, thickly sprinkled as they were, over
the surface of Christian countries, constituted so many
forts and citadels of ecclesiastical power, under the com-
mand of the highest authorities, and altogether indepen-
dent of the lower clergy, and of the people. On several
recorded occasions these sombre garrisons swarmed out,
UPON THE POSITION OF THE CLERGY.
513
in thousands, to the terror of their opponents, and to
the effective aid of their patrons. Can we then be
amazed at the zeal of the church authorities, in pro-
moting, as they did, the ascetic doctrine? are we at a
loss in accounting for the fact, at first so strange, that
men of the highest intelligence, men of learning, and
knowledge of the world, should so have vilified them-
selves as they did, by trumpeting monkish exploits, and
by repeating, with all gravity, the most insufferable non-
sense, tending to glorify the ascetic life in the eyes of a
besotted populace? Nothing is more easily understood
than this course of things. We should do the rulers of
the Nicene church a great injustice if we were to think
them so simple as not to have understood, in measure,
what they were about, while so assiduously employed
in heaping up the materials, and in pouring in the cement,
which, at length, rendered the ascetic institute the im-
moveable buttress of church power. And yet we
must not impute to them too much foresight in this in-
stance; for it is not often given to men to sit down and
deliberately to devise those schemes of power which are
to be ripened in a long course of years. But when once
a course of ambition has been opened before a society,
or body of men in power, then there are always found
minds quick to discern, and prompt in availing them-
selves of, whatever presents itself as fit to promote their
designs. The chiefs of the church did not, in the first
instance, plan the ascetic institute, as the most proper
means for establishing a vast system of spiritual despot-
ism; but — asceticism offering itself to them, just when
every extrinsic aid was needed, it was eagerly seized
upon, and industriously turned to the best account. If
there were -any planning in this instance, we must look
41
614 INFLUENCE OF THE MONASTIC INSTITUTE
beyond the circle of human agency for the designing
party.
Still more caution is needed when we come to advance
any general statements concerning the influence of mer-
cenary motives, with men professing to be actuated by
the loftier principles of religion. What we need, in
such cases, is not merely candour, but a wise recollec-
tion of that confused condition of mind which so often
belongs to men of ordinary quality, who, while they
think they intend only what is holy and honest, are
tacitly governed by very inferior considerations. It is
but few men who, habitually and severely, question
themselves as to their real motives: and public men do so,
perhaps, less often than others. Men maybe pursuing a
course, such as might have been dictated by the lust of
wealth, without in fact being mercenary knaves; for
there were, in their view, other, and better motives, on
which they kept their eye fixed, while their hands were
busy in sweeping gold and silver, like usurers into their
bags.
Now, with these considerations before us, we need
call no ill names, while we look to the financial bearing
of the ascetic institute, upon the ancient church system;
and especially upon the position of the ruling clergy.
The church then, and it was its glory, had under its
wing a very numerous body of pensioners; — that is to
say, the poor generally, and many reduced to want in
times of persecution — the widows, as a distinct class,
and the virgins also as a class; and all were to be pro-
vided for, in one mode or another: and the people, re-
cognising the duty of making this provision, and know-
ing to how serious an extent the bishop was constantly
responsible, could not leave him slenderly furnished with
the necessary means. The church chest, whence also
UPON THE POSITION OF THE CLERGY.
515
the clergy themselves drew their incomes, must be a
deep one; and in fact it often enclosed enormous amounts
in money, plate, jewels, and costly apparel. The bishop's
patronage therefore, and his power and consequence as
steward of ample revenues, and as the guardian, often,
of fortunes, came to be, at an early time, very great;
and it is easy to see that this power and patronage were
directly enhanced by every addition made to the perma-
nent pensionary establishment. Cyprian then, was quite
right, in an economic sense (though, perhaps, he did not
distinctly mean as much) when he said that the glory of
mother church bore proportion to the numbers included
in the choir of virgins. There is no mystery in all this:
none but the most ordinary connexions of cause and ef-
fect are involved; and yet so obvious a bearing of the
celibate institution upon the power and influence of the
clergy has been very little regarded.
But then the church virgins were not merely a class
to be maintained; for they were, or some of them, large
contributors to the church chest. This fact, too, has
been much less regarded than it deserves. Woman has
a noble, as well as a warm heart, and when once she
has admitted the influence of powerful and elevating mo-
tives, she gives, after a princely sort — yea, " all her
living;" whether it be " two mites," or lands and houses
and thousands of gold and silver. Many noble ladies
were among the earliest converts; and the gospel conti-
nued to draw such into the church; and these, as if they
had been conscious of the blessings which the sex at
large should at length owe to Christianity, " brought an
offering," like that of the eastern mages, to lay at their
Saviour's feet. Are we then invidiously and coldly
blaming this liberality? God forbid: whether always
516 INFLUENCE OF THE MONASTIC INSTITUTE
controlled by discretion, or not, it afforded a signal in-
stance of the quality and power of Christ's doctrine.
In the earliest times, and while large sums were re-
quired for redeeming and maintaining sufferers for con-
science sake, these ample donations, or sequestrations,
found a proper employment; and perhaps did not greatly
exceed the real wants of the church; but when, and at
the same moment, the season of tranquillity came, and
the monastic system assumed a regular form — when the
ascetic enthusiasm being at its height, wealthy converts
were taught to think that the noblest of all modes of em-
ploying the mammon of unrighteousness, was to build
and endow religious houses, what could happen but that
the stewards and administrators of church funds, and ge-
nerally all who drew their incomes from the common
chest, should be exposed to a terrible temptation to make
a trade of the holiest things? Much need not be said on
so obvious a point. Whether the monasteries and con-
vents which, chiefly in this very mode, sprung up so
thickly over all the Christian surface, in the fourth and
fifth centuries, were financially independent of the neigh-
bouring churches, or were placed under the bishop's
immediate control, the general result would be the same.
Vast wealth was continually flowing over, from the world
to the church. The religious body was, every day,
gaining upon the secular body. The church had made
excavations, deep and wide, here and there, and every
where; and into these pits there was a constant drain-
age; and every commotion of the social system threw
into them a new flood, charged with precious matters.
While therefore the church presented to the eye of the
people a broad front of eleemosynary demand — its poor,
its widows, ks confessors, its virgins, its monks, and the
clergy themselves, and all to be supported by the people, it
UPON THE POSITION OF THE CLERGY.
517
was in fact silently becoming the steward, under various
conditions, of many entire private fortunes. But could
such things happen without producing a reflective effect
upon the religious sentiments and manners of the men
most nearly concerned? Can we believe it? or can we
believe that the singular animation which marks the style
of the Nicene orators, when they are lauding the mo-
nastic life, received no heightening from the unconfessed
influence of inferior motives? — Inferior and unworthy
motives seem endowed with a sort of tact and sense of
propriety, impelling them to skulk into the dark corners
of men's minds, where, without attracting any notice, or
making any noise, they may, with a soft finger, press
the springs of action, or ease the moral machinery, just
at the moment when such interpositions seem needed: —
a prince's most needed, and least honoured attendants,
know how to do their office, noiselessly, and to keep
out of view.
There can be no need offensively to impugn the inte-
grity of men whom, nevertheless, it were absurd not to
think of as much influenced by motives which it would
be an insult loudly to attribute to them. In connexion
with our immediate subject, nothing more is requisite
than to bear in mind the simple fact, that the ascetic in-
stitute did, as well in its earlier, as in its later form, that
is to say, as well in the middle of the third century, as
at the end of the fourth, and onwards, very materially,
and very dangerously affect the pecuniary position of
the clergy; and that, at length, it became the principal
means of so enriching the church as to make her the
mistress of the world's affairs. It is then a sheer infa-
tuation to cite seraphic hymns, and glowing orations,
concerning the " angelic life," and to forget the homely
44*
518
INFLUENCE OF THE MONASTIC INSTITUTE
import of the entire system, in pounds, shillings, and
pence.
But again: the ascetic institute, or, to speak of it in
the concrete, the companies of monks, nuns, and eremites,
were bodies to be governed, and engines to be worked.
