THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
MODERN HAGIOLOGY:
^n 3E]ramination of
THE NATURE AND TENDENCY OF SOME LEGENDARY AND
DEVOTIONAL WORKS
LATELY PUBLISHED HNDEIt THE SANCTION OF
THE REV. J. H. NEWMAN, THE REV. DR. PUSEY,
AND
THE REV. F. OAKELEY.
BY THE REV.
J. C. CROSTHWAITE, M.A.
EECTOR OP ST. MART-AT-HILL, AND ST. ANDREW HUBBARD,
LONDON.
VOL. I.
Whatsoever is not truth can be no part of
Christian religion. — South.
LONDON :
JOHN W. PARKER, WEST STRAND.
MDCCCXLVl.
,C"
V . /
PREFACE.
The following pages, which originally appeared, in
a somewhat different form, in The British Magazine,
are now reprinted, with no other alterations in the
text, than such as appeared necessary in order to
render my meaning more distinctly understood.
With the same intention, I have thought it advis-
able to introduce a few additional sentences; and, in
one or two cases, passages from the books under
consideration, which I had omitted to notice in the
Magazine, have been inserted under their proper
heads. These alterations, however, as I have
already stated, affect my work no further than to
make my meaning plainer; since, on the most careful
consideration, I have found no reason to retract any-
thing which I had originally said. On the contrary,
the events of the last few weeks, have given but too
sad a confirmation to the views I had taken of a
movement, which has left such fearful memorials
of the erroneous principles on which it was under-
taken and conducted. It may be right (though 1
llO/^i/^'^O
IV PREFACE.
suppose it can scarcely be necessary) to state, that the
views here submitted to the public were not founded
on private information relative to the state of the
party, or the secret intentions of their leaders. How
far any persons among them might have connected
themselves with the agents of the Jesuits and the
emissaries of Rome, I had no means of knowing,
when I began to write. I had no secret intelligence.
I pretended to none. But, looking solely to that
which it was as competent to any one else in the
community to pronounce upon, — namely, their own
works, and the books published, without any attempt
at concealment, under their sanction or direction,
it appeared to me, that no reasonable doubt could be
entertained of this party having a formed and settled
design to introduce popery into the church of Eng-
land, and to bring the country back again once more
into subjection to the Court of Rome.
It was with such views of the projects of this
party that, in November, 1844, I commenced in the
British Magazine, the series of papers entitled
Modern Hagiology, which were continued in the
Magazine, without any interruption, until Decem-
ber, 1845, and which form the substance of the pre-
sent work.
I mention these dates merely to let my reader
understand, that very much the greater portion of
these volumes had been printed before Mr. Newman
had declaimed himself a Roman Catholic, and while
PREFACE. V
many of his friends were unwilling to believe that he
had any intention of taking sucli a step. Since that
step has been taken, indeed, some of his friends have
informed the public, that for the last four years he
had, while outwardly conforming to the church, been
in heart and intention a Roman Catholic. But,
whatever be the truth of that statement — whatever
authority they may have had for making it — I had
no information when I wrote, to lead me to suppose
that such were Mr. Newman's intentions. The
view of the nature and tendencies of this movement
taken in the following pages, was formed solely on
a consideration of his published writings, — of books
published under his sanction, — and of the works of
his friends and coadjutors.
This, however, would scarcely have been con-
Bidered a sufficient reason for giving these volumes
to the public, had there not been other circumstances
which made it appear desirable that the statements
and arguments they contain should have a wider
circulation, and be offered to the notice of some who
may not be in the habit of seeing the Magazine
in which they originally appeared.
I cannot but think, that there is something in this
movement far more deserving the attention of the
public, than either the fate of the movement itself, or
the conduct of its leaders. There are features in this
system of permanent interest; and it has been my
constant anxiety and effort in this work to impress
VI PREFACE.
this on my reader's mind. What has made this
movement so mischievous, is not the particular
direction it has taken. No man is less disposed than
I am to underrate the evils or the errors of Popery.
But I believe, that we deceive ourselves, when we
suffer the Romanizings of this party to divert our
attention from the origin and source (as it has hap-
pened) of their Romanizings. For, from the year
1828, when Dr. Pusey came forward to charge the
late Ml". Rose with abandoning the fundamental prin-
ciples of Protestantism, and derogating from the in-
dependence and inherent power of the Word of God,
down to 1845, when his principles have developed
themselves into an undisguised advocacy and propa-
gation of Jesuitism, — it was the loose method this
party adopted of interpreting — or, rather, of ex-
plaining away — the Holy Scriptures, and the de-
fective notions of the value and sacredness of truth
they have from the beginning manifested, and which
lie at the root of all such spiritual and allegorical
interpretations, — this it was, which constituted the
real evil and danger of the movement. This it was,
which gave the party an inherent determination to
error of some sort or other. This it was which
infected all their views of theology, urged them
downwards from one stage of error to another, and
made them, — all along, and at every period of their
unhappy career, — whether as commentators, as dog-
matic divines, as ecclesiastical historians, or as
PREFACE. Vll
parish priests, — the unsafe guides which the church
has by too painful an experience proved them to
have been.
Besides the necessity of exposing these false prin-
ciples, for the sake of such as may stiU be in danger of
being misled by those of the party who have not yet
left the Church, — the chief reason for discussing the
chai'acter of this movement must be, to lead men to
regard it, as an illustration and a warning, (as it
really is) of the danger of the false principles them-
selves. For whatever becomes of this movement —
loose methods of interpreting Scripture, and loose
notions of truth and falsehood can never be other-
wise than mischievous to the Church. Nor is the
Church ever likely to be wholly secure against the
dangers arising from these sources, so long as weak
and vain and restless men, — so long as men fonder
of poetry than of fact, shall be found within her
pale. A most instructive warning, indeed, has this
movement given us, of the fatal consequences of tri-
fling with truth ; and for this reason alone, it appeared
likely to be of some service to the Church hereafter
to have that warning put on record.
There is no security — there can be none, — no pro-
tection whatever, against heresy of any sort or de-
gree, in any Church where the figurative, and
spiritual, and mystical, and allegorical modes of ex-
plaining away the inspired volume find toleration. Be
it the School of Origen, — or the School of Meditation,
Vin PREFACE.
— or the Prophetical School, with its year-day hypo-
thesis to evade the grammatical meaning of the text,
— whether the tendency be to Romanism or Mysti-
cism, to Presbyterianism or Neologianism — the prin-
ciple of interpretation is the same; — and the same
want of reverence for truth, — gloss it over as men will
— lies at the root and foundation of the principle,
into whatever form of error the principle may be de-
veloped. This is a permanent danger. And the
exhibition of the consequences of surrendering one's
judgment to such a principle, is that which seems to
me to give its chief value to any investigation of the
system and movement of which Mr. Newman and
Dr. Pusey are the exponents.
And, be it remembered, that though Mr. Newman
has become a Romanist, and Mr. Oakeley has fol-
lowed the example of his leader, Dr. Pusey still
remains ; — and since Mr. Newman has left the
Church, Dr. Pusey, as his friends have informed
the public, (and his conduct abundantly confirms the
information) has put himself forward as the leader
of the party. Under such circumstances, it seems
a plain duty, to give the public an opportunity of
judging of the nature of the system which Dr. Pusey
is now endeavouring to propagate amongst us; and it
is believed, that abundant materials for forming such
a judgment will be found in these volumes. How
far Dr. Pusey may or may not have connected him-
self with the Jesuits in this country, I know not.
PREFACE. IX
But of this I am certain, that a very moderate ac-
quaintance with the doctrine, morals, and discipline
of the Jesuits, and of the methods by which they
contrive to entrap young people into their society,
will convince any one who reads the works lately
published by Dr. Pusey, that— whatever may be his
ulterior object — he is now endeavouring, not merely
to Romanize the Church, but to propagate Jesuitism,
in its worst and most mischievous form, among the
young and inexperienced of both sexes in this
country. It is melancholy to be obliged to bring
proofs of such a charge. But if men choose to
engage in such pernicious projects, it becomes a
duty to give warning of their proceedings. The
charge and the proofs are now laid before the public.
The evil still exists. The danger is still imminent.
The scheme is not abandoned — far from it. The
reins have fallen from Mr. Newman's hands indeed;
— rather he has resigned them to Dr. Pusey — and
Dr. Pusey seems determined to persevere in his
career, until he has impregnated the Church with
Jesuitical principles, and has laid the foundation of
such a schism as even Mr. Newman's influence and
example have failed to effect.
While such schemes, therefore, are on foot, it
seems a duty to call attention to the proceedings of
those engaged in them, and with this object these
volumes have been prepared for publication.
Some, perhaps, are still disposed to give credence
X PREFACE.
to specious generalities and plausible professions of
attachment to the Church, which appear to say a
vast deal — but which, when those who make them
shall have proceeded to secession, we shall be told
contain nothing they need to retract. If any such
charitable persons should happen to open these
volumes, I shall beg their serious consideration of
the matter here laid before them. The great body
of the clergy in both countries, are not likely to have
their principles shaken. For the young and inex-
perienced the warning may be more needful. Would
that I might have reason to hope, that any who
have already been beguiled into the paths of error,
may be led by anything I have written, to pause — to
consider what the end of such courses must be —
and to retrace their steps before it be too late.
In conclusion, let me commend to the attention of
my readers, the following observations of Bacon, — in
his " Advertisement, touching the Controversies of
the Church of England," — descriptive of a state of
things in so many particulars similar to the present.
" The Church never wanteth a kind of persons
wliich love the salutation of Rabbi, blaster ; not in
ceremony, or compliment, but in an inward autho-
rity, which they seek over men's minds, in drawing
them to depend upon their opinions, and to seek
knowledge at their lips. These men are the true
successors of Diotrephes the lover of pre-eminence;
and not, Lord Bishops. Such spirits do light upon
PREFACE. XI
another sort of natures, which do adhere to these
men; Quorum gloria in obsequio; stiff followers,
and such as zeal marvellously for those whom they
have chosen for their masters. This latter sort, for
the most part, are men of young years and super-
ficial understanding; carried away with partial re-
spects of persons, or with the enticing appearance
of godly names and pretences: Pauci res ipsas se-
quuntur, plures nomina rerum, plurimi nomina
magistrorum. Few" follow the things themselves,
more the names of the things, and most the names
of their masters.
" About these general affections, are wreathed
and interlaced, accidental and private emulations
and discontentments; all which, together, break forth
into contentions; such as either violate truth, so-
briety, or peace. These generalities apply them-
selves. The universities are the seat, or the con-
tinent, of this disease; whence it hath been, and is
derived, into the rest of the realm. There men
will no longer be, e numero, of the number. There
do others side themselves, before they know their
right hand from their left. So it is true, which is
said; Transeunt ah ignorantia, ad prcejudicium.
They skip from ignorance to a prejudicate opinion,
and never take a sound judgment in their way.
But, as it is well noted; Inter juvenile judicium,
et senile prcejudicium, omnis Veritas corrumpitur :
tlirough want of years, when men are not indif-
xii PREFACE.
ferent, but partial, then their judgment is weak and
unripe. And when it groweth to strength and ripe-
ness, by that time, it is forestalled with such a
number of prejudicate opinions, as it is made unpro-
fitable: so as, between these two, all truth is cor-
rupted. In the meanwhile the honourable names of
sincerity, reformation, and discipline, are put in the
fore-ward; so as contentions and evil zeals cannot be
touched, except these holy things be thought first to
be violated. But, howsoever they shall infer the
solicitation for the peace of the Church to proceed
from carnal sense, yet, I will conclude, ever, with the
apostle Paul; Cum sit inter vos, zelus et contentio,
nonne carnales estis .? While there is amongst you
zeal and contention, are ye not carnal? And how-
soever they esteem the compounding of controversies
to savour of man's wisdom, and human policy, and
think themselves led by the wisdom which is from
above; yet I say with Saint James; Non est ista
sapientia desursum descendens ; sed terrena, ani-
malis^ diaboUca. Uhi enim zelus, et contentio, ibi
inconstantia, et omne opus pravum. Of this incon-
stancy it is said by a learned Father; Procedere
volunt, non ad perfecfionem, sed ad permutationem :
they seek to go forward still, not to perfection, but
to change."
On reading such a description one feels, that, after
all, the Tractarian movement is nothing more than
a new development of Puritanism. How far this
PREFACE. Xlll
later development may have been originated and
directed by secret intrigues, similar to those, which,
when Bacon wrote, were stealthily and darkly pre-
paring the way for the destruction of the Church
and throne, and the calamities of the great rebellion,
time alone will discover.
J. C. Crosthwaiti:.
St. Marij-at-Hill.
January, lb4G.
CONTENTS
OF
VOLUME THE FIRST.
CHAPTER I.
THE LIVES OF THE ENGLISH SAINTS.
Page
The Oxford Movement 2
Lives of the English Saints 3
Praise of the Jesuits 5
Mr. Newman responsible for the Lives of the English
Saints 6
Sneer at the Reformation 8
Policy of the Movement 10
CHAPTER n.
THE LIVES OF THE ENGLISH SAINTS, CONTINUED.
Expiatory Penance 11
St. Oswald 13
St. Adamnan 16
Affectation of Romanism 17
Sacramental Confession 18
Present Duties 19
CHAPTER IIL
THE LIVTIS OF THE ENGLISH SAINTS, CONTINUED.
Monasticism 20
Precepts of Perfection 21
XVI CONTENTS.
CHAPTER IV.
THE LIVES OF THE ENGLISH SAINTS, CONTINUED.
Pag'e
Holy Virginity 23
CHAPTER V.
THE LIVES OF THE ENGLISH SAINTS, CONTINUED
HOLY VIRGINITY.
St. Bega 27
Marriage 31
St. Oswald 33
St. Bernard ib.
CHAPTER VI.
THE LIVES OF THE ENGLISH SAINTS, CONTINUED —
HOLY VIRGINITY.
St. Bega 38
Parental Authority 41
Jesuitism 42
CHAPTER VII.
ROMANIZING.
The Romanizing Tendency of Mr. Newman's Party . 43
Papal Supremacy 46
Reconciliation with Rome 49
CHAPTER VIII.
LOOKING HOMEWARD.
Catholic Instincts 50
St. Wilfrid 51
Ancient British Church 52
CHAPTER IX.
ST. WILFRID.
St, Wilfrid's Pilgrimage to Rome S3
CONTENTS. XVll
Page
Roman Feelings 55
The Rubrical Panic 56
CHAPTER X.
ROME.
St. Wilfrid at Rome 58
Council of Whitby 62
Paschal Question 63
Nationalism a Demoralizing Heresy 64
CHAPTER XI.
ST. WILFRID ROMANIZING.
St. Wilfrid and St. Theodore 66
St. Wilfrid's Appeal to Rome 68
The Inquisition 69
Perversions of Scripture 70
St. Wilfrid a Pluralist 72
Jesuitism ■ • 73
CHAPTER XII.
EXPERIMENTALIZING.
St. Wilfrid Experimentalizing 74
Working at a Disadvantage 75
Moderate Men 76
CHAPTER XIII.
THE MOVEMENT.
What Step Next 79
Palmers and Pilgrims 80
Difficulties 81
The Present Danger S3
CHAPTER XIV.
CATHOLIC DOCTRINES.
Difficulties of the Movement ^ . . . 84
b
XVlll CONTENTS.
Page
Jesuitism 85
Present Duties 88
The Dilemma 89'
Romanizing Quietness 90
CHAPTER XV.
MORE DIFFICULTIES.
The Ecclesiologists 92
Bible Christians 97
A Real Danger ' . 98
CHAPTER XVI.
CELIBACY.
Mr. Newman's Doctrine of Celibacy 99
St. Cuthbert and St. Ebba 100
St. Wilfrid on Visitation 101
Mar Prelacy 103
Phariseeism 104
CHAPTER XVII.
PHARISEEISM.
St. Wilfrid on Foot 108
St. Wilfrid Riding 109
St. WUfrid and St. Theodore 110
St. Wilfrid and the Queen 112
The Ascetic's Power 113
Self-deception 115
CHAPTER XVIII.
PHARISAICAL AUSTERITIES.
St. German 116
St. Bartholomew 121
Prior Thomas 122
Sturme and the Germans 123
CONTENTS. XIX
CHAPTER XIX.
AQUATIC SAINTS.
Page
St. German's Bed of Ashes 124
St. Gundleus 126
St. Guthlake '6-
St. Neot la-
st. Wulstan ib-
Brother Drithelm 128
CHAPTER XX.
MONASTICISM.
Mr. Newman's Doctrine of Holy Virginity .... 130
The Nuns of Watton 131
Sneer at Ordinary Christians 132
St. German and Genevieve 133
CHAPTER XXI.
TRUTH.
St. Wilfrid and Etheldreda 135
Mr. Newman's Notions of Truth 136
Danger of a Revulsion 138
CHAPTER XXII.
MISREPRESENTATIONS.
These Writers misrepresent the Characters of the Saints 140
St. Wulstan and the Goose 142
CHAPTER XXIII.
MORE MISREPRESENTATIONS.
St. Wulstan and his Clergy l*.")
' Frewen 1-16
St. Wulstan and his Shoe 147
XX CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXIV.
MORE MISREPRESENTATIONS.
Page
St. Wulstan and his Monks 150
St. Wulstan at Court 151
St. Wulstan's Austerities 153
A Practical Reflection 156
CHAPTER XXV.
PHARISAICAL AUSTEBITIES.
St. William 158
A Practical Question 161
St. German and the Ghost 163
Austerities becoming popular 165
CHAPTER XXVI.
MIRACLES.
St. German and the Cock 166
Neologian Tendency of the System 168
CHAPTER XXVII.
MIRACLES.
St. Helier .170
Cunibert the Hermit 171
St. Helier's Sickness 172
St. Helier's Miracles 174
CHAPTER XXVIII.
MIRACLES.
St. Helier's Baptism 175
Authenticity of the Legend 177
An Age of Faith 178
St. Helier's Hermitage 180
CONTENTS. . XXI
CHAPTER XXIX.
A DIGRESSION.
Page
Archbishop Langton 181
The Interdict 183
The Deposing Power 187
Jesuitism 19"
The Resignation of King John 192
Political Jesuitism 194
CHAPTER XXX.
MIRACLES RESUMED.
St. Helier 195
The Footsteps in the Rock 196
CHAPTER XXXI.
MIRACLES.
St. Helier's Death . • 201
The Phantom Boat 203
He carries his Head in his Hands 204
St. Ninian and the Schoolboy 206
CHAPTER XXXII.
MIRACLES.
St. Neot 210
St. Neot and the Lock 213
The Three Fishes 215
The Lost Shoe 217
The Fox and the Angel 218
CHAPTER XXXin.
TRUTH.
Mr. Newman's Notions of Truth ........ 220
XXU CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
TRUTH.
Page
TheEvilof the System, Disregard of Truth .... 225
These Legends do not misrepresent the System . . . 228
Who is Responsible for them 232
CHAPTER XXXV.
CONFUSED NOTIONS OF TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD.
St. Gundleus 233
Meditation 235
This System of Meditation endangers Christianity itself 240
St. Amphibalus 242
St. Andrew 244
St. Agnes ib.
St. George 245
St. Gundleus ib.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE SAME SUBJECT, CONTINUED.
The Region of Faith 246
Defence of the Legendary System 247
CHAPTER XXXVIL
THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.
The Allegorical System 251
Mr. Oakeley's Translation of Bonaventure's Life of
Christ 254
Mr. Oakeley's Meditation of the Lord's Nativity . . 258
The Angels' ministering to Christ 261
Mr. Oakeley's Defence of this Fiction 262
CHAPTER XXXVIII
MEDITATION.
The Annunciation 265
CONTENTS. XXUl
Page
The Latin Legend 266
The Greek Legend 267
The Loretto Legend 268
CHAPTER XXXIX.
MEDITATION.
Scripture falsified to serve the purposes of Superstition . 273
Mr. Newman's Doctrine regarding the Blessed Virgin . 274
Mr. Oakeley's Meditation of the Marriage at Cana . . 275
The Return from Egypt 280
Christ and the Woman of Samaria 281
CHAPTER XL.
SUPERSTITIOUS REVERENCE FOR THE VIRGIN MARY.
Mr. Newman's Sermon on the Annunciation .... 284
Mr. Oakeley's Meditation of the Appearance to the
Virgin after the Resurrection 286
His Defence of the Meditation 292
Silence of Scripture intentional • • 298
Adoration of the Cross 299
The Agony of Christ 300
Realizitg 301
An Error affecting the Atonement 302
CHAPTER XLL
EFFECT OF THE SYSTEM ON THE EVIDENCES OF
CHRISTIANITY.
St. Mamertinus's Vision 304
MODERN HAGIOLOGY.
CHAPTER I.
THE LIVES OF THE ENGLISH SAINTS : THEIR ROMISH
CHARACTER — PRAISE OF THE JESUITS.
Those persons who, at different periods, have en-
deavoured to propagate opinions on questions of
religion and morals, have seldom failed to perceive
the use that may be made of biography. Few
instruments, indeed, can be found more powerful
for such a purpose, — whenever the wrjter has the
skill and ingenuity to insinuate his own peculiar
views, by the exhibition of the actions and character
of some real or imaginary person, in whom he con-
trives to interest his readers, before they have dis-
covered, that what they are reading has been written
and constructed for a purpose. Where the purpose
has been honestly avowed, the reader has, of course,
no reason to complain of being entrapped into the
reception of opinions without notice or expectation.
Still, even where the purpose is sufficiently indi-
cated to protect the writer from a charge of disin-
genuousness on that score, it may sometimes be
the duty of those who have any share in conduct-
ing the periodical literature of the country, to in-
terfere, and point out the objectionable character
VOL. I. B
2 THE OXFORD MOVEMENT. [CHAP.
of a work. For instance, when anything like a
systematic effort is made to introduce and recommend
error and heresy in an attractive and seductive form,
it becomes necessary to protect from danger those,
who could perhaps protect themselves, if they would
take the trouble to put together and compare passages
and statements, that may occur incidentally in a
series of volumes, — but who are either too indolent
to take this trouble for themselves, or have not the
opportunity, or, from various reasons, require to
have facts pointed out to their observation. And,
indeed, if this office be honestly and fairly dis-
charged, it is, perhaps, one of the most useful ser-
vices that can be rendered to the church, and there-
fore, one of the niost legitimate employments for
the pages of such a publication as the British Maga-
zine has always aimed to be.
The movement which originated twelve years
ago in Oxford, is part of the history of the church
of England. What its ultimate eifects will be, it is
not for human sagacity to conjecture. But it is im-
possible for any one who has any regard for the
doctrines of the Bible and Common Prayer Book,
to read the works now in course of publication
under Mr. Newman's sanction, without feeling it
to be the imperative duty of those who are at
all concerned in watching over the publications of
the day, to bring clearly and distinctly before the
church, the nature and tendency of the opinions
1.] LIVES OF THE ENGLISH SAINTS. . 3
which this parly are avowedly endeavouring to dis-
seminate.
Rather more than a twelvemonth ago, Mr. New-
man issued a prospectus of a work in periodical
numbers, to be entitled, the Lives of the English
Saints. Of these, seven volumes* have been already
published. They scarcely pretend to throw any
light on the history of our church; and, indeed, the
writers are not very particular in telling us, Avhere
they met with the strange stories they are retailing
rather as legends than as matters of fact; so that the
chief, perhaps the only, value of the work is, the
illustration it affords of the ultimate objects of the
movement of Avhich Mr. Newman is the acknow-
ledged leader. Any question of that sort the " Lives
of the English Saints" must set completely at rest.
Of course, it is not meant, that any doubt can exist
as to the nature of Mr. Newman's teaching. The
British Critic, his printed Sermons on Subjects of
the Day, his Essay on Ecclesiastical Miracles, — any
one of these is sufficient to satisfy the most incredu-
lous. But still this new work comes later; — and,
consequently, it will serve to answer, and, in point
of fact, it does fully and completely answer, a ques-
tion, which charity would desire to see answered in
a manner favourable to his reputation — namely, ■
whether he has been induced to reconsider opinions,
and modify, if not retract, language, that, he is per-
* Six more have appeared since.
b2
4 CHARACTER OF THESE WORKS. [CHAP.
fectly aware, have been deemed objectionable and
improper by the highest authorities in the church
of which he is still understood to be a clergyman.
The character, then, of this new work, the Lives
of the English Saints, is decidedly, and on many
points, extravagantly Eomish. It is, in fact, Popish,
using that term, to distinguish the ultra- Romanist
from the more moderate school of that communion.
On points where ultra-Romanists have disagreed,
there does not appear much to indicate the writers
belonging to any particular school of theology within
that communion — for example, the Dominican as
opposed to the Franciscan. Their doctrinal opinions
may be various; but, as Mr. Newman says, they are
" not divergent." Certainly, there is no symptom
of any degree of variety, amounting to divergency
from any peculiar or distinguishing tenet of popery.
On the contrary, the impression on the attentive
reader's mind would be, that these woi-ks were either
written by members of the order of Jesuits, or by
those who, (however willing some of them perhaps
may still be, to be thought in communion with our
church,) are endeavouring to promote the views of
that order. The following passage seems inexplic-
able on any other supposition. It occurs in the
sixth volume, in the commencement of the Life of
St. Adamnan :—
To a pious person, surely, no matter what his opinions
may be, the degeneracy of religious institutes and orders
I.] PRAISE OF THE JESUITS. 5
must be a humbling and distressing subject for reflection.
Yet by literary men of later days, and especially by Pro-
testants and other heretics^ this degeneracy has been laid
hold of with almost a desperate eagerness, either for the
purpose of sneering at religion altogether, or vilifying the
holy Roman chttrch, or discountenancing the strictness of
catholic morals. Now let it be admitted fully that this
degeneracy is a fact, and that it has taken place in many
instances almost incredibly soon after the first fervour of
a new institute, always excepting, as truth compels us, the
most noble and glorious company of St. Ignatius, which,
next to the visible church, may perhaps be considered the
greatest standing miracle in the loorld. — pp. 119, 120.
Whether the author of this passage be a Jesuit —
a professed member of what he is pleased to call
" the most noble and glorious company of St. lyna-
tius," or not, it may not be easy for " Protestants
and other heretics'" to ascertain. But this much is
evident, that no one who knew what he was writing
about, Avould have committed himself in such a
manner, unless he was willing to be thought an
admirer of the Jesuits, and a promoter of their de-
signs. And certainly, the fact of such a passage
appearing in a work brought out by Mr. Newman,*
* I think it right to say here, once for all, what has been
already stated in an Editorl;il note in the January number of
the British Magazine, 1845, p. 36, with reference to Mr.
Newman's connexion with the Lives of the English Saints ;
namely, — that, whether he has ever written a single line in
these books or not, he has made himself responsible for the
whole, and such he is considered by every well-informed per-
son whom I have conversed with. In September, 1843, Mr.
Newman issued a prospectus, stating that he was about to
edit a series of Lives of the English Saints : and in the second
$ MR. NEWMAN RESPONSIBLE FOB THE [cHAP.
gives a very remarkable colour to the movement in
which he has occupied so prominent a position.
When an author sneers at " Protestants and other
heretics" as the vilifiers of the " holy B.oman church"
there can be but one feeling among right-minded
persons, as to the indecency of a clergyman of our
church giving any countenance or sanction to such
volume of these lives, when they did appear, Mr. Newman
put an advertisement dated April 1, 1844, iu which he refers
to the " earlier prospectus, in which Lives of the English
Saints, by various authors, were promised under his editor-
ship" and he distinctly repeats the statement he had made in
the first volume, " that the Lives now published formed part
of that series." It is Mr. Newman himself, therefore, who
has informed the public that he is the editor of these pernicious
books. He did so, first in his original prospectus, announcing
his intention of editing the series. He has done so since, by
stating, in an advertisement prefixed to one of these volumes,
that though he is not the author, he is the editor, and that
these books are part of the series he had " promised under his
editorship." Every word of the papers in the British Maga-
zine was written, as I now write, under a full and conscien-
tious belief, that for these Lives of the English Saints Mr.
Newman, and Mr. Newman alone, is responsible. There may
be anonymous persons, whose responsibility is devolved on
him; but this is done by his permission, and with a full con-
sciousness on his part, that, while he thus voluntarily places
himself between them and the public, all the praise or blame is
exclusively his own.
The Advertisement referred to is in these words : —
" The Editor of the Life of St. Stephen Harding is con-
cerned to find that he should have so expressed himself about
it as to be mistaken by some persons for the author. He
thought he had sufiiciently guarded against such an accident
by his reference, in the Advertisement, to an earlier Pro-
spectus, in which Lives of the English Saints by various
authors, were promised under his editorship, and by his state-
ment that the Lives now published formed portions of that
series. " J. H. N.
"April 1, 1844."
I.] LIVES OF THE ENGLISH SAINTS. ' 7
writing. But when a clergyman in Mr, Newman's
position in the University, the head of a party still
exercising considerable influence among the younger
members of the church, comes forward as the editor
of a work in which the order of Jesuits is described
as " the most noble and glorious company of St,
Ignatius, which, next to the visible church, may
perhaps be considered tfie greatest standing miracle
in the world," — the whole movement must be felt to
assume a very serious aspect indeed.
This is not the only passage in these works, in
which the writer connects his attachment to " St.
Ignatius" with a sneer at the Reformation. The
words in immediate connexion with the passage just
quoted from the Life of St. Adamnan, will afford
another example of the same sort. The writer con-
tinues his defence of monasticism thus —
History certainly bears witness to this decay ; but it
must not be stated in the exaggerated way usual to many.
It was not till the end of the tenth century that the decline
of monastic fervour began to lead to abuses and corrup-
tions ; and for at least six centuries what almost miracu-
lous perfection, heavenly love, self-crucifying austerities,
mystical union with God, and stout-hearted defence of
the orthodox faith, reigned among the quietly succeed-
ing generations of the Egyptian cenobites and solita-
ries ? In the thirteenth century again the church inter-
fered, and at her touch, as if with the rod of Moses, there
sprung forth those copious streams which satisfied the ex-
traordinary thirst of Christendom in those times. The
revered names of St. Dominic and St. Francis may
remind us of what that age did. — p. 120.
8 ■ SNEER AT THE REFORMATION. [CHAP.
This is not exactly the manner in which any
sound member of our church would write : but it is
the sentences Avhich follow, that the reader is re-
quested to attend to.
And when was the church of Rome ever so great, ever
so obviously the mother of saints, or when did she ever so
wonderfully develope the hidden life within her, as in the
sixteenth century ? St. Ignatius, St. Fra?icis Xavier, St.
Francis Borgia, St. Francis of Sales, St. Philip Neri, St.
Felix of Cantalice, and many others, sprung almost simul-
taneously from the bosom of a church, so utterly corrupt and
anti- Christian i\\&t part of mankind deemed it necessary to
fall off from, her lest their souls should not he saved! — Ibid.
Of course, it may be natural enough for those
who regard the church of Rome in the sixteenth
century as " the Mother of Saints," in the full
development of " the hidden life tvithin her," to look
with pity and contempt on the infatuation and
stupidity of those who " deemed it necessary to fall
off from her, lest their souls should not be saved."
This is all natural enough; but the connexion of
the names of St. Ignatius and his brother Jesuits
with this sneer at the Reformation, is too remark-
able to be passed over. Nor will any one, who
knows anything of the Jesuits' notions of civil
government, fiiil of being struck by the language
which follows. The writer goes on to say : —
Stated then, fairly and moderately, let the fact of mo-
nastic degeneracy be admitted, and what follows ? Is it
anything more than an illustration of the catholic doctrine
of original sin ? Is it a fit or decent subject of triumph
to miserable sinners who share personally in the corrup-
I.] THE JESUITS. 9
tion of their fellows ? When such boastings are intro-
duced into historical panegyrics of constitutions, parlia-
ments, monarchies, republics, federacies, and the like, n-ltat
is it hut an a fortioi'i argttment against such mere worldly
institutions f — Ibid.
Really it is liigli time for people to ask, where
this movement is to end; and whether its authors
mean to take the state in hand, when they have
completed the revolutionizing of the church?
In the same volume, in the life of St. Oswald,
there is another very remarkable passage, where
the author connects a scarcely covert defence of the
iniquitous conduct of the Jesuits in their foreign
missions, with a rather curious disclosure of the
ultimate designs of the present movement: —
There is nothing which the world has so doggedly
continued to misunderstand as the conduct of missionaries
among barbarians and misbelievers. It is ever demanding
in their conduct towards their converts a strictness which
it calls gloom and bigotry when brought near to itself;
and unable to comprehend the pliancy there is in Christian
wisdom, and what a depth there is in the very simplicity
of its policy, men cry out against what they call lax accom-
modations and a betraying of the truth. Yet it is not a little
significant that the very persons who have been mostly
accused of this have been in their treatment of themselves
most self-denying and austere. — p. 56.
So far the reference seems merely to the missions
of the Jesuits. But the author, without any appa-
rent reason, immediately transfers his argument
from a heathen mission to one in a country profes-
sedly Christian; — leaving an impression on the
mind, as if he thought it somehow necessary to
10 POLICY OF THE MOVEMENT. [cHAP.
explain the reason, why a certain policy which
some of his friends may deem over-cautious and
temporizing, is still pursued at home. His words
are as follows: —
A strict discipline is not the remedy for a long chronic
disorder of laxity and remissness. It amounts to an ex-
communication ; and destroys souls by repelling them
from the very shadow of the influence under which its
object is to bring them. Of course it is a difficult thing
to raise the standard of holiness in a church, a see, a parish,
or a monastery, without somewhat terrifying the minds of
men ; yet it is possible, and it is needful, to find the means
of doing so without the srtdden introduction of such a severe,
and ascetic discipline as one hopes to come to at the last.
The lives of half the saints on record were spent in the
successful solution of this problem : missionaries among
the heathen, bishops in sees wasted with simony, priests in
parishesr lost in ignorant superstitions, abbots in dissolute
monasteries. And it may be that this is the vei'y problem
which is to be somehow or other solved in our own days
among us descendants of those very Saxons whom the zeal
of Gorman failed to convert, but whom the gentle rigours,
of St. Aidan built up as living stones into a very great and
glorious church. The tender but pure system of discipline
introduced into Italy by St. Alfonso,* toward the conclu-
sion of the last century, though it met with clamour and
opposition from the rigid party, has probably been one
main cause of the singular revival of spirituality in that
part of the church. — pp. 56, 57.
How clearly indicative of the designs of the party
this passage is, will probably appear before we have
gone much further.
* This is Liguori, the author of that fearfully blasphemous
and idolatrous work, The Glories of Mary.
II.] EXPIAORY PENANCE. 11
CHAPTER II.
LIVES OF THE ENGLISH SAINTS : THEIR DOCTRINE OF
EXPIATORY PENANCE.
In demonstrating that the object of these Lives
of the English Saints is to recommend the peculiar
doctrines of the church of Rome, the abundance of
proof is so great, that the chief difficulty lies in the
necessity of selection, lest the patience of the reader
should be wearied by multiplicity of quotations.
Some of the most important passages shall now be
laid before him.
For instance, — take the Romish doctrine of the
expiatory nature of penance. In the fourth volume,
^in the Life of St. Bartholomew the hermit, — the
author (in pursuance of a notion frequently put for-
ward in these books, that monks and hermits are
the only persons likely to succeed as missionaries)
says: —
Who but such a confessor could have forced men like
the wild border barons of the north to relax their iron
grasp on the spoils of the poor, and to atone fur their sins
by penance ? — Hermit Saints, p. 144.
Again, in the conclusion of the Life of St. Bette-
lin, in the same volume, we read —
And this is all that is known, and more than all, — yet
nothing to what the angels know, — of the life of a servant
of God, who sinned and repented, and did penance and
washed out his sins, and became a saintj and reigns with
Christ in heaven. — p. 72.
12 EXPIATORY PENANCE. [cHAP.
This notion of walking out sins by means of
penance, occurs in other places. In the first volume,
— in the Life of St. Stephen the founder of the
Cistercians, — a certain person is represented as
having seen the Cistercians in a vision, and having
been desired by the Lord Jesus Christ to enter their
order. In his vision, he sees a river which is too
deep for him to ford. The story goes on to say: —
As he roamed about in quest of a place where he
might cross it, he saw upon the bank, twelve or fourteen
poor men washing their garments in the stream. Amongst
them was one clad in a white garment of dazzling bright-
ness, and his countenance and form were very different
from the rest ; he went about helping the poor men to
wash the spots off their clothes ; when he had helped one,
he went to help another. The clerk went up to this
august person, and said, ' What men are ye ?' And he
answered, ' These poor men are doing penance, and wash-
ing themselves from their sins; I am the Son of God, Jesus
Christ, without whose aid neither they nor any one else
can do good. This beautiful city which thou seest is
paradise, where I dwell ; he who has washed his clothes
white — that is, do7ie penance for his sins — shall enter into
it. Thou thyself hast been searching long enough for the
way to enter into it, but there is no other way, but this
one which leads to it.' — pp. 75, 76.
Few persons can need to have the impiety of such
a fable pointed out to their notice. It is, indeed, of
falsehoods and fables that the lives of these saints
are chiefly constructed, and by such impostures are
the authors seeking to recommend the errors which
they themselves have adopted. But the veracity of
n.] EXPIATORY PENANCE. 13
the stones and the regard the authors have mani-
fested for truth must be considered hereafter.
In the life of St. William, (p. 44,) we read the
following: —
The tears which gush from the really broken and con-
trite heart, unite in wonderful co-operation with the blood
of the Holy Lamb, to wash, as we may say, once more the
sinfid soul.
To persons educated in ignorance and supersti-
tion, one has no wish to ascribe any irreverence in
the use of language like this. But how any one
brought up in one of our universities — educated in
the worship and faith of our cburch, can write and
print such fearful impiety, is wholly inexplicable;
However, it is perfectly vain in those who write in
this way, to profess any attachment to our church,
or any regard for the vows of their ordination.
Take another instance: —
Pain in itself is not pleasing to God, and an austere
life, unless it be joined by charity to Christ's sufferings,
becomes simple pain, for His merits alone convert our
sufferings into something sacramental, and make them meri-
torious in the eyes of God. — St. Stephen, p. 98.
Anothei', still more remarkable, is in the life of St.
Oswald. A plague broke out among his people —
And though it does not appear that the plague was
lying on the people because of the monarch's sins, yet he
humbly entreated God to take himself and his family as
victims of the cruel disease, and to spare his people. — p. 62.
The impiety of such a prayer the author felt to be
rather too obvious, and so he proceeds to say,
14 ST. Oswald's prayer. [chap.
Of course none but a very holy person could venture
without profaneness on such a prayer as this : and like St.
Paul's supplication for Israel, it was perhaps offered up
under the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. — Ibid.
And so, although the prayer is palpably and
avowedly profane, yet the author sees no profanity
in suggesting, by way of helping out the difficulty
of imputing such a prayer to a saint, that " perhaps"
it was " offered up under the inspiration of the
Holy Ghost." But let us see how he proceeds —
To pray for the hig-h and awful privileges of suffering
is something more than to covet them. Love will prompt
even those, whose obedience is but scant and sorry mea-
sure, to covet earnestly for poverty, contempt, obscurity,
loneliness, and pain, who yet would feel that it was unbe-
coming for men of their poor attainments to pray directly
for such things, lest the petition should spring from a
momentary heat, not from a bold and steadfast tranquillity;
and then it ivould he so very dreadful were God to answer
it., and we to fail beneath the trial. — St. Oswald, pp.
62, 63.
This is pretty much what Mr. Newman had
already said, in one of his Sermons on Subjects of
the Day. But, that any one, unless his notions
of Christianity were radically false and erroneous,
could write in such a manner, is impossible. The
author goes on then to tell us, that St. Oswald's
" venturous prayer" (rather an extraordinary tern! .
to apply to a prayer which even this author does
not dare to justify, except on the ground that,
^^ perhaps" it was inspired,) was literally answered.
Oswald was seized with an unusually violent attack
II.] ST.' Oswald's sickness. 15
of the plague, and — but let the author speak for
himself —
And there he lay upon his cross, an acceptable expia-
tion, through the meritorious intercession of his Lord, for
the sins of his people.
Really, one knows not what to say or think of
such a passage as this. God forbid that the church
of England should ever be reduced to such a state
of ignorance and superstition, as to require any one
to point out the impiety of such writing. And is
this, then, the end of the Movement which professed
to restore church principles? Is this the doctrine
which is to be substituted for the doctrine of the
church of England? Is this the end of university
distinctions, and literary fame, and the reputation
of learning, and a name for a high and transcen-
dental piety, and an influence at one time as wide
as ever was exercised by any private clergyman in
our church?
Oswald, however, did not die. " While he thus
lay expecting death, offering his life for the life of
others," he saw a vision, which foretold his recovery,
and subsequent martyrdom: and then the author
tells us —
His bodily health was now restored, the infection went
no further, for the plague was stayed in the person of the
saint, and the angel of wrath appeased by his self sacrifice.
—p. 64.
When one recollects with what indignation Mr.
Newman's party used to endeavour to clear them-
16 CONFESSION — ST, ADAMNAN. [cHAP.
selves of the charge of obscuring the doctrine of the
atonement by their system, such passages as these
appear in no small degree instructive.
If such. is the view of the atonement and the ex-
piatory power of penance which Mr. Newman is
desiring to introduce into our church, one cannot
wonder at his doctrine of confession. In the life of
St. Adamnan is a long passage, in which the writer
endeavours to prove, that if the church were in a
proper state, young men, who had been led into
habits of vicious indulgence and dissipation in their
youth, would not be suffered quietly to reform their
conduct, " enter on their professions, marry, settle
in life, and by an imperceptible process slide into
good Christian people." No; they should fij-st be
put through a course, and an enduring course, of
penance. It is not quite clear, whether the author
does not think that they should even be compelled,
or at least recommended, to enter the cloister. St.
Adamnan, whom he proposes for an example of
what should be done in such cases, became a monk.
He led a life of the strictest continence, took the mo-
nastic habit and vows, often spent entire nights in prayer,
and ate only on Thursdays and Sundays, taking no suste-
nance of any kind during the rest of the week. — p. 129.
And this, the author pretends, has " a great many
things in it strikingly resembling St. Paul's careful-
ness, clearing of themselves, indignation, fear, vehe-
rnent desire, zeal, and revenge, whereof he speaks to
II.] AFFECTATION OF KOMANISM. 17
the Corinthians." He seems, however, to feel, that
it is going rather too far to lay down this pattern
as a universal rule, and so he resorts (as elsewhere
in these books) to the Romish notion (expressed, too,
in all the technicalities of popery) of one sort of re-
ligion being required in some particular persons,
and another in the generality of mankind.
■ We are not saying that penance is not true penance if
it falls short of St. Adainnan's, or that it must needs take
the peculiar shape of his austerities. There are ordinary
Christians who serve God acceptably without being called
to the eminences of the saints. Penance may be true
penance, and yet have none of that heroicity in it xohich
the promoter of the faith loould demand if canonization
were claimed for the penitent. — pp. 129, 130.
The reader will please to recollect that this pas-
sage occurs in the same life, and a few pages after
the passage in which the Jesuits are called " the
most noble and glorious company of St. Ignatius ;
which, next to the visible church, may, perhaps,
be considered the greatest standing miracle in the
world."
Unless, then, these books be written by disguised
Romanists and Jesuits, they are the work of per-
sons anxious to appear as patrons and admirers of
the enemies of their own church. There is, in
truth, all through them, a studied affectation of the
phraseology of Romanists, Take an instance in
connexion with the passage under consideration.
What is the first step which a rightly instructed Chris-
tian must take, when it pleases God tu give him the grace
VOL. I. C
18 SACRAMENTAL CONFESSION. [CHAF.
of compunction ? Clearly he must resort to the consola-
tions of the Gospel and the merits of the Saviour as laid
up in the sacrament of penance. — p. 127.
And a little before: —
Sacramental confession does not exist among us as a
si/stem : penance has no tribunals in the Anglican church.
Of course many consequences result from this, such as
that it makes our ecclesiastical system so startlingly unlike
anything primitive, that the long prevalent arrogation to
ourselves of a primitive model seems an almost unaccount-
able infatuation. — p. 125.
As if any moderately informed person believed
that sacramental confession was a primitive notion,
or auricular confession at the tribunal of penance
had any pretension to be considered a part of primi-
tive discipline. And yet this writer talks of the
Anglican church (too cautious, perhaps, to compro-
mise the rights of " the holy Roman church" by
saying the church of England) as if he were really
and honestly a member of our communion. " Sacra-
mental confession does not exist among us as a sys-
tem." But we must allow him to pi'oceed.
This is, perhaps, not of paramount importance to a com-
munity which has a duty nearer home and more at hand —
that is, reconciliation with the present Catholic church. —
Ibid.
Plain speaking, truly; and it is hoped that " Pro-
testants and other heretics" who are in the habit of
" vilifying the holy Roman church" will bethink
themselves in time, when they are thus informed,
that the real and (now) the avowed object of this
11.] PUESENT DUTIES. 19
movement is, to enforce, as a duty — nearer home
and more at hand than any trifling details of refor-
mation, such as sacramental confession and tlie tri-
bunal of penance — " reconciliation with the present
Catholic church." Lamentable indeed it is, and most
humiliating, to see clergymen of a Protestant church
entertaining projects so irreconcilable with their
profession and obligations. But if they will set
about revolutionary designs of this sort, we cannot
be too thankful that they have avowed them so dis-
tinctly.
c 2
20 MONASTICISM. [cHAP.
CHAPTER III.
LIVES OF THE ENGLISH SAINTS : PRAISE OF
MONASTICISM.
From what has already been transcribed from these
books, the reader will be prepared to find Monasti-
cism forming one of the main features of th§ system
they are written to recommend. In truth, a very
large portion of the series is occupied with this sub-
ject alone. But to give an idea of the manner in
which it is put forward, the following extracts may
suffice: —
. . . monastic discipline is only Christianity in its per-
fection, hallowing and taking up into itself the meanest re-
lations of life. — St. Gilbert, p. 54.
The church, by regulating monastic vows, only pointed
out one ivay of doing ivhat Christ prescribed in the geneial,
and furnished her children with the means of gaining this
blessing. The Bible says nothing about monks and nuns,
but it says a great deal about prayer and about taking up
the cross. — p. 5 1 .
Just so: and one has only to assume that prayer
and taking up the cross mean monastic vows, and
then it is quite clear, that, though " the Bible says
nothing about monks and nuns," yet " monastic dis-
cipline is only Christianity in its perfection," and
monks and nuns are, as Mr. Newman would call
them, " Bible Christians."*
* Sermons on Subjects of the Day, p. 327.
III.] PRECEPTS OF PERFECTION. 21
Again, in the Life of St. Stephen, —
Monastic vows are, in one sense, onljj the completion of
the vows of baptism. — p. 5.
A notion, which does not quite harmonize with
wha,t is found in another part of the same volume,
where the author says: —
To the generality of the world many of the commnndments
of Christ are precepts of perfection ; but to monks who have
sworn to quit the world they are precepts of obligation. —
p. 24.
And so, although these monastic vows be " only
the completion of the vows of baptism," yet tliey
are not binding on all, as " precepts of obligation;"
but to some, — nay, " to the generality of the world,"
— in fact, to all but those who have taken these
self-imposed vows of poverty, celibacy, and obedi-
ence,— " many of the commandments of Christ'''' (all
and every one of which Christians have hitlierto
considered themselves bound by " the vows of l)ap-
tism" to obey) are only " precepts of perfection.''
If this be not what is meant by making void the
commandments of God, in order to establish the
traditions of men, the church. has yet to learn in
what the crime consists.
Such a passage as the following must appear
simply absurd and ludicrous — even to many respect-
able Roman catholics: —
True monks everywhere have a sort of instinct of what
is the good and the right side ; they have no earthly in-
terest to dim their vision of what is God's cause, and we
22 TRUE MONKS. [CHAP.
may trust a monk for being, ever in his place — for the
Church against the world. — Ibid. p. 39.
Yet, somehow or other, — if church history be not
wholly fabulous, — monks have not been thought quite
to come up to this standard of unearthliness in all
times and places. Yes; but "true monks." — Very
well. But, unhappily, there have been such long
and desperate quarrels and malignant hatreds be-
tween monks, and orders of monks, that, — without
a very uncatholic exercise of private judgment, — it
has not been at all times easy to determine, while
they were biting and devouring one another, which
were the " true monks" and which the false.
IV.] -HOLY VIRGINITY. 23
CHAPTER IV.
LIVES OF THE ENGLISH SAINTS : HOLY VIRGINITY.
It will not be surprising (even if one had not seen
what Mr. Newman has published elsewhere) that
works in which one finds such praises of monasti-
cism, should be equally vehement in their praise of
celibacy. On this subject, indeed, these volumes
contain such specimens of extravagance and of false
and erroneous teaching, that I scarcely know hoAv
to treat the subject as it deserves. And it is to be
hoped, that few of my readers Avill require more than
to have the passages referred to fairly put before
them.
Holy virginity is rto less a portion of Christianity than
holy penitence, and the denial of the virtue of the one
most certainly imjxiirs the full belief in the other, for the
communion of saints and the forgiveness of sins lie close
together in the creed. — St. Gilbert, p. 49.
The logic is certainly worthy of the cause. But
we must not interrupt the author.
Nor is holy virginity the creation of an age of romance ;
Gilbert, when he built the cloister at Sempringham,
thought but little, as we shall soon see, of picturesque
processions and flowing robes of white ; he only thought
of the blessed Virgin, and of St. John, and of the white-
robed choir in heaven, who have followed the Virgin Lamb,
wherever he hath gone. Still less did he think about the
usefulness of what he was doing ; as well might he have
thought about the uses of chastity, for virginity is only
24 HOLY VIRGINITY. [cHAP.
chastity carried to a supernatural degree. . . . They ivfio
deny the merit of virginity leave out a portion of Christian
ntorals. — Ibid. pp. 49, 50.
The merit of virginity a portion of Chi-istian
morals ! And yet, on the very next page the author
tells us " the Bible says nothing about monks and
nuns." But the Bible will go but a short way to
the development of what are now called " Christian
morals."
Again : —
Happiest of all is she who is marked out for ever from
the world, whose slightest action assumes the character of
adoration, because she is bound by a vow to her heavenly
spouse, as an earthly bride is bound by the nuptial vow to
her earthly lord. — Ibid. p. 51.
In like manner, towards the end of the volume, —
In proportion as they realize the incarnation of the
Lord, they will love more and more to contemplate the
saints, and especially St. IVIary, for a reverence for her is
inseparable from that right faith in the humanity of the
Son of God, which we must all believe and confess. They
will learn that the high honour in which the church has
ever held holy virginity is a necessa?'y portion of Christian
doctrine, and not a rhapsody peculiar to any age. — pp.
132, 133.
There is no mistaking the Romanism of these
passages. But is there any truth in these views?
Are they not undoubtedly false and unscriptural?
Is it not clearly the revealed will of God — that men
should marry and bring up children in his holy fear?
— and is it not equally certain that the unmarried
state has no perfection or pre-eminence in itself?
IV.] HOLY VIRGINITY. 25
Under particular and temporary circumstances of
the church, — as, for instance, during a season of
persecution, — it may be expedient that Christian
men and women should keep themselves free and
disengaged: but to speak of virginity as i?i itself
more excellent, — as if there was an?/ dishonour or
impurity in the married state, — is plainly contrary to
the word of God. And indeed, — to say what it is
painful even to think, — these extravagant praises of
virginity are not merely false and unscriptural, they
are anything but symptomatic of the purity of those
who deal in them. Pure minds are as little likely
to be occupied with thinking of their purity, as
lowly minds of their humility. What precautions
and vigilance a man may feel bound to use, who is
suffering the temptations incident to a mind which
had been suffered to become habituated to impure
thoughts and passions, is not here the question.
But the notion these writers have of saints seems
to be this: that saints (and be it observed they
speak in the same extraordinary manner of females
as of men) are persons whose dispositions would
force them to run into the very grossest excesses
and extremities of vice if they did not keep them-
selves under continual check, by means of self-in-
vented tortures, penances, and restraints. The
author of the life of St. Ebba, in this series, tells us
that " St. Cuthbert carried the jealousy of women,
characteristic of all the saints, to a very extraordi-
26 HOLY VIRGINITY. [CHAP.
nary pitch," so that, whenever he visited her mo-
nastery, to hold spiritual conversation with St.
Ebba, he used to go out of the gates at nightfall, and
spend the hours of darkness in prayer, " either up
to his neck in the water, or in the chilly air." (p. 114.)
Persons who invent such tales, and those who retail
them, do, most undoubtedly, cast very grave and
just suspicions on the purity of their own minds.
And young persons who talk and think much in
this way, are in extreme danger of falling into sin-
ful habits. As to the volumes before us, the
authors have, in their fanatical panegyrics of vir-
ginity, made use of language downright profane:,
and they have likewise spoken of marriage in a tone
too nearly approaching the sentiments of some of
the vilest of the ancient heretics.
«T
v.] HOLY VIRGINITY. 21
CHAPTER Y.
