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, 
 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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