The clergy, and especially the more eloquent members
of the body, commended the ascetic life, in the hearing
of the people, who were taught to look upon those who
professed it, as superhuman beings: in return, these un-
earthly personages gave their weight, as required, to the
clergy, and actually moved on, in phalanx, when pe-
culiarly needed: the ascetics constituted a corps de re-
serve, which the church might summon to her aid in
critical moments. Under ordinary circumstances, as is
easy to understand, these recluses, drawn as they were
from the bosoms of families, and trained to silence toward
the world, and to unlimited disclosures toward their spi-
ritual guides, were the fittest instruments of that sort of
clandestine management, by means of which the clergy
may exercise a terrible despotism over private life.
No family that had a daughter or a sister in the choir
of virgins, could be exempt from anxieties. All this
is well understood in catholic countries; but then, in
the Nicene age, the license that prevailed, among the
ascetics, left a much wider scope for this sort of dumb
tyranny: the nuns not being actually incarcerated, might
worm themselves through all the crevices of society, and,
at the same time, as they habitually "confessed" to the
clergy, and received instructions from them, they might
be employed to effect any nefarious purpose.
But what shall we say of that influence upon the
morals and manners of the clergy — an unmarried clergy,
which resulted from the access allowed them to con-
vents? The less that is said on such a theme the better;
UPON THE POSITION OF THE CLERGY.
519
yet it is indispensable to place it, in its outline at least,
before the reader. If the worst enemy of the church —
if its infernal enemy, were supposed to have had the
opportunity to devise a plan most certain to corrupt it,
what better could he have done, than, first, to stir deeply
the sensibilities of human nature; then to impose celibacy
on both sexes; then to screen both from the eye of the
world; and then to allow the one free access to the other,
under pretext of spiritual superintendence! Need any
thing more be said? Are we to think such a constitution
of things to have been the contrivance of infinite wisdom
and goodness? Grant that paganism has established
what was as bad; but certainly, it has sanctioned nothing
worse. Under a luxurious climate, in countries where
inveterate licentiousness had brought all sentiments and
habits down to the lowest level, young women at the
earliest age were snatched from their homes — the only
places then where modesty still took refuge; they were
congregated in dim seclusions, where they received
visits from unmarried men, to whom, moreover, and in
hours of tremulous excitement, they were to expose the
inmost secrets of their hearts! This is that scheme
which we are to admire, and to emulate, and to set
a going afresh among ourselves!
THE DIRECT INFLUENCE OF THE CELI-
BATE UPON THE CLERGY.
We have only to follow the inevitable course of
things, a very little way, and it will become evident
that what has actually happened, could not but have
happened, and must always, unless under the most ex-
traordinary circumstances, happen wherever the princi-
520 DIRECT INFLUENCE OF THE CELIBATE
pie of the ascetic life is embraced. — The doctrine that
celibacy is a higher and a holier state than matrimony,*
and that it is " a more excellent way," and that virginity,
as the fathers constantly express it, places a man near
to God, is, let us suppose, broached in a Christian com-
munity, and it is put forward, whether modestly, or fa-
natically, so as to enchain ardent minds. Such, instantly
profess this angelic excellence: — the people (not taught
better) admire and applaud the specious instance of fer-
vour and self-devotion; they gaze with awe and afTsciion
upon the " holy " youth, or virgin; and this awe is just
so much respect withdrawn from those, however excel-
lent they may be, who fall short of so high a standard.
But can there be any element of sanctity which is not
eminently to be desired in those who administer holy
things? The people will feel this congruity, and the
ardent and ambitious among the clergy will keenly feel
it too; and although other means of popularity should be
wanting, this at teas! is at hand: — the weak and enthu-
siastic, as well as the haughty and aspiring, will snatch
•at the distinction, and there will soon be a band of
" holy " priests and deacons, who by the aid of the v'ery
qualities which have impelled them to walk on so ar-
duous a path, will soon draw towards themselves the
warmest feelings of the devout portion of the community.
"When things have proceeded thus far, many, who had
been insensible to powerful and primary motives, will
yield to such as are secondary; and they also will " pro-
fess."
Thus the band of the "chaste" will gradually have
swollen to such a magnitude, as to disturb the equilibrium
of feeling throughout the church: a new mode of speak-
ing will have come in, adapted to this altered state of
* Letter to the Bishop of Oxford, pp. 208, 213.
UPON THE CLERGY. SSI
things; — " marriage is laivful, no doubt; to say otherwise
were heretical; — but yet how angelic is chastity — and
how fit is it, that those who wear spotless white, at the
altar, should also be inwardly and personally white!
Whenever it is possible, let us receive the holy sacra-
ment from holy hands." When once this comes to be
said, or felt, by the devout, the fate of the church is
sealed. Married priests rest, thenceforward, under an
obloquy; — they are not indeed driven from the altar; but
they gladly give place there to those who can lift an un-
blushing front to heaven. More and more go over to the
privileged company, and while indemnifying themselves
as they may, and all but a few will indemnify themselves,
will yet claim in public, the honours of continence, and
join in decrying, as sensual, the married priest. When
it comes to be understood that it is marriage, and not
profligacy that is condemned, none but the few who re-
tain some sense of virtue and piety will subject them-
selves to contempt for the mere sake of being able to
call the woman they live with — wife. At length it is
felt to be a measure, at once of discretion and of mercy,
not to say necessity, to forbid universally, what has be-
come the occasion of scandal and of invidious distinc-
tions: the last step therefore is taken, and holy celibacy,
joining hands with detestable vices, celebrates its triumph.
Fanaticism proclaims a high day, and blows her seven
trumpets of — -lust, hypocrisy, cruelty, blasphemy, infi-
delity, madness, and misery; and the church thencefor-
ward sits enthroned upon the overthrown decencies of
domestic life, and is encircled by an unmarried priest-
hood, the ministers and patterns of all evil. The social
system then putrefies to the core, and the poison of its
corruption sheds death on every side. In various de-
grees of aggravation, such have always, and in all conn-
522
DIRECT INFLUENCE OF THE CELIBATE
tries, been the consequences of clerical celibacy; and
clerical celibacy is the inevitable consequence of the
doctrine that the virgin state is more holy than the mar-
ried.
Whether we speak of these things problematically, as
what must happen, or historically, as what has always
happened, is indifferent to our argument: the connexion
of the effect with its cause is of the most intimate and
inseparable sort; nor can any exceptions be produced
that should affect our conclusion. So long as religious
celibacy rests upon fhe plain ground of utility, it will
keep within narrow bounds, and the practice may be
exempt from peril; but the moment it is propounded as
an object of spiritual ambition, or as a lofty distinction,
many motives, and some of them of a very impure kind,
will come into play, impelling multitudes to snatch this
glory, who have sadly mistaken their personal call. —
Only one course of events can then follow — namely, the
prevalence of frightful abuses. If religious celibacy be
a glory and a beauty, in itself, the clergy must not leave
this advantage to the laity. This were as if the bright-
est military courage — the freshest laurels of war, ne-
glected by the officers in an army, were left to be the
distinction of the privates. Then if some of the clergy
arrogate this professional virtue, all must at length pre-
tend to it. The doctrine of Tertullian and of Cyprian,
is the alpha in a series, to which Hildebrand subjoined
the omega; and the modern favourers of antiquity are
setting a going again, that which, should it proceed, can
have no other end.
A small portion of men only will (moments of excite-
ment excepted) adhere virtuously to a vow of continence:
to expect any thing else is ridiculously absurd. But
even if the proportion were large, as it possibly might
UPON THE CLERGY.
523
become for a time, and under unusual circumstances of
religious animation, or of proselyting zeal, it remains to
inquire what the effects of celibacy are upon the dispo-
sitions of the clergy — even supposing the best that can
be imagined. This is a trite subject. Unavoidably, the
ministers of religion are so far set off from the influence
of ordinary motives, as to involve some peril to their hu* -
mility, their candour, and their good sense; but to sever
them from the social mass violently, by celibacy, is to
aggravate, tenfold, all the ill tendencies of their position,
and to render them morose, selfish, arrogant, prurient,
trivial, fanatical, and perversely ambitious; in a word —
to induce habits and dispositions the most pernicious in
their bearing upon private life, and dangerous in the
highest degree to the state. The history of Europe has
abundantly established these general principles, which
few now dispute.