LIVES OF THE ENGLISH SAINTS : HOLY VIRGINITY — ST. BEGA
DISPARAGEMENT OF MARRIAGE ST. OSWALD ST.
STEPHEN.
The life of St. Bega presents, probably, as extraor-
dinary specimens of this false teaching as can be
found in the whole range of fanaticism. She is said
to have been the daughter of an Irish king, " a
Christian, and an earnest man to boot." Her father
wished her to marry a Norwegian prince, but, being
determined to be a nun, she ran away from her
father's house, crossed the sea in a ship with some
strange sailors, and settled at the place now called
St. Bees.
It is in this manner the writer speaks of her —
In very childhood God inspired her with an ardent love
of holy virginity, and she seems to have been almost pre-
served from the pollution of impure thoughts. — p. 137.
But did it not strike this author, that such an
idea as " holy virginity" much moi'e " an ardent
longing"^ for it, — was utterly unnatural to the mind
of " very childhood,'' and, in fact, could have no
place in the mind of a child, — except one that was
either preternaturally diseased, or precociously
wicked and impure? He goes on, —
As a girl she avoided all public amusements, anA fearing
lest idleness should prove a source of sin, she was studious
to fill up the whole of her time with some employment. —
p. 137.
28 • ST. BEGA. [chap.
This conduct might be very natural and right:
but it is evident the author means to imply, that
this girl feared that she should fall into impurity
and vice: and then the question will be, what
sort of mind a young Christian girl must, have,
which could be constantly under the influence of
such a fear. Let any Christian parent ask himself,
what must be the fruits of a system which thus la-
bours to put such shocking ideas into the heads of
young girls and little children.
By and by, Bega, (if there ever was such a per-
son) grew up to be a woman, and " offers of mar-
riage poured in upon her from Irish and foreign
princes." This, be it observed, was about the
early part of the seventh century. But, says our
author, —
Her thoughts were ever running upon the excellencies
of a monastic life ; to be a nun was more after her heart
than to be a queen, for that sweet truth was never out of her
mind, that the angels neither marry nor are given in mar-
riage ; and she would fain be as they, if so be it would
please God to give her the peerless gift ; and who that
heartily covets it is not assisted thereto? — pp. 138, 139.
But with what reason can any one desire to be as
the avgels, in the sense of our Redeemer's words, in
tliis state of being? And is it possible to pervert
the meaning of Holy Scripture in this way without
very great irreverence? To proceed: —
This panting after holy virginiti/, for which many of the
saints have been so conspicuous almost from their cradles.
v.] ST. BEGA. 29 .
seems unreal to the children of the world. Of course it
does : they cannot even put themselves for a moment in
the position of those who so feel. It would require a
transposing of all their affections quite out of the question
in their case, even in imagination ; a new nomenclature,
both for things earthly, and things heavenly ; a new mea-
sure and a new balance, which even they who fall, and by
God's grace rise again, do but handle clumsily for a long
while.— p. 139.
It is very easy to sneer at those w^ho hesitate
to run headlong into the extreme fanaticism of
'popisli monkery, as " children of the world." One
gets callous to this mode of argument: and these
authors deal in it so constantly on all occasions, that
it ceases to have any effect. But, seriously, is the
author of this melancholy nonsense a sane person?
And is it possible that Mr. Newman has fallen so
low, even in the scale of human intellect, as to lend
his sanction to such miserable rubbish? Unhappily,
his Sermons on Subjects of the Day but too clearly
prove, how much acceptance any fanaticism of the
sort is likely to receive from him. Saints, then, it
now appears, are panting after holy virginity, almost
from their cradles. The idea may well be thought
" unreal." It is worse, it is unnatural. And, hoAv
it ever could occur to a sane mind of any ordinary
degree of purity, seems very hard to imagine, and
harder still to believe. But the author having thus
referred to the case of penitents, proceeds: —
How do all graces seem, even to such penitents, as
nothing, because they can never attain that one so fair, so
30 ' ST. BEGA. [chap.
bright, so beautiful ! What is there in penance so pro-
ductive of humility as the keen, rarijiling thought that the
virgin's crown is lost ? And if they are blessed who so
learn to humble and to afflict themselves, if they are
blessed who are the least in the kingdom of heaven, is it
too much to kneel ivith lowliest veneration and a supplicat-
ing spirit before the altars of the virgin saints, where God
is honoured in his servants, praying him to quicken their
prevailing prayers, that we may have ne?'ve to bring our
penance to a safe issue, and so attain unto our rest ? —
p. 139.
This may pass for piety among the admirers of-
popery. But, bad and shpcking as it is, it will be
felt to be moderate compared Avith the profanity of
what follows.
The case being so with the most sweet gift of virginity,
Bega, says her biographer, in his touching way, " studied
to hear the bleating of the heavenly Lamb, with the ear of
hearing; and to weave herself a nuptial robe from its fleece,
that she might be able to go forth to its nuptials, like a
bride ornamented with her jewels, to see her betrothed
decorated with a crown, and to be clothed by him with
the garment of salvation, and that she might deserve to be
surrounded by the robe of eternal gladness." — pp. 139,
140.
Now, what St. Bega may have said or thought
(that is, if there ever was such a person) may in
lier case have been nothing worse than ignorant
folly and superstition; and even of the anilities of
the monkish legend from Avhich Mr. Newman or his
fellow-labourer has borrowed this account, I feel
no disposition to speak with greater harshness.
But what shall we say of such profaneness and
v.] . MARRIAGE. 31
blasphemy being collected, for the benefit of what
Mr. Newman calls in his prospectus, " most erring
and most unfortunate England"? It is needless to
insult the understanding or piety of the reader by
such a question.
The author, however, goes on thus: —
Despising thus all the allurements of this impure
world, its vanities, and false delusions, the venerable vir-
gin, offering up her virginity one day to God, bound her-
self by a vow that she would not contract nor experience
the bonds of marriage with any one, by her own will, that*
not knowing the marriage-bed in sin, she might have fruit
in respect of holy souls. — p. 140.
One would feel reluctant to believe that, by adopt-
ing such language, the author intended to give
countenance to the heretical notion of there being
anything sinful or impure in the marriage state;
although the patrons of monasticism and clerical
celibacy have been but too apt to use language and
arguments that would give room for such a suspi-
cion. Yet, comparing this passage with one that
occurs a few pages after, it seems very difficult to
understand him otherwise; for, in describing the
establishment of the monastery at Hartlepool, he
says, it
was not only thronged with world-renouncing virgins,
but it was the cause of an outbreak of zeal and holy love,
like. the zeal of " Shecaniah, the son of Jehiel, one of the
sons of Elam," in the days of Ezra, who proposed the
• On this word is the following note: "This is the third
Antiphon in the Commune Virginum."
32 MARRIAGE. [cHAP.
putting away of strange wives ; for Bega's biographer tells
us, that " not only many virgins were brought after her
to the Heavenly King, invited and stirred up by her ex-
hortation and example, but also many converts, repenting
of their married state and secular conversation, were
offered in joy and exultation in the temple to the Divine
King, and subjected to his service. — p. 161.
It is certainly very important to be informed — that
Mr. Newman's school regards such a transaction,
as a number of married people violating their vows,
and going into monasteries, as an " outbreak of zeal
and holy love." The Bible, to be sure, would teach
us that the Lord hateth putting away, and that it is
the duty of Christian men and women to abide in
their married state, even in the case of a Christian
married to a heathen. And there was a time, before
Christianity had been developed into the contradic-
tory of itself, when putting away one's wife under
the pretence of piety would not have been regarded
as " an outbreak of zeal and holy love" or anything
else of a respectable character. But aU is changed.
And the " married state" is now to be considered as
something sinful, which, whenever zeal and holy
.love come to an outbreak, people will repent ©/"and
be converted from. And to prop up this wicked
heresy, this author, — after the common practice of
his school, — presumes to quote the word of God — as
if' the putting aAvay of strange wives, practised
under the Mosaic law, was lawful in the Christian
dispensation; or, — whether it were lawful or not, —
• v.] MARRIAGE. 33
could give any countenance to Cliristian men and
women " repenting of their married state," or could
by any possibility be tortured into a justification
of the putting asunder, under the pretence of religion,
of those whom God had joined together.
And this is not the only place where these
authors have recommended this unchristian practice
and the heretical doctrine on which it really rests.
Thus, in the Life of St. Oswald, we are told, that
Feeling how intimately aUied the grace of chastity was
with this blissful communion with tlie world of spirit, he
prevailed upon his queen to consent to tlieir living a life
of continence, that so they might more resemble those
happy spirits who neither marry nor are given in mar-
riage, and might the rather become to them an object of
special love, ministry and protection. — p. 61.
The use of the word " chastity" in this passage
demonstrates the heretical nature of the doctrine
taught.
This point is so important, that it seems advisable
to quote here one or two passages of a similar cha-
racter from another of these volumes. They occur
in the life of St. Stephen, where the author is re-
lating the manner in which St. Bernard jjersuaded
his brothers to enter the monastery of Citeaux along
with him. The author is speaking of St. Bernard's
eldest brother, Guy: —
He was a married man, and his young wife loved him
tenderly, besides which he had more than one daughter,
with whom it was hard indeed to part in the age of their
childhood ; and even after he had yielded to his brother's
VOL. 1. D
34 MARRIAGE. [CHAP.
persuasions, and had broken through all these ties, a greater
difficulty than all remained behind. — p. 109.
One might have thought, that to one who had
made up his mind to act in such direct violation of
the laws of God and nature, " a greater difficulty"
could scarcely remain behind. But such has ever
been the way in which the votaries of superstition
have exalted human traditions, above the authority
of conscience and the holy scripture. We shall see
what was the greater difficulty, and how it was got
over.
It was a line of the church, that neither of a married
pair (!ould enter a cloister without the consent of the other ;
and how was it possible that a delicate and highborn
woman could consent to part with her husband and enter
into a monastery ? — Ibid.
The difficulty, too, in this case, Avas increased by
what the author does not think fit to repeat here —
namely, that this " young wife loved" her husband
" tenderly," and that she was required by these
fanatics, (if the story be true,) not only to forsake
her husband, but to desert her little daughters. |
However, a w^ay was found to get rid Qf the diffi-
culty occasioned by the law of the church, even j
though, — according to Mr. Newman's school, — that
difficulty was a greater onethan any created by the
commandments of God, the vows of marriage, the
voice of conscience, or the duties of nature.
Bernard, however, declared to Guy, that if she did not
consent, God icoidd smite Iter icith a deadly disease; and so it
v.] MARRIAGE. 35
turned out. She soon after fell ill, and '■'•finding,''' says
William of St. Thierry, " that it was hard for her to kick
agaiiist the pricks, she sent for Bernard," and gave her
consent. — Ibid.
What was the value of a consent, extorted in this
way, is a matter of concern only to those who are
inconvenienced by these clashings of their laws and
superstitions. But this is the real secret of the
getting up of, — what the author of the life of St.
Bega calls — an outbreak of zeal and holy love ; and
thus it is, that Mr. Newman's school is teaching
men to make void the commandments of God by
their traditions.
And this was a very considerable outbreak; for,
of the thirty noble companions of St. Bernard, our
author tells us, that " as matiy of them were married
men, their wives also had to give up the world." —
p. 111.
And so, again, he asks —
What shall we say when young mothers quit their hus-
bands and their families, to bury themselves in a cloister ? —
p. 112.
What shall we say? Why, what could any
Christian say, — except this, — that, unless they were
the victims of threats and persecutions, — such as this
author ascribes to St. Bernard, — or were besotted
with superstition and fanaticism, to such a degree
of fatuity as not to be accountable for their actions,
— these unhappy creatures were guilty of a flagrant
dereliction of duty, and a plain violation of the will
d2
36 MARRIAGE. [cHAP.
and word of God. Is this the answer suggested by
our author, or anything like it? We shall see.
One word suffices to silence all these murmurers ; Ecce
Homo, Behold the Man. The wonders of the incarnation
are an answer to all cavils. Why, it may as well be
asked, did our blessed Lord choose to be a poor man,
instead of being clothed in purple and fine linen ? Why
was His mother a poor virgin ? Why was He born in an
inn and laid in a manger ? Why did He leave His
blessed mother, and almost repulse her, when she would
speak to Him ? Why was that mother's soul pierced with
agony at the sufferings of her divine Son ?• Why, when
one drop of His precious blood would have healed the
whole creation, did He pour it all out for us ? In a word,
why, when He might have died (if it be not wrong to say
so) what the world calls a glorious death, did He choose
out the most shameful, besides heaping to Himself every
form of insult, and pain of body and soul ? He did all
this to shew- us, that suffering was now to be the natural
state of the new man, just as pleasure is the natural state
oftheold.— pp. 11-2, 113.
Really, I know not what to say or think of such
writing, except this, that — considering all this has
been brought forward to justify the violation of mar-
riage vows, husbands deserting their wives, and wives
being terrified into giving up their husbands and
their infant childi'en, and the branding of the mar-
ried state as a sin to be repented of — it does seem a
very needless expenditure of profaneness and irre-
verence. And, to speak plainly, the church must
be in a most deplorable state, if persons who propa-
gate such notions are tolerated in Christian society.
A little farther on, our author says : —
v.] MARRIAGE. 37.
After casting our eyes on the holy rood, does it never
occur to us to wonder hoiv it can he possible to he saved in
the midst of the endearments of a family, and the joys of
domestic life ? God forbid that any one should deny the
possibility ! But does it not, at first sight, require proof
that heaven can be won by a life spent in this qniet way, [as
easily, perhaps, as by a life spent in the restless propaga-
tion of error, superstition, and revolutionary schemes.]
Again, let us consider the dreadful nature of sin, even of
what are called the least sins, and would not any one wish
to cast in his lot with Stephen, and 7vash them away by
continual pe?iance ? — p. 113.
The author subjoins that " miracles were really
wrought to beckon them on; at least they were
firmly convinced of the truth of those miracles,
which is enough for our purpose," &c. And having
fortunately recollected the awkwardness of pleading
miracles as a reason for " reversing the commands
of the Decalogue," he is driven at last to resort to
the maxims of the Jesuits and Puritans: — " We
may surely excuse St. Bernard and his brothers for
conduct which was so amply justified by the events
—p. 114. Surely we may; — that is, if we only
grant that any event can justify the doing of what
God has expressly forbidden in his written word, or
that the violation of God's commandments can be
the path of perfection, and the atonement bv which
a penitent is to wash away his sins.
There is a good deal more in what follows, de-
serving of notice, as explanatory of Mr. Newman's
teaching, but, for the present, it seems as well to
return to St. Bega.
38 HOLY VIRGINITY. [CHAP.
CHAPTER YI.
ST. BEGA — HOLY VIRGINITY — DISREGARD OF PARENTAL
AUTHORITY.
We left St. Bega taking a vow of vii'ginity by her-
self— not a very canonical mode of proceeding, — but
this the author of her life leaves untouched; as he
says elsewhere, — " Of course one would deprecate
anything like an apologetic tone or a patronizing
explanation when speaking of the blessed saints,
whom the catholic church holds up to our affec-
tionate reverence;" (p. 146;) which notion of the
saints doing no wrong is by no means novel, — being
at least as old as the age of Oliver Cromwell and
the puritans.
The Prince of Norway, it seems, sought St. Bega
in marriage, and gained her father's consent, and on
the next day they were to be married. It does not
appear that she had any personal dislike to the
prince, or any reason whatever for refusing to com-
ply with her father's wishes, except her determina-
tion to continue unmarried. This is the language
of the author: —
Alas ! she knew too well the purport of the prince's
visit ; she knew the ambition of her father ; she knew that
to all appearance the secret wish of her heart, her holy
covetousness, was not to be satisfied. As her biographer
says, she was exceedingly troubled within herself, fearing
and imagining that the lily of her secluded garden was
VI. 1 ST. bega's prayer. 39
about to be immediately plucked and defiled, and that her
precious treasure, preserved with great care and much_
labour in an earthen vessel, yea, if I may so say, in a vase
of glass, was about to be snatched away.— p. 142.
The author then describes how desperate her situa-
tion was; how the palace gates were locked, and,
— to say nothing of watchmen and sentinels, — there
were " the bravest men in Ireland on their accus-
tomed guard, round the bedside of the king, and in
all the passages of his dwelling, with a dagger on
their thighs, a battle-axe on their shoulders, and a
javelin in their hands:" — from which it would ap-
pear that Ireland must have been in rather a dis-
turbed state just then. However, the story, — or
fable, — for really one would be sorry to suppose it
true — assumes a graver character just at this point.
For St. Bega, it seems, in her distress, " poured out
l>er heart like water, offering up her prayer with
the choice offering of holy tears." Her prayer is
given at length, and is really too painful to transcribe,
were it not a plain duty to set foirly before the
reader the sort of piety which Mr. Newman's party
are labouring to recommend. Here it follows: —
O Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and of the Vir-
gin, the author and lover, inspirer and consecrator, pre-
server and crowner of virginity, as Thou knowest how, as
it pleaseth Thee, and as Thou art able to do, preserve in
me untouched the resolution I have taken, that I may
dedicate it to Thee in the heart, and in the flesh of inte-
grity. For Thou, author of nature, didst, in the time of
the natural law, bedeck thy shepherd Abel with a double
40 ST. bega's prayer. [chap.
wreath, namely, of virginity and of martyrdom ; ' Thou,
under the written law, didst snatch away to the heavens
Elijah, clothed in the whiteness of integrity ; Thou didst
send before Thee, Thy Baptist and precursor, John, igno-
rant of stain, and of snowy chastity. Thou also didst set
forth the main hope of the worlds our Lady, as a most
beautiful and special mirror for grace and honour among
virgins, out of whose womb, taking upon Thyself ^Ae/aj7-
ings of our nature, like a bridegroom going forth from his
nuptial couch. Thou didst appear a Saviour to the world.
Thou also, calling Thy beloved John from the nuptials to
the wedding feast of the Lamb, hast preserved him for
ever, blooming in the unfading flower of virginity, and
hast delivered to him to be guarded, the box of Thy oint-
ments, the propitiation of human reconciliation. Thou hast
crowned Agnes, Agatha, Lucia and Catherine, and very
many others wrestling in the faith of Thy name for their
chastity, and hast magnified Thj- blessed name by these
triumphant signs. Therefore I pray, by the grace of
these, that I, Thine handmaid, may find favour in Thine
eyes, that Thou mayest be a helper to me in what I ought
to do in va-y trouble ; that Thou being my Benefactor,
Leader, Ruler and Protector, I may render to Thee the
vow which my lips have pronounced. — pp. 143, 144.
Such a prayer, it is sincerely hoped, no one ever
yet did dare to offer. That, however, is not the
question at present. The very existence of St.
Bega is wholly uncertain. But this is the sort of
prayer which Mr. Newman's school thinks befitting
the sanctity of a perfect character. This is the
piety it is endeavouring to substitute for the truth
and simplicity of our worship. This is a sample of
the " catholic temper," " to recal" which, as this
author informs us, is " one great object in writing
VI.] PARENTAL AUTHORITY. 41
the lives of the saints." Whether the party may
not have miscalculated the weight and extent of
their influence, and gone "too fast and too far for their
admirers to keep pace with them, time will tell.
St. Bega's prayer was followed by a miracle. In
the night came a sounding voice desiring her to re-
move to " Britain, which is called England, and
there," says the speaker,
thy days being ended in good, / will take thee into the
fellowship of angels. Arise, therefore, and take the bracelet
by which thou art pledged to Me, and descending to the
sea, thou shalt find a ship ready prepared, which will
transport thee into Britain. — p. 145.
Yet, although the author here ascribes the flight
of St. Bega to the express command of Christ, and
says that " every step was smoothed by miracles,"
he thinks it necessary to defend her conduct against
the charge of a breach of the fifth commandment, —
especially " as the objection which may be raised
against this single act Avill apply to the whole mo-
nastic system, and the teaching of monastic writers."
" Admitting, then, that the actions of the saints are
not always imitable," he says, " we would contend
that Bega was justified in this act of flying from her
father's house to fulfil her vow of virginity." The
argument by which he attempts to prove this is too
long for transcription. Nor is it necessary. It
consists of but two points; first, the necessity of
sacramental confession, and the direction of a spiri-
tual superior; and secondly, the duty and force of
42 JESUITISM. [chap,
election — that is, " of electing one rather than
another line of life or conduct, and making that
election a solemn ritual act, under the spiritual
guidance of another, and according to systematic
rules." His arguments are avowedly taken from
Ignatius Loyola, Suarez and Rodriguez the Jesuits —
Alphonso Liguori, and Thomas Aquinas, and his
conclusion is,
. that, in the election of our state, God's vocation, con-
scientiously ascertained so far as we can, [namely — since
miracles are not to be pleaded against the Decalogue — by
the direction of a spiritual superior in confession,] is to
supersede the claims even of our parents to control our
choice. — p. 150.
This, then, is the '' catholic temper" which, it is
avowed, these lives have been written to recal.
There is no secret or concealment in the matter.
And certainly, if such barefaced and undisguised
Jesuitism is propagated in the University, — if every
silly enthusiastic young man and woman is taught,
that it is a catholic temper — to set the will of God
and their parents at defiance, to talk about " pant-
ing after holy virginity," and sneer at the married
state as something sinful and to be repented of — if
the church is thrown into confusion and public morals
deteriorated by the advocates of these fanatical super-
stitions— it never can be fairly said, that Mr. New-
man and his friends have not given sufficiently in-
telligible warning of the nature of their object and
designs.
VII.] ROMANIZING. 43
CHAPTER VIL
THE ROMANIZING TENDENCIES OF MR. NEWMAN 's PARTY.
The passages which I have already transcribed from
the Lives of the English Saints, must, I should
think, have satisfied every unpreju-diced reader, as
to the real object and tendency of the movement of
which Mr. Newman is the leader. To do that party
justice, they have latterly taken but little pains to
conceal their designs. For a considerable period,
indeed, persons, whose charity led them to put the
most hopeful construction on their language and
conduct, did persuade themselves, that what Mr.
Newman and his friends called Church Principles
and Catholicity, differed in nothing substantial from
the old-fashioned orthodoxy of the Church of Eng-
land. Whether such close and jealous attention as
the importance of the movement demanded, was
paid to the gradual developments and disclosures
by which the movement has at last reached its
present form and attitude, — whether even the prin-
ciples on which it was avowedly based, were as
narrowly scrutinized as they should liave been —
are questions that do not come within the purpose
of the present inquiry. But, of the fact itself there
can be no doubt whatever — that persons utterly
opposed to any Romeward tendencies, did tliink
thus charitably and hopefully, and were even will-
44 ROMANIZING. [CHAP.
ing to ascribe several overt acts of a sectarian and
Romanizing aspect to the injudicious rashness of
youthful ardour and indiscretion, and not to any
formed purpose in the leaders and originators of the
party. Every vestige of this hope, however, has long
been at an end. The tone assumed by the British
Critic was not to be mistaken. And, that the
British Critic was, to the last, virtually in Mr.
Newman's hands — that he and those who acted
with him in his unhappy movement, could, at any
moment have corrected its tone — or have stopped
the publication of it altogether — are facts notorious
to every one at all acquainted vdth what has been
going on in the theological world. And, further,
when the British Critic was about to be discon-
tinued, what could any one suppose, from the lan-
guage of the prospectus of his Lives of the English
Saints, except that IVIr. Newman was determined to
persevere, and to make further and more unequi-
vocal advances, in his fanatical attempt to Romanize
the English Church ? Any one, indeed, who had
even looked over the names of the " Saints," whose
lives Mr. Newman proposed to publish for the
benefit of what he pleases to call " most erring and
most unfortunate England," must have seen at once
that his design could be nothing else.
The quotations I have already given from these
Lives of the English Saints, however, place the
matter beyond possibility of question. In saying
VII.] ROMANIZING. 45
this, I do not mean merely that Mr. Newman and his
party are endeavouring to propagate mischievous
and erroneous notions regarding the atonement,
penance, virginity, marriage — and other points
which will appear hereafter — but that the ulti-
mate object and aim to which all their labours
are directed is, to effect such a total change in all
our habits of religious thought and feeUng as will,
sooner or later, bring England once more into subjec-
tion to Rome. They may not, perhaps, (for even
this is by no means certain,) choose to describe their
object in these very terms — that is, they may not
choose to describe the position to which they are
labouring to bring the church, as subjection, — or
the dominion of " the Apostolic See" as a yoke —
but that this is the real object of their hearts' desire
— to recover these countries to the obedience of the
Roman See — they manifest no inclination to con-
ceal; and, in fact, are rather proud than otherwise
to avow it as the aim to which their efforts are di-
rected. When men like these, — men who for years
have been urging forward this movement under a
leader so sharpsighted as Mr. Newman — and Mr.
Newman is not just the sort of person to forget,
that what appears under his name or sanction at
such a crisis, is sure to be subjected to no ordinary
scrutiny, — when such writers talk of the Jesuits as
" the most ?ioble and glorious company of St. Igna-
tius,^' and tell us that, " ?iext to the visible church"
46 PAPAL SUPREMACY. [cHAP.
the Jesuits " may perhaps be considered the greatest
standing miracle in the world ;" when they talk of
" Protestants and other heretics'^ " vilifying the
Holy Roman Church^'' it is plain that something
more serious than chasubles, and coronals, and rood-
lofts, and the superstitious puerilities of the Ecclesi-
ologists, is preparing for " most erring and most
unfortunate England." And when one reads, also,
that the absence of the peculiarities of Romish dis-
cipline " is perhaps not of paramount importance to
a community which has a duty nearer at home and
more at hand — that is, reconciliation with the pre-
sent Catholic church^'' duU indeed must he be who
is unable to perceive what it is which Mr. Newman
proposes to effect. But, in truth, he makes no at-
tempt to conceal his purpose.
'Few are likely to forget the tone and language of
his Sermons on Subjects of the Day. And, all
through this series of the Lives of the English
Saints, the pope and Rome are spoken of in terms
wholly incompatible with any other feelings than
those of a Romanist, or of one who is labouring to
Romanize the country. The pope is spoken of as
" the keeper of the keys," — " the universal bishop,"
— " the holy father."
. ; . . he [Gregory I.] had many under him, but none
above him here on eaiih ; he was chief among Bishops
and a Bishop over kings; throughout the Christian world
his wish ivas motive, and his word, authority. — Augustine,
pp. 81, 82.
VIl.] PAPAL SUPREMACY. 47
And thus, too, when the king refused to let
Archbishop Theobald attend the summons of Pope
Eugenius to the Council of Rheims, the author of St,
William's life says, with sufficient profaneness, —
Inasmuch however as he feared God more than the ki7ig,
he started, and with very great difficulty arrived in France.
—p. 35.
The popedom, the biographer of St. Augustine
tells us, is —
the one only Dynasty which is without limit and with-
out end ; the Empire of empires, the substance whereof
all other dominions are but the shadows. — pp. 49, 50.
This is tolerably plain speaking ; and no less
intelligible is the manner in which the author of
the Life of St. Paulinus, having stated that " Pope
Boniface was not unmindful of his office of universal
bishop,'' but Avrote " letters to Edwin and Ethel-
burga, both of them noble compositions, and well
deserving a place in that magnijicent collection of
Christian documents, the pontifical epistles,'' bursts
out into the following strain, which he professes to
adopt from Alford: —
It was not therefore Gaul, it was not Spain, it was not
Germany, it was not the nearer inhabitants of Italy, who
were anxious for the salvation of the Northum])rians, [an
odd idea of the charity of a Catholic age,] for they had
not the bowels of a parent ; [yet one would have thought
they might have felt some love for human souls notwith-
standing;] but it was Rome, to ii-hnm Chri.sthad given the
prefecture of His sheep in Peter the chief She, though
more remote in place, yet hy the privilege of her dignity,
hy the necessity of her office, and finally by the excellency
48 PAPAL SUPREMACY. [cHAP.
of her love, was nearer to us in this kind of affection.
Hence the reader may clearly understand who is the
genuine mother of this island, and to whom it owes the
birth of faith, to eastern Asia, or to western Rome. Truly,
if she only, in Solomon's judgment, was the mother, whose
bowels were moved, then this pious care lest Britain should
perish shews that, not of Asia or of Greece, but of Rome
only ought ive to say, " She is the mother thereof" — p. 9.
Now, if Mr. Newman and his party believe, that
Rome only ought to be deemed ovir mother, that she
interferes in the affairs of this church " by the pri-
vilege of her dignity, ^^ and by " the necessity of her
office," that to her Christ has " given the prefecture
of His sheep in Peter the chief;" that the pope is
" the universal bishop;" that there is " none above
him here on earth;" that "throughout the Christian
world his wish" is, or should be " motive, and his
word, authority;" in a word, that the popedom is
" the one only dynasty which is without limit and
without end; the empire of empires, the substance
whereof all other dominions are but the shadow;" —
if this be their belief, it is evident, that they
must regard it as their highest and paramount duty,
— not perhaps to secede to Eome, or to persuade
others to secede, — but to labour, by every means in
their power, to prepare the public mind for a full
and complete return to that connexion which Eng-
land had with Rome before the Reformation: as
INIr. Newman has expressed it in his Sermons on
Subjects. of the Day, " men must undo their sins in
VII.] RECONCILIATION AVITII ROME. 49
the order in xohich they committed them."* Nothing
short of this could satisfy any honest man, hokling
such views of Rome and the papacy as these writers
avow. And, in truth, they do not pretend that they
will ever be contented with anytliing less. Return
to Rome — " reconciliation to the present Catholic
church" — this is ^Ae object of the movement: this
the end to which all their teaching is but prepara-
tive and subsidiary. They have avowed it as clearly
as the friends of our church could have desired.
* The passage occurs in the twenty-fourth sermon, " Elijah
the Prophet of the Latter Days," which, with some others m
the volume, JVIr. Newman states, was mtended " to satisfy per-
sons inclined to leave the church" " on the safety ot con-
tinuance in our communion." His words are as follows: —
" The kingdom of Israel had been set up in idolatry ; the
ten tribes had become idolatrous by leaving the tempie, and
they would have ceased to be idolatrous by returning again to
it. The real removal of error is the exhibition of the truth.
Truth supplajits error; make sure of truth ; and error is at an
end: yet Elijah acted otherwise; he suffered the people to
remain where they were ; he tried to reform them (w that
state.
" Now why this was so ordered we do not know ; whether
it be that, when once a people yoes tviony, it cannot retrace its
steps ; or whether there was so much evil at that time in Judali
a/so, that to have attempted a reunion would have been putting
a piece of new cloth into an old garment, and had it been
effected, would have been a hollow unreal triumph ; or whether
SUCH GOOD WORKS HAVE A SORT OF NATURAL MARCH, AND
THE NEARER WORK JIUST FIRST BE DONE, AND THEN THAT
WHICH IS FURTHER REMOVED, AND MEN MUST UNDO THEIR
SINS IN THE ORDER IN WHICH THEY COMMITTED THEM, and
thus, as neglect of the Temple was the sin of Jeroboam, and
Baal-worship the sin of Ahab, so they must ascend back again
from Ahab to Jeroboam ; but, whatever was the reason, so it
was, that Elijah and Elisha kept the people shut up under that
system, if it might so be called, in which they lound them,
and sought rather to teach them their duty, than to restore to
them their privileges.'" — pp. 422, 423.
VOL. I. E
50 CATHOLIC INSTINCTS, [CHAP.
CHAPTER VIII.
LOOKING ROMEWARD — ST. WILFRID.
The passages which I have now laid before the
reader are all taken out of the first seven volumes
of the Lives of the English Saints. After the pre-
ceding pages had appeared in the British Magazine,
an eighth volume was pubhshed — the life of St. Wil-
frid—and certainly Mr. Newman neither retracted
nor qualified in it anything which had been objected
to in the former seven. This eighth volume does not,
indeed, contain any doctrine which had not been
taught in the earlier volumes. It furnishes no new
development: but, on this particular point of Ro-
manizing it speaks as distinctly as any of them —
and rather more frequently. Of the mode in which
it treats this subject the reader shall judge for him-
self:—
To LOOK RoMEwARD IS A Catholic INSTINCT, Seem-
ingly implanted in us for the safety of the faith. — p. 4.
Again:
The process may be longer or shorter, but Catho-
lics GET TO Rome at last, in spite of wind and tide.
-p. 5.
This, no doubt, is what observing people have
been expecting as the destination of those whom
Ml-. Newman calls " catholics," and the fruits of
what he calls " a catholic instinct." And, truly,
when people have been so long and so anxiously
VIII.] ST. WILFRID. 51
looking " Romeward," it would be somewhat sur-
prising if. any moderate contrariety of " Avind and
tide" should- deter them from loosing from their
ancient moorings. Their object is plain enough:
" Italiam, sociis et rege recepto,
Tendere ;"
and there appears every probability of their arriving
there in due time: (at least nothing which one can
understand by the terms " wind and tide" seems
threatening to retard their course;) though it may
not be quite so cei'tain, that even Rome shall prove
the end of their peregrinations. For the same spirit
of puritanical self-will and Mar-Prelacy, which
made them discontented, restless revolutionizers in
England, will, ten to one, accompany them on their
voyage. Rome itself admits of development. The
pope is, after all, a bishop. Possibly he may prove
but a high and dry one: high and holy as he now
appears, when viewed through the mists and fogs
of our remoter regions, or coloured with the roseate
hues of catholic instincts, and Romeward imagina-
tions.
But to proceed wdth the life of St. Wilfrid. The
ancient Irish and British church, the author admits,
" in its temper was vehemently opposed to that of
Rome," (p. 25,) and of course it finds but little fa-
vour at his hands: though it serves conveniently
enough as a text for introducing his opinions regard-
ing Rome itself.
E 2
52 ANCIENT BRITISH CHURCH. [CHAP.
For example: —
With much that was high and holy, there was a fierce-
ness, an opinionated temper, an almost unconscious atti-
tude of irritable defence — in the theological language, a dis-
like of Rome, which is quite fatal to the formation of a
catholic temper either in a community or in an individual. —
St. Wilfred, p. 22.
No one can mistake the meaning of this language:
no more than one can misunderstand what he says
elsewhere: —
England in the seventh century had not come to the
wicked boldness of setting Rome at nought. — p. 121.
But — be this true or not — so much could not be
said for Ireland; and therefore he tells us, of Alfrid,
king of Northumberland, that,
in the famous schools of Ireland, the head quarters of
Celtic literature, he had lost some of his former reverence
for Rome ; and that is always a moral loss, as well as an
ei'ror in opinion. — p. 149.
These extracts are quite sufficient to prove what
has been said regarding the Romanizing tendency of
the movement. But this life of St. Wilfrid seems
evidently to have been put out just now, as an indi-
cation of what Mr. NcAvman and his friends consider
to be their present duty. It is, in truth, a sort of
Catholicopcedio, or. An Anglo- Catholic's Guide to
the art of Romanizing the Church. In that view,
it is really a very curious and instructive volume.
Perhaps, on this account, it may not be undesirable
to foUo^v the course of the narrative a little more
regularly.
IX.] ST. WILFRID. 53
CHAPTER IX.
ST. Wilfrid's pilgrimage to rome.
"Wilfrid — who, it seems, " was a clear-sighted
youth" — had somehow or other,
made a discovery, and that discovery gave the colour to
his whole life. Whether he had fallen upon some old
books, or from whatever cause, he began to suspect that
there was a more perfect way of serving God ; that there
were ancient traditions of Catholic customs which it was
most dangerous to slight, and yet which were utterly
neglected. When once he had got this into his mind, he
seized upon it and followed it out in that prescient way in
which men who have a work to do are gifted to detect and
pursue their master idea, without wasting themselves on
collateral objects. Wilfrid pondered and pondered this
discovery in his solitude, and he saw that the one thing to
do loas to go to Ro7ne, and learn under the shadow of St.
Peter s chair the more perfect way. — p. 4.
How he came so readily to see that going to
Rome was " the one thing to do" would not have
been so easy to discover, if the author had not. im-
mediately proceeded to inform us, in the words
already quoted —
To LOOK RoMEWARD IS A Catholic INSTINCT, Seem-
ingly implanted in us for the safety of the faith. — Ibid.
In his Romeward journey, Wilfrid took Kent by
the way. As St. Honorius was at the time arch-
bishop, and, — as our author says, — " peculiarly well
skilled in ecclesiastical matters," one might have
imagined, " the keen- eyed Wilfrid" could have
54 ST. Wilfrid's pilgrimage. [chap.
learned at Canterbury all he desired to know, with-
out indulging his catholic instincts with so long a
journey.
But it was short of Rome. The process mat be
LONGER OR SHORTER, BUT CATHOLICS GET TO RoME AT
LAST, IN SPITE OF WIND AND TIDE. — pp. 4, 5.
To Rome, then, he determined to go; — not a very
common journey at that time, — " a road untrodden
l)y the English youth," — catholic though the instinct
be " to look Romeward." Just then, it is to be
supposed, catholicity began to develop itself in pil-
grimages and Romeward aspirations.
Wilfrid was singular in looking on such a pilgrimage as
meritorious, and hoping to ivin pardon for the sins and
ignorances of his youth in such a holy vicinity as the
threshold of the Apostles. . . . Indeed, Wilfrid must have
had a versatile mind, and certainly hesitated at nothing
which enabled him to realize to himself communion with
Rome. This strong feeling seems to be the key to almost
everything he did. — Ibid.
Very possible. That is to say, if the story be
true. But, — what is much more interesting to
English churchmen in the ynneteenth century, —
" this strong feeling," that has " hesitated at nothing
which enables him to realise to himself communion
with Rome," " seems to be the key to almost every-
thing" which our own " keen-eyed Wilfrid" is doing,
and has been doing for a considerable time. How-
ever, to proceed: Wilfrid having found out, at
Canterbury, that Jerome's version of the Psalter
was not in fashion at Rome; —
IX.] ROMAN FEELINGS. 5')
this was enough for Wilfrid. He made all the haste he
could to forget St. Jerome's version, and leurn the old one.
What a task it must have been ! . . . But it was a labour
of love : it brought Wilfrid more into contact with Roman
things. This was the Roman feeling in a little matter; but
it was the same feeling and no other, which was the life of
his actions afterwards. — pp. 5, 6.
There has of late been in many quarters a strong
feeling, that the laity would be materially benefited
by a more close attention on the part of the clergy
to the rules set by the Book of Common Prayer for
the performance of divine service. And a very
short time ago, there were few who would not have
respected a clergyman for his conscientiousness and
zeal, should he have set about a more exact and
careful observance of these wise and well-considered
regulations. Not that serious and sensible people
were likely at any time to regard with indifference
any symptoms in their minister of a love of needless
alteration; but, provided he could have justified the
change by an appeal to the rubric, few, — even of
the small number who might have felt disposed
to call him to account, — would have been dissatisfied.
But this state of things no longer exists. And in a
church, where one may still see an inscription to
commemorate the piety and munificence of a former
rector, who had presented the parish with a pair of
splendid candlesticks for the conmaunion-table, no
one now could dare to make the very slightest de-
viation from existing and established laxity. The
56 THE RUBRICAL PANIC. [cHAP.
laity would instantly become alarmed; and if their
fears were not as quickly deferred to, it is not im-
possible that the church would be deserted, and their
displeasure manifested by such proceedings as de-
vout men mourn over now, and earnest men will
recollect by-and-by with anything but complacency.
At jiresent, any change, however unimportant, is
dreaded as "^/«e Roman feeling" though '■'■in a little
matter."
Now, no person can feel less disposed than I do
to blame the laity for their present sensitiveness: no
one less disposed to treat their fears with inconsider-
ation. But how came this change in the temper
of the laity? Whence originated the alarm? The
blame may not rest wholly, perhaps, on Mr. New-
man's party. Those who dislike the rules and ritual
of the church have in several instances taken ad-
vantage of the public fears, and, in some cases, it
may be feared, have even endeavoured to excite
them, in order to justify theii- own nonconformity.
But this is far from being a sufficient explanation of
the facts of the case; since beyond all question,
many wise and calm-judging people have of late
been found to resist changes, which a little while
ago such men would have silently acquiesced in, or
even admired. Nor can there be any doubt, either
that this resistance is mainly to be attributed to the
fears excited by the proceedings of Mr. Newman
and his party, or that the Romanizing tendency and
IX.] THE RUBRICAL PANIC. 57
spirit of the movement are the real causes of the
laity's regarding with such jealousy and suspicion
every and any alteration, — however trivial and in
itself unimportant, — as " the Roman feeling" though
" in a little matter:'' — as the same feeling, and no
other, which every one, w'ho is not short-sighted
indeed, must see, has become so completely " the
life of his actions," that everything seems- to Mr.
Newman " a labour of love," if only it bring him
" more into contact with Roman things."
58 ST. WILFRID AT ROME. [CHAP.
CHAPTER X.
ST. WILFRID AT ROME COUNCIL OF WHITBT.
But we are forgetting Wilfrid, who by this time
has reached Rome, and has friends there.
Truly Rome was always a kind-hearted city ; the very
hearth and home of catholic hospitality ; even in these
days, if considerate kindness could do so at Rome, the very
aliens are made to forget that they are aliens, and dream
for that little while that they are sons. Is this craftiness ?
Yes ; goodness was ever crafty, ever had a wily way of
alluring what came near it. — pp. 9, 10.
Of which " wily way of alluring" aliens, the
Dutch minister at Turin is said to have had some
experience lately. But, surely, one need not be
surprised that they who avow themselves the ad-
mirers of the Jesuits should write in this way; nor
is it wonderful that the crafty wiliness of Rome
should be eulogized by an author, who glories in
the thought, (and, probably, as far as the present
prospects of the Jesuits are concerned, this author
knows what he is saying to be true,) that though
" prudent state-craft has been some centuries hard
at work to strangle the spirit St. Ignatius Loyola
left on earth," " it only grows more vital every day,
because truth is on its side, and noble-mind-
edness, and heavenly pi'inciple, and marvellous
sanctity."— pp. 149, 150.
But this is a digression. Wilfrid is now in
X.] ROME. 59
Rome, and his visit gives the author an opportunity
for making some very curious observations: —
His lot in Rome was the same which befals most tra-
vellers who go there for religious ends and spend their
time in a religious way. "Will it be thought superstitious
to' say that to such persons it almost invariably happens
that there is something or other of a mysterious kind in
the occurrences which befal them there, something new,
strange, unaccountable, provided only they are searching
after heavenly things ?— p. 10.
Which " searching after heavenly things" in this
author's style, probably means hesitating at nothing
which enables one to realize to oneself communion
with Rome; — being " obstinately bent on Romaniz-
ing," as he says elsewhere (p. 13); — and if so, why
should it seem very " mysterious" — or even sur-
prising— that "something new, strange," and "un-
accountable," should befal any one visiting Rome in
such a temper? The author's method of accounting
for the phenomena he fancies to exist is quite cha-
racteristic of the British Critic school, ^not only in
the reference to Luther, but, still more remarkably,
in the allusion to the miraculous virtue which pro-
ceeded from the Lord's body — an allusion, which,
however it may be deemed consistent with a reve-
rential spirit by Mr, Newman's party, will most likely
be regarded by the generality of Christians as little
short of blasphemy — unless they should be charitable
enough to pass it by as simple nonsense. The pas-
sage is as follows: —
60 ROME. [chap.
As if that city were instinct with a sort of preternatural
energy, and that virtue u-entfrom it, either to heal or hurt,
acco7'ding to the faith of him icho touched, we read, that
Rome made Petrarch ahnost an infidel ; and Luther, to
say the best, had his infidelity corroborated by his visit to
the catholic capital, because of the sins, the pride, luxury,
and corruption there. — Ibid.
So that, if those who visit " the holy city" should
be so disgusted with " the sins, the pride, luxury, and
corruption" they see there, as to make shipwreck of
the faith, or become confirmed in infidelity, Mr.
Newpian and his friends see nothing in these effects
of the depravity and licentiousness of " the catholic
capital," except that Rome is "instinct with a sort of
preternatural energy," and that " virtue toent from,
it {it is really shocking to transcribe such language)
either to heal or hurt, according to the faith of him
who touched^ " This," the author adds,
This is the dark side of the picture. But, to say nothing
of other shrines vjhere relics repose and spots where holy
influences abide, who shall reach even by conjecture to the
.number and extent of visions seen, prayers answered, vows
suggested, lives changed, great ends dreamed, endea-
voured after, accomplished, inspirations, or something very
like them, given to the listening heart — who shall imagine
the number and extent of these things vouchsafed at one
place only, the low bannisters, with their coronal of starry
lights round the confession of St. Peter and St. Paul,
where rich and poor kneel and say Augustine's prayer, or
breathe their own secret wants and wishes ? It cannot be
too strong a thing to say that no one ever went to Rome
without leaving it a better or a worse man than he was
with a higher or a harder heart. However this may be, it
X.] ROME. . 61
is certain that something strange occurred to Wilfrid at
Rome, something just of the same sort that we hear of so
frequently in these days, or which some of us may have
actually experienced. — p. 11.
What was the " something strarige" which Mr,
Newman or his friends " actually experienced" at
Eome — what were the "visions" they saAv — whether,
for instance, they bore any resemblance to Samson's
foxes let loose among the standing corn Avith fire-
brands to their tails, — these are points on which the
author maintains a mysterious silence. But, truly,
if they went to Rome with anything like the views
they ascribe to Wilfrid, it needed no prophetic eye
to foresee the state of mind in which they should
leave it, or the consequences their visits were likely
to entail on " most erring, and most unfortunate
England."
He approached Rome, his biographer tells us, in the
same spirit in which St. Paul approached Jerusalem, —
St. Paul states that he went up to Jerusalem " by
revelation;^' but this is a specimen of the manner in
which this party is continually endeavouring to give
an air of sacredness to its Romanism, by profane
and deeply irreverent applications of Holy Scrip-
ture—
full of a diffident anxiety Zesf he should have run in vain.
He sought it as the legitimate fountain of catholic teaching.,
desiring to measure and compare his English faith with it,
and prepared to abandon whatever icas opposed to the doc-
trine., spirit, or u^age of Rome. — Ibid.
62 COUNCIL OF WHITBY. [cHAP.
Which niaj 'serve for an explanation of what is
meant by the. " catholic instinct" " to look Home-
ward."
How it has happened that England has been at
all periods so peculiarly apt to be " most erring and
most unfortunate," is explained in the author's ac-
count of the council of Whitby," at which Wilfrid
prevailed on Oswy to " conform to the Roman
practice" of observing Easter.
This judgment of the council of Whitby was a great
step towards the consummation of Wilfi'id's hopes. In
his speech he had laid open the true disease of England,
the cKsease which was then drawing it onward to the brink
of schism, which clung to it more or less, succouring the
evil and baffling the good, even up to the primacy of
Archbishop Warham ; which plunged it into that depth
of sacrilege^ heresy, andlihertinism, in which it has lain since
the time of Henry VIII., and has hitherto I'etarded its
penitence and self-abasement. — p. 36.
From this it appears that England had never yet
reached to Mr. Newman's beau ideal of catholicity,
even before its plunge into that ^^ depth of sacrilege,
heresy, and Ubertiimm," that altogether make up
the docti'ine and discipline of the church of which
Mr. Newman is a minister.
But to return to Wilfrid's exposition of the
" disease" of England : —
He referred the stuhhorn nonconformity of his times to
that narrow temper of self-praise fostered by our insular
position, leading the great mass of common minds to over-
look with a bigoted superciliousness almost the very
existence of the universal church, and to disesteem the
X.] PASCHAL QUESTION. 63
privileges of communion with it. A particular church,
priding itself upon its separate rights and independent
jurisdiction, must end at last in arrogating to itself an
inward purity, a liberty of change, [such, fur instance, as
is claimed in the preface of the Book of Common Prayer,]
and an empire over the individual conscience far more
stringent and tyrannous than was ever claimed by the
Universal Church, [meaning, of course, by " the universal
church," the pope and church of Rome, and those subject
to their dominion.] In other words, nationalism must result
in the meanest form of bigotry, and, as being essentially
demoralizing, must be a fearful heresy m theology. — Ibid.
Pex'haps it may be questioned, whether Mr.
Newman and his friends are quite so good judges of
what is either demoralizing or heretical, as they
imagine themselves to be. Persons who have ob-
tained their orders in the church of England, on the
faith of their abjuration of Romanism, name and
thing, must have their moral perceptions in a pre-
ternatural state of coiifusion, if, while continuing
members and ministers of this chux-ch, they are
labouring, as the very end and aim of their existence,
to poison the public mind with Roman superstitions,
and enslave their country with the yoke of a foreign
domination. The beam in their own eye had better
be extracted, before they set about their charitable
operations on the eyes of others. But what infinite
ignorance — or what scandalously dishonest suppres-
sion— of the most notorious facts in the history of
the church, is involved in this tirade against the
church of England ! The ancient British Christians
64 NATIONALISM A ' [CHAP.
did not choose to give up their mode of calculating
the time of Easter, and adopt the Roman computa-
tion. This was " nationalism," " essentially demo-
ralizing," " a fearful heresy in theology." And is
Mr. Newman ignorant of what our divines (Bishop
Lloyd, for instance) have written on this subject?
Or, if the writers of a church plunged in a " depth
of sacrilege, heresy, and libertinism," meet but little
respect at his hands — has he- never read of Irenceus,
and what he thought and wrote of Victor ?
If the church of Rome is so wicked as to require
■ her subjects in these countries to erect schismatical
altars, rather than allow them to worship God in a
liturgy constructed with so divine a spirit of charity
and moderation, that it does not compel them to use
a single word which can violate their conscientious
scruples — if she is so essentially cruel and schisma-
tical as to construct her own offices in such a man-
ner tliat ' a member of our church, travelling in
foreign countries, cannot communicate with her
without being forced to commit idolatry — if these
facts be as certain as any facts can be, what is to be
thought or said of those, who make the squabbles in
the eighth century about the paschal term a text, on
which to found a charge of demoralizing heresy,
against the church in which they have received their
baptism and their orders ? — the church, of which, to
this hour, they choose to be considered members? No
right-minded person can have a second opinion on the
XI.] DEMORALIZING HERESY. 65
subject. Let Mr. Newman, if he please, continue, like
his model saint, to exert " all his injiuence to briny
about conformity icith the Holy Roman Church"* — .
let him labour, if he please, to drag .back his
country to that state of things, when, as this writer
tx'iumphantly describes it, " crowned cowards quailed
before the eye of the old man in his Avhite cassock
on the Vatican"! — or if the mercy of Heaven
should protect us from the machinations of internal
treachery, let him and his " little band" migrate
to what their idolatrous fanaticism reveres as " the
FOUNTAIN OF HOPE, STRENGTH, AND JUSTICE, ST.
Peter's chair ;"| — but if there be shame or decency
left among them, surely it should prevent those
who propagate such truly demoralizing heresy re-
garding virginity and marriage, as I have tran-
scribed into these pages from the Lives of the
English Saints, from presuming to constitute them-
selves the accusers and judges of the church of
England.
* p. 38. t ix 162. J p 102.
VOL. I.
66 ST. WILFRID [chap.
CHAPTER XL
ST. WILFPID AND ST. THEODORE APPEALS TO ROME —
ST. WILFRID A PLURALIST.
It would occupy too much space, and, I fear, wearj
the reader, to go thi-ough all the particulars of this
life of Wilfrid ; and yet, it is in the course of obser-
vations on matters otherwise of little moment or
interest, that Mr. Newman's object in projecting
this series of lives is developed. For example : —
from the quarrel between St. Wilfrid and St. Theo-
dore (for St. Wilfrid seems to have quarrelled with
almost every saint in the circle of his acquaintance,
so that our author tells us of one council where were
present "five canonized saints, at that time ene-
mies;"* but this, by the way,) he takes the oppor-
tunity to make the following remarks : —
We can understand modern Avriters blaming Wilfrid for
having brought the Church of his country more and more
into subjection to Rome. Certainly, it is true that he
materially aided the blessed work of rivetting more tightly
the happy chains wliich held England to St. Peter's chair,
— chains never snapped, as sad experience tells us, without
the 'loss of many precious Christian fhijigs. Wilfrid did
betray, to use modern language, the liberty of the national
Church : that is, translated into catholic phraseology, he
rescued England, even in the seventh century, from the
wretched arid debasing formality of nationalism. Such
charges, however ungraceful in themselves, and perhaps
* Page 178.
XI.] ROMANIZING. 67
downright heretical^ are, at least, intelligible in the mouths
of Protestant historians ; but it is obvious that Theodore
could have no objection to Wilfrid on the score of his
romanizing, for the holy archbishop was himself the very
presence of great Rome in this island of ours. — pp. 84, 85.
" Modern writers" may blame Wilfrid for en-
deavouring to bring the church of England ^Hnto
subjection to RomeP "Protestant historians" may
charge him with betraying the liberty of the national
church. But such charges are " perhaps downright
heretical" : — and the " chains " of Roman tyranny
are " happy chains'^ — " chains never snapped, as sad
experience tells us, without the loss of many precious
Christian things''' and " rivetting more tightly'^ these
^^ happy chains" is "a blessed work" — and "betray-
ing the liberty" of our church, and bringing it
" more and more into subjection to Rome," and
" Romanizing" are — when " translated into catholic
phraseology," — nothing more than rescuing England
" from the wretched and degrading formality of
nationalism." Really this is too shocking ! There
is an air of quiet effrontery in this passage rarely
equalled — certainly not surpassed — in the lowest
class of Romish controversialists. Another specimen
of this style occurs a little after, in the rhajisody
in which the author indulges on occasion of Wilfrid's
appeal to Rome.
O blessed see of Rome ! was never charm spoken over
the tossings of a troubled world like that potent name of
thine .' What storms has it not allayed ! What gather-
f2
68 ST. Wilfrid's appeal to home. [chap.
ing evils has it not dissipated, what consummated evils has
it not punished and undone, what slaveries has it not
ended, what tyrannies, local or world-wide, has it not
broken down, what smooth highways has it not made for
the poor and the oppressed, even through the thrones of
kings, and the rights of nobles, and the treasure-chambers
of narrow-hearted commonwealths ! — p. 87.
Making " smooth highways through the thrones
of kings and the rights of nobles!" Truly it does
remind one of the feat of di'iving a coach and six
through an act of pai'liament, which a celebrated
Romanizer in the sister island piques himself on his
dexterity in performing. And he, too, will perhaps
be remembered hereafter by "Protestant historians,"
— if any such should survive, — as one who " mate-
rially aided the blessed work of rivetting more
tightly the happy chains," which hold his wretched
country " to St. Peter's chair." But the author
proceeds in his eulogy.
Rome's name, spoken by the widow, or the orphan, or
the unjustly divorced wife, or the tortured serf, or the
persecuted monk, or the weak bishop, or the timid virgin,
— have there not been ages when emperors and kings, and
knights and peers, trembled to hear it in their far off strong-
holds ? All things in the world have promised more than
they have done, save only the little, soon-spoken name of
Rome, and it has ever gone beyond its promise in the
mightiness of its deeds ; and ' is not then that word from
Goc?.?— pp. 87, 88.
Perhaps, in most minds, the feeling left by the
reading of this passage will be simple horror at its
profaneness. Nor is this the first instance of the
sort I have had to notice. Indeed, this is so re-
XI.] THE INQUISITION. 69
markable a feature in the "writings of tliis school,
that it would require a separate consideration. The
following extract, meantime, will be felt to have
somewhat of the same character; while,- — in con-
nexion with the catholic instinct of looking Rome-
ward, — the allusion to the Inquisition — doubtless
one of those " happy chains" which Mr. Newman's
party hope to rivet, and that " tightly," on '• most
erring and most unfortunate England," in the pro-
gress of their " blessed work," — is really both
curious and instructive.
It would be edifying to trace the spirit of the Roman
court through all ages and in all departments, and see how
a most unworldly^ dispassionate moderation has distinguished
it. It is quite nfflemn and overaumig. The local inqtdsi-
tion was milder at Rome than elseichere. The hesitation
before approving of a reform in a degenerate order is pain-
ful to a reader at first, but on consideration it appears ad-
mirably wise and providentially ordered. Surely, when
evil has most mingled there, there has been something
about that court which earthly measures cannot mete. In
truth they who do not see God there, may well suspect Anti-
christ.— p. 114, note.
What hope can one entertain of writers, who are
every now and then trying to impart an air of
solemnity to their errors and superstitions, by means
of such fearful trifling with names and subjects the
most sacred? For, as I have already observed, this
irreverence amounts to such a habit in the works of
Mr. Newman and his school, that it would require
a separate notice to itself. But, while on the sub-
ject of Rome ward tendencies, another passage occurs
70 ROMAN MODERATION. [CHAP.
to me in this life of St. Wilfrid, which wiU furnish
such an illustration of this profane way of writing
as makes it desirable to quote it here.
Never was there upon earth a tribunal so august as that
of Rome ! While in the local Churches, party spirit and
factious tumult, the wi-ath of kings and the strife of pre-
lates, keep all things in effervescence, the patient discern-
ment, the devout tranquillity of deliberation, the unim-
passioned disentanglement of truth from falsehood, the
kindly suspense, the saintly moderation without respect
of persons, the clear- voiced utterance of the decree at last,
— how wonderful were all these things in the court of
Rome!— p. 172.
Really this might pass for a very pretty example
of the figure called Irony, if one had met it any-
where else, and it Avere not quite ce^ain, that Mr.
Newman and his friends scrupulously abstain from
the use of ridicule in writing on religious subjects,
and particularly from sneering — except when they
have occasion to refer to " Protestants and other
heretics." But this falsification, almost incredible
though it be, is tame and insignificant comj)ared
with the profaneness, wliich, in not very unnatural
conjunction, immediately succeeds it.
With profoundest reverence be it spoken, did not this tri-
bunal faintly shadow forth the imperturbed peace, long-
suflPering, merciful delay yet loving promptitude of the
divine judgments? Earth trembled and was still: for
many a century was this true of Rome ; surely it was the
Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes. — pp. 172,
173.
Can the reader need to be reminded of the awful
XI.] PERVERSIONS OF SCRIPTURE. 7l
meaning and intention of the words of Holy Scrip-
ture here (no words tliat human language can supply
will be too strong) profanely and blasphemously
misapplied?*
But the author must be suffered to proceed.
Seventy councils held to sift, to balance, to compare, to
adjust wliat might seem a petty strife in a far off diocese
of a little island ! Wilfrid might well have faith in Rome,
might well go through all he did to teach his Saxon coun-
trymen the like consoling and reverential trust. — Ibid.
Well he might, indeed! For, I rather think,
Wilfrid's love for Rome was not quite so mysterious
in its origin, or so disinterested in its progress, as this
author finds it convenient to represent it. Arch-
bishop Bramhall (an authority once deemed not in-
effective in a catena) would assign a very different
cause than catholic instinct for the " long and bitter
* la a subsequent part of the volume occurs another most
startling misapplication of Holy Scripture. Speaking; of the
relics of Wilfrid, the author says, " They rest now hard by
the bones of that gentle-mannered and meek-hearted prelate,
Reginald Pole, the last primate of catholic England. Si con-
versi in corde suo, in terra ad quam captivi ducti fuerant,
egerint poenitentiam, et deprecati Te fuerint in terra captivitatis
sua;, dicentes : Peccavimus, inique fecimus, injuste eginius ; et
reversi fuerint ad Te in toto corde suo, et in tota anima sua,
in terra captivitatis suae ad quam ducti sunt, adorabunt Te
contra viam terra suce quam dedisti patribus eorum, et urbis
quam elegisli, et domus quam aidificavi nomini Tuo : Tu
exaudies de coelo, hoc est, de firmo habitaculo Tuo, preces
eorum, et facias judicium, et dimittas populo Tuo, quamvis
peccatori." — Ibid. p. 202. Of course, the application of this
passage to the return of England to popery is too plain to be
mistaken. Hut how any man who believes the Bible to be the
word of God, or possesses a shadow of reverence for sacred
things, can dare to abuse the Holy Scripture in such a manner,
is wholly incomprehensible.
72 ST. WILFRID A PLURALIST. [CHAP.
contention" which produced these appeals to Rome.
Wilfrid, he would tell us, " was become a great
j)luralist, and had engrossed into his hands too many
ecclesiastical dignities. The king and the church
of England thought fit to deprive him of some of
them, and to confer them upon others."* Hence
the appeals to Rome. Hence the desire of Wilfrid
to rivet more and more tightly the happy chains
which held his country to St. Peter's chair. He
" was become a great pluralist," and he hoped to
find Rome willing to abet him in his resistance to
the laws and the sovereign of his native countiy.
Nor was he disappointed. Rome had learned from
her heathen predecessor the art of enlarging her
dominions, by receiviiag appeals and meddling in the
domestic feuds of independent states and churches.
And if we believe this biographer, Wilfrid found
the Roman bishop no ineffective ally. Having stated
that Alfrid died, (his death, as this author would
persuade us, being a judgment for his disregard of
the papal authority,) he says, —
So Alfrid died. Had he thrown his wisdom upon the
side of God's church, what might not this royal scholar
have done for the north ; as it was, his reign left no trace
l)ehind. He squandereil his talents in persecuting a bishop,
in order to free the state from the salutary restraints of
the church, [a pleasing version of an attempt to correct a
pluralist,] and the bishop outwitted the scholar in his craft,
* Bramhall's Works in the Anglo-Catholic Library, vol. i.
p. 134.
XI.] JESUITISM. 73
called in Rome, and Rome beat the king to the ground.
The same edifying di-ama has been enacted over and over
again for the instruction of the world : yet states are slow
learners ; they die before their nonage is past ; while the
Church remains old in years and wisdom, young in power
and freshness. — pp. 177, 178.
The Jesuitical hatred of "crowned cowards" is
but thinly concealed in this strange piece of misre-
presentation : and it is this Jesuitism, and the servile
flattery of Rome, which so naturally accompanies it,
that alone makes the passage worth the trouble of
transcription.
For, really, it seems a useless waste of time to
expose such miserable falsifications of history, as
few readers can fail to detect for themselves. It is
more to the purpose to quote another passage, which,
while it has a more distinct reference to the present
condition of our church, is altogether extremely
characteristic of Mr. Newman's Catholicism. But
this \ must keep for the following chapter.
74 EXPERIMENTALIZING. [CHAP.
CHAPTEE XII.
ST. WILFRID EXPERIMENTALIZING — MODERATE MEN.
The writer of Wilfrid's life, speaking of his restora-
tion to the throne of York, states (whether truly or
not is immaterial at present) that although " saints,
canonized saints, filled the sees," yet while "Wilfrid,
the Romanizer, was kept out of his diocese, " we
cannot find that the church in the north was making
way." Of course this is said merely to intro,duce
another hint of the necessity of our " happy chains"
being rivetted more tightly. However, having (by
way of illustration) named St. Cuthbert, as one of
those who, without Rome, was insufficient to do
much for the church, he says, —
Doubtless his merits were amassing treasures for the
northern Church in years to come. Blessed ascetic that he
was ! who shall count the debt the men of Durham owe
to him ? Forgotten, as many catholic things are, the poor
of that seven-hilled city in the north have yet an affec-
tionate remembrance of the wonder-working Cuthbert, and
his strange wandering relics. Still the church does not
seem just then to have made any real advances ; the mo-
nastic system does not seem to have spread or gained
strength or fresh spirituality; and, after all, the flourishing
state of monkery is the safest test of real church reform.
Was it that the blessing was suspended, and that even the
saintly intruders into St. Wilfrid's see worked at a disad-
vantage, as working against Rome, and without the Apo-
XII.] WORKING AT A DISADVANTAGE. 75
stolic benediction ?* The later history of this insular
church would seem to show that the absence of that bene-
diction is almost a hli<:;ht : it sfimts all gnnrths, thou^^h it
may not cause absolute sterility; it is thus that catholic
churches decay and are transformed into piisillunimous
communities. If" it were that the loss of Rome's blessing
was really keeping back the northern Church., then we may
understand how it was that the church did make way
in one place, and in one place only, — at the abbeys of
Wearmouth and of Jarrow : for there was the presence of
St. Benedict Biscop, who so honoured Rome, and with
such tender devotion loved that sacred place, that in spite
of all the perils both by land and sea, five weary pilgrim-
ages hardly satisfied his ardent feelings towards the Holy
City.—-p^. 151, 152.
So, notwithstanding the treasures amassed for us
by the merits of St. Cuthbert, and the blessings he
bequeathed us in his " strange wandering relics,"
still monkery is not in so flourishing a state as Mr.
Newman could desire. And why so ? Why, truly
we are working "at a disadvantage, as working
against Rome, and without the Apostolic bene-
diction," and so, we must be content to remain
but "pusillanimous communities;" whatever that
may mean. Nay, even the presence of our modern
Wilfrid, with all his ardent longings towards the
Holy City, are insufficient to infuse vigour into
* The reader will hardly fail to observe the similarity of
this language with that of Mr. Newman, — if, indeed, this
author be not Mr. Newman himself: —
" We cannot hope for the success among the heathen of St.
Augustine or St. Boniface, unless, like them, we go forth with the
apostolical benediction." — Sermons on Subjects of the Day,
p. 150.
76 MODERATE MEN. [CHAP.
our blighted and stunted growth. " The loss of
Rome's blessing" is "keeping back" our church;
and Mr. Newman's efforts to restore us to the arms
of his mother are appreciated with every feeling but
that of gratitude. Indeed, in the following passage
a very graphic description of him and his position
is given under the name of Wilfrid, in what might
fairly be called a fancy sketch : for, really, as far
as history is concerned, it is just about as correct a
portrait of Sir Roger de Coverley as of Wilfrid.
In men's eyes he was expenmentalizing ; he was break-
ing down that tchich had obviously much good about it.
Moderate men would not know what to think, what to
make, of his work : they could not tell where it would
end ; so their impulse would be to hold back,' and in hold-
ing back they would get frightened. Wilfrid made no
secret at all of what his loork was ; it was the thorough ro-
manizing of the Northumbrian Church ; and there is really
something so very awful about Rome, either for good or ill,
that we cannot wonder at men becoming timorous, when
the hardier zeal of others drags them reluctantly into the
presence of such an exciting change. — p. 203.
Why " moderate men" should find any difficulty
in telling where such a work wdU end, does not
appear. Their moderation, surely, can have nothing
to do with either creating or increasing any diffi-
culty of the sort. Mr. Newman makes " no secret
of what his work is." It is plainly and undis-
guisedly the " thorough Romanizing," of the Church
of England. He is " experimentalizing." He is
" breaking down that which has obviously much good
Xn.] MODERATE MEN. 77
about it." This is the work he conceives it his duty
to do. His want of secresy or reserve can be no
other than a matter of thankfulness to all who
reta;in love or loyalty to the church. But, most
assuredly, if any who desire to be called moderate
men keep silent, while he is " experimentalizing" in
this fashion, they must be prepared to be counted
responsible for no small portion of the mischief he
is doing, and to forfeit the influence which their
moderation ought to give them, and does actually
give them with the respectable part of the com-
munity.
"Whatever may be said of the past, Mr. Newman
cannot now be charged with concealment. It is
evident that he and his party imagine him, like his
prototype, Wilfrid, —
raised up to do some special work in the \\'orl(l ; — the
idea of it seems completely to master his whole life ; —
every detail of it looks one way and has but one only
meaning.
And the world will probably be told hereafter, —
with what distinctness he perceived that devotion to Rome
was the sole remerfy for' the ailing times, and with what
promptness he gave himself up to the cultivation of that
feeling in himself and the propagation of it amongst others.
—p. 49.
This is what will be said of IMr. Newman here-
after. Every one sees how truly it may be said
of him now. To a higher tribunal, indeed, than
public opinion, he is accountable for his principles
78 MODERATE MEN. [CHAP.
and conduct. But if the interests of truth are
damaged, if the real principles of the Church of
England become so mixed up in men's minds with
Mr. Newman's experimentalizings and superstitions,
as to bring orthodoxy and the Common Prayer-book
itself into suspicion, then, most assuredly, "moderate
men," — men who deserve to be described by a
name expressive of wisdom and calm-judging dis-
cretion, should take care, before it be too late, that
none of the blame shall rest at their doors.
XIII.] THE MOVEMENT. 79
CHAPTER XIII.
THE MOVEMENT — PALMERS AND PILGRIMS.
But what do Mr. Newman and his party propose
to do next? Can they remain much longer in com-
munion with the church? Can they feel satisfied
with the validity or legitimacy of their orders? As
far as these questions lead to personalities and the
discussion of the morality of Mr. Newman's conduct,
I wish to avoid them altogether. It has long been
my fixed persuasion, that nothing has involved the
character of the Oxford movement in more .confu-
sion, than the propensity both its friends and op-
posers have had for making it a personal question.
Mr. Newman has a Master, and to Him he must
give account for what he has done and is doing.
But, in considering the object and character of the
movement, these questions — namely, what step will
be taken next ? and what is Mr. Newman's view
respecting the validity and regularity of his orders?
— are questions of importance, and deserve an
answer, if an answer can be given to them. I pre-
tend to no secret intelligence. I disclaim any such
sagacity as could enable me to predict what step shall
next be taken, much less in what latitude of sectarian-
ism a movement will end, where everything of faith
and worship is in a transition state, — where rest-
lessness amounts to an incurable disease, — and the
80 PALMERS AND PILGRIMS. [CHAP.
one only symptom which is fixed and chronic, is an
incessant change of posture, — and the whole frame
is convulsed with the twitchings and contortions of
spiritual fidgets. In truth, the party have set
about —
" A godly thorough reformation,
Which always must be carried on,
And still be doing, never done."
Starting on an inclined plane — notwithstanding
the " Catholic instinct" which in the first instance
propels them " Romeward," — Eome itself seems
destined to be but the next station in a never-ending
whirl of locomotion. If they stay long enough to
take in a fresh supply of moving power, it is quite
as much as their friends in the Eternal City (and
none can estimate moi'e correctly the evanescent
character of such flying visitors) should venture to
reckon on. Their pilgrimage seems destined to the
fate which Milton tells of.
" St. Peter at heaven's wicket seems
To wait them with his keys ....
when lo !
A violent cross wind from either coast
Blows them transverse ten thousand leagues awry
Into the devious air."
Or rather, they remind one of Mr. Newman's de-
scription of " St. Willibald's party," in the second
volume of these lives. They are —
Palmers and not pilgrims ; — for a palmer and a pilgrim,
according to some, differ in this ; a pilgrim has a home, to
XIII.] DIFFICULTIES. 81
which he returns when his vow is performed, a palmer has
none ; a pilgrim goes to a certain place in particular, a
palmer goes to all. — St. Richard, p. 54. ^
When Mr. Newmq,n and the rest of tlie "Palmers"
intend to make the next paove, however, may na-
turally be inquired by those who feel concerned in
the effects of their peregrinations on the church, —
especially as he seems to describe their present feel-
ings in w^hat he says of St. Willi bald and " his
companions:" they have "broken aU the bands
which tied them to England, left all what are called
prospects in life, and renounced their home for ever."
Now, although one may be mistaken in supposing
it to be intended to satisfy a reasonable anxiety on
this point, there is a passage in this life of St. Wil-
frid which may almost be regarded in the light of a
bulletin; — especially as the book has been so very
lately published, and in truth, is a sort of myth or
parable — a story founded on fact — in w^hich the
history of Wilfrid seems to have been wrought up
into a portraiture of Mr. Newman and an embodi-
ment of his teaching. The writer had been stating
that Wilfrid declined receiving consecration from
the Englisli bishops, as, among other reasons, —
it was quite open to a question whether the Scottish
non- conformity did not amount to schism, when Kome
had spoken so plainly about the matter ; and lastly, there
was a gross, and open, and unresisted Erastianism through-
out the island, most grievous to a pious mind, and full of
perplexity. — St. Wilfrid, p. 42.
VOL. I. G
82' DIFFICULTIES. [cHAP.
where the allusion to present times and circum-
stances is too plain to be mistaken. — He then pro-
deeds in the following manner: —
To many persons in our days these scruples [sc/Z. re-
garding the validity of English orders] will seem so unreal
as to be unintelligible ; while to others, and those not a
few, they will have a distressing reality. — Ibid. p. 43.
From which it seems plain, that not a few of Mr.
Newinan's party are dissatisfied with their orders in
tiie church of England. If Mr. Newman himself be
so, liis scruples Avill afford the most satisfactory ex-
planation of his resignation of his preferment which
has yet been suggested. But the author proceeds, —
Of course those who do not believe in the divine insti-
tution of the Visible Church and the mysteriousness of
her privileges, will perceive in St. Wilfrid's hesitation
nothing but a superstitious and judaizing spirit ; more
especially when, through long disesteem of apostolic order,
they have learned to look on jealousy for catholic doc-
trines and the high-minded anathemas of Holy Church as
bigotry, ignorance, or at best, great uncharitableness. —
Ibid.
As if this author had any right to assume, that
no one believes " in the divine institution of the
visible church, and the mysteriousness of her privi-
leges," except those, who, by " the visible church"
mean Rome, and by " her privileges" mean sacra-
mental confession, and expiatory penance, and pur-
gatory, and relics, and monkery, and holy virginity,
and " the most noble and glorious company of St.
Ignatius." And yet this is precisely the danger of
XIII.] THE PRESENT DANGER. 83
the' present crisis. In the course of his " experi-
mentalizing" and. " Romanizing," Mr. Newman's
party have practised such sleights of theological le-
gerdemain with the terms church and catholic, that
there is deep reason to apprehend the public are'
rapidly coming .to the conclusion, that such terms
stand for nothing but popery, and that the idea of
church or catholic, except in a popish sense, is a
chimera, — fantastical and unreal, — tlie ravings of a
crazy enthusiast, —
" cujus, velut aegri somnia, vans;
Fingentur species, ut nee pes, nee caput uni
Eeddatur formae."
. This is THE danger. If moderate men take care,
at once, and before it be too late, to detach them-
selves, openly and unequivocally, from all suspicion
of collusion or confederacy with Mr. Newman and
his band of " Palmers;" if they boldly and distinctly
make known their adhesion to the Church-of-En"--
land notions of " the* visible church" and " her privi-
leges,"— the church may yet be saved. But if not, —
either some unforeseen conjuncture will precipitate
the church into the hands of Rome, or else — and of
the two this latter seems rather the more likely at
present — the public will settle down into latitudina-
rianism, and the influence of truth and common
sense receive a shock which it will not speedily re-
cover.
G 2
84 JESUITISM. [chap.
• CHAPTER XIV.
CATHOLIC DOCTRINES — DIFFICULTIES OF THE MOVEMENT
A DILEMMA.
What ]Mr. Newman means by " catholic doctrines"
has long ceased to be matter of doubt. But the use
of the term in the passage just quoted is plain from
what immediately follows:—
It is quite impossible for any one to sustain for long an
affectionate jealousy about the docti'ines which concern
the Divine Person and Two Natures of our Lord, who is
not likewise exceedingly jealous for the divine forms,
unity, ritual and succession of the Visible Church. The
preservation of true saving doctrine is tied to the formal
constitution of the Visible Church just as much, and with
as infrequent exceptions, as the gift of regeneration is tied
to the form of Baptism, or the Justifying Presence of Christ
consigned to the sacrifice of the Altar. — Ibid.
These latter words speak for themselves. Biit is
the former sentence of this quotation true? Errors
are, no doubt linked together; — and truths have a
mutual connexion, and are not adequately received,
when received in severance from this connexion, —
when some portions of truth are received, and some
rejected or unknown. But this attempt to fasten
a charge of heresy, — Nestorianism, Sabellianism, So-
cinianism, or Arianism, — on every one who hesitates
to assent, to such catholic doctrines as ^^ the justifying
presence of Christ being consigned to the sacrifice of
the altar" is just one of the worn-out artifices of "the
XIV.] JESUITISM. 85
most noble and glorious company of St. Ignatius,"
and can frighten no one but very silly and ill-in-
formed people. To say, that every one, who rejects
the papal supremacy and the peculiar doctrines and
practices of Rome, entertains heretical notions re-
garding the Trinity and the Incarnation, or is des-
titute of " an aifectiohate jealousy about the doc-
trines which concern the Divine person and two
natures of our Lord," is to betray great ignorance
or greater dislionesty. Those who bring such
charges against the members of the church of Eng-
land are saying what is untrue; and those who
bring them against Protestant dissenters, merely
because they are in error respecting the government
and structure of the church, can have but little ac-
quaintance with their opinions or feelings on such
subjects. But to resume our quotations.
The world assumes the divine forms of the Church to be
mere externals, and, arguing from its own unwarrantable
premiss, condemns the Saints as verbal disputants and
sticklers for empty ceremonial. No wonder, then, that in
these days, St. Wilfrid's scruples should be matter of deri-
sion.— Ibid.
" The world^' of course, signifies in this passage
those who do not agree with Mr. Newman, and then
the proposition is untrue in both particulai"s. For,
no orthodox member of our church looks on the
succession and validity of orders, as matters of indif-
ference. And no respectable and learned Romanist
would tolerate the notion on which this sophism
86 DIFFICULTIES OF THE [cHAP.
rests — that validity depends on peculiarities of ritual
and ceremonial. So that, if Wilfrid's " scruples"
had any rational foundation, no orthodox church-
man would feel any inclination to treat them with
" derision."
But there are others who find the present state of things
only too fruitful in similar perplexities, and the danger is
not slight of tlieir putting themselves into a false position in
consequence of their distress. Under any circumstances,
the office of ecclesiastical rulers, teachers and priests, is
full of difficulty from its double nature. They who bear
it have not only the government and discipline of them-
selves to look to, their growth, mutations, lapses, as lay
Christians have, but to this they superadd another entire
second life, through their solemn and sacramental relations
to others. Is it not then a very fearful thing for them to
have a doubt cast on the efficacy of their priesthood, the
reality of those tremendous acts which they have performed
in the name of priests, and the truthfulness of their absolu-
tioiis and consecrations ? and if we further assume the
possible cases of ailing health and broken spirits, what a
burden must it be for reason to bear, and not give way ?
Indeed, it is hardly right to go on dwelling upon it.
Enough has been said to suggest more : there is some sup-
port in seeing that so great a Saint as Wilfrid keenly felt
a somewhat similar position, and did not hesitate to act at
much cost upon these feelings. — pp. 43, 44.
Now, according to this historian, the way Wilfrid
acted was simply this: he repudiated the orders of
the British church, and sought consecration else-
where. And therefore, one might at first suppose,
that a similar conduct is here recommended to those,
in whose minds Mr. Newman has succeeded in
XIV.] MOVEMENT PARTY. 87 '
raising doubts and scruples, as to tlic efficacy of
their priesthood, and the reality and truthfulness of
the acts they have performed as priests. Secession,
and an immediate reconciliation with Rome, would
seem to be the only path, — if St. Wilfrid's example
is to be followed. But this does not appear to be
what is recommended by Mr. Newman: at least,
not just yet. On the contrary, he seems to dread
any step of the sort being taken at present. And,
indeed, this is also the tone of his Sermons on Sub-
jects of the Day; and since that, of Mr. Ward's
book.* The church is to be thoroughly Romanized,
by those who remain in her ministry and communion
for that purpose. Secede'rs, therefore, not only put
themselves into a false position, but retard " the
blessed work of rivetting more and more tightly
the happy chains" which, in the dreams of Mr.
Newman's Catholicism, hold " England to St. Peter's
chair." Li spirit and purpose, ]Mr. Newman and
his company of " Palmers" seem to have " broken
all the bands which tied them to England," and ap-
pear ready at an hour's warning to start for the
Holy City. But nothing must be done prematurely;
nothing to retard the general work of Romanizing.
They must bide their time: — contenting themselves
meanwhile with the consoling thought, that the pro-
* This was written a year ago, and hofore Mr. Ward's
Meal had been fully developed in practice, by the extraordi-
nary course he has since taken.
88 PRESENT DUTIES. [cHAP.
cess may be longer or shorter, but Catholics get
TO Rome at last, in spite of wind and tide. That
such is the present state of the party may be gathered
from what immediately follows the words last quoted.
But, further than this, is there not almost incalculable
comfort in reflecting on the actual history ? Wilfrid
stood, as all men stand in their generation, amidst the
blinding battle which the present always is : he was op-
pressed ivith doubts about the system of his Church, because
of the relation in tvhich it stood to the chief bishop : he was
able at once, though with some pains, to clear up his posi-
tion. This latter mercy may he denied to us ; but we, look-
ing at Wilfrid's days as part of the past, are permitted to
see the Church w^hose system he doubted of recognised as
an integral part of the Body Catholic, the prelates whose
consecration he distrusted canonized as Saints, his own
rival, whose ordination was indisputably uncanonical,
now revered as one of our holiest English bishops. When
we naturally couple together, almost without thought, St.
Wilfrid and St. Chad, we read ourselves a lesson, which,
if we would only receive it, is full of deepest consolation
and most effectual incentives to strictness and holiness of
life, and a quiet occupying of ourselves with present duties.
— Ibid. pp. 44, 45.
It is obvious, that Wilfi'id's example could give
but little encouragement or direction to Mr. New-
man and his friends, unless their doubts and per-
plexities bore some affinity to his. But, indeed,
this is admitted. Wilfrid, it seems, " was oppressed
with doubts about the system of his church, because
of the relation in which it stood to the chief bishop;"
that is (as is plain from the story), he doubted the
validity of English orders, because this church did
XIV.] THE DILEMMA. 89
not choose to subject itself to the dominion of Rome.
Ml'. Newman's doubts are avowedly the same. He
and " not a few" of his party have doubts of —
the efficacy of their priesthood, the reality of those tre-
mendous acts which they have performed in the name of
priests, and the truthfulness of their absolutions and conse-
crations.
Plainly, they represent Wilfrid's doubts and their
own as substantially the same. Wilfrid, indeed, re-
lieved his scruples and cleared up his position at
once, by rejecting English orders and seeking con-
secration in France. " This latter mercy," says
the author, " may be denied to us:" in other words,
there seems, on account of the state of Christendom,
no way at present of clearing up the position in
which Mr. Newman and his party find themselves,
or improving the relation in which they stand to
the chief bishop, except by actual secession from
the church of England, and reconciliation with
Rome; and this they feel would put them " into a
false position." The meaning of all this is suffi-
ciently obvious. For, if Mr. Newman determine on
that decisive step, to whom shall he bequeath the
blessed work of rivetting the happy chains of Roman
power on England, when he and his friends have
gone a palmering? Here lies the double difficulty.
If they stay where they are, — how are they to im-
prove their relation to the chief bishop? If they
depart, who is to complete " the thorough Roman-
90 ROMANIZING QUIETNESS. [cHAP.
izing" of " most erring and most unfortunate Eng- .
land"? For a wliile, then, they must endeavour to
endure, as best they may, their doubts, and perplex-
ities, and distress, and content them with what, by
a considerable latitude of Euphemism, they call " a
quiet occupying of ourselves with present duties;"
their '^present duties''' consisting in their using aU
the interest they personally possess, or derive from
their position in a Protestant church and university,
for the propagation of Romish errors and supersti-
tions; and their quietness, in a never-ceasing em-
ployment of the press, — newspapers, magazines, re-
views, pamphlets, tracts, books for children, poems,
sermons, translations of the Fathers, Lives of Eng-
lish Saints, Mr. Newman's Translation of Fleury,
Mr. Oakeley's adaptation of Bonaventure, and, lastly,
Dr. Pusey's adaptation of the work of Surin the
insane Jesuit, &c., — being all at once poured out
upon the public.
Of all the features of this movement, none is more
revolting, than the manner in which its originators
have always talked of their retiring and unobtrusive
quietness. If men are satisfied of the truth of their
opinions, and of their duty to advocate them, who
can blame them for exerting themselves to bring
others to the same views? But, for a party, which
has taken more pains to revolutionize the church
than any other party (if we should not except John
Wesley) since the days of the Puritans — a party
XIV.] ROMANIZING QUIETNESS. 91
which, since the liour its leaders combined as a
party, have been keeping themselves in all possible
ways before the public, and have made more con-
stant, persevering, and systematic use of the press,
with all its variety of appliances, than any other set
of men within the present century — for such a party
to be continually tallcing of their quietness and
shrinking love of retirement, and wearying one
-with endless lamentations at being dragged before
the public, — really I should not like even to think
with harshness, but such amazing inconsistency be-
tween the language and proceedings of men profess-
ing to act on principles so high and holy, does
leave an exceedingly painful impression on my
mind.
•92 DIFFICULTIES. [CHAP.
CHAPTER XV.
MORE DIFFICULTIES OF THE ROMANIZING PARTY THE
ECCLESIOLOGISTS.
The object of the movement, then, is to bring the
English church once more into subjection to Rome.
The means by which this " blessed work" is to be
effected is — the. gradual, but " thorough Roman-
izing" of all our habits of thinking and devotion.
Sacramental confession, monasticism, the Romish
doctrine of the Eucharist and the atonement, and
relics, and purgatory, and holy virginity ; — the pro-
pagation of these and similar errors and super-
stitions is the quiet occupation of themselves with
present duties, recommended to Mr. Newman's
friends. Everything must proceed in an orderly
and settled method. Nothing is to be done hastily;
no one putting himself or the party into a false
position, and thus, by following Mr. Newman's
very original recipe for repentance, — undoing sins
in the order in which they have been committed, — it
will be found that " Catholics get to Rome at last,
'in spite of wind and tide^^
Just now, however, the Ecclesiologists seem to
give Mr. Newman some trouble, and he appears to
apprehend that his youthful disciples are in danger
of stopping short in their Romeward progress, and
resting satisfied with the symbolism of chasubles
and encaustic tiles, instead of submitting to sacra-
XVi] THE ECCLESIOLOGISTS. 93
mental confession and " the pursuit of holy vir-
ginity." Tlie passage here alluded to occurs towards
the conclusion of the Life of St. Wilfrid, and, be-
sides the exposition it gives of " present duties," its
spirit and temper are so remarkable, that, althougli
it is rather long, I think it will be desirable to tran-
scribe it, and I hope the reader will ponder over
its contents, which deserve to be seriously consi-
dered on more accounts than one.
What do men mean, when they call the thousand and
one vestiges of better times, visible in England, lingering
relics of Catholicism ? What lingers in them or about
them ? What truth, what helpfulness, what holiness ? If
they be relics, where is their virtue ? Whom have they
healed ? What have they wrought ? When will people
understand how unreal all such language is ? Poetry is
not Catholicism, though Catholicism is deeplyand essentially
' poetical ; and when a thing has become beautiful in the
eyes of an antiquary it has ceased to be useful : its beauty
consists in its being something which men cannot work
with. A broken choir in a woody dell, — if it be sweet to
the eyes and not bitter in the thoughts, — if it soothes, but
humbles not, what is it but a mischievous thing over
which it were well to invoke a railroad, or any other de-
vastating change. Let us be men, and not dreamers : one
cannot dream in religion without profaning it. AVhen
men strive about the decorations of the altar, and the
lights, and the rood-screen, and the credence, and the
piscina, and the sedilia, and the postures here and the
postures there, and the people are not first diligently in-
structed in the holy mysteries, or bi-ovght to realize the
Presence and the Sacrifice^ no less than the commemorative
Sacrament, — what is it all but puerility, raised into the
wretched dignity of profaneness l)y the awfulness of the
94 THE ECCLESIOLOGISTS. [CHAF.
subject matter ? Is there not already very visible mischief
in the architectural pedantry displayed here and there, and
the grotesque earnestness about petty trivialities, and the
stupid reverence for the formal past ? Altars are the play-
things of nineteenth century societies, and we are taught
that the church cannot change, modify, or amplify her uior-
ship : she is, so we learn, a thing of a past century, not a
life of all centuries ; and there is abusive wrangling and
peevish sarcasm, while men are striving to force some
favourite antiquated clothing of their owti over the ma-
jestic figure of true, solid, abiding Catholicism. It is
downright Avitkedness to be going thus a-mumming (a
buffoonery, doubtless correct enough out of some mediaeval
costume book) Avhen we should be doing plain work for
our age, and our neighbours. But sentiment is easier than
action, and an embroidered frontal a prettier thing than
an ill-furnished house and a spare table, yet; after all, it
is not so striking : and a wan face gives more force to a
sacred rite, than an accurately clipped stole, or a hand-
somely swelling chasuble. The world was once taught
by a holy man that there was nothing merely external in
Christianity ; the value of its forms consists in their being
the truthful expressions of inwardly existing convictions;
and what convictions of the English poor, who come un-
confessed to the Blessed Sacrifice, does all this modern
ancientness of vestment and adorning express ? Children
are fond of playiiig at funerals ; it is touching to see
nature's fears so working at that innocent age : whereas
to see grown-up children, book in hand, playing at
mass, putting ornament before truth, suffocating the
inward by the outward, bewildering the poor instead
of leading them, revelling in catholic sentiment instead of
offering the acceptable sacrifice of hardship and austerity, —
this is a fearful, indeed a sickening development of the
peculiar iniquity of the times, a master-piece of Satan's
craft. This is not the way to become Catholic again ; it
XV.] THE ECCLESIOLOGISTS. 95
is only a profaner kind of Protestantism than any we haVe
se6n hitherto. Austerity is the mother of hetiuty ; only
' so is beauty legitimately born. A hard life — that is the
impressive thing when its secrets escape here and thej-c, at
this time and at that time, as they are sure to do, however
humble and given to concealment the penitent may be.
A gentle y^t manly inroad into modern effeminacies, sim-
plicity of furniture, plainness of living, largeness of alms,
a mingling with the poor, something of monastic discipline
in households, the self-denying observance of seasons,
somewhat of seclusion, silence, and spiritual retreat: —
these should come first. When they have wrought their
proper miracles, then will come the beauty and the poetry
of catholic ages ; and that will be soon enough for them to
come. It sounds poetical when we hear of the Samt's
sackcloth beneath his regal or pontifical attire : do we find
it hard, to be fully possessed with catholic truth when we
worship in a square chapel, with sash-windows and a
plastered ceiling ? If it be so, what manner of catholics
are we ? Verily not such as wore sackcloth in times of
old, and went bravely through trouble confessing' Christ.
While the regulated fast, and the morning meditation, and
the systematic examinations of conscience are irksome
restraints, under which men fret and grow restive ; it is
dangerous, indeed, that they should be indulging in the
gorgeous chancel and the dim aisle, the storied window
and the chequered floor, or even the subdued and helpful
excitement of the holy chant. Let us not travel too
quickly on this road, though it be a very good road to be
travelling, so long' as it runs parallel with improved prac-
tice,— or rather some little behind it, so as to be safer for
self-regidated penitents, which most of us seem wilfully de-
termined to remain. And there is yet another more ex-
cellent way of advancing the catholic cause, which the
young would do well to look to who require some field for
their zeal, and are turning it into the poetry of religion.
96 THE ECCLESIOLOGISTS. [cHAP.
What poetry more sweet, and yet withal more awfully real
— indeed, hourly realized hy the sensil^le cuttings of the very
CVos5— than the pursuit of Holy. Virginity f What is the
building of a cathedral to the consecration of a living
body ? What is the sacrifice of money to the oblation of
an undivided heart ? What are the troubles and the pains
of life to the struggles of the sealed affections, struggles
which come never • to the surface, plaints which have no
audience, sorrows which cannot ask for sympathy, and
haply joys of which it is but a weak thing to say that
they are not fathomable ? What, O young men and
maidens ! what is more like an actual, protracted, life-long
Crucifixion, than the preservation of Holy Vii'ginity, while
every action of your gentle lives sings, like ovir sweet
Lady, a perpetual Magnificat ? — Ibid. 205 — 208.
There is one thought that has oppressed my
mind, while considering the tone of this and similar
passages, which, I fear, it is by no means easy to
convey to my reader, without greater length of
explanation than can be attempted here. I refer
particularly to the latter part of this extract, where ,
the author has indulged in such extravagant and
scarcely intelligible language regarding virginity.
And what I mean is this — that besides the plain
and obvious danger to be apprehended from such
fanatical language, and generally from setting young
people talking, or employing their imaginations
continually on such a subject — besides this danger,
there is another to be dreaded, scarcely less injurious
to the church. And that is, the great probability that
Mr. Newman's extfavagancies will bring into suspi-
cion and discredit a class of persons which has always
XV.] BIBLE CHRISTIANS. 97
been . regarded with affectionate reverence in the
church. For tliere are, and ever have been, per-
sons who, in their own particular case, have felt it
right to remain single, and to deny themselves the
endearments and consolations of the married state.
This feeling of duty may be presented to the mind
on very different grounds, and with different objects.
But such persons, whether lay or clerical, have, at
all times, been found in the church, and have been
honoured and respected. Mr. Newman and his
party, however, are not content with this sober and
Christian view. According to their doctrine, there
is something of impurity in the married state, and
the state itself is something to be rei^ented of. Vir-
ginity is a thing in itself meritorious, and a mode
of expiating sin; and celibates, and monks, and
nuns, with " calm faces, and sweet plaintive voices,
and spare frames," are the only persons deserving
to be called " Bible Christians;"* and, in fact, — as
* The term is so applied by Mr. Newman in his Sermons
on Subjects of the Day — in the Sermon called, " The Aposto-
lical Christian." The passage is as follows: —
" Study what a Bible Christian is ; be silent over it ; pray
for grace to comprehend it, to accept it. And next ask your-
selves this question, and be honest in your answer. This
model of a Christian, though not commanding your literal
imitation, still is it not the very model which has been ful-
filled in others in every age since the New Testament was
written? You will ask me in whom? lam loth to saij : I
have reason to ask you to be honest and candid; for so it is, as
if from consciousness of the fact, and dislike to have it urged
upon us, we and our foreffithers have been accustomed to
scorn and ridicule these faithful obedient persons, and, in our
Saviour's very words, to ' cast out their naine as evil, for the
VOL. I. H
98 A REAL DAKGER, [cHAP.
we see in this passage, — Holy Virginity is repre-
sented as a state, which no one can fill, who is' not
naturally a person of such violent passions, as render
the single life " an actual, protracted, life-long cruci-
fixion." Such teaching is not merely erroneous,
and heretical : it tends to drive men into the oppo-
site extreme, and to bring sober, self-denying, and
truly heavenly-minded piety into suspicion and con-
tempt.
Son of Man's sake.' But, if the truth must be spoken, what
are the humble monk, and the holy mm, and other regulars, as
they are called, but Christians after the very pattern given us in
Scripture? What have they done but this, — continue in the
■world the Christianity of the Bible ? Did our Saviour come
on earth suddenly, as He will one day visit, in whom would He
see the features of the Christians He and His Apostles left
behind them, but in them ? Who but these give up home and
friends, irealth and ease, good name and liberty of will, for the
kingdom of heaveri ? Where shall we find the image of St.
Paul, or St. Peter, or St. John, or of Mary the mother of
Mark, or of Philip's daughters, but in those, who, whether they
remain in seclusion, or are setit over the earth, have calm faces,
and sweet plaintive voices, and spare frames, and gentle manners,
and hearts weaned from the world, and wills subdued ; and
for their meekness meet with msult, and for their purity with
slander, and for their gravity with suspicion, and for their
courage with cruelty ; yet meet with Christ every where, —
Christ, their all-sufficient, everlasting portion, to make up to
them, both here and hereafter, all they suffer, all they dare,
for His Name's sake?"— pp. 328, 329.
XVI.] CELIBACY. 99
CHAPTER XVI.
CELIBACY — ST. CUTUBERT AND ST. EBBA — ST. WILFRID.
The justice of the observation with which the pre-
ceding chapter conckided — namely, that the fana-
tical language used by Mr. Newman and his party
regarding celibacy and marriage, is likely to bring
into contempt and suspicion a class of persons every
way to be respected and loved, — must, I should
suppose, be sufficiently obvious to every one who
has thought attentively on the subject. On the
other hand, when young people are set a talking
about holy virginity, wlijen they are taught to speak
of "ardent longing'''' for it, "panting after" it,
^^ pursuit oV^ it; — and further, to talk of the state
of religious celibacy as " the sensible cuttings of
the very cross," — and " the preservation of holy
Virginity" as like nothing less than " an actual,
protracted, life-long crucifixion," — it is impossible to
avoid asking one's self, what sort of ideas of purity
and chastity they are likely to acquire. But, in
eifect, what is to be thought of Mr. Newman's
notion of sanctity? — that state, which we are told is
a totally distinct and different sort of thing from
the mediocrity to which the holiness of ordinary
Christians aspires. A saint, according to Mr. New-
man's teaching, is, plainly, a person of no ordinary
degree of natural viciousness, and of unusual, and
h2
100 ST. CUTHBERT. [CHAP.
almost preternatural violence of animal passions.
His sanctity consists mainly, in the curious and far-
fetched ingenuity of the torments by which he con-
trives to keep himself within the bounds of decency.
The story of St. Cuthbert and St. Ebba has already
been alluded to. It is related in these words : —
We are told that the whole kingdom regarded Ebba as a
spiritual mother, and that the reputation of her sanctity
was spread far and wide. And one fact is recorded which
of itself speaks volumes. It is well known that St. Cuth-
bert carried the jealousy of intercourse with women,
characteristic of all the saints, to a very extraordinary
pitch. It appeared as though he could say with the
patriarch Job, " I made a covenant with mine pyes ;
why then should I think upon a maid ?" [Just as if Job,
who was a married man and had twenty children, meant
by these words that he had taken a vow of celibacy !]
And for many ages after females were not admitted into
his sanctuary. Yet such was the reputation of St. Ebba's
sanctity, and the spiritual wisdom of her discourse, that
St. Bede informs us that when she sent messengers to the
man of God, desiring him to come to her monastery, he
went and stopped several days, in conversation with her,
going out of the gates at nightfall and spending the hours
of darkness in prayer, either up to his neck in the water,
or in the chilly air. — St. Ebba, pp. 113, 114.
What an extraordinary idea of religious inter-
course between two canonized saints — a bishop and
an abbess! And what notions of sanctity Mr, New-
man's party must entertain ! Nor is this the only
passage of this character. In the life of St. Wilfrid
we are informed that —
He watched over his chastity as his main treasure, and
XVI.] ST. WILFRID ON VISITATION. 101
was by an unusual grace preserved from pollution ; and to
this end he chiefly mortified his thirst, and even in the
heats of .summer and during his long pedestrian visita-
tions, he drank only a little phial of liquid daily. So
through the day he kept doivn evil thoughts, and when night,
came on, to tame nature and to intimidate the dark angels,
no matter how cold the winter, he washed his body all
over with holy water, till this great austerity was for-
bidden him by Pope John. Thus, year after year, never
desisting from his vigilance, did Wilfrid keep his virginity
to the Lord. In vigil and in prayer, says Eddi the pre-
centor, in reading and in fasting, who was ever like to
him ? Such was the private life of that busy bishop : so
words sum up years, and cannot be realized unless they
are dwelt upon, any more than that eternity by which the}'
are repaid. — pp. 64, 65.
Here, then, is a bishop going on visitation; and
not only a bishop, but a saint; one whose virtues
soar into tlie heights of heroicity — one who worked
miracles when living, and whose relics wrought
miracles after his death. And yet, during the pro-
gress of his episcopal visitations, this bishop and
saint is obliged, in order to preserve his chastity
and keep down evil thoughts, to punish himself by
day with the tortures of thirst, and at night to wash
his body all over with holy water, in order " to tame
nature and intimidate the dark angels." If such be
Mr. Newman's notions of the purity of saints, what
must be his standard for ordinary Christians !
What follows in this story is rather an interrup-
tion to this part of my subject, but I may as well
transcribe it here, since it will serve as an additional
102 EDDI AND THE PHIAL. [CHAP.
illustration of the spirit of Mar-Prelacy, one has so
continually to notice in the writers of this school.
A bishop of York traversing his huge diocese on foot !
Surely this in itself was preaching the gospel. Fasting and
footsore, shivering in the winter's cold, yet bathing him-
self in chilly water when he came to his resting place at
night ;
which " fasting,"" shivering," and "bathing," it is
to be supposed, were pei'formed in public; otherwise
they could hardly amount to " preaching the gospel;"
but this is a point which will require further
notice as we proceed —
fainting beneath the sun of midsummer, yet almost
grudging to himself the little phial of liquid ; —
'f^Ae little phial," as being "in itself" "preaching
the gospel," it may be supposed was solemnly
carried before Wilfrid by a serving man, or by
Eddi the precentor, —
preaching in market-place, or on village green, or some
central field amid a cluster of Saxon farms, behold the
Bishop of York move about these northern shires. He ivas
not a peer of parliament, he had no fine linen, no purple
save at a Lenten mass, no glittering equipage, [surprising !
— and in the eighth century, too !] no liveried retainers :
[what ? not even one to carry the phial,] would it then be
possible for those rude men of the north to respect him ?
Yes ; in their rude way : they had faith, and haply they
bowed more readily before him in that poor monkish
guise than if he had plarjed the palatine amongst them. —
Ibid.
Ah, Martin, Martin! thou wilt be at thy old
pranks still. For, true it is, the movement did
XVI.] MAR-PRELACY. 103
spring from the Low Church party. And no less
true is it, that the majority of its most active adhe-
rents have all along been collected from the same
quarter. And this, perhaps, may go far to account
for the Mar-Prelacy they are so prone to indulge
in. Old associations are not easily got rid of.
Early obliquities are not easily overcome. They
would be churchmen; but, unfortunately, they can
scarcely think or s^jeak of a bishop, but, pre-
sently, their old propensities will steal upon them.
If they could only be induced to try Wilfrid's cold-
water regimen for a while, who knows but it might
help them to " tame nature" and keep " down evil
thoughts"? and by and by, they might even be able
to see a real living bishop — to say nothing of the
" purple," the " glittering equipage," or the " li-
veried retainers" — without having their natural
organs of destructiveness excited. As it is, they
fui'nish a melancholy, but instructive illustration, of
the weakness of a theory to overcome the violence
of nature. The voice of instinct Avill make itself
heard; — the force of pi*istine habits will break out,
and mar the finest flights of high and holy church-
manship; — they will be ^^ playing" the Mar-Prelate
still. Perfect as the transformation seems, the first
mouse that runs across the floor will suffice to re-
vive the forgotten appetite, and remind one, that,
after all, the lady, — gentle as she looks, — is only a
cat in masquerade. But this, I fear, my reader
will consider a digression.
104 PHARISEEISM. [CHAP.
And yet the context is so very characteristic,
that it seems better to go on with the quotation
here, although it may not seem to bear directly on
the point under consideration at present. The
mixture of puerility and Romanizing in what fol-
lows is not more striking, than that pharisaical spirit
of display which one sees here, and all through these
Lives of the English Saints. What the man is, is
of httle importance, unless he is seen. The peni-
tents are, to be sure, most humble and given to con-
cealment— at least, they are perpetually telling the
public that they are. But, with all this talk of
humility and concealment, nothing is more manifest
than that t/tey do really mean to be seen — and to
allow their austerities to peep out through holes and
rents in their humility, so as to be eifective, and to
produce an impression. Hear this author in a pas-
sage already quoted: —
A hard life — that is the impressive thing, when its
secrets escape here and there, at this time and at that time,
as they are sure to do, however humble and given to con-
cealment the penitent may be. — St. Wilfrid, p. 207.
Yes; just so. " That is the impressive thing" —
and, of course, as it is the plain duty of a saint to
make an impression, and his " hard life" is, in fact,
'^preaching the gospel " the penitent must not let his
humility and love of concealment go too far: but
leave some chinks and crannies in his concealment,
— through which the secrets may escape, and the
XVI.] PHARISEEISM. 105
bystandei's and passers-by may peep in, and see his
" hard life."
Thus, — though these writers tell us that St.
Cuthbert's hermitage was so contrived, that he
could see nothing but the sky and clouds, — yet they
afterwards mention that there was a window in it,
through which the hermit might be seen and
touched by those without. Of course, the building
of this window so very near the ground, and so
very convenient for the passers-by to take a peep,
was only an accidental oversight — and the humble
lover of concealment had no suspicion — not he! —
that any one was peering, in while he was engaged
in his self-torments and austerities I*
Thus, too, Wilfrid. An ordinary Christian, in-
deed, might have found ordinary and unsuspected
methods of taming nature and keeping down evil
thoughts; and when he fasted, he would most pro-
bably recollect that a high authority has com-
manded us when we fast, not to be like the hypo-
crites, who disfigure their faces that they may
appear unto men to fast, but to anoint the head,
and wash the face, that we appear not unto men to
fast. But what have ordinary Christians in com-
mon with saints, who are a sort of theatrical per-
sonages— always speaking and acting for eiFect, and
so as to make an impression? And Wilfrid was a
saint, and it was necessary the world should know
* St. Edelwald, pp. 49, 52, and 54.
106 PHARISEEISM. [CHAP.
it; SO, — in a delicate sort of a way, — the secret must
be suffered to escape, and the " hard life" be guessed
and whispered about and talked of. " That is the
impressive thing." So he must walk on foot, -and
footsore, from one end of his diocese to the other.
He must have "no glittei-ing equipage;" no coach
and four, not even a quiet cabriolet. And then, too,
if the weather should be ever so intolerably hot,
not one drop must cool his lips, except what was to
be got in " the phial." For, no doubt, people heard
so everlastingly of this phial, that at last it came to
be called " the phial." And one can imagine, how
anxiously poor Eddi used to peep into the phial, to
see if he could find a last, last drop, and how he
would turn it upside down, while "Wilfrid was faint-
ing with thirst at some river's side: and then one
can fancy, how whole congregations had to be dis-
missed, because Wilfrid was so parched, and husky,
and exhausted, that he really could not preach —
and the wearisome phial would be empty, just at
the critical moment when every body wanted it to
be full: and then one can picture to one's self, how
grievously disappointed the poor people were who
came for miles around to hear him, and how Eddi
would comfort the favoured few, and send them
home content with a sight of '• the phial;" — -just like
the man that went to hear Whitfield preach, and
returned satisfied; for though he could not get near
enough to hear what he said, he saw " his blessed
XVI.] PHARISEEISM. 107
wig." And then, again, at niglit, in the depth of
winter, the ice in the wells and ponds had to be
broken, and the water blessed and turned into holy-
water; and whole pailfuls had to be taken to his
bedchamber, and then such a splashing would be
carried on, that folks could not refrain from asking
Eddi what all this could mean? And then, of
course, the secret tvould escape, and Eddi could not
avoid giving them a hint, that the good bishop was
always obliged to perforin these shiverings and bath-
ings when going on visitation, just in order to
" keep down evil thoughts," and " tame nature,"
and " intimidate the dark angels." And this was
the " impressive thing !"