The Lord best knows what human nature is; and he
has otherwise determined for his ministers than that
they should want the- salutary and softening influences
of domestic life; and here we come to a decisive instance
in which the explicit law of God being violently and
without shame contradicted and set aside by the deci-
sions of the church, a choice must be made between the
two authorities. On this particular ground, as I humbly
venture to predict, the Oxford Tract church principles
will either win a signal triumph — a triumph fatal to
Christianity and to England — or ihey will meet their
merited fate, and give their last sigh to the unpitying
winds. Feeling well, as they must, how critical this
question is, the promoters of Nicene Christianity will
hardly do otherwise than evade a premature trial of their
strength in respect to it. At the present moment, for
them to say all they mean, and clearly to propound all
DIRECT INFLUENCE OF THE CELIBATE
they wish to see effected, would instantly bring hundreds
of their disciples to their senses. Not, indeed, that
these divines intend the remoter consequences of the
course they are pursuing; but they intend that which
must infallibly induce those consequences.
It is peculiarly desirable that this momentous disso-
nance between church principles and New Testament
authority should be calmly regarded. Virginity is, says
the church, a holy condition, and a link of connexion
between the human and the divine nature. Our Lord
has consecrated it; and its high patroness is the Ever-
"Virgin-Mother, the Blessed Mary. Catholic antiquity
gives it suffrage in favour of this doctrine, with uncom-
mon animation and unanimity; and how pleasing, nay,
glorious, is the notion, and how enviable the privilege
and the honour of those who walk on earth as angels,
and who, although in the body, have renounced its hu-
miliations! But then, if things be so, it would be cruel
and impious to exclude the clergy — the very ministers
of heaven — from this arena of celestial merit. No canons
could effect any such exclusion. All the most lofty-
minded of the clergy must seize this distinction; and the
very persons whom the church would wish to see in
the seat of authority will, as a matter of course, be un-
married men. If sacerdotal dignity were always con-
ferred by the rule of professional merit, bishops, (under
such a state of things as we are now supposing) would
be chosen almost always from the band of virgin pres-
byters.
Here, then, we directly confront a clear, positive, and
reiterated divine enactment. This should be looked to.
The present advocates of church principles assume it as
one of their principles that things which are only once,
«&r incidentally and very slightly alluded to by the in-
UPON THE CLERGY.
525
spired writers, may, nevertheless, be absolutely binding
upon the church. Let us, then, take this ground, and
we must admit that, notwithstanding any general infe-
rence to the contrary, if nothing more had been said in
all the New Testament concerning the marriage of sacer-
dotal persons than what is dropped (and M near not to
have been dropped") by Paul, when he asks, "what,
may we not lead about a sister, a wife?" &c, that even
in that case the liberty of clerical matrimony would have
been secured. This cannot be denied by those who pro-
fess the principle above mentioned.
But, now, so it is, that no circumstance or condition
of the ecclesiastical constitution established by the apos-
tles has been more explicitly, or more formally specified
than this, of the domestic qualifications of church offi-
cers, supreme and subordinate. The apostolic rule
would nearly justify the maxim — No husband, no bishop.
If episcopacy itself had been as clearly enjoined as is
the marriage of bishops and deacons, there would pro-
bably never have been a question on the subject. Timo-
thy and Titus are authoritatively addressed on subjects
specially clerical, and they are formally instructed how
they are to behave themselves in "the house of God;"
and, particularly, they are told what sort of men they
ought to elevate to the most responsible stations. No
doubt, then, we shall hear the apostle say — the apostle
whom we have heard recommending celibacy — "al-
though bishops and deacons are not to be prohibited
from marrying, yet, whenever it can be done, it is well
to give a preference to those who have professed virgi-
nity; for, besides that no man who warreih entangleth
himself with the things of this life, celibacy is a holier
and a higher condition." Does not the inspired text
run thus? Strange that it should not! Ought we not to
45
526
DIRECT INFLUENCE OF THE CELIBATE
call the reading in question, when we find so flagrant a
contradiction of primitive doctrine and practice — abisiiop
to be a husband! — a bishop to be one who has children
about him! — the deacons too — and their wives — and
again — a bishop blameless, and yet a husband; a bishop
a pattern of piety, and yet surrounded with children!
Not one word is there in these clerical epistles, of
"the merit of virginity," not a hint that celibacy is at
least a " seemly thing" in those who minister at the al-
tar! The very contrary is what we find there. A
bishop's and a deacon's qualifications for office are di-
rectly connected with their behaviour as married men,
and as fathers. So pointed is this assumed connexion,
that we might even consider the apostle's rule as amount-
ing to a tacit exclusion of the unmarried from the sacer-
dotal office. If a man who does not "rule well" his
family, is thereby proved to be unfit to assume the go-
vernment of the church; by implication then, those are
to be judged unfit, or at least they are unproved as fit,
who have no families to govern. — The meager, heart-
less, nerveless, frivolous, or abstracted and visionary
ccelebs — make him a bishop! The very last thing he is
fit for: — let him rather trim the lamps and open the
church doors, or brush cobwebs from the ceiling! — how
should such a one be a father to the church?
And in these same epistles, wherein the married state
is formally specified and demanded as a qualification for
church office, the very illusions under the influence of
which the church ran counter to the apostolic decision,
are plainly predicted, and solemnly condemned. Not
one of the superstitions or abuses of popery has been
so clearly foreseen, and proscribed, as is that clerical ce-
libacy which the ancient church, almost instantly after
the death of the apostles, favoured, and at length firmly
established.
UPON THE CLERGY.
527
On this point, immensely important as it is, the autho-
rity of scripture, and that of the fathers, are directly
at issue; — the one authority explicitly enjoining the very
thing which the other discourages, condemns, and at
length absolutely forbids. There is no middle ground
to be taken here: there is no room to evade the practical
question; for it touches the main pillar of the ecclesias-
tical edifice. Either it is good that a bishop should be
a husband and a father, or it is not good. The Nicene
church, as well in theory as in practice, decides that it
is not good; nor could it, consistently with its princi-
ples, come to any other decision. — In a word, the first
principle of Nicene Christianity is found to be subver-
sive, as well in theory as in practice, of apostolical Chris-
tianity. The two systems diverge from their starting
points, and get wider asunder, at every step of their
course.
A principle so simple as that it may be propounded
in seven words, and which, as so propounded, seems to
contradict no other, may appear to be a very unfit object
of serious reprehension. But let us only follow it out,
in its practical interpretation, and we may soon come
to think otherwise of its importance. We are told that
— " The preference of celibacy, as the higher state, is
scriptural, and as being such, is primitive." We utter-
ly deny any such assertion; but if it were granted, this
at least would be certain, that this " preferable and
higher state, was not, in the apostolic age, to be desired
or sought after by those who were to be the " ensamples
to the flock:" on the contrary, such were to set an ex-
ample of virtue and wisdom, as husbands and as fathers.
Bishops and deacons were to relinquish this " sanctity,"
together with the celestial distinctions belonging to it;
and they were to walk on a lower path — a path where
528
DIRECT INFLUENCE OF THE CELIBATE
they were liable to be looked down upon by the celes-
tial band. But can we think that any such element of
insubordination was intended by Paul to be dropped
into the ecclesiastical constitution? The ancient church
could not suppose it, and in adopting as it did the sera-
phic doctrine, it felt that the reverence of the people to-
ward the clergy could not be secured, if these were ex-
cluded from the honours attaching to the " higher and
holier " state, But grant them leave to profess virginity,
and then the doctrine itself comes out in the form of a
direct violation of the apostolic injunction. If bishops
and deacons are allowed to choose " the more excellent
way" — and how cruel were it not to grant them this in-
dulgence!— then bishops and deacons will not ordinarily
be married men. In other words, whoever is the most
devoted, the most fervent, the most self-denying, and
therefore, so far, the most fit for office, will be one who
is not what Paul declares a bishop and deacon ought to
be — a married man, and a father.