108 ST. WILFRID ON FOOT. [cHAP.
CHAPTER XVII.
PHARISEEISM ST. WILFRID ON FOOT, AND ST. WILFRID
RIDING.
But- I must not forget, that all this time the author
is waiting to go on with the next sentence.
Surely if we have half a heart we can put before our
eyes as if it were a reality, Wilfrid on foot, Wilfrid preach-
ing, Wilfrid confirming, Wilfrid sitting on a wrought
stone watching his ccementarii, as Dante sat upon his stone
and watched the superb duomo of Florence rise like an
enchanted thing ; [or as people now-a-days watch the
building of the new houses of Parliament ;] Wilfrid listen-
ing to a new and awkward choir trying the Gregorian tones
and keeping his patience even when Eddi and Eona lost
theirs, \^'ilfrid marching at the head of his clergy up the
new aisles of Ripon, Wilfrid receiving the confession of
St. Etheldreda, and what was the fountain or all,
Wilfrid kneeling with the popes hands resting on his head
and the archdeacon Boniface standing by. — pp. 65, 66.
No doubt of it. This was " the fountain of all :" —
at least, if we are not convinced of it yet, Mr. New-
man and his friends are not to blame. They have
done what they can.
But as to their notion of a saint; — it is quite
plain that these people imagine themselves of so
much importance, that they think of little else, and
really seem to believe that other people have nothing
better to employ their minds. Nothing but Wilfrid
here and Wilfrid there. And yet these men talk of
their humility. And in this way Dr. Pusey, — in
XVri.] ST. WILFRID RIDING. 109
the preface to one of the Avorks he is editing just
now, as his share in the process of Romanizing
England, — holds up as models of humility the
example of St. Dominic, " who ever prayed that his
sins might not bring the vengeance of God on the
towns where he preached;" and St. Catherine of
Sienna, who thought " all the chastisements of di-
vine justice, which desolated the provinces in her
time, to be the miserable effects of her unfaithful-
ness."* As if such ideas could ever find entertain-
ment in the mind of any mortal, that was not puffed
up with conceit and self-importance.
Even Wilfrid's going on foot was theatrical; it
was for an effect; it was part of the " hard life," and
" that is the impressive thing." — For, surely, with
such an enormous diocese to look after, this peripa-
tetic fancy must have caused great delay, and waste
of time, and useless expenditure of strength. — And
then, possibly, Eddi would sometimes venture to re-
commend a horse; and folks would say to Eddi,
" Good gracious, how fond the bishop is of walking!"
And so, the " secret" would escape, that this walk-
ing system was part of Wilfrid's plan for taming
nature and keeping down evil thoughts. In the
end, however, Wilfrid did get a horse. The reader
shall see in what way. The author proceeds —
But we must think of another thing aho,— Wilfrid
riding, riding up and down his diocese ; for this walking.
* Surin, Preface, p. xix.
110 ST, WILFRID AND [cHAP.
of Wilfrid's did not quite please St. Theodore ; not that it
was too simple, but that it was too austere, and the life of
such a man needed husbanding for the church's sake. Would
that St. Theodore had always thought so ! But he was a
simple man as well as a wise one, and he too, strange
that it should be so, mistook Wilfrid, knew not what he
was, and so lost him for a while. — Ibid.
Strange" — Why " strange?" Is it not obvious
from this history, that St. Wilfrid was all his life
quarrelling with aU the canonized saints of his ac-
quaintance? In one council this author reckons up
five, all " enemies;" and sums up his account of the
matter by saying —
by whose helpful intercession may we be aided now in the
forlornness of our fight! — p. 179,
Forlorn, indeed! if we are reduced to the neces-
sity of applying for such assistance. But to proceed
with St. Theodore.
However, at this time he thought nothing but what was
true and good of W'ilfrid, and he insisted-j— for he was
archbishop of Canterbury — that his brother of York, who
was but a bishop then, should have a horse to ride on
during his longer journeys and more distant visitations.
He knew this luxury pained Wilfrid ; [i. e., Wilfrid lost
some degree of celebrity and impressiveness by being
mounted ; and impressiveness was, of course, the principal
end of his " hard life,"] so he made it up to him in the
best way he could, for, to show his veneration for the
saint, he insisted upon lifting him upon horseback when-
ever he was near him to do so. — Ibid.
From wliicli we may gather, that St. Theodore
was the stouter of the two. The author, however,
XVII.] ST. THEODORE. Ill
seems to wisli, that this proceeding of Theodore
had been established as a precedent: —
It would have been well for England if archbishops of
Canterbury had always been of such a mind towards those
who filled the throne of York. However we now behold
Wilfrid making his visitation on horseback ; for obedience
is a greater thing to a saint than even his much-loved
austerities. — Ibid.
One would be thankful to see some proofs of it.
Taking a hardship away from a saint is like depriving
a mother of one of her children, [or a pharisee of his phy-
lacteries,] yet for holy obedience' sake, or the edifica-
tion of a neighbour, a saint will postpone even a hardship,
—pp. 66, 67.
And then he 2:oes on to tell how Wilfrid rode alonsr
on his new horse; —
A word here and a word there, a benediction and a
prayer, the signed cross and the holy look, a confession
heard, and a mass said, and a sermon preached, and that
endless accompaniment of Gregorian tones ; verily the
gospel went out from him as he rode. — Ibid.
There is something in the style and wording of
these passages so infinitely burlesque and prepos-
terous, that really if I did not know them to have
been actually and honestly extracted from Mi\ New-
man's Lives of the English Saints, I should have
thought it wholly incredible that they could have
been written except for the purpose of turning his
system into ridicule. Yet, amidst all this wa-etched
childishness, there is a method, a purpose, a deep
design to Romanize the church, and by these pic-
turesque descriptions, to recommend a miserable
112 ST. WILFRID AND THE QUEEN. [cHAP.
superstition, — where humility is but the veil to
adorn pharisaical display, — where everything is
done in order to be seen of men, — where the funda-
mental notions of Christian piety are so utterly
perverted and reversed, that a Saint is one whose
inward imaginations and habitual propensities would
be intolerable, even to a well-regulated heathen.
Though Wilfrid, however, had " no glittering
equipage" just then, his austerities gradually brought
him both power and riches, and the author tells us
how jealous Queen Ermenburga was —
when she saw how the good bishop was courted by
high and low, how the nobles sought to liim for counsel,
how a court of abbots did obeisance to him, how the sons
of princes and peers stood round him proud to serve in
such a service. — Ibid. p. 75.
All which, I should have thought, was not very
desirable to a truly mortified mind. But, be this
as it may, it is certain that the writers of these
Lives do constantly speak of admiration, and ho-
mage, and popularity, as the fruit and reward of
asceticism, in such a manner as to demonstrate what
is the real spirit of their moral and religious system,
however unconscious they may be of it themselves.
Observe how this writer speaks, and how clearly he
confesses that mortifications and self- inflictions are
a source of power, to the ascetic.
" Look at his riches," said she [Ermenburga] " look at
his retainers uf high birth, his gorgeous vestments, his
jewelled plate, his multitude of obedient monasteries, the
XVII.] THE ascetic's POWER. 113
towers and spires and swelling roofs of all his stately
buildings ; why, your kingdom is but his bishopric. —
pp. 75, 76.
Which might be supposed, from the former descrip-
tion of his walking and riding, to be a slander on
Wilfrid. The author does not treat it as such.
He says, —
Ermenburga was like the world : to the world's eye
this was what a churchman looked like in catholic ages : yet
the world's eye sees untruly. The gorgeous vestments,
the jewelled plate — these are in the church of God, the
sanctuary of the pious poor : outside [s«c] of that is the hair
shirt, and then the iron girdles, and the secret {?) spikes
corroding the flesh, and the long iveals of the heavy disci-
pline, and the horny knees, and the craving thirst, and the
gnawing hunger, and the stone pillow, and the cold vigil.
Yet does the world exaggerate the churchman's power ?
Nay, it cannot take half its altitude ; his power is im-
measurably greater : but it does not reside, not a whit of
it, in the vestments or the plate, in the lordly ministers
or the monkish chivalry, but in the mystery of all that
apparel of mortification just enumerated, that broken will
and poverty of spirit to which earth is given as a present
possession, no less than Heaven pledged as a future heri-
tage. The church is a kingdom, and ascetics are veritable
kings. — p. 76.
No words can more clearly express the pharisaical
nature of the system Mr. Newman is endeavouring
to propagate. The ascetic is powerful and popular:
— so powerful and popular — that princes become
jealous and alarmed. Do they overrate his power
or popularity? They do not. They only mistake
its source. The real secret of his power and in-
VOL. I. I
114 THE ascetic's POWER, [CHAP.*
fluence is his austerities; and the mode by which he
uses them to obtain power is, by letting them be
seen — concealing them just enough to invest himself
with mystery — to excite interest, and awaken
curiosity; — and now and then letting the secret
escape so as to secure that power and popularity
which, in his estimation, is the heritage a pure
and holy God has promised to the poor in spirit.
This is plainly the meaning of the passage. It is
capable of no other. For, if these Christian fakeers
did not take care to let the world know of the hair
shirt, and the iron girdles, and the secret spikes cor-
roding the Jiesh, and the long weals of the heavy
discipline, and the horny knees, and the craving
thirst, and the gnatcing hunger, and the stone pillow,
and the cold vigil, how could their power reside " \ji
the mystery of all that apparel of mortification?" —
how could such arts of pious suicide give them any
power or influence at all?
One's heart dies within one, at such a disgusting
picture of selfish worldliness making rehgion the
tool to advance its ambitious designs. -Is it pos-
sible to imagine the love of the world to exist in
more consuming intensity, than in the bosom of that
man, who can subject himself to such tortures as
these, merely that his fellow-sinners may do obei-
sance to "him, and bow down before his power?
And yet these are the men who talk of high and
holy catholicity! These are the men who sneer at
XVII.] SELF-DECEPTION. 115
the " high and dry," and scoff at the antiquated
piety of the church of England ! Surely it is tlie
divine mercy that has permitted them to go to such
lengths of fanaticism, in order that their folly should
be manifest to all men.
I do not mean by this, that I believe persons
who do such things must be guilty of a deliberate
attempt to impose on mankind. Self-deception, I
have no doubt, is far moi'e prevalent than hypocrisy.
And he who habitually imposes on himself has his
notions of truth and falsehood confused, and, —
without being very distinctly conscious of what he
is about, — does a thousand things which, if practised
by a man of another temper, could be attributed to
nothing short of dishonesty and fraud. Some men
have such a propensity for effect, that they are act-
ing even when alone.
i2
116 AUSTERITIES. [CHAP.
CHAPTER XVni.
PHARISAICAL AUSTERITIES — ST. GERMAN.
In reading these lives, it will, I hope, be remem-
bered, that it is rather the author's notion of what
a Saint should be which they convey, than an exact
account of what he really was. The pretensions of
these books to be regarded as anything better than
fables would need a separate consideration. But
my reason for making the observation at present is,
to remind my reader, that it is quite possible the
persons depicted were not guilty of such practices of
Pharisaical display, as these authors lead one to sup-
pose. However, it is not just now a question of real
moment what sort of persons they were, or, in fact,
whether they ever existed at all. The question is,
what are the notionsof sanctity and Christian morality
which Mr. Newman and liis party are, through
these popular fictions, endeavouring to propagate?
Let any one of common understanding read the fol-
lowing picture of St. German's austerities, and ask
himself, — how it is possible for any human being to
regulate his life in such a manner, and honestly
covet concealment. I say, — honestly, — for whether
his- purpose, in endeavouring to attract attention to
•
his mortifications, be a bad and selfish one, or not, —
a purpose of one kind or other he must have. He
must intend to make an impression of some sort.
XVIII.] ST. GERMAN. 117
Some of the particular modes of austerity in this
description are such as it was not possible to con-
ceal, and (to speak very plainly) such as no person
would have dreamt of adopting as his dietary, un-
less he wished to make a display, — whatever end he
might hope ultimately to gain by attracting notice.
I do not mean that a love of display may not be
part of mere ftinaticism — nor do 1 deny, — on the
other hand — that, even where religion does not come
into question, a man may have a natural taste for
acting and for scenes, and all the while he really
may scarcely, if at all, be aware of it himself. But
the question here is not, what German did, nor why
he did it — but what his biographer is recommending
to the members of the English Church; — and — view-
ing this picture of German in this, its true light —
I cannot but think, that to hold up for veneration a
life so regulated, as that such concealment of morti-
fication as is expressly commanded by Christ is
simply impracticable, is a very sufficient proof, in-
deed, of the fundamentally false and unchristian
character of the system which it is the object of
these lives, and of Mr. Newman's other labours, to
substitute for the faith and piety of the church of
England. The passage I allude to, in the life of St.
German, is as follows. And the reader will not fail
to notice, how, in the very first sentence, the author
betrays his consciousness of the objection to which
such conduct as he is recommending is open.
118 ST, German's diet, [chap.
With regard to his austerities, touch of course was con-
cealed from the public gaze, as is remarked of our own
George Herbert ; but though he ever strove to avoid ob-
servation, yet as a city built on a hill cannot remain hid,
so the brightness of his sanctity shone through all reserve,
and spread a glow over his least actions. What was ascer-
tained may be briefly summed up as follows : From the
day on which he began his ministry to the end of his life,
that is, for the space of thirty years, he was so spare in
his diet, that he never eat wheaten bread, never touched
wine, vinegar, oil or vegetables, nor ever made use of
salt to season his food. On the nativity and resurrection
of our Lord alone, he allowed himself one draught of wine
dilute^ with water, so as to preserve little of its flavour.
Meat was out of the question ; he lived more rigorously
than any monk, and in those early times no meat was
allowed to monks in France, except in the most urgent
cases of debility and sickness. What he did take was mere
barley bread, ivhich he had loinnowed and ground himself.
First however he took some ashes, and, by way of humiliation,
tasted them. Severe as was this diet, it appears almost
miraculous when we are told that he never eat at all hut
twice a-week, on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and in the
evening of those days ; nay that generally he abstained en-
tirely till the seventh day. — St. German, pp. 52, 53,
Why he ate even then, does not appear. To have
lived without food altogether, would have given a
greater air of piquancy to the miracle, without mate-
rially increasing its improbability. But then the
" hard life" would not have been quite so "impres-
sive;" it must have been so edifying to see his periodi-
cal winnowings and grindings. And then, too, only
think of the ashes to be tasted before every meal —
^' by way of humiliation.'''' Of course, this practice
xviii.] ST. German's clothes. 110
was " concealed from the public gaze," — at least it
is to be lioped so; — and a pan of ashes would be
kept in a privy chamber, to which he might retire
to take a taste of them before dinner, — as folks
now-a-days go to make their toilet. But somehow
the " secret" escaped. Perhaps the servant whose
business it would be to keep the pan supplied with
ashes, might tell the secret, and so it would get to
be talked of, and people, to be sure, would be edified.
But St. German's clothes and bedchamber were
not less " impressive" than his diet. Summer and
winter, we are told, he wore nothing but a shirt
without sleeves, (tunic,) and a hood, (cuculla.)
Under this shirt he " wore the badge of the religious
profession, the hair-cloth, (cilicium,) which never left
him." As this hair-cloth was a " badge," of course
there -could be no concealment there; and as it is
known that it " never left him," no concealment
seems to have been attempted. In truth, (as this
author chooses to describe him,) he seems to have
been a person of nasty habits, and to have made a
merit of being so.
He seldom bought a new dress, but wore the old till it
was nearly in rags, unless perchance he parted with it for
some person in distress, whom he had no other means of
reheving. — pp. 53, 54.
Though really one would have thought that a
bishop, whose diet for thirty years consisted of a
refection once or twice a-week of barley-bread of
120 ST. German's bed. [chap.
his own manufacture, seasoned with a little ashes,
could have afforded a poor man a few shillings, in-
stead of giving him his only shirt, and that one, as
appears by the sequel, not over and above clean.
But then it would be so affecting, so very impres-
sive, to see the good bishop taking off his only shirt,
and giving it to some person in distress, and going
about in his hood and hair-cloth till next quarter
day came round, or a renewal fine dropt in, and
enabled him to buy another for himself.
His bed was even more uninviting than his dress. Four'
planks, in the form of an oblong, contained ahed of ashes,
which they prevented from being dispersed. By the con-
tinual pressure of the body, they had become hard, and
presented a surface as rough as stone. On this he lay
with his hair-cloth alone, and another coarse cloth for a
coverlet. No pillow supported his bead, his whole body
lay flat on the painful couch. He did not take ofF his
garment to sleep, and seldom even loosened the girdle, or
took off his shoes. — p. 54.
Altogether, he must have been a most filthy and
disagreeable person. One would suppose that a re-
gard for his neighbour's comfort would have pre-
vented his sleeping in the same clothes as he wore
by day, — and that, on a bed of ashes; especially, as,
— for anything that appears to the contrary, — he
never took off the same suit of hair-cloth as long as
it kept together. Even the cold-water system
would have been preferable to this — at least, in
moderation ; — but, unfortunately, the Saints of this
school, whatever else is known of them, do not let
XVIII.] ST. BARTHOLOMEW. . 121
their moderation be known to all men. In fact, they
are always in one extreme or another; — either spend-
ing the best part of the day, or the whole of the
night, up to their necks in a well or a fish-pond, —
or else they labour under a spiritual hydrophobia,
and are nuisances to all about them. The most
delicate instance of consideration for the comforts of
other people, that I can remember to have noticed
in these Lives of the English Saints, is in the life
of St. Bartholomew, the hermit, whom his biographer
introduces to us by saying —
We may feel startled and disgusted that such a figure
with an ill smell of goat skins should come betwixt the
wind and our nobility ; but, turn away as we will, there
he still stands to reproach our sloth and luxury, the genuine
product of an age of faith. — Hermit Saints, pp. 132, 133.
Whence it may be concluded, that, in " an age of
faith," cleanliness was not considered to be so near
akin to godliness, as it has been deemed in the de-
generate days of " most erring and most unfortunate
England." However, even in " an age of faith,"
men had noses : and therefore, though one must
believe it part of the heroicity of sanctity to have
an ill smell, the saints did sometimes condescend to
forego that virtue, — or at least to restrain it by a
sort of a sumptuary law of cleanliness, — in conde-
scension to their brethren's infirmities. So when
Prior Thomas was deposed from Durham, and
nothing would please him but, of all places in the
world, to take up his abode with Bartholomew and
122 PRIOR THOMAS. [cHAP.
Jbis goat skins — but I had better let the author
tell his story in his own way —
The coining of this new inmate was a trial to Bartho-
lomew ; he had as yet been uncontrolled in his religious
exercises, he had now to consult the comfort of another.
It was now to be proved whether he was so wedded to his
austerities as not to give up as many of them as were"
shown to be against the will of God. He began well, for
he threw ojf the hair shirt which he had now worn for Jive
years, because from long usage it had iecome foul Q.nd fetid,
and would disgust his companion. An unhappy cause of
discussion however occurred, which marred the harmony
even of this small society. Thomas could .not bear the
long fasts to which Bartholomew was accustomed, and
Bartholomew would not remain at his meals as long as
Thomas wished. The ex-prior, though the brother in
every respect gave up to his will, grew angry, and called
him a hypocrite. — pp. 148, 149.
Which really, I must say, was hardly fair, consider-
ing that Bartholomew had relinquished his old
friend, the shirt, to please him. But will it not be
rather a new idea to most people to be told, that
wearing the same shirt for five years till it has be-
come a downright nuisance, is a religious exercise?
The heathens had more refined notions. With
them a delicious perfume was one of the signs of
deity.
" Mansit odor ; posses scire fuisse deam."
It remained for the advocates of " a deeper and
more poetical religion," to reckon ill smells and
nasty habits among the notes of sanctity, and the
heroicities of virtue.
XVin.] STURME AND THE GERMANS. 123
Not that these authors consider nastiness as abso-
lutely conclusive of sanctity. There is a curious
passage in the life of St. Walburga, (that legend to
which Mr. Newman has thought fit to affix an espe-
cial imprimatur,) which looks as if the saints are
not the only persons who annoy their neighbours in
this way. On the contrary, they seem to have
been sometimes annoyed in a similar manner them-
selves.
It is said of the holy Sturme, a disciple and companion
of Winfrid, that in passing a horde of unconverted Ger-
mans as they were bathing and gambolling in a stream,
he was so overpowered by the intolerable scent which
arose from them, that he nearly fainted away. — St. Wal-
burga, p. 77.
Very remarkable. Yet, if these gambolling Ger-
mans had been converted, and become disciples of
St. Bartholomew or St. German, it may be doubted
whether the case would have been much mended.
124 ST German's bed [chap.
CHAPTER XIX.
AQUATIC SAINTS.
But all this has led me away from St. German
and his bed of ashes. The reader may be curious
to know how he slept. This part of the fable, how-
ever, assumes rather a serious aspect, as it runs at
once into that profaneness of which there is such
frequent i-eason to complain.
His sleep was such as might be expected from these
austerities ; it was neither long, nor uninterrupted. Fre-
quently after the example of our Lord he would pass
the whole night in prayer ; and it should seem that these
holy vigils had a peculiar efficacy in his case, which mani-
fested itself in the following mornings by miracles and
extraordinary deeds. These midnight watchmgs were
divided between the tears and groans of penitence and
hymns of praise and intercession. In this manner, says
his biographer, as we have before remarked, did the blessed
Gevvtian expiate any past errors into which human infirmity
may have led him, and set the example of a sudden and
transcendent holiness. — pp. 54, 55.
There are some who seem to think an example is
something which nobody is expected to imitate, and
thus the laity are fond of calling the clergy " exem-
plary characters." Really one would have hoped
that something of this sort was meant by calling
German an " example'' of " a sudden and tran^
scendent holiness," were it not, perhaps, better, on the
whole, that it is otherwise. False doctrine is de-
XIX.] OF ASHES. 125
prived of some of its danger when it is made repul-
sive. If people are taught, that they can " expiate"
their sins by self-torments and a lingering suicide,
it is just as well that they should be recommended
also to eat ashes, and lie in dirt, and wear filthy
clothes. The nastiness of one part of the prescrip-
tion may prove an antidote to the poison of the
other. Children have been cui'ed of pilfering sweet-
meats, by leaving some within their reach seasoned
with aloes. Some young persons will, of course, be
found to adojit any eccentricity that promises to
make them "impressive;" and, nowadays, many
a one takes up with catholic usages and genuflexions,
who but lately would have traded on moustaches or
a Byron tie. St. German, however, can never find
many imitators. The majority are likely to prefer
more gentlemanlike modes of producing an effect;
and few of those who are simply enthusiasts, will be
found to persevere in following an " example" of
" transcendent holiness" of this unclean description.
To speak seriously: we may well be thankful that
Mr Newman and his party have taken to make their
ef rors ridiculous and disgusting. As long as penance
consists in cold water, there may be something in it
of romance and poetry. There is nothing poetical
in nastiness— there is nothing romantic in an ill
smell.
The notions which these writers are propagating
regarding austerities are really most extraordinary.
126 . ST. GUNDLEUS. ST. GUTHLAJCE. [CHAP.
For example, St. Gundleus, the Welsh hermit, built
a church,
and there he began an abstinent and saintly life ; his
dress a hair cloth; his drink water; his bread of barley-
mixed with wood ashes. He rose at midnight and plunged
into cold water; and by day he laboured for his livelihood,
-p. 7.
St. Gundleus seems to have indulged himself in
clean water for his drink. Not so St. Guthlake and
St. Bettelin, of whom we are told that —
knowing that the kingdom of God is not meat and drink,
they lived on barley bread and muddy water, with great
abstinence. — p. 65.
However, whether it was the food or the drink,
was of little moment. The barley bread mixed
with ashes was fully as " impressive" as the muddy
water;- — namely, whenever the secret was suffered
to escape.
But these are trifling compared with St. Neot's
performances, who almost lived in a well that was
near his hermitage.
In the monastery of Glastonbury he had learnt the
mode of self-discipline by which St. Patrick had attained
his saintly eminence, and now in his hermitage he almost
rivalled him in austerities. Every morning St. Patrick
repeated the Psalter through from end to end, with the
hymns and canticles, and two hundred prayers. Every
day he celebrated mass, and every hour he drew the holy
sign across his breast one hundred times; in the first watch
of the night he sung a hundred psalms, and knelt two
hundred times upon the ground ; and at cockcrow he stood
in water, until he said his prayers. Similarly each morn-
XIX.] ST. NEOT. ST. -WULSTAN. 127
ing went St. Neot's orisons. to heaven yVom out of his holy
well; alike in summer and in the deep winter's cold, bare
to his waist, he too each day repeated the Psalter through.
—St. Neot, p. 101.
Which must have taken, at a very moderate com-
putation, above four hours — to say nothing of the
hymns, canticles, and the two hundred prayers.
AVhy persons should compel themselves to repeat
the w^hole psalter every day, one fails to discover in
these books. The authors eyidently ^vish to en-
courage the Romish notion, that there is something
meritorious and expiatory in repeating the same
words, crossings, or genuflexions, a certain number
of times. Thus they tell of St. Wulstan, that —
Every day at each verse of the Seven Psalms, he bent
the knee, and the same at the 119th Psalm at night
Every day he visited the eighteen altars that were in the
old Church, bowing seven times before each. — p. 11.
No doubt, this everlasting system of bowing must
have been very effective and impressive. For truly
it was a " hard life," to say nothing of his bed ;
which we are told, "was the church floor or a nar-
row board — a book or the altar steps, his pillow.*
Rather a strange example for a saint to set, —
going deliberately to sleep in church — and one wliich
" ordinary Christians" would not think it creditable
to imitate.
But is it not wonderful these authors do not per-
ceive, how utterly 'worthless all such performances
* Ibid.
128 BROTHER DRITHELM. [cHAP.
must be, when tliey are thus made matters of exhi-
bition and display ? In the extraordinary specimen
of aquatic piety, which they describe in the course
of a story told in support of the doctrine of purga-
tory, it is plain that concealment was not even
attempted.
He had a more private place of residence assigned him
in that, monastery, where he might apply himself to the
service of his Creator in continual prayer. And as that
place lay on the bank of the river, he was wont often to go
into the same to do penance in his body, and many times
to dip quite under the water, and to continue sayivg psalms
or jnxiyers in the same [what? while he was dipt " quite
under the water" ?] as long as he coidd endure it, standing
still sometimes up to the middle, and sometimes to the neck
in water; and when he went out from thence ashore, he
never took off his cold and frozen garments till they grew
warm and dry on his body. And when in the whiter the
half- broken pieces of ice were swimming about him, which
he had himself broken to make room to stand or dip him-
self in the river, those who beheld it would say, " It is
wonderful, brother "Drithelm, (for so he was called,) that
you are able to endure such violent cold;" he simply
answered, for he was a man of much simplicity and indif-
ferent wit, " I have seen greater cold," (referring to his
vision of Purgatory.) And when they said, " It is strange
that you will endure such austerity;" he replied, "I have
seen more austerity." Thus he continued, tlu^ough an
indefatigable desire of heavenly bliss, to subdue his aged
body with daily fasting, till the day of his being called
away ; and he forwarded the salvation of many by his
words and example. — St. Wilfrid, p. 187.
In this instance, then, these cold water devotions
were performed in public. People stood at the
XIX.] AND HIS AUSTERITIES. 129
water-side to behold him, and carried on conversa-
tions with brother Drithelm on the subject of his
penances — and what" he did, is said to have been an
example — something seen, and intended to be seen.
However, with whatever motives such mortifica-
tions are practised — the question is, — are they
Christian? Is it right for people to commit a pro-
tracted suicide ? Is God honoured — is the ' soul
benefited — by repeating the whole Psalter every day
up to one's neck in water? This is the question.
Is it right to turn devotion into a process of torture
and self-murder, under the notion of being able by
such cruelties to please our heavenly Father, and to
expiate our sins? As to the by-ends and selfish
motives such penitents may have, — it is a question of
secondary importance, whether men are led to adopt
these austerities, by love of singularity, — or pure
fanaticism, — or a wish to gain influence, popular
rity, or power, — or to attract notice, — or without
any very clearly defined motive at all.
The present inquiry has to do, not with the
motives by which men may be induced to embrace
Mr. Newmr^n's system, but with the system itself.
VOL. I.
130 MONASTICISM. [CHAP,
• CHAPTER. XX.
BIONASTICISM — ST. GILBERT'S NUNS — ST. EBBA — ST. GERMAN.
To recall our steps from this rambling digression, —
again and again, I would ask, — what must be the
effects of Mr. Newman's teaching on the subject of
Holy Virginity ? It is impossible to read such a
passage as the following, without feelings of be-
wilderment almost approaching to disgust : —
sometimes in the same place persons of both sexes, men
and virgins, under the government of one spiritual father,
or one spiritual mother, armed with the sword of the
Spirit, 'did exercise the combats of chastity against the
powers of darkness, enemies thereto. — St. Ebba, p. 108.
One would be sorry, indeed, to believe such
writing as this to be any worse than fanaticism.
But what good or Christian meaning it can have, is
inexplicable. Surely, if persons of both sexes con-
gregate together to ^'■exercise the combats of chastity "
a man must be very enthusiastic indeed vrho ex-
pects anything but mischief to come of it. And that
mischief did come of it, is admitted by these authors
themselves. They talk, indeed, of "the holy and
beautiful theology of monastic vows," (St. Bega,
p. 169,) and if we are to believe them,
Monastic orders are the very life's blood of a church,'
monuments of true apostolic Christianity, the refuges of
spirituality in the worst times, the nurseries of heroic
bishops, the mothers of rough-handed and great-hearted
XX.] THE NUNS OF WATTON. • 131
missionaries. A Church without monasteries is a body with
its right arm paralyzed.— St Wiltrid,.pp. 62, G3.
This is glowing language; stiU they are obliged to
own that now and then unpleasantnesses did occur.
some of the nuns of Watton, it is true, did become
savage old maids instead of virgins of Christ. — St. Gilbert,
p. 131.
And from what St. Adamnan told St. Ebba, of
the state in which he found her monastery, " the
holy and beautiful theology of monastic vows" seems
to have had but little practical effect there.
You and many have need to redeem your sins by good
works, and when they cease from the labors of temporal
things, then to toil the more readily through the appetite .
of eternal goods ; but very few indeed do so : I have but
now visited and examined the whole monastery in order, I
have inspected the cells and the beds, and I have found
notie Old of the whole mimber, except yourself, occupied
about the bealth of his soul ; but all, men and women
alike, are either slothfuUy asleep in bed, or watch in order
to sin. Xay, the very cells that were built for praying or
reading are now turned into resorts for eating, drinking,
talking, and other enticements. The virgins, too, dedi-
cated to God, put off the reverence of their profession,
and whenever they have time, take pains in weaving fine
robes either to adorn themselves as britjes, to the great
peril of their monastic state, or to win the admiration of
strangers. — St. Adamnan, p. 131.
This, too, is stated to have occurred in the seventh
century, in a monastery of which a canonized saint
was the head. And yet the restoration of monkery
is one gf the most favourite projects of this school.
But, besides the tendency to evil of this sort, the
K 2
132 SNEER AT ORDINARY CHRISTIANS. [cHAP.
superstitious exaltation of virginity tends to destroy
right notions on other subjects likewise. On cha-
rity, for instance.
the youthful Ebba was not allowed quietly to satisfy
her thirst for holy virgirtity ; the dazzling offers of the
world must come and try her strength ; the snare of seek-
ing what is now-a-days called a more extended sphere of
usefulness must tempt the simplicity of her self-renuncia-
tion. Alas ! what a miserable, dwarfish standard of reli-
gious practice do these smooth words bring about among
us now ! The highest notion we are allowed to have of
rank, wealth and mental powers is that they should be
exercised to the full as means of influence for good ends.
The world understands this and does not quarrel with the
doctrine. But where is there about this teaching that
foolishness in men's eyes which must ever mark the science
of the Cross? Self-abjection surely is the highest of all
oblations: to forget the world or to hate it are far better
than to work for it. One is the taste of ordinary Christians :
the other the object of the Saints. — St. Ebba, p. 109. .
Just as if any one who tad ever read the New
Testament could be persuaded, that to labour to
save human souls and relieve human misery is an
inferior description of Christianity, unworthy of any
but "ordinary Christians;" — and that if men will
be saints, they must close their eyes and ears against
the sufferings and ignorance of the world, and either
bury themselves in some solitary nook, far from the
call of charity, or else congregate men and women
together in some monastery to " exercise the com-
bats of chastity." But, really, it is useless to appeal
to the Bible. Mr. Newman's theory of develop-
ment makes novelty rather the proof of Catholicity.
XX.] ST. GERMAN AND GENEVIEVE. 133
In his school, it is no small commendation of any
form of piety, that (as George Herbert is reported
to have said of the style of King James's orations)
" it was uttei-ly unknown to the ancients."
Can anything be imagined more improper, than
to induce a little girl of six years of age to make a
vow of virginity, or, in fact, to suggest to her ima-
gination such a subject at all? And yet this is the
conduct ascribed to St. German. Having observed
in the midst of the people, " a little gii'l about six
years old," — without having previously known any-
thing whatever about her, not even her name, — but
merely because he was struck with her countenance,
and was, — as the author profanely suggests, — endued
with a prophetical spirit, — he requested her —
to open her mind to him, and confess whether she intended
to adopt the holy life of a Virgin^ and become one of the
Spouses of Christ. She declared that such was her desire,
and that she had cherished it for some time, [being then
about six years old,] and entreated him to add his sanction
and benediction. — St. German, p. 140.
On this, we are told, he led her to the church, and
had a very long service performed, during the whole
of which he kept his hand on the child's head.
The following day German inquired of Genevieve
whether she was still mindful of her late profession. —
p. 141.
On which the author adds, in a note, — without
seeming in the remotest degree conscious of the
monstrous nature of the conduct he is describing —
This seems decided proof that the child was very young.
134 GENEVIEVE. [cHAP.
The story proceeds —
Upon which, as if full of the Divine Spirit, she ex-*
pressed her deterinination to act up to it, and desired he
would always remember her in his prayers.
Of course the fable is to be propped up by the
usual quantity of profaneness. And, therefore,
German acts by " a prophetical spirit," and the
poor, child is described " as if full of the Divine
Spirit."
While they were conversing, German beheld on the
ground a copper coin with the impression of the cross
upon it. The interposition of God was deemed manifest.
On this he took up the coin, and gave it to her, and
desired her always to wear it round her neck: which
gives the author occasion to remark, " how early
the practice prevailed among Christians of carrying
at their neck some token of the mysteries of their-
religion,"* a hint, probably, of the propriety of wear-
ing the scapular, and other Romish charms. It is
really high time for those who value the souls of
their children, to consider, -whether they choose to
have sucli notions as these put into the heads of
little girls of six years old.'
* I cannot refrain from quoting here a passage from Mr.
Maitlacd's translation of St. Eloy's Sermon. " Let none pre-
sume to hang amulets on the neck of man or beast ; even thovgk
they be made by the clergy, and called holy diings, and contain
the words of Scripture ; for they are fraught, not with the
remedy of Christ, but with the poison of the devil." — Dark
Ages, pp. 151, 152.
-XXI.] ST, WILFRID. 135
CHAPTER XXL
ST. WILFRID AND ETHELDREDA — MR. NEWMAN's NOTION
OF TRUTH.
Nor arc these the only particulars, in which the
piety of Littlemore differs from the notions ordinary
Christians have learned from the Holy Scriptures
and the Church of England. The manner in which
Wilfrid's conduct regarding Etheldreda and her
husband is defended, will afford a sufficiently in-
structive example.
It was mainly through Wilfrid's attestation that the
Church came to know of the perpetual virginity of St.
Etheldreda ; and some little of her history must be related
here, to clear up what is rather intricate in Wilfrid's life.
St. Etheldreda was man-ied to Egfrid in 660 or there-
abouts, and desired to live with him a life of continence.
The prince felt a scruple in denying this request ; but
after some time had elapsed, seeing the reverence which
St. Etheldreda had for Wilfrid, to whom she had given
the land. for his abbey at Hexham, Egfrid determined to
use the bishop's influence in persuading the holy virgin to
forego her purpose. He offered Wilfrid large presents in
land and money, if he should succeed. How far A^'ilfrid
dissembled with the king, or whether he dissembled at
all, we cannot now ascertain : that he practised conceal-
ment is clear, and doubtless he thought it a duty in such a
matter, and doubtless Tie was right: it would he presump-
tuous to apologize for his conduct; he is a canonized Saint
in the Catholic Church. Of course, it is not pretended
that the lives of the Saints do not afford us warnings by
their infirmities, as well as examples by their graces.
Only, where a matter is doubtful, it would be surely an
136 MK. Newman's [chap.
awful pride not to speak reverently of those whom the dis-
cernment of the Church has canonized. The way in which
the Fathers treat of the failings of the blessed Patriarchs
should be our model. — Wilfrid, pp. 72, 73.
From tills it appears, that the theory of " white
lies" is not so peculiar to the Romanists of the
Sister Island, as has been commonly imagined. But
what will Mr. Newman say to such morality as
this? Does he, too, think that disingenuous con-
duct can be justified merely by saying, the dissem-
bler was " a canonized saint," and it would be " an
awful pride not to speak reverently" of such an one?
that " doubtless he was right," and " it would be
presumptuous to apologize for his conduct?" Of
course, if he disapproved of such doctrine, he would
not have permitted it to see the light; though, per-
haps, he might have been expected to have brought
a little more ingenuity to its justification. In his
volume of University Sermons, in a note on the
Sermon on Development, he says,
it is not more than an hyperbole to say that, in certain
cases a lie is the nearest approach to truth. This seems
the meaning for instance of St. Clement, when he says
" He [the Christian] both thinks and speaks the truth,
unless when at any time, in the way of treatment, as a
physician towards his patients, so for the welfare of the
sick he will be false, or will tell a falsehood, as the sophists
speak. For instance, the noble apostle circumcised Timothy,
yet cried out and wrote ' circumcision availed not,' " &c. —
Strom, vii. 9. We are told that " God is not the son of
man, that he should repent," yet, It repented the Lord that
he had made man. — Univ. Sermons, p. 343.
XXI,] NOTIONS OF TRUTH. 137
It is hard to say, whether the profaneness of the
latter part of tliis passage, or the immorality of the
principle it is brought to justify, be the more shock-
ing. But what sort of notion can Mr. Newman
have of the nature of truth and falsehood? '"A lie
the nearest approach to truth !" Really it reminds
one of the old gentleman who used to say, that
people complained he was always half a note out of
tune; but, for his part, he was not a very good
judge of music, but he thought that was coming
pretty near the mark. — And to touch, in passing,
on another point. Some people are exceedingly
sensitive when Mr. Newman's name is irreverently
handled, or his integrity questioned. I have already
stated that I have always disliked allowing this dis-
cussion to assume a personal form. But really, IVIr.
Newman's partisans would do well to ask themselves,
what they would think or say, if .they should find
such a deliberate attempt to justify falsehood and
dishonesty in the columns of the Record.
The whole subject is in truth most painful and
humiliating; and in its consequences, it is impos-
sible to calculate the' amount of mischief which the
system propagated by this party is likely to efiect.
Nor is it merely from the revulsion produced by
their extravagancies and Romanizings, — carrying
the public headlong into the extremes of Latitu-,
dinarianism, — giving occasion for the enemies of
Episcopacy and the Church of England to triumpli, —
138 DANGER OF [CHAP.
terrifying and disgusting serious and inquiring per-
sons,-i — setting tlie laity against the bishops, and the
clergy against their congregations: — these are not
all the evils to be apprehended; but over and above
all these, are the consequences resulting from the
erroneous nature of their teaching regarding celi-
bacy and mortifications. The former topic I have
already touched on more than once, though not
often er than the extreme importance of the subject
demands. For, certainly, it would be absurd to
expect any other eifects than such as one cannot
bear to dwell on, if the notions advocated by this
school are suffered to be instilled into the minds
of chikb-en and young persons. Besides, — as I
have already observed, — and a most serious consi-
deration it is, — they are casting suspicion over per-
sons of truly respectable character. Wliile, at the
same time, their mode of caricaturing the habits of
self-denial and making them odious, by the phari-
saical spirit of display with which they are con-
nected,— on the one hand, — and the fearfully
erroneous doctrine of expiatory penance they are
mixed up with, — on the other, — cannot but furnish
the worldly and self-indulgent with plausible ex-
cuses for closing their hearts against the true and
scriptural doctrine of the cross. Hard it is at all
times to induce the luxurious and extravagant to
remember, that there is a real meaning in denying
one's self daily, and bearing the cross of our Master,
XXI.] A REVULSION. ' 139
and crucifying the flesh with its affections and lusts.
Men are ready enough to put from them the con-
• sideration of such duties as these — too ready to
seize a plausible excuse for rejecting tliem on prin-
ciple. And certainly, if Mr. ' Newman and his
party had intended to make self-denial ridiculous
and suspicious — as nothing better than popery and
fanaticism,— I can hardly imagine what more effec-
tual methods they could have taken.
140 MISREPRESENTATIONS [CHAP.
CHAPTER XXII.
THESE WRITERS MISREPRESENT THE CHARACTERS OF THE
SAINTS — ST. WULSTAN AND THE GOOSE.
In addition to the mischievous effects I have abeady
noticed, as likely to result from the extraordinary
manner in which Mr. Newman and his friends are
dealing with the history of the English church,
there is one which can hai'dly fail to have struck
most readers, and which, to my own knowledge,
several excellent persons have already felt and de-
plored. It is this — that, by the colouring which
their own fanaticism has given to their Lives of the
English Saints, these authors are associating with
ridiculous and grotesque ideas, names which for
ages had been regarded with affection and . respect.
Even among those who were wholly unacquainted
with the particular circumstances of the history of
the subjects of this series of biography, there was a
sort of traditional veneration, a vague and undefined
impression that these were good and holy men, who,
in their generation, amidst more or less of error
and credulity, loved God and served their fellow-
creatures. And, with the majority, tliis feeling has
outlived the memory of everything about them but
their names, and weathered out the storms of civil
and religious revolutions. But now, even this as-
XXII.] OF THE SAINTS. 141
sociation of affection with these ancient servants of
God is likely soon to be destroyed; and, what with
the legends these volumes contain of pharisaical de-
votions, fanatical austerities, and grotesque mira-
cles, before these writers have finished their perni-
cious labours, many a one whom we and our fathers
have thought of only as wise and holy men, will
come to be considered as little better than hypo-
crites and fanatics — in fact, as a species of spiritual
mountebanks, whose piety seemed as if contrived
for the purpose of making religion ridiculous. And,
Avhen to this are added the other ill effects of tliese
works, their erroneous notions regarding celibacy,
marriage, monkery, and expiatory penance — and
their constant uniform design to advance the inte-
rests of the see of Rome, it is greatly to be feared,
that, by the time they have done, every remnant of
what deserves to be called catholic feeling, will be
, in a fair way of being banished from the country.
How many, for example, are there, who, — if they
were asked who St. Wulstan was, or where he
lived, could tell very little, if anything, about
him; — yet have a traditional feeling of respect for
his memory, as one who served God and was a
benefactor to his generation. And those who know
a little more have probably been in the habit of
clinging to the hope, that he was a wiser man than
his historians. But are such feelings likely to sur-
vive the stories which disfigure his memory in this
142 ST. WULSTAN [CHAP.
new version of his life? Take the following, speci-
men:—
He was not above confessing that a savoury roast goose
which was preparing for his dinner had once so taken up
his thoughts, that he could not attend to the service he was
performing, and that he had punished himself for it, and
given up the use of meat in consequence. — p. 13.
Such a story would give one the idea as if St.
Wulstan was rather fond of eating: — and so, aU
through these works, the accounts they give of
austerity and self-denial, convey, in the most' pain-
ful manner, the notion, that those whom they hold
up as models of these virtues, were naturally per-
sons of gross appetites and peculiarly depraved in-
clinations. • And then, observe the conclusion of
the sentence. If a Christian clergyman was reaUy
not above the weakness of having his thoughts so
taken up with " a savoury roast goose," that " he
could not attend to the service- he was performing^
why should he speak of his infirmity? Or, if this
were allowable, why should he inform people, " that
he had punished himself for it, and given up the
use of meat in consequence?" True humility would
feel little inclination to speak, of the infirmity — still
less of the methods taken to correct it. And, very
possibly, if St. Wulstan had evCr put himself under
such a restraint as to give up " the use of meat in
consequence," he would have taken care to conceal
his abstinence from the eyes of men; at least one
XXII.] AND THE GOOSE. 143
would rather hope so. But the notion these authors
entertain of mortification is essentially pharisaical.
Everything is to be done for efi'ect — impression —
and display — " to be seen of men." And so it un-
avoidably happens that, in describing the saints such
as they thinh saints ought to he, they copy the pat-
tern and ideal of sanctity in their own minds, and
so the reputation of the saint himself is injured by
the follies of his biographer.
In the present instance, it would have been as
well if this biographer had given his authority for
his statements, that the roast goose had " so taken
up his (Wulstan's) thoughts, that he could not at-
tend to the service he was performing" — and also,
that " he was not above confessing'^ both his infirmity
and the punishment he inflicted on himself in conse-
quence. William of Malmesbury gives no sanction
for either statement: and, with regard to Wulstan's
talking of the matter, the historian would lead one
to suppose he never did; since he expressly says,
not only that he made an excuse at the time for not
stopping to taste the goose — but that he used to
affirm that he had no desire, or felt no want, of such
meats — in order, as it would seem, to set any of his
guests and companions at ease, who might happen
to observe his customary abstemiousness. Perhaps
this author has merely mistaken the historian's
meaning, but the pharisaical character of his own
144 . ST. WULSTAN. [cHAP.
system has led him to give a colour to the story
most injurious to Wulstan's memory.*
* . . . "die certa ad quoddam placitum exire deberet, ne-
ces^itas rei omni excusationi repudium indixerat. Visum est
tamen ut ante missam cantatam inedise consuleret. Accele-
ratur a elientibus, ne impransus abiret dominus, apponitur
auca igni. Astitit altari presbyter, et devotione, qua solet
agit, cum inter secreta Missse, quia erat Ecclesia domui vicina,
nidor adustse carnis nares ejus opplevit. Odor mentem advo-
cavit, ut et voluptatis illecebra caperetur, continuogtie reducto
animo culpam agnosceus, luctabatur valide ut cogitationem
alias averteret : sed cum id frustra esset, iratus sibi juramentura
ad sacramenta, qua; tangebat, fecit, nullo se amplius pacto id
genus cibi comesturura. Cantata ergo Missa cibo vacuus ad
negotium discessit, quod jam tardior hora tirgerel causatus.
Occasio ilia effecit, ut arduum penitus sequutus exemplum,
omni in perpetuum carne et etiam unctiori cibo temperaret ;
non tamen comedentes rigido suspendens supercilio, nullo se
affirmabat eorum ciborum teneri desiderio, si qua tamen esset
caro delectabilis, opinari se, quod alaudse majorem vescentibus
darent voluptatem." Malmesb. De Gest. Pont. IV. Surely •
it is scarcely possible, that this English biographer mistook the
meaning of " culpam agnoscens ;" and yet there are no other
•words in the story which could be tortured into a foundation
for his statement, that Wulstan was not above confessing, &c.
It is quite clear, from the story, that Wulstan did no such
thing, but on the contrary, took some trouble to conceal both
his momentary infirmity, and the oath he had taken to avenge
it. It would have been as -well, also, if this biographer had
observed that, whether the story of the goose be true or not,
William of Malmt- sbury represents the circumstance as having
taken place when Wulstan was a very young man — " Erat
tum ille primaj lanuginis ephebus" — are the historian's words.
As the story is told by the modern biographer, one might
imagine it occurred after he was prior of his monastery.
XXIII.] MISREPRESENTATIONS. 145
CHAPTER XXIIL
MORE MISREPRESENTATIONS: ST. WDLSTAN AND HIS CLERGY.
Another story, taken from the account of St. Wuls-
tan's devotional habits, will serve further to illus-
trate the preceding remarks, and to show what in-
justice these writers are doing to the nfienwry of the
English Saints. After he became a bishop, it is
said that he used to travel about " on hoi'seback
with his retinue of clerks and monks," and, " as
they rode along, he repeated the Psalter, the Lita-
nies, and the Office for the Dead," and compelled
them to make the responses — and " his monks often
thought him very tiresome" — especially as "he used
often to put them out, by his habit of repeating
over and over again ' the prayer verses,' ' to the
weariness of his fellow-chanters.' " The narrative
proceeds thus —
His biographer tells a story which shows the trials to
ivMch. he used to expose his clej^ics patience, and the way
in which theij sometimes revenged themselves. It is cha-
racteristic of both parties.
A curious notion of sanctity and an age of faith,
this author would wish his readers to receive! As
if the saints were persons who practised devotion in
©rder to annoy and worry their neighbours and de-
pendents.
" He always went to Church, to chant matins," says his
VOL. I. L
146 FREWEN. [chap.
biographer, " however far off it might be ; whether it was
snowing or raining, through muddy roads or fog, to Church
he must go ; he cared for nothing, so that he got there :
and truly he might say to Almighty God, ' Lord, I have
loved the habitation of thy house.' Once, when he was
.staying at Marlow, on his way to court at Christmas tide,
according to his wont he told his attendants that he was
going early to the Church. The Church was a long way
off; the deep mire of the road might have deterred a walker,
even by daylight, and there was besides, a sleety "drizzle
falling. His clerics mentioned these inconveniences, but
he was determined ; he would go, even if no one went
with him, only would they [why they? ' tantum mon-
straretur sibi via,' is all Malmesbury saj^s] show him the
way. The clerics were obliged to yield, and concealed
their annoyance." — pp. 19,20.
For it seems, we are to believe that, in reality, he
was not content to go alone. He said indeed " he
would go, even if no one went with him;" but it
was very sufficiently understood by his clerics that
they were expected to go along with him: at least
this is the impression this author would convey.
But one of them, named Frewen, a hot-tempered fellow,
to make matters worse, took hold of the bishop's hand, and
guided him where the swamp was deepest, and the road
roughest. The bishop sank up to his knees in the mud,
and lost one of his shoes ; but he said nothing, for the object
of the clerics had been to make the bishop give up his re-
solution.— Ibid.
"Whether this representation of a bishop and
his clergy going to matins in such a temper, is
likely to make the restoration of daily service seem
more desirable to those who as yet are indisposed to
XXHI.] ST. WULSTAN AND HIS SHOE. 147
it, may be doubted. But this is an interruption.
And we have left one, at least, of the party up to
his knees in the mud.
The day was far advanced when he returned to his
lodgmgs, his limbs half dead with the cold, and not till
then did he mention his own suffering, and the cleric's
offence. Yet he merely ordered them to go and look for
the shoe.
Which shoe he had lost one knows not how far off,
and that, too, in mud so deep, that he had sunk up
to his knees in it. He merely ordered them to go
and look for the shoe; a pleasant conclusion, truly,
to their morning's devotions! and no less pleasant a
mode of correcting the lukewarm piety of a company
of clergymen! How fond they must have been of
each other: to say nothing of Mr. Frewen, who
seems the very prototype of the " artful dodger !"
Yet he merely ordered them to go and look for the shoe ;
he spoke no word of reproach to the offender, but put a
cheerful face on the matter, and carried off the insult with
a cheerful countenance. For the bishop was a man of great
patience ; nothing put him out of temper whether annoy-
ance or impertinence ; for people there were who often
made game of him, even to his face. — Ibid.
Now, supposing this to be a faithful exhibition
of the piety and temper of Wulstan, and of the
mode in which he governed his clergy and they
treated him, may it not be fairly questioned, whether
any good end can be answered by putting the
temper and manners of the clergy of any age before
the public in so burlesque a character? It is easy
l2
148 ST. WULSTAN ' [cHAP.
to talk of Wulstan's having a good temper, but such
a person as is described bj his present biographer,
few would like to associate with — fewer stiU (of the
clergy at least) would covet for their bishop. There
is an odd and eccentric air of spitefulness given to
his character by this author. What kind-hearted
•person, at the end of such an uncomfortable walk,
would think of revenging a personal affront in such
a manner? What Christian bishop would chastise
an act, which he knew originated in the dislike of
his clergy to attend the services of the church —
services, by the way, which he seems (according to
this description) to have studied to make as irksome
and fatiguing to them as possible — by sending them
back — ordering them back — for, according to this
author, h^ used his episcopal authority for the pur-
pose of revenging a childish impertinence and a
personal indignity — ordering them back, in the cold
and rain of an evening at Christmas, to look for his
shoe in mud knee deeji. It seems an insult to the
memory of such men, to caricature them in this
preposterous manner^ I may as well remark, how-
ever, that Malmesbury says nothing of Wulstan's
ordering the clergy to look for his shoe — he rather
implies that he gave them no further trouble in the
matter; and at all events he does not say who was
sent. " Prtecepit etiam, ut quEerei'etur calceus; et
nullo convitio in contumacem insectus, sed atrocita-
tem facti vultus hilaritate attenuans." These are
XXIII.] AND HIS SHOE. 149
the historian's words, and nothing can be clearer
from them than that not even Frewen himself was
punished, and also that this author's notion of Wul-
stan's punishing the clergy by merely ordering them
to go and look for the shoe, has no foundation,
except in his own misconception of the historian's
meaning. And yet the misrepresentation of this one
particular does serious injury to the character of
Wulstan.