Say what we please about the enforcement of celibacy,
this open contrariety between scripture, and an as-
cetic church, must always present itself long before the
enforcement could be thought of as practicable or desi-
rable. Only let it now be attempted, without any pre-
paration of public opinion, to enforce celibacy upon the
English clergy. As easily lift the halls and colleges
of Oxford from their basements, and found them on the
clouds. But if first, the "primitive" doctrine could be
brought into favour with the clergy and the laity, and if
it were so far to prevail as that many of the clergy pro-
fessed the "higher state," and that married men were
seldom or never ordained, and that a shade of discredit,
or more, rested upon the married clergy, then an eccle-
siastical ordinance, enjoining upon all, what most ac-
UPON THE CLERGY.
529
ttially practised, and what the people had come to con-
sider as becoming, might be nothing more than a mea-
sure of prudence. What, in such a case, could be more
absurdly unjust, than lo throw all the blame upon the last
act of the church, while the doctrine and the practices
which had led to this last act, were applauded. At the
worst, this enforcement could be considered only as a
stretch of power, outrunning a little the demands of pub-
lic feeling.
But now, let the explicit authority of the apostle,
speaking as in the name of the Lord, be left untouched;
and let it be held, not merely as allowable, but as pro-
per and desirable — we might say, indispensable, that
bishops and deacons should be husbands and fathers (or
should have been such) let the people be taught to look
to their pastors as examples of married purity, and of
paternal authority and love; — let the happy home of a
Christian minister be regarded as his best sermon; — let
true holiness take the place of a prurient, hollow, sanc-
timoniousness; and then it will be found utterly imprac-
ticable to make any thing of the "primitive doctrine"
cf virginity — the bubble will burst as often as it is
blown. In a community in which the ministers of re-
ligion are married men, and are honoured as such, and
in which, as a consequence, domestic virtue reaches its
highest mark — woman blessing man, as wife and mother
— there, and in such a community, no efforts will avail
to enrol companies of seraphs; on the contrary, contempt,
and a well-merited disgust, will cover the busy promo-
ters of any such pernicious folly. Morals and domestic
felicity will be saved, and the bosom of the social system
will be kept free from the worst of all plagues — a vir-
gin priesthood; — in other words, bands of — men, we
must not call them, wrought up to a silent frenzy, and
45*
530
CONNEXION OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE
leagued against the purity and peace of every home near
them.
If there be any one practical injunction of the New
Testament infinitely momentous, as affecting the wel-
fare of society, it is this one, which makes marriage a
first qualification for office in the church. Let us look to
it then that we adhere, herein, to the authority of scrip-
ture, and resolutely oppose the insidious advances of
those " church principles," and of the Nicene Christi-
anity, which, by the sure operation of the doctrine con-
cerning celibacy, cut at the roots of the morals and do-
mestic happiness of the community that admits them.
THE CONNEXION OF THE ASCETIC INSTI-
TUTE WITH RITUAL NOTIONS AND PRAC-
TICES.
Seven years ago, if undertaking to treat, philosophi-
cally, of the progress of opinions in the church from the
apostolic age, to the period of the council of Nice, one
should have felt not a moment's hesitation in roundly
affirming the fact of the connexion which we are now to
speak of; for, what may be called the natural history of
the sacramental superstition, one should have thought
too obvious to require formal proof. It has, however, be-
come necessary to advance with more caution upon
ground which might well enough have been surveyed
at a glance.
There is, I believe, no controversy concerning the his-
torical fact, that practices had been established, and that
notions were prevalent, relating to the ritual parts of
WITH RITUAL NOTIONS AND PRACTICES. 531
Christianity, in the fourth century, of which we can dis-
cover scarcely a trace in the apostolic age. No one pre-
tends to affirm that Chrysostom, Ambrose, and Augustine,
speak of baptism, and the eucharist, precisely as Paul,
and Peter, and John, had spoken of them. A difference
then, in this respect, had arisen in the course of three
hundred years; but this difference, say the modern ad-
vocates of church principles, was nothing more than the
repining, or natural expansion of certain rudiments, which
the apostles had mingled, silently, yet designedly, with
the Christian institute. Discerning, or thinking that we
discern these rudiments, even in the apostolic writings,
we do well, it is said, to derive our own notions and
practices, from the mature, rather than from the crude era
of their history. If what was done and taught by the
Nicene divines, in regard to the sacraments, was nothing
more than what had been foreseen, and intended by the
apostles, our part is to consult the Nicene, rather than
the apostolic writings, on such points.
But let it be asked, under whose auspices had this
gradual expansion of ritual notions and practices been
effected ? This question is surely a pertinent one, and
the answer it must receive brings us at once to the alleged
connexion between the ascetic institute (especially the
clerical and monastic celibacy) and the sacramental doc-
trine and practice of the Nicene age.
This doctrine and this practice, were nothing else than
what men, so placed, as were the clergy of the ancient
church, would inevitably move toward, and adopt. That
an unmarried clergy, professing and admiring the M ildest
extravagances of the oriental ascetisism, should have
adhered, century after century, to the modesty, simplicity,
and unobtrusive seriousness of the apostolic sacramental
532
CONNEXION OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE
doctrine, would have been a miracle far more astounding
than any of those to which the church, even in St. Dun-
stan's time, pretended. Every principle of human nature
forbids such an incongruity, nor is an example of the
sort presented by history: — it could not have been; — it
is not to be believed; — it was not the fact. The Nicene
sacramental doctrine was just such as might beseem, and
accord with, the ascetic feeling and condition of the
clerical body. A conclusion so manifestly true might
be left unargued, with dispassionate and well informed
minds. But we will follow the subject into some of
its elements.
The Nicene sacramental doctrine and practice, had
then a general connexion with the prevailing asceticism,
and they had some special points of connexion also,
which must be briefly staled.
Good sense, sobriety of judgment, and a tone of
moderation and quietness, which belong to some men —
a very few, by endowment of nature, can belong to a
body of men, take them where you please, only as the
consequence of circumstances, favouring the growth of
such qualities of the mind and temper: and if the circum-
stances of a body of men are of a kind to generate the
very opposite qualities, it is not the influence of the few
who may be of sound temperament, that will avail to
contravene the powerful and constant operation of induce-
ments and excitements, tending to inflame the heart, and
pervert the reason/
The apostolic injunction, that church officers should
be married men, was more than a mere license, permit-
ting what it might have been difficult to prevent; for it
had a positive reason, and it was a provision, not simply
against the grievous abuses that attend clerical celibacy;
but it was a security for the moderation, and mental sa-
WITH RITUAL NOTIONS AND PRACTICES.
533
liity of those who were to he the leaders of opinion in
the church. On the one side, let us imagine, that there
is a body of men whose affections have been warmed
and softened, and whose moral and religious notions
have been corrected by a varied experience of, and an
actual concernment with, the ordinary interests of life.
On the other side, is a body that has been, by some vi-
olent excitement, thrown or seduced out of the common
path, and whose sympathies have no natural objects,
who have not been happy, as other men, who have not
shed tears, as others; who, while charing under a sense
of privation and inferiority, have also arrogantly chal-
lenged for themselves peculiar honours; — men who, by
being compelled, until it has become a habit, to look at
their own condition under vehement excitements, as from
a forced position, have learned to look at every thing
else in the same unnatural manner. Now to which of
these bodies shall we refer any moral, political, or theo-
logical controversy? Even if a loftier style be found
among the latter, will not soundness and sobriety of
judgment be the prerogatives of the former? will not ex-
cess— extravagance, severity, and practical absurdity, be
the characteristics of the opinions of the latter? This
we assume as unquestionable. Every man in his senses
would make his appeal, in a cause of whatever kind, to
the former, not to the latter.
On this very ground it has been determined, by ex-
press divine authority, that the rulers of the church, if
not all who may exercise their gifts in its service, shall
be married men. But, from a very early time, and
more and more so, every year, onward to the Nicene
age, the clergy were striving to reverse this rule; and,
in the fourth century, the temper and habits of the cle-
534
CONNEXION OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE
rical body were entirely governed by the ascetic doc-
trine; and the majority were actually unmarried men.