150 ST. WULSTAN AND HIS MONKS. [cHAP.
CHAPTER XXIY.
MORE misrepresentations: ST. "WOLSTAN AND HIS MONAS-
TERY— ST. WULSTAN AND THE ANGLO-SAXON GALLANTS
HIS AUSTERITIES.
Under the rule of tliis saint, as these writers depict
him, religious exercises were made an intolerable
burden to his clergy. They describe him as one
who took pleasure in annoying them: —
he was very strict in requiring from his monks and those
about him an exact performance of that regular worship
for which monasteries were founded. If one of the brethren
was absent from the night service, he took no notice at
the time, but when tlie others had retired to their beds to
wait for morning, he used quietly to wake the absentee,
and make him go through the appointed office, himself
remaining with him and making the responses. — pp.
18, 19.
How such a person must have been detested!
And what good could possibly follow from devotions
in which the inferior must have been in no very
placid frame, while submitting to the malicious wag-
gery of his superior !
But as the story is given here, an entirely wrong
impression is conveyed : it being in reality an
instance, not of Wulstan's strictness and annoying
severity — but of his mildness in punishing, as Prior,
the transgressions of his monks; and, in point of
fact, sharing in the punishment himself. " Trans-
gressiones autem suorum et tolerabat opportune, et
arguebat pro tempore." Such are the words which
XXIV.] ST. WULSTAN AT COURT. lol
Maliacsbury illustrates by this example; and if this
modern biographer had perceived his meaning, the
character of Wulstan would have suffered less.
But this author describes Wulstan as exercising
fully as much ingenuity in tormenting the laity;
particularly " at King Harold's court," Avhere —
his neighbourhood was especially dangerous to the long
flowing tresses with which it was the fashion of the Anglo-
Saxon gallants to adorn themselves, and to which Wulstan
had taken a special dislike, as being a mark of effeminacy.
Wulstan had very little notion of ceremony, where he
thought that right and wrong were concerned ; and he was
not without relish for a practical joke at times. " Accord-
ingly," says his biographer, " if any of them placed their
heads within his reach, he would, with his own hands crop
their wanton locks. He had for this a little knife, where-
with he was wont to pare his nails, and scrape dirt off
books. With this he cut off the first fruits of their curls,
enjoining them on their obedience, to have the rest cut
even with it. If they resisted, then he loudly chode them
for their softness, and openly threatened them with evil."
—Ibid. pp. 20, 21.
One would have thought that those who are em-
ployed to depict the character of the saints for the
benefit of " most erring and most unfortunate Eng-
land," would scarcely have chosen to represent a
bishop and a saint as a person who had "a relish
for a practical joke." According to this biographer,
Wulstan's love for " a practical joke" seems to have
carried him rather beyond the bounds of propriety.
He " had very little notion of ceremony," as this
author tells us, and so, even in the king's court, he
152 A PRACTICAL JOKE. [cHAP.
must have his joke; and the absurd picture is pre-
sented to the mind, of a saint pursuing the young
gallant§, knife in hand, and cropping the wanton
locks from any of those who were unlucky enough
to have "placed their heads within his reach;" a
mistake, one would liave imagined, not many were
likely to make who had witnessed the demolition of
their companions' tresses. But what authority has
this author for representing this matter in such a
ludicrous light, and making Wulstan looTs more like
a court jester and buffoon, than a grave and' zealous
bishop? How did he discover that the transaction
took place at King Harold's court at all? For any-
thing that appears, Wulstan did nothing incon-
sistent with the dignity of his station. He seems to
have had no idea of a joke of any sort in the trans-
action, much less to have behaved with such want
of decorum at the royal court, as this story would
lead one to suppose. But, when persons came,
seeking to have his hands laid on their heads, he
took the opportunity of marking his dislike of the
effeminacy of the age by cutting off some of their
locks, and offering [scil: to God] the first-fruits of
their hair, enjoining them by their obedience [scil:
their vow of obedience] to cut the remainder to an
equal length. There is nothing like a practical
joke in all this; and one can hardly imagine any-
thing more calculated to bring into contempt and
derision the excellent men, who, according to their
xxiv.] ST. wulstan's austerities. 153
light, served God and their fellow -creatures in an
age of imperfect civilization, than representing their
conduct in this grotesque and ludicrous manner.
These men may have known little of the refine-
ments of later ages. But they knew what was due
to propriety and exalted station, and it was not by
playing o^ practical jokes on young courtiers that
they obtained a hold so powerful and lasting on the
veneration and gratitude of their country. A similar
remark will apply to many of their austerities.
They did things which are not to be justified by the
rule of the New Testament. They practised morti-
fications in public, which should have been prac-
tised in private, if at all. And most probably, their
monkish historians have made their conduct appear
still worse in these respects than it really vfas.
But, now, when people are no longer writing under
the influences of mediaeval notions and habits and
superstitions, it becomes a very serious matter, to
find the very least defensible points in the conduct
of men of .piety and Avisdom selected as models of
the sanctity and heroic virtues of an age of faith.
An illustration of the last observation is at hand
from this same life of St. Wulstan. Aldred, Arch-
bishop of York, was employed, along with two
cardinals sent from Rome, to select a person as his
successor in the see of Worcester, from which he
had been translated to York. After some time
spent in ti'avelling over almost the whole ' of Eng-
154 ST. WULSTAN AND [CHAP.
Land, they came to "Worcester, and remained on a
visit with Wulstan, in his. monastery, " and there
they spent the whole of Lent." The author pro-
ceeds,—
This time was kept bj Wulstan with special severity.
[Why special? One would like to see the authority for
this. William of Malmesbury says nothing of Wulstan 's
keeping Lent one way or other.] As a courteous host,
he left nothing undone which was due to his guests from
English hospitality and bounty ; [Aderat eis humanitas
hospitis nihil prsetermittentis, quo minus Anglorum dap-
silem liberalitatem et liberalem dapsilitatem experirentur,'
says the historian. And certainly, considering he is speaking
of two Cardinals, and an Archbishop keeping Lent in a
monastery, his language is remarkable — ] but he himself
adhered rigorously to his accustomed rules ; he omitted
none of his prayers, and relaxed none of his abstinence.
All night long he continued in prayer, even after the night
Psalms were ended. Three times in the week he tasted
nothing day or night, and during this time never broke
silence ; the other three days his food was bread and com-
mon vegetables, and on Sunday he added some fish and
wine " out of reverence for the Festival." Every day be
received and ministered to three. poor men, supplying to
them their daily bread and washing their feet. When
Easter came, the Cardinals returned to King Edward's
court, and when the question arose, who was to be the new
Bishop of Worcester, they mentioned with high admira-
tion the name of the austere and hard-working Prior, of
whose way of life they had lately been daily witnesses. —
pp. 13, 14.
It is not every one who can read the original of
this story, without feeling his respect for Wulstan
shaken, if not considerably diminished. The facts
XXIV.] HIS VISITORS. 155
are simply these. A clergyman of high rank, Prior
of Worcester, received on a visit of some length two
cardinals and the Archbishop of York, who were at
the time notoriously engaged in looking out for a
bishop for the vacant see of Worcester. He enter
tained them with hospitality and splendour befitting
his own station and theirs. But during the entire
time of their visit, he himself practised such a course
of austerities as it would have been scarcely possible
to conceal, but which wei'e, in point of fact, made so
conspicuous and remarkable, that his visitors, on
their return to court, recommended him for the
vacant bishopric. Now, supposing this story to
be true, it is still very possible that Wulstan may
have been perfectly innocent of any selfish object in
these austerities. But to any one whose notions of
practical piety are derived from the New Testa-
ment, and who has not sufficient acquaintance with
the modes of thinking' that obtained in those times
to enable him to make allowances for conduct like
this, the reading of such a story can have no other
efiect than to lower exceedingly his estimation of
Wulstan's character. Indeed, it appears obvious to
me that the efiects of such representations — and
generally — of the propagation of such notions as
these w^riters are advocating — cannot but be most
injurious in many ways. These books, not only
recommend the practice of such self-inflicted tor-
tui'es, as amount to a gi'adual suicide, — but they
156 A PRACTICAL REFLECTION. [CHAP.
also hold up to public veneration the disj)laying of
these austerities, in order to make an impression,
and to gain a reputation for sanctity. Supposing
the foregoing story to be true, one is glad to put the
most favourable construction it vs^ill bear on Wul-
stan's cojiduct: but, for those who select such con-
duct as a pattern of saintly piety, there is no other
conclusion to be drawn, than that they mean to
teach men to practise such display and ostentation
of austerities and private devotions, as are wholly
incompatiT)le with the retirement and secrecy com-
manded by the Author of our religion. I must
beg my reader to recollect what are the facts of the
case. These men are not writing History. They
are not dry Annalists. They do not profess to be
so. Nor do they pretend to sift truth from false-
hood, or to recover facts and characters from the
disfigurement of apocryphal and preposterous tra-
ditions, or from the errors of former biogralphers.
With very slender materials — sometimes with none
which can pretend to be regarded as authentic, —
they have dressed up legends, in which the reputa-
tion of venerable and venerated names is injured,
as much by their mistaking and misrepresenting the
meaning of the authorities they profess to follow, as
by the tinge, which their own erroneous and super-
stitious notions give to everything they meddle with.
Let them but succeed in raising up a generation of
such saints as they describe, and in persuading men
XXIV.] A PRACTICAL REFLECTION. 157
to regard tliem as saints, — and it is perfectly clear,
that they would lower the standard of Christian
piety and morals in the country. This, however,
they are not likely to do. But, meantime, it is im-
possible for plain men of common understanding to
avoid seeing, that the inevitable consequence of such
perversions of ecclesiastical history can be nothing
else than this ; that, Avhile, on the one hand, — all re-
commendations of the cultivation of mortified and
self-denying habits 'and tempers will be received
with distrust and suspicion, — on the other, — the
remains of what deserves to be called Catholic feel-
ing will be utterly destroyed; — that feeling, namely,
which makes a Protestant of the nineteenth century
cling to the thought, that, however the errors and
superstitions of their times may have disfigured
their piety, our forefathers and predecessors were
men of real simplicity, earnest faitli, and clear-
sighted wisdom. And the loss of this feeling will
be a real loss. And when these authors have suc-
ceeded in persuading the world, that those whose
names have been held sacred by Englishmen for
ages, were no better than lanatics, and buffoonsj
and practical jokers, they will have inflicted an in-
jury on the public mind, for which their system
offers nothing sufficient to. compensate. This thought
seems never to occur to them.
158 PHARISEEISM. [cHAP.
CHAPTER XXV.
PHARISAICAL AUSTERITIES : ST. WrLLIAM.
Nor do these writers appear at all more conscious
of the Pharisaical character of the piety they are
recommending. On the contrary, they seem to take
it as a matter of course, that the austerities they
describe were seen, and known, and public; and
that power and admiration were the natural and
egitimate rewards enjoyed by those who practised
them. Take another example from. the life of St.
William:
In those days, when the blessed effects of penance and
the discipline of the church were acknowledged by all
true Christians, men would be as it were on the look-out,
to hear of or see those who had given themselves up to the
practice of sincere repentance, as persons for whom the
Lord bad done great things, whom only to see was a great
privilege, and a most sure means of self-improvement.
Thus we may imagine the fame of William's life at Win-
chester Aarf reached the ears of all e&xnei,i and rehgious
• men, and they naturally longed to see liim, not as it would
be in these days, to criticise or ridicule, or to pronounce
him a wild enthusiast and fanatic, who knew not the spirit
of the Gospel, but to gaze upon him with devotion and
reverence^ if haply they might gain somewhat of his spirit,
and receive from his holy lips words of comfort and en-
couragement.—St. William, pp. 47, -48.
Considering the erroneous doctrine this author
has broached regarding the Lord's atonement, this
sneer at those who are disposed to look on such
characters as he describes as ignorant of " the spirit ,
XXV.] ST. WILLI ART. 159
of the gospel," is not very becoming. The austeri-
ties of St. William he tells us were practised because
" he wished to do penance for his past sins, and to
extinguish, by the abundance of his tears, the
avenging punishment of future fire."* And he further
tells us, — and a very remarkable piece of dogmatic
theology it is for a divine of the church of England
to make himself responsible for, — that
The tears which gush from the really broken and con-
trite heart, iinite in wonderful co-operation with the Mood
of the Holy Lamb, to wash, as we may say, once more the
sinful soul.^p. 44.
Persons who write in this way do not seem very
competent judges of what "the spirit of the Gospel
is." But this by the way. The sanctity of .St.
William — " those wonderful, unearthly, and saint-
like qualities, wliich, in technical language, are
called 'heroic virtue' "f — those actions, the fame of
which made people anxious " to gaze upon him with
devotion and reverence," were pretty much what
one has found so frequently recommended in these
volumes as a mode of expiating sins: —
for five long years he continued at the peaceful monastery,
steadfast in the exercise of penance; constant and un-
wearied in prayers, and fastings, and nightly vigils", in the
holy round of fast and festival, and sacred seasons, hoping
for nothing and desiring nothing, but the forgiveness of
his past sins, and grace to serve his Lord faithfully for the
future. — pp. 43,. 44.
But how did all this get to be so universally
* Page 42. f Page 41.
160 ST. WILLIAM. [chap.
known and talked of? People might be " on the
look-out" as much as they pleased " to hear of or
see" such a person; but all this took place in a mo-
nastery; and monks and hermits do not appear to
have been in the habit of issuing a Court Circular
to acquaint the Avorld every day with St. WilHam's
doings in his cell, or how St. Neot went on in his
fish-pond, or St. Bartholomew and St. German in
their perennial sliirts. To speak plainly, these au-
thors seem- to have no idea of any one practising
austerities which are not to be seen or heard of; and
the step from this to the ascetic's exhibiting himself
for people "to gaze upon him wdth devotion and reve-
rence," is but too short and too easy. The persons
they describe may not have fallen into such a miser-
ably low and degraded state; — a man of really ca-
tholic feeling would l)e sorry to learn that they ever
did. But that is not a question of any pressing im-
portance at present. Just now, it is of moment
that the public should be fully aware of the system
of doctrine, and piety, and morals, Mr. Newman
and his party are labouring to propagate; and, look-
ing at the question in this light, I cannot but think,
it must be evident to any one who will take the
trouble to make himself acquainted with their pub-
ications, that the character of the devotions and
austerities they are recommending is essentially
Pharisaical, — in the most offensive sense of the
word, short of deliberate fraud and hypocrisy.
XXV.] A PRACTICAL QUESTION. 161
But is any considerable number of persons at all
likely to be led astray by a system of teaching so
palpably erroneous and unchristian, and — what is
more to the point at present — so utterly uncongenial
with the habits of English piety? It is not easy to
determine such a question. Nor, I suppose, will
the question, in this connexion, seem of much mo-
ment, except to those who are accustomed to mea-
sure the importance of falsehood or error by the evil
it produces, and by their estimate of that evil and
its proximity to determine, whether it be worth
while to contradict the falsehood or expose the
error. However, as to the likelihood of these no-
tions becoming popular, it may be observed, — that,
whoever be the party at whose risk and charge
these Lives of the English Saints are published, a
considerable sum must be embarked in the specula-
tion, and (making every allowance for the zeal and
perseverance with which IVIr. Newman's party have
from the outset laboured to propagate their opinions)
it is scarcely to be supposed they would have
brought out ten* volumes within the year,, in so
expensive a form, unless the circulation of the work
had proved extensive enough to pay its expenses, at
least. Of course, in the absence of private infor-
mation, which on this point I do not pretend to pos-
sess, this can be no more than conjecture. Those
who supply funds for the undertaking, may be con-
* Now fourteen.
VOL. I. • M
162 POPULARITY OF THE SYSTEM. [cHAP.
tent to lose a certain amount in the propagation of
their opinions. Nor do I think it a question of
much importance; because error and falsehood on
such sacred subjects should be exposed, without our
stopping to consider how far they are likely to be-
come popular. If, however, this party are correctly
informed, their system, in some of its most objec-
tionable forms, is making considerable way, and the
opposition to their opinions gradually diminishing.
The author of the Life of St. German, the ninth
volume of these Lives of the English Saints, com-
mences the advertisement prefixed to that volume
in the following manner: —
Care has been taken in the annexed work, to avoid as
far as possible all dogmatism upon disputed points of doc-
trine and discipline. The austerities of saints and the
miracles they performed, are, in some measure, an excep- .
tion ; both because the numbers of those who have ungenial
feelings with regard to them, are gradually diminishing,
and because they form, as it were, the very substance of
ancient Hierology.
This is a remarkable passage. The story quoted
in the chapter, of St. German's persuading a child
of six years old to bind herself by a vow " to adopt
the holy' life of a Virgin, and become one of the
Spouses of Christ," may, surely, be considered to
involve points of some moment, both of " doctrine
and discipline," and points, it is to be hoped, which
may still be reckoned among " disputed points," in
this author's sense of the term. Considerable pro-
.XXV.] ST. GERMAN AND THE GHOST, 163
gress, it is to be feared, has been made in a wrong
direction; but we are not yet arrived at an unifor-
mity of error, even on the topic of virginity and
vows. A similar observation will apply to the doc-
trine of expiatory mortification inculcated in the
account of St. German's austerities. There is
another passage also in this same volume which
•
seems rather to touch on " disputed points of doc-
trine and discipline;" and the instance is the more
worthy of notice, because, as in the stoi'ies of the
little girl, and of the dietary' of St. German, the
points of doctrine and discipline are not dogmati-
cally asserted, nor even argued, but are quietly as-
sumed and taken for granted, as points on which all
Christians are agreed. The story is as follows: —
He [German] was once travelling in winter. Oppressed
with fatigue and the effects of his long fasts, he retired
towards the evening with his attendants to a deserted ruin
not far from his road. The place was said to be infested
with evil spirits ; and it was conspicuous for its wild and
rugged appearance. He was not however hindered
from taking up his abode there for the night. His
followers on arriving began to prepare their supper,
and sat down to eat. St. German abstained from all food.
In the meantime, the Reader read aloud some pious work,
after the manner introduced into monasteries, and which
still is observed in religious houses.* As he continued his
* Meaning, no doubt, in convents and nunneries, &c. This
afifectation of the technical nomenclature of Rumauism is oue
of the features of these books. Thus, we hear of children
"vowed to reiKjion," (St. Wulstan, p. 6:) and of a name
"taken in religion" (St Bartholomew, p. 135.) .
M 2
164 ST. GERMAN AND THE GHOST. [CHAP.
task, German fell into a deep sleep. Immediately a spectre
appeared before the Reader, and a violent shower of stones
beat against the walls of the ruin. The young man alarmed
awoke the bishop, who, in the name of Christ adjured the
spectre to explain the cause of the visit. The mysterious
personage answered, that he, with another, had formerly
been the perpetrator of great crimes, for which after death
they had remained unburied, and had been deprived of the
rest allowed to other departed spirits. German having
ascertained the spot where the bodies of these wretched men
had lain, assembled on the following morning the people ol
the neighbourhood, and employed them in removing the
ruins. After much labour they found two corpses loaded
with iron chains. " Then, we are informed, according'
to the Christian custom of burial, a pit was made, the
chains taken off, linen garments thrown over them, and
intercession offered up to obtain rest for the departed and
peace for the living." Henceforth the spot was again inha-
bited and grew into a prosperous and flourisliing abode. —
St. German, pp. 88, 89.
The object of tiiis pretty specimen of a ghost
story is plainly, to inculcate the doctrine of purga-
tory and of prayers for the repose of the dead, and
their deliverance from that place of expiation; and
the mode in which this author quietly assumes the
truth of these pernicious fictions, and treats them
as no longer among the " disputed points," is not a
little remarkable. But this plan of insinuating the
errors of Rome in the vehicle of marvellous tales
runs all through these volumes.
However, as we have seen, the biographer of
St. German informs us in liis advertisement, that
" the austerities of saints and the miracles they
XXV.] AUSTERITIES BECOMING POPULAR. 16o
performed are points he does not consider it neces-
sary to abstain from, and tells us, as one of his
reasons, that " the numbers of those who have
ungenial feelings with regard to them are gra-
dually diminishing." He may be right. But, as
far as austerities are concerned, the church of Eng-
land must be in a strange state, if any considerable
numbers can read the account of St. (jlerman's aus-
terities with any other than most " ungenial feel-
ings ;" and alarming indeed must be the condition of
the public mind, if the numbers of those who view
such writings with sentiments of loathing " are
gradually diminishing." I cannot but hope the au-
thor sees things through the medium of his wishes.
In spite of his assurances to the contrary, I cannot
but indulge in the confidence, that common sense
has not yet been altogether sneered out of society,
and that there are few, very few, indeed, and these
persons of no weight or influence, to whom the
ostentation of these austerities is not as abhorrent
as their nastiness is disgusting.
166 MIRACLES. [chap. '
CHAPTER XXVI.
MIRACLES: ST. GERMAN AND THE COCK.
But the miracles: — the public, it appears, are " gra-
dually" getting to reckon them among the points
about which there is no dispute. It may not be
amiss, then, to look a little into the character of the
miracles with which these Lives of the English
Saints abound. We have not far to go for an illus-
tration. The next paragraph in the Life of St.
German will aiford a specimen.
During the same journey he retired one evening to the
dwelling of some persons of humble condition. Though
he could command the attentions of the wealthy and great,
yet he often avoided them, and frequented the lower ranks
of life. While he was thus lodged, he passed the whole
night in prayer, as was his practice after our Lord's
example. [But, was it our Lord's practice?^ Daylight
broke in, and to his surprise the cock failed to herald in
the morning. He asked the reason, and learned that
an obstinate taciturnity had succeeded to the usual
cry. Pleased at finding an opportunity of reward-
ing his hosts, German took some wheat, blessed it, and
gave it to some of the birds to eat, whereby he restored
their natural faculties. A deed of this kind, which might
have been forgotten by the rich, was likely to remain fixed
in the memory of the poor. The appreciation of any
action depends generally on the degree of utility which it
conveys to different people, and circumstances which appear
trivial to some are important to others. Thus could our
Lord adapt His wonderful signs to the wants of men, at one
time turning water into wine, at another multiplying the
loaves, at another taking a fish for a piece of money which
it contained. — St. German, p. 89.
XXVI.] ST. GERMAN AND THE COCK. 167
Now, supposing this story true, and a miracle to
have been really worked, it is not very apparent, why
it should appear more striking to a poor man than to
a rich. Now-a-days, it may be of little importance to
a country gentleman, whether his cock has lost his
voice or not. But in the fifth century it was not quite
so common for the squire to have a gold repeater in
his pocket, or a French clock on the mantel-piece.
Even the lumbering eight-day, or the wooden
alarum, might have passed for curiosities in the
days of German, and for a few years later, too. So
that all this about the rich and poor is mere ro-
mancing, introduced for no imaginable purpose but
to give an air of poetry and sentiment to an old
wife's fable. As to the attempt to dignify the tale
by comparing it with the miracles of the Lord, I
reaUy know not what language to use severe enough
for its reprobation. But one thing I feel bound to
say, that the perusal of these books, and the consi-
deration of the manner in which their authors are
continually bringing forward the example of Christ,
and the miracles of Holy Scriptures, side by side
with every absurd figment which has been invented
in a credulous age to give sanctity to superstition, .
must compel people to ask, whether these authors
do really believe the Evangelical History a whit
more firmly than they believe these legends ?
Whether, in fact, the miracles of the Lord, and the
miracles of German or Walburga, be not in their
168 NEOLOGIAN TENDENCY [cHAP.
faith equally probable, equally certain, equally true?
This may be thought a mere personal question, with
which none but these authors themselves have any
concern. If I thought it were, I should feel no in-
clination to suggest it. But it is not so. Abundant
proof is furnished in these books, and shall be fully
and fairly laid before my reader, that this party do
regard these stories, less as facts, than as mythic
legends — that they consider it a lawful exercise of
imagination to invent, in the absence of history,- —
and to relate as facts, not what they know or believe
to have happened, but what (according to their no-
tions of fitness or congruity) might, or could, or
should, have happened; — and further, that they do
think it allowable to endeavour to give a colour and
sacredness to these mythic legends by alleging, and
comparing with them, the miracles of Holy Scrip-
ture— and further still, that they believe, and teach
it as part of their system, that one is at liberty, —
nay more, that it is a high and saint-like exercise of
Christian piety and devotion, — to allow the imagi-
nation a similar licence with regard to the life and
actions and miracles of the Lord himself, and to use
the facts recorded in the gospel as the basis of a le-
gend and a myth. It is plainly but one step fur-
ther, in this natural progress of error and disregard
of truth, to represent the Gospel history itself as
nothing more than a myth and a legend. For men
who think at all must perceive, that if it be lawful to
XXVI.] OF THE SYSTEM. 169
take such liberties with truth now, it was just as lawful
eighteen liundred years ago. If men may construct
a myth now, it was as competent to the apostles and
primitive Christians to do so then. There is, in
fact, but one step, and a very brief one, between the
teaching of this party and Neologianism. They
themselves may stop at the point of error they have
already reached; but, if the positions and maxims
they are now propagating, be suffered to take root
and. spread unchecked, their disciples will, in all
human probability, become Neologians, if not infi-
dels.
170 ST. HELIER. [chap.
CHAPTER XXVII.
MIRACLES : ST. HELIER.
The foregoing observations are perhaps an antici-
pation of the conchision which the reader is likely
to come to, when the facts are fully submitted to
him? but yet I think it is better to anticipate thus
far, because otherwise I really might expect, that
the utility of collecting such miserable rubbish
would not seem very apparent to my readers. -I
hope, therefore, that they will recollect these stories
of miracles are put before them, not merely nor
principally to enable them to judge of the nature of
the miracles recorded in these books, but rather as
illustrations of the spirit and tendency of the
system of which they form so important a part.
I find it difficult to. know where to begin, but the
Life of St. Helier -svill furnish a specimen or two
sufficiently curious to deserve notice. St. Helier, it
seems, was the son of a nobleman of Tongres, named
Sigebert, who, — as the author observes, — " though
he was a nobleman^" " was not created by letters
patent like our dukes and earls," — an observation of
which it is not easy to discover any intention which
I should like to suggest. However, Sigebert, who
was also a heathen, had no children, and, " as a last
resource," he and his wife " applied to a holy man
named Cunibert, who liv.ed near them."
XXVII.] CUNIBERT THE HERMIT. 171
Cunibert, who had long wished to convert the noble
Germans, and had mourned over their perverseness, pro-
mised to pray for them, if they in return agreed to give
him the child who should be born, that he might offer him
up to God. They agreed to these terms, and in due time
the prayers of the holy man were heard, and the lady bore
a beautiful child. — p. 14.
Whether Sigebert really understood the nature of
the terms which this man is stated to have induced
him to consent to, is not explained. However,
when Cunibert required the parents to give up their
child, the father, we are told, positively. refused to
allow him to " go about with a shaven crown, and
be a poor man like Cunibert." My readers will
probably have their own thoughts of tliis part of the
story, and some, perhaps, will be disposed to think
Sigebert's refusal was not so surprising in a heathen,
as Cunibert's demand in a Christian. These, hovr-
ever, are the author's reflections, and very charac-
teristic they are: —
Thus did they stumble at the offence of the cross, as the
world has done from the first. Holy Mary went on her
way to Bethlehem poorly clad ; she had on a peasant's gar-
ment, and the world swept by and did not know that she
was the rich casket which contained the pearl of great
price, which whosoever findeth will sell all that he hath
to buy. — Ibid.
Considering that Cunibert wanted to take an only
son from his parents before he was three years old
and make a hermit of him, — which this author calls
offering him up to God, — a less severe commentary
172 ST. helier's sickness. [chap.
on their refusal might have been expected. They
were heathens, and probably could not understand
this notion of monkery: at all events, they were
parents, and he was their only, their long-desired
child. But this is not the only place where these
authors advocate the practice of binding infants to
a monastic life. However, by and by, when he was
seven years old, the child fell sick, and begged his
mother (a very natural request for a sick child of
seven years old to make, no doubt) to send him
away " to tliat holy man, by whose prayers I was
born, and to whom you promised me." For it seems
the child knew all about it. And his parents sent
him to Cunibert, and he was healed, and lived with
Cunibert, — being particularly charmed with a share
of Cunibert's one meal a-day of barley bread.
There are some rather odd notions about baptism
in this legend. For, though it appears he assisted
in the church service —
All this while Helier was unhaptized ; his spiritual guide
said nothing to him about it, and Helier wondered. —
p. 15.
As well he might — especially as it seems he un-
derstood a vast deal more of the nature of baptism
than boys of seven generally do.
He however remain,ed in quiet patience, trusting that
God would bring him to the laver of regeneration in His
own good time. — Ibid.
However, notwithstanding he was still the un-
XXVII.] ST. HELIER AND THE WIDOW. 173
baptized child of heatlien parents, he became famous
among the peasants for his " sanctity."
They brought him their sick and their blind, and thought
that there was virtue in the touch of his little hand, and by
the grace of God he healed them. — p. 16.
This seems to have provoked Sigebert to such a
degree that he had Cunibert murdered; on which
the child, instead of returning to his mother, fled,
• and, -'■for six days, he w^andered on and on, through
the depths of pathless forests," until he came to the
town of Terouenne, where, being now " almost spent
with fatigue"^ which, by the way, considering the
child's age, and bis having, as far as appears, had
no food for a week, cannot be thought very surpris-
ing— he was taken to her home by a poor widow.
But after a fortnight spent with her —
he asked her to show him some lonely place, where he
could serve God in quiet. She led him a little way out of
the town, to St. Mary's church. — [which, from this it
would seem was not much frequented.] The house of God
was the place to which he naturally turned. His dwelling
was in the porch of the church, and here he I'emained /or
Jive years, living as he had done with Cunibert. The rain
and the wet fonned deep pools about him, and his shoes
were worn out, so that the sharp pebbles were often stained
with his blood. But, notwithstanding all these hardships,
it never struck him that he could go elsewhere, [a very re-
markable specimen of absence of mind, and that " for five
long years."] .... When he wanted food he went to
the widow's house, and there too he had a wooden pallet
on which he stretched himself whenever he chose. — p. 18.
Of course all these austerities were not without
174 ST. helier's miracles. [chap.
their effect in procuring liim admiration, and so the
author tells us that —
This way of life attracted the people of the place; they
saw in the youth one whom Christ had marked for His
own by suffering, and who crucified his body for the Lord's
sake. The sick and infirm learned to put faith in his
prayers, and God was pleased to hear them as he had done
at Tongres, and healed them. — p. 19.
It is to be hoped, the reader remembers that all
this time Helier'was still unbaptized.
XXVIII.] ST. helier's prayer. 175
CHAPTER XXVIII.
helier's baptism — AN AGE OF FAITH.
Helier, as I have observed, though working mira-
cles of all sorts, was still unbaptized.
At length, at the end of five years, an incident hap-
pened which more than ever raised his fame.— ^. 19.
This incident was nothing less than his raising a
child from the dead, which he undertook to do at
the command of the bishop of the place; for, as the
author tells us, " obedience was natural to him;" —
a trait in his character of wliich his parents do not
• seem to have had much experience. He followed in
silence to the church where the corpse lay:
Then Helier bethought himself th&t this would be a sign
whether the time was at hand when Christ would regene-
rate bis soul in the holy waters of baptism. — Ibid.
On which one might have thought he would have
named the subject to the bishop. But he followed
another method:
So he knelt down and lifted up his hands to heaven and
said, " O God, in whose hand is all power, who didst raise
the child on whom the door was closed, and the son of the
vddow of Nain when borne on the bier, I pray thee, that
if it is Thy ivill that I be made a Christian, may it be Thy
will also of Thy great goodness that tliis child be raised to
life." And when he had done praying the child began to
move and to cry for his mother. — Ibid.
We might naturally have supposed that on this
176 ' ST. helier's vision. [chap.
he instantly applied to the bishop for baptism. No
such thing:
The night after this miracle, Christ appeared in a vision
to Helier, and bade him go to Nanteuil, where a man
named Marculfus would baptize him, and teach him what
was to be bis way of bfe.— p. 19.
Now, no one can have less wish than I have, to
charge the author of this wretched fiction with de-
liberate profaneness; but the flippancy with which
the name of the Almighty is every now and then
introduced as one of the dramatis personse in these
legends, is a feature in the system they are intended
to propagate, far too remarkable to be passed over
in silence. If tlie miracles of Helier came down to
us supported by an overwhelming mass of contem-,
porary evidence, the mere fact of such miracles
being ascribed to an unbaptized heathen should
make any one pause, befoi'e he ventured to state,
that the Almighty did interpose, and that Christ
appeared in a vision. And yet aU through, the
sacred name is introduced to avouch for the particu-
lars of the tale.
That Holy Ghost, who of old moulded the spirits of the
prophets, and made St. John the Baptist to be a dweller in
the wilderness and a holy eremite, dealt graciously with
this child of Pagan parents and made him give up the
world to live a hard and lonely life. — p. 16.
He who had much reverence for sacred things
would surely have paused, before he ventured so
very positively to interpret the wiU of the Almighty,
XXVIII.] AUTHENTICITY OF THE LEGEND. 177
or to use Ilis name in such a manner at all, even if
the facts he was relating were indisputable.
Now, can any one suppose what degree of credit
this author attaches to his tale? He tells us him-
self, in the introduction —
The story is here called a legend^ because from the mis-
takes made by the author of the Acts, and fi-om the dis-
tance of time at which he lived from the age of the saint,
many things which he advances rest on little authority. —
p. 9.
The BoUandists, it seems, consider that the writer
of the acts of Helier lived " at least three hundred
years after" his time. The author havijig acknow-
ledged this, and enumerated some of the absurdities
of his authority, says —
On the other hand, it is not by any means meant to
assert that the whole of the narrative is fiction. — Ibid.
But then the miracles — of course there can be no
doubt of the fact of their having been worked,
or else no one who pretended to any, the lowest
decree of reverence for reliffion, would dare to de-
scribe them as proofs of Divine interposition. We
shall see. The author actually has the hardiliood to
state that —
It is however still an open question, whether the parti-
cular miracles here recorded were those worked by St.
Helier ; and it may here be observed that the miracles said
to have occurred before his baptism [the very miracles he
dares to say "God was pleased" to enable him to work]
have less evidence than any of the others, .... they have
not . . . the insuhir tratlition in their favour. — p. 10.
VOL. I. N
178 AN AGE OF FAITH, [CHAP.
The way in which this author treats this part of
the subject, is really most instructive. The stories,
it seems, have no authority whatever. The histo-
rian lived at a distance from the place, and three
hundred years later than the age of Helier. There
is not even local tradition for these tales. If there
were, it would still remain to be proved, why tradi-
tion should give them any more credibility than the
innumerable fairy tales and goblin stories which
rest on the same authority, and are equally believed
by the same class of persons.
In order to account for their appearance in the Acts of
the Saint, it is not necessary to accuse the author of dis-
honesty. In an age of faith, when miracles were not con-
sidered as proofs of a system which required no proof, but
simply as instances of God's power working through His
Saints, men were not critical about believing a little more or
a little less. Again, there is 7io proof that the writers in-
tended these stories to be believed at all. — pp. 10, 11.
So that, in fact, as a history, the Legend of St.
Helier is fairly given up. But yet the author is
never on that account a whit the more afraid to tack
to the absurd fables he retails the name of God, in
order to give an air of sacredness to the fanaticism
they are meant to recommend. " An age of faith,"
then, is one, in which "men are not critical about
believing a little more or a little less." A very re-
markable definition, truly. But are not these authors
afraid lest some of their disciples may be led to
apply this definition to the times of the prophets and
XXVIII.] AN AGE OF FAITH. 179
apostles? When men have learned to use miraculous
stories as embellishments to give a romantic or a
venerable air to a system, — when they have been
taught to consider such tampering with truth law-
ful, and such profane abuse of the name of their
Creator innocent — it may not be very difficult for
them to proceed somewhat further, and to suppose
that similar liberties were taken in the apostolic age
with truth and sacred things. I have no desire to
accuse this biographer of HeKer of intentional irre-
verence; neither do I mean to say, that he does not
believe the miracles of Christ and the apostles. I
have no reason to doubt that he believes them as
firmly as he believes those of Helier. Whether he
believes them at all more firmly, is a point which
the more any one studies these Lives (and some
other works that will come under our consideration
hereafter) the more difficult will he find it to deter-
mine. Nothing can appear more certain to my
mind, than this — that the notions of truth and false-
hood (and particularly regarding miraculous stories)
disseminated by Mr. Newman and his party, tend
directly to Neologianism ; and I should feel un-
speakably thankful, if anything I have wi-itten or
shall write hereafter, might be instrumental, how-
ever indirectly, in arousing their suspicion as to the
fearful character and consequences of their teacliing
in this particular. Between believing everything,
and believing nothing, it has too often been proved,
N 2
180 ST. helier's hermitage. [chap.
there may be but one step. And truly those who
have such infinitely erroneous and confused notions
of the very first rudiments of Christianity, as to con-
sider recklessness " about believing a little more or
a little less" the characteristic of '• an age oi faith"
have got rather nearer to the edge of the precipice
than they seem to be aware of.
To proceed, however, with this Legend of St.
Helier. After his baptism and until his death he
resided in a hermitage on a barren rock, where this
author teUs us " now appear faint marks on the
wall, as if the monks of St. Helier had done their
best to adorn it with frescoes, and to turn it into a
small chapel by raising an altar in it." On which
he remarks, in terms which it would have been
scarcely charitable to suppose any Christian would
have dared to use —
Well might they be grateful to him, for he sanctified
THE ISLAND WITH HIS BLOOD. — p. 37.
In this place he lived for twelve years; but what
he did, and how he came to die at last, must be re-
served for another chapter.
XXIX.] • A DIGRESSION. 181
CHAPTER XXIX.
DIGRESSION — ARCHBISHOP LANGTON — THE INTERDICT —
KING JOHN, AND INNOCENT III.
St. Heliee remained in his cell, on the rock, for
many a long year. But before I notice the mira-
cles he worked there, I must take leave to digress a
little; for really, there is so much of folly and ab-
surdity in these legends, and so much of puerility
i» the manner in which they are told, that I cannot
feel surprised if some of my readers should doubt
whether they deserve a serious notice. For myself,
I have no doubt at all on the subject. The evident
tendency of these productions towards Neologianism,
would be quite sufficient, I conceive, to render an
exposure of them necessary, even if they did not
derive additional importance from the fact of their
throwing so much light on the views and designs of
Mr. i^ewman's party. But, that the writers of these
Lives of the English Saints are aiming at nothing
less than the restoration of the Papal authority in
these countries, must be apparent to any one who
has considered the passages I have already tran-
scribed. One of the later volumes of these lives
seems to have been written mainly for the purpose
of advocating the claims of Rome to supremacy. I
refer to the life of Archbishop Langton, which is so
barren of information regarding the private affiiirs
182 LIFE OF ST. STEPHEN LANGTON. [CHAP.
and transactions of that prelate, that, if it were not
for the use it can be turned to in the Romanizing
movement, one might wonder why it was deemed
worthy of being printed as a separaie volume. In-
deed, the biographer of Langton states, in his first
chapter, that his work is " not so much a biography
of Langton, as a history of the struggle of King John
against the Holy See." Of course, any one who
was disposed to advocate the pretensions of the
Roman pontiff, would find occasion enough in this
portion of the papal history for the exercise of his
ingenuity. The Interdict, the disgraceful terms
of submission extorted from the wretched John,
and the extravagant pretensions of Innocent to the
right of disposing of the crown of England as a fief
of the Roman see, are such aggressions on the liber-
ties of our church and country, as, one might have
hoped, none of the members, not to say the clergy,
of the English church, would feel any disposi-
tion to defend. But, in the progress of the move-
ment, Romanizing has, at last, been developed into
Popery.
There is something so horrible, so plainly and
manifestly wicked, in a Christian bishop's endea-
vouring to get the better of a refractory sovereign,
in a struggle for power, by depriving the whole of
his subjects of the rites and consolations of religion,
and persisting from year to year, for six years, in
reducing an entire empire, — England, Ireland, and
XXIX.] THE INTERDICT. 1H3
.Wales — to the condition of a heathen country, —
that it is Avith feelings, in which it is hard to say
whether amazement or disgust predominates, one
reads a laboured defence of such iniquitous and
truly heartless tyrannyin this extraordinary volume.
I can imagine an ultra-Romanist, who was endea-
vouring to make the best case he could for papal
infollibility, mystifying the history of such disgrace-
ful proceedings, — I can imagine him keeping care-
fully out of sight the infinite contrariety between
the extravagant pretensions of such a man as Inno-
cent III., and the notions of episcopal power and the
independence of particular churches, which obtained
in what used to be considered the best and purest
ages of catholicity, and would have passed for such
ten years ago, even with those who are now extol-
ling the papacy " as the one only dynasty which is
without limit and without end; the empire of empires,
the substance whereof all other dominions are but
the shadows."* Management like this, I say, might
be tolerable from the pen of an Italian Jesuit : but
from one who wears the semblance of allegiance to the
English church, it is really not very easy to express
the feelings which it excites. Let this writer speak
for himself. Having described the Interdict as a sus-
pension of " all visible intercourse between heaven
and earth," and . a withdrawal of the church from
the kingdom, — having told his readers, that
» St. William, pp. 49, 50.
184 THE INTERDICT. [CHAP,
the daily sacrifice ceased, the doors of the church were
shut, the dead were carried outside the town-gates, and
.buried in ditches and roadsides, without prayer or priest's
offices ; that religion, wont to mix with, and hallow each
hour of the day, each action of life, was totally withdrawn ;
— the state of the country resembled theraidof the Danes,
or the days of old Saxon heathendom, before Augustine
had set up the Cross at Canterbury, or holy men had
penetrated the forest and the fen. — St. Stephen Langton,
p. 32.
he goes on to say:
An interdict, to those who read history with eyes hos-
tile to the church, must appear the most audacious form of
spiritual tyranny ; but, in fact, such persons renounce any
real application of the power of binding and loosing in
heaven. But even catholic christians of this day, to Avhom
the church's power of delivering the disobedient to Satan
for the punishment of the flesh, is an article of living
practical belief, yet shrink from so sweeping an applica-
tion of it, and have a secret feeling against the Interdict
as a harsh and cruel measure. It is, they say, to involve
the innocent with the guilty — nay, rather, to let the guilty
escape, and to inflict his punishment on innocent thousands.
Indeed loe must go further ; for with the firm belief which
those ages had in the real effect of absolution and excom-
munication, if the Interdict was not completely agreeable
to mercy and justice, it was no less than a wanton trifling
with the power they believed themselves to hold from
Christ.— p. 33.
After such an admission one might have expected
this author would have felt little admiration for an
instrument so exceedingly liable to be abused; espe-
cially as he tells us, further on, that, notwithstand-
ing the power of appeals to Rome, " where a cause
XXIX.] THE INTERDICT. 185
was sure of the most patient and thorough investi-
gation," still the Interdict —
was, in the hands of the bad, prostituted to Selfish pur-
poses. It was a spiritual weapon with tcMch hostile pre-
lates fought one another. Instead of being limited to cases
of obstinate heresy or perseverance in mortal sin, it was
had recourse to on every occasion of difference between the
church and the prince. It was too much used to protect
the property of the church, or the persons of ecclesiastics.
—pp. 37, 38.
The knowledge of facts like these I should have
supposed, would have induced any one to pause
before he spoke of the Interdict with approbation.
Yet he gravely tells us, — as a suggestion " to the
obedient Christian, who loves the chui*ch and her
ancient ways, and is puzzled to reconcile the Inter-
dict with her tenderness towards the little ones of
Christ's flock,"— (p. 33,) that,
The Interdict, then, was a measure of mercy, an appeal,
on its Divine side, to Providence ; on its human side, to
all the generous feelings of the heart. — p. 34.
So that, in the particular case which all this sophis-
try is brought to palliate, — when the Pope, in order
to bring John to submit to what that prince believed
to be an invasion of his prerogative, endeavoured to
exasperate John's subjects to rebel against him, by
depriving them of the exercise of divine worship
for six years, till he had reduced the country to a
state of all but heathenism — this, forsooth, was an
appeal " to Providence," and " to all the generous
feelings of the heart." A respectable Roman ca-
tholic would speak of such a transaction with more
186 PAPAL SUPREMACY. [cHAP.
modesty and less profaneness. But the real object
of this writer is to make out the pope's title to a ■
«
direct temporal supremacy over princes, and espe-
cially over the sovereigns of England. His argu-
ment is too remarkable to be omitted: —
Wherever a state system exists — and it must exist, except
in the single case of universal empire — the establishment
of the church must be very imperfect, if it is only set side
bj'- side with the civil power within each state, and not
also set side by side with the external all-controlling
power. It is not enough that national law admit the
church as an element in the state, unless international law
admit it as an element in the state system. The duties of
princes towards their lieges become Christian, and so must
the duties of princes towards one another. Christendom
now, as then, forms one system, and acknowledges a com-
mon law. Since the beginning of the Protestant religion,
international law has been based on morality, and enforced
by public opinion ; before, it was based on the Gospel, and
enforced by the power of the keys [as if it were decent to
represent the Gospel and morality as opposed to each
other.] Ours is entrusted to alliances and compacts,
amenable (as bodies) to public opinion alone ; theirs to a
Christian Bishop, bound in conscience and before God to
act according to a well-known and well-defined eccle-
siastical law. Both agree in admitting, in the last resort,
the interference of an armed force to compel submission,
or punish flagrant infraction of this common law. They
differ in the person whom they constitute the judge, ours
making the courts interested, such — theirs, a synod of
bishops, men who could not be interested. As, too, that age
considered it the duty of the temporal power in each state
to enforce the church's sentence on the refractory indivi-
dual, so it equally recognised the power of the whole of
Christendom to enforce the church's sentence on the re-
fractory prince. — pp. 35, 36.
XXIX.] THE DEPOSING POWER. 187
Divested of its bewildering verbiage, the sum and
substance of this extraordinary passage is tliis, that
tlie supreme judge of princes should be the pope,
and that he should have the power of employing the
armed forces of Christendom to execute his sentence
against any prince that should dare to prove re-
fractory. And, as a preliminary measure, before
preaching up a crusade against the offender as an
excommunicated person, an Interdict, which may
serve to goad innocent and unoffending subjects to
madness, and drive them in desperation to rebel
against their prince, and so compel him to succumb
to Rome — this we are told is " a measure of mercy,
an appeal, on its divine side, to Providence; on
its human side, to all the generous feelings of the
heart."
Every reader of English history,- knows that In-
nocent III., finding the Interdict ineffectual, pro-
ceeded to depose John, and absolve his subjects
from their allegiance. This author's view of that
transaction, I apprehend, is rather an uncommon
one for a member of the English church to take: —
The excommunication had now been in force for three
years, and John yet made light of it. There was one
final measure to be tried, and Innocent had now paused
long enough before having recourse to it. Let us not
imagine that this was hesitation from indecision or fear.
This forbearance of punishment is a peculiar feature of the
papal government, and was never more remarkably dis-
played than by those popes who were most able to inflict
it. They manifest a divine patience worthy of the highest
power, the representative of that righteous Judge, who is
188 THE DEPOSING POWER. [CHAP.
" strong and patient, and provoked every day." They move
as under the awful consciousness that their acts will be rati-
fied in heaven. — ^p. 66.
It would be impossible for me to enter into any
exposure here of the treatment which facts have re-
ceived at this author's hands. Nor, indeed, can it
be very necessary. But, my object in quoting these
passages at all, is to show the manner in which the
most extravagant assumptions of the papal see are
justified and defended by Mr, Newman's party.
Having stated that John was deposed, the biogra-
pher proceeds in the following strain:
The deposition of a sovereign for misgovernment is
always a violent measure ; and the deposition of John,
though all England concurred, and all Christian princes
approved, was still a revolution. Revolutions have no
rules ; but this was as far as possible effected in course of
law, and by the only authority that coidd pretend to any
right herein. The pope was then held to be the executive
of the law of nations. We are quite familiar with such
powers as wielded by secular congresses in modern
Europe ; and the living generation has seen an assembly
of diplomatists dispose of provinces and peoples, pronounce
the dechcance of some monarchs, and replace them by
others with lavish liberality and uncontrolled power. In
the times we write of, monarchy by right Divine had never
been heard of; nay, rather, as Gregory VII. said, " The
empire seemed to have been founded by the devil,'' while the
priesthood was of God. But John had not even hereditary
right to plead ; he was but a successful usurper : and those
who consider the necessity of the case to have justified the
measure of 1688, will vindicate the right of the nation in
1213, to call to the throne a grand daughter of Henry II.
in place of a prince who was overturning the laws and
religion of his realm. — p. 67 .
XXIX.] THE DEPOSING POWF.R. 189
It is rather a new thing for Englishmen, lay or
clerical, to endeavour to propagate the infamous
doctrine of the Jesuits, that the Pope has a right to
depose princes and absolve their subjects from their
allegiance — a doctrine which very many Roman ca-
tholics regard with abhorrence. But is it through
ignorance or a wish to mislead, that this author re-
presents the Eevolution of 1688, as a similar trans-
action to the deposition of John by' the pope — and
the pope's oifering the crown of England to the
French monarch, as an act of the English nation?
A little fui'ther on this author says —
Nothing is more painful to the historian than the air of
apology which the necessity of commenting on acts of past
times is apt to assume. It does not need that one have a
Catholic bias, but only that one have not the anti-catholic
bias, to see that such acts of popes as the one in question are
no far-fetched, high-floum usurpations, hut only tJie natural,
inevitable results of a public and established Christianitij.
It is simply an error against the truth of history to speak
of the deposition and subjection of John, as has been done,
as " an extraordinary transaction." Not only had it, in
practice, as much precedent as the nature of the case ad-
mitted, but it was the legitimate and consequential applica-
tion to the partirular case of the general principles of the
Church rvhich all catholics alloiv, and whose operation in
that direction has now ceased, only because Christendom
has ceased to be. Indeed, our sentiments on this matter
are part of the great moral heresy of modern times.
Power, according to the modern doctrine, is founded on
the moral law. All power which spurns at, or which
would emancipate itself from, the moral law, in fact ahdi-
cates — becomes noxious to a society of which morality is
the rule, and must be put down by that society. — pp.
69, 70.
190 JESUITISM. [chap.
Bishop Jeremy Taylor, — who, whatever he was
ten years ago, must now be content to pass for a
modern heretic, — observes, in his " Dissuasive
against Popery," that " the order of Jesuits is a
great enemy to monarchy, by subjecting the dignity
of princes to the pope, by making the pope the su-
preme monarch of Christians; but they also teach,
that it is a catholic doctrine, the doctrine of the
churchP Now is not this precisely the position
which this author is endeavouring to maintain ?
The deposition of princes, and the absolving their
subjects from their allegiance, are, it seems, " no
far-fetched, liigh-flown usurpations, but only the
natural, inevitable results of a public and esta-
blished Christianity." The deposition of John
" was the legitimate and consequential application to
the particular case, of the general principles of the
church v-hich all catholics alloiv, and whose opera-
tion in that direction has now ceased only because
Christendom has ceased to be." This I take to be
simple and unmixed Jesuitism; and I must beg my
reader to observe, that I do not mean to use that
term here as an opprobrium. Indeed it is cer-
■ tain that the author of Langton's Life would take
it as no small compliment, to be considered an ad-
mirer, if not a disciple of those whom he reckons
" the flower of the church." * I use the word
* In another part of this volume, speaking of the Cistercians,
"he says: "As the flower of the church, they attracted the con-
centrated enmity of the bad. Like the Jesuits now-a-days,
they bore the burden of the world's hatred." — p. 44.
XXIX..] JESUITISM. 191
Jesuitism here, simply to signify the particular school
of Romish theologians under which this party must
be ranged, as advocates of the seditious impieties of
Sa and Mariana. And, indeed, continually through
these Lives, there are passages written in such a
tone of enmity against kings and royalty, as can be
traced to no other source than the schools of " the
most noble and glorious company of St. Ignatius."