At once then, and on every admitted principle of com-
mon sense, and of scriptural authority, we must appeal
from the judgment of these unmarried ascetics — these
unhumanized, these half crazed sophists, whose imagi-
nations were habitually inflamed, whose animal system
was deranged, whose notions were like themselves,
harsh, acrid, malign, and who could neither think nor
speak, but in hyperbole. From such men we will
learn nothing — or nothing but a caution against folly and
hypocrisy: — such lips, shrivelled and burning, are not
wont to distil wisdom, nor will we seek it thence. There
is then a prima facie case against the Nicene divines,
inasmuch as they were not husbands and fathers, as
church rulers should have been; but either frenzied fa-
natics, or imbeciles, or hypocrites; or they were, indi-
vidually, tending toward some one of these conditions.
Even in relation to the most remote or abstracted
point of theology, the judgment of a body of ascetics
is sure to be perverted: much more so, if the question
be of a kind involving the very principle of the ascetic
life. So is it with the sacramental question; and the
doctrine prevalent in the fourth century was nothing else
but another form, or expression, of the very principle
which the ascetic life imbodied. The ascetic error did
not consist in a denial, or exclusion, of what is moral,
spiritual, and real; but in thrusting forward, and in
making too much of, what is visible, formal, and acci-
dental. Holiness and purity were not denied; but vir-
ginity and bodily purity were chiefly talked of, and were
regarded as if they implied, and conveyed, and were the
equivalents of, genuine moral qualities.
WITH RITUAL NOTIONS AND PRACTICES.
535
This insensible substitution of the form, for the sub-
stance, is so prominently characteristic of the ascetic
scheme of life, that I cannot suppose it to be called in
question. But now, what was the sacramental doctrine
of the very same men? It was — not a denial of grace,
and of the spiritual realities of the Christian life, but a
putting foremost, and a talking most of, the rite, as a rite.
The very men who were accustomed to use the words
sanctity, and virginity, continence, and celibacy, as sy-
nonymous terms, or as equivalents, did also constantly
speak of baptism, and of the eucharist, as intrinsically
holy, and as conveying holiness; or, at the best, they so
held up these rites before the people, as led them to pay
a superstitious and fatally exclusive regard to the cere-
mony, while moral and spiritual qualities, or states of
the heart, were lost sight of. — The very man who thinks
himself as holy as Gabriel, because a virgin, and who
reckons so many hours' fasting to be worth a certain
quantum of expiatory merit, is he who attributes a justi-
fying and sanctifying efficacy to baptismal water, and
believes that the swallowing, or the carrying about with
him, a consecrated wafer, shall get him admitted into
heaven. Is there then no oneness of principle, in these
several notions? But if the analogy be admitted, then,
to be consistent, we should either admit the ascetic,
along with the sacramental doctrine, both springing, as
they do, from the same principle; or else, rejecting that
principle, disallow both of its consequences.
The sacramental and the ascetic doctrine were, how-
ever, connected by yet another link. We have adverted
to the fact that it was the ascetics exclusively, or nearly
so, who pretended to miraculous powers, and it was they
too who were the dealers with the demon legions. That
is to say, men who are cut oft' from the employments,
53G
CONNEXION OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE
interests, cares, and enjoyments of common life, and
who are kept also out of the school of common sense,
must provide themselves with excitements of another
order, and they will court such as, being condemned by
reason, will be left to their uninvadcd enjoyment. — In
other words, monks and hermits, and men forced by wild
notions of religion from of! the path of humanity — such,
will feed upon wonders. The transition from what is
unnatural to what is supernatural, is an easy process,
needing nothing but so much religious belief as may fall
far short of what would render a man either pious or
moral.
But the supernatural has its two species, and super-
stition has, therefore, its two kinds. Events out of the
course of nature are either irregular or regular, the one
being directly miraculous, the other indirectly so, and
subjected to a fixed mode of operation. The first are
miraculous in the usual sense of the word; the second,
consisting in ritual performances, involve an immediate
interposition of the divine power, but yet are infallibly
connected with the due observance of certain ceremonies.
The exorcisms of the ancient church occupied a place
between these two species of miracles; for, while they
were occasional and visible, like proper miracles, they,
nevertheless, followed, infallibly a given formula, and
were effected, like any other church service, by a dis-
tinct class of ecclesiastics. The exorcists were officers
who could expel demons more certainly than physicians
can heal the most curable diseases.
There were many other influences, not now to be
spoken of, which concurred in bringing forward the sa-
cramental supers! ition; but the one we have here in view
would have been enough alone. When all the more
fervent-minded of the clergy, along with the ambitious,
WITH RITUAL NOTIONS AND PRACTICES. 537
and the credulous, affected celibacy, and were in fact
ascetics — debarred from every salutary and corrective
motive, these would be tending, with the regulars, to-
ward the. miraculous, in both kinds. It cannot be ima-
gined that men breathing the stifling atmosphere of reli-
gious houses, and ever gaping for miracles, — seeing vi-
sions, hearing voices, encountering legions of demons, —
that such should be contented to rest in a ritual purely
spiritual and rational, and which secured edification by
the divine blessing upon the use of ordinary means of
instruction and persuasion. No such rule of sobriety
and simplicity could satisfy men who, instead of coming
from their homes to church, and of returning from church
to their homes, issued from cloisters, and returned to
cloisters. The sacramental miracles, which blaze on
the pages of Chrysostom — " the terrible mysteries,"
which archangels dared not look upon — are the awful
rites of a religion whose ministers (the serious and sin-
cere among them) have been wrought up into an habitual
sombre frenzy, and to whom nothing is real but the un-
real.
The sacraments, just as we find them alluded to in the
New Testament, may well and fitly be administered by
one who, in going forth to his duties, returns a chubby
infant to its mother's arms, and who, in returning, is
greeted by laughing eyes and clapping of hands. The
religion of the apostles is part and parcel with the natu-
ral and domestic condition of the human heart; it is pure,
kindly, gentle, and soothing to every affection of our na-
ture. Its observances are not " terrible " — " astound-
ing"— "ineffable:" they are not the wonder-fraught
rites of the Nicene church; — no, because the apostolic
ministers, bishops, presbyters, deacons, were men still;
46
538 CONNEXION OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE
but the Nicene bishops, priests, deacons — what must we
call them, seeing that they had put off from themselves
all the better qualities of the manly nature? The differ-
ence between the apostolic and the Nicene clergy, as to
their personal and social condition, just measures out the
confessed difference between the apostolic rites, and the
Nicene mysteries.
But farther; the sacramental doctrine and practice of
the Nicene, and of the ante-Nicene church, had a spe-
cial ecclesiastical import, which offers itself to the eye
of every impartial inquirer. The church, very early,
had gathered around itself a various mass, which it had
to govern, by means altogether of a factitious kind.
While, on the one side, it had forfeited the vital energy
of apostolic truth, having compromised, as well doctrines
as precepts, it had driven a portion of its members into
a position where, to govern them at all, was a task of the
highest imaginable difficulty. Not now to speak of the
clergy themselves, let it be considered that every local
church had, under its care, companies of women, elder and
younger, who being removed from their natural guardians,
whether husbands, or parents, or brothers, had also been
pushed forward to sustain a part they were few of them
equal to. These women were, for the most part, de-
pendent for their daily bread upon the church, and the
condition of their receiving this eleemosynary mainte-
nance, was their being in communion therewith. As
poor merely, their moral and spiritual state might have
been overlooked; but as virgins, they could advance no
claim irrespective of their personal deserts.