But, be that as it may, if Mr. Ne^vman's party
choose to maintain, that doctrines so utterly subver-
sive of government and dangerous to society, are
principles " which all catholics allow," (certainly not
all Roman catholics,) they must not be surprised if
" catholic principles" should come to signify some-
thing bordering on disloyalty to the sovereign, and
disaffection to the government. How can any set
of men be trusted, who speak of such conduct as
Innocent the Third's, as " only the natural, inevit-
able results'of a public and established Chi-istianity?"
And really, it is most earnestly to be hoped that
some, who have too long hesitated to disclaim con-
nexion with this party, and by their silence have
led people (although they themselves may not be
aware of the fact,) to reckon them among its friends,
maybe induced, before it be too late, to consider
the character of the movement with which they
have been suffering themselves to be associated in the
public mind. One passage more will suffice to put
the political principles of this party beyond question.
The passage I refer to is that in which the autlior
192 THE RESIGNATION OF JOHN. [CHAP.
gives his opinion of John's resigning the crown of
England to the pope, and receiving it back from the
legate on doing homage as a vassal and liegeman of
the holy see. This is his opinion of the transac-
tion : —
It was an act of piety and humility, the visible homage
of temporal poiver to spiritual, the confession of princes
that the poicers that be are ordained of God, in the true
SENSE OF THAT TEXT — self-renunclation in a princely
shape. To John it was also an act of penance : as a
prince he had sinned, as a prince therefore ought he to re-
pent, and he thus accepted, and acknowledged the justice
of, the sentence of deposition. — p. 77.
I should be sorry, indeed, to believe, that there
are many English Roman catholics, who would not
blush to hear such sentiments avowed by a member
of their own communion. No doubt there is an in-
herent inconsistency and weakness in all moderate
Romanism, and the constant tendency of all parties
is, to be absorbed by ultra-montane Jesuitism. But
still, as long as such writers as Delahogue continue
to be used as text-books in the education of the
Romish priesthood, there will be a moderate party,
by whom the notion of the Pope having direct or
indirect power over the temporal affairs of princes,
is (in theory at least) utterly disclaimed. And such
persons, so far from thinking, that the compelling of
John to resign his crown, and do homage as a
vassal of the holy see, can be treated in this otf-hand
manner, do bestow a vast deal of labour and in-
XXIX.] DENIED BY ROMANISTS. 193
genuity for the purpose of reconciling such a trans-
action, in the best manner they can, with what they
believe (and wish us to believe) to be the doctrine
of their church.
It is vain to refer such authors as this biographer
to Jeremy Taylor, or Andrews, or Bramhall, though ,
time was, and that not very long since, when these
names made no small figure in Catenas. But Bram-
hall, for one, would have told him what Romanists
of some name have thought and said of this submis-
sion of King John, and that such men as the Arch-
priest Blackwell, and Sir Thomas More (no great
enemy of the papal sui^remacy) indignantly denied
that there was any truth in the story, and have dis^
tinctly stated their conviction that if it were true,
John had no power whatever to make such a resig-
nation. But it is needless to discuss such a question
here. The point for the i-eader's consideration is
the fact of such extravagant doctrine, regarding the
supremacy of the pope over the English crown and
kingdom, being advanced by Mr. Newman's partv.
Nor shall I find it necessary to notice this hfe of
Langton any further. It contains little of doctrinal
matter; and of that little the character may be
gathered from one sentence, in the account of the
translation of the relics of Thomas a Becket.
For fifty years, the channel through which GocVs mercy
had been chiefly shown to the people of England^ had been
the tomb of S. Tliomas, of Canterbury. — p. 123.
VOL. I. O
194 POLITICAL JESUITISM. [CHAP.
The volume is chiefly remarkable for its scandalous
falsification of history, and for the proof it affords
of the settled design this party have formed, to pro-
pagate such notions of the temporal supremacy oj
the pope in England, as any respectable English
• Roman catholic, who was not educated in the prin-
ciples of the Jesuits, would be anxious to disclaim,
as a slander on his religion, and an imputation on
his personal chara-^ter as a loyal subject.
I hope the reader will forgive this digression.
The point which has been suffered to interrupt the
subject immediately under consideration, seemed of
too great and too pressing importance in the expo-
sition of this movement and the designs of its
leaders, to admit of being postponed.
XXX.] ST. HELIER. 195
CHAPTER XXX.
ST. HELIEr's miracles — THE MARKS IN THE ROCK.
It is now time to return to the subject of the mira-
culous stories contained in these legends. I trust my
reader will recollect that the twenty-eighth chapter
stopped short in the middle of St. Helier's story, and
will also bear in mind what the author expressly states,
that, so far from its being a matter of historical
certainty, that St. Helier worked the miracles he
ascribes to him, it is " an open. question," and, in
fact, the utmost he can venture to say is, he does
not mean " to assert that the whole of the story is
fiction." With this remark I may proceed with the
story. Helier, as I have stated, took up his abode
in a hermitage on a rock in the sea, off the coast of
Jersey:
The people of the island soon found out Helier ; it did
not require a long train of thought to make out that he
was a man of God \ and two cripples, one a paralytic, and
the other a lame man, came to him, and hy the help of our
blessed Lord he healed them. — p. 24.
I must again entreat my reader, to remember the
apocryphal character which this author is obliged to
confess attaches to these miraculous stories, and to
observe, how the name of God is introduced as
if they were undoubted facts. In what follows,
I am fairly at a loss, which to consider the more
o 2
196 THE MIRACULOUS FOOTSTEPS [cHAP.
wonderful, the hardihood of this author's attempt to
give credibility to the tale, or the unspeakable con-
fusion of his mind as to the nature of truth and
falsehood:
The simple chronicler [a pleasing term truly, to de-
scribe one who lived " at least three hundred years after"
the events he is pretending to relate] who has written the
acts of our Saint, has by chance here put in a few words
which marlc the spot of the miracle. He says that those
people healed by Helier left the mark of their footsteps on
the rock ; —
so that, as this precious fable of the miraculous foot-
steps marks the spot of another miracle, we might
imagine there wag nothing to be done, but to cross
over to Jersey and verify the fact for ourselves. If
not, " the simple chronicler" might as well have
omitted to record the prodigy. The author, how-
ever, does not seem to perceive this:
now it happens that till a few years ago, there were in
a part of the island not far from, his cell [not even at his
cell, it appears] some strange marks, like the print of feet
upon a hard rock on the sea shore.
They are not there now, however, for the author
informs us, in a note, that " the rock and the ruins
of a chapel have been lately blown np, to procure
stones for the building of a fort." So that, after
all, I fear, " the simple chronicler" has not given us
much help towards marking the spot of the miracle.
But, even if the " strange marks" were still forth-
coming, they do not appear ever to have been very
conclusive evidence of anything:
XXX.] IN THE ROCK. 197
No one could tell whether they were cut out by the
hand of man, or were rude basins worked out by the sea
in a fantastic form. The poor people of the island in after
times, told another tale about these footsteps. [Alas, for
the Simple Chronicler !] They said that the blessed
Virgin had once appeared there, and had left the mark of
her feet upon the rock, and a small chapel was built upon
the spot. Now it may be that these mysterious marks
were neither left by the poor men whom Helier healed,
nor jet by that holy Virgin ; but still let us not despise
the simple tales of the peasantry ; there is very often some
truth hidden beneath them. — p. 25.
And then he proceeds to conclude —
that it is very likely that this story contains traces of a
real miracle done by God through Helier's hand.
And he sums up with the following extraordinary
specimen of solemn self- mystification: —
No one need pity the poor peasants for their faith. lie
alone is to be pitied who thinks all truth fable and all fable
truth, and thus mistakes the fantastic freaks of the tide of
man's opinion for the truth itself, which is founded on that
rock which bears the print of our Lord's ever blessed foot-
steps.— Ibid.
Bishop Burnet somewhere remarks, of a very
•uncommon sort of argument of his own — " This
argument may seem to. be too subtle, and it Avill
require some attention of mind to observe and dis-
cover the force of it ; but after, we have turned it
over and over again, it will be found to be a true
demonstration." It may be so. The bishop may
be right, though I have never had the good fortune •
yet to stumble on any one, who had been lucky
198 THE MIRACULOUS FOOTSTEPS [CHAP.
enough to have turned his argument over and over
the precise number of times required for the dis-
covery. But, certainly, if this passage of the legend
of Helier be an argument, we had need to get inside
it, like a squirrel in a cage, and keep turning it
over and over again for a pretty considerable time,
if we are ever to find it a true demonstration. Here
are, first of all, a set of miracles which even their
historian gives up as apocryphal. Secondly, and
notwithstanding, the spot where they were worked
is determined (and if it be, of course the miracles
themselves demonstrated,) by a simple chronicler, —
who had all the advantage of impartiality, at least,
as he lived three hundi-ed years after. And then,
tliirdly — just as some personification of Old Morta-
lity is setting ofi" to Jersey, to hunt up these won-
drous footsteps, he is told, alas ! that the said foot-
steps are no longer in existence ! the rock in which
they once were, having been blown up and turned
into a fort, — which, to be sure, may be used to
silence incredulous disbelievers, quite as eftectually
as ever the mysterious rocks could, before their
integrity was tampered with by gunpowder. And
then, fourthly, — it is just suggested, that those who
lived later than "the simple chronicler" had another
way of accounting for the marks, — which need not
be further particularized ; and, of course, they should
be believed, — as the credibility of such tales is in the
inverse ratio of the nearness of the historian to the
XXX.] IN THE ROCK. 199
time of the event related. And, still more astonish-
ing, after one is left but the choice of two miracles
to account for these marks, it turns out, fifthly, that
they were all along such strange looking marks,
that it is quite uncertain (or ivas, namely, when
there were any marks to be uncertain about) whether
they were cut out by the hand of man, or were rude
basins worked out by the sea in a fantastic form, —
in other words, whether there ever could have been
any miracle in the affair at all. And in fine, just as
we are beginning to think, that we have at last found
out the gist of this " true demonstration," Ave are
driven to give it another turn, by the author softly
whispering, that, after all, there is probably " some
truth hidden beneath," and " that it is very likely
this story contains traces of a real miracle."
The most remarkable part of this whole affair,
perhaps, is this, — that there is not the slightest
reason to suppose all this to have been written with
any design of making Mr. Newman's system appear
ridiculous. The book is printed and published by
the same persons, who have printed and published
the rest of Mr. Newman's edition of the Lives of
the English Saints. No one has ventured to sug-
gest a suspicion of this volume being spurious. In
fact, no such thought could be entertained for a
moment ; and therefore, I cannot avoid asking the
question. What conceivable object can Mr. Newman
have in suffering such rubbish to be circulated
200 THE AGE OF FAITH REVIVED. [CHAP.
under the sanction of liis name? Why does he con-
sider such writing likely to benefit "most erring
and most unfortunate England?" And — to look at
the matter in another point of view — if such books
find any sale, except for waste paper,, why should
he consider England so erring and unfortunate ?
For, surely, if there are people enough in the
country, to make it worth a publisher's while to
embark his capital in such legends as this, England
may still lay claim to the possession of some portion
of the spirit of those ages of faith, when " men were
not critical about believing a little more or a little
less," as this author pleasantly informs us.
XXXI.] ST. helier's vision. 201
CHAPTER XXXI.
ST. helier's death— he carries his head in his hand
ST. ninian's staff and the schoolboy.
I MUST hasten however to the events connected with
the death of Helier:
For twelve long- years after his spiritual father had left
him did Helier dwell on his barren rock. His scanty his-
tory does not tell us e.xpressly what he did, nor whether he
with his companion converted the islanders to the Christian
faith. His life is hid tvith Christ in God. We are how-
ever told minutely how at last he fell asleep, after his short
hut toilsome life. One night when he was resting on his
hard couch, our blessed Lord for whom he had given up
all things, appeared to him in a vision, and smiling upon
him, said, " Come to me, my beloved one ; three days hence,
thou shalt depart from this world with the adornment of
thine own blood." — p. 30.
The author, be it remembered, has so little re-
liance on the authority of his " simple chronicler,"
that he does not venture to call this life anything
more than "a legend;" and the utmost he ventures
to say is, that he will not go so far as " to assert
that the whole of the narrative is fiction ;" much
less, of course, to deni/ .that it may be. And yet,
although he knows the sole foundation for this
legend to be a tale written " at least three hundred
years after St. Helier," and so full of palpable mis-
takes and anachronisms, as to be of no sort of value
as an authority, — he still tells us, — with as much
solemnity as if he were transcribing from the Holy
202 ST. helier's death. [chap.
Scriptures, — thai our blessed Lord appeared in a
vision, and said certain words, which he is irreverent
enough to recite, — all the time, as I have stated,
knowing and admitting that there is no reason for
believing the story to be any better than a fable; —
and then, to gloss over the fact that nothing cer-
tain of any sort is known about Helier, he tells us
that "his life is hid with Chi'ist in God."
However, the legend goes on to relate that, three
days after, a fleet of Saxons visited the coast, and
some of them having found out his hermitage, one
of the savages cut off his head : —
Next morning his spiritual guide came down to the sea-
shore to cross over to the hermitage; when however he came
down to the beach, he saw lying on the sand the body of
his young disciple. He did not know how it came there ;
the tide might have floated it across the narrow channel
between the hermitage rock and the mainland. But the
head was resting so tranquilly on the breast between the
two hands, and its features still smiling so sweetly, that he
thought that God, to preserve the body of the Saint from
infidel hands, had endued the limbs with life to bear the
head across to the shore. — pp. 31, 32.
And then the story goes on to tell of his carrying
Helier's body into a little vessel which, conveniently
enough, happened to be lying near — and how he
fell asleep, and when he awaked, he found the vessel
gliding into a harbour on a coast he had never seen,
but crowded with people, gazing on what they took
for a phantom vessel; and, in fine, how the bishop
came down in his pontificals, and with incense and
XXXI.] THE PHANTOM BOAT. 203
chanting they bore the body in procession to the
church. A note informs the reader that —
The acts of St. IleHer are so confused, that it is impos-
sible to malie out what is the place here meant.— p. 3-2.
And yet, though the tale bears such unmistake-
able marks of falsehood and imposture, the author
says :
An invisible hand had unmoored the vessel, and angels
had guided it through rapid currents and past bristling
rocks; and it swam on alone over the surface of the sea,
till it came safely to the harbour where the saint was to
rest. — Ibid.
And this is not all; for, in the introduction, he
meets the question of this particular miracle boldly
and at some length. I should be sorry to speak
harshly of these winters, but really I cannot but
think, that any person who had a real reverence for
religion, and who felt that awe which every devout
mind must feel in the use he makes of the name of
his Creator, — considering the manifestly fictitious
character of the only authority he had to go on, —
would have been willing, — if he must retail such a
story at all, — to hazard any conjecture, rather than
profane the name of the Almighty, by using it for
the purpose of giving an air of sanctity to such a
clumsy fable. And, for instance, he might have
conjectured, — and, it would have been anything but
an improbable conjecture, — that the murderers had,
out of sheer wantonness, insulted the corpse of their
victim, by leaving the body on the shore with the
204 ST. helier's carrying [chap.
head between the hands. However, the reader shall
see how this author treats the question :
As for St. Helier's carrying his head in his hands, it
may be observed that the writer only represents the story
as a conjecture of the priest who attended on the saint.
Very well; and, considering the date and the cha-
racter of " the simple chronicler," this is a tolerably
fair apology for him. But what apology is this for
the author of this new life, who, knowing that it is
impossible to prove the story to be true, much less,
that there was anything miraculous in the transac-
tion, deliberately ascribes the transmission of the
vessel and its burden to the agency of angels, as if
the facts were unquestionably true ? It is with this
modern biographer, and not with " the simple
chronicler," we have to do just at present. He
proceeds —
And it may here be mentioned that besides this of St.
Helier, only three other instances have been found by lis of
similar legends, the well-known story of St. Denys, that
of St. Winifred, and that of St. Liverius, martyred by the
Huns at Metz, a.d. 450, and mentioned in one Martyr-
ology, on the 25th of November. Of these four instances,
that which is the best known, seems, though occurring in
the Roman Breviary, to be tacitly or avowedly given up
by most writers on the subject ; and all, except the in-
stance of St. Winifred, which may perhaps be considered
in another place, are introduced to account for the removal
of the body of a Saint from the place of his martyrdom. If
there were not also a want of evidence for these stories,
this alone would not of course authorize us to mistrust
XXXI,] niS HEAD IN HIS HANDS. . 205
them, for none would presume to limit the power of Almighty
God, or His favours to His Saints. As however they are
related by writers far distant from the time when the
events are said to have occurred, it may be allowed to
class them among mythic legends. Into this form threw
itself the strong belief of those faithful ages in the Christian
truth that the bodies of Saints, the temples of the Holy
Ghost, are under the special keeping of God, and that
these precious vessels are one day to be again alive, and to
be glorified for ever wdth the saintly souls, which without
these are not perfect. The bodies of saints have ivithout
doubt been kept incorrupt, as though life was still in them,
and the belief that they had sometimes by God's power
moved as though they were alive, was onlij a step beyond
that fact. — pp. 11, 12.
Now, to all this laborious eifoi't to strip falsehood
of its guilt, and mystify a very plain and simple
question, the reply is obvious. I have no anxiety
to exaggerate the faults of the media3val authors and
compilers of legends. It seems very clear to me,
however, that if " those faithful ages" had been
possessed witli a sufficiently " strong belief" of a
" Christian truth," which some persons seem in
danger of forgetting — namely, that God abhors
lying, and that to couple the name of the Almighty
with a falsehood is to take his name in vain — their
"■ strong belief" would most probably have thrown
itself into the form of making a bonfire of their
legends, and the world would have been spared the
melancholy spectacle of clergymen of the church of
England making use of such palpable and disgust-
ing fictions in order to propagate the errors of Rome.
206 ST. KINIAN. [chap.
An unsound and unhealthy state of mind it was, when
men who feared God thought to honour him by going
" only a step beyond" any " fact," in their relation of
anything, — more especially, where His name was in-
volved. But I have no wish to inquire too curiously
into the faults of a remote age. We have to do with the
present — with living men — and an energizing system,
— and therefore it is I believe it absolutely necessary
to speak plainly. If Christiaiiity is to be propagated
by mythic legends, and going " only a step beyond"
facts, it requires but little sagacity to perceive the
consequences. And, further, if people dream of
being at liberty to write church history, with as
little regard to truth as if they were writing a fairy
tale, whdre a giant more or less is not a matter of
much importance, — and if their disciples are taught
not to be " critical about believing a little more or
a little less," no one need be surprised, if the transition
to Neologianism should be as rapid as it is easy.
But this is a part of the movement which will
require a fuller exposure than a passing sentence
can give it.
The story of the phantom ship in this Legend of
St. Helier, is not without a parallel. A somewhat
similar miracle, — as far as the movement of the boat
is concerned, — is found in the thirteenth volume of
this series, in the life of St. Ninian, of whom the
biographer acknowledges, that whatever is known of
him is chiefly owing to a life said to be written
seven hundred years after his death, by St. Aelred;
XXXI.] THE TRUANT SCHOOL-BOY. 207
and even of this the genuineness is " questioned by
the Bollandists." According to the new legend, then,
St. Ninian,. when bishop in Galloway, kept a school
there: and out of that circumstance grows the follow-
ing story, which I think my reader will agree with
me is worth transcribing. The biographer professes
" to adopt or paraphrase the words of St. Aelred."
It happened on a time that one of the boys offended, and
preparations were made to punish him. The boy, in
alarm, ran away ; but knowing the power and goodness of
the Saint, and thinking he should find a solace in his flight
if he did but take with him anytliing belonging to the
good Bishop, he took off the staff on which St. Ninian
used to support himself. In his eagerness to escape he
looked out for a boat which might carry him away. The
boats of the country St. Aelred then describes. They
were of wicker work, large enough to hold three men ;
over this wicker work a hide was stretched, and the boat
would float and be impervious to the waves. They are
the same boats which Pliny and Caesar describe, and in
which the Britons would cross the sea to France or Ire-
land, or even go voyages of many days. They are called
currachs or coracles ; they were long in use in the Western
Isles, and still are among the fishermen on the Wye.
There happened just then to be many large ones making
ready on the shore. The wicker work was finished, but
the hides not put on. He very incautiously got in, and
the light boat at first kept on the top of the waves, the
water not at once making its way through; soon however
it did so, and there seemed no prospect but tliat it must
fill and go down. He knew not whether to run the risk
of leaping out or staying and sinking. In the moment of
his distress, however, he thought of the holiness and power
of St. Ninian ; contrite for his fault, as though weeping at
his feet, he confesses his guilt, entreats pardon, and hij the
most holy merit of the Saint begs the aid of Heaven. Trusting,
208 THE MIRACLES WORKED BY [CHAP.
with childlike simplicity, that the staff was not without its
virtue, as belonging to the Saint, he fixed it in one oi, the
openings. — pp. 106, 107.
"Why the child should imagine that fixing the
staff in one of the openings could have any particu-
lar efficacy, is not very easily discovered.
The water retreated, and, as if in fear, presumed not to
pour in. " These,'' says the saintly Aelred, " these are
the works of Christ, Who did say to His disciples, he that
believoth in Me the works that I do, shall he do also, and
greater things than these shall he do. — pp. 107, 108.
Yet, considering the only authority pretended for
this story is a life of St. Ninian, which, if it be
genuine, is confessed to have been written seven
hundred years after his death, one might have
thought that most Christians would have been afraid
to make such an application of the Lord's words.
.A gentle wind arose and forced on the little boat, the
staff supplied the place of sail, and rudder, and anchor to
stay his course. The people crowding on the shore saw
the little ship, like some bird swimming along the waves,
without either oar or sail. The boy comes to shore, and
to spread more widely the fame of the holy Bishop, he in
strong faith fixed the staff in the ground, and prayed that
as a testimony to the miracle, it might take root, send forth
branches, flowers, and fruit. Presently the dry wood shot
out roots, was clothed with fresh bark, produced leaves
and branches, and grew into a considerable tree, ^aj, to
add miracle to miracle, at the root of the tree a spring of
the clearest water burst forth, and poured out a glassy
stream, which wound its way with gentle murmurs, grate-
ful to the eye, anA,from the merits of the Saint, useful and
health-giving to the sick.
With what interest would this tale be told to the pilgrim
XXXI.] ST. ninian's staff. 209
strangers, and the tree and fountain shown as the evidences
of its truth in those days of simple faith! And with hearts
lifted up to God, and trusting in the aid of St. Niniaiis
prayers, many a poor sick man would drink of the clear
stream.
Men of this day may smile at their simplicity; but
better surely is the mind w^hich receives as no incredible
thing, the unusual interposition of Ilim who worketh all
things according to the counsel of His own will ; Ijetter
the spirit which views the properties of a salubrious spring
as the gift of God, granted to a faithful and holy servant,
than that which would habitually exclude the tliought of
the Great Doer of all, by resting on the Laws of Nature
as something independent of Him, not, as they are, the
way in which He usually works ; or thanklessly, and as
a matter of course receive the benefit of some mineral
waters.— pp. 108, 109.
But surely there is no need (except for a parti-
cular class of people) to rush into one extreme of
folly, in order to avoid another. This, howevei", is
altogether beside the question. The question is,
what authority there is for the story. This talk of
simple faith, and of miracles being worked, takes
the story altogether out of the class of mythic
legends. It is either history or a falsehood. And,
as no sane person could dream of regarding it as
history, I shall beg my reader to consider, whtit
etfects ax'e likely to be produced on the minds of the
sort of people for whom these Lives of the Saints
must be designed, by teaching them to apply the
sacred words of our Redeemer to such preposterous
fables.
VOL. I. P
210 ST. NEOT. [chap.
CHAPTER XXXII.
ST. NEOT AND THE LOCK — THE THREE FISHES — THE FOX
AND THE SHOE.
The Legend of St. Neot contains one or two mira-
cles at least that cannot well be passed over. The
author commences his work by stating, that,
It is not pretended that every fact in the following
Legend can be supported on sound historical evidence.
With the materials which wp have, it would not only be
presumptuous, but impossible, to attempt to determine any
thing with any certainty^ respecting them ; how much is
true, how much fiction.
Which, — if one did not know how these books
are written, — would seem designed to prepare
the reader for an absence of miraculous stories in
the narrative. It seems, by this author's account,
there are five old lives of St. Neot extant, the
earliest having been written about a hundred and
fifty years after his death, and that "of these the
first thing Ave remark, is a striking disagreement in
the details of the several narratives:" and yet, that
"all these facts are related with extreme minuteness
and accuracy of detail," which two things being put
together, will, I suppose, be thought to render the
authority of the whole rather questionable. The
author's reflection is curious:
Now this, if not the highest evidence in their favour,
(vv-hich it may be) would seem to indicate that they
XXXII.] RELIGIOUS MYTHS. 211
allowed themselves a latitude in their narratives, and made
free use of their imagination to give poetic fuhiess to their
compositions. In other words, their Lives are not so
much strict biographies, as myths, edifying stories com-
piled from tradition, and designed not so much to relate
facts, as to produce a religious impression on the mind of
the hearer. — p. 74.
What is the value of religious impressions pro-
duced in this way, I should hope, my readers will
be at no loss to conjecture; but certain it is, that
these writers do consider it perfectly allowable to
compose religious myths — stories, where, supposing
the existence of the hero to be assumed as a fact,
any quantity of imaginary sayings or doings may be
atti'ibuted to him — and amongst the rest, miracles
and visions, which imply the interposition of the
Almighty. The mode in which this is justified will
come to be considered hereafter — at present I am
concerned only with the fact. And on these slender
materials they do think it lawful, not only to con-
struct history and biography, but even to make
solemn acts of devotion. I must beg my reader, in
perusing the following passage, to recollect that this
author has nothing to go on for the facts of his story
but contradictory and conflicting legends, which he
confesses can only be regarded " as myths ; " —
accounts so irreconcilably contradictory, that he
acknowledges that with such materials, " it would
not only be presumptuous, but impossible, to attempt
to determine any thing with any certainty, respecting
p 2
212 ABBOT EAMSA^'s PRAYER. [CHAP.
tliem; how much is true, how much Jiction." I shall
also request liim to bear in mind, that the fact of
Athelstan and Neot being one and the same person
is a matter which is not certain.
Prince Athelstan became the monk Neotus ; the very
meaning of his new title " the renewed," implies that his
past life was to be as though it had not been ; or as the
Ufe of another man. In such change is entire revolution
of heart and hope and feeling. It is indeed a death : a
resurrection ; a change from earth on earth to heaven on
earth ; before he did his duty to God in and through his
duty to the world ; now what he does for the world is but
indirect, but he is permitted a closer union, a more direct
service to God. And therefore those good men who gave
their labours to commemorate the life of this holy Saint, do
properly commence their task at this point ; and that we
too who are permitted to follow in their footsteps may labour
in the same reverential spirit as they laboured; let us join
with Abbot Ramsay of Croyland and say^
Forasmuch as it has pleased Almighty God to remove
that holy Saint Neotus, to the blessed company of Saints
in heaven, I have undertaken to record such actions as he
performed while here on earth \ therefore with a deep
sense of my own unworthiness for so high a task, I pray
to the Fountain of all mercies, that of His infinite good-
ness He will deign to send me His most gracious help,
that I may be enabled to make known such things as are
handed down by tradition, concerning this venerable man ;
and that I may have him for my protector and intercessor
in all dangers. — pp. 89, 90.
Which, considering the slender grounds on which
the legend rests, is a sort of devotion that needs a
higher sanction than that of Abbot Eamsay of
Croyland to justify its adoption.
XXXII.] ST. NEOT AND THE LOCK. 213
The first of St. Neot's miracles, which comes
under our notice, is one which occurred while he
was still at Glastonbury, and before he became a
hermit. It is told in these words:
And as time went on, God left him not without special
mark of His favour, and not only thus enabled him to
scatter His benefits among the people ; but that all men
might know that such a life as his did indeed raise its pos-
sessor above the weaknesses and imperfections of this mortal
life, He began to work sensible miracles by his hand.
It was the custom of the monks of the Abbey, at the
hour of mid -day, to retire alone to their several cells, for
private prayer and meditation. This hour was held
sacred, and no communication of any sort was permitted
among the brethren. Neot, whose cell was nearest to the
great gate of the 'monastery, was disturbed in his devo-
tions by a violent and continued knocking. On repairing
to the grating to ascertain the cause he discovered a per-
son who might not be refused, pressing in haste for admis-
sion ; he immediately hurried to the door, but, to his
confusion and perplexity, he found that from the smallness
of his stature he was unaltle to reach the lock. The knock-
ing now became more violent, and Neot, in despair of
natural means of success, prayed to God for assistance.
Immediately the lock slid gently dovm the door, until it
reached the level of his girdle, and thus he was enabled to
open it without further difficulty. This remarkable
miracle is said to have been witnessed to by all the bre-
thren, for the lock continued in its place, and the people
flocked together from all quarters to see it. — p. 96.
This miracle, then, is not only stated by this
writer to have been a permanent miracle, and one
which " people flocked together from all quarters to
see;" but it is also expressly asserted, that it was a
214 ST. NEOT AND THE LOCK. [cHAP.
sensible interposition on the part of God for a par-
ticular purpose, — namely, to recommend monkery,
— " that all men might know that such a life as his
did indeed raise its possessor above the loeaknesses
and imperfections of this mortal life; — which, sup-
posing the story to be true, the miracle would hardly
be sufficient to prove. The author then asserts that
this extraordinai'y and romantic miracle was worked
by the Almighty, in order to raise the credit of the
monastic life. Does he believe the story to be true?
Does he believe it to possess the slightest foundation
in fact, or to be supported by the lowest degree of evi-
dence which should jirocure it a moment's attention
from any rational person? Does he believe it to be a
whit more credible (as far as testimony is eon-
cerned) than the history of Cinderella or of Jack the
Giant Killer? If he does not — if he knows (and he
avows it) that it is nothing better than a myth, a
legend, in plain speaking, an untruth, what is to be
thought of the system he is labouring to propagate,
and of its inevitable effects on Christianity itself ?
To assert that God has done anything which one does
not believe him to have done, is what no devout or
reverent mind could do, not even in a work of fiction.
No name, however high or popular, can sanction
what is manifestly so improper. But to assert, not
only that God has worked a miracle, but that he has
woi'ked it for a purpose, and to dare to pronounce
what that purpose Avas, — all the while knowing and
XXXII.] THE THREE FISHES. 215
avowing that tlie whole story is no better than a
legend, — is a very high and uncommon degree of
impiety indeed, — uncommon, at least, in the clergy
of the church of England.
A story which occurs a few pages after the account
of the migration of the lock, will serve for another
example of the sort of miracles by which the church
is now pretended to be edified. It is stated that
"an angel was sent to St. Neot, at Glastonbury,"
who conducted him to an hermitage in Cornwall,
where he was -directed to take up his abode.
Here, in this lonely spot, he was to spend seven years
in a hermit's cell, and live by the labour of his own hands ;
yet was he not unsupported by Him who had sent him
there. From the time of his arrival to the close of his
trial, a continuous sensible viiracle declared the abiding
presence of tlie favour of Ood. — p. 99.
Can it be imagined that any one who feared God
would write in such a manner, unless he wished it
to be understood, that he was convinced of the
truth of the story he was about to relate?
They had spent one night there, and the Saint was in
the chapel, when Barius came in haste to tell him that
three fish were playing in the basin where the fountain
rose. St. Neot ordered him on no account to touch them,
until he should have himself enquired what this strange
thing might mean. In ansu'er to his prayer the same
angel appeared, and told him that the fish were there for
his use, and that every morning one might be taken and
prepared for food ; if he feithfully ol)eyed this command,
the supply should never fail, and the same number should
even continue in the fountain. And so it was, and ever
216 THE THREE FISHES. [CHAP.
the three fish were seen to play there, and every morning
one was taken and two were left, and every evening were
three fish leaping and gamboling in the bubbling stream ;
therefore did the Saint offer nightly praise and thanks-
giving, for this so wonderful preservation ; and time went
on, and ever more and more did St. Neot's holiness grow
and expand and blossom. — pp. 99, 100.
This happy arrangement met a very serious in-
terruption, which, however, was the occasion of a
miracle more surprising than the former —
His discipline was so strict, and continued with such un-
relaxing severity, that on a certain occasion he was taken
ill in consequence. The faithful Barius, ever anxious to
anticipate his master's smallest want, if by any means
some portion of the saintly radiance might so be reflected
upon him, was anxious to prepare some food, to be ready
for him on his awaking from a sleep into which, after
nights of watchfulness, he had at length fallen. Here,
however, he was met by a difficulty : his master's illness
had reduced him to a state of extreme delicacy, and he
was at a loss how he ought to dress his food. Hastily and
incautiously he resorted to a dangerous expedient. In-
stead of one fish, he took two from the basin, and roasting
one and boiling the other, he presented both to St. Neot
for choice, on his awaking from his sleep. In dismay and
terror the Saint learnt what had been done, and springing
from his couch, and ordering Barius instantly to replace
both fish as they were in the water, himself spent a night
and a day in prayer and humiliation. Then at length
were brought the welcome tidings of forgiveness ; and
Barius joyfully reported that both fish were swimming in
the water. After this, his illness left him, and the supply
in the fountain continued as before. — pp. 100, 101.
Really, I do not know in what terms to speak of
XXXII,] THE LOST SHOE. '217
such extravagant absurdities. The continual temp-
tation is to allow the impiety and fanaticism of the
author to divert our attention from that which is
the only point deserving serious notice, — the cha-
racter and object of the movement which these
books are written for the purpose of advancing.
In the monastery of Glastonbury he had learnt themode
of self-discipline by which St. Patrick had attained his
saintly eminence, and now in his hermitage he almost
rivalled him in austerities. Every morning St. Patrick
repeated the Psalter through from end to end, with the
hymns and canticles, and two hundred prayers. Every
day he celebrated mass, and every hour he drew the holy
sign across his breast one hundred times ; in the first
watch of the night he sung a hundred psalms, and knelt
two hundred times upon the ground ; and at cockcrow he
stood in water, until he had said his prayers. Similarly
each morning went St. Neot's orisons to heaven from out
of his holy well ; alike in summer and in the deep winter's
cold, bare to his waist, he too each day repeated the Psalter
through. — p. 101.
This passage I have referred to already ; but I am
obliged to transcribe it here again, as it explains the
following tale: —
One day when he was thus engaged in the depth of
winter, he was disturbed by suddenly hearing the noise
of a hunting party riding rapidly down the glen. Un-
willing that any earthly being should know of his auste-
rities, but only the One who is over all, he sprung hastily
from the water and was retiring to his home, when he
dropped one of his shoes. He did not wait to pick it up,
but hurried off and completed his devotions in secret.
And when he had finished his psalms, and his reading,
218' THE FOX AND THE ANGEL. [CHAP.
and his prayers, with all diligence and care, he remem-
bered his shoe and sent his servant to fetch it. In the
meantime a fox, wandering over hill and vale, and
curiously prying into every nook and corner, had chanced
to come to the place where the holy man had been stand-
ing, and had lighted upon the shoe and thought to carry
it off. And an angel who loved to hover in hallowed places,
and to breathe an atmosphere which loas sanctified hy the
devotions of God's Saints, was present there invisibly and
saw this thing, and he would not that such an one as St.
Neot should be molested even in so small a matter, so that
he had sent the sleep of death upon the fox, and Barius
when he came there found him dead, arrested at the in-
stant of his theft, yet holding the thongs of his shoe in his
mouth. Then he approached in fear and wonder, and took
the shoe arjd brought it to the holy man, and told him all
that had happened. — pp. 101, 102.
Now, I hope I need not say, I have no desire to
treat a7it/ miraculous story whatever with ridicule.
The subject is too serious. The absurdity and
grotesque character of these stories might provoke a
smile, were it not that there is a miracle pretended,
and that these miracles, whatever their character
may be, are alleged for a purpose, — namely, to con-
vey the impression, that monastic austerities are
pleasing to God, and that there is some peculiar and
heroic degree of sanctity in a man's banishing him-
self from the society of his fellow-christians, and all
the year round, winter and summer, standing in a
well or fish-pond every day, until he has repeated
the Psalter through. This, we are now taught, is
piety; — and when to this one adds the picture given
XKXII.] THE OBJECT OF THESE TALES. 219
of St. Patrick, that " every hour he drew the holy
sign across his breast one hundred times" (nearly
twice every minute in the day) ; "in the first watch
of the night he sung a hundred psalms, (which few
persons who know anything of music will deem
much short of a miracle in itself,) and knelt two
hundred times upon the ground; and at cock-crow
he stood in water, until he had said his prayers;"
we have a portraiture and ideal of the practical
piety which Mr. Newman's party are presenting to
the public for the benefit of " most erring and most
unfortunate England." Truly, the miracles and the
piety are worthy of each other; and if men believe
that such piety can be acceptable to their Creator,
it is no wonder, that they should see nothing extra-
ordinary or incongruous in the miracles by which
its acceptance is said to have been signified to the
world.
220 MR. Newman's [chap.
CHAPTER XXXni.
MB. Newman's notion of truth.
But some will ask, wliy persist in making Mr.
Newman responsible for the follies and impieties of
these pernicious books? To this I need give no
other answer than that which has been given
already.
Every word of the articles on Hagiology was written,
as these lines are, under a full and conscientious belief that
for these Lives of the English Saints Mr. Xewman, and
Mr. Newman alone, is responsible. There may be anony-
mous persons, whose responsibility is devolved on him ;
but this is done by his permission, and with a full con-
sciousness on his part, that while he thus voluntarily places
himself between them and the public, all the praise or
blame is exclusively his own.
Nor am I aware of any doctrine advocated in
these books, which may not be fully justified by
passages to be found in works to which IVIr. New-
man has put his name, — to say nothing of the arti-
cles in the British Critic, which he has recom-
mended to the public. And, on this point, of pri-
mary and eternal moment, namely, the right these
authors claim of trifling with truth, — the words I
have already quoted from Mr. Newman's sermon
on Development, are a distinct avowalj that he
considers the use of falsehood in religion may be
justified by circumstances. I quote the words
XXXIII.] NOTIONS OF TULTII. 221
again, test any one should think I am misrepresent-'
ing Mr. Newman's meaning:
It is not more than an hyperbole to say that, in cer-
tain CASES A LIE IS THE NEAREST APPROACH TO
TRUTH. This seems the meaning for instance of St.
Clement, when he says " He [the Christian] })oth thinks
and speaks the truth, unless when at any time, in the
way of treatment, as a physician towards his patients,
so for the welfare of the sick he will be false, or will
tell a falsehood, as the sophists speak. For instance,
the noble apostle circumcised Timothy, yet cried out and
wrote ' circumcision availed not, &c.' " — Strom, vii. 9. We
are told that " God is not the son of man that he should
repent," yet. It repented the Lord that he had made man.
— Univ. Sermons, p. 343.
This is Mr. Newman's own statement of his views
regarding the lawfulness of tampering with truth.
And, with regard also to the particular species of
falsehood which forms the subject of our considera-
tion at present, — namely, the falsification of history
and the manufacturing of legends and miracles to
serve a pious purpose, Mr. Newman has thus ex-
pressed himself in this same sermon on Develop-
ment:—
Mythical representations, at least in their better form,
may be considered facts or narratives, untrue, but like the
truth, intended to bring out the action of some principle,
point of character, and the like. For instance, the tradi-
tion that St. Ignatius was the child whom our Lord took
in his arms, may be unfounded ; but it realizes to us Ilis
special relation to Christ and His apostles, with a keenness
peculiar to itself. The same remark may be made upon
certain narratives of martyrdoms, or of the details of such
222 MR. Newman's [chap.
narratives, or of certain alleged miracles, or heroic acts, or
speeches, all which are the spontaneous produce of reli-
gious feeling under imperfect knowledge. If the alleged
facts did not occur, they ought to have occurred, (if I may
so speak ;) they are such as might have occurred, and
would have occurred, under circumstances ; and they be-
long to the parties to whom they are attributed, poten-
tially, if not actually ; or the like of them did occur ; or
occur to others similarly circumstanced, though not to
those very persons. — p. 345.
Such are Mr. Newman's avowed opinions, and
how they can be distinguished from the princi-
ples and maxims of the Jesuits, it is not easy to dis-
cover. But if this be lawful now, it w^as just as
lawful eighteen hundred years ago; and those who
wrote the Gospels, — with reverence be it spoken, —
were just as much at liberty to construct " mythical
representations," and call them history, as any others
can be : unless, indeed, truth itself also admits of
development. Mr. Newman has here expressly
mentioned " miracles" among the matters which may
lawfully be ascribed to the hero of a legend, though
they had no foundation in fact, — because, "if the
alleged facts did not occur, they ought to have oc-
curred." But, how can any one say a miracle ought
to have occurred, without implying that the Almighty
ought to have worked it ? And to relate a miracle
as matter of fact, merely to embellish a narrative,
and give dignity to a hero, is neither more nor less
than to state, that the Almighty has done a certain
XXXIII,] NOTIONS OF TRUTH. 223
act, without having any reason for believing that he
has — and whether such liberties can be taken with
that sacred name without the guilt of profaneness in
him who does it, and without undermining his own
belief, and the belief of others, in the truths of Chris-
tianity, and even in the existence of a deity, — ap-
pears to me to be a matter deserving of rather more
serious consideration than Mr. Newman or his party
seem yet to have given it. But, be this as it may, —
it is saying what is untrue; — and why any one should
wish to claim a right to use falsehood for the promo-
tion of piety, is not very apparent. In the second
number of these Lives of the Saints — the very num-
ber in the advertisement to which Mr. Newman states,
that these lives are portions of the series " promised
under his editorship" — is a preface written by liim-
self, and signed with his initials, in which he says,
speaking of the preposterous and goblin-like mira-
cles of St. Walburga, — who, the reader is probably
aw^are, is a sort of ecclesiastical Robin Good-fellow
among the German peasantry —
The question will naturally suggest itself to the reader,
whether the miracles recorded in these narratives, espe-
cially those contained in the Life of St. Walburga, are to
be received as matters of fact; and in this day, and under
our present circumstances we can only reply, that there is
no reason why they should not be. They are the kind of
facts proper to ecclesiastical history, just as instances of
sagacity and daring, personal prowess or crime, are the
facts proper to secular history.
224 MR. Newman's notions of truth, [chap.
So that this notion, that it is lawful to ascribe
miracles to the saints, on any, the slightest founda-
tion, or on none whatever, merely because "they
are the kind of facts proper to ecclesiastical history,"
and if they " did not occur, yet they ought to have
occurred,'' and " belong to the parties to whom they
are attributed, potentially, if not actually," — this
notion, — as destructive to piety and religion, as it is
incompatible with correct notions of truth and false-
hood,— has been distinctly avowed and justified by
Mr. Newxaan himself, and that, not only in a Ser-
mon preached before the University, but in the
prefatory matter which he has prefixed to one of the
volumes of this series of the Lives of the English
Saints. It is Mr. Newman, therefore, who has
made himself responsible for these errors and im-
pieties, and not I, nor any other person whatever.
XXXIV.] THE EVIL OF THE SYSTEM. 225
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE EVIL OF THE SYSTEM, DISREGARD OF TRDTH^MR. NEW-
MAN's responsibility FOR THE LIVES OF THE SAINTS.
I SUPPOSE that few unprejudiced persons, who have
had the patience to accompany me thus far, can
have much doubt of the tendency of Mr. Newman's
system, not merely to Romanism, but to Neologian-
ism. And yet, to speak candidly, I do not believe
that its tendency to either or both of these particular
forms of error, is that which constitutes its chief
danger. Nor am I at all sure that many of my
readers have either perceived as yet where that
danger really lies, or are sufficiently alive to its
magnitude if they have. There is no practical error
more prevalent, than the measurement of error or
untruth by the mischief it seems likely to create.
Few, very few persons indeed, have any love for
truth for its own sake, or any abhorrence of false-
hood or error, except for the mischief it is likely to
do, — or rather which they see it is likely to do ; —
for, if the evil effect be not very apparent, or even
if it do not threaten to result very speedily, there
are not many who have so disinterested an attach-
ment to truth, as to give themselves much concern
or trouble in exposing error or contradicting false-
hood. The worst error in the world is this — that
so few persons love truth and detest falsehood on
purely moral and religious grounds. But, how is it
VOL. I. Q
226 THE EVIL OF THE SYSTEM, [cHAP.
possible to preserve the churcli from error, as long
as this indifference to the existence of error pre-
vails ? Experience proves, that every now and
then, errors are introduced, not in solitary and re-
pulsive deformity, but mixed up with truths, — per-
haps with truths which appear calculated to promote
valuable ends. And so it happens, that those who
look at truth and error rather as a question of ex-
pediency than of morality, do but too readily suffer
themselves to become patrons of error, — or if not
patrons, at least to connive at it, — until, under their
auspices and connivance, it has gained strength, and
access, and currency, and the time for crushing and
extinguishing it is lost for ever.
The Romish and Neologian tendencies of Mr. New-
man's system must be apparent to any one who will
take the trouble to examine it in his own writings, or
in those of his coadjutors. But this tendency is rather
the operation of the system and its results in a par-
ticular direction — than the system itself. The real
evil of the system is not that it tends to this parti-
cular error or the other — but, that it lays the foun-
dation for error of every sort, by habituating those
who embrace it to trifle with truth — and, whether
the fruits of this evil habit be found, in explaining
away of formularies and in non-natural subscriptions,
— or in figurative and mystic interpretations of
Holy Scripture, — or in the suppressing of facts' that
oppose their theory, — or in the manufacture of
XXXIV.] DISREGARD OF TRUTH. 227
catenas, and the garbling and misquoting of autho-
rities,— or in the retailing of absurd and preposte-
rous fables as part of the history of the Almighty's
dealing with the church, — or in throwing the reins
on a licentious imagination, and dressing up the
facts of the gospel narrative as a mythic legend, and
calling such irreverence and presumption, medita-
tion, and an act of faith; — in whichever of these
ways this disregard of truth is manifested, it is the
disregard of truth, and not any one or all of its re-
sults, which constitutes the real evil. For trutli is
of God, — and falsehood is of the wicked one. And
he who teaches men to undervalue truth, and to
tamper with it, and to play with falsehood, is, — in
whatever guise he may appear, or however he may
delude himself, — undermining the kingdom of God,
and promoting the power and dominion of the king-
dom of darkness.
Nor is this evil at all diminished, but the con-
trary, by the absence of an intention to deceive.
For, in point of fact, little mischief is done by
wilful and designed falsehood, compared with the
injury done by self-mystification — and by that con-
fusion of truth and falsehood in the mind, which,
unfortunately, is as contagious as disease or pesti-
lence, and which spreads all the more rapidly and
effectually, because men are not on their guard
against it. Now, this is precisely what I am most
anxious my readers should bear in mind. The
Q 2
228 THESE LEGENDS DO NOT [cHAP.
Lives of the English Saints are no doubt very gross
instances of folly and profaneness — but if a line of
them had never been written, my own estimation of
the evil of Mr. Newman's system would have re-
mained the same. And that, not because there is
no error in them w^hich cannot be traced to Mr.
Newman's teaching and paralleled in his writings —
but because Mr. Newman has, by the mode in which
he has dealt with Holy Scripture, in his figiirative
and mystic interpretations, taught men to trifle and
play with truth, and that in precisely the most mis-
chievous way in which it can be trifled with. For
the grammatical sense of the Holy Scripture- is the
foundation and only security of truth in religion.
And he who by any methods of interpretation or
accommodation, teaches men to explain away the
grammatical meaning of the "Word of God, does not
only lay the axe to the root of all sound theology,
but does likewise sow the seeds of positive error and
heresy of every sort and kind, and of irreverence
for the sacred name of the Almighty. Mr. New-
man's Lives of the Saints but too plainly prove these
to be the legitimate consequences of such teaching.
But they are only the consequences ; and little
benefit will be done by these pages, if my readers
suffer themselves to be so occupied with the conse-
quences as to forget their cause.
But besides this, I feel that I should have done
XXXIV.] MISREPRESENT THE SYSTEM. 229
real injury to the cause of truth, if my readers were
led by anything I had said to regard these legends
as something wholly new. New they are, in one
sense, — as being a development, in a particular
direction, of a false principle and an erroneous sys-
tem,— and, in some respects, a disclosure of objects
and intentions and ulterior views, of which the
world had not previously been so distinctly in-
formed. But they are no more than a development
and a disclosure of what already existed; just as
Mr. Ward, in his Ideal, spoke a little more plainly
than his more cautious leader. But, — as the non-
natural subscription of INIr. Ward is, in point of
fact, the identical theory of No. 90, in a more homely
and matter-of-fact fashion than it had assumed in
Mr. Newman's hands, — so the Romanism and Neo-
•ogianism of the Lives of the Saints are nothing
whatever beyond the theology and ethics inculcated
in Mr. Newman's own writings, and in those of
which he has avowed himself the patron — only they
are thrown into a legendary form. Any one who
doubts the justice of this observation, can satisfy
himself by reading Mr. Newman's University Ser-
mons, his Sermons on the Subjects of the Day, and
those articles in the British Critic which he has re-
commended to the public. I think it infinitely im-
portant to keep this fact steadily and constantly
before my readers.
Nor, should I conceive it anything short of doing
my readers a serious mischief, were I to lead th'^ni to
230 THESE LEGENDS DO NOT [CHAP.
imagine, that an erroneous system is less injurious,
when presented in a calm and moderate form. It is
plainly the reverse. Error is never so little likely to
do mischief, as when it makes itself ridiculous and
disgusting. If such works as the Lives of the English
Saints had appeared a few years ago, they might
have been safely left in that obscurity to which the
good sense, and good feeling, and piety of a Chris-
tian community would have speedily consigned
them. It is because things are altered, that these
books require to be exposed now; — because an erro-
neous and false system has already predisposed (it
is to be feared) too many to read such books with
pleasure; — because it has already, and to a very
fearful amount, blunted men's moral and spiritual
perceptions, and prepared them for admiring things
from which, a few years ago, they would have
turned with abhorrence ; — and further, because
these legends by discovering so clearly and plainly
the real spirit and the legitimate effects of that
system, are calculated to put those on their guard,
who required to be forewarned against errors
which make their first advances in a less repul-
sive form, and to awaken those, who are still in-
credulous, and still willing to suppose (if there be
any such remaining) that the movement was harm-
less in its original principle and design, and is only
dangerous in the extravagancies of its younger and
more undisciplined admirers.
XXXIV.] MISREPRESENT THE SYSTEM. 231
Here is a series of books, containing doctrines,
not only contrary to what the Church of England
receives, as the teaching of Holy Scripture and the
primitive church,— but plainly subversive of truth,
of reverence for sacred things, of purity. It is diffi-
cult even to expose their pernicious character, with-
out transcribing matter offensive to piety, and unfit
to be placed before the eyes of modesty. Who is
the originator of these books? — who is the editor?
Has Mr. Newman ever, even by one single line,
come forward, to renounce his connexion with their
authors, much less to express even a shadow of
regret at his having originated and edited a work,
which, from its very first number, displayed a spirit
utterly irreconcileable with the good faith of an
English clergyman? The world has not forgotten,
and it never can, how promptly Mr. Newman re-
sponded, on another and very different occasion,
even to a private remonstrance, and how readily he
came forward to retract publicly the language in
which he had spoken with seventy of Rome and
Romanism; — the very language to which his friends
had so frequently appealed, whenever his system
was charged with a leaning towards the errors of
Rome. With regard to the propriety of Mr. New-
man's conduct, either then or now, I offer no opinion
whatever. It is not to me he is responsible. Nor
can anything but confusion and misconception arise
from making this in any way a personal question
232 WHO IS EESPONSIBLE FOR THEM ? [cHAP.
or allowing feelings either of partiality or dislike to
be mixed up with it. Again and again have I
laboured to impress this on my reader's mind. The
facts of the case are simply these. Mr. Newman
did publicly announce himself as the originator and
editor of this series of lives; he has never since
come forward to disclaim his connexion with it, or
in any way whatever to free himself from the guilt
and responsibility which attaches to every one en-
gaged in the publication. These are the facts, which
no one pretends to be able to deny. And the question
I would ask, is simply this, — Would any man act in
this manner, if he believed that the authors of these
books were giving the public a false view of the
nature of his system, and of the object of the move-
ment of which he is the head and leader, and were
thus defeating and counteracting that design, to the
accomplishment of which his Avhole existence is de-
voted? This is the point really deserving of con-
sideration. For, however thankful I should be to
awaken any of the persons connected with this
movement to the true character and the lamentable
consequences of their unhappy projects, my imme-
diate object is to make the nature of these projects
known, and to put the public fully on their guard
against the system and the teaching by which these
projects are attempted to be accomplished.
XXXV.] DISREGARD OF TRUTH. 233
CHAPTER XXXV.
THE CONFUSED NOTIONS THESE AUTHORS HAVE OF TRUTH
AND FALSEHOOD THEIB DEFENCE OF THE THEORY OF
MEDITATION.
If, then, I am asked, What I believe to be the prin-
cipal evil of the system inculcated by Mr. Newman
and his friends? my answer must be — disregard of
truth,— and a disregard the more dangerous because
it certainly appears to originate in their having, in
the first instance, confused their own notions of truth
and falsehood, both as to their nature and their impor-
tance. It is difficult, from such a mass of writing,
to select examples. One or two, from the lives of
the Hermit Saints, will be sufficient to explain my
meaning. The first shall be taken from the legend
of St. Gundleus, of whom nothing certain appears
to be known. Indeed, the author very freely con-
fesses the fictitious nature of the tale, brief as it is:
Whether St. Gundleus led this very life, and -wTOUght
these very miracles, I do not know ; but I do know that
they are Saints whom the Church so accounts, and I be-
lieve that, though this account of him cannot be proved, it
is a symbol of what he did and what he was, a picture of
his saintliness, and a specimen of his power. — p. 8.
Now, before I proceed further, I must beg to call
my reader's attention to the meaning of this passage?
The author, it appears, does not scruple to state that
he has no knowledge, no proof whatever of the truth
of the story. Yet he relates it gravely as a piece of
234 DEFENCE OF THE [CHAP.
ecclesiastical history ; and specially, he relates cer-
tain miracles which he states were performed by
Gundleus, living and dead, and the appearing of an
angelic host about his tomb. Did these things really
happen, or did they not? Did the Almighty really
interpose by miracles, supernatural voices, and visions
of angels? The author answers, " I do not know;"
— and, in fact, as nothing was to be known, he could
give no other answer. But, as he did not know,
whether these miraculous tales were true or not,
why did he retail them? How can such conduct be
exonerated from the charge of disregard of truth,
and of a most irreverent and profane mode of treat-
ing sacred names and subjects? The fact is, — as it
will appear in the sequel, — the authors seem resolved
to write something. If they have credible materials,
well and good; if not, they must only retail palpable
fictions, and call them myths, symbols, and legends.
" But I do know," says this author, " that they
are saints whom the church so accounts." Yet, if
he should consult any respectable Roman-catholic
authority, he would find that this matter is. not
deemed quite so certain in the Roman church. But
this is a point which cannot be noticed now. Nor
does the author seem to rest the whole of the
story on this ground ; — but merely the fact of
Gundleus being a Saint. The point on which he
thinks it requisite to bestow some pains, is the law-
fulness of making up fictions of this sort on the
XXXV,] THEORY OF MEDITATION. 235
slenderest materials, or on none at all. This ques-
tion he has discussed at considerable length in the
introduction to the life of Gundleus, and his reason-
ing,— if such it can be called, — will afford an illus-
tration striking enough, of the manner in which this
party contrive to puzzle and perplex their judgment
in the plainest matters, and of the sophistry by which
they are endeavouring to lead the public mind back
to those superstitions from which the divine mercy
has delivered us.
The Christian lives in the past and in the future, and in
the unseen ; in a word, he lives in no small measure in the
unknown. And it is one of his duties, and a part of his
work, to make the unknown known ; to create within him
an image of what is absent, and to realize by faith what he
does not see. For this purpose he is granted certain out-
lines and rudiments of the truth, and from thence he learns
to draw it out into its full proportions and its substantial
form, — to expand and complete it ; whether it be the abso-
lute and perfect truth, or truth under a human dress, or
truth in such a shape as is most profitable for him. And
the process, by which the word which has been given him,
" returns not void," but brings forth and buds and is ac-
complished and prospers, is Meditation. — p. 1 .
This may be " Meditation," — but plain-spoken
people would have called it fiction. And if such a
process of invention be lawful, what is meant by
*' intruding into the things that are not seen?" But
what infinite confusion is here ! It is one of the
Christian's duties " to realize by faith what he does
not see." Undoubtedly it is — but why " by faith f
236 DEFENCE OF THE [CHAF.
Because faith is that which embraces a revelation.
Faith does not " make the unknown known." But
rather, it withdraws its foot when it reaches the con-
fines of " the unknown," content to know and to
realize what is known and revealed, and not pre-
suming rashly to attempt to unveil those " secret
things," which the divine wisdom has thought proper
to reserve to himself. This is faith. But to at-
tempt " to make the unknown known" is not an ex-
ercise of faith, but the licentiousness of a pi'esump-
tuous imagination, wise above that which is written.
Even when this author says, that it is a Christian
duty to " realize by faith what he does not see," in
his sense of the word " realize" the proposition is
untrue. For, undoubtedly, what he means by real-
izing is, allowing the imagination to invent those
particulars which the Word of God has concealed, —
and how any one can imagine this to be a duty, is
exceedingly surprising.
It is Meditation which does for the Christian what In-
vestigation does for the children of men. Investigation
may not be in his power, hut he may always meditate.
For investigation he may possess no materials or instru-
ments ; he needs but little aid or appliance from without
for Meditation. The barley loaves and few small fishes
are made to grow under his hand ; the oil fills vessel after
vessel till not an empty one remains ; the water-pots be-
come the wells of a costly liquor ; and the very stones of
the desert germinate and yield him bread. He trades with
his Lord's money as a good steward ; that in the end his
Lord may receive his own with usury. — pp. 1, 2.
XXXV.] THEORY OF MEDITATION. 237
Divested of the figures here used to give it sacred-
ness, and an appearance of being recognised by Holy
Scripture, — " Meditation" — in this sense of the
word — is really nothing but falsehood and irreve-
rence. The true Christian will wait for the Divine
command before he begins to fill his vessels with oil,
or pour out costly liquor from the water-pots; and
if he should be tempted to command " the stones of
the desert to germinate and yield him bread," he
will remember the example of Him who was once
assailed by the same temptation, and resisted it. In
truth, the illustrations are as unhappy as the doc-
trine is false.
This is the way of the divinely illuminated mind, whe-
ther in matters of sacred doctrine or of sacred history.
Here we are concerned with the latter. I say then, when
a true and loyal lover of the brethren attempts to contem-
plate persons and events of time past, and to bring them
before him as actually existing and occurring, it is plain,
he is at loss about the details ; he has no information about
those innumerable accidental points, which might have
been or happened this way or that way, but in the
very person and the very event did happen one way,—
which were altogether uncertain beforehand, but which
have been rigidly determined ever since. The scene, the
parties, the speeches, the grouping, the succession of par-
ticulars, the beginning, the ending, matters such as these
he is obliged to imagine in one ivay, if he is to imagine them
at all. — p. 2.
But how can he be obliged " to imagine them at
all?" Why is he not content to be ignorant, where the
providence of God has left lum in the dark? — What
2'38 DEFENCE OF THE [CHAP.
" a true and loyal lover of the brethren" may or
may not do, it is hard to determine beforehand, —
for many such have done things, which it would
have been happier for themselves and others if they
had left undone: — but, most assuredly, no man who
has any love or reverence for truth, can feel any
pleasure in turning imagination into history; and
those who hate and abhor falsehood, and know how
difficult it is, to keep in quick and healthy exercise
the love of truth, in the midst of a world of falsehood
and delusion, will be far more likely to hold tight
the bridle on their imaginations, than to give a loose
rein to fancy, and call it meditation.
The case is the same in the art of painting ; the artist
gives stature, gesture, feature, expression, to his figures ;
what sort of an abstraction or a nonentity would he pro-
duce without this allowance ? it would be like telling him
to paint a dream, or relations and qualities, or panic terrors,
or scents and sounds, if you confine him to truth in the
mere letter ; or he must evade the difficulty, with the vil-
lage artist in the story, who havmg to represent the over-
throw of the Egyptians in the sea, on their pursuing the
Israelites, daubed a board wdth red paint, with a nota bene
that the Israelites had got safe to land, and the Egj'ptians
were all drowned. Of necessity then does the painter
allow his imagination to assist his facts ; of necessity and
with fidl right ; and he will make use of this indulgence
well or ill, according to his talents, his knowledge, his
skill, his ethical peculiarities, his general cultivation of
mind.— pp. 2, 3.
Of course, if people will paint what they have
never seen or could see, they must draw on their
XXXV.] THEORY OF MEDITATION. 239
imaginations; but I hope they will forgive my say-
ing, that, if they would only employ their imagina-
tions on some other than sacred subjects, Christianity
would lose nothing by their forbearance. But, how
does this illustration assist the argument? If the
painter professes to give the world the offspring of
his fancy and nothing more, his veracity is not called
in question, whatever sentence may be pronounced
on his judgment, taste, or skill. But if he should
call it a portrait, and publish it as a likeness of a
place or person he had never seen, people would not
scruple to call him a dishonest man.
In like manner, if we woukl meditate on any passages
of the gospel history, we must insert details indefinitely
many, in order to meditate at all ; ive must fancy motives,
feelings, meanings, words, acts, as our connecting links
between fact and fact as recorded. Hence holy men have
before novf put dialogues into the mouths of sacred persons,
not wishing to intrude into things unknown, not thinking
to deceive others into a belief of their own mental creations,
but to impress upon themselves and upon their brethren,
as by a seal or mark, the substantiveness and reality of
what Scripture has adumbrated by one or two bold and
severe lines. Ideas are one and simple ; but they gain an
entrance into our minds, and live within us, by being
broken into detail. — Ibid.
Stript of its sophistry, this extraordinary passage
can scarcely fail to shock and disgust the mind of
every serious person. We must insert details inde-
finitely many in order to meditate at all " We
must insert details! What! into " the gospel his-
tory?" Surely one would have supposed, that if
240 THIS SYSTEM OF MEDITATION [CHAP.
this be what is meant by meditation, any man who
had the fear of God before his eyes would feel that
meditation is sinful. But where is this to end? Or
rather, I repeat, when did it begin? Is it only
within the last ten years, that meditation of this
fashion became lawful? Is it only the party who
follow Mr. Newman as their leader, that have a
right to "insert details indefinitely many" into the
gospel history, and " fancy motives, feelings, mean-
ings, words, acts," and anything else they please, as
" connecting links" between the facts of the sacred
narrative? Are they the only " holy men" who are
at liberty to " put dialogues into the mouths of
sacred persons?" It would seem not. They do not
pretend to have a patent right to such profaneness.
If not, then the fearful question again occurs —
when did this right begin to be exercised? — ^when
did holy men begin to " insert details," and " fancy
motives, feelings, meanings, words, acts," and "put
dialogues into the mouths of sacred persons?" Had
the Evangelists no right to do such things? and if
they had, — how far did they exercise it? How far
is the gospel a fact or a mythic legend? How far
are its words and syllables truth, on which we can
rest the well-being of our immortal spirits? — or the
" mental creations" of what, — however it be digni-
fied with the name of Meditation, — is, in truth, no
better than the irreverence of a licentious imagina-
tion? This system strikes at the root of Christianity
XXXV.] ENDANGERS CHRISTIANITY ITSELF. 241
itself, and the more it shall be developed, the more
clearly will this appear.
Hence it is, that so much has been said and believed of a
number of Saints with so little historical foundation. It is
not that we may lawfdly despise or refuse a great gift and
benefit, historical testimony, and the intellectual exercises
which attend on it, study, research, and criticism ; for in
the hands of serious and believing men they are of the
highest value. We do not refuse them, but in the cases in
question, we have them not. The Ijulk of Chi'istians have
them not ; the multitude has them not ; the multitude
forms its view of the past, not from antiquities, not criti-
callv, not in the letter ; but it developes its small portion
of true knowledge into something which is like the very ti-iith
though it be not it, and which stands for the truth when it
is but like it. Its evidence is a legend ; its facts are a
symbol ; its history a representation ; its drift is a moral.
— 2Dp. 3, 4.
" SometJdng ivldcli is like the very ti-uth, though
it be not it" What notions of truth these writers
must have I The only parallel is Mr. Newman's
idea, that, " in certain cases a lie is the nearest ap-
proach to truth."
The author proceeds: —
Thus, then, is it with the biographies and reminiscences
of the Saints. " Some there are which have no memorial,
and are as though they had never been ;" others are known
to have lived and died, and are known in little else. They
have left a name, but they have left nothing besides. Or the
place of their birth, or of their abode, or of their death, or
some one or other striking incident of their life, gives a
character to their memory. Or they are known by mar-
tyrologies, or services, or by the traditions of a neighbour-
VOL. I. R
242 ST. AMPHIBALUS. [cHAP.
hood, or by the title or the decorations of a Church. Or they
are known by certain miraculous interpositions which are
attributed to them. Or their deeds and sufferings belong
to countries far away, and the report of them comes musi-
cal and low over the broad sea. Such are some of the
small elements, which when more is not known, faith is
fain to receive, love dwells on, meditation unfolds, dis-
poses, and forms ; till by the sympathy of many minds,
and the concert of many voices, and the lapse of many
years, a certain whole figure is developed with words and
actions, a history and a character, — which is indeed but
the portrait of the original yet is as much as a portrait, an
imitation rather than a copy, a likeness on the whole but
in its particulars more or less the work of imagination. It
is but collateral and parallel to the truth ; it is the truth
under assumed conditions ; it brings out a true idea, yet
by inaccurate or defective means of exhibition ; it savours
of the age, yet it is the offspring from what is spiritual and
everlasting. It is the picture of a saint, icho did other
miracles, if not these ; who went through* sufferings, who
wrought righteousness, who died in faith and peace, — of
this we are sure ; we are not sure, should it so happen, of
the when, the where, 'the how, the why, and the whence,
—pp. 4, 5.
Are we sure? — sure that he ever worked miracles
of any sort? when, — as the author admits is fre-
quently the case, — we know nothing whatever
about the Saint, beyond his name, and even that may
be as chimerical as St. Longinus, — or St. Amphi-
balus,* whom these authors will persist in believ-
* " St. Alban was converted to the Christian faith by Am-
phibalus, a clergyman, whom he had sheltered from his per-
secutors. Information having been given to the authorities as
to the place where Amphibalus lay concealed, search was
XXXV.] ST. AMPHIBALUS. 243
ing to be a human being, though Bishop Lloyd
would have taught them he was only a military cloak
transformed by a blunderer into a clergyman and a
martyr.* However, though we know nothing what-
ever " of the when, the where, the how, the why,
and the whence," Ave may, — according to this new
school, — without anything to go on but a name,
and no proof that ever any human being to bear
the name existed, set to work, and meditate and
develope, and dispose, and -form, till our fiction has
grown into a saint, and we may call this " a por-
trait;" and we may say that our hero worked mira-
cles, and describe them, and " put dialogues into the
made for him in Alban's house ; upon which his host putting
on his military cloak, submitted to he seized by the officers in
his stead." — St. Augustine, p. 20. I find this absurdity per-
petuated by Dr. Hooli in his Ecclesiastical Biography — with
the addition, that, in his life of St. Alban, the military cloak is
improved into " the cassock usually worn by the priest."
" Mais ce personage paroit chimcrique;" says Moreri.
* Bishop Lloyd's words are as follow : —
" The best is, that Hector [Boethiits] had no need of his,
or any other testimony, for he could not only make'stories,
but authors, too, when he pleased. And why not.' as well as
he could make a bishop out of St. Alban's cloak. It was,
indeed, one Geoffrey of Monmouth, that first turned the
cloak into a man, and so prepared it for Hector's ordination.
The word ' Amphibalus,' which is Latin for a ' shag cloak,' and
■was used in that sense in the legend of St. Alban, our Geoffrey
had the luck tQ mistake for a proper name, and so joined this
'Amphibalus' with St. Alban as his fellow martyr. Man or
cloak, Hector brings this ' AmphibalQs' into Scotland to King
Crathlint, and there ordains it first bishop of the Isle of Man,
and seats his Culdees there with him ; so that belike they
were the dean and chapter to St. Alban's cloak." — Church
Government, ch. vii. pp. 150-1. Oxford Edition.
r2
244 ST. ANDREW. ST. AGNES. [CHAP.
mouths of sacred persons," — and we need never
ti^ouble ourselves to ask, whether our mental crea-
tions ever had any existence except in our own
brains — and yet no one shall dare to say, that we
are deficient in love of truth, or reverence for holy
things.
Who, for instance, can reasonably find fault with the
Acts of St. Andrew, even though they be not authentic, for
describing the Apostle as saying on sight of his cross,
" Receive, O Cross, the disciple of Him who once hung on
thee, my Master Christ" ? For was not the Saint sure to
make an exclamation at the sight, and must it not have
been in substance such as this ? And would much diifer-
ence be found between his very words when translated, and
these imagined words, if they be such, drawn from \\'hat
is probable, and received upon rumours issuing from the
time and place ? — p. 5.
But why was " the Saint sure to make an excla-
mation" of any sort? And if he did, why this
rather than any other?
And when St. Agnes was brought into that horrible
house of devils, are we not quite sure that angels were
with her, even though we do not know any one of the
details ? What is there wanton then or superstitious in
singing the Antiphon, " Agnes entered the place of shame,
and found the Lord's angel waiting for her," even though
the fact come to us on no authority ? — p. 5.
But who knows whether Agnes was ever brought
into the place of shame? And if she was, and
angels did attend her — is that any reason why she
should see them?
And again, what matters it though the angel that ae-
XXXV,] ST. GEORGE. — ST. GUNDLEUS. 245
companies us on our way be not called Kaphael, if there
be such a protecting spirit, who at God's bidding does not
despise the least of Christ's flock in their journeyings ?
And what is it to me though heretics have mixed the
true history of St. George with their own fables or im-
pieties, if a Christian George, Saint or Martyr there was,
as we believe ? — p. 5.
Yet surely, unless these authors were as ignorant
as there is very good reason to believe them to be,
they must have known how mucli has been said
by respectable and learned Romanists of the neces-
sity of reforming the breviary, and how little vene-
ration they profess for St. George.
But give these authors their full licence to medi-
tate and develope, and call their legends portraits —
and what is the ideal of piety they present to our
imitation? Gundleus, for example, a king, a hus-
band and a father — deserts his family and his duties
to live in the wilderness " an abstinent and saintly
life:"—
his dress . a hair cloth ; his drink water ; his bread of
barley mixed with wood ashes. He rose at midnight and
plunged into cold water ; and by day he laboured for his
livelihood. — p. 7.
Such is their notion of piety, and such their re-
verence for truth.
246 DEFENCE OF THE [cHAP.
• CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE SUBJECT CONTINUED: THE REGION OF FAITll —
ST. BETTELIN.
_A .SIMILAR example of this confusion of moral per-
ception is found in this same volume, in the life of
St. Bettelin (a person of whose history the author
cannot venture to say that it is not "altogether
fabulous") in a passage which, if one wanted to give
a triumph to the infidel, might seem constructed for
the very purpose.
And what the. malice of foes has done to the bodies of
the Saints, the inadvertence or ignorance of friends has too
often done to their memories. Through the twilight of
ages, — in the mist of popular credulity or enthusiasm, —
apiid the ambitious glare of modern lights, darkening
what they would illustrate, — the stars of the firmament
gleam feebly and fitfully ; and we see a something divine,
yet we cannot say ivJiat it is : we cannot say what, or where,
or how it is, icithout uttering a mistake. There is no room
for the exercise of reason — ive are in the region of faith.
We must believe and act, where we cannot discriminate ;
we must- be content to take the history as sacred on the
whole, and leave the verification of particulars as unne-
cessary for devotion, and for criticism impossible. — pp.
58, 59.
What can the infidel desire more than that Chris-
tians should confess, that they are in utter uncer-
tainty as to the truth of the historical facts they
believe; and that to have "no room for the exercise
of reason," is to be "in the region of faith?". To
XXXVI.] LEGENDARY SYSTEM. 247
make the matter worse, the author justifies his
absurdities by the following citation of Bollandus.
" Since what is extraordinary," says Bollandus, " usually
strikes the mind and is impressed on the memory in an
especial way, it follows that writers about the Saints at
times have been able to collect together nothing but their
miracles, their virtues, and other heavenly endowments
being altogether forgotten ; and these miracles, often so
exaggerated or deformed (as the way of men is) with
various adjuncts and circumstances, that by some persons
they are considered as nothing short of old women's
tales. Often the same miracles are given to various per-
sons ; and though God's unbounded goodness and power
certainly need not refuse this Saint the same favour which
He has already bestowed upon that, (for He applies the
same chastisements and punishments to the sins of various
persons) yet what happened to one, has often in matter of
fact been attributed to others, first by word of mouth, then
in writing, through fault of the faculty of memory, wiiich
is but feeble and easily confused in the caae of the many ;
so that when inquiries are made about a Saint, they attri-
bute to him what they remember to have heard at some
time of another, especially since the mind is less retentive
of names than of things. In this way, then, while various
writers at one and the same time had gone by popular
fame, because there were no other means of information,
it has come to pass that a story has been introduced into
the history of various Saints which really belongs to one
only, and to him perhaps not in the manner in which it is
reported.
" Moreover it often happens that, without denying that
a certain miracle may have occurred, yet tlie occasion and
mode of its occurrence, as reported, may reasonably create
a doubt whether this particular condescension, be it to
man's necessity or his desire, became the majesty of the
Eternal. At the same time, since His 'goodness is won-
248 DEFENCE OF THE [cHAP.
derful, and we are not able to measure either the good
things which He has prepared in heaven for the holy souls
He loves, or the extent of his favours towards them on
earth, such narratives are not to be rejected at hazard,
though they seem to us incredible ; but rather to be
reverently received, in that they profess to issue from that
Fountain of Divine goodness, from which all our happi-
ness must be derived. Suppose the very things icei-e not
done ; yet greater things might have been done, and have
been done at other times. Beware then of denying them on
the ground' that they could not or ought not to have been
done."— pp. 59, 60.
The resemblance between this passage, especially
the latter part, and the passage I have quoted
in chapter xxxiii., from Mr. Newman's Sermons
on Development, is too remarkable to be over-
looked.
The introduction to the Life of St. Neot in this
same volume will also furnish examples of a similar
species of sophistry.
Thus stands the case then. A considerable period has
elapsed from the death of a Saint, and certain persons
undertake to write an account of his very remarkable life.
We cannot suppose them ignorant of the general difficul-
ties of obtaining evidence on such subjects ; what materials
they worked with we have no means of ascertaining ; they
do not mention any. Now supposing them to have been
really as vague as they seem, let us ask ourselves what we
should have done under similar circumstances. Of course
we should attempt no more than what we do as it is, — if
wc could not write a Life we should wi'ite a Legend, And
it is mere assumption to take for gi-anted that either they
or any other under similar circumstances ever intended
more. And this view seems confirmed if we look to their
XXXVI.] LEGENDARY SYSTEM. 249
purpose. The monks of the middle ages were not mere
dry annalists, who strung together hard catalogues of facts
for the philosophei-s of modern Europe to analyse and
distil and resolve into principles. Biography and liistory
were with them simple and direct methods of teaching,
character. After all, the facts of a man's life are but a set
of phsenomena, frail weary weeds in which the idea of him
clothes itself. — p. 80.
But, without knowing the facts of a man's life,
how can we form any idea of him?
Endless as the circumstances of life are, [sic : probably
the comma should stand after the word " life,"] the forms
in which the same idea may develope itself, given a know-
ledge of the mechanic forces, and we can calculate the
velocities of bodies under any conceivable condition. The
smallest arc of a curve is enough for the mathematician to
complete the figure. Take the character therefore and the
powers of a man for granted, and it is very ignorant criti-
cism to find fault with a writer, because he embodies them
in this or that fact, unless we can be sure he intended to
leave a false impression. — pp. 80, 81.
How wonderful this writer's notions of truth
must be! " Tjf we could not write a Life we should
write a Legend." Would it not be more reasonable
to decline writing altogether? And considering,
that what is supposed is, that some one has under-
taken to write a Life — surely, if there are no mate-
rials to be found, it would be honester to abandon
the attempt.
What we have been saying then comes t6 this. Het^
are certain facts put before us, of the truth or falsehood of
ivhich we have no means of judging. We know that such
things have happened frequently both among the Jews and
250 LEGENDS DEFENDED. [cHAP.
in the history of the Church ; and therefore there is no
a priori objection to them. On the other hand 2ve are all
disposed to be story tellers ; it is next to impossible for
tradition to keep facts together in their original form for
any length of time ; and in those days at any rate there
was a strong poetical as well as religious feeling among
the people. Therefore as the question " wet-e these things
really so ? " cannot he ansicered, it is no use to ask it. What
we should ask ourselves is, Have these things a meaning ?
Do they teach us anything ? If they do, then as far as
we are concerned, it is no matter whether they are true or
not as facts ; if they do not, then let them have all the
sensible evidence of the events of yesterday, and they are
valueless. — p. 81.
Now, undoubtedly, if men would honestly say
— this is romance or allegory — and not history or
biography — it would be very unreasonable to ask,
whether it was true or not: because no one pre-
tended it to be true. But if, at the end of their
meditations and developments, they bring forth
their " mental creations" as history and biography —
and above all, as the history of God's providential,
spiritual, and miraculous dealing with, the most
eminent of his servants — it seems a veiy proper
(though it may not be a very convenient) question
to ask — "were these things really so?" .and it seems
scarcely consistent with modesty to treat a civil in-
quiry so cavalierly.
XXXVII.] THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 251
CHAPTER XXX VII.
THE HOLY SCRIPTURES — THE ALLEGORICAL SYSTEM — ARCH-
BISHOP LANGTON — MEDITATION — MR. OAKELEY'S TRANS-
LATION OF BONAVENTURE'S LIFE OF CHRIST.
Some persons may suppose that this school has still
reverence enough for sacred things, to abstain from
such liberties as I have been noticing, when they
approach the Holy Scripture. I should be glad and
thankful to think they had: — for, as long as men
retain their reverence for the. word of God they are
not wholly irreclaimable.
The general notions which this party inculcate as
to the interpretation of Holy Scripture, are very
clearly expressed in a passage in the life of Arch-
bishop Langton, in which the author is stating
Langton's preference for the mystical and allegorical
method, of which Innocent III. was the patron.
Having described the scholastic and literal method,
and observed that Langton preferred the other, he
says:
This, which we may call the devotional method, sought
to feed and fill the soul with the Divine word, to present
a material to the ruminative faculty. The other addressed
itself to the intellect, this to faith. It neglected the histori-
cal sense, a view of Scripture lohich it considered Jewish.
" If once," says S. Bernard, " thou couldst taste ever so
sliglitly of that ' finest wheat flour,' wherewith Jerusalem
is filled, how willingly wouldst thou leave the Jewish literal
interpreters to gnaw their crusts alone I " Not that it set
252 THE ALLEGORICAL AND [cHAP.
aside the historical sense, much less considered it untrue ;
but it looked on the acts and circumstances of the persons
described as done by themselves, and ordered by Provi-
dence, vnth an express reference to the acts of Christ, and
the circumstances of his body, the Church, as regulated
more by the laws of the unseen, than by those of the
material world, the world of time and space. This sense
is only to be understood by those whose sight was purged
by austere life. It is the visdom which S. Paid spoke
" among them that are perfect." To those whose hearts
are absorbed in the world, it seems folly and fatuity.
Relish for mystical exposition is the sure test of the spiritual
mind. — pp. 61, 62.
And then he proceeds to mention that this mys-
tical and allegorical method obtained chiefly among
the monks.
I trust it is unnecessary to stop to consider .the
consequences of such a system, nor can it be needful
to point out the fallacies by which it is here sought
to be advocated. If the grammatical sense of Holy
Scripture be addressed only to the intellect, and
the allegorical to faith, it is plain that faith does not
consist in believing the written testimony of God, —
but some far-fetched and recondite meaning of it, —
or rather no meaning of it at all, but some applica-
tion which has no other source than the fancy of the
expositor, or, it may be, fancies, — for a thousand
allegories, applications, and mystical expositions
equally remote from each other and from the text,
may be drawn from one and the same passage by a
lively imagination. Further on, this author informs
XXXVII.] , MYSTICAL KXPOSITION. 253
US that the Okl Testament, " if not made Chris-
tian BY ALLEGORY, IS, AFTER ALL, NO MOKE TIJAN
Jewish history." To expose the infinite pre-
sumption and profaneness of such a sentence must
be needless in a Christian country. I cannot, how-
ever but avow my conviction that not any one, nor
all put together, of the false and dangerous doc-
trines this party are endeavouring to disseminate,
by means of these lives of the Saints and other
works, is comparable with this. It does, as I have
already observed, lay the axe to the very root of all
sound theology, and sow the seeds of every sort and
degree of heresy and error. But, in fact, it is itself
a falsehood so pervading — so utterly alterative of
the whole mind into which it is received, — that it
destroys the power of discriminating truth and false-
hood. For this, — as it has been most truly ob-
served in one of the most important pamphlets (if
one measures not by bulk, but by the mode in which
the subject is treated) which has appeared in the
course of the Tractarian Controversy, — is " one of
the worst effects of this allegorizing system. Those
who habitually employ their minds in the study and
generation of what is imaginary, are but too likely
to lose sight of the real nature and just value of
truth."* This is the prime error of tliis party, and,
* A Letter to a Friend on the Tract for the Times, No. 89.
By the Rev. S. R. Maitland, (London, Rivinuton, 1841,) p. 17.
It is hard to iinaj^ine a greater service to the cause of tiutli
254 MR. oakeley's translation of [chap.
as far as a mistake and false position, irrespective of
wrong principles^ can be, it is the source and foun-
tain of all their other errors. To what lenjrths
thej are now disposed to go in their tampering with
Holy Scripture has been shown by a work published
a year ago by the Eev. F. Oakeley, " The Life of
our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, from the Latin
of St. Bonaventure, newly translated for the use of
members of the Church of England." The whole
object of that work is, to teach people to turn the
history of our blessed Redeemer into poetry and
romance, — a process which Mr. Oakeley calls Medi-
tation. There was a time when clergymen of the
Church of England would have turned with horror
from such an employment. But there is no limit to
the mischief men do themselves by indulging in a
habit of tampering with truth. Nor, when people
have sufficiently confused their minds to relish this
allegorical and mystical mode of interpretation, —
and have learned to regard the Old Testament as no
better than Jewish history, till they have made it
Christian by their allegories and meditations, — is it
than would be conferred by the learned author of this excellent
pamphlet pursuing the subject at the length and detail it re-
quires, a task which no one living is better qualified to perform.
The subject of the interpretation of Scripture, and of the pro-
phecif'S in particular, has been involved in such confusion by
Mr. Newman and his party — for example, in his Sermons on
Subjects of the Day — that a work from such a pen as Mr.
Maiiland's, vindicating the true and only principle of inter-
pretation, and unravelling the sophistries of this school, is.
exceedingly needed at the present moment.
XXXVII.] BONAVENTURe's life of CHRIST. 255
in the least. surprising, that they should proceed to
take the New Testament in hand also; — rather it
would be wonderful if they did not. For, — as Mr.
Maitland observed, long before things had got to the
height they have now reached, — one of the injurious
effects which flows from this allegorical mode of in-
terpretation is this; — "It leads men to tamper with
the word of God, and either by addition, suppression,
or some tortuous proceeding or other, to make it
agree with their imagination."* And, in like man
ner, I may add, this taste for writing legends pre-
pares the mind for treating the Bible in the same man-
ner;— and what the next step will be, it is not very
difficult to prognosticate : when lives of Saints take
the place of romances and fairy tales," (as the
author of the Life of St. Gilbert speaks, though
with little seeming consciousness that this is what he
and his friends are labouring to effect,) one can
readily guess the result likely to follow from the
publication of myths and legends. Most correctly
does the same biographer describe (though apparently
without a thought of the application which may be
made of his words) the manner in wliich this is
brought about.
They who consider the saints in a dreamy way, will
hardly be able to do more than dream that there has been
upon earth One, who was and is Man-God, for the lives of
saints are shadows of His, and help to interpret His actions
♦ Ibid., p 10.
256 . MR. oakeley's defence of [chat.
who is incomprehensible. They who look upon the saints
as mere personages in religious romance, will be apt to look
on Christianity as a beautiful pliilosophy. — St. Gilbert, p.
130.
Mr. Oakeley's translation of Bonaventure's Life
of Christ proves how soon men become insensible to
the evil of such proceedings, when once they suffer
themselves to trifle with truth. One would have
thought, the feelings of reverence, which his party
have so long claimed to possess almost exclusively,
would have made him withdraw his hand, when he
was tempted to give to English readers a work
which pretends to supply what God has thought
proper to conceal. But no. He is aware of the
objection. He states it. He labours in his intro-
duction to answer it. This is his defence :
But let the reader who may be inclined to object bold- •
ness to our Saint's devout speculations, consider well with
himself, first, whether he have himself ever meditated,
strictly speaking, vipon points in the Sacred History ; i. e.
proposed some event in our Lord's Life on earth, say his
Nativity, or His Temptation, or His Passion, as an object
of direct, and, as fur as rnight be, undistracted contempla-
tion for a certain period of time f If that period have been
as short as five or ten minutes only, let him farther reflect
whether he have not brought the solemn transaction home
to his mind by the help of innumerable particulars, and
even collateral incidents, for the proof of which he would
find it hard indeed to lay his hand upon any text of Holy
Scripture. If the subject of his meditation were the Na-
tivitv, for instance, whence, I ask, did he derive the parti-
culars of his idea (for definite idea he must have formed)
XXXVII.] bonaventure's meditations. 257
of the Blessed Virgin, or of St. Joseph ? He conceives,
again, of the holy parents, that, at the moment to which
his contemplations relate, they are sitting, or standing, or
kneeling ; where does Scripture say so ? And when this
is urged, he answers almost impatiently ; " Of course not ;
Scripture cannot descend to such minutias. The Blessed
Virgin must have been in some posture, ivlty not in this ?
This is the most natural and reasonable. Why may I not
please to imagine that she knelt to the Divine Infant when
she first beheld Ilim, and that lie smiled on her with a
look of uninfantine intelligence ? Scripture says that she
was humble, and that He, though her Son, was also her
God. May I not put these statements together, and draw
vcij own inference from them ? You cannot prove me ivrong,
nor suggest any alternative which is not equally unautho-
rized, and more improbable. And, at last, what great harm,
though The mistaken ? I do no violence to the sacred text ;
I am guilty of no irreverence towards the holy Persons in
question, for reverence towards them is the very basis of
my supposition ; and, for myself, I rise from such medita-
tion, as I trust, holier and better than I went to it ; more
indifferent to the world, more dissatisfied with myself, and
fuller of love to God and my brethren." — pp. vi. vii.
And so, because you cannot prove me wrong, I
am at liberty to make whatever additions to the
word of God appear to me not incongruous with the
original story of the Evangelists. It is useless to
attempt to reason wdth persons who have reduced
their understandings to such a pitiable state. It is
more to the purpose to lay before the reader the
passage in this translation of the Life of Christ,
which Mr. Oakelcy is here covertly defending.
Observing only, that Bonaventure does not pretend
VOL. I. s
258 ME. oakeley's meditation [chap.
that his account of the Nativity is altogether a flight
of his own imagination. Here follow his words in
Mr. Oakeley's translation " for the use of members
of the Church of England."
And now let me earnestly entreat you to attend dili-
gently to all which I am going to relate ; the rather, he-
cause I had it from a devout and holy man of our Order,
of undordjted credit, to whom I believe it to have beensuper-
naturally imparted.
When the expected hour of the birth of the Son of God
was come, on Sunday, towards midnight, the holy Virgin,
rising from her seat, went and rested herself against a
pillar she found there : Joseph, in the meantime, sate pen-
sive and sorrowful ; perhaps, because he could not prepare
the necessary accommodation for her. But at length he
too arose, and, taking what hay he could find in the manger,
diligently spread it at our Lady's feet, and then retired to
another part of the building. Then the Son of the Eternal
God, coming forth from His Mother's womb, was, without
hurt or pain to her, transferred in an instant from thence
to the humble bed of hay which was prepared for Him at
her feet. • His holy Mother, hastily stooping down, took
him up in her arms, and tenderly embracing Him, laid
Him in her lap ; then, through instinct of the Holy Ghost,
she began to bathe him in her sacred milk, with which she
was most amply supplied from heaven ; this done, she took
the veil off her head, and wrapping Him in it, carefully
laid Him in the manger. Here the ox and the ass, kneel-
ing down, and laying their heads over the manger, gently
breathed upon Him, as if endowed with reason, and sen-
sible, that through the inclemency of the season, and His
poor attire, the blessed Infant stood in need of their assist-
ance to warm and cherish Him. Then the holy Virgin,
throwing herself on her knees, adored Him, and returning
thanks to God, said, " My Lord and heavenly Father, I
XXXVII.] OF THE lord's NATIVITY. 259
give thee most hearty thanlvs, that Thou hast vouchsafed
of Thy bounty to give me Thine Only Son ; and I praise
and worship Thee, O Eternal God, together with thee, 0
Son of the Living God, and mine."
Joseph likewise worshipped Him at the same time ; after
which he stripped the ass of his saddle, and separating the
pillion from it, placed it near the manger for the blessed
Virgin to sit on ; but she, seating herself with her fiice
towards the manger, made use of that homely cushion onlv
for support. In this posture our Lady remained some
time immoveable, gazing on the manger, her looks and
affections all absorbed in her dearest Son. — pp. 23, 24.
There was a time when such a daring, such a
loathsome fiction would have been regarded with
horror by every respectable clergyman in the Church
of England. But Mr. Oakeley defends it.
The Blessed Virgin must have been in some posture,
why not in this ? Tliis is the most rmtural and reasonable.
Why may I not please to imagine that she knelt to the
Divine Infant when she first beheld Him, and that He
smiled on her wdth a look of uninfentine intelligence ? —
Introduction, p. vii.
Why not? Why may I not imagine what I
please, and publish to the world whatever I please
to imagine? Why not, certainly? And are such
gross iind disgusting liberties with the Word of
God innocent and allowable? Is the only record of
that stupendous mystery on which the whole hope
of human salvation depends, — a subject on which
an unchastised imagination, or a gross and vulgar
taste may lawfully disport itself?
Bonaventure, as the reader will already have
s2
260 MEDITATION. [CHAP.
observed, gives this part of his story as a report
from one of his brother Franciscans, " of undoubted
credit," to whom he says, " I believe it to have been
siipernaturally imparted.^'' Mr. Oakeley, however,
treats it as if no testimony or tradition was pre-
tended. Nothing can be more worthy of notice than
his question — " What great harm, though I be mis-
taken?" As to the lawfulness of such proceedings,
it seems to be not worth considering. Provided he
does not see any " great harm" done by such licen-
tious abuse of his imagination, he is satisfied. Mr.
Oakeley adds, " I do no violence to the sacred text."
I should like to know what he would consider
" violence." But certainly to represent Christ as
smiling on his mother " with a look of uninfantine
intelligence" the moment after his nativity, seems as
plainly to contradict the doctrine of Holy Scripture
regarding the infancy of the Lord, as the language,
in his first chapter, contradicts the doctrine of the
Incarnation. The passage I refer to is this —
Now you may piously imagine, how the Son of God,
on undertaking this laborious mission of obedience, in-
cHned and recommended Himself to the Father, and that
in the same instant His soul was created and infused into
the womb of His mother ; perfect man, according to all
the lineaments of the body, hut very minute ; so that, though
He afterwards grew in the womb, as naturally as other
children, yet his soul was infused, and his body perfectly
formed, from the first. — pp. 12, 13.
Is this notion of the perfect formation of Christ's
XXXVII.] THE angels' MINISTERING TO CHRIST. 261
body from the instant of the Incarnation, reconcile-
able with catholic doctrine? I cannot but consider
it remarkable that the words I have here printed in
italics are not found in the translation published by
the Roman Catholics in Dublin.
Another remarkable passage is, the account of the
ministering of the angels after the Lord's temptation
in the wilderness, and Mr. Oakeley's defence of it:
As soon as Satan has been repulsed, the Angels flock in
numbers to our Lord Jesus Christ, and prostrate on the
ground adore Him, saying ; " Hail, Lord Jesus, our Lord
and our God." And our Lord humbly and benignly raises
them, inclining His head, as the Son of Man, who was
made a little lower than the Angels. The Angels say to
Him, " Lord, Thou hast fasted long ; what wilt Thou that
we prepare for Thee ? " To whom He replies, " Go to My
dearest Mother, and if she have anything at hand, bear it
to Me ; for of no food do I partake so gladly as of that
which she prepares." Then two of the number set out,
and in a moment are with her. They respectfully salute
her, and, having acquitted themselves of their embassy,
bring a mess of pottage, which she had got ready for her-
self and St. Joseph, and a piece of bread, with a linen
cloth, and other necessaries ; perhaps, too, our Lady pro-
cured, if she could, a small fish or two. Then they re-
turn, bearing the repast in their hands ; and, spreading it
on the ground, pronounce in due form the solemn words
of benediction. Here consider Him attentively in each of
his actions. How composedly He sits on the gi-ound, and
with what studious regard to every minute propriety He
comports Himself, and how temperately he partakes of the
food. The Angels stand around, ministering to then-
Lord. One serves Him with bread, another with wine,
another prepares the fish, and others sing some of the songs
262 MR. oakeley's defence [chap.
of Sion, and rejoice with gladness and festivity before
Him.— pp. 96, 97.
Fearful must be the state of the church if any-
great number of the clei'gy can approve of translat-
ng such horrible impiety " for the use of the mem-
bers of the Church of England," Mr. Oakeley has
not only translated and published it; he has de-
fended it, and here is his defence : —
Scripture says, that, after our Lord's Temptation in the
AVilderness, " Angels came and ministered unto Him." If
we are to conceive of their ministry, we must also conceive
of the way in which they ministered ; surely it is profit-
able, with all reverence to do so. On first thoughts, I
suppose, we should all say that these ministrations were
spiritual alone. Yet this seems an unreal view, consider-
ing that our Lord came in the likeness of sinful flesh, all
but its sin ; that he was tempted like unto us, and that the
Sacred History has just before recorded for our instruc-
tion, that He was " an hungered." Our Saint, pondering
these words, and again reading elsewhere in Scripture of
the employment of Angels in the carrying of food to God's
elect, devises a sweet conception, that- such was one mode
in which these blessed comforters ministered to our Lord.
But farther, whence did they seek this food ? Our author
carries them, in the same strain of devotional poetry, to the
Uttle dwelling at Nazareth, and introduces into the scene
our Lord's Blessed Mother (who had for the twenty and
nine years before ministered to her Divine Son with de-
vout reverence and affection) as the associate of the Angels
in this work of earthly consolation towards Him, who,
though He were not " of the earth earthy, but the Lord
from heaven," yet vouchsafed for our sakes to " empty
Himself" for a time, of the exclusive prerogatives of His
Divine Nature. This instance has been selected as well
XXXVII.] OF THIS FICTION. 263
for other reasons, as because it is one of the strongest
which occur in the following pages, of addition to Scrip-
ture, and presumes an interpretation of the sacred text/or
lohich our minds are, I think, not at once prepared. — Intro-
duction, pp. XV. xvi.
So that, acknowledging the violence done to the
sacred text, both by addition and interpretation, Mr.
Oakeley deliberately undertakes to defend 13ona-
venture for writing, and himself for translating,
such profane fiction. How, I would ask, is it pos-
sible for any persons to allow their imaginations
such unbridled licence for any length of time, and
retain any distinct perception of what is true and
what is fiction? Is it not certain, that they ivill
gradually come to regard the truth itself as fiction ?
Disguise it with whatever sophistry he may, no
argument Mr. Oakeley could adduce can shake my
conviction, that this system of turning the gospel
into a romance and a myth, must tend to the sub-
vei'sion of Cliristianity itself. At present it may
serve the purposes of superstition; by-and-by it
will be proved, how direct is its tendency to pro-
mote infidelity itself, — and infidelity the most in-
curable and hopeless. For, the worst species of in-
fidelity is that, which begins in lowering the standard
of Scripture as an inspired record. He who takes
such liberties as these, can have little idea what in-
spiration really is; and in after times, every thought
of retracing the steps which led to infidelity, and of
searching the Scriptures as the oracle of truth, must
264 THE CONSEQUENCES TO CHRISTIANITY. [cHAP.
be met by the recollection, that Christians consider
their sacred records merely as a text to found ro-
mance and poetry upon. And with that wiU inevi-
tably come the suspicion, that truth may have been
treated with equal freedom by the Evangelists them-
selves, and that the gospel itself may, after aU, be
no better than a romance, a legend, a myth, a me-
ditation.
XXXVIII.] THE ANNUNCIATION. 265
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE ANNUNCIATION — DIFFERENT SCHOOLS OF MEDITATION
THE LATIN MONKS OF PALESTINE— THE GREEKS— THE
CANONS OF LORETTO.
If the laws laid down by the advocates of what
they are pleased to call Meditation be acted on, we
must not be surprised to find something like discre-
pancy in their accounts of the same transaction. A
very simple instance will suffice to illustrate my
meaning. From the narrative in the Gospel of St.
Luke, nothing can be gathered as to the scene of the
Annunciation, except that Mary seems to have been
in the house, when the angel appeared to her.
Bonaventure, according to his manner, determines
the point somewhat more precisely.
When the fulness of time was now come, the Ever-
blessed Trinity having decreed to redeem mankind by the
Incarnation of the Word, it pleased Almighty God to
summon to him the Archangel Gabriel, and send him to
Nazareth, to a Virgin espoused to a man whose name was
Joseph, and the Virgins name was Mary. Gabriel, with
a calm and beaming countenance, reverently and devoutly
prostrate before the throne of God, listens to the gracious
message, and accepts the embassy. Then rising on the
wings of joy, he quits the heavenly courts, and is instantly
present, in human shape, before the Virgin IVIary, whom
he discovers in the innermost retreat of her lowly dwell-
ing.— Life of Christ, p. 9.
Other persons, however, have thought themselves
266 THE LEGENDS OF THE LATIN AND [CHAP.
equally free to meditate after their own fancy. And
some of the meditators of former times seemed to
have preferred assigning some other situation. The
Latins of Palestine will have it that the Annuncia-
tion took place in a cave under ground, and will
show the traveller the very spot where both the angel
and the blessed Virgin stood at the precise moment
of the Incarnation, marked by two pillars erected
by the Empress Helena, who, according to their
account, was divinely informed of the exact places.
But if the Greeks are to be the guides of our medi-
tations, they will tell us that we must leave the city
of Nazareth; for according to their Meditation, the
angel, not finding the Virgin at home, followed her
to a fountain, whither she had gone to fetch water,
and there delivered his message. And this is the
form into Avhich Mr. Newman's meditations appear
to develop themselves; for in the second volume of
the Lives of the English Saints, the editorial pre-
face to which purports to be wi-itten by Mr.
Newman himself, we find the following passage: —
In the time of St. Willibald, tradition showed the spot
where the Annunciation was made to Mary, as she re-
turned from drawing water at the Fountain of the Virgin.
The church dedicated to the Archangel Gabriel, was built
over the very source. " That church," says the narrative,
" has often been redeemed for a sum of money from the
violence of the neighbouring populace, who have desired
to destroy it ; as though heathen hate were ever hemming
in, and pressing hard, in fiendish malice, upon Christian
love. It is interesting, if not more than that, to learn.
XXXVIII.] GREEK MONKS OF PALESTINE. 267
that after a lapse of eleven hundi'ed years, the fountain
still flows with a feeble stream, and a church stands over
its source."— St. Willibald, pp. 33, 34.
So that the meditations of the Greeks and Mr.
Newman will teach us to reverence a church over a
fountain some distance from the town, as the scene
of the Annunciation, while those of St. Bonaventure
and Mr. Oakeley take another direction, and the
monks of Nazareth will fix on a chamber in a sub-
terranean grotto, in the church of their convent
within the city. Why everything sacred should
have happened under ground, they do not say; but,
as it must have happened somewhere or another,
and, according to Mr. Oakeley's canon of Medita-
tion, " Why may I not please to imagine?" — " You
cannot prove me wrong, nor suggest any alternative
which is not equally unauthorized, and more impro-
bable"— the Meditators of old time chose to let their
meditations take a subterranean direction.
But others might meditate in another line. And
some saint in Italy might say — Do you suppose that
the holy house could have been left in Palestine ex-
posed to the insults of the infidels? Of course they
must have known exactly Avhereabouts to look for
it — or at least they might. " You cannot prove me
wrong, nor suggest any alternative which is not
equally unauthorized, and more improbable," — as
Mr. Oakeley would say; — " And," as he adds, "what
great harm though I be mistaken?" And so, as we
268 THE LORETTO LEGEND.. [CHAP.
cannot disprove, that the infidels would know the
precise spot where the Annunciation took place, — or
that they would somehow or another come to dis-
cover it, — or, having discovered it, would infallibly
set about profaning it, — or at all events, would pre-
vent Christians from approaching it with reverence
and acts of devotion — do you think, asks the medi-
tator, that it is likely the sacred house would be left
exposed to their profaneness, or suffered to remain
in such sacrilegious hands? You may reply, — I am
not bound to suppose they would ever have dis-
covered it, or have treated it with indecency if they
had. But is not one supposition at the least as pro-
bable as the other? and so, why may not I, in the
exercise of the divine art of Meditation, " please to
imagine" whichever alternative is most agreeable to
my fancy. " And, at last, what great harm, though
I be mistaken?" Well, I do "please to imagine,"
that the infidels would have found it out, — and
would have profaned it, — and would have excluded
the feet of the pilgrim from visiting the sacred
slirine; — and, having got so far in my meditations,
w^hy may I not go a little further? — why may I not
suppose, that the profanation of the infidels may
have been guarded against and prevented? You
may suppose, that they were supernaturally pre-
vented from discovering the holy house. Why may
I not piously suppose, that it was carried away from
them; and if so, — and remember, as Mr. Oakeley
XXXVIII. J THE LORETTO LEGEND, 269
says, " you cannot prove me wrong," — it must liave
been miraculously removed to some other place, by
some supernatural means. We may " devise a sweet
conception," that angels were sent to transport it
through the air — and then we may suppose, that
they carried it all the Avay to Dalmatia, to a mountain
near the Gulf of Venice — they must have carried it
to some one place — why not to this ? as Mr. Oakeley
would argue. So we will suppose, that they did set
it down on this particular mountain — and that the
people of the place would take notice of so strange
a circumstance — perhaps they might see the angels
carrying it; we may suppose that they did; — ^or that
some hermit would dream about it, and tell them
how it came there; for you cannot prove that there
might not be a hermit there, and that he might not
have a remarkable dream or vision to explain the
history of the house which had so suddenly arrived,
nobody knew how nor whence; and then we may also
suppose the people of the place would be rather in-
clined to be too Protestant to credit the story, and so
they would not express a due veneration for the relic
—and we may conceive how grieved our hermit would
be, and what a quantity of ashes and muddy water
he would eat and drink, and how he would repeat
the entire Psalter nine times a day, standing up to
his neck in an uncommonly cold well for exactly
three years and seven months, — until at last we may
suppose that the angels returned, and cari-ied the
270 THE LORETTO LEGEND. [cHAP.
house over the Gulf of Venice, to a wood, as the
legend piously relates, about three miles from Lo-
retto — for there would be a noble lady named Lo-
retto there, from whom the place was afterwards
called — at least you cannot prove that there was not,
or that the place came by its name in any other way.
However unfortunately, we are obliged to suppose,
that there may be wicked people in Italy as well as
elsewhere — at least there were formerly; and so we
may conceive that, on account of the wickedness of
the natives, the holy house was removed from the
place near Loretto, where it had been deposited. But,
unhappily, it was not yet destined to find a resting
place — at least, we may suppose that there would be
two brothers there who would have a quarrel about
the ground on which it was placed — when Ave may
piously imagine that it was moved once more, and
that it is now to be seen in a very magnificent
church, and that the walls are made of a sort of
stone found only in the neighbourhood of Nazareth,
— though it is plain they are built of bricks; but
then we may piously suppose them to be stone from
Nazareth, — and also, (as we cannot prove the con-
trary) that a certain image in the chamber was
carved by St. Luke himself. And we may also
suppose, that at first nobody knew where the house
came from, till a vision appeared to a devout man
in his sleep — and then we may suppose that sixteen
persons were sent to Nazareth to measure the foun-
XXXVIII.] THE LORETTO LEGEND. 271
dations which had been left behind, who would find
them exactly of the right dimensions, and would
also find an inscription on a wall adjoining, stating
that the house belonging to the foundations had left
the neighbourhood — which may well be taken as a
demonstration.
Now, why may not the Italians meditate in this
fashion? May not they claim the right of suppos-
ing that the house was really transported from Na-
zareth to Loretto, just as fairly as the monks of
Nazareth suppose they have it stiU in its original
subterranean grotto? And why may not the Greek
exercise his right of meditation in his own way, and
suppose, that the Annunciation could not have taken
place in a house at all, but beside a fountain, Avhich
the legend Mr. Newman adopts wiU tell us, is stiU
to be seen — flowing " with a feeble stream," — with
a church standing over its source? The Italian has
thought proper to meditate as his imagination led
the way, and so he has concocted the legend after
his taste, and he can show to this day the very
chamber and the very window through which the
angel entered. But then, says Mr. Oakeley, and
the defence wiU hold good for the monks of Nazareth,
as well as for the canons at Loretto, whatever may
be said of the Greeks, " I do no violence to the sacred
text." — Yet, surely, one who had any just notion
of what revelation is, would feel — if I am not greatly
mistaken, — that it is nothing short of a sinful irrever-
272 MR. oakeley's defence. [chap.
eirce to add anything to the narrative which the
Holy Spirit has thought fit to dictate, under the
notion, — that something must have happened, and
if so, why not one thing as likely as another? It is
violence to the text of any history, to insert events
and conversations after one's own taste. It is the
sure way to destroy the whole value of historical
testimony, and to involve truth in impenetrable
obscurity. And when such violence is done to the
sacred text, it is not only violence, but profane and
irreverent violence, and tends at once and directly to
undermine the certainty and stability of the founda-
tions of the Christian faith.