Unless we bear these simple facts in mind, it will be
impossible to understand the motive of that intense
anxiety not to be excluded from communion, which in-
duced the nuns to submit, as reported by Cyprian and by
WITH RITUAL NOTIONS AND PRACTICES. 539
Chrysostom, to the last humiliations, in attestation of
their virtue. These things were not occasional, but or-
dinary; and not even the vicious operation of the ascetic
institute can be believed so far to have robbed woman
of her proper nature, and of her self-respect, as is im-
plied in these revolting usages — unless it be under the
pressure of some cruel necessity. Pitiable indeed was
the condition of multitudes of young women who had
been driven by fanatical or licentious priests, or cruel re-
latives, at the earliest age, into convents (or into the
profession of virginity) and who, thus reduced to help-
lessness, were compelled, from time to time, to earn
their ticket for the sacrament, and for their bread, by
shameful compliances.
It is manifest, however, that an influence of a higher
sort than that which might arise from the mere anxiety
of a pensioner, would be kept in force, if possible.
That is to say, communion with the church, and a par-
ticipation in the rite which sealed and signified that com-
munion, besides its vulgar import, to these pensioners,
would be surrounded with loftier and more impressive
sentiments. The clergy, feeling the peculiar difficulty
of their task, in having to govern, before the eye of the
church and the world, the virgin company, would do
and say every thing tending to strengthen their influence
over the imaginations of the governed, and to bring them
within the range of more refined hopes and fears.
As to the genuine motives of piety, it were absurd to
suppose that these could take effect upon the minds of
women such as were those spoken of by Cyprian, Je-
rome, and Chrysostom. Yet such, even the most frivo-
lous, and the most licentious, are often vividly alive to
superstitious terrors. In modern catholic countries this
combination is found to involve nothing that is incompa-
540 CONNEXION OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE
tible; and the nuns of Antioch, in the Nicene age, gave
proof also of the harmony of these same elements.
The clergy had a cumbrous engine to work; and, to
keep it in order, they availed themselves of every means
which they found would take effect upon it. Hence the
mysterious terrors wherewith the eucharistic rite was
enveloped. Minds hardened against the genuine motives
of the gospel, might yet be overawed by the terrors of
the eucharistic ceremonial; and might be made to trem-
ble by the threat of being driven from the altar. One
cannot read those overwrought passages in which the
great Nicene preachers are labouring to invest the cele-
bration of the mysteries with terrors — even with hor-
rors, and not feel that there was an unconfessed motive,
a secret necessity, a latent reason of government, at the
bottom of all this astounding rhetoric. The apostles were
accustomed to speak in no such style of their "break-
ing of bread;" no, for the apostles had no convents and
monasteries to manage.
The eucharistic rite may very well be regarded as the
hinge of the ecclesiastical economy of the Nicene age.
There was a tendency of every thing toward it; it was
more thought of and regarded than any other element
of the religious system; the highest benefits were con-
nected with a due participation in it, and the most terri-
ble evils were the consequences of even a temporary ex-
clusion from the privilege. Before the time when the
church wielded secular powers, excommunication was
its last resource, in dealing with the refractory; and after
the time when ecclesiastical censures were followed by
civil pains, it continued to be the terrible precursive act
of a process which might deprive the victim of fortune,
liberty, life, and consign him to eternal misery.
Now, it can never be believed that this well-designated
WITH RITUAL NOTIONS AND PRACTICES.
541
" terrible mystery" should have continued, from age to
age, unchanged, while the scheme of government of
which it was the hinge was advancing from the simplest
condition of an humble association of guileless men and
women, to that of a vast, complicated, wealthy, and am-
bitious polity, embracing interests of all kinds, and bind-
ing together various bodies, and these wrought up to a
state of unnatural excitement. Look at the apostolic
church, such as we may suppose it to have been in read-
ing the Acts of the Apostles: look at the churches of the
Nicene age, at Antioch, Constantinople, Rome, Milan,
three centuries afterwards, and then consider whether
that "breaking of bread," which was the symbol of
communion in the one society, was likely to have un-
dergone no changes when it came to be the symbol of
communion in the other! In truth, the two rites differ
just as the two societies differ; and the two differed in
their first principles, in their ingredients, and in their
spiritual and moral characteristics.
What is now proposed to the protestant church is in
Substance this — To leave, as crude, or as " undeveloped,"
the ritual elements of Christianity, such as they may be
gathered from the monuments of the apostolic age, and
to take these elements from the hands of the ascetic, un-
married (often licentious and ambitious) superstitious, and
fanatical clergy of the fourth century.
Were it not better to yield ourselves at once to the
belter-digested doctrine and practice of the later (Romish)
church? If a power of gradual development belongs at
all to the church, (and unless this is supposed, the ripened
doctrine and worship of the Nicene age has no authority,
and is nothing but innovation,) then, how can we be sure
ihat this power had exhausted itself, or had been abro-
46*
542
CONNEXION OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE
gated, precisely in the fourth century? On what grounds
do we resist its operation as extant in the fifth, sixth,
seventh? Or, why believe that it put forth its last energy,
and expired, in the acts of the council of Trent? The
church of Rome may, indeed, choose to take her stand
at this point; but she is not, in principle, compelled to
do so, and might even now, on urgent motives, so modify
her past decisions (never will she change her nature) as
to enable her to invite the return to her bosom of some
whom she sees to be mourning their alienation from her
maternal embraces.
The power which removed the cup from the lips of
the laity, may restore the boon; or it may so expound
any article of faith as to open a door of return to the
penitent. Whether it will, or may, make any such con-
cessions, or not, the church of Rome, at the present mo-
ment, does not leave her banished cnes to doubt of the
yearnings of her heart toward them. If they would fain
return, she, on her part, would fain receive them. The
feeling pervading the catholic world, and cherished espe-
cially at Rome, in regard to the Oxford divines, and their
party, has not failed to express itself, and will probably
become more and more decisive: witness the follow-
ing:—
" The attention of all good catholics, and especially
of the Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith,
cannot be enough excited by the present state of religion,
in England, in consequence of the new doctrine, pro-
pagated with so much ability and success, by Messrs.
Newman, Pusey. and Keble, with arguments drawn from
the holy fathers, of which they have just undertaken a
new edition (translation) in English. These gentlemen
labour to restore the ancient catholic liturgy — the breviaiy
(which many of them, to the knowledge of the writer,
WITH RITUAL NOTIONS AND PRACTICES.
543
recite daily,) fasting?, the monastic life, and many other
religions practices. Moreover they leach the insufficien-
cy of the Bible, as a rule of faith — the necessity of tra-
dition,, and of ecclesiastical authority — the real presence
— prayers for the dead — the use of images — the priests'
power of absolution — the sacrifice of the mass — the devo-
tion to the virgin, and many other catholic doctrines, in
such sort as to leave but little difference between their
opinions and the true faith, and which difference becomes
less and less every day. Faithful! redouble your prayers,
that these happy dispositions may be increased!"*
Whilst the Romish church anticipates the happiest
consequences to result from the movement now taking
place in England, she need not entertain much anxiety
concerning the course to be adopted when the question
of an actual reconciliation may come on. She has an
argument in reserve, which, even apart from any small
concessions, may be found effective in overcoming the
scruples of conscientious men. A Romanist might thus
address the advocates of Oxford Tract principles —
"Yon tell us that certain dogmas and practices con-
firmed by the council of Trent, are neither catholic nor
ancient. Grant it, and yet we might demand, on gene-
ral principles, the submission of those (or their silent
conformity) who, while they think much of the crimi-
nality of schism, also hold that the church, from the
first, has possessed a permanent legislative and adminis-
* Avvenimcnti Edhlcanti massime Ptecenti, &c. p. 14. Roma,
1839. Con facolta. In other numbers of this religious periodi-
cal occur allusions to the progress of" sound opinions" in Eng-
land, which might perhaps startle the persons implicated; as well
as the public. The passage cited above is thus designated in the
table of contents — Mirabile avvicinamentofra protestanti alle Dot-
trine Cattoliche.
544
CONNEXION OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE^
trative authority. — If it did not, how shall we justify
the many additions made to apostolic practice during the
first three centuries? — Your church principles, what are
they, if there be no such authority? But if there be,
then how do you prove that it came to an end, and did
not flow on to the church of Rome — at least in regard to
western Christendom?