XXXIX.] THE ANGELICAL SALUTATION. 273
CHAPTER XXXIX.
TUE PROGRESS OF MEDITATION — SCRIPTURE FALSIFIED TO
SERVE THE PURPOSES OF SUPERSTITION.
The evil is not likely to stop short with making addi-
tions to the sacred text. Such tampering with truth
leads people to go further, and to give such a colour
to the language of scripture, or even to imagine such
circumstances, as may help to prop up the peculiar
doctrines which they incline to; and from that the
step is easy to the last stage, of contradicting the
statements of the text itself.
For example: in the chapter already quoted from
the Life of Christ, which ]\ir. Oakeley has trans-
lated for the use of members of the Church of En"^-
land, the meditation is so constructed as to favour
the peculiar notions of the advocates of monasticism.
And so a statement is made regarding the angelic
salutation, and an explanation given of the words of
Mary, to which the text gives not the slightest coun-
tenance.
Not till she had heard the Angel twice deliver his won-
drous message, could she prevail on herself to make anv
answer ; so odious a thing in a virgin is talkativeness.
Then the Angel, understanding the reason of her trouble,
said, " Fea7- not, 3Iari/, be not abashed by the praises 1
utter ; they are but truth : for thou art not only full of
grace thyself, but art to be the means of restoring all man-
kind to the grace of God, which they have lost. For be-
hold thou shalt conceive, and bring forth the *Sun of the
VOL. I. T
274 MR, Newman's doctrine [chap.
Highest. He, who has chosen thee to be His Mother,
shall save all who put their trust in Him." Then the
blessed Virgin, waiving the subject of her praises, was
desirous of knowing how all this could come to pass, with-
out the loss of her virgin puritj. She, therefore, inquired
of the Angel the manner of the Conception. Hoiv shall
this be, seeing I knou' not a man ? I have dedicated myself
to my Lord by a vow of perpetual virginity. — Bonaven-
ture's Life of Christ, p. 11 .
Of course, the statements that the angel spoke
twice, and that Mary used the words here ascribed
to her, are pure fiction and falsehood; and at this
rate of proceeding, it is perfectly plain, anything
whatever may be made out of the holy Scriptures.
In the account of the language of Christ at the
marriage at Cana of Galilee, Mr. Newman, in his
Sermons on Subjects of the Day, finds an argument
for the " PRESENT influence and power of the
Mother of God."
Observe, He said to His Mother, " What have I to do
with thee ? Mine hour is not yet come." Perhaps this
implies that when His hour was come, then He would have
to do with her again as before ; and such really seems to
he the meaning of the passage. " What have I to do with
thee now ?" I have had, I shall have ; but what have I
to do with thee now as before ? what as yet ? what till my
hour is come ? — pp. 39, 40.
What grounds Mr. Newman has for saying that
tliis " really seems to be the meaning of the pas-
sage," I cannot pretend to conjecture. But the use
Mr. Newmnn makes of it will be obvious from the
following, which occurs shortly after:
XXXIX. 1 CONCERNING THE BLESSED VIRGIN. 275
As to St. Mary, He had said, " Mine hour is not yet
come ;" so He said to St. Peter, in the passage just cited,
" AVhither I go, thou canst not follow Me now, but thou
shalt follow me afterwards." And as at llis first feast.
He had refused to listen to His JNIother's prayer, became
of the time, so to His Apostles He foretold, at His second
feast, irhat the potver of their prayers should he, by way of
cheering them on His departure. " Ye now therefore
have sorrow, but I will see you again, and your heart shall
rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you. In that
day ye shall ask Me nothing. Verily, verily, I say unto
you. Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in My IS'ame,
He will give it you." And again, " Ye are My friends,
if ye do whatsoever I command you. Henceforth I call
you not servants, for the servant knoweth not what his
lord doeth ; but I have called you friends, for all things that
I have heard of my Father, I have made known unto you."
In the gifts promised to the Apostles after the liesurrec-
tion, we may learn the present ineluence and power
OF THE Mother of God. — pp. 42, 43.
By such modes of commentating, the Bible may
be made to support any superstition whatever, as
the taste of the commentator pleases. But, I must
beg my reader to observe that Mr. Oakeley, who
seems anxious to recommend monasticism to the
members of the church of England, has adopted
quite a diiferent version of the story. The extract
is long, but it is too curious a specimen of this sys-
tem of metlitation to admit of its being abridged: —
Though it is uncertain whose marriage it was that was
celebrated at Cana of Galilee, let us, for meditations sake,
suppose it to have been that of St. John the Evangelist,
which St. Jerome seems to affirm in his preface to
T 2
276 MR. oakeley's meditation [chap.
St. John. Our Lad^^ was present at it, not as a stranger
invited to it, but as the elder sister, and as the person of
the highest dignity ; for it was her sister's house, and she
was as it were at home, as the principal lady and manager
of the feast. And this we may gather from three things.
First, from the sacred text, which tells us that the Mother
nf Jesus ivas thi-re, hut says of Jesus and his disciples, that
they were invited ; which we are to understand likewise
of the rest of the persons present. When her sister, then,
Mary Salome, the wife of Zebedee, came. to her to
Nazareth, which is about four leagues distant from Cana,
and told her that she designed to celebrate the marriage of
her son John, she went back with her to Cana, some days
before the appointed time of the feast, to make preparation
for it, so that, when the others were invited, she was
already there. Secondly, we may. gather it from her
taking notice herself of the want of wine, which would
seem to show that she was not there in the character of a
guest, but as one who had the management ot the enter-
tainment, and observed therefore the want of wine. For,
had she been sitting there as a guest, would the modest
Virgin have sat, think you, by her Son, amongst the men ?
And, had she been sitting amongst the women, would she
have discovered the want of wine, rather than any other ?
and, had she noticed it, would she have risen from the
table to acquaint her Son ? There appears an unseemli-
ness in this ; and therefore it is probable that she was not
there at the time as a guest, but that she was engaged in
arranging the entertainment ; for we are told of her, that
she was ever attentive in helping others. Thirdly, we
may gather it from her giving the directions to the ser-
vants to go to her Son, and do whatever He should com-
mand them ; for from this it appears that she had an
authority over them, and that she had the control of the
feast, and was then anxious that there should be no want
of anything. According to this view of the circumstances.
XXXIX.] OF THE MARRIAGE AT CANA. 277
then, regard our Lord Jesus eating amongst the rest, like
any one of the company, and sitting not amongst the chief
guests, but in one of the lowest places, as we may gather
from His own words. For he would not imitate the man -
ner of the proud, who chose out the chief rooms at feasts,
whom He designed afterwards to teach ; When thou art
bidden of any man to a wedding, go and sit down in the
lowest room. But He began first to do, and then to teach.
Regard our Lady also, how considerate and cheerfully
alert she is, and diligently attentive in seeing that every-
thing is rightly done, and how she gives the servants what
they require, and shows them how and with what things,
to serve the several guests. And upon their returning to
her, towards the end of the feast, and saying ; " AV'e have
no more wine to set before them ;" she replied; "/ will
•procure you more; ivait awhile.^'' And going out to her
Son, who was humbly sitting, as I have said, at the end
of the table, near the door of the room, she said to Him,
" My Son, there is no wine, and our sister is poor, and I
know not how we shall get any." But he answered,
Woman, what have I to do with thee f This answer ap-
pears indeed severe, but it was for our instruction, accord-
ing to St. Bernard, who says upon this passage, " What
hast Thou to do with her, O Lord ? Art not Thou her
Son, and she thy Mother? Dost Thou ask her, what
have I to do with thee, Thou who art the Blessed Fruit of
her pure womb ? Is she not the same who conceived
Thee, without injury to her modesty, and brought Thee
forth, remaining still a Virgin ? Is she not the same, in
whose womb Thou sojournedst for nine months, at whose
virgin breasts Thou wast fed, with whom when twelve
years of age Thou wentest down from Jerusalem, and wast
subject unto her? Why then, O Lord, is it that Thou
dost now treat her thus severely, saying, Whfil have I to
do with Thee ? Much hast Thou every way. But, ah !
now I plainly see, that not as in anger, or as wishing to
278 MR. oakeley's meditation [chap.
abash the tender modesty of Thy Virgin Mother, Thou
saidst, Whai have I to do uiitli Thee ? For on the servants
coming to Thee, as she bade them. Thou doest without
delay what she suggested. Why then, brethren, why
had He thus answered her before ? truly on our account,
and on account of all who have been converted to the
Lord, that we should no longer he disturbed by our regards
for our earthly parents, or entangled by such ties in the
exercises of a sjnritual life. For, so long as we are of the
world, we are plainly under duty to our parents ; but having
forsaken all things, even ourselves, much more are ire free
from anxiety as regards them. [That is, those who have
taken monastic vows are freed from the fifth command-
ment—making void the law of God, by their tradition.]
Thus we read of a hermit, who, upon his brother's coming
to him to beg his advice, desired him to apply to another
of their brothers, who had died some time before. Upon
the other's replying with surprise that he was dead, " So
am I also," answered the hermit. Admirably, therefore,
has our Lord taught us not to be careful about our earthly
relations farther than religion requires of us, in the answer
which he made himself to His Mother, and what a
Mother ! Woman, ivhat have I to do with thee ? Thus,
too, upon another occasion, when some one told Him that
His Mother and brethren stood without, desiring to speak
with Him, He answered. Who is my Mother, and who are
my brethren ? Where then are those who cherish such a
carnal and vain concern for their earthly relations, as if
they still lived in the midst of them ? " Thus far St. Ber-
nard. His Mother then, in no way cast down by this
reply, but, relying upon His goodness, returned to the
servants and said ; " Go to my Son, and whatever He
shall say to you, do." They went then, and filled the
water-pots with water, as the Lord commanded them.
When they had done this. He said to them ; " Draw now,
and bear to the governor of the feast." And here ob-
XXXIX.] OF THE MARRIAGE AT CANA. 279
serve, first, our Lord's discretion, for He sent first to the
most honourable person at the feast. And, secondly, that
He sat at a distance from him, for His words are ; liear it
to him, as though he were some way from Him. For, as
he sat in one of the chief places, we may gather that our
Lord would not sit there near him, nay, that He chose for
Himself the lowest place. The servants then gave the
wine to him, and to the rest, speaking openly at the same
time of the miracle, for they knew how it had been
wrought, and His disciples believed on Him. W/ien the
feast ivas over, our Lord Jesm called John apart, and said
to him, "Put away this your loife, and folloiv Me, for I
ivill lead you to a higher nmrriage" Whereupon he fol-
lowed Him. By His presence, then, at this marriage
feast, our Lord sanctified earthly marriage as an ordinance
of God. But by His calling John from it, He gave us
clearly to understand that the spiritual marriage of the
soul with Him in a single life is far more perfect. — pp.
103—107.
And is it of that Lord who hath said, " that He
hatetli putting away," that this impious falsehood,
worthy only of the heresy of the Manichees, is told
for the benefit of members of the Church of Eng-
land? Mr. Oakeley does not know at whose house
the marriage took place. He does not know that St.
John Avas the bridegroom. He does not know that
he or his parents ever had a house at Cana. But
"ybr meditation sake, let us si/ppose," and so we
may go on supposing, until the spirit of falsehood
and delusion who presides over such arts of Medita-
tion has brought us at last to teach men to violate
the laws of God, and to represent the Lord as com-
280 THE RETURN FROM EGYPT. [CHAP.
manding an act which he has expressly forbidden,
and of which he has solemnly declared his abhor-
rence.
Bonaventure was a Franciscan friar. And so he
endeavours to recommend the voluntary mendicancy
of his order, by representing the Lord himself as
receiving alms. The passage is in the account
of the return from Egypt: —
The next morning, when they are ready to set out on
their journey, you will see some of the most venerable
matrons of the city, and the wiser part of the men, come
to accompany them out of the gates, in acknowledgment
of their peaceful and pious manner of life, while among
them. For they had given notice, throughout the neigh-
l)ourhood, some days before, of their intention to depart,
that they might not seem to steal away in a clandestine
manner, which might have looked suspicious ; the very
reverse of their proceeding when they fled into Egj^-pt, at
which time their fear for the Infant obliged them to secresy.
And now they set out on their journey; holy Joseph, ac-
companied by the men, going before, and our Lady follow-
ing at some distance, with the matrons. Do you take the
blessed Infant in your arms, and devoutly carry Him before
her, for she will not suffer Him out of her sight.
When they were out of the gates, the holy Joseph dis-
missed ' the company, whereupon one of them, who hap-
pened to be rich, called the Child Je.=us to him, and com-
passionating the poverty of His parents, bestowed a few
pence upon Him ; and many others of the number followed
the example of the first, and did the same. The Holy
Child is not a little abashed b_y the offer, yet, out of love
to poverty. He holds out His little hands, and, blushing, takes
the money, for which He returns thanks. The matrons then
call Him, and do the same. ]S^or is the Mother less abashed
XXXIX.] CHRIST AND THE WOMAN OF SAMARIA. 281
than her Son ; huwever, she makes them her humble ac-
knowledgments. Do you share His confusion and that of
His holy parents, and meditate on the great lesson here set
you, when jou see Him whose is the earth and the fulness
thereof making choice of so rigorous a poverty, and so
necessitous a life, for Himself, His blessed Mother, and
holy foster-father. What lustre does not the virtue of
poverty receive irom their practice ! and how can we be-
hold it in them, without being moved to the love and imi-
tation of their examples ? — pp. 58, 59.
Did Mr. Oakeley understand Bonaventure's mo-
tive for representing Christ as receiving alms in
this manner? And, if so, — is religious mendicancy
one of the virtues which it is the object of this
movement to recommend? But these are matters
of secondary moment. The point of real impor-
tance is the way the Scripture narrative in these ex-
amples is turned and twisted, and circumstances in-
vented, to give colour to a particular doctrine.
In a similar spirit, the writer of the Life of St.
Gilbert has the audacity (for it is no less) to repre-
sent the surprise of the disciples at seeing the Lord
conversing with the Samaritan, as if it was occa-
sioned by their finding him in the company of a
woman. It is really most distressing to me to be
obliged to transcribe such disgusting profaneness,
but I feel it absolutely necessary to expose the mis-
chievous character of the system. The passage
occurs in the account of St. Gilbert's residence in
the village of Sempringham, of w'hich he was lay-
282 CHRIST AND THE [cHAP.
rector. He and his chaplain lodged with a man
who had a wife and children. The biographer pro-
ceeds;—
The daughter of the householder with whom he dwelt
was a holy and devout maiden, whose modest graces en-
deared her to the hearts of all the villagers. She was Gil-
bert's scholar, and was growing up beneath his eye in sim-
plicity and holiness. God however did not allow him to
dwell long beneath this peaceful roof. One night he
dreamed that he had laid his hand upon the maiden's
bosom, and was prevented by some strange power from
again withdrawing it. On awaking, he trembled, for he
feared lest God had warned him by this dream that he was
on the verge of evil. He was utterly unconscious of the
danger, but he revealed the temptation and the dream to
his confessor, and asked him his opinion. The priest, in
return, confessed that the same feeling had come over him ;
the result was, that they resolved to quit the neighbour-
hood of what might become danger. Gilbert had never
wittingly connected evil with the pure and holy being be-
fore him ; but his heart misgave him, and he went away.
He knew that chastity was too bright and glorious a jewel
to risk the loss of it ; no man may think himself secure ;
an evil look or thought indulged in, have sometimes made
the first all at once to become the last ; therefore the
greatest saints have placed strictest guard upon the slightest
tnoarght, word, and action. Even the spotless and ever-
virgin Mary trembled when she saw the angel enter her
chamber. And He, who was infinitely more than sinless
by grace, even by nature impeccable, because He was the
Lord from heaven. He has allowed it to be recorded that
his disciples wondered that he talked with a woman. All
the actions of our blessed Lord are most real, for He had
taken upon Himself the very reality of our flesh of the
XXXIX.] WOMAN OF SAMARIA. 283
substance of the Virgin Mary ; but each action is also
most highly significant and symbolical, so that, though all
conduce to our great glory, yet all may be a warning to
us in our greatest shame. Thus, though it would be un-
utterable blasphemy to connect with Him the possibility
of sin, yet hy this little act he has been graciously pleased to
leave us an example^ that as we should keep a dove-like
purity of eye and thought, we should also, for the love of
God, brave the scandal of evil tongues. And Gilbert imi-
tated his blessed Lord, for though he fled from the very
thought of danger, he still continued to guide her by his
counsel ; she does not disappear from the history, and by
and bye we shall see that the dream might have another
meaning." — pp. 23, 24.
How could any person of ordinary purity of mind
write such a disgusting story, and circulate it as
edifying and instructive! But my object in quoting
it is to show hoAv the Bible itself is made to serve a
purpose, and the passages of our Redeemer's life
distorted in order to furnish sanctions for supersti-
tion— just as if the example of the Lord could be
made to sanction that monastic "jealousy of inter-
course with women," which these writers tell us is
" characteristic of all the saints."
284 MR. Newman's doctrine [chap.
CHAPTER XL.
superstitious reverence for the a'irgin mary — mr.
Newman's sermon on the annunciation — mr. oake-
let's meditation on the appearance of CHRIST to
THE VIRGIN AFTER HIS RESURRECTION.
There is no error which these fictions are more
plainly designed to promote, than a superstitious
reverence for the Virgin Mary. The reader has
already seen what countenance this grievous delu-
sion has received from Mr. Newman himself, in the
passage quoted above from his Sermons on Subjects
of the Day. Another most extraordinary passage is
found in his Sermon on the Annunciation, in the Se-
cond volume of his Parochial Sermons.
IVTio can estimate the holiness and perfection of her, who
was chosen to be the Mother of Christ ? If to him that
hath, more is given, and holiness and divine favour go to-
gether, (and this we are expressly told) what must have
been the transcendant purity of her, whom the Creator
Spirit condescended to overshadow with Ilis miraculous
presence ? What must have been her gifts, who was
chosen to be the only near earthly relative of the Son of
God, the only one whom He was bound by nature to re-
vere and look up to; the one appointed to train and edu-
cate Him, to instruct Him day by day, as He grew in
wisdom and in stature ? This contemplation runs to a
higher sul)ject, did we dare follow it ; for what, think you,
was the sanctified state of that human nature, of which God
formed his sinless Son ; knowing, as we do, " that what is
born of the flesh, is flesh ;" and that " none can bring a
clean thing out of an unclean." — pp. 147, 148.
NoAV, to say nothing of the absurdity of this argu-
XL.] CONCERNING THE BLESSED VIRGIN. 28o
raent — for if it be of any value at all, it must amount
to a denial of the doctrine of oi'iginal sin, and the
fall of Adam ; but, passing this by, —what can Mr.
Newman mean by such language as this? Does he
mean to propagate the doctrine of the Immaculate
Conception? — and if not, what is the meaning or
force of his argument? If the assertions he quotes
from Scripture " that what is born of the flesh is
flesh, and that none can bring a clean thing out of
an unclean," be used, (and for this purpose he
plainly uses them) as a ground for determining the
degree and nature of the sanctity and perfection of
the Virgin Mary, because from her proceeded that
which was without sin, — then, it is obvious, her
nature could not have been such as he supposes it
necessary it should be, unless it had been kept free
from original sin by an immaculate conception, as is
commonly taught by Romanists. Nor is it easy to
believe that so shrewd a writer as Mr. Newman,
could have penned such an argument without hav-
ing perceived its force. Indeed, the whole of the
former part of the argument is just the common one
used by the most extravagant v/i-iters in the Romish
Communion — namely, that Mary must have merited
to be the mother of the Lord; and it would be ex-
tremely absurd to suppose that, in this stage of the
controversy, Mr. Newman could have been ignorant
of the school from which his doctrine and reasonin"-
were derived.
286 MR. oakeley's meditation [chap.
If sucli be the doctrine of the master, none can
wonder at the extravagancies of the disciples. But
it is not my object just now to expose the extrava-
gance of their doctrines, but to show the lengths
they go in their tampering with the word of God.
I shall submit another example to my reader. It is
distinctly stated by St. Mark, that the first person
to whom the Lord appeared after his resurrection
was Mary Magdalene. " Now when Jesus was
risen early, the first day of the week, he appeared
first to Mary Magdalene." From Avhich there have
not been wanting Romanists to draw such reflections
as naturally present themselves to the devout mind.
But Bonaventure and his translator, Mr. Oakeley,
wrote under the influence of that superstition which
would make the Virgin Mary the first and chief of
all created beings; and therefore, in defiance of the
words of holy Scripture, they will have it that the
Lord appeared to her before he appeared to any
one else. " You are to know," says Mr. Oakeley,
" that nothing is contained in the gospel on his
appearance to our Lady ; but I mentioned it at
the first, because the church appears to hold it;"*
and, in another place — " how he appeared to his
mother, is nowhere written; but pious belief is as I
have related it."t So, although it is nowhere wi'itten,
and nothing is said of it in the gospel, he proceeds to
describe the appearance in the following terms: —
* Page 251. t Page 263.
XL.] OF THE APPEARANCE TO THE VIRGIN. 287
Our Lord Jesus very early in the morning came with a
glorious multitude of Angels to the sepulchre, and took
again to himself that most holy Body ; and, the sepulchre
itself being closed, went forth, having risen again by His
own power. At the same hour Mary Magdalene and
Mary the mother of James and Salome began their
journey to the sepulchre, with the ointments they had
prepared.
]\Ieanwhile, our Lady remained at home and prayed, as
u-e may devo^itly conceive, in words of affection such as
these : " O most merciful, O most loving Father ! my
Son, as Thou knowest, hath died ; He hath been crucified
between two thieves, and / have buried him with my
mm hands; but Thou art able to restore Ilim to me un-
harmed ; I pray Thy Majesty to send Him to me. Why
delays He so long to come to me ? restore Him I beseech
Thee, for my soul can find no rest until 1 see Him. O
dearest Son ! what hath befallen Thee ? what is Thy em-
ployment ? why dost Thou delay ? I pray Thee tarry no
longer ; for Thou hast said. On the third day I will rise
again. Is not this, my Son, the third day ? for not yes-
terday, but before yesterday, was that great, that bitter
day ; the day of suffering and of death, of clouds and
darkness, of Thy separation from me and Thy death.
This, then, my Son, is the third day ; arise, my Glory,
my Only Good and return. Beyond all other things I
long to see Thee. Let Thy return comfort whom Thy
departure did so bitterly grieve. Return, then, my Be-
loved ; come. Lord Jesus ; come, my only Hope ; come
to me, my Son !" And while she thus prayed, and gently
poured forth tears, lo ! suddenly our Lord Jesus came in
raiment all white, with serene countenance, beautiful,
glorious, and glad. Then she embraced Him with tears
of joy, and, pressing her face to His, clasped Him eagerly
to her heart, reclining wholly in His arms, while He
tenderly supported her. Afterwards, as they sat down
288 MR. oakeley's meditation [chap.
together, she anxiously gazed upon Him, and found that
he was still the same in countenance, and in the scars of
His hands, seeking over his whole person, to know if all
pain had left Him. They remain and happily converse
together, passing their Easter with delight and love. O
what an Easter was this ! — pp. 244, 245.
Now, it is very easy for Mr, Oakeley to satisfy
his conscience by saying — "how he appeared to
his mother is nowhere Avritten;" there is nothing
of this in the gosjiel, but "pious belief is as I have
related it." But, really, it is not very obvious how
one can piously/ believe auytliing which rests on
no testimony of God, but only on his own fancy and
invention. A pious man may allow too great a
licence to his imagination. And many pious per-
sons have done so. But in believing the creations
of one's own imagination to be realities, thei'e is no
piety whatever, but the reverse. This story, how-
ever, is quite out of the range of pious belief or
imagining, for this very obvious reason, that it con-
tradicts the sacred narrative. For the Evangelist
expressly tells us, that it was to Mary Magdalene
he appeared first. Mr. Oakeley has met this diffi-
culty in so remarkable a manner, that it would be
wrong to withhold it from the reader.
That such an appearance there was, although not re-
corded in the Holy Gospels, it seems almost a result of
natural piety to suppose. That She, whose blessed soul
had been pierced through and through at the Crucifixion,
and who had been remembered on the cross in her own
especial relation, when the beloved Apostle was consigned
XL.] OF THE APPEARANCE TO THK VIRGIN. 289
to her as a mother, should yet have been left without the
consolation of an interview with her glorified Son, when
all the Apostles, and the other holy women, and St. INIary
Magdalene, and others, were thus favoured, is, it may
safely be said, immeasurably more at variance with what
may be called religious probability, than that such inter-
view should not have been recorded. Nothing whatever
can be gathered as to the occurrence or non-occurrence
of a fact from the silence of scripture ; especially when the
Holy Spirit expressly says, on two separate occasions, and
both times immediately in connexion with the history of
the Resurrection, that otir Lord did many rnore things than
are written. — pp. xvi., xvii.
But St. John says, that they were done by the
Lord " i?i the presence of his disciples." These
w^ords, however, would have overturned Mr. Oake-
ley's argument, and he omits them.
Surely the New Testament bears no appearance what-
ever of being a complete or formal system of teaching ;
each inspired writer seems to " speak as he is moved," at
the time, without reference to the consistency of the several
portions of the actual Sacred Volume, as it has since been
collected and promulgated by the Church. How does the
special Appearance of our Lord to St. Peter after His
Resurrection " come out" in scripture, but by the most
incidental mention of the circumstances in the first Epistle
to the Corinthians, fallen in with a yet more incidental
mention of it in the Gospels ? How casually does St. Paul
in the same passage drop., as it were, that our Lord ap-
peared to St. James ! But it will be said that Scripture is
mysteriously silent about the Blessed Virgin. That it is
more silent * than we should expect bid we come to it,
* What does Mr. Oakeley mean by saying " more silent."
Is not the Scripture totally &\\Qni. Bonaventure confei^ses it :
VOL. I. U
290 MR. oakeley's meditation [chap.
KATHER THAN TO THE CHURCH AS EVOLVING IT, FOR IN-
STRUCTION IN Divine Truth, maj be readily allowed ;
but except upon that hijpnfhesis, which Catholics cannot re-
ceive, its silence upon this subject proves no more than its
silence upon any other matter of ancient belief besides
that of the honour due to St. Mary, e. g. the use of prayers
for the dead. Is not this argument, grounded upon the
absence from the page of Scripture of such notices as we
might expect about St. Mary, one of those which, as the
saying is, "prove too much?" Is it not prejudicial to
her acknoivledged claim — acknowledged, I believe, by the
ancient Fathers, aiid cei-tainly hy many of our own divines
—to all such reverence as is short of adoration ? More-
over, if the silence of Scripture upon the high claims of
St. Mary be mysterious, (let it be remembered, however,
that Scripture is not panegyrical,) are not the Scripture
intimations of that " blessed among women" strangely sig-
nificant also ? Let the reader turn in thought to the nar-
ratives of the Annunciation, of the Visitation, of the
JNIarriage of Cana, of the Crucifixion, and again to the
first chapter of the Acts of the Apostles,* and surely he
will remember passages which are at least suggestive of
very wonderful thoughts concerning the Mother of God.
Moreover, there is precisely the same extent and kind of
silence in the three former Gospels as to the Blessed
Virgin's presence at the Crucifixion which all four preserve
I\Ir. Oakeley is obli^erl to confess it himself. Unless, there-
fore, lie wishes to mislead, what can he mean by saying that
it is more silent than we should expect?
"* In jVIr. Newman's Sermons bearing on vSabjects of the
Day, pp. 36 — 43, will be found a deep view on our Lord's mys-
terious sayin;:s relative to His Blessed Mother, as connected
with His Ministry, which would bring them into strict har-
mony -with the belief of her inetfahle dignity." [The reader
will recollect, that this note is Mr. Oakeley's. It plainly
proves how Mr. Newman's own friends understand his teach-
ing with regard to the Virgin Mary.]
XL.] OF THE APPEARANCE TO THE VIRGIN, 291
upon our Lord's Appearance to her after the Resurrection.
Other holy women are mentioned by name, both as pre-
sent at the Crucilixion, and as assisting at the Burial, and
watching at the 'roinb ; but of lier there is not even a
hint. Can anything seem more like purposed exclusion ?
Is there any conceivable amount of traditionary proof, or
ecclesiastical impression, which, by those who stipulate
for direct Scripture evidence, would have been held suffi-
cient to outweigh the circumstance of a silence so com-
plete, and apparently so pointed ? Then comes the be-
loved Apostle, and discovers to us the Holy Mother just
where piety would have anticipated, in the place of honour,
as it were, admitted to the most intimate communion with
the sacred Passion, and singled out among the whole
female company for special notice and high privilege.
There is reason-, then, to think that the absence of St. Mary's
name from the accounts of the Resurrection, far from
implying any slur upon her, is even a token of honour ; and
imports rather that she icas signallij favoured, than that she
was postponed to others. Certainly the fact of total silence
is beyond measure more arresting than would have been
that of passing mention. — pp. xviii. — xix.
What an extraordinary idea does this passaoe
give of Mr. Oakeley's notions of argument. Three
of the evangelists have omitted to mention a certain
cii'cumstance. St. John supplies the omission; and
by his supplying it, we know that the fact took
place. In this instance, then, we know something,
through St. John, of which we must have been
ignorant, had he not recorded it : and, hence, we
may fairly conclude, that the silence of the other
three Evangelists is not sufficient of itself to prove
the non-occurrence of any particular event. Now
u2
292 MR. oakeley's defence [chap.
from these premises, Mr. Oakeley proceeds to draw
a totally dilFerent conclusion, and in a perfectly dis-
similar case. He takes an instance where all the
four Evangelists are silent, and from their silence,
and our consequent ignorance, he argues a fortiori
that a certain circumstance which they have not
mentioned must have taken place. He actually
argues, just as if the silence of revelation must give
an additional degree of probability to our own in-
ventions— and the less we are told by the sacred
historians, the more certain we may be of the truth
of any particular fancy which we may choose to
imagine for ourselves. Bishop Bm'nett says, some-
where, that "though there is much sophistry in
the world, yet there is also true logic and a certain
thread of reasoning. " It would be very sad if there
were not; but really, it is impossible to read the
productions of this school without being convinced,
that by indulging in a poetical dreamy mysticism
and in a habit of trifling with truth, they have re-
duced their reasoning powers to such a condition,
that the "thread of reasoning" has got into rather
an unsatisfactory state of tanglement. However, if
they would only abstain from meddling with the Holy
Scriptures, this would be a matter of little moment
except to themselves. But I must aUow Mr. Oakeley
to proceed.
Upon the grounds of that silence it would be of course
presumptuous to speculate : [a strange scruple, truly. How
XL.] OF THE MEDITATION. 293
can it be more presumptuom to speculate on the cause of
an omission, than to undertake to supply it?] yet it may
be observed how great is the difference between meditating
upon the acts and privileges of St. Mary as matter of
distinct revelation^ and merely of pious conjectu7'e. It may
be, that minds so feeble and undiscriminating as ours,
would have been unequal to the task of dwelling upon so
tangled and delicate a theme as a certaintij, while yet it
would by no means follow that the withholding of know-
ledge (properly so called) is tantamount to the discourage-
ment of contemplation. Does not this denial of perfect
satisfaction to our curiosity tend to infuse into our medita-
tions that special element of indejiniteness, which, in this
very peculiar case, may be the necessary condition of the
benefit to be derived from them ; and, by removing the sub-
ject from the province of history into that of poetry, (not
discredit it, but merely) obviate the temptations to a con-
fused and unspiritual view of it ?
I must beg my reader to forgive the interruption,
but I really cannot pass over this extraordinary
passage without notice. On this theory, the less
Scripture tells us, and the more we are left to make
things out for ourselves, the less danger there is of
our taking confused and unspiritual views of them.
A curious use of the word unspiritual, truly ! Why,
if this be true, we should be safer without the histo-
rical parts of Scripture altogether, and should be
under fewer temptations to take unspiritual views,
if aU the articles of the faith were removed '^'from
the province of history into that of poetry" since
the subjects become only more tangled and difficult
by being proposed to us as certainties. Why this
294 MR. oakeley's defence [chap.
difficultj, however, should not be increased by the
mysteriousness of the person, — and why the necessity
for our being left to our own fancy and imagination
should not be greater in the case of our Loi'd, than
in that of the Virgin, — is not very apparent on Mr.
Oakeley's principles. But, certainly, it is very hard
to read such a piece of sophistication from the pen
of a man who has had a university education, and
taken some lead in controversy, without feeling, that
it is not always easy to discover where mental con-
fusion ends and dishonesty begins. I should like
also to know, what this school of meditators would
consider to be " tantamount to the discouragement''''
of what they call " contemplation." And, surely, if
indefiniteness be, in any case, " the necessary condi-
tion of the benefit to he derived" from meditations —
it does seem a very odd sort of method of securing
the benefit to set about violating the " necessary
condition''' on which the benefit depends, by destroy-
ing this " indefiniteness,^' and sujiplying by the
vagaries of our own fancy — each pai-ticular person
for himself, — the circumstances, which, all the wliile,
it is admitted are jmrjyoseJy concealed. There is a
certain class of persons, who, as Mr. Locke de-
scribes them, " make very few or no propositions,
and reason scarce at all," and on this account
are regarded as an inferior class of beings ; — but
really, they are very much more harmless than
those, who do reason after a fashion of their own.
XL.] OF THE MEDITATION, 295
and are not satisfied with mistaking the " disorderly-
jumbling of ideas together" in their heads, "for
true logic and a certain thread of reasoning," but
must take upon themselves to correct others and
to revolutionize the church. Any form of craziness
would have been safer than a taste for this kind of
meditation. But I must proceed with Mr. Oakeley's
argument.
Had acts of the Blessed Virgin been recorded, one by
one, as those of our Lord have been, they had seemed so
like His own, that we had been tempted to forget her
immeasm-able distance from Him. They had been the acts
of a perfect human nnture not in union loith the Divine, and
thus essentially different, at once, from those of our Lord,
and from those of the Apostles. There loould not have
been,as in the latter, the imperfection of humamty to temper
our veneration, nor, as in Him, the Divine Nature to
justify our worship. St. Mary was the very mirror of the
Divine perfections m human nature; reflecting the Divine
Image (as in a measure all Christians do) ivith a faithful-
ness to which other Saints have hut approximated (with
whatever closeness,) the while she was but a Woman. On
the acts and privileges of such an one, it might have been
unsafe for us to dwell, had they been brought before us in
the full blaze, as it were, of revealed light. Yet it is plain
that meditating on them to whatever extent as mere deduc-
tions from revealed truth is absolutely different in kind
from meditating on them as revealed facts. That Scrip-
ture has drawn a veil over them, may be fully granted ;
but it has still to be proved that this veil is meant to conceal
the light from our eyes, and not merely to adapt it to their
feeble powers.
I should like to know, what this party would
296 MR. oakeley's defence [chap.
consider a proof, that when " Scripture has drawn
a veil over" any facts it means "to conceal" them
from us — 01', what amount of notorious superstition
and idolatry in those who have presumed to say
what is behind that veil, would be taken by this
school of meditation as a warning against following
such examples.
But it will be said, that Scripture is not only silent
about any Appearance of our Lord after His Resurrec-
tion prior to that with which St. Mary IMagdalene was
favoured, but speaks of the appearance to St. Mary Mag-
dalene as the first. "Now when Jesus was risen, early
the first day of the week, lie appeared first to Mary Mag-
dalene . . . and she went and told them that had been with
Him." I cannot think, however, that, read naturally, this
text would ever have been thought to contradict the be-
lief in a prior appearance. Did Scripture indeed speak
emphatically and with a controversial object, no doubt the
word " first" would be meant not only to assert, but to
exclude. If, on the other hand, we suppose a writer to be
speaking with reference to the point just before him, and
no other, we can, I think, perfectly understand the use of
the word "first," without any emphatic or preclusive
meaning whatever ; or rather I would say, that the con-
text added to other intimations of Holy Scripture, render
such an interpretation of this text not merely a possible,
but even the more natural, one. St. Mary Magdalene,
says the Evangelist, went and told tliem that had been with
Him, as they mourned and wept ; thus seeming to draw our
attention to prior claims, Avhich they had, to see Him on
His Rising. " Yet," the Evangelist seems to say, " they
did not actually see Him before they had heard of His
Resurrection from another." Moreover, the Greek word
is not TrpojD/, but Trpajroj', which, in the New Testament,
XI..] OF THE MEDITATION. 297
if I mistake not, almost invariably means, not " very first,"
or " first of all," but " first of the following," i. e. " before."
— pp. xix. — xxi.
A criticism which, if it be worth anything at all,
will serve some other meditator to prove that Nico-
demus and Joseph of Arimathea may have seen the
Lord before Mary Magdalene did— that any one, in
fact, may have seen Him, to whom the Scripture does
not inform us He appeared at all.
Really, there seems to me something so amazing
in this mode of treating the word of God, that I
scarcely know what to say to it, or whether I have
any need to say anything; whether I may not
safely leave it to the piety and good sense of Chris-
tians, to visit it with that condemnation, which it is
sure to receive from every right-minded person.
Scripture is silent, with regard to a particular cir-
cumstance, on which we are tempted to indulge our
imagination. — What then? Surely we may " de-
voutly conceive," — to use the phraseology of these
writers, (and with somewhat more of propriety than
they do,) — that it is not without good and sufficient
reason the divine wisdom has seen fit to leave us in
ignorance. A very obvious reason, one might have
supposed, would have occurred to any such exercise
of the understanding as deserves to be called medi-
tation— namely, that it is important to us to acquire
the habit of keeping our imaginations under control
— within defined bounds and limits, — and, conse-
298 SILENCE OF SCRIPTURE INTENTIONAL. [CHAP.
quently, it can be no other than a merciful provi-
sion for our infirmities, that these bounds and checks
are not left to our own discretion to supply, but are
already furnished for our use, by the silence of
holy Scripture on those innumerable points on
which curiosity would not unnaturally seek for
satisfaction. What we are intended to know, the
word of God has recorded. What it is good and de-
sirable and profitable for us to know, is revealed, and
is made matter of certainty by the providence of our
Heavenly Father's goodness. But the whole Book
is constructed in such a manner, as to exercise our
faith in His wisdom and love, and our submissive
and contented acquiescence in His will, in all those
cases where He has seen fit to leave us ignorant.
There is a silence of the soul, which is a divine
and heaven-inspired virtue, that curbs the rambling
excursions of a lively and impetuous fancy, and bids
the imagination be still and prostrate, hearkening
only to what the Almighty thinks proper to disclose.
It is an earthly and sensual curiosity which will
know, and will conjecture, and ivill imagine, and
will try to force its presumptuous entrance into that
mysterious darkness, in Avhicli the divine teacher
has involved everything, except what he has deemed
it safe and useful for us to know. The vice is ill-
concealed, by dignifying it with the name of Medi-
tation. In effect, what is this virtue, which I have
here so feebly delineated, but a perception of the
XL.] THE ADORATION OF THE CROSS. 299
inestimable preciousness of truth? — a jealous anxiety,
lest the truth may get confused -with fiction, and the
mind lose its keenness of discrimination. A man
must have lost all just reverence for truth, before
he can dare to meditate on the awful realities of the
gospel in the fashion this school desire to recom-
mend. He must in a fearful degree, have lost his
reverence for sacred names and sacred things, before
he can presume to turn the life of the Son of God
into a legend, the irreverence of which assumes a
form a thousand times more criminal, on account of
the fact, — of which proofs are everywhere afforded,
— that circumstances are continually invented, not
because they seem probable, or even because they
appear edifying, but because they may serve to give
colour to a superstition. Thus Bonaventure and Mr.
Oakeley will tell us that Mary adoi'ed the cross, after
the Lord's body had been laid in the sepulchre —
when they came to the Cross, she bent her knee and
said ; " Here rested my beloved Son, and here was poured
forth His most precious blood." And, after her example,
all did the same. For we may well believe that our Lady
was the first to pay this devotion to the Cross. — p. 236.
Butwhere thereis no particular error or superstition
to be recommended, still is it a most sinful presump-
tion and irreverence, and a no less sinful disregard
of truth, that will speak where God is silent. Can
anything be more calculated to repress a licentious
curiosity than the manner in which the Evangelists
300 THE AGONY OF CHRIST. [cHAP.
record the agony of the Lord in the garden — His
brief and thrice-repeated prayer — His bloody sweat?
— ^what reverent spirit will desire to conjecture the
mysterious import of the one, or to imagine the
details of the other? Who will not rather prostrate
his spirit and adore in silence? But this is just the
sort of subject which suits this spirit of Meditation;
and so, having presumed (in contradiction to the
whole teuour of our Lord's actions and words,) to
expound His mysterious prayer in this manner,
He prays the Father that the hour of death may pass
from Him ; that is, that, if it be God's pleasure, He may
not die ; and in this prayer He is not heard. — p. 209.
Mr. Oakeley gives us a prayer of considerable
length, which Bonaventure dares to put into the lips
of the Son of God; — and then, in order to bolster
up the foolish traditions about the holy places, he
ventures to say, without a shadow of authority from
holy Scripture,
He prayed in three different places, distant from each
other about a stone's cast ; not so far as with a great eifort
one might throw a stone, but with a gentle impulse ; per-
haps about the same length as our houses, as I hear from
one of our brethren who has been there ; and still on those
very spots are the remains of the churches which have been
built upon them. — pp. 211, 212.
And then presently he says.
He rises, then, from prayer the third time, His whole
person bathed in blood ; behold Him cleansing His face
from it, or haply immersing it in the stream. — Ibid.
XL.] REALIZING THE SUFFERINGS OF CHRIST. 301
It is needless to comment on writing from which
the mind turns Avitli loathing; but it is important to
take the opportunity of observing, that the writers
of this school are endeavouring to instil into
people's minds the notion, that it is possible to
realize the sufferings of Christ by these flights of
imagination; as if any such exercises can have the
remotest tendency to enable one to realize suffer-
ings, whose essential peculiarity consisted, neither
in their nature nor their intensity, but in the vica-
riousness of their import, and the divine nature of
the Person who endured them. Other methods
also besides those of meditation are recommended by
these winters: for example, by Dr. Pusey; who, in
a work of Surin, the Jesuit, that he has lately
" Edited and Adapted to the use of the English
Church," gives the following directions, which may
serve to indicate the existence of some practices, of
which the public has not yet been informed.
Another and more efficacious means of feeling the Suf-
ferings of Christ is, in some measure to experience them.
" No man," says our author, " has so cordial a feeling of
the Passion of Christ, as he who hath suffered the Tike
himself. B. ii., c. 12. St. Bonaventure teaches us, that
this is done by looking at this Divine Model of patience,
and trying to feel in ourselves the rigour of His Tortures ;
and thus, thatioe may knoio in ourselves what he suffered at
the pillan\ we must, says this holy Doctor, discipline
OURSELVES TO BLOOD. One who sincerely loves our Lord,
and who desires nothing so much as to participate in His
Sufferings, can thus best judge how cruel His Scourging
302 ERROR AFFECTING THE ATONEMENT. [CHAP,
was, and how great the pain caused by the nails which
pierced his Hands and Feet. Many pious persons of the
present day, falsely persuaded that it is enough to care for
the interior, might learn by such experience that the ex-
terior exercises of virtue are of no little service to the soul
which desires to be hid with Christ in God." — The Foun-
dations of the Spiritual Life. — p. 193.
The whole notion here put forward by Dr. Pusey
for " the use of the English Church," is founded on
utter ignorance of the nature of the sufferings of
Christ; since no arts of realization, — whether by
pictures in the imagination, or by self-inflicted tor-
ments of body, — can ever give one the faintest per-
ception of the meaning of that suffering, which con-
sisted in sacrifice^ in His offering up, by the eternal
Spirit, His body and soul for the sins of the world.
But this error, — and it is a very dreadful ei'ror, —
does, by reducing the sufferings of the Lord to a
spectacle which is to move the feelings and excite the
imagination, tend but too directly to the denial, not
only of the doctrine of the Atonement, but of the
Godhead of Christ. And let me add also, my
conviction, that this error has grown out of a habit
of trifling with truth, and tampering with holy
Scripture, until, at last, the moral sense has become
blunted, and the distinction between truth and false-
hood has become mystified and confused in the
understanding.
Mr. Oakeley acknowledges the reserve which
holy Scripture maintains concerning the blessed
XL.] THE SILENCE OF SCRIPTURE. 303
Virgin; but meditate he must: and therefore, in-
stead of being satisfied to stop short, where Scrip-
ture is silent; he actually makes its silence a justi-
fication for the liberties he takes. It may well be
granted to him, that the Lord may have appeared to
his mother, although the appearance is not recorded.
But he may not have appeared to her. He may
have had wise reasons for not doing so. And there-
fore, as we have no possible ground for conjecture,
who could desire to decide the question one way or
other? still less, to supply what the Scripture with-
holds, and presume to detail what took place in a
conversation, which (if any conversation of the kind
ever occurred) the Holy Spirit has deemed it im-
proper to record? As to the attempt Mr. Oakeley
makes to evade the charge of contradicting the
Evangelist, it is not likely to find much entertain-
ment among persons competent to form a judgment
on the subject, and only proves that he is conscious
of the grave censure to which he has laid himself
open.
304 VISION OF ST. MAMERTINUS. [CHAP.
CHAPTER XLI.
EFFECT OF TUIS SYSTEM ON THE EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY
— THE A'ISION OF ST. MAMERTINUS.
The whole tendency of the system is to undermine
the authority of holy Scripture, and to Aveaken the
evidences of Christianity. People are to be affected
by poetry, and not by truth ; — by meditation, and not
by the divine record; — by disciplining themselves to
blood, and not by a thankful remembrance of the
sacrifice by which their sins were atoned for. The
letter of the Scripture is of little value or import-
ance. The Gospel is but an outline, which must be
filled up in order to make it edifying. The Old
Testament, " if not made Christian by Allegory, is,
after all, no more than Jewish History."
In the Life of St. German is a story of a vision,
which bears such internal proof of its legendary
character, as to be undeserving of serious consider-
ation. The credit of this tale the Biographer of
German has endeavoured to save by an argument of
so surprising a description, that it would be wrong
not to lay it entire before the reader.
I. What are we to think of St. Mamertinus's wonderful
story, as related in Chapter VIII. ? That he was a Pagan,
and lost the use of his sight and hand, and was induced by
one Sabinus to go to Auxerre, to seek for St. German, and
came at night into the Mons Autricus, the Cemetery, and
XLI.3 VISION OF ST. MAMERTINUS. 305
there fell asleep on the tomb and in the cell of a departed
Saint — this is plain enough and indisputable. But what
was that which followed ? AVas it a real thing, or was it
a vision ? And hen; the sulyect becomes serious, and we
must " put off our shoes from our feet, for the place where
we stand is holy ground." For what^ indeed^ do ive mean,
when we draw a distinction between recdities and visions ?
Is it untrue to say that everything is real, that everything
is the action of Almighty God upon His creation, and es-
pecially upon His spiritual creation, if such distinction
may be made ? God works by instruments, or what w<'
view as instruments ; He makes the things of the external
world, objects, times, circumstances, events, associations,
to impress the action of His Will upon men. The bad and
the good receive the same impressions, but their judgment
concerning them differs. The moral sight of the one is
vitiated, that of the others indefinitely pure. If, then, the
only real thing to us be the connnunication of the Divine
Mind to our mind, is there room to inquire tchether the oc-
casion or mediunn of that communication is real ? At least,
it would appear that St. Mamertinus considered the in-
quiry superfluous. The very obscurity which impends
over his narrative, and which has purposely been preserved
in this Life, may, for aught we know, be owing to the im-
possibility of drawing any material distinctions betiveen what
are called, real events and visions, or dreams. For it must
be remembered that Constantius introduces the very lan-
guage of St. Mamertinus into his Life of St. German. It
was a book which apparently had but recently come out,
in which St. Mamertinus published to the world the his-
tory of his own mysterious conversion. And Constantius
seems to have a scruple in taking any liberties with it, and
consequently inserts it as it was into his own work. Now
it is certainly remarkable that the subject himself of so
wonderful an occurrence, should hesitate whether he ought
to call it a reality or a vision, sometimes adapting his
VOL. I. X
306 VISION OF ST. MAMERTINUS. [cHAP.
phraseology to the one aspect of the matter, sometimes to
the other. Yet what is this but what had four hundred
years before been exemplijied and sanctioned by Inspiration
itself? In the history of Cornelius's conversion, himself a
Gentile, the same ambiguity is apparent. In the very be-
ginning, how singular, if we may so speak, the words,
" He saw a vision evidently." [But these are not the words.
The text says, " He saw in a vision," tv bpay.aTi.'] Here,
however, the apparition of the angel is clearly called a
vision. Yet, when the messengers of Cornelius came to
St. Peter, they said nothing about a vision, but " Cor-
nelius, the centurion, was warned from God by an holy
angel." Nay, Cornelius himself, when Peter came to
liim, spoke as if it had been no vision. " Four days ago,
I was fiisting until this hour ; and at the ninth hour I
prayed in my house, and behold a man stood before me
and said." Was this not, at once, both a vision and a
reality ? Could God's purposes be more distinctly re-
vealed ? In like manner, the whole of what happened
to Mamertinus had but one end, one object, the im-
parting of Almighty God's gracious mercies to a lost and
sinful creature. Life itself is as much a vision as anything
in sleep ,• it is the moving to and fro of ever flitting images ;
there is one, and one only, substantial fact in life, the ex-
istence of created beings in the presence of their Omnipo-
tent INIaker. And such, apparently, was the ultimate
aspect in which St. ISIamertinus came to view his conver-
sion, ever less complex, more simple, more one, as he
advanced in holiness, " without which no man will see the
Lord." He most probably lived till 468, about fifteen
years before Constantius began to write his Life, and
would therefore be at that time an old man, one who had
fuuglit the good fight. For he was a young man when
St. German was above forty, and apparently outlived him
as long as twenty years, having become Abbot of the
jMonastery only at a late period. But so it is ; Almighty
XLI.] VISION OF ST. MAMERTINUS. 307
God has never been seen, and yet is always seen. Every
thing around us is a syinhol of His presence. Does not
the suhliinc author of the City of God speak after this
wise ? " Be not surprised," he says, " if God, though He
be invisible, is said to have appeared visibly to the Fathers.
For as the sound which conveys the thought that dwells
in the silence of the mind, is not one and the same thing
with it, so that form in which God is seen, who yet dwells
in the invisible, was not one with Him. Nevertheless, He
was visible in this same bodily form, just as thought is
audible in the sound of the voice ; and the Fathers knew
that they saw an invisible God in that bodily form, which
yet was not He. For Moses spake unto Him who also
spake, and yet he said unto Him, " If I have found grace
in Thy sight, show me now Thyself, that I may see Thee
with knowledge."
To conform, however, to the ordinary modes of speech,
(and we cannot but do so as long as things appear multiple,
instead of simple) it is conceived that what occurred while
St. Mamertinus was in the cell of St. Corcodemus, was
what we call a vision. St. Florentinus in white and
shining garments, at the entrance of the cell ; St. Corco-
demus issuing from the tomb and joining his ancient
companions ; the beautiful dialogue concerning the peni-
tent Pagan ; the five holy Bishops celebrating their Votive
Mass in the Church ; the discourse between the Apostle
St. Peregrine and Mamertinus ; and the subsequent anti-
phonal strains issuing from the Church, — all was part of
the vision. But the vision was so clear ; its eifects and
fulfilment were so complete, that it had nothing, as it were,
to distinguish it from real event, except that it occurred in
sleep. Dreams and visions have ever held a prominent
part in God's marvellous dispensations. The form is a
dream, the substance a reality. We cannot bear the reality
without the form. " Now we see through a glass darkly ;
but then face to face ; now 1 know in part ; but then
308 VISION OF ST. MAMERTINUS.
shall I know even as I am known." A notion attaches to
dreams and visions which we think we can cast off; they
do not hang by us with the vividness of real events. They
have a meaning ; yet they admit of being otherwise
viewed. This is our infirmity, but it is wisely ordained,
for we are men. — St. German, pp. 284 — 288.
Now, will any one calmly consider the manner in
which truth and falsehood are sought to be con-
founded in this extraordinary passage, and the man-
ner in which they manifestly are confounded in the
author's mind, and ask himself, — where this move-
ment is to end. It is impossible, we are told, to
draw " any material distinctions between what are
called real events, and visions or dreams." If so,
what becomes of the evidences of Christianity? — of
the certainty of sensible mi:*acles? — of the proofs of
the truth and reality of the Incarnation, the Deatli,
or the Resurrection of Christ?
KND OK VOLUME I.
T. C. Savill, Piiiitei, -I, Cliandos-street, Covent-gaiden.
*
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