44 But leaving this; we think it does not become you
to except against our dogmas and practices on the ground
of the alleged authority of a higher antiquity, until you
have yourselves yielded, fully and openly, to that same
authority; and especially in those matters which it
affirms to be of prime importance. In claiming the
right, as you seem to do, to reject certain parts of the
• ancient church system, on the plea of a higher scriptural
authority, that, is, on the strength of your private inter-
pretation of the canonical writings, you go the whole
length of heretics and ultra protestants, who do nothing
worse; and all the difference between you and them, will
be a difference in particulars. This is not to adhere to
church principles.
" Now, as you well know, the ascetic doctrine, ex-
pressed in the monastic life, and the consequent celibacy
of the clergy, claim all the weight and authority that
can be derived from the sanction of high antiquity, and
universal consent. You know that the monastic sys-
tem was an intimate and inseparable element of the reli-
gious and ecclesiastical system, at the time to which you
attribute such an authority, as that it should overrule
the later enactments of the Romish church. You have
yourselves admitted the abstract excellence of the ascetic
life; — you adopt, as far as you can, its characteristic de-
yotional exercises, and you give the world reason to
WITH RITUAL NOTIONS AND PRACTICES.
545
believe that the restoration of the monastic orders would
be by no means disagreeable to you.
" But, to advance so far, is to advance too far, or not
far enough. You stand in an ambiguous position which
it is hard to justify on any general principle whatever.
Even if the reformers had some pretexts for change, in
relation to certain abuses of the Romish church, it was
their high sin to have rejected and blasphemed the mo-
nastic system — unquestionably ancient as it is: — this
system was no popish corruption; and to cast it out as
evil, is to subvert the first principle of church authority,
and to set up another, even that of the ultra-protestant
principle. But what say you to the church within
which, at the peril of your souls, you remain, and at
whose altar you minister? Your church has outraged
catholic antiquity by its rejection of monasticism. Your
church has no holy virgins: but was there any ancient
church that had not, or that did not make its boast of
them? Your church has not a monastery, or a convent,
or a hermit, or any one of those things which the church
universal of the Nicene age regarded as of the highest
value. Call, now, St. Athanasius, and St. Basil, and St.
Ambrose, and St. John Chrysostom, and St. Gregory
Nazianzen, and St. Augustine, call them from their high
seats in glory, and let them judge between you and us!
"What name think you would these holy doctors bestow
upon a church shorn of all the honours of virginity —
naked, naked, as it is? With what emotions of horror
would they look around upon your married bishops,
your married priests; — bishops and priests married after
ordination — married, some of them, a second time — it
may be a third! Tell us then, are you bearing a faith-
ful and courageous testimony to holy catholic principles,
in conforming to a church which, as you cannot doubt.
S46 CONNEXION OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, &C.
would have been spurned and condemned by all the
fathers and saints of the best age?
" Tell us, and tell the world plainly, do you think with
the holy fathers, above named, on these momentous sub-
jects; or do you think with the founders of your pro-
tectant church? You are wont to use strong language
(though not too strong) in speaking of the sin and dan-
ger of dissent; but may not a man sometimes do worse
in conforming, than he could in dissenting? Dissenters,
if they sincerely think what they profess, are at least
honest men. But now, do you think with your church
in those prominent matters in relation to which it con-
tradicts and impugns catholic antiquity? If you think
with your church concerning the monastic life, the merit
of virginity, the invocation of saints, the devotion paid
to holy relics, and the like, where is your professed de-
ference to antiquity? If you do not think with it in
these points, essential as they are, what are you but dis-
senters— wanting courage?"
Obvious reasons of policy may induce the Romish
church to forbid itself, at present, the use of arguments
such as the above. In what way the cogency of them,
when advanced, may be evaded, remains to be seen.
The Oxford Tract divines are not Romanists in disguise;
they do ?i2t intend the re-establishment of popery; but
they devoutly admire, and would gladly restore, that
which the English reformers did not intend, and which
they rejected, feeling and seeing its contrariety to aposto-
lic doctrine and morals.
These accomplished and devout divines have, as it
seems, advanced at a too rapid rate; not duly consider-
ing that, though reformation may be quick-paced, and
even sudden, the advances or the return of superstitions
ADDITIONAL REFERENCES AND CITATIONS. 547
(iet the word be pardoned) must always, in the nature
of things, be slow. Seven or ten years will not bring
about the changes which were the work of two or three
centuries. By this precipitation they have become se-
riously 'insnared; — insnared as churchmen, approving
what their church does not allow, or has pointedly con-
demned:— insnared as the professed adherents of catho-
lic antiquity, by not bearing their testimony openly and
practically, to every catholic principle.
From these embarrassments they may indeed with-
draw themselves, silently and insensibly, if time be al-
lowed them for gradually shifting their position, and for
retracting, little by little, what has been said — before its
time. Mean while the cordially affected adherents of
the reformation must wish to see the present controver-
sy dealt with in the most summary method, and brought
to the speediest possible conclusion.
ADDITIONAL REFERENCES AND CITATIONS.
In the preceding pages I have purposely avoided
throwing the stress of my argument, in any instance,
upon facts or testimonies of a recondite or questiona-
ble kind, and have appealed only to evidence which
abounds on all sides, and of which any one may readily
collect more than enough, who has access to the works
where it is to be found. Even a few days' industry,
properly directed, would amply suffice for enabling the
reader to satisfy himself concerning all the statements
548 ADDITIONAL REFERENCES AND CITATIONS.
or allegations to which, in these numbers, any impor-
tance is attached. It is not indeed to be supposed that
many should give themselves even this degree of trouble,
some, however, will do so; — more than a very few are
actually engaged in researches of this sort, and it is much
to be desired that they should be continued until the
truth, and the whole truth, concerning the religious opi-
nions and practices of the first six centuries has become
generally diffused. It is only by the means of this
knowledge of antiquity that we can be qualified to deal
with Romanism, or can be secured against the insidi-
ous advances of that species of pietism of which popery
is merely a digested scheme.
More with the view of saving the labour of any who
may be entering upon these studies, than of substan-
tiating in a formal manner statements which no well in-
formed opponent would think of calling in question, I
shall now point out the path in pursuing which the read-
er may, with very little expense of time, satisfy him-
self as to the condition of the Nicene church, in regard
to one or two principal points which have been glanced
at in the preceding pages: and in order to preclude an
incidental disappointment, I will refer to those works
only which are the most likely to be accessible to the
reader. In fact, it is the evidence of these few that is
the most conclusive: what is recondite and rare would
be so much the less satisfactory.
One principal point referred to in these numbers, is
the actual condition, from the first, of the ascetic insti-
tute. The evidence bearing upon this subject has a dou-
ble importance, first, inasmuch as it dissipates the fond
and dangerous illusion concerning an age of purity, and
of generally diffused truth and holiness; and, secondly,
ADDITIONAL REFERENCES AND CITATIONS. 540
as it tends to discourage and to arrest the attempts, now
so industriously making, to re-establish the celibate.
The ascetic institute and the celibate has existed under
three distinguishable conditions — -the first, that in which
we find it in the middle of the third century, when it
was the least artificial in its constitution, and, one would
suppose, the least liable to abuses. What it was in fact,
at that time, may be gathered from those passages in
Cyprian to which I have already referred, p. 1 13. The
epistle to Pomponius, and the Treatise de habitu Virgi-
num, must be perused entire. The second condition is
that of the Nicene age, when monasteries and convents
were springing up on all sides, and when the ascetic
feeling (mania) was at its height. The third, is that re-
gulated and severe form, imposed upon the monastic or-
ders under the auspices of the Romish church, and with
which at present we have nothing to do. It is with the
second that we are concerned. Does the inquirer choose
then to take his idea of the Nicene asceticism from de-
votional pieces, and hortatory compositions, showing
what it should have been; or from the direct and indi-
rect admissions of its admirers? I presume the latter
course to be preferred; nor can we do better than open
Chrysostom; and it is curious to turn from any of his
splendid descriptions of the celestial polity which the
monastic orders professed to realize (as torn. i. p. 115)
to passages such as the one already cited (p. 405) and
to the two treatises, in one of which this passage occurs.
I will say nothing more of them than that they should
serve as a caution against the easy, but dangerous error
of supposing that modern church historians, have fully
and fairly depicted the ancient church. The very facts
most necessary to be known, are barely glanced at by
47
550 ADDITIONAL REFERENCES AND CITATIONS.
any of these writers. The first of these admonitory
treatises is addressed 7T(>0S TOVi i^OVTSLt 7rapQtV6l>S 0-VVHO-ctKrGU;
the title of the second is — -Jreg/ tov ret? jteivovuxs o-vvguuv
*vfg*rtv. It is manifest that the practices inveighed
against were common, and the abuses mentioned noto-
rious. There is, indeed, nothing to be wondered at in
these things — except it be the infatuation of those who,
with such facts before them, could yet persist in the en-
deavour so to fight against human nature, common sense,
and Christianity. Basil's Treatise on Virginity, which
I will not recommend the reader to make himself ac-
quainted with, gives indications enough of the existence
and frequency of abuses even worse than those referred
to by Chrysostom. Jerome, cautious, and yet caustic,
can neither withhold the truth, nor plainly declare it; in
his Epistle to Eustochium he must be listened to as a
reluctant witness, intimating more than he will say.
Elsewhere, however, he freely admits that the excellence
professed by the two classes of ascetics was but rarely
realized. Comment, in Lament, cap. 3. Sed rara est,
et paucissimis dono Dei haec perfectio concessa. Again,
in the epistle — Ad Rusticum Monachum, the truth comes
out, and it appears plainly that the system exhibited, in
Jerome's time, every one of those inherent bad qualities
which have always drawn upon it the contempt and ab-
horrence of mankind. This epistle (of a few pages only)
the studious reader will peruse throughout: no evidence
can be more unexceptionable. Alone, Jerome's testi-
mony might well be admitted as sufficient; but it accords
minutely with thatof Chrysostom, especially as to the cus-
tom against which the first of the above-named treatises
is directed. — " Some you may see with their loins girt,
clad in dingy cloaks, with long beards, who yet can never
break away from the company of women: but live under
ADDITIONAL REFERENCES AND CITATIONS. 551
the same roof, sit at the same tables, are waited upon by-
young girls, and want nothing proper to the married state,
except — wives! The luxury commonly indulged in by
the rich ascetics, the ostentatious and rapacious practices
of the poor, and the insanity of the fanatical sort, are
spoken of without disguise. Vidi ego quosdam, &c. . .
publice extendentes manus, pannis aurum tegimus, et con-
tra omnium opinionem, plenis sacculis morimur divites,
qui quasi pauperes viximus. Nothing else can be inferred
from this epistle (and see, ad Nepot.) than that the gra-
phic description it contains of knavery, licentiousness, and
insanity, was applicable to the many; and that the excep-
tions were few: nequaquam considerans quid alii mali
faciunt, sed quid boni tn facere debeas; neque vero pec-
cantium ducaris multiludine, et te pereuntium turba, &c.
This sort of evidence, furnished by a passionate admirer
of the ascetic institute, ought to be considered as con-
clusive. Erasmus, determined to give the ancient monks
a credit, at the expense of his contemporaries, contra-
dicts the clearest testimonies in his "Antidote" to this
epistle, which, by the way, is highly curious as indica-
tive of the approaching reformation. I beg to commend
the passage to the attention of the modern admirers of
ascetic practices, quae, says Erasmus, magis ad judaeos
pertinent, quam ad christianos, et superstitiosum facere
possunt, pium non possunt. Does not all experience
confirm this testimony?
I really resent the humiliation of making grave refe-
rences to book and chapter of a work like that of Cas-
sian. If called upon to make good any of the asser-
tions or intimations concerning the Nicene monkery
which I may have left unsupported by direct citations,
Cassian would help me out of every difficulty. The
monastic rules of St. Pachomius are appended to this
552
ADDITIONAL REFERENCES AND CITATIONS.
writer's Institutes, and exhibit the spirit and quality of
the monastic life: they are prefaced by Jerome, with a
brief and curious account of it, as then established in
the Thebais, under the immediate direction of "an an-
gel sent from heaven," for this purpose.
But the reader who would give the ancient asceticism
the highest possible advantage, will take his idea of it
from Basil. This father's ascetic writings do not occu-
py much space, and they should be read by those who are
now told that the monastic system of the ancient church
was wise, holy, rational, and Christian-like. These
compositions are — some of his epistles, as those to Na-
zianzen, and to Amphilochius: the treatises — on virginity,
and on abdication of the world, and spiritual perfection.
By the way, why should not this treatise find a place
among "selections" from the fathers? Let us have it
faithfully rendered, and without retrenchment. Basil
says to his disciple — a young monk — " Hast thou left
thy cell? Thou hast left there thy virtue." What sort
of virtue is that which evaporates the moment it is ex-
posed to daylight? or what is the whole meaning of the
impassioned advice — " Shun the society of those of thine
own age; Yea, flee from it as from a burning flame?"
How few then are the steps that lead from the doctrine
of angelic virginity, to the lowest depths! First comes
celibacy, imposed upon youths of ardent temperament —
then, by necessity, the stern separation of the sexes;
and next — what? we may learn from Basil! It is not
without vehement emotions of disgust and indignation
that one sees this ancient and worst device of the devil
set a going again, after such proofs of its true quality.
Basil's "Monastic Institutions," and "Rules," longer
and shorter, jmbody all points of the theory and prac-
tice of the ascetic life; and whoever wishes to know
ADDITIONAL REFERENCES AND CITATIONS. 553
what it was, will read these throughout. Compelled to
forego the ample citations I had intended, I will point
to a few expressions only, as they present themselves.
Ad Amphiloc. 2. Basil decides that girls should not
be allowed to profess before their sixteenth, or seven-
teenth years. Any irregularity fallen into by those
who had voluntarily devoted themselves at this mature
age, was to be punished with " inexorable severity!"
He enjoins also that when parents or brothers, or, as
sometimes happened, distant relatives, brought girls to
the convent, from interested motives, the consent of the
victim should be ascertained! The Monast. Constit.
commence by recommending a total surrender of the
soul and body to God, including (cap. xx.) the renun-
ciation of every tie of kindred: " it is the devil's craft,"
says Basil, " to keep alive in the mind of the monk a
recollection of his parents and natural relatives, so as
that, under colour of rendering them some aid, he may
be drawn aside from his heavenly course!" Let us now
compare theory with facts. We hear Basil (cap. iii.)
strictly forbidding, except in cases of the most extreme
necessity, any sort of intercourse with women. At
the same moment the monks, generally, according to
Jerome and Chrysostom, were maintaining as many
girls about them as their means would allow ! Pa-
chomius forbids a monk to secrete any thing in his
cell, not even an apple; and Basil insists, again and
again, that his monks are to renounce every atom of pri-
vate property, as cap. xviii.; but Jerome tells us that
the monks about him were gathering wealth within their
ragged sleeves. To Basil's rule that a monk should
cease to care for his relatives, some, he tells us, object-
ed the apostle's declaration — 11 If a man provide not for
554 ADDITIONAL REFERENCES AND CITATIONS.
his own," &c. Yes, but Paul addressed this to the
living, not to the dead; but a genuine monk is virtually
dead to the world, although breathing the upper air; and
as such, he is exempt from every secular obligation!
cap. xx. " as dead thou art free from all contributions
for the benefit of thy natural relatives; and, as utterly a
pauper, thou hast nothing which thou canst bestow." Is
not this nearly the same as the " corban" of the phari-
sees? In his second discourse, Constit. Monast., Basil
insists upon the greater severity needful in the govern-
ment of convents, and imposes restrictions which one
would imagine must have secured a degree of decorum.
How far these rules were regarded, we may best learn
from Chrysostom. I must cut short these references,
only taking the liberty to recommend those who may now
be carrying the " Hymni Ecclesiae" in their pockets, or
in their bosoms, to look into the history of monkery,
from the Nicene age, onward, before they allow them-
selves to speak of it as a heaven-born institution.
THE END,
DATE DUE